Kristen Dabbs

I’ve spent my adult life around creative people.  My husband is a musician, as are most of our friends. I’ve excelled behind the scenes, having spent the past two decades working for musical artists and celebrating their talents, managing my husbands career, rental properties and our unorganized and chaotic lives with three kids and two dogs.

Unintentionally (or perhaps intentionally, thank you God) I took some time off from the chaos.  The house was quiet and empty one day and I got still.  I’d been noticing a big wall in our new house that needed art and that nondescript day, I decided to give it a go.  I found old house paint and an outdated picture canvas in the garage and began to play, to imagine. My soul came to life. I got lost in the process and painted another, and then another. I hesitated ever sharing my art because I didn’t want to lose the sacredness of what it meant to me, this new therapy of mine. I put on sermons and music I love and let the Spirit move through me onto the canvas.  After a while, my husband outed me. He posed my fleet of paintings on social media and the affirmative response from people has been humbling. 

These painting are the output of my creative catharsis, the essential part of myself that hasn’t been hijacked by duty and obligation.  I’m grateful that my art is connecting with others as well.