Designworks - Every Nook & Cranny - Karen Kurka Jensen #5625

30H x 8.5W

Sumi-e ink and watercolor on xuan paper, white mat and simple black framed. Under Glass

 I’m a professional artist, and this is my life’s work. I grew up in Minnesota among forests, lakes, granite rocks, and sparkling waters. My childhood was idyllic. We were allowed to roam all day freely, returning home only for meals. Our imaginations ran wild. Every day was a new adventure. Those years expanded my vision, and its where my imagination was allowed to blossom and grow. I’ve always felt at home outside. Even as a young child, I felt embraced and, at the same time, could fly far afield. I sketched everything. Those experiences gave me my language of color, form, and shape.

In my early thirties, I was sidetracked from a library career following a traumatic car accident. I searched for alternative healing after my western doctors could not relieve my chronic pain. I met a traditional Chinese healer who treated me successfully and introduced me to his culture and heritage. This “accident” led me down a path of discovery, falling in love with the art of Sumi-e. I began studying with American Sumi-e masters Susan Frame and Susan Christie shortly after they returned from formal studies overseas in China and Japan. They had just returned from years studying with masters of Sumi-e. Sumi-e means “ink painting” and is the ancient art of East Asian brush painting. The first time I picked up a brush and watched the ink spread across the rice paper, I was mesmerized. I still am. I studied with my teachers for 10 years before breaking away to develop my own style. I still use traditional materials, bamboo brushes, Sumi-e ink, and various natural rice papers, to create my paintings. They’ve been described as “inspirational, spiritual and lyrical” abstraction.

From mountain tops to desert, deep blue skies to the mysteries of the cosmos, I’m inspired. Sometimes I sit and look. I look at the majesty of the sky, its amazing drama, its moods, shapes, and colors. Or I look at water, the shifting surface, reflecting and revealing. One minute, still and peaceful, showing me the secrets of its depths; the next, rippling with the breath of an oncoming storm when all images are swept away. I let these things be; I dwell in this presence, quietly, patiently. I breathe. It is prayer. Prayer as the absence of wanting and asking. Prayer as emptiness, prayer as silence, prayer as stillness. It’s where I’ve always felt closest to God. I receive the moment and embrace it.

John Muir wrote, “Going to the woods is going home.” My abstract landscapes take the viewer on a similar journey away, to mystical worlds where it’s possible to get lost and feel at home in the same breath. When I discovered the art of Sumi-e, where the importance is to connect spiritually to your subject, I found the language of my soul. Clients who purchase my work say they feel “something,” whether it’s beauty, thoughtfulness, or mindfulness speaking to them. One of them wrote to me recently, “It’s like looking at the sky before a storm or a mountain stream churning with energy. Your work is organic, filled with passion, spontaneity, and harmony; the balance and beauty show themselves.”

My Chinese doctor healed my body, but he also helped to heal my spirit through his introduction to all things Asian, his heritage, and his culture. I read books, explored libraries, and learned more about China and Japan’s history and philosophies. That in itself healed me. Then I fortuitously met my Sumi-e teachers, and I began formal lessons. It did take me years of study and years of practice and experimentation, but I am glad for those years of play. It gave me a style I can call my own and an outlet for my passion for observing nature in all its forms. I’m also indebted to the owner of Xanadu Gallery in Scottsdale, Jason Horejs, where my work is exhibited. He gave me valuable lessons in the “art” of the business of art. After completing his art business course, I felt more confident in myself as an artist and was confident in reaching out to galleries across the nation for representation. I’m happy to say I’m represented now in many fine galleries throughout the West and the Midwest.

I found the art form of Sumi-e late in life (in my mid-thirties). It felt very late to begin a career primarily as an artist. So when I began the classical lessons of Sumi-e, I never pressured myself to become “an artist.” I enjoyed the ink flow on the paper. It felt like I could express myself completely, soulfully, and artfully. So I let myself play, experiment and learn all the techniques of Sumi-e brush painting. After the 10 years of lessons, I needed to branch out on my own. Pushing boundaries, exploring color and ink on this exquisitely thin rice paper. I threw out sheets and sheets of paper and went through tubes and tubes of paint until I felt the “soul” of myself expressed. It was miraculous to me, and it still is. I can be going through a really bad day, but if I go out into my studio and start to paint, everything else fades away. I’ve been told that my art takes people places, makes them see and feel things differently, and often finds peace. If that’s the result of what I do, what I’m able to create, I am ecstatic.