I shot these photos just moments before I received news of my father's passing, and my life changed. Even in death he held the well-being of his family in his highest regard. To hear this news whilst immersed in the spectacular landscape of Yellowstone National Park was an immense gift. I am in his deepest gratitude.
As I witnessed the sun set behind the horizon, the steaming geysers evaporate and begin their climb towards the heavens, I felt like I was witnessing my father's spirit. Death is not a morbid thought. Death is a great teacher. Life is precious. Life is brief.
Getting a picture of my dad is extremely rare. Getting a picture of my dad inside my art studio is even more rare. This is one of the last photos I took of him.
I liken my dad to a Snow Leopard: an extremely private, elusive creature, who's stories and adventures border on myth. He was one of the most fascinating creatures I have ever known.
My father taught me many things. And although my mother taught me how to paint, my father taught me how to dream.
“How was your workshop this weekend?” She asked in earnest.
“Awesome!” I answered. “It felt so good to be teaching again. But at the same time, a part of me felt like a bit of an impostor.”
“What do you mean?” She said with raised eyebrows.
“At times I feel so inadequate. How can I stand in front of a class and teach fearlessness when I have so much fear?”
The New York Times called it “the most famous work of American art that almost nobody has ever seen in the flesh.” The artist who designed it said it was “the edge of the sun, a boiling curve, an explosion rising into a fiery prominence.”
Painting on the earth, with the earth, reminds me where we came from and where we will eventually return. We owe so much reverence and thanks to this sacred land we tread upon. My paintings are snapshots of my earthly journey. They capture the essence of a place, a feeling, a moment in time.
Titanium white, yellow ochre, neutral grey, payne's grey, burt sienna, burnt umber, green clay, white sand, pebbles, feathers, bones, brine flies, charcoal, and salt water from the Great Salt Lake where all used to create this work.
All this time I've been going about it the wrong way: changing my outward circumstances instead of finding peace and safety within myself.
Samantha daSilva | Fine Art turns 12 today! Every year on this day, I made the tradition to read my Artist Statement to see if it still fits. It still fits. A huge & heartfelt Thank You to everyone who's contributed & supported me on this journey - We are intrinsically connected, and I could not have done this without you.
Happy day! After 7 different art studios since our move to the Big Island of Hawaii in 2016 (I kid you not, I’ve done the math 3 times), I am thrilled to announce that daSilva Fine Art has found a permanent home in Salt Lake City, Utah!
This is nothing short than a dream come true for me, and I can’t begin to express how thankful I am for the people that have encouraged & supported us during this extremely transitional time in our lives.
Stay tuned for our upcoming Grand Opening event, new workshop announcements, FearLESS retreats, and the fact that my earnings get larger with the passing of each year.
We’re not heart surgeons. We are artists. There is no wrong choice. Our decisions do not mean life or death for a patient. Thank goodness for that! Every decision that we make on the canvas, takes us to the next. This is the creative process at work! Learn to trust it.
There is no such thing as a “wrong”, “bad” or an “ugly” painting. Each layer is but a “chapter” in the finished “book”. We may not love certain chapters, but they become an integral part of the story.
This blog was created to share my belief that the art-making process is a catalyst for transformation and personal empowerment. I am living proof.