We recently connected with Maggie Featherstone and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Maggie, thanks for joining us today. We’d love to hear the backstory behind a risk you’ve taken – whether big or small, walk us through what it was like and how it ultimately turned out.
In 2015 I moved to New York from a population 300 town in Northern California. I didn’t know it then, but I was about to get reshaped on a molecular level. New York shattered everything I thought I knew about the world and rebuilt it, a chaotic but striking mosaic. I was raised incredibly conservative and went to a very niche church that still upheld puritanical values…think, from the 1600s. Honestly my body moved across the country to save my soul. Being here has upended what I thought was safe and replaced that insulated reality with one that was terrifying, but deeply connected to the truth of the world around me. It is here that I found my agency, my voice, and now, my life partner. Nothing turned out like I thought it would. But it’s somehow better. Being in a city that was presented as “Sodom and Gomorrah” to me from the pulpit has, in fact, made it possible for me to have resilience and selfhood in a way I wouldn’t have anywhere else. This last spring, I was between jobs and struggling to paint in the corner of our 800-square foot apartment. I found a Craigslist ad for a studio in Gowanus and I threw my hat in the ring. In a week, it was mine. I keep thinking of Virginia Woolf when I’m there, of the necessity for women to flee society and take shelter in sacred spaces. I don’t always paint when I’m there, sometimes i just water my plants and read or cry or journal. But it doesn’t matter. The studio is mine to do what I like with. There is no prescription. Each month it’s a gamble as to whether I can afford the rent, but I keep the faith that it’s worth the risk. I keep coming back expectantly to see what the space will offer. How my body will collaborate with it. What will surface when I am quiet.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
I’m a self-taught artist. Well, self and a few rogue genes. Because my family found her non-christian beliefs dangerous, I was kept from knowing my great grandmother, but she was an extraordinarily talented painter. I’m told she found me with drug store brushes and watercolors when I was a toddler, before she was cut out of my life, and said quietly “she has it. She’s an artist already.” I only took one art class in undergrad. My professor was very supportive and pushed me to continue developing myself, but I had a lot of religious pressure and felt that becoming a teacher was more useful. All these years later, painting is the only thing that feels truly useful. It centers me. It makes sense of the world outside and inside. It communicates truths that words fall short in capturing. I’m not the most proficient oil painter, but i can’t stop wrestling with it. I made a website a little over a year ago after selling a couple of pieces on instagram and have been floored by the support and interest I’ve received. I mean that. Perhaps because I still feel so far from the stature of my ideals: Egon Schiele, Paula Modersohn-Becker, Modigliani. Now I work freelance as a copywriter to pay the bills, but spend every minute I can in the studio. I’ve done some commissions, but I also love pushing the boundaries of what I feel is “allowable” to paint. As someone who’s queerness was a sin punishable by hellfire until recently, I’ve found much joy and freedom in painting women’s bodies both individually and in relation to each other. Botany is also a big love of mine. I could paint women and plants for the rest of my life, happily. A big break for me was getting to hang my art up in Breakfast by Salt’s Cure in NY’s West Village. A lot of celebrities visit and I’ve sold quite a few pieces there. I love the owners and they even hired me to paint their bar. Not surprisingly, I chose vines and birds. I’m very interested in murals because there is a level of impermanence to them. I like to think of them living on under layers of paint and patina. I’m not precious about them. Something I’d love to do before I die is illustrate children’s books. That would really marry my love of early childhood education, which I majored in, and the wisdom of art. I am enchanted by the adults who have made great art accessible to developing minds through picture books. I owe so much to them.
Are there any resources you wish you knew about earlier in your creative journey?
Initially, I thought artist’s residencies were only for the highly successful or, at worst, that they were a way of avoiding making art in the real world. When I attended one last fall, however, I was incredibly chastened by the experience. It was how I’d always wanted church to feel: an unlikely fellowship pursuing play and curiosity together. I tend to self-isolate when I am anxious or in transitional periods of my life (i.e. all the time), but my fellow residents rallied around each other in such a way that I felt seen and safe. It revolutionized the way I conceive of the artist’s community. I cannot emphasize enough, however introverted you are, the vitalness of connection. Art making is lonely work. It can force you to doubt yourself, the validity of your medium and expression, the way you’ spend your time…having a community to reflect you back to yourself is imperative. Recently I participated in an open studio where the highlight had nothing to do with the pieces I sold to the general public. Instead, I got to meet other artist’s in the giant drafty warehouse I work in and that made me feel like part of something bigger. We exchanged information and tea, assuring each other that we weren’t alone in our little nooks with our flammable bottles and paint-spattered oversized men’s shirts. We belonged.
We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?
I’m still unlearning this: you are ready right now. You don’t need to take a class or untangle a trauma first. You don’t need the good oil pastels or the right lighting. You don’t require a certain face shape or certification. Creativity happens when you show up. Again (excuse all the religious references sneaking in), I liken it to a kind of spiritual communion. Maybe you don’t believe in god. I still struggle to. But something sacred happens when I focus more on being a conduit for something bigger than me and less on being “good” at it. I have dragged myself away from a thousand excuses not to show up and have never regretted overriding them. The slack messages, the demons of inadequacy, the high-demand despots, will all be there when you get back. When I open myself up to what’s possible on the paper or canvas in front of me, I acknowledge my first and important role: as an observer of the world with a perspective unlike anyone else’s. It helps me to love the lens of my heart, and in turn, to love others’ hearts.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.maggiefeatherstone.com/
- Instagram: @maggiefeathers
Image Credits
Photo by Casey Feehan