Hey There, I’m Marcy Parks. I am a self-taught artist (although, I prefer to say informally educated) and writer living in Northeast Tennessee. My work tells my story of healing from trauma and examines the generational, and societal, stories I have inherited as a woman, mother, and wife. My works offer a glimpse into the intimate spaces of my own body and psyche, turning them inside out and bringing them into the light to study the histories, stories, memories, trauma, and, of course, all the emotions tangled and knotted within that have brought me to this moment. The physical nature of my work is like a form of somatic therapy, scribbling stories on a surface then connecting the physical sensations of the grip of a paint brush, the cool and slippery texture of paint on my fingers, the lyrical and gestural motions of applying paint to surface while following threads of thought as they weave and tangle in knots in my mind. Throughout the process of painting, though, the knots begin to loosen and I find the heart of the narratives that have driven me, consciously or otherwise, and like Hansel and Gretel following the trail of crumbs, I make my way back out of the woods to be greeted by the abstract forms, lines, and marks that map the journey to my healing.
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Hey There, I’m Marcy Parks. I am a self-taught artist (although, I prefer to say informally educated) and writer living in Northeast Tennessee. My work tells my story of healing from trauma and examines the generational, and societal, stories I have inherited as a woman, mother, and wife. My works offer a glimpse into the intimate spaces of my own body and psyche, turning them inside out and bringing them into the light to study the histories, stories, memories, trauma, and, of course, all the emotions tangled and knotted within that have brought me to this moment. The physical nature of my work is like a form of somatic therapy, scribbling stories on a surface then connecting the physical sensations of the grip of a paint brush, the cool and slippery texture of paint on my fingers, the lyrical and gestural motions of applying paint to surface while following threads of thought as they weave and tangle in knots in my mind. Throughout the process of painting, though, the knots begin to loosen and I find the heart of the narratives that have driven me, consciously or otherwise, and like Hansel and Gretel following the trail of crumbs, I make my way back out of the woods to be greeted by the abstract forms, lines, and marks that map the journey to my healing.
