Meet Pe Pinkman

We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Pe Pinkman a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Hi PE, appreciate you sitting with us today to share your wisdom with our readers. So, let’s start with resilience – where do you get your resilience from?

Resilience, for me, isn’t something I recognize in the moment—it’s only in hindsight that I see how I’ve navigated challenges, not just surviving but often thriving. It’s like creating a work of art: while immersed in the process, I’m simply responding, adapting, and pushing forward. Only when I step back do I realize the depth of what I’ve endured and how it has shaped me.

I credit this resilience to my upbringing, where persistence was ingrained in me. My parents taught me that if something truly mattered, you kept going—through doubt, through struggle, through uncertainty—until you reached the other side. This lesson became the foundation of my life as an artist. From an early age, I was drawn to creative expression, but my sensitivity and artistic nature often set me apart. In a world that valued toughness over vulnerability, logic over intuition, and conformity over artistic exploration, my choices were met with skepticism, even ridicule. As a child, that rejection stung. I was called weak for being expressive, dismissed for valuing beauty and emotion. At the time, it made me question myself, but over the years, those very challenges became the fire that forged my resilience.

Rather than allowing criticism to deter me, I learned to stand firm in my artistic vision. Creativity demands courage—it requires us to trust in the unseen, to give form to something that doesn’t yet exist, to risk misunderstanding and judgment. My practice as a visual artist has taught me to embrace uncertainty, to lean into discomfort, and to keep creating despite external pressures.

Through my meditation practice, I’ve come to understand these experiences as essential lessons. Buddhism teaches impermanence—the idea that all things, even struggle, are constantly shifting. Meditation has given me the space to observe my thoughts and emotions without being consumed by them, allowing me to meet challenges with greater clarity and equanimity. Instead of seeing obstacles as roadblocks, I now view them as part of the path itself—necessary brushstrokes in the larger canvas of my life.

Looking back, I wouldn’t change any of it. Every hardship, every rejection, every moment of doubt has deepened my understanding of both myself and my work. Resilience isn’t about never falling; it’s about knowing that each time I do, I have the strength—and the vision—to rise again.

Let’s take a small detour – maybe you can share a bit about yourself before we dive back into some of the other questions we had for you?

Art has always been my way of navigating the world, a means of making sense of identity, time, and the fleeting nature of existence. My paintings and drawings are not just images; they are explorations, layered inquiries into the way we perceive ourselves and the spaces we inhabit. Whether through portraiture (self or others), abstracted landscapes, or layered narrative compositions, my work challenges the fixed notions of identity and reality, seeking to reveal their shifting nature.

This exploration is central to two of my series, *100 Days of a Pandemic* and *Not who you see(m)*. In both, I use my own image—repeated, altered, fragmented—as a stand-in for something larger: the shifting, evolving nature of the self. These works reflect how identity, particularly in the digital age, has become something fluid, flattened, and often disconnected from its true complexity. Through repetition and variation, I aim to capture that constant evolution, where the self is never one thing but many things at once.

The act of creating is itself an exercise in impermanence. Each painting or drawing takes on a life of its own, forming its own identity apart from me. As a series, my works engage in dialogue with one another and with the viewer, revealing interpretations I might not have seen alone. I welcome that exchange—listening to how others engage with my work allows me to understand more deeply what has been created and how it resonates.

My artistic practice has been shaped not only by my curiosity about identity but by my lived experience. Coming out as gay and navigating the personal and political landscape of the late 20th and early 21st centuries deeply informed my work. The AIDS crisis, the loss of close friends, the deaths of family members, and, more recently, the isolation of the COVID pandemic have all reinforced a fundamental truth: nothing remains unchanged. Loss and transformation are inseparable. These experiences have influenced the materials and approaches I use, blending abstraction and representation to explore multiple narratives at once.

Buddhist philosophy has long been an underlying force in my work. The concept of *alaya*—the storehouse of consciousness—resonates with my approach to painting and drawing. My pieces hold layers of meaning, moments of the past embedded in the present, much like memory itself. By embracing the fluctuating nature of all things, I find both the beauty and the tension in life’s transitions.

Through my work, I hope to create space for viewers to reflect on their own identities, perceptions, and the illusions they hold onto. Art, like life, is not about fixed truths but about embracing the unfolding nature of existence. Each piece I create is a step in that ongoing journey—one I wouldn’t change, because it has led me here.

If you had to pick three qualities that are most important to develop, which three would you say matter most?

A willingness to try new things, a desire to persevere, and a belief in something beyond myself have been the most critical skills in my life, shaping both my artistic practice and personal journey. The act of creating demands risk—each blank canvas or unformed idea requires stepping into the unknown with no guarantee of success. If I had hesitated to experiment, to push beyond familiar techniques, or to challenge my own perceptions, my work would have remained stagnant, failing to reflect the evolution of thought and experience that defines both art and identity. This openness to exploration has allowed me to uncover new visual languages, engage with unconventional materials, and challenge traditional notions of self-representation. But willingness alone is not enough; perseverance is what sustains the work when doubt, criticism, or external obstacles arise. Art is not only about inspiration but endurance—facing rejection, confronting creative blocks, and continuously refining a vision even when it feels elusive. The process itself is filled with flux; layers are added and removed, ideas shift, and meaning evolves. This mirrors life itself, where nothing is fixed, and persistence becomes an act of faith in what has yet to emerge.

Yet, beyond my own efforts, I recognize that creativity is not something I own or control entirely—it flows from something larger, whether that be collective human experience, the interconnectedness of nature, or the deeper truths Buddhism teaches about changeability and perception. Believing in something beyond myself keeps my work from being solely personal; it connects my practice to history, to spiritual inquiry, and to others who engage with my art. This belief reminds me that creation is not just an act of self-expression, but also an offering—an invitation for dialogue, reflection, and shared experience. These three qualities—curiosity, perseverance, and faith in something greater—form the foundation of my work, allowing me to move forward, to evolve, and to continue questioning, even when answers remain uncertain.

Is there a particular challenge you are currently facing?

Aging has been both a gift and a challenge in my life as an artist, sharpening my vision and deepening my understanding of my work while simultaneously demanding that I acknowledge my physical limitations. With time, my skills have become more refined—not just in technique but in my ability to distill complex ideas into layered, meaningful compositions. My perspective has widened, allowing me to see connections that once eluded me, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts, making more deliberate, confident choices in my art. The years have given me a greater patience for the creative process, an appreciation for subtlety, and a deeper engagement with the philosophical questions that have always driven my work. However, aging has also slowed me down in ways that I cannot ignore. The body does not move as quickly, nor does it recover as easily.

What once was effortless—long hours in the studio, climbing ladders to work on large-scale pieces, or simply maintaining the relentless pace of creation—now requires more thought, more care, and sometimes, more rest. There is an awareness now that each project demands a calculation of energy and sustainability, forcing me to be more strategic about what I take on and how I approach it. This shift is not entirely negative; it has encouraged a level of mindfulness that perhaps wasn’t present in my younger years. I consider my health with the same seriousness as I do my artistic practice, recognizing that maintaining my body and mind is essential to continuing my work. Slowing down also allows for deeper contemplation—ideas are not rushed, and the process of creating becomes even more intentional. While aging imposes limitations, it also improves one’s skills and grants wisdom, The challenge lies in embracing both aspects fully, adapting to what is necessary while holding on to the creative fire that has always driven me forward.

Contact Info:

• Website: https:://pepinkman.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pepinkman/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PaulEdwardPinkman/