11 x 14 in, Analog Paper Collage on Arches Paper
My name is Aarian, I am nine years old. This is my very first collage. The Mayans from Guatemala and Mexico are in my heritage because my mother is Mexican and my father is from India. The giant Mayan sculpture head is ancient beauty in stone carved hundreds of years before the conquistadors from Spain arrived. I have memories of road trips, sitting on sarapes and weavings at the beach and eating fresh fruit and ceviche. I have my favorite colcha that I call the "colores colcha", the sombrero represents my grandfather, the orchids the south of Mexico. The monkey represents me, learning technology.
25”x29”, Multimedia
A few months ago, my father gifted his childhood chairs to my daughters, and I was elated to renovate them for their new apartment. I have no memory of my grandmother who recovered the chairs in the 50’s, but I do remember my grandfather. His smile was infectious and his eyes danced! As I pried the tacks off the back of a chair, I noticed the chair was held together with a rice cereal box from around 1953. My dad would have been 3 years old. I imagined my dad as a child sitting in the tidy little white house with plush carpet-like grass where my grandfather lived. I envisioned my dad’s childlike feet dangling from the chair sharing a bowl of rice cereal with his mom, dad, and brothers. Such a simple act of modernizing a chair filled me with lasting memories once shared and those to come.
26" h x 9" w x 5" d, Welded Steel Sculpture
The Old Route 66 Highway runs through Amarillo, TX where I was born and raised. By the time I was born, an interstate cut through the middle of town, leaving Rt. 66 on the edge of the old part of town. Referred to as Amarillo Boulevard, there were still motels, restaurants, shopping centers, displaying signage that was often large, eclectic, heavy, and individualized, therefore having an identity. When I was growing up many of these signs showed the effects of neglect and dis-repair. As an individual, I have always been attracted to the potential uniqueness of these signs but as an artist I am attracted to the design aspect they have to offer as well as the patinas their once pristine paintjobs have developed from years of being exposed to the elements. This sculpture is a result from years of observing and thinking about this influence and relates to the word “Memento” because it is based on references from the past.
22" h x 9" w x 5" d, Welded Steel Sculpture
The Old Route 66 Highway runs through Amarillo, TX where I was born and raised. By the time I was born, an interstate cut through the middle of town, leaving Rt. 66 on the edge of the old part of town. Referred to as Amarillo Boulevard, there were still motels, restaurants, shopping centers, displaying signage that was often large, eclectic, heavy, and individualized, therefore having an identity. When I was growing up many of these signs showed the effects of neglect and dis-repair. As an individual, I have always been attracted to the potential uniqueness of these signs but as an artist I am attracted to the design aspect they have to offer as well as the patinas their once pristine paintjobs have developed from years of being exposed to the elements. This sculpture is a result from years of observing and thinking about this influence and relates to the word “Memento” because it is based on references from the past.
24" X 28", mixed media collage
Not all mementos can be held in the hand. A souvenir of life can be the wisp of a memory set loose by a touch, a smell, or a random object of daily living. Such mementos fill my life, most trace back to my father, Dwight Wilkinson. Although I have possessions once belonging to my late father, what remains of him in my life are the intangibles. Were it not for his enthusiasm and encouragement of my talents in art, maybe I wouldn’t be where I today. He was responsible for the art lessons, music lessons, and bedtime stories that shaped my life. He could turn any part of daily life into a science lesson; the relationship of acid and base, starch to sugar, a stinking drop of swamp water teaming with life under a microscope. What cannot be held in my hand is held in my heart. All the souvenirs displayed here have meaning to my memories of him. The glue mâché figures represent the fun, creative, and silly side of life Dad passed on to me. Dwight Wilkinson would enjoy standing in front of this latest creation of mine and walking down memory lane.
