Marcy Stone

Why I do what I do! aka...Artist Statement

My work was born from a profound rupture—the loss of my daughter—which irrevocably reshaped how I move through the world. That experience deepened my understanding of presence, transformation, and grace. What began as art born of grief has evolved into something wider and freer: a language of becoming. I carry her legacy forward, but I am no longer weighted by loss. I am expanded by it.

I am a bold artist with a soft center. My work is confident without being confrontational, expressive without needing permission. I live and create from truth—honest, intuitive, and unapologetic—while allowing others the freedom to be exactly who they are. I trust my instincts deeply; my gut and sixth sense guide both my life and my studio practice with precision and clarity.

Nature and the garden are central to my healing and my process. They remind me that growth is cyclical, that beauty can be wild and intentional at the same time. Over time, my palette has expanded, allowing both bold and subtle tones to coexist, my marks more decisive, and my work has taken on a spiritual depth rooted in connection, energy, and movement. What viewers often describe as “soulful” is a conscious choice—to transform pain into light, resilience, and continuation.

When I begin a piece, I listen first to the feeling behind it—the energy asking to be expressed. Some works want to be witnessed and held in form; others want only to be felt. My role is not to force direction, but to remain open enough to recognize what each piece requires and to respond with honesty.

How do I decide what direction to go with a piece I am working on?

For me, it begins with the feeling behind the idea—the energy of it. Some concepts carry a presence that wants to be grounded, seen, and held. Those pieces often call for form and gesture, allowing the work to anchor emotion in something tangible and human. It’s about giving shape to what feels timeless, creating a point of connection between the inner and outer worlds.

When the emotion is more internal—such as grief, joy, or transformation—abstraction becomes essential. Color, texture, and movement allow me to express what words or literal imagery cannot. In those moments, the work is less about representation and more about sensation. Feeling leads, and the visual language follows.

The decision is never intellectual; it’s intuitive. I listen closely to what the work is asking for. Some pieces want to be witnessed and held in form, while others simply want to be felt. My role is to remain open enough to recognize the difference and respond with honesty.

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