Deborah Wasserman: Finding Home
In this interview, NYC-based artist Deborah Wasserman shares her evolution as a painter - from her personal journey of transcending migration to finding home within her art practice. Deborah’s work is both visceral and intuitive, integrating elements of the natural world while allowing her personal narratives to unfold on the canvas.
How did your creative journey begin?
My creative journey began in childhood. As immigrants from Brazil to Israel, my parents were very busy creating a new life and business. My brother and I were left by ourselves for hours; I found relief from loneliness in reading, painting, and drawing.
My kindergarten teacher noticed my talent, referring to me as “the artist.” I remember painting abstract and figurative work at that age, gluing 3-D elements onto the canvas (which I still do).
As a teenager, I went to a specialized art school in Tel Aviv, Israel. My creativity started getting hindered by self-doubt and by allowing external voices to shape my views. This shift didn’t slow me down, however. I had great ambition and I wanted to explore the world and study abroad. Following mandated army service, I traveled to the U.S. by myself to attend CalArts and then moved to NYC for the Whitney Independent Study Program. I stayed in NYC, enrolled in additional fellowships and programs, and attended residencies around the country.
As a more mature artist, I felt like I needed to reconnect with my younger self, the one before the “interruptions.” I took a few years in solitude, reflecting and experimenting. I got back in touch with that inner child. I discovered that this voice is a fountain of imagination. I learned how to let it drive my creativity. I will never turn my back on this voice again, and I nurture it by working with young children as a mentor.
Where do you find inspiration for your work?
Over the years I’ve learned to tune into my inner space and access my memories, impressions, and emotions. Turning inwards also means listening to my body, to the knowledge of the “gut,” where I’m intuitively guided to my truth.
I’m extremely sensitive to the sensations of smells, touch, and textures, the experience of seeing colors, patterns, and shapes — as one can witness in my palette, colors, and attention to detail. There are multiple personal and collective narratives that I picked up on my path, and they all exist in my mental library.
For example, I’ve always gravitated towards themes of migration and “home.” I can track this inspiration back to my early childhood of frequent relocations, or my “wandering Jews” heritage. I’m interested in transcending the theme of migration, though, to a more universal and global dimension.
Motherhood inspired me to explore feminism and I got very interested in the Great Goddess as a spiritual entity of compassion, nurturance, and care, as superior to any existing organized religions. I found “home” within the eco-feminist and earth justice movement, as it combines my connection with the earth goddess with the theme of our shared home, planet Earth.
I love to immerse myself in experiencing works of art, in the thoughtful aesthetics, designs, and powerful words, sounds, and movements that other artists produce. I thoroughly enjoy the dialogue that comes with being a part of the art world, here and now.
How has your work shifted and evolved over time?
My work has shifted in major ways over time and my evolution has not been “linear.” Looking from a bird’s-eye view, I can only describe it as a relentless quest for finding meaning, quenching my thirst, and connecting with my authentic voice amidst many opposing forces.
As a painter in my twenties, my work, like many others, was conceptually influenced by postmodern theory. When I studied at CalArts and the Whitney program, I became so engaged with criticism and academia that I abandoned painting altogether and spent more than 20 years doing work that was more political/conceptual, in the form of installation, video, and even performance.
At some point, I came to a trajectory where I felt disengaged and estranged from my current self. I needed to do deep artistic soul-searching. I spent a few years in isolation and went through a series of experiments and processes until they slowly started galvanizing into a “language.”
The body of work that you see today represents my return to painting. You can see the integration of my personal narratives and my conceptual interests paired with a unique painterly language I’ve painstakingly crafted over this period. I paint intuitively and viscerally and completely trust in the process.
I thank myself for having the courage to embark on this lonely, less-traveled road. The feeling of being so intimately connected to my work makes it all so worth it — and also, not so lonely anymore!
What does a typical day in the studio look like for you, and how has your art practice grown or changed?
Early morning, at home, is dedicated to self-care (meditation, exercise), followed by taking care of my family (including preparing and packing lunches).
I bike to my nearby studio, enjoying the velocity, wind on my face, and views of the sky, clouds, trees, and plants on the avenue. I love the contrast of these elements to the domestic arena. In fact, I was recently commissioned to do a public artwork that ended up being inspired by my morning bike ride.