21"x11"x11", Latex on wood
When I was a teen, my friends and I liked to float the river on inner tubes. One day we came upon some falls with a 4-5 foot drop. The force pushed me under a fallen tree. With the tree across my mid section, the powerful current wrapped me around the trunk like the letter “U”, with my arms and legs flailing toward the surface. With presence of mind, I brought my arms down to the tree, pushed off and popped up to the surface. This piece is a reminder of that event and how it could have had a different ending. It embodies the elements involved; The river (base), the tree, the inner tube and me, as the memories of that day are often revisited.
14.25" x 17.25", mod podge and paper
Growing up, I would get paper dolls as gifts. Their flat personas never resonated with me. I loved fishing and boating. I would spend long hours exploring the swamp with my dog. My family pushed dolls every holiday and birthday. I destroyed A LOT of dolls in "accidents" through my childhood. I've learned as a parent we sometimes mourn a child we made up in our minds; all the while, a living, breathing child can be a complete stranger in our home. I have often felt like a paper doll. Not being seen as a three dimensional person. Dressed as what people want to make me. Sometimes I look around and see a lot of paper dolls trying to fit in as well.
35" x 15", Alpaca fiber and cotton weft
When I was little, I would go with my mom to visit my great-Grandma Goldie. She still used an ice chest and had ice delivered. She slept on an old rope bed that had been in our family five generations (seven counting mine). And she would meet with her friends to do looming. They would share clothing scraps and bits of materials. Grandma Goldie made throw rugs out of plastic bread bags for the mud room back door. She would keep sheets for softer nicer rugs throughout the house. She was always thinking of new rug ideas. She passed in 1979. Her loom sits in my kitchen along with the ice chest. Working the shuttle, I wonder how many more generations will enjoy this piece of family history.
21 1/2X24 1/2, Stained Glass
When I was a toddler, my birth mother left me, my infant brother and my father. Not long after, he loaded us up in the car for a cross-country trip to his mother’s house. Everything was changing, and I didn’t know how to process it. We would stay at motels along the way, one of them being a little cabin. As we sat there a strange smell wafted through the screen door. When I asked what the new smell was, my dad told me it was a skunk. I remember it like it was yesterday. Just a few short years later, he married my forever mom and my new sister also liked that smell. To this day, when I smell a skunk, I smile. I still love that smell and I feel warm inside thinking about the joy of getting a sister, and how much I love my late father.
24" x 24"; Acrylic Mixed Media
A memento is typically thought of as a tangible keepsake that reminds us of past events. This remembrance brings a sea of images, sensory impressions, and echoes of past feelings. This painting is my memento, a visual diary of a turbulent journey through my husband’s diagnosis of a rare cancer. It reflects uncertainty, brain fog, exhaustion, and being tossed about in waves of unfathomable surgeries, treatments and eventual death. The title, “The Parting,” tells the story of losing a husband, father, and inconceivable things like school, church and friend groups. Like the “parting of the Red Sea,” it also speaks to miracles in the form of extended childcare, meals, and payment for my out-of-state hotel bills. Both the losses and the miracles bring an eye-opening clarity to friendships, and it’s something that will always be remembered.
5x7; Digital Image
This old cup and that old desk used to belong to Dad. After his passing and me becoming a father myself in 2016, both have been past on to me. He used to sit at that old desk and hear any new news of my college life while he drank his coffee. Now, I drink my coffee from that very same cup, while I edit photos at that desk listening to the creative ideas of my daughter. This is where you earn the badge of Dad, not just Father.
5x7; Digital Image
There were a lot of things that were hard to explain about what was going on in 2020 concerning the covid virus, but explaining to a four year old was one of the hardest things a parent can ever have to do that year. As stressed out as that pandemic made me, I always felt it was my job as a photographer to document how my family dealt with the stress of that year.
26x20, photography-canvas
This picture was taken on Thanksgiving Day 2020. "Moody Blues" will always serve as a memento for me of the Winter of 2020 and the end of the first year of a global pandemic. A group of four of us set out to explore Wichita Mountain's Wildlife Refuge and drove up to the summit of Mt. Scott to start. This tree caught my eye, so I grabbed a quick shot after a couple of group selfies and just before we drove back down. What we couldn't know at the time was our group of four would all lose a family member to the virus just days and weeks after this trip. Two would lose a parent two would lose an aunt and an uncle. You see, we were two sets of cousins out on this holiday. So the losses were a shared experience, like the trip, something to remember.
