Artist and Poet
Zappa painted music; I write drawings. Contemporary figurative work with my body as model, and Spirit as guide. Plein Air micro-painting and poetry; intimacy a sense of place. I use the creative process to connect people; one piece of art at a time, and engage Creative Conversations with organizations and institutions.
Empowerment & Advocacy Speaker
I survived sustained abuse, cancer, and now live within the new norm of a systemic, neuromuscular disease. Life is a passionate dance of experience, prayer, struggle, questioning, and joy.
I am the house poetry built
Drawing my words within observation I find truth, and in truth, I find the transcendent stories of building beauty in our world.
Writing and drawing since I could hold a crayon, family folklore says that I made my brother teach me to write the alphabet, and the rest is history.
I wrote in order to breath. Writing letters to myself, I taped them underneath my clothes; next to my body. Safe, protected, I tore them to bits and dumped them in alley way dumpsters. I lived with the aftermath of rape, molestation, psychological torture; believing I was nothing more than property.
Today, beyond the ash of torn bits of papers past rises drawing as living beings. Breathing as phoenix in redemption song. Exquisite stories of texture and shape; anxious and methodical lines of reflection and observation. The pieces move and have their being within the context of their environment.
Choosing to see the gift in adaptation; of process and life. Wheelchairs walk; utensils write and draw; friends and family share the load.
Read more from We are individuals published in Crossin(G)enres (link opens in new tab).
At any given moment you will find me either in the studio or out in the landscape. I find no safer place than immersed in my work. My anxieties find solace and voice.
The art of storytelling
where line quality is created out of experience, and composition emerges as the woven words of a heart’s beat.
in which holes of raw-truth appear and disappear through layers of sanded and burnished paper.
is rubbed into every pore until it smiles. Rips are stitched together with threads of prayer.
Fragile and strong
paper echoes the vulnerability and resilience of the human soul. It slips between the thin spaces in our lives and emerges as beauty out of ash.
There is no, one story within my work.
There is always more to tell. . .
We each are rich in story. . .
We are more alike than we are different
Paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower