Interview with the Artist: Angie Dixon

Q: Let’s start with the big question: How would you describe your art to someone who only has five seconds before their coffee spills?

A: First, I think I’d want to stop the coffee spill. I drink my coffee absolutely white and too sweet, so that would be a dang mess.

To the point, I feel my art has a fun, lighthearted feel, but there are deeper emotional undercurrents running through it.

I live my life around chronic pain and permanent disability, so that’s always going to be part of my art.

But I have ADHD and autism, combined with an absolute inability to be serious for more than five seconds, so there’s always an element of fun in my art.

Q: You went from photography to painting—was that a graceful pivot or more like a swan dive into uncharted waters?

Oh, a swan dive. In fact, it was more of an unplanned belly flop.

I suffered a sudden injury six years ago that left me with permanent nerve pain and mobility issues. I’m largely bedbound now, but can sit long enough to do art in short sessions.

Photography is in my past, but my eye for composition and color has helped me transition into painting.

So i guess art has proven to actually be more of a graceful pivot than I initially thought.

Q: You mentioned nature and neurodivergence as inspirations. Do you see yourself as more Bob Ross or ‘Bob Ross but with a touch of existential chaos’?

A: I’ll go with B, and it’s actually probably more than a touch of existential chaos.

I was diagnosed with ADHD at 28 and autism at 55. I was a little surprised by the autism diagnosis, but it explains so very much. I’m not weird, or at least not just weird.

In my previous life, I was a nature photographer, and I miss that terribly, but it has definitely influenced my art. I paint a lot of abstract landscapes, but really the nature inspiration is always there.

Q: Your process involves a lot of playing with colors and surfaces. Be honest—how often does ‘playing’ turn into ‘oops, that wasn’t supposed to happen’?

I start with choosing a surface and a color palette, and yes, then I really just play.

And yeah, I have those moments when I definitely wish I had an undo button.

Q: Tell us about your current projects. Is there a favorite child among the vinyl records, abstract canvases, or painted glass bottles?

Yes and no.

The vinyl records are awesome. They’re old and scratched and headed for the landfill, and I turn them into a one of a kind, framed piece of art, so that in itself is amazing, that I can do this. They’re also difficult because of the constraints of using something not intended to be used like this, so that makes them really satisfying. So they’re my favorite.

The glass bottles are my favorite because I’m not, or at least not mostly, a 3D artist, so figuring out how to paint on them has been super fun and challenging.

Painting abstracts in acrylic on canvas is my first love, and it’s my favorite. There’s a lot of variation in the types of abstract painting I do and the surfaces and palettes I use.

Which is my favorite depends largely on which one I’m talking about or working on at the moment.

Q: Art seems to give you a deep sense of hope. Would you say it’s like therapy but with fewer awkward silences and more paint everywhere?

Well, my therapist is a painter also, so….

Seriously, art is my refuge. I have everything set up within reach, including water for cleaning up. Once I get into my art chair, I’m in the zone and don’t have to get up.

My arms work fine, so when I paint I’m temporarily not disabled, and that’s just…I don’t even have words.

When people who are not me talk about my journey through disability and chronic pain, they use words like strength and resilience. But I just get up every morning and go back to sleep every night.

And I make art.

Q: Let’s talk about your apron-turned-coveralls. On a scale of ‘functional’ to ‘fashion statement,’ where does it land?

Let me set the stage here. This is a full-body apron. Below the waist it splits and the separate leg sections strap around my legs.

I have nerve pain in my legs, and I touch them a lot, so it’s either I don’t wear pants or I cover them up.

My family took a vote, so I wear pants.

Then they took a poll on my overall apron and declared it functional and ridiculous-looking.

Q: Your phoenix painting sounds like it has a lot of heart. Was that your “drop the mic” moment, or do you have another project that rivals it?

I painted the phoenix as a personal project. It represents my journey from completely bedbound to somewhat functional some of the time.

I intended to hang it in my room. Instead, I decided to donate it to my physical therapy clinic, and of course there’s a story.

Around Christmas that year, a lot of patients brought in home baked goods. I can’t stand up and also I’m not a great baker.

I noticed a painting leaning on the water fountain, so I decided to gift them my phoenix.

They loved it, and hung it where everyone can see it.

Later I found out the other painting was created by an elephant at the zoom and gifted to the clinic by a keeper.

The elephant paints better than I do, but I can live with that. And yeah, so far it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

Q: When your audience connects with your art, what do you hope they take away—besides the idea that they should email you more often?

I hope people who see my art feel something, and I hope part of that is joy and just enjoyment of the art.

I also hope my work sparks a deeper emotional reaction, whatever that may be.

I have another story, because of course I do. My husband hung one of my abstract landscapes in our hallway.

“It’s upside down,” I said helpfully.

“No, it’s a landscape. The orange is the ground and the blue is the sky.

It’s a seascape. The blue is the ocean and the orange is the sunset.

It’s still upside down.

I don’t get to dictate anyone else’s reaction to my art, but I certainly hope people do react.

And they should definitely email me more.

Q: Last but not least, what’s the one piece of feedback or question from a viewer that has stuck with you?

My first sale of a piece of art has always meant a lot to me. I created something quick on my phone and posted it to Facebook.

The president of my fan club said, “I love it. I want to buy it.” So I printed it, she bought it, and I remain stunned that people will pay me to do this.

Q: Your fan club?

Yeah. She’s the founder, president and only member, but it’s pretty cool having a fan club.