KRISTIN TEXEIRA choice / chance

ALL THE THINGS I WAS THINKING WHILE I WATCHED THE LIGHT CHANGE ON MOUNT TAMALPAIS

NOVEMBER 22ND - JANUARY 3RD

LOOK WEST AND THE JAUNT ARE PROUND TO PRESENT: CHOICE / CHANCE, ALL THE THINGS I WAS THINKING WHILE I WATCHED THE LIGHT CHANGE ON MOUNT TAMALPAIS, AN EXHIBITION OF OIL PAINTINGS AND SKETCHBOOK SELECTIONS BY KRISTIN TEXEIRA.

KRISTIN TEXEIRA CREATES ABSTRACT PAINTINGS INSPIRED BY HER INTERACTIONS WITH PEOPLE AND PLACES. HER USE OF COLOR IS CHANNELED FROM HER SENSITIVITY TO MEMORY AND SYNESTHETIC APTITUDE. SHE OFTEN CREATES “MEMORY MAPS” THAT TELL OF A SPECIFIC MOMENT IN TIME. TEXEIRA GRADUATED FROM MASSACHUSETTS COLLEGE OF ART AND DESIGN IN 2010. SHE HAS EXHIBITED WORK VIA UPRISE ART IN NEW YORK CITY, WITH HASHIMOTO CONTEMPORARY IN SAN FRANCISCO, STUDIO CROMIE IN GROTTAGLIE, ITALY AS WELL AS OTHER GALLERIES ACROSS THE COUNTRY AND ABROAD. SHE HAS BEEN AWARDED RESIDENCIES THAT INCLUDE THE ALBERS’ FOUNDATION ARTIST RESIDENCY, THE VARDA ARTIST RESIDENCY, THE GOOGLE ARTIST IN RESIDENCE PROGRAM, THE JAUNT, THE SAM AND ADELE GOLDEN FOUNDATION ARTIST RESIDENCY, AND VERMONT STUDIO CENTER.

KRISTIN LIVES AND WORKS IN BARRYSVILLE, NY.

EXHIBITION DATES NOVEMBER 22ND - JANUARY 3RD

There is an old ferry boat docked permanently in the harbor of Sausalito called the SS Vallejo. It once carried passengers across waters, and when it could ferry no more, it fell into the hands of an old Greek artist named Jean Varda—familiarly known as Uncle Yanko—who made it his home and studio.

I found myself on this boat by way of cosmic luck. When I was sixteen, before the internet had reached its full capabilities, I frequented an old bookstore that sold dusty copies of Hemingway shorts and magazines from the 1960s. I took one magazine home after falling in love with its cover: a hologram of a sailboat with a tiny red speck in the background that was the Golden Gate Bridge. Flipping through the magazine, I found an article about a white-haired painter who lived and worked on an old boat, catching the light and color that rippled and reflected into his home on the water. I thought this was a beautiful way to live. So I cut out his photo, pasted it into my sketchbook, and wrote myself a far-fetched promise: “Live and paint on a houseboat someday.”

Eleven years passed, and I received a nondescript email invitation from what seemed to be an artist residency. The website lacked details—no address, no contact—but below the title page was a black-and-white skeleton of a ship and the residency’s name: “VAR”. Varda Artist Residency. Jean Varda’s houseboat had caught the echoes of my wish and invited me aboard.

Entering the Vallejo is like walking into a dream. Ancient succulents and fruit trees line the hallways of floor-to-ceiling windows. A larger-than-life cat sarcophagus with glowing red eyes greets you. A fireplace, tiled with fragments of pottery and glass beads—one shaped like a small skull—warms the kitchen, whose walls are filled with shelves of spices in glass jars. A hammock hangs in the living room. A portrait of Timothy Leary mounted above the bathroom light switch. A wooden sword rests above the front door. Ladders lead us to our rooms.

I sleep in the captain’s quarters, the smallest room, which once hosted the tea parties of Alan Watts. My first steps onto this houseboat come at the end of a four-year relationship and at the beginning of the unsettling political climate of 2016. The combination leaves me feeling lost, alone, unsure of the future—and alive in the rawest sense.

I find solace in the painted text that lines the ceilings of the houseboat: “The beginning of wisdom is fear.” Carved into a wooden door are the words “choice” and “chance.” These two words become an answer for me: some decisions I will make, and luck will take care of the rest.

It is on this houseboat that I fall in love with Mount Tamalpais. On the starboard side of the ship is a large round window that looks north, perfectly framing Mount Tam. An entity. A mother. A massive soul. Undressing from her fog in the morning and glowing from within as the sun sets. She is a comfort, a rock, someone to tell secrets to—someone who soothes. She is the vessel that holds my thoughts while I pick lemongrass from the houseboat garden or wait for water to boil. I paint her year after year, a constant that keeps me company when I don’t know where I am going next. Mount Tam breathing. Breathing with Mount Tam. Knowing it will all be okay.

It has been ten years since I my introduction to Mount Tamalpais. Though I no longer stay on Jean Varda’s old houseboat, I still find my way back to the mountain. This exhibition reflects the time I've spent watching the light shift across Mount Tamalpais, accompanied by excerpts from the journals I kept while living on that gently swaying boat.

KRISTIN TEXEIRA CHOICE/CHANCE