We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Matthew Klooster a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.
Matthew, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today Can you talk to us about how you learned to do what you do?
My relationship with art has always been like that of an old friend; we may lose track of one another from time to time, but we always seem to find each other again and pick-up where we left off. As far back as I can remember, I always had a penchant for art and creativity. As a child, I loved drawing and to this day have a large portfolio of art my mother kept from my childhood. I never really took my artistic skills very seriously until one day I came home from high school and two of my drawings from art class were framed and hanging on the wall. I think my mom saw the spark of a gift in me that I never really recognized in myself. I went on to study biology in college, never thinking twice about taking an art class, but all the while doodling and exploring pastels. It wasn’t until early adulthood that I realized that art (more specifically oil painting) might be something I pursue as a vocation.
It wasn’t until my late 20s when I participating in a two year botanical post doctoral fellowship at Harvard University that I bought my first set of oil paints. I recall painting the old Waltham watch factory along the Charles River using a lot of impasto and attempting to emulate the impressionists with my work. The piece wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t good and so I waffled for a few years in my desire to continue painting.
Fast forward half a decade to 2015, and I found myself working as a nascent professor and administrator at Centre College in KY. As a new parent and in the midst of building my career, I find myself naturally drawn back to painting again in whatever free moments I could find. Coincidentally, this desire coincided with a traumatic moment in my life. My wife was pregnant with a little boy who was diagnosed with a rare heart disease at 20 weeks. We worked with specialists in Kentucky and Massachusetts to keep the baby alive, but he passed away at the end of January 2015. Amidst the heartache, confusion, and grief I found myself drawn to elements of the KY landscape that matched my emotional state. Old dilapidated barns, broken windmills, abandoned pastures all spoke to me, sharing a solidarity in that moment of loss. One particular milk house on the outskirts of town drew my attention and fascination. In the long drives I would take through the countryside to clear my head in my moments of grief, I would often drive by the building, slowing down to admire its architecture and lament its dilapidated state. Eventually, I built up the courage to knock on the front door of the farm house and request access to the property so that I could photograph it. I then took those photos home and poured over them until one particular image stood out to me. It cut deep to my soul and, I believe, unlocked a full actualization of my artistic gift. I immediately set to work painting the dry winter landscape surrounding the barn and then set to work on painting the barn itself. The image itself would have been devoid of any hope or joy with the exception of the golden evening light kissing the western edge of the barn and blanketing the landscape in the distance. In my grief, I found hope in art. The contemplative process of creating the piece and the optimism implicit in the imagery began to heal me. I was the broken barn and desolate landscape, but was also being held in that moment, bathed in the light of grace
For all intents and purposes, my painting of “The Old Milkhouse” transformed my life. It was the start of my healing process and pathway through my grief, it unlocked in me a new and greater artistic potential, and it endowed me with that precious confidence my mother carried for me to create freely and opening. That was 8 years ago now and I have been painting consistently ever since. My art has improved dramatically over time and I’ve found my voice in a number of artistic styles from realism to abstract realism. I just find it amazing that one of the lowest points of my life was the moment of true actualization of one of my greatest gifts.
Matthew, 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?
Since I began my journey as a self-taught artist about eight years ago, I have explored a number of artistic styles. As a biologist and scientist, I think I have naturally gravitated towards realism because I carry a linear mindset towards form and function. It bothers me greatly if proportions are off or the rendering of a landscape or subject is only marginally the likeness of reality. However, I carry a tremendous respect for impressionists and abstract artists who are able to relax this need for stringent accuracy and instead harness the essence of a subject. To this end, I have recently played with digital modification of photographs I take that allow me to alter an image while capturing the essence of a subject and maintaining qualities of realism in form and function. I then take the digitally altered image and use it as my reference for oil painting, further altering the image as I create.. This new approach has allowed me to adopt a more prismatic or stained glass esthetic and has also expanded my comfort level with and capacity to explore more dynamic color usage. Ultimately, it is my goal to harness the spiritual essence of my subject while honoring it’s natural form. There is something truly majestic about how stained glass (as an art form) manipulates light, transforming the observer to an altered state of reality and awe. I try to play with light in a similar way, fracturing it as it shines through tree branches, across a field, or as it bounces off of water.
In your view, what can society to do to best support artists, creatives and a thriving creative ecosystem?
Creativity is one of the greatest assets we possess and blessing we can share with others. Over the past decade or so, there has been a growing awareness of the advantages of ‘buying local’ when it comes to many consumer products. The shear volume of locally crafted beer options now found in my supermarket speaks to this shifting trend. The environmental and community benefits of keeping commerce local are profound and this has created positive momentum for small business and economies. Unfortunately, despite this shifting mentality, the creative arts and artists continue to compete with mass production and the influence of large box-stores. The creative process takes a lot of time and, as we know time is money, so supporting local artists can often times be a much more expensive investment than purchasing something attractive that is mass produced. I often get reactions of sticker shock when folks inquire about the price of my paintings, but what is not well understood or recognized is the 10s or 100s of hours it takes to make each work and the 1000s of hours it has taken for me to hone my craft. This discrepancy in pricing between mass produced art goods and locally produces, one-of-a-kind pieces is likely to continue to be an uphill battle for local artists and consumers alike, but investing in the local production of art has just as many environmental and community benefits as other products we are already showing a penchant to support. I hope we can better fold consumerism of the creative arts into our already evolving mentality.
What do you think is the goal or mission that drives your creative journey?
My creative journey was born from significant loss and grief, so I have long worked to use my art as a tool for contemplation and healing. I believe art, in all forms, has the capacity to transform the participant. If art makes you feel something, it is doing its job. I didn’t actually realize my art had the capacity to heal, comfort or inspire until I posted a painting on social media of an old Burr Oak tree that has long been growing on my family farm. The tree is leafless, located in the middle of a field surrounded by the ice and snow of a Minnesota winter. Despite the stark landscape there is something comforting about the strength and stature of the tree. When I posted the image of my painting, one of the comments really moved me. Apparently, a woman who viewed the piece was going into a surgical procedure for cancer treatment and took a picture of my painting into surgery with her as a source of strength and comfort. I couldn’t believe that someone would actually choose my art as their symbol of strength during such a scary and pivotal moment of her life. It was then that I realized I might be able to put my art to good use to help others. To that end, I like to put my art in places where people are working on healing or recovering from physical and/or emotional struggle. I have had a number of ‘art shows’ at hospitals and clinics, hoping that maybe a piece will speak to someone in passing, giving them strength and hope during an otherwise challenging time in their lives.
It has long been a dream of mine to start a nonprofit that bridges local artists with organizations like hospice, hospitals, and clinics, with the hopes of offering locally produced graphic arts to beautify and enrich the spaces of those who have physical and emotional limitations. Perhaps we can provide inspiration, hope, joy, peace, and strength through art.
Contact Info:
- Website: kloosterart.com
- Instagram: kloosterart
- Facebook: www.facebook.com/kloosterart
- Linkedin: linkedin.com/in/matthew-klooster-87498510