11 x 14, watercolor on paper
In a town, there are personal memories and collective memories that create a sense of belonging and identity. These memories connect individuals to their town's history, values, and heritage, fostering pride and unity. Collective memories evolve over time, adding layers to the town's historical tapestry and shaping the community's understanding of the past and present. Consider this school in Wichita Falls, constructed in 1922. While I attended a rival high school, my grandparents and mom went to this school. I have special memories of being in this building for band and choir concerts. Although it will no longer be used the same way due to new high schools being built, it remains a part of Wichita Falls' history—a reminder that I too am woven into the town's tapestry. This is an example of collective memory and personal memory being connected.
11 x 14, watercolor on paper
In 1998, right after finishing high school, I set off on a memorable trip to Europe. My classmates and I explored four different countries. During our journey, I made it a point to find unique souvenirs in each place. In Paris, I purchased perfume, and to this day, I still have the bottles. They hold a special significance for me, serving as a reminder of that remarkable trip filled with wonderful people, delicious food, and a sense of carefree adventure. Even if I were to revisit those exact locations today, both myself and the world around me have changed. However, these perfume bottles transport me back in time, connecting me to those cherished moments and evoking the excitement I experienced back then.
16"×20" acrylic paint, feathers, butterfly wings.
Which is heavier, a ton of feathers or a ton of bricks?
Bricks. Bricks have mass.
Like when I woke from a colonoscopy to hear the heavy words, "a cancerous mass."
I was 38.
A wife, daughter, mother of two young boys.
When I found out the news, I was wearing a shirt with the first scripture I memorized. Psalm 91:4; "He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall find refuge."
I almost died many times that year: from cancer, a rare disease, complications from surgeries, viruses picked up when my immunity was "don't leave your house" level low.
I prayed Psalm 91:4 over every treatment. Call me insane, but I kept finding feathers, birds, butterflies when I'd go in for treatment.
I've been cancer free for four years, with yearly follow-ups for life.
I keep finding feathers. My mementos. My talisman.
24 inch round, Acrylic paint
I remember when my husband bought me my first porcelain Geisha. I ended up with a whole collection when he was done. Opening the box and immediately seeing the delicate features of her face and hands, to the intricate detail of the kimono she was wearing. The artistry of it was amazing. They came to be the most beautiful dolls I had ever owned. Over the years I've come to love them more, and cherish the memory of each one. As I look at them now, I remember his gift of love to me. And the enjoyment he got just watching me unbox each one. He always tried to make my home and life beautiful in every way. All Geisha dolls hold the memory of the very first time I saw each of them. Acts of love come in many different forms. We should treasure each one.
H:30xW:30xD:4, Mixed Media
This artwork displays my diagnosis of Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, which affects me everyday. This piece represents the daily struggles that come along with an autoimmune disease. Layers of vellum represent the pills that keep my body functioning. The organic shapes are representative of brain fog, exhaustion and memory issues. The dead frosty flowers personify a thyroid that does not fully function. The lights can be turned off and on displaying how my thyroid is never consistent. I was told that I have had this condition for my entire life. I constantly think about what would be different had I known or been treated earlier. How changing one thing in your life could completely take you on a different path. Would I have chosen the same life? How could my life have been different? Would I change it? I do not think I would.
36x24, Paper on Panel
Quilts tell stories. They depict times and places, the lives of the people who make them, and capture slices of life. Everyone has a quilt that has been given to them. These blankets hold the memory of the family member that gifted them to you. My Great Grandmother was an avid quilt maker. These quilts were a mix of old clothing and scrap fabric. Every time I look at these quilts, they are a reminder of her. In memory of Granny Gee, I crafted a quilt of paper. Every piece of paper was handmade by me from recycled paper, just as she used recycled fabrics. Inlaid flowers mimic the floral patterns my grandmother incorporated into her quilts. This quilt is a visual representation of my grandmother's warmth and love.
