Today we’d like to introduce you to Christy.
Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
I never had to discover creativity — it found me. It lived in the dances I invented, the sketchbooks I filled to their edges, the bursts of color spun across the backyard, and the small sculptures shaped from dough at the kitchen table. Long before I had a name for it, creativity was the language I spoke most naturally.
By fourteen, I had a small studio outside my home, and that space became my refuge. I’d go there after school and lose hours to paint, paper, and the quiet magic of making something from nothing.
At sixteen, I began building a portfolio for the Governor’s Honors Program in Georgia. I spent nearly a year on it – revising, refining, learning how to truly see my own work. Being selected earned me a scholarship to SCAD, and suddenly an art career felt not just possible but right. At eighteen, I sold my first paintings to IBM, a quiet affirmation that the hours spent in that little studio had a place in the wider world.
Still in college, I packed my portfolio into my car and drove it across the Southeast – Atlanta, Charlotte, Birmingham, Chattanooga, Hilton Head, and anywhere else I happened to travel. I walked into galleries unannounced, never intimidated. I trusted the work, and somehow felt completely at home advocating for it. That early confidence set the tone for everything that followed.
Layering became my voice. I began tucking diary entries beneath paint and texture, letting hidden words shape each composition from within. My life unfolded alongside my work: marriage, motherhood, joy, loss, reinvention.
Over the past 30 years, I’ve created and sold thousands of original works, exhibiting in more than 70 shows nationwide. My paintings now live in homes from Palm Beach to Washington, DC, and from Charlotte and Atlanta to New York, California, and beyond.
My studio, a separate room just steps from my home in Old Village, Mount Pleasant is where every piece begins. From the house, I can see Charleston Light rising above the marsh, its black-and-white silhouette steady against the salt air. That quiet beacon often finds its way into my work, a subtle reminder of direction, resilience, and home.
One of the most meaningful milestones of my career came when my design was chosen from more than 200 submissions for the 16-by-28-foot installation at the Hilton Head Island Airport. I grew up spending summers in Sea Pines, and later returned with my family as I recovered from surgery, so the island has always been part of me.
As the heron and lighthouse rise inside the terminal, it doesn’t feel like something I chased – it feels like the island calling my name, and me answering.
My career unfolded the way my paintings do: layer by layer, season by season, built on instinct, grit, and a belief in beauty.
And as Henry Moore said, and as I now understand deeply:
“There’s no retirement for an artist; it’s your way of living, so there’s no end to it.”
Alright, so let’s dig a little deeper into the story – has it been an easy path overall and if not, what were the challenges you’ve had to overcome?
I’ve had many beautiful moments in my life, but no, the road hasn’t been smooth. My journey has held very hard seasons – years of infertility, multiple losses, and an illness that put me in the ICU twice. At one point, I had three babies under two at home; later, I lost most of my colon and spent years fighting to regain my health.
Last year, I lost my very best friend to breast cancer, a grief that reshaped me. We talked every day, and she helped guide my career. Her absence is profound.
Through all of it, art has been my lifeline. I paint through joy, heartbreak, uncertainty, and resilience. Every layer holds a piece of what I’ve lived. The road hasn’t been easy, but that’s where the depth in my work comes from.
Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
My process is instinctive and emotional. I paint the way I live, in layers. I start with raw thoughts, old notes, scraps of color, or whatever feeling is closest to the surface. Then I build upward: torn paper, fabric, gestural marks, glazes of color, unexpected shifts. My process is fast, fluid, and intuitive. I’m not trying to create a perfect picture, I’m trying to catch a feeling before it disappears.
What I’m most proud of is the community that has formed around my work. My collectors return again and again, and they refer me to their friends and family. That network – built on trust, connection, and genuine relationships – is the heart of my career. Many have become dear friends, and seeing my work become part of their homes and their lives is the greatest honor.
My art comes from joy, loss, uncertainty, and reinvention. Every layer carries a piece of what I’ve lived, and that honesty is what sets my work apart. Throughout my career, my artwork has also allowed me to give back to my community, and that commitment has remained a central focus.
We’d love to hear about how you think about risk taking?
One of the biggest risks I ever took was in 2001, when I left the United States and moved to England completely on my own. I didn’t know a single person there. I rented a studio in a building full of artists who were openly unhappy with America and the Gulf War at the time. It was uncomfortable, confronting, and incredibly formative. I learned that it’s okay to be disliked, that you can still work alongside people who see the world differently, and that creativity grows stronger when you stop trying to please everyone.
That experience set the tone for everything that followed. I’ve taken risks and faced rejection, my entire career. From walking into galleries straight out of college with my portfolio in hand, to building a business in seasons of uncertainty, to sharing deeply personal work that reflects my own emotions and healing, I’ve never let discomfort stop me.
My view on risk is simple:
If something matters to you, you do it anyway – scared, uncertain of the outcome – because the alternative is standing still.
Every major turning point in my life came from stepping into the unknown, and I’m grateful for every leap.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://Christykinard.com
- Instagram: @christykinard
- Facebook: Christykinardartist
- LinkedIn: Christy Kinard
