Bio and Artist’s Statement
SPRING 2024
Bio
Timothy Jerome Chambers is a life-long artist, having grown up amidst the scents and beautiful paintings in his father’s studio. Demonstrating an affinity for drawing from the start, he was trained by his dad (William Chambers) and later with other exemplary artists Cedric Egeli, Joanette Hoffman Egeli, and Richard Lack, and Henry Hensche, each part of a great heritage of American master painters. Solid draftsmanship established him among the world’s best portraitists, and his foray into Impressionism with Henry Hensche sets his colorful landscapes and portraits apart from the crowd. Few artists are able to marry color and draftsmanship in such a passionate embrace.
Yet, a real test for Tim’s came in 1993, at the age of 30, when he was diagnosed with Usher syndrome, a disease that has resulted in Tim steadily losing his peripheral vision and eventually becoming legally blind (read more here). This, as Tim put it, him him right between the eyes. While many advised Tim to play it safe and choose another career, he knew of no other dream. In dealing with the fear of “what if,” (the diagnosing doctor said point blank that he would become deaf and blind and should find another career), Tim and his wife Kim resolved to live in fullness rather than fear, and a life of creativity was the only road they saw that offered such a life.
As Kim would remark later, the disease resulted in Tim growing into “a deeper person, one who sought authenticity and meaning beyond the superficial.” His portraits reflected Tim growing in his awareness and articulation of the things of the heart, things that make a work of art timeless. “I have found that what is unseen is more powerful than what is seen. For years, shop talk centered on translating the visual. Now I judge my work by whether it transcends the soul, evoking the human spirit. We are all striving, coping with life. Do my paintings communicate the common hope that comes from doing so together? I hope that is what you see in my efforts.”
That statement was made in the mid 2010s. Ten years later, it’s scary how prophetic those words were, for Tim is now on the edge between sight and complete blindness.
Tim has always believed talent plays a role in creating great work. Technical execution is key, of course, but he believes it is the artist and writer that convey the essence of the struggle of being human that make our work transcend the heart of the receiver of the work. A work admirable in execution but lacking the beat of a humble and awed heart is stale. “I wish it were not true, but it seems that to speak deeply requires a traveler well-acquainted with scary places.”
Artist’s Statement
My mission is to create by brush and word pieces that bring a smile to a weary, fearful traveler that says, “You’re not alone. I’ve been there, too. Let’s find the beauty and the sun above the ashes.”
Those of us in America are anesthetized daily by the message of wellness. Influencers, retailers, pharmas, preachers, and swindlers are all selling the health and wealth wellness package. And in America, most of us enjoy the good life. But if we slow our agendas enough to take a breath, we must admit that we’re running scared, doing our best to keep ahead of what we see as unwellnness: the effects of our mortal state.
I want to acknowledge that life is hard. Illness, disease, unfair inheritances of living circumstances are real. However, I also believe that this life offers a glimpse of a glorious future free from tears that our Maker has offered us. A few years ago, I decided to put aside the mask of “Great!” (when asked how I am, I say, “Great!”) and instead strive for an authentic joy. Not a pseudo, circumstance-controlling, will-induced happiness, but an integral joy. And not a mask, but the real deal.
However, that kind of joy don’t come easy. Or maybe it does. The hard part was letting go of 1) blocking the fear of the possibility of bad things happening, 2) easing up on the effort to will good circumstances and attitude, and 3) to develop a new habit of seeing the joy, however simple, in every circumstance, every moment. That was hard. I had a lifetime of habit to realign.
The easy part of joy? Ah, sitting back and enjoying joy. THAT was fun. And so enjoyable!
. . .
Seeing the world with vulnerable eyes is the beginning of seeing. Without humility, without recognizing our fallible nature, we are blind to the splendor of people and nature.
Vulnerability is risky. We are prone to protect ourselves, which is critical for survival. On the surface, art seems a luxury, an accessory. I would argue that art is necessary to survival. Art reveals what the sciences cannot. The arts reveal our nature, inclinations, prejudices, loves, dreams. Art changes lives and therefore changes worlds. Who hasn’t listened to a piece of music, read a novel, been absorbed in a painting and not be moved to a higher level of awareness.
Art that moves is not timid. It is borne in the depths of vulnerability. For whence comes awareness. And awareness is key to change, reaction, wisdom, humility, survival together.
Not too long ago, I was taken by surprise by something that I had assumed was universal: I thought everyone got inspired by the beauty around us. Every morning, when I see the play of light upon the land, the trees, buildings, I can’t help but smile and be inspired to respond. At those moments, looking past the rush of life and tyranny of the urgent, I am reminded that life is beautiful, rich with hope eternal.
When I asked others if they felt the same way, I heard a flat “No, not really. I hadn’t noticed.” Answers reflecting a void, unaware they had missed a grand event. Life has a way of doing that- of getting us caught up in the routine, missing the glorious. I have begun to see that it is true what my art predecessors Robert Henri and Charles Hawthorne have noted- that it’s the artist’s task to show the world the beauty in the mundane.
My lack of sight (1% of yours) and hearing (20% of yours) means that I am at once focused and oblivious. I see and hear a fraction of what you do, yet I must be locked in. Without the distraction of peripheral noise and sights, I tend to ruminate on what I take in. What seems to really matter, then, is the relationship between two entities: us and our Maker. Painting and writing are my means of observing and exploring this relationship.
~Timothy Chambers