a love letter to Thomas
Jackson; fine artist
[btw, this post will most certainly be too long for email. continue reading in the substack app for the full experience of my posts, if you wish it!]
I stumbled upon Thomas on Pinterest this past week and kept his Fine Art Portfolio page up on my phone’s Safari so that I didn’t forget to go back and scroll.
I deleted my Reminders app earlier this year (i’ve been trying to keep lists in my head as much as possible since Jake told me years back that I rely on virtual/written ones way too much. I agreed, as a 11:50 shower was penciled in that day. followed by “exfoliate, hair mask, etc..”. unnecessary but it brought me joy and a semblance of control) so open Safari tabs is my way of remembering. and if for some reason I X out, then too bad. life goes on (a practice in relinquishing control) & if it’s important enough, it’ll make its way back. *anxiously crosses fingers*
As a Design & Merchandising major (+ Art History minor, I rarely fail to mention), I was taught to really SEE a work. That work can be a street sign, back cover of a book, trail of vines up a fire escape, ombre of yellows and oranges stacked on Wholefoods’ mustard shelves – anything.
I also always was this way, so it worked out nicely to be relentlessly inspired – or at least aware.
I’ve made many a trip to art museums for a multitude of reasons:
school assignments (one time I spent 3 hours in one specific room in the PMA for my Art History Of China course and I think it took a few months off my life. I just couldn’t find the last answer to the prompt and ended up hating the Han Dynasty I’m pretty sure)
to fend off chilly Saturday afternoon boredom
field trips from age 2-21
to connect with my artistic side (in terms of paintings, sculptures, and armor I never fully understood as I like to wander, not read every pamphlet and marker)
family, friend + more-than-friend dates
to freely amble, just because I had a free Art Student membership and love making things asworthitaspossible
it was great. but I left there lots of times just feeling like I checked off a piece of a fake artist’s to-do list. I knew I was doing *something* for my creative self, immersing myself in The Greats Of The Arts, but I wasn’t always sure what.
looking back, I think it always depended on my mood. if I wasn't excited to be there, odds are I got nothing out of it except a tiny aluminum pin to add to my collection and 6K steps.
Anyway! the reason I’m reminiscing a bit on my museum-ing self is because I always was attempting to feel struck.
like, STRUCK!, struck.
i’d stand there and wait, ponder, scratch my chin, adjust my coat that i’m slinging under my arm because I never fully trusted the Coat Rooms, and just anticipate a lightbulb moment while staring at a sculpture of a very smooth ass.
it happens! I know it does. people go into museums and *feel things*. when was that going to happen to me? I feel things every day, every second – why does it seem to subside in museums where I feel like I should be feeling the most? do I have to look like the man with the navy resin glasses and the sketchbook? or wear my AirPods (that I don’t have) and stare at a straw bowl for 45 mins? or be this woman I saw at The Louvre that i’ll never forget? or the other woman staring into the Seattle Sound, undoubtedly considering something massive and beautiful?
i’m thinking no? right? probably not.
BUT! you guys.. IT HAPPENED! I was struck. like, triple-blinking, heart-racing, time-slowing struck. and it was because I caught a glimpse of this:
it’s the perfect (my* perfect) combination of Beauty (nature-made) and beauty (man-made). art, to me, has to be a combination of these things, i’m starting to notice. I have an affinity for the natural world and colors sooo imagine me seeing this for the first time. STRUCK! struck, struck. finally.
So, Thomas, i’m writing you a little love letter as you’ve been the first to strike me. hard.
i’ve never been so attached to art nor as excited to scroll through works as I have yours.
so, in celebration of your unique eye and The Ultimate Strike of mine, I decided to gather up my favorite pieces (screenshotted from your website which I hope is okay) and write a little blurb about how it makes me feel, stream-of-consciousness-style. no, nobody asked for this. but I feel it just needs to happen (I.e. how I live; I just HAVE to get this creative thing out of my system because I NEED to because it’s SUPPOSED to be out there in the abyss).
check out the entirety of Thomas Jackson’s portfolio (where the images are MUCH more clear and dreamlike), here.
here is a small collection of my favorites, in no specific order:
this one reminds me of blue raspberry and Joy from Inside Out. and joy in real life.
at first glance I thought these were California poppies (which I miss dearly). but then I noticed they’re little flags (which reminds me of an invisible dog fence) and I pictured this Thomas running around for hours poking them in the sand (which seems both cathartic and absurdly annoying) I love it. the colors are otherworldly. and the way they diminish into the background is pure greatness.
tangerines + sticky sandy fingers post-Spongebob pop. salty, banana-y sunscreen air and distant 2010s music. ease. and maybe pizza in the corner of someone’s mouth.
this, to me, is a visual on concept of forest bathing – and this Apple Music playlist that I listen to quite often. makes me want to journal and take a deep breath. and learn some more about photosynthesis.
I’m trying to think of something other than Jojo Siwa and My Little Ponies, but it’s all I’ve got. well, and the obvious cotton candy. what time do you think it is there in Claverack? 5PM on August 14th? that’s my guess. Thomas, weigh in?
Thomas, why’s this one named Kool-Aid? and is it photoshopped or?? nvm, don’t tell me your secrets. Muir Beach, CA is without a doubt one of the most magical places i’ve been. thanks for making me remember.
words this one pulls from my brain: dear, sweet, peony, harbor, lilac, baby, cherish. that’s nice.
California has the most gorgeous cliffs i’ve ever seen. They’re freckled with yellows and dotted with reds and it’s a painting. every time. even when the sky isn’t a dream like it is here and there aren’t blue and purple ghosts rushing for the coast.
once when I was ~10 I was staring at the evening sky out of a window facing my back yard and I swear I saw the sky darken. like, it went from Benjamin Moore’s Fiji AF-525 to Lucerne AF-530 in a matter of a quarter-second. I stared at it for awhile (I now forget what I was looking for or thinking about) and it dropped a bit of light, right in front of my eyes. I gasped, told my family, and felt really lucky. nobody really cared but I know I saw it. it was like the sky skipped a step and hurried into darkness. I wonder why?
this one gives much more Safari than it does boat shoes, no? I think it’s the oasis-esque trees. but, at last, it is ACK.
cheese balls!!! they’re cheese balls. those squirrels probably felt like The Chosen Ones. and had orange fingers for days.
the contrast of tough brownish-red mud to bright, plastic-y circles is a lot to take in. it reminds me of growing up.
this one makes my chest tighten (in a good, healthy way). it feels like longing.
I actually don’t really like this one that much. it reminds me of aliens and Area 51. I just love the mundanity of the turkey roasters suspended in thin air. it’s hilarious and the way they catch the light is more moving than any turkey roaster was destined to be. they also are akin to mirrors and metallic things – both of which I gravitate towards. ha! gravity. speaking of the devil. she’s playing a role here, too.
this one smells like a sunset with a side of frolicking minnows (or whatever other tiny fish graze the beach/surf).I love how the colors blend so much into the sky that you can’t really decipher where Thomas stops and where Sky starts. what a beautiful harmony.
Thanks, Thomas. I love your work.
Sincerely,
Abby