9x12, mixed media with collage
Last spring I was graciously invited to exhibit my art at the Forum in Wichita Falls. With lots of support and helping hands, the “Opening Artist Reception” turned out perfectly. By the end of the evening, the food and wine were consumed, however I had lots of pretty paper napkins left over to take home. About a year later, inspired by the “Memento” theme, I started to create a couple of mixed media pieces using ink, paint and the reception napkins. I had no real direction or plan, I just started. This is pretty typical of the way I work. I kind of allow the art to reveal itself to me, and let the story unfold organically. This piece ultimately is about the people who come together to inspire, encourage, nurture, organize, and support the artists of the community.
9x12, mixed media with collage
Last spring I was graciously invited to exhibit my art at the Forum in Wichita Falls. With lots of support and helping hands, the “Opening Artist Reception” turned out perfectly. By the end of the evening, the food and wine were consumed, however I had lots of pretty paper napkins left over to take home. About a year later, inspired by the “Memento” theme, I started to create a couple of mixed media pieces using ink, paint and the reception napkins. I had no real direction or plan, I just started. This is pretty typical of the way I work. I kind of allow the art to reveal itself to me, and let the story unfold organically. This piece ultimately is about the people who come together to inspire, encourage, nurture, organize, and support the artists of the community.
14x 8x 8, Assemblage Art
Growing up in a large Irish Catholic family, I was the seventh child among eight siblings, and money was tight. My sewing class required me to have a sewing kit. Reluctant to burden my parents, I approached my teacher and explained my situation, assuring her that I would obtain the kit soon through babysitting earnings. She then stated out loud, “What’s wrong…are there too many kiddos in the family.” In that instant, my world crumbled. Embarrassment, humiliation, and shame crashed over me like relentless ocean waves, as I silently endured, arms crossed, gaze fixed forward. It took me years to learn we are not defined by someone else’s words, and our worth goes far beyond any financial constraints or family size. I believe that people who are hurt often end up hurting others, and I genuinely hope she found healing from her pain.
34" x 28", Mixed Media
In 1971, I was nine, my mom was a single parent, she worked twenty miles from home. She left an hour before I got up. That summer, she gave me a blue key, on a string to wear around my neck, I was a Latchkey kid! During the next two years, I got myself up, made breakfast and lunch, picked out my clothes, locked the house, then rode my bike to school. After school, I rode home and let myself in. At home I heated food on the stove, cooked TV dinners in the oven, fed my dog, and did homework, all on my own. I watched whatever I wanted on TV. I felt grown up! Somedays It was lonely, but I learned lessons of self-reliance that helped me become a stronger, more mature person. My blue key unlocked my house, my independence and changed my life.
12" diameter, Water Colour/ Mini Diorama
When I was a little girl, my family lived in the country where my sister and I could run and play freely. On my third birthday, my parents got me a little red wagon. I loved my wagon so much! I pulled it around, filled with my favorite toys, I even took naps in it out in our front yard. My wagon became a part of so many memories from my earliest years, it was always with me. I never would have dreamed that before my fourth birthday, my parents, after 17 years married, would divorce. My mother, my sister, my wagon, and I would move to a house of our own, without my dad. I have kept this wagon for 58 years; I have always loved it and it was the last gift my parents ever gave me together.
24"H x 36"W, Acrylics, organic material, pigmented images, on canvas
It was early in the morning, around 0700 hours (seven A.M). I am at Tan Son Nhut Air Base, Saigon, South Vietnam, on 29 April 1975. During the night, combat raged on the perimeter of the base. At daylight, air support is requested. Two attack aircraft, and one gunship aircraft, taxi out and takeoff. Over the combat zone, they attack the enemy. Suddenly, the gunship is hit by a shoulder-fired missile. The aircraft momentarily hangs in the air, frozen, floating in the sky. Then, it slowly cartwheels over and tumbles down. I am transfixed, as the gunship crashes, explodes, and a large smoke cloud rises into the sky. My images are a graphic Memento of the grim human cost of war. The gunship belonged to the South Vietnamese Air Force. The enemy were the North Vietnamese Communist Army. South Vietnam fell to the Communists on 30 April 1975. Their selfless sacrifice is indelibly etched in my memory and haunts my nightmares. Every April, I am still there.
