Hey there, thanks for being here. I'm Holly, and I've been creating art in one way or another since I was a kid. For a long time, I thought that "being an artist" wasn't a practical path, so I went to school for graphic design and spent 13 years working in the field. It was a great creative outlet, but it didn't quite feel like my true calling.
That all changed one evening in 2019. A friend invited me to a live painting event at a festival in my hometown of Ypsilanti. I decided to give it a shot, even though I hadn't seriously painted since I was a teenager. That night, I created a piece called "Hive Mind". I didn't know it at the time, but that one evening sparked a renewed passion for art and for building community through creativity. It was the spark I needed to start taking my art seriously.
For the first couple of years, I focused on creating skeleton paintings because I felt they were open to interpretation by the viewer, and my background in marketing made me focus on what would sell. But in late 2020, I began working with an art therapist, and everything shifted. That was the catalyst I needed to start creating art for me, not just for others.
Through my art therapy journey, a character named Ivy was born. Initially, she was the personification of my own inner critic—a villain I could give a face to. But over time, she evolved. She shed the role of antagonist and became a conduit for my experiences and emotions. Now, she helps me translate my complex feelings into visual stories, and creating her has become an essential part of my own self-care and artistic journey.
The visual world I create often feels like it's pulled straight from the cover of a vintage pulp novel. I’m drawn to the drama and intricate narratives of those old mystery stories, and I adapt them to feature the strong female characters I love to paint. You might notice that Ivy, often depicted in a trench coat, has even been playfully dubbed "post-apocalyptic Nancy Drew" by some who've seen her at art fairs.
I find a particular comfort in painting these nocturnal and eerie scenes; it’s where my hand feels most at home. And when it comes to color, I have a distinct red and green palette, sometimes accented with yellow and blue. Someone once told me the combination looked like a "fever dream," and that really resonated with me. I hope these colors invite you to step into the scene and find your own deeper meaning within the subject matter.
The inspiration for my work is deeply rooted in life experiences, transforming challenges into visual narratives. There's usually an emotional catalyst, whether it's processing personal growth, navigating difficult topics like grief and death, or embarking on a journey of sobriety.
In 2021, I made the official decision that alcohol was no longer serving me, a concept that has often appeared in my work, such as in "Last Call" or "Absente."
Notably, my mother's tragic death in December of 2024 also drew me to the canvas, allowing me to honor her and mourn visually. Art has become a vital tool, enabling me to process intense emotions in a healthy way, rather than resorting to destructive coping mechanisms. It has also helped me cultivate a community around shared experiences of grief and loss.
I often use symbolism to infuse nuanced themes of grief and recovery into my pieces. For instance, cardinals frequently appear in my work as a powerful symbol of loved ones visiting from the afterlife, a belief my mother shared with me before she passed. Nocturnal animals also hold a special place in my art; their adaptability and quiet strength resonate with my own "nocturnal" nature. They embody the mystery and introspection that perfectly complements the atmospheres I aim to create.
While I begin each piece with my own personal narrative, I intentionally leave most of my work open to interpretation. The beauty of this journey lies in seeing how others connect with the art in their own unique ways, leading to incredibly moving interactions and moments of human connection.
