A New Language
A New Language
When I was 10 or 12 , my grandmother gifted me the world . She didn ’ t know it . No one did . Although a bored and uninspired student , I was an avid reader with a fierce imagination . Curiosity was my middle name . So when I opened grandma ’ s gift and unrolled the poster depicting a Spanish bullfight , my brain went into full drive mode : the colorful drawing , the movement of the cape sweeping in front of the bull , the bull ’ s eyes intent on … was it the cape or the man that so captivated the bull ?
It was tantalizing . Within a few months — with that poster hanging on my closet door , visible from every angle of my small bedroom — I committed ! I had a rendezvous with Spain ! And the world ! A decade later , I arrived in Madrid .
This was not a time for women to travel alone . Women had just earned the “ privilege ” of credit cards in their own name . Our heroes were Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan . Travel alone to Europe ? Either I didn ’ t recognize the breach of societal expectations , or I ignored it . I lived in Madrid for three years , became fluent in Spanish , and identified my purpose . European life re-triggered my latent interest in art , and I became a regular at all the museums , learning endlessly and subconsciously about color , line , values , texture , and composition . I began to collect a visual memory file of images . But I didn ’ t draw or paint . That would come years later , after my career as a professor of Spanish . That image file , however , stayed with me and grew exponentially , eventually becoming the inspiration for my art practice .
Title page image : KARI BELL , Tenacity , cold wax , oil , on cradled panel , 18 x 18 x 2 inches , 2023