I recently discovered an off-kilter artist while perusing through a stack of magazines courteously provided by my gym to make us gym-goers last an hour and a half a cardio.
Dasha Shishkin’s work is not what I’m usually drawn to. Impressionism, Monet, Degas, Renoir, and the works usually tickles my fancy. But for some reason, her paintings printed on the pages of Vogue caught my liking. In each one of her works, the environments are messy, complex, and chaotic. Upon first gander, the scenes are frightening. But gaze for awhile they become somewhat upbeat, blissful. Blissfully frightening is what I’ll call it. The colors, characters, and scenes unnatural and it reminds me of works by Gaugain, Matisse, or Modigliani but these scenes she creates are fresh, new, modern.
Shishkin is also a reclusive artist. Maybe this is why I am so drawn to her and her work, because I find solice in hearing that someone else in this world enjoys her craft as much as I do, even to the point where shunning the world in favor for work is done without hesitation. She lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in Williamsburg, New York. Making the half hour trek to her Brooklyn studio, she admits to locking herself in her studio and working as long as she pleases, undisturbed and damn happy about it. She even admits that she is too self centered to have a child or children. Love her for it.