Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to David Michael Slonim. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

David Michael , looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Can you open up about a risk you’ve taken – what it was like taking that risk, why you took the risk and how it turned out?

Painting is risk-taking.  It’s not about communicating a pre-conceived idea; it’s a process of discovery. Discovery requires experimentation, which requires risk. This means failure has to not only be a possibility, it must happen regularly, if there are to be genuine discoveries.

So every painting is a risk. There are many sketches, studies, and false starts that never see the light of day. Each successful painting represents a tiny fraction of the work I produce.

Choosing to paint for a living requires a high-risk tolerance, since you never know where the next check is coming from, when it’s coming, and how much it will be. I’m so grateful that my wife Bonnie has been willing to live this life of uncertainty, willing to ride the roller coaster with me.

How do you know if you would do well with so much income volatility? 

All along my career path I have sought advice from older, wiser people in the art world and also outside of it. The book of Proverbs says, “There is safety in a multitude of counselors.” I would advise anyone considering making art for a living to get counsel from multiple sources—people who know the market you want to be in, and people who know you personally; your strengths and weaknesses.

I took the risk because of the alignment of my desire, my talent (confirmed by others in the market), my temperament, my opportunities, and my wife’s whole-hearted support.

David Michael , love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

“I’m a painter who fell in love with oil paint, and then fell in love with the abstract shapes under every beautiful painting. My paintings used represent the fields, barns, cows, and trees of my Midwestern surroundings, but once I realized that it’s the abstract design that gives an image its emotive power, I was freed to pursue complete abstraction.

I never know what a painting is about until it is finished, and often, even then, it can’t be expressed in words. In this way abstract painting works very much like music.

In the studio there is a moment when the painting begins to “breathe,” when I feel my blood pressure drop and there’s a sudden sense of quiet. That feeling is always a bit of a shock. Often it feels like I’m watching it happen, as if the work is painting itself.

I’ve heard artists of all types acknowledge the unexpected resolution as part of their creative process. As Robert Frost put it, “No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.”

When a painting connects emotionally with a viewer, it’s a gift. But it’s a gift the artist received first, alone in the studio. Sharing that feeling with others is the reason I paint.

Can you share a story from your journey that illustrates your resilience?

People say you have to paint every day. Well sure, yes, if you have the health and strength and life doesn’t have you in a headlock.

But when you are hindered, hobbled, and backed into a corner, then what? Matisse, from his hospital bed, created his cut-paper collages. Monet, going blind from cataracts, painted his water lilies. Art breaks through somehow, against the odds. We do what we can, when we can, then wait until we can do it again.

In early 2019, chronic, debilitating health issues reduced me to simply placing one color next to another. I painted not because I wanted to make “paintings,” but because I wanted to reconnect with the simple pleasure of color and the smell of linseed oil. And I wanted to see if I could pray in color.

Afterward, as I looked at the little oil studies taped to the kitchen wall, I sensed an inner door unlocking.

If you feel hindered in your art-making, take courage; you are not alone.

Remember art is a matter of the soul. The body and mind may or may not cooperate. But you can create even if it’s only in your mind and heart for now. And if all you can do is put pencil to paper for a minute or two at a time, how do you know that isn’t enough?

How about pivoting – can you share the story of a time you’ve had to pivot?

My elderly parents moved in with me and my wife five days before Christmas, in December 2020, for support during Dad’s time on hospice care. I’m sharing this because painting is fed by life as we live it. Nothing is wasted.

Every constraint, every “interruption” that seems to be keeping an artist from working is quietly enriching the soul, deepening the reservoir artwork springs from. If you have to pivot away from your art-making in order to care for a loved one, nothing is lost; just the opposite.

Dad’s last gift to me was allowing me and my wife to care for him (and Mom) in our home during his final six months. He didn’t complain, he didn’t make any of it feel awkward. We just did the next necessary thing. There was laughter and teasing, there were frightening falls in the night. We sang “Fly Me To the Moon” at 3 in the morning. He let me feed him and shave him. We quoted Psalm 23 together. I painted less during those 7 months.

Dad’s has been gone since July of ’21, but I can still picture him as a young man sprinting back and forth across a field trying to get a colorful box kite airborne. Eventually the kite lifts, he lets out the string carefully, then comes over and hands the spool to his 8 yr. old son–so I can fly my kite.

That’s fatherhood in a nutshell: Busting your tail to give something of value to your kids.

My strong, athletic, kind, funny, intelligent father who had given me everything he was able to give over a lifetime, faded away slowly until all he had left to hand over to me was his trust.

With that kite all those years ago, without knowing it, he connected for me color, light and love. Those colors show up in my paintings now, many decades later. I had the privilege of caring for my mother and father in their time of greatest need; the parents who had invested so much in me, making it possible for me to be a professional artist. It was one of the sweetest chapters and among the greatest privileges of my life. My paintings are richer for it.

“I think one’s art goes only as far and as deep as one’s love.” – Andrew Wyeth

Contact Info:

• Website: davidmichaelslonim.com
• Instagram: davidmichaelslonim1
• Linkedin: David Michael Slonim
• Twitter: @slonimart
• Other: bdgartboutique.com bonnerdavid.com altamiraart.com theartsol.com

Image Credits
C. David Michael Slonim 2024