16"x20", Color Pencil on Black Conservation Board
Mementos are things that hold importance to someone, whether that be a good memory or not. Mine is a drawing of debris from a house fire I was in when I was twelve. For me it is a memento about conquering fear and growing. It is about remembering to look for the beauty in life, everywhere, even the in the dark. So even though this was one of the darkest days in my life I found beauty in it because it shaped me into the person I am today. Most people hold on to their mementos to remember the good times, but for me it is to remember that even though I lost everything, I lived.
33 x 15 x 7 inches, mixed media
Our treasured mementos are amassed over decades. At the time of their purchase, we are drawn to their beauty and/or usefulness in our lives. Parting with our keepsakes is a difficult task as we embrace the memories they evoke. This piece honours those mementos that are a little bit of our soul. Memories are given a new purpose when they are collectively adhered to a hanging body form Each found item contains personal meaning and their usefulness and beauty lives on. Mon Ame is a 3D hanging sculpture.
16.25" x 8.5" x 1", acrylic, water-soluble wax pastels on a wooden box
My grandparents, Gib and Sybil, had different personalities. Grandpa was ornery as maybe you can tell from the twinkle in his eye. Grandma was more subdued, which is why I like this image of her so much. She was not a fan of the photo I took and would probably not like that I drew it. However, she was fun and loving and I like that I got to see this side of her. I started painting keepsake boxes in 2020. They’re a tangible way to encapsulate those I love with what I do and keep them close forever.
8" x 8.5" x 2", acrylic, water-soluble wax pastels on a wooden box
Meet Gus, my beloved snuggle buddy. I had a few lap dogs over the years, but Gus was the best at cuddling. About the only thing that could pull him away was if someone else was eating cheese. He loved people and was super sweet to everyone, but my lap was his favorite. When he died in 2016, he took a piece of me with him. I had always wanted to paint this photo of him in my lap. It took a few years after his death before I could bring myself to do it. I decided drawing him on a keepsake box would perfectly express how much he meant to me. Mr. Gus… gone, but not forgotten.
22.75" x 18.75" (including framing), Acrylic on panel
To me, memories are much more than just a moment when we pause, look back and smile. As an artist, I feel obligated to preserve memories the best way I know how- to recreate them as art that will hopefully live longer than a photo stuffed away in a shoebox. This past April, I lost my Grandmother. The reference photo I used for this piece was one of her photos that was left to collect dust. Although the memory itself is still alive to me, I knew this is one I needed to preserve for future generations. As I was recreating this memory in paint, layer by layer, I found that my process became a symbolic reflection of how my memories of my grandmother are stored in my mind, and I began to revisit each one, allowing me to spend time with her in the only way I can now.
13x13, Assemblage
This assemblage piece is a memento of the popular hairstyle I wore as a teenager in the 60's and the uncomfortable tools and products used to gain as much hair height as possible.
The process started with mesh and wire rollers that were imbedded with bristles that scratched the scalp, along with the poking stick pins to hold the rollers in place. Multiple bobby pins were used to hold bangs in place. And did I mention I slept in these?!
Morning started with the teasing(back-combing) process of every hair strand. Next came the rat-tail comb to coerce the teased mess into submission.
Lastly was making the hairdo unmovable with multiple layers of eye watering Aqua Net hairspray.
Was the pain worth the gain? Absolutely!! This 60's teen thought she looked amazing!
