We recently connected with Pamela Grau and have shared our conversation below.

Pamela, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Did you always know you wanted to pursue a creative or artistic career? When did you first know?

I was born into a world of art, both of my parents were painters, and nearly everyone around us was in a creative field. It wasn’t just a career path; it was our identity. We were like a family of zebras. I knew there were other ways to live, but this was simply who we were.
I began taking art classes at five and never really stopped. I was technically skilled early on—almost too early. By my late 30s, I found myself at a crossroads. I had spent so long perfecting how to draw and paint that I had bypassed something crucial: my own voice. I hadn’t yet asked the deeper questions or explored my personal story. I was living in the shadow of my parents’ legacy, trying not to disappoint them.
Ironically, my challenge wasn’t a lack of support—it was having too much. I didn’t need to push against anything, so I didn’t question enough. I didn’t rebel. I didn’t ask, Who am I, really?
That changed in my late 40s. My marriage was unraveling. I was diagnosed with cancer. Suddenly, everything cracked open—and what poured out of me was loud, raw, and angry. I had a visual midlife crisis, and in the wreckage, I began to create from a place that was wholly mine.
And then something shifted. I found peace in my work. I stopped striving and started simply being. For the first time, I saw myself reflected in what I created—and I loved who I saw.

Pamela, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

Over the past five decades, my creative path has taken many turns. I began as an illustrator, with a degree in Art History and Fine Art from Mills College, later studying illustration at Art Center College of Design with dreams of becoming a children’s book illustrator. This was a pre-digital world, and though the books never materialized, I illustrated plenty of candy boxes.
As technology evolved, so did I—transitioning into graphic design. Motherhood eventually pulled me back toward fine art, where I immersed myself in painting, exploring countless styles and mediums. I had shows, some gallery representation, but the real shift came when I found my tribe.
Joining the Orange County Center for Contemporary Art in Santa Ana was a pivotal moment. For ten years, I was part of a dynamic, 5,000-square-foot alternative art space. We weren’t just making art—we were building community. I curated exhibitions, installed shows, designed materials, and championed other artists. Commercial success took a back seat to bold ideas and radical dialogue. It was there I had the honor of working with Judy Chicago on her Envisioning the Future project, among many other collaborative efforts.
In 2010, a cancer diagnosis brought everything into sharp focus. I moved to Ojai, California, where I found a new creative home with the Ojai Studio Artists—a collective of over 70 working artists. I’ve continued painting almost daily. My work found its way into hotel lobbies, restaurants, and upscale homes, gaining a wider audience and growing in value.
Now, in what some might call retirement, I’ve entered yet another chapter. My sweetheart and I have been road-tripping, and these journeys have become my muse. Perhaps in response to the current chaos and unease in the world, I find myself turning toward the beauty of nature. I’ve begun illustrating our travels—creating joyful, accessible works that are available as prints. It’s a return to storytelling, but this time on my own terms.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

I may have mentioned this before, but for me, unlearning was just as important as learning. Finding my true voice meant letting go of what I could do—the polished, technically skilled work—and allowing myself to create pieces that felt raw, even uncomfortable. I had to walk through a period of making art that was messy, unattractive, and deeply vulnerable. I painted things I didn’t want my neighbors to see. I had to be so honest in my work that it scared me. And that’s when I knew I was getting close to something real.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can provide some insight – you never know who might benefit from the enlightenment.

What I’ve come to understand over a lifetime of painting is that my truest work feels like an artifact of my own existence. Each piece is a kind of postcard from a moment or place I’ve passed through—never to be found again. Every painting is a journey. I begin with an intention and eventually arrive somewhere, but the space in between is always uncertain. It’s a free fall—at times disorienting, often uncomfortable—as I try to land the plane. That’s where the real magic happens.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.pamelagrau.com, www.pamgrauprints.com
• Instagram: @pamelagrau
• Facebook: pamelagrau, pamgrauprojects, pamgrauprints

Image Credits

Ray Powers