Caren Elise Camblin
mixed media abstract paintings
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Featured Work
A few recently finished pieces that will be featured in upcoming shows.
"How Beautiful the World Could Be" (right)
Inspired by a passage in Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning, in which prisoners are looking at a glowing dawn reflected in the muddy gray pools at their feet. One exclaims to the other "How beautiful the world could be!" It's one of those books everyone should read at least once, and this particular scene reminds one of the restorative power of both nature and imagination.
(SOLD)
"This Thin Edge My Home" (below)
One of my yoga teachers, Rolf Gates, repeats a phrase throughout class: "Let this body, let this breath, let this moment, feel like home to you." I think of Gloria Anzaldua, author of Borderlands/La Frontera, who writes about making her home between and around artificial borders, places as thin as a "barbwire edge." Risk and familiarity, hand-in-hand. Beauty and grief, not intertwined, but blended.
The simple composition in both of these pieces--and most of my recent work--evokes landscape, and while these pieces represent places, they are about internal places: the places we imagine, the places we feel, the places we know to exist though we'd be unable to point them out on a map.
Inspired by a passage in Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning, in which prisoners are looking at a glowing dawn reflected in the muddy gray pools at their feet. One exclaims to the other "How beautiful the world could be!" It's one of those books everyone should read at least once, and this particular scene reminds one of the restorative power of both nature and imagination.
(SOLD)
"This Thin Edge My Home" (below)
One of my yoga teachers, Rolf Gates, repeats a phrase throughout class: "Let this body, let this breath, let this moment, feel like home to you." I think of Gloria Anzaldua, author of Borderlands/La Frontera, who writes about making her home between and around artificial borders, places as thin as a "barbwire edge." Risk and familiarity, hand-in-hand. Beauty and grief, not intertwined, but blended.
The simple composition in both of these pieces--and most of my recent work--evokes landscape, and while these pieces represent places, they are about internal places: the places we imagine, the places we feel, the places we know to exist though we'd be unable to point them out on a map.
