BY SUZY STUMP for WEEKLY VOLCANO 6/27/25 |
When Kathy Anderson was four years old, she received a gift that would set the course for the rest of her life: a wooden easel and a paint set. It was her birthday, but instead of cake and games with friends, she only wanted one thing—to paint. She said there is a photograph somewhere of her at that easel, glaring at whoever dared to interrupt her.
That fierce focus hasn’t left her. More than thirty years ago, Kathy moved to Tacoma and found a place where her creative drive could thrive. She speaks about this city with deep gratitude, naming the countless opportunities that have shaped her career and connected her to other artists. From Monkeyshines to Hilltop Artists to Art at the Armory, Tacoma has given her what every artist needs: community, encouragement, and a stage.
“Tacoma artists are awesome. The city of Tacoma appreciates and supports our creative community. I am grateful every day,” she says.
Much of Kathy’s art is inspired by life right outside her window. Her backyard and its daily visitors—especially her “crow friends”—offer a familiar, patient source of inspiration. She watches them gather at the bird bath among the yellow peonies, and an idea arrives like a quiet suggestion. She starts with a pencil drawing: the crows, the flowers, the water. When the sketch feels true, she transfers it to a linocut block, redrawing the image backward. Carving the block can take days, but she loves each moment of it.
“For relief printing, you carve away everything you don’t want to print. Once carved, I roll ink onto the surface and place paper on top. A quick run through my very manual press transfers the image to the paper, and voila! A linocut print is born,” she explains. “When it comes out the way I hoped it would, there is a happy little studio dance.”
Sometimes her prints are about beauty—the simple magic of crows among flowers—and sometimes they carry deeper layers of emotion. Her art holds space for every feeling that insists on showing up: happiness, frustration, sadness, and sometimes a dark side that surfaces as an angry raven or an intense gryphon.
At the beginning of the pandemic, when the world paused and travel plans to visit her son in Japan were canceled, Kathy’s feelings poured out as a raven surrounded by thistles—angry and protective at once.
Kathy’s life has not always been this steady circle of inspiration and quiet observation. She still remembers how easily an artist’s confidence can be dismantled. When she was in college in Brooklyn, a drawing professor made it clear he had no faith in her work. No matter how hard she tried, his harsh criticism convinced her to give up art for years.
That experience remains with her—not as an open wound, but as a warning to other artists who might think their worth depends on someone else’s approval. “Note to all artists: Do not let anyone tell you that you are not an artist! Stay strong in who you are and in the kind of art that fuels your soul, even if others don’t understand it,” she says.
Over time, she found her way back—first through nature, then through the consistent practice of printmaking. Drawing plants and animals connects her to the forests and the Salish Sea. Each creature she studies on paper feels like another chance to understand her place in this region she calls home.
“I seem to gravitate primarily to the flora and fauna of our region. The beauty of the forests, trees, and the animals that inhabit our state inspire me. By drawing the animals and plants I study, I learn more about them and feel a better connection to the earth and nature from Mt. Tahoma to the Salish Sea,” she says.
For Kathy, sharing her work with the public has brought moments of recognition that matter in different ways. Having her work juried into an exhibition at the Bainbridge Museum of Art stands out as a milestone, but sometimes the smaller encounters stay with her longer. There is a young man who finds her booth at local art festivals every year and buys a linocut T-shirt. There are visitors who listen as she explains the careful process of carving, inking, and pressing. These connections remind her that art lives on through the people who love it enough to ask questions, wear it, and hang it on their walls.
When asked how she hopes people feel when they see her prints, her answer is simple. She wants her work to foster a feeling of connection—to nature, to beauty, to emotion—and to remind people that we all share more than we might think.
She is happiest when she can spend more time creating than promoting. Like many working artists, balancing the studio with the business side of art is its own challenge, but she returns to the work because the work itself is what keeps her grounded.
“My greatest goal right now would be the ability to spend more time drawing and printmaking than spending time marketing and selling my art. It’s not easy to create a good and healthy balance,” she admits.
For anyone who needs permission to keep going—or to start again—Kathy’s story is proof that no voice can silence the one inside you unless you let it. One wooden easel was enough to launch her path. One cruel comment nearly ended it. What pulled her back was not a sudden rush of confidence, but the quiet return of her own curiosity: crows, peonies, a bird bath, a block of linoleum waiting to be carved.
Every artist who picks up a pencil or a blade today does so in defiance of every old doubt that says they shouldn’t. Kathy Anderson hopes you do it anyway—and that you dance a little when you do.
If you would like to learn how to do linocut art, there happens to be a class this Saturday, June 28, taught by Jesse Burt from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. at the Tacoma Armory—learn more and register at https://tinyurl.com/linocutatArmory