11"x14", Mixed media
They say the good guys ride in wearing a white hat. For as long as I could remember, my Dad’s hat of choice was a white painters’ hat. It was chosen for its practicality, white reflected the sun and cotton allowed it to breathe. I have many childhood memories of my Dad working a field, tending animals, or fixing what needed fixing in his white hat. Whether at the farm or in a crowd, he was always easy to spot. Through the years, he wore many out. Mom bought them in bulk until they were discontinued. Then, much like my Dad who could seemingly fix anything, she went about mending the holes herself. The hat always hung on the back porch, and now it hangs in my memory. To me, the man in the hat represented the best of a fading generation. Certainly, one of the good guys.
16x20 oil painting on canvas
This is a painting of my daughter lying on a lounge chair reading a magazine. This painting expresses my feelings about something that happened April 20, 2010 here in Wichita Falls, Texas. On that day, a lone shooter entered her workplace, injured four people and later entered another workplace injuring another person who was not able to survive his injuries. The significance of this painting is that my daughter lost use of her right hand and ultimately her thumb. When I first painted it, I left the thumb off as this was a harsh reminder of that awful day, I ultimately decided to add her thumb to the painting. My daughter is not bothered at all about her loss. However, it still is a harsh reminder. This was one day that will forever be remembered by me and my family.
16Wx14H, Mixed Media Acrylic
As I pondered over "Memento," my grandmother's memorial service also drew near. I realized I have no precious belongings or keepsakes of hers, and this thought saddened me as I knew generational poverty was to blame. Before I had even fully completed that train of thought though, I heard Mema's beautiful singing-- it was our song, the one she spent hours teaching me-- "Coat of Many Colors." The powerful lyrics rocked me as I recalled all the ways she has impacted me with her caring heart and boundless optimism. Ever encouraging of my imagination, she would even let me cut apart her magazines for dress-up dolls. This, along with a bucket of fabric scraps, inspired my technique. Through our song, I am reminded that I don't need a valuable memento to cherish her memory because she instilled lessons of love in me... and that's "worth more than all their clothes."
32x36x3, mixed media
When I was a boy, in that red and yellow cape, I thought I could fly.
A car crash and Superman at 18 years old. A truck broadsided me with the power of a locomotive. My Superman keychain with me while I struggled to stay alive.
The Honda took the hit but something else kept death from taking me. Was it the keychain? Were its powers absorbing the hit, holding the impact for me to survive?
Weeks later, my parents rescued the keychain off the mangled dashboard. The Superman shield remains on my keychain.
A reminder of my second chance on borrowed time with miles to go.
17.5 x 21 framed
My father, Byron, was a lawyer and a judge so words were always very important to him. He was also very witty and fun. After his passing, I worked with my siblings to come up with some "Byronisms" and put them in an art piece for my family to enjoy. We laugh as we go through his quotes and the funny things that he said over a lifetime. What I hold dear as a memento from my father are his words.
16"x16", Clay and resin
This piece is a love letter to the imagination that colored my childhood. Every stick became a shining sword to vanquish backyard dragons. The city pool churned with sea monsters guarding sunken jewels. As I get older, one of my greatest joys has been watching the same thrill of creation in my own children. They remind me every day to look for the extraordinary in the everyday, and to never miss an opportunity to make your own treasure.
Conosco I Miei Polli is an Italian idiom meaning I know my chickens. The chicken is based on a design by Fortunato Depero from the Futurism movement of the early 1900s, which was marked by hatred for anything realistically represented. This idiom provides a glimpse into a language and culture and triggers a personal connection to my time viewing Ercolano and the chickens that we saw there.
18x24", Acrylic (Recycled, Metallic)
Our friendship stemmed from Kim always encouraging me to reach higher and explore more, and this work depicts memories when Kim showed me how to live differently, apart from her undying encouragement to share my art with the world. The work depicts an art style Kim would’ve identified as my “style” while she was still alive. We hiked the treacherous and infamous Haiku Stairs and the difficult Koko Head (top and middle). At the bottom commemorates the last time we had hung out together, overlooking the crashing waves in the Spitting Caves of East Oahu.