We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Pia Stern. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Pia below.

Pia, appreciate you joining us today. We’d love to hear about when you first realized that you wanted to pursue a creative path professionally.

When did you first know you wanted to pursue a creative/artistic path professionally?

Compared to many of my cohorts, I came to painting rather late. Like my parents, I felt certain that I would find a subject and career that captured my interest and passion. However, by my second year at UC Berkeley, I found myself thinking that this might not happen. I was intensely curious about many subjects, but hadn’t fallen in love with any one discipline.

Consequently, I decided on Plan B; to major in city planning and then proceed to law school. As a trial lawyer, I thought that I could do meaningful work that would have a positive impact on others’ lives. And since for some reason I never envisioned marrying or having children, I thought this decision would result in some significant degree of autonomy and financial security.

But part of Plan B was also to spend some time in France – something I had wanted to do since I was a young girl. Hitchhiking one day in my hometown while on summer break, I was picked up by an ex-marine who said that the best year of his life was spent attending a private university in a small village in the south of France. I was intrigued. Neither of us had a pen, so with a safety pin, he scratched the name of the school onto a scrap piece of paper. I immediately went home and wrote a letter of inquiry to the school. I applied, was accepted, and left to spend part of my junior year fulfilling my childhood fantasy.

It turns out the “small village” was Aix-en-Provence; the beautiful and well-known town where Cézanne lived and work for so many years. When signing up for classes, I had trouble finding one that would fill out my schedule – the only one that worked was a painting class. I had no interest in taking such a class– in fact – I think I was quite afraid. Among other things, my mother was a painter – and perhaps for this reason I had always avoided it. Nonetheless, I reluctantly enrolled in the class.

The instructors required that we paint copies of old masters; not something that I particularly associated with being creative. And although I seemed to have some degree of facility, it was not the act of painting that captured my interest. Rather, it was the instructors themselves. I loved their philosophical discussions – the unique ways in which they looked at life – and their focus on seeing beneath the surface of things. Something just clicked. I felt so ‘home’ with this way of thinking and being.

I returned to Berkeley fall quarter. Given my recent experience, I thought I should try an art class to be certain that I still wanted to move forward with my plan. One painting class was all it took – I was hooked! I had no idea where this path would lead, or how I would ultimately make a living. All I knew was that I simply had to paint.

Pia, 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?

Describe your creative works:

I am an abstract painter, though there are often suggestions of recognizable elements in my paintings. I work in a wide variety of media, including watercolors, inks, prints, pastels, and mixed media. But most generally, I consider myself to be an oil painter. Sometimes the works are extremely large, other times very small. I am what is often called a ‘process painter.’ Regardless of the medium, I generally approach my work without an agenda. Rather than working from preliminary sketches and a specific concept, I work from my imagination. I may be a painter, but I often feel more like an archeologist, working down through the layers to unearth the meaning in a piece. I add and subtract – create and destroy – sticking with it until the ‘subject’ of the painting is revealed through the process.

Color is usually my starting point. Since I don’t consciously think about what I am aiming for, my choice of color is often the first step in tuning in to what it is I want to say. Sometimes the subject may be beautiful or whimsical, sometimes dark or threatening. I try not to ‘curate’ what appears, or how it appears. Rather, my most stringent demand is that the result be an honest exploration and expression – one which does not attempt to pander to an imagined viewer.

There are times that my paintings relate very closely to one another; investigations of a kindred idea or theme. These are the days I love the very best, and I can hardly wait to get into the studio to see what might happen next. I wish the process could always be like this, but it is beyond my control, and it never seems to last long enough. It’s a total mystery to me what or when the drive for a more sustained exploration might hit.

Much of the time I simply stumble along without a clearly consistent theme; each painting often varying greatly from the previous piece. I show up to work and, as my mentor Elmer Bischoff suggested, just try to “follow my nose.” Over all these many years, there is one aspect of my work that does seem to remain constant regardless of medium, subject or theme; I feel my paintings continue to serve as visual metaphors for the various psychological and philosophical dilemmas that confront me.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

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

I have been a painter for many years – through all kinds of ups and downs. Rather early in my career, I had a good deal of what one might call ‘success.’ My work was shown in galleries across the states. There were essays written about the work in professional journals, interviews, etc. The work was also included in a variety of books, including Sister Wendy Beckett’s “Contemporary Women Artists.” And to my amazement, the work sold. This was all a welcome surprise to me and felt very gratifying. I believe I had a lot of luck – being in the right place at the right time. As well, I had some wonderfully supportive gallery dealers who worked very hard to further my career. The successes seemed to snowball, and the good fortune continued for numerous years.

However, I had decided early on that I never wanted to rely on sales for my survival – even if lucky enough to have some commercial success. I didn’t want to put myself in the position of painting for the marketplace or repeating myself simply because something was saleable. My “day job” was waitressing, which I did at night for 18 years so I could paint during the day. I worked at the very best restaurants which insured that I ate well and made good tips for the time spent. In later years, alongside waitressing, I started to teach painting and drawing.

This strategy ended up being a good one as suddenly, the bottom dropped out of the art market. The stock market tanked, almost all my galleries closed, and it felt like “end of story.” Except, I never stopped working. After considerable recognition and support, it was certainly was not easy to continue painting in what felt like a vacuum. But thankfully my need to work overrode my need for acknowledgment. Ultimately, I stopped waitressing, moved to Honolulu, and taught at the University of Hawai’i for eleven years. Teaching has been and continues to be a rewarding complement to the solitary time spent in the studio. I love the intellectual challenge of helping a student find their ‘voice,’ and it feels good to contribute to others who share my passion for art.

I learned an important lesson with what felt like such a sudden ascension and then a dramatic fall. If I wanted to continue to be a painter, I had to learn how to sustain my practice without relying on outside approbation. How? By being disciplined and continuing my dialogue with myself, come what may. I also learned how important it is for me to have feedback and support from a few trusted people who are familiar with my work; individuals who will be unflinchingly honest in their responses.

As far as continued recognition and sales go – there have been good years and not-so-good years. I try to work through the ‘dry’ periods without great expectations. But I also have immense gratitude when people respond to my work, and decide to bring it home and into their lives.

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being an artist or a creative?

Even after all these years, I have found nothing that quite compares to the experience of making a painting or a drawing. I love spending hours alone in the studio. When I am fully engaged, I am totally present. I lose all sense of time and any awareness of the world about me, and it feels as though I am in an altered state. Sometimes it seems as if I am not actually making the shapes and the marks – rather – it feels as though I am channeling something or someone through me.

I know that this experience is not unique – I’ve heard it described similarly by many others. And I know too that it is not unique to artists. Such a state can be achieved when writing, composing music, playing sports – or even simply sweeping the floor.

Being alone, totally engaged, and ‘saying’ something that feels true to my experience as a human being is my primary reward. But a close second is when someone is so moved by one of my works that they decide they must have it for their own.

Contact Info:

• Website: piastern.com
• Other: https://www.avaulte.com

Image Credits
Ian Cummings