Life, Values & Legacy: Our Chat with Pamela Caughey

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Pamela Caughey. Check out our conversation below.

Hi Pamela, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to share your story, experiences and insights with our readers. Let’s jump right in with an interesting one: What makes you lose track of time—and find yourself again?
Given the current political climate, threat of global warming, concerns about AI, and a myriad of other things undermining our sense of survival and normalcy, my studio and the art I create serve as a getaway, a refuge removed from the craziness. Not that my art can’t dip into these themes; surely, the underlayers allow such emotions of anger, fear, sadness and hope to come together in the chaotic play stage which I must have in each painting. Play is where contrasts come together, pitting one against the other, and preparing the stage for which one will come out triumphant. I never know which will win until, layer by layer, the overriding theme emerges.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I believe I began this life as an artist, as I always loved art and can remember from an early age loving to draw horses again and again on pieces of thick cardboard my Mom gave me that came with paper placemats she bought at the store. The horses had thick, straight legs, a mane (usually black), a saddle, and reins with a harness. I wanted a horse so badly; to my parents’ credit, I never got one. Our yard would not have supported a horse. Growing up with a mother who was Japanese meant “tow the line”, “don’t bring shame upon the family” and “make us proud”. These were the overriding themes in my head that mattered most. I really don’t remember ever thinking what I really wanted to do with my life until I was in my 40s, long after lifelong decisions had been made, not all with good results.

I tried my whole life to live the life that would make my parents proud. I “tried” to pursue Biochemistry rather than choose art in the college years, and that made them proud, until a nervous breakdown shook me to my core and erased my life to ground zero. Mental health was taboo during those times, so I no longer brought pride to my parents, but rather shame. Mental illness is invisible and thus very easy to sweep under the carpet. It wasn’t until I met my husband, a Biochemist, that I emerged from underneath the rug and, with his support, love and encouragement, I rediscovered my love of art, which eventually (but slowly), helped bring me back to life; but it took decades.

Remembering the pain of anxiety, depression, fear and hopelessness, I was able to fullheartedly pull together all of this dark baggage and pour it into my MFA thesis exhibition, Disquietude, which focused on the one metaphor that mimicked these emotions: Terrorism. With a science background, I was able to put it to use not by filling test tubes in a lab, but giving me the framework to research what terrorisim was, read about the damage it caused and realize the fear it relied on. Whether biological, chemical or nuclear, it seemd the impact of almost all terrorism was heat. I focused on the impact of heat on the skin, our DNA, our clothing, and ran with it. By the end of the exhibition, Disquietude felt like a huge release. I finally felt like decades of weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was free-er to continue the road back to “health”, whatever that foreign concept was.

After my MFA exhibition, I continued to dive into more darkness. This time, deadly pathogens and how they migrate seamlessly around the globe. This study allowed me to create more art on the dark side. Just as my next exhibition, Ubiquitous, opened at the Missoula Art Museum, Ebola broke out in West Africa and fear of it spreading around the world once again felt like affirmation that what I was trying to say with my art was in alignment with not just my life, but what was happening in the world.

With these two cathartic exhibitions behind me, I felt free. I was now free to explore through my art without all the heavy baggage of the past. The fear and anxiety was now managed with lots of pills. These pills brought my biochemical system back to equilibrium – even surpassed it – as I was feeling better than I ever remembered. Suddenly, I felt able to focus, commit to a purpose, see it through, and work extremely hard to move forward. As I became a better artist through the “making” of art, what really made me evolve was starting to teach others how to pour their emotions into their artwork, too. In order to do this, I had to ensure I knew what I was talking about. Compassion and empathy allowed me to feel others’ pain, to communicate with many artists who, let’s face it, did not always experience a life full of roses. Connecting through the visual arts opened a whole new world, or pathway, to connect, explore, and develop the visual language that was meaningful to me. By learning how to do this for myself, I could finally offer a hand to others, so they could heal through their art and find great meaning in life, too.

Nothing brings me more joy than helping fellow artists discover their own unique and valued artistic voice. Each of us has a story to tell, and the deeper we go, the more questions we ask ourselves, and the more vulnerable we are willing to be (which takes risk, courage and passion), the higher we can go.

