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

Lauren Amalia, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. We’d love to hear about a project that you’ve worked on that’s meant a lot to you.

Well into my second trimester of pregnancy, I was asked by a gallery I’ve long admired (Method & Concept in Naples, Florida) to create the largest drawing I’ve ever made, clocking in at 12 feet tall by 5 feet wide. I completed it a few weeks into my third trimester, with the help of a hoist system that my husband rigged me so that I could remain stationary, seated, and safe while drawing. Even with the hoist, I consider it a physical feat, as its size and logistics still required quite a bit of dexterity for someone so pregnant.

I intended the drawing to serve as a pregnancy self-portrait, too. I was captivated by the idea of dualities: how one entity carries another, unconditionally accepting the sacrifice and stamina needed to launch its vulnerable counterpart into vast and heroic futures, bracing itself to absorb the impact of its tinier traveler charging into the unknown. It’s all representative of my strengthening thoughts, instincts, and hormones as I approach the final weeks of my pregnancy. I had had the two components of the drawing–the Boeing 747 transporting the space shuttle Endeavour, the equestrian Joan of Arc sculpture by Anna Hyatt Huntington in Manhattan’s Riverside Park–bouncing around in my head for months, and the suggestion of a vertical composition suddenly made their integration visually and pragmatically possible. Two components of two seemed especially poignant as well as necessary, its autobiographical symbolism so meaningful to me that I wanted to square it for emphasis.

Lauren Amalia, 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’d always been that kid who was drawing in school, but never considered it seriously; as the child of an immigrant and a strong student, something like law seemed a better and more stable fit. But I got to college, got into a painting class as an elective, and then I found myself smitten. Visual art was, all at once, the most organic yet challenging pursuit I could study, so I matriculated as an art major.

Since then, I got a Master’s of Fine Arts degree, worked some very non-glamorous jobs to pay rent in NYC, worked some very fascinating jobs to pay rent in NYC, and then relocated to Florida with my sculptor husband to run our own studio. We established our studio primarily to teach privately and act as a hub for visual arts, and, for a while, teaching was a substantial revenue stream for us, but Covid killed that. Now our studio acts as an umbrella moniker for all our varied creative pursuits: his freelance art handling, my freelance arts writing, exhibiting our work in galleries, and a few other revenue streams sprinkled within. It is fulfilling and flexible, but the flip side–which very few people realize–is that we’re entirely responsible for bringing in our own income and setting our own deadlines. Sure, there’s freedom there, but there’s also a daunting amount of responsibility and self-discipline.

Neither my husband nor myself come from wealthy families, so bills are paid and taken care of on our own, as they’ve always had to be. (That’s not to diminish the love and support we do get in spades from our families, however.) While our backgrounds are totally normal, it doesn’t always feel that way in the art world. Many still avoid mentioning the elephant in the room: the lack of socioeconomic diversity amongst those who pursue creative careers. I worry that that avoidance is detrimental to those determined enough to pursue the arts without trust funds or partners with well-paying jobs; people are so preoccupied trying to hide their privileged upbringings that not enough energy is spent commending those who, without safety nets or their parents’ assets, undertake substantial risk to try and make it on their own in a very demanding, competitive field.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative?

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative?
Despite what I just spoke about when it comes to the art world’s lack of socioeconomic diversity, it’s NOT just all about money. (I hope I don’t seem hypocritical here; please hear me out.) What I’ve noticed amongst non-creatives is that they either don’t believe me, or refuse to believe me, when I try to explain that I never doubt why I do what I do, and I never consider doing anything else. I think a lot of people assume that I’m exaggerating, but to never doubt your purpose–to not only have a job, but a vocation–grounds yourself and your identity in a way that’s reassuring and unconditional. Sure, the late-night existential crisis can throw you for a loop, but overall, to have a life where you never want to clock out of your job, because your job isn’t just your life but your true life, your calling, however you call it, is a very rich life even when the invoices feel a bit too scant and unpredictable for comfort.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

Oh, yes. I had to stop pursuing every opportunity or invitation that came my way. While I was and always am grateful that others wish to include me in their pursuits, whether it’s to exhibit my work in a group show or become part of an artist collective, it is not a positive thing to spread yourself and your resources too thin. This is for three reasons.

One, I realized that you have to preserve your bandwidth for yourself (pregnancy made me extremely aware of this) and a good, tightly-knit group of friends. These friends usually end up being your professional network anyway, and if they’re truly your friends, they’ll encourage and allow you to preserve your bandwidth for yourself, too.

Two, quality over quantity. This doesn’t just refer to the amount and caliber of people you surround yourself with, as mentioned above, but also refers to your professional reputation. You’re guilty–or, conversely, elevated–by association. Better to work with a few, select entities that are very strong, supportive, and highly-respected than some disheveled local group whose lower standards or lack of organization drags you down. I’m still very early on in my career, but I can already sense the long-term benefits of this.

Three, it goes back to preserving your bandwidth for yourself. And again, I feel this all too acutely right now as I’m about to have my first child. So many of us as women are conditioned to prioritize ourselves last, and it’s only just now, pregnant and about to turn 36, that I’m understanding how my own ideas were so backwards. If I don’t take care of myself, I can’t take care of my family, and I can’t take care of my own career. And, this is the toughest: I don’t owe anyone an explanation or apology as to how or why I need to take care of myself.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.laurenredding.com
• Instagram: @lauren.amalia
• Other: Medium: @lauren-amalia-redding

Image Credits
Lauren Amalia Redding/H&R Studio, LLC