Director’s Note

Amy Johnson

Charlotte, North Carolina,  born 1976

MFA,  University of Washington, ‘07

BFA,  University of Colorado at Boulder, ‘03

BS Sociology, Presbyterian College, '98

The Artist

When you visit Amy’s studio, located at the edge of Seattle’s International District, you can truly witness the tenacious tradition of the old downtown Seattle buildings.  Amongst this is a newly developed industry structure that houses Amy’s studio.  Her space isn’t big, but a soaring ceiling makes up for the diminutive setting. 

On a third visit to her studio this year, Amy had just finished her first model, “Wake,” for MadArt’s Cal Anderson Park outdoor exhibition.  With a broad smile stretched across her face, I knew she had found new inspiration for her piece.  “I woke up this morning thinking about these blue transparent objects that I want to place on my new piece,” she said.  Then she pointed to some rubbery resin plastics she was testing.   I could tell she enjoyed the relationship with the art.  Amy eats and sleeps her art.   Every art installation she visualizes, and then creates, articulates a personal experience in her life.  

Nearly 10 years ago she committed to being a serious artist.  This journey has taken her from North Carolina, her birthplace, to the Pacific Northwest.   In spite of, or perhaps because of, her mobility, she is a grounded person who effortlessly channels each experience and curiosity into an object or space of objects.  She likes the tactile experience her objects provide.   The University of Washington’s MFA program was the ideal setting to adopt the organic materials she loves.  Amy is looking ahead in this new decade with a great deal of depth and a clear sense of direction.  She continues to maintain an intimate relationship with her artwork.  She conveys a seamless message, eliciting spontaneous “Oh, I get it!” comments from art viewers.

Wake - The Installation for MadArt in the Park

Imagine a golden tree with leaves weeping low to the ground.  The earth glows underneath.  The large trees at Cal Anderson Park become a fragment of a much larger forest.  Nearby is a bed, covered in dried, deceptively cushioning blackberry vines.  Thinking of lying on the thorns makes one shiver.  So scary, yet intriguingly beautiful.  It echoes the fantasy of a fairy tale even references the bizarreness of Alice in Wonderland, once read to me as a child.  Can it be real?