Great, so let’s dive into your journey a bit more. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Since my earliest recollection of childhood revolved around art and wanting to be a mother when I grew up, I most closely guard this inner “knowing”; I was probably 5-years old. Teachers, parents, the world then muddy the clarity of innocence and send you off in a myriad of directions, things you “could be”, “should be”, etc. My piano teacher thought I could become a concert pianist. My biology teacher said, “Pam, you can do ANYTHING you put your mind to.” I actually believed I could choose ANYTHING, including the science I didn’t really excel at or even like, and succeed. Never once did I dwell on what I loved to do, which was art. It was made very clear by my family, teachers and society that pursuing art was not something you ever do other than as a hobby. So, off I went to pursue Biochemistry.

Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
As a young mother, when I first began to pursue watercolor as a self-taught artist, I loved ordering every book I could find, reading it cover to cover, and doing all the lessons. I was so hungry to learn, and art became a science. I looked up the meaning of science, and was somewhat surprised to learn it merely meant, “The study of something”. I was definitely studying something, and giving it my all. I made lots of progress in those early years, sold work, exhibited, and had art chosen in competitive percent for art programs that put my artwork in University collections. However, after feeling like I wasn’t growing anymore, I quit painting for 10 years. It wasn’t exciting anymore. Something was missing. Up until that point, I was still painting for others, painting what I knew would please them. I couldn’t paint another pretty flower, landscape or cow. It wasn’t until the ten year drought had passed that I decided to go back to school, this time to pursue art, so I could discover what was missing. After taking 30 studio credits, the most impactful course I took was Art History. For the first time, I heard a professor tell our class Art had a meaning, a purpose, and was essential in society. I was hooked. Up until this point, I had not realized art was actually important! I decided to apply for the graduate program and, fortunately, I got in.

So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. Is the public version of you the real you?
In 2018, before Covid, I got a new iphone. It had a video button which I hit one day and pointed my phone at the art I was creating. I then discovered the time lapse button and decided to speed up the painting I created, from start to finish, and posted it on a brand new Youtube channel. I did it so I could document what I was doing, and found it kind of fun, fascinating and challenging to learn how to edit a video. I had always loved computers, so learning the tech behind video editing was interesting to me. What was amazing to me is how quickly people tuned in to what I was doing. Before I knew it, I had tons of subscribers, and that made me feel that what I was doing was interesting to them and, it was fun to know people from around the world found what I was doing, mainly talking while I was painting, worth tuning into. I shared my ups and downs, experiments, flops, mistakes, and just wanted to share everything I was doing. I was talking to a camera, but behind the camera was a world thirsty for understanding the thought process and materials behind abstract painting. On my side of the camera, I was happy – elated – to share anything and everything I was experiencing.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. What do you understand deeply that most people don’t?
In my 20s, I experienced death – not in physical terms, but emotionally. Up until that point, I had been an over achiever, a triple AAA personality, perfectionist, straight A student, first chair in band, record breaker in track and field, gymnast, cheerleader and Badger Girls state attendee. I was full of confidence and belief that I truly could do anything I wanted. After all, my biology teacher told me so; therefore, it must be true, right? I think the part he missed was, “Pam, you can do anything we want you to do.” Yeah, I definitely missed that part.

I now understand what it means to follow someone else’s dream rather than your own, and suffer the consequences. There were times so dark that I felt what it was like to be suicidal. I had no idea what PTSD was, but I experienced it. In the span of about 10 seconds during a scientific conference I attended as a Junior in college, I went from who I was, to who I didn’t recognize – no longer able to walk through a doorway without crippling fear or the ability to sit at a table comfortably and eat with others. I felt paralyzed, frozen, and an empty shell of who I had been. PTSD knocked me back to a place where I truly had to start over. The only way to survive was to find something, anything, that I could still do without fear and pain, and came to the conclusion the only thing left that I could even do was be an artist. It didn’t require being around people, walking through scary doorways or sitting at a table eating with others. It was solitary. I could be alone. I didn’t have to talk to anyone. So, I did that. What I discovered, looking back, is that if you take a wrong turn in life, you will someday return to the correct path if you are lucky. I was lucky.

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