Above: Into the Woods by Anna Schroeder

Art in my Life

by Anna Schroeder

Art, in my life, has been a consistent thread. It was a gift given to me by my grandmother when I was a child. She saw the quiet, awkward kid that I was, and gave me something to do. She asked me to draw a stick. I was so engrossed by that experience. It took me out of any misery I had of not fitting in, and enveloped me in the act of observation and visual storytelling. From then on, I found time to draw and paint between all my schooling. In the high school art room, all the misfits found their way to the back room where they could work on whatever they wanted to, in their free time. I got good grades, but art was the quiet, alternative place my mind could explore.

When I went to college I aimed toward veterinary studies, but I also entered art shows. My biology professor told me if I liked anything beyond veterinary science I should look at it, because I wouldn’t have any time for anything else once I chose veterinary science. My art professor told me to apply to Pratt Institute in New York City. I got in and my direction was set. Now art was the primary focus, not just a side quest.

Roberta by Anna Schroeder

The New York art scene was full of conceptual artists at the time. We learned our craft at Pratt; drawing, painting, and (because I chose sculpture as my focus) welding casting in metals as well as woodworking. Out in the galleries, however, art became the lens with which to view the world and express it. Again, I found myself engrossed in the world by observing it and telling the story I saw with art.

I was opened in Subud the same year I arrived in NYC. With art and Subud striding hand in hand, they led me on a path toward self actualization. I started to see images of what I was feeling and that would be my next artwork. Sculpture liberated me from the two dimensional plane, from just paint or pencil. I had a vast array of mediums that could express the tone and texture of my story: rough wood, heavy cold steel, soft ephemeral fabrics. I no longer had to imagine how it would be to exist inside the pictures I created, the art could surround me and I could literally walk around inside of it. As a child, you can imagine worlds made of say, candy–now, I could create those worlds. I became interested in installation art, which is where you create an environment. It was a mind-expanding experience.

You can imagine the physicality building, hauling, and installing all those worlds I created demanded. I can remember hauling my tools and a ladder on a subway, and thinking I couldn’t keep this up for much longer. It was about this time, and the end of my first one-person show, that my mother and grandmother died. The soft cushion of their love was no longer there to comfort me when I felt too tired to go on. I had to downsize my art and I no longer had the stamina to put up with living in the ghettos of NYC, the place where I could afford the space to make and store my work.

Raymond by Anna Schroeder

After looking around for a new setting, I finally landed in Seattle. Art had to sidle alongside me as I put my focus into a job of managing a small art gallery and enjoying the extraordinary nature of the Pacific Northwest. I wanted more life. I still painted and showed, and now it was those breathtaking vistas of the mountains that were my subject, not my view of society and how I fit in. I started to fall in love with nature again. I met my husband, who was an artist. We were fortunate to show together at the Spokane congress. We created an installation reflecting our mutual love of nature. We were joined at the opening of our show by a crew of impromptu musicians that filled the space with the missing element of music. It completed our celebration of what we saw in the world!

We married and we moved to Ohio. I continued to paint and engrossed myself with the beauty of the family farm, and the kids that came. My husband and I did organic farming and homeschooling. I painted and he did pottery. My paintings are vignettes of things that would make me stop in awe of the beauty I was privileged to see right in front of me. During this time I also started to keep a visual diary beyond my nature sketches. The diary was just colors and symbols that came to me. I found that certain colors and reappearing shapes would represent an expression of my inner. I often had to let them dry, so my family frequently took a peek. My dad called it the weather forecast (he found the black hearts a little foreboding).

My dad and my husband died two years ago, my eldest daughter was married last summer, and I fi nd my life again altered. This time, I feel called to put art back in the focal point. I have received to paint, sing, and dance over and over. I notice when I follow that call, my heart, mind, and body are open to the world and I am able to love. I am able to feel. When I don’t follow that call, my heart curls up, my mind becomes dark, and my body becomes immobile. It seems to me that art has the power to unwind the dark anxious mind, uncurl the sad frightened heart, and move the overwhelmed body, giving access to God’s love and the potential off ered to us. In these contentious political times, art of all kinds could be a balm to the hurt and worry. It could be the bridge across ideological lines, and it could illuminate possibilities in a time that may seem hopeless.