I have a gorgeous studio space and a wonderful community of artists in my building. I immediately change into my work clothes and start attending to the pieces that are scattered on the wall or around the floor. I work on a few pieces at once.
I love movement and energy. The work at the studio is a bit like a dance. Working on paper, panels, and canvases of various sizes, I alter the process according to the surface.
I’m fast, intuitive, and prolific. I don’t like to plan too much at the studio. All-day long I am at the mercy of plans. At the studio, I want to be free. The only plan is to keep doing what I’m doing but find ways to finesse the process.
I love “losing” myself with the work. There is a sense of “melting” and “merging,” especially when it comes to the large pieces. Honestly, it’s a bit like lovemaking (and I’m not the first artist who’s claimed that).
Which experiences have impacted your work as an artist?
I think the strongest experience that impacted my evolution as an artist was motherhood, forcing me to look into what it means to me to be a woman and to want to produce work that will best represent my tribe from this perspective.
Going through the various stages of pregnancy and giving birth put me back in touch with my body, and made me experience my intrinsic feminine wisdom and the power that I have as a woman.
In the early stages of motherhood, being confined to be home with my children forced me to look at my inability to stay in one place. It was the only situation that I’ve ever encountered where I had to stay and “build.” Prior to that I was only running away and destroying.
Finding myself in a position that is considered by society to be “weakened,” I was temporarily without a “career,” but doing a lot of invisible work. It made me fully understand women’s rage, the injustice of our society’s structure, and the overall oppressive treatment of women worldwide.
Motherhood has inspired me to strongly identify with Mother Earth, to experience many parallels between women and elements of nature, as we have a built-in mechanism of giving and nurturing lives.
In a world, and an art world, where women are still viewed as “lesser” than men and being an artist and a mother is still a dichotomy debated, I am proud to say that motherhood has made me a better artist!
How has Instagram impacted your art career?
At the beginning I resisted Instagram, but once I joined, it became clear that it was a good move. Initially, I wasn’t sure what to do with it or how to work it, but over time, it became second nature.
Through Instagram, I discovered many fellow artists whose work I wasn’t aware of. During the pandemic, it was a platform that nourished many of us, keeping us “together” while physically remaining distant. I remember posting daily affirmations and poems on my stories at the height of the pandemic.
The best part of Instagram is looking at everyone’s process, staying in touch, having an ongoing dialogue, and staying inspired. I stay in touch with friends and colleagues and also learn about opportunities, open calls, etc.
Instagram has helped me quite a lot in my art career. It helped me connect with people, get into shows, get discovered by others, and even generate sales. But you know what? It’s not the app; it’s us people. We naturally want to connect and exchange ideas — especially artists, who spend more time by themselves than many members of society.
Social media is not “good” or “bad,” but there are some “bad practices” that can impact us negatively, as individuals and communities. Personally, I try to avoid gossip, comparison, or any advanced tools that track who follows and unfollows. I’m simply not interested. Keeping Instagram simple helps me keep my head clear and avoid any lowly feelings of bitterness.
What are your future goals and aspirations?
My most fundamental wish is to sustain my practice until the day I can no longer pick up a brush. Another goal is to keep developing the work, finding ways to crystalize my ideas, refine my technique and maybe say more with less.
I see my work receiving the recognition and the stage that it deserves, through museums and gallery shows, in the U.S. and abroad. I want it to be a part of some major collections, and to be owned by people who are as passionate about it as I am.
I want to have a house in the country where I can draw inspiration for my landscapes. Even though I’m not a “Plein Air” painter, being surrounded by nature will benefit my practice. Sometimes I dream about partnering with an environmental organization and developing a whole curriculum about art and earth and science, giving the next generation many more creative and conceptual tools to deal with this fast-changing world and the major shifts and losses caused by global warming.
I want to evolve as a person, to understand this life and this world better, and always remember that life is so fragile, that we are here for a short time, and that’s what makes it so mysterious and worth living. Above all, I want to share my love, my passion, and compassion. Nothing is better than living fully and being present.
Website: www.deborahwasserman.com
Instagram: @deborahwassermanart