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The daughter of two
writers (one a long-time professor of literature at the University of South
Florida), Elizabeth Kay
was raised in
an intellectual environment that promoted discernment and a
"distanced" perspective on things. (I can say this with authority
because I knew her parents and have known Liz since she was a kid.) It shows in
her work, which has ranged from paint to lithography to pencil drawings. She
seems focused on the inner lives of her subjects, their yearnings and desires,
actual motivations. You don't think this way without some early exposure to
Socratic dialogue that pushes back and demands strategic views. Most people's
songs, for instance, are about their own feelings. Liz, in her art, is more
inclined to explore "the other," and she typically does it with humor
and whimsy.
Elizabeth
wrote a book a few years back that explored the folk traditions of Native
American and Spanish Colonial settlers of the Chimayo, New Mexco area. Her paintings, which she does
on commission and as part of a folk art series, turn those traditions in on themselves to humorous effect as she mirrors the humanity of her subjects, who in some
cases are her clients. Her work is by turns subtle and ornery and funny. It
has been showcased at the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of
American History and cards of her paintings have been distributed throughout the
U.S.
Liz's
other passion in life is music. There she tends toward
ancient folk and languorous ballads, again the vista being space. That said, she
and I used to do a mean version of Delaney and Bonnie's "Never Ending Love
For You," so she's not beyond rowdy drinking songs. She plays guitar and
piano and writes songs, but she's not typically confessional, more inclined
toward arcane folk of another time. She, by the way, is a trained martial artist who has kicked my ass on numerous occasions.
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The Very Good Book Fairy
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Our Lady of the Not So
Barren Tree
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Learning
from Jimmy Iovine
Fine Arts
