Allison Adams

Oil on Canvas 34x48” 2021

$2500

18x24” oil on canvas, 2023

$1470

30x30" oil on canvas, 2021

$1680

Cassandra was a mythic princess of Troy who was given the gift of prophesy by the Greek god Apollo. When she refused his advances, he cursed her so that all those who heard her prophecies wouldn’t believe her. She went through life knowing the future, but being dismissed as insane while she watched her premonitions all come to pass. It's a tragic and lonely tale that I know many women can resonate with on some level...having their wisdom rejected and their voices cut short when they didn't play the game as expected. (I've had a soft spot for her since I learned this story in middle school...and it still hits me right in the gut.)🔮

36x48” Acrylic on Canvas, 2021

$2500

30x30" oil on canvas, 2021

$1650

30x30" oil on canvas, 2021

$1680

24x30" oil on canvas, 2021

$1500

"I have put duality away. I have seen the two worlds are one."

Rumi

30x40 oil on canvas, 2021

24x24" oil, 2022 NFS

30x40” oil on canvas

30x40”, oil on canvas, 2023

$2000

“Let’s swim to the moon
Let’s climb through the tide
Surrender to the waiting worlds
That lap against our side”
—Jim Morrison

This one was based on a figure in a dream. It didn't look like this, of course, but it was a starting point. The figure was empty, an outline, like a large frame inside the water, with the current moving back and forth, and there was someone in a boat trying to make its way through it. That said, I don't really get into traditional dream analysis, but I do try to honor the images one way or another—as I see it, they are gifts of the imagination, and you don't always get/remember them. This general figure shows up a lot in my work these days.

Oil on canvas, 30x40”, 2021. $1960

“I am the tower, I am the queen, I are the storm, I am the solution. Within the greater tower is a smaller tower that may never go away. I will always be able to keep my heart safe, even if the world is crashing from above and below.”

Ultimately, this is a portrait of my higher self connecting with my frightened, trapped, and overprotected self, speaking words of wisdom: let it be. ...Girl, I got this.

24x24” Oil on Canvas

30x40", oil

"Maybe you are searching among the branches, for what only appears in the roots."—Rumi

If you've followed my surrealist imagery for awhile, you'll know I usually have my head deep in the sea or up above the clouds. I noticed over time that very little earth shows up in my work, which didn't really surprise me—it's a discipline for me to feel grounded. This pointed me to some personal work that clearly needed to be done, and since the beginning of the year I've focused my attention on roots and feeling rooted. It's been interesting timing to finally be considering my deeper network system as the world seems more chaotic than ever. To me, though, it feels more interconnected than ever, which is such a comforting space to arrive at, after a life of feeling so unrooted. I can begin feel the collective breath as we experience this point in history as one global human being, and more than ever, I recognize my roots do go deep after all. It's not so much about specific place as it is about belonging. And we belong to each other.

"The deeper the solitude the less the sense of loneliness, and the nearer our friends."—John Muir

36x48” oil on canvas

18x24, Oil on Canvas

Originally part of the "Fractures" series, it has taken a different direction completely. Let's see what emerges next! (I never know.)

“All limits are self imposed.” 
― Icarus :)

Did you know that the Latin word for seahorse is “Hippocampus”—which is the name also given to the two seahorse-shaped structures, each tucked in to the right and left temporal lobes of the brain. The right hippocampus is thought to be involved in spacial memory where the left in verbal and episodic memory. In a way, we could say they are “masculine and feminine” elements of our brains.

The tiny seahorse is a fascinating creature. For one thing, the typical gender roles are reversed— it’s the male that carries the eggs in its pouch until the babies are ready to hatch. Seahorses also mate for life and meet in a bonding dance every morning before separating for the rest of the day.

I’m not sure what this connection really has to do with our brains except that I think working to stay balanced is important. We need both sides together. What happens in our brains, happens in relationships, happens in culture, happens in nature, etc...

By the way, there really is a 'Seahorse Nebula" somewhere out in space...it looks like there are two heads in it to me. So yes, everything is mirrored, no matter how far out you want to go. https://futurism.com/astronomy-photo-day-121814-seahorse-nebula

(This scene is layered over one I did based on Vernon's broken pelvis bones a few years ago. I like that there is more swishy life over the hard and hollow structure I began with.)

"...and what the soul is, also

I believe I will never quite know.

Though I play at the edges of knowing,

truly I know

our part is not knowing,

but looking, and touching, and loving,

which is the way I walked on,

softly,

through the pale-pink morning light."

—from the poem Bone, by Mary Oliver

This painting is part of the "Fractures" series, August 2017

24x36”, oil on canvas, 2018

“The past is prologue.”—William Shakespeare

18x18” Oil on Canvas, 2018

20x20 oil on canvas, 2021

I can't truly explain here why this title resonates with me unless I go backward into my story around the octopus. The octopus appeared to me in a dream many years ago and, in my young mind, it saved me. I still believe that it did. I didn't yet understand archetypal thoughts and how these weird subconscious ideas work-—I still don't fully understand but have made peace with the strangeness.

This seems to be a symbol that grows with my life. Where once it was a desperate beast who ducked into caves in inky defense of its life, now I see it as a creature with emotional authority, who has earned its in-charge position of the temple-cave. The tides shift endlessly, filling the cave, then emptying...but that's the nature of the shore. This is the beauty and intelligence of living between worlds. At any rate, being brought to this point of strange reverence is better than being stuck in the toxic ink of hiding. Moving on up!

24x24" Oil on Canvas, 2021

24x28" Oil on Canvas August, 2019

“Both light and shadow are the dance of love.”—Rumi

36x48” oil on canvas

30x36" oil

This is another that has attempted to become many things before this. Lots of layers, lots of semi-aimless choices. But then a couple weeks ago, I came across Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" and something else began to emerge. It's a very long poem, so here are just some of the lines I like (not in order):

I and this mystery, here we stand.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Let your soul stand cool and composed
before a million universes.

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.

I exist as I am. That is enough.

Upcoming exhibit in San Clemente, CA., showcasing large abstract paintings. Some prints of paper works will also be available. Space is intimate, so be mindful of that when you come. See you there!

Another internal exploration, this one based on the anatomy of the Solar Plexus…at least, that’s what it started as. It’s got a lot going on…but so do I. :) I embrace the mass of energy of this one—it’s currently one of my favorites.

30x40" Oil on Canvas, August 2019

This flowy painting was inspired by the shapes of the ventricles and atria of the human heart. I'm fascinated by the concept of providing a visual language to the unconscious parts of ourselves...and what are more unconscious symbols than the cells and organs of our bodies? They do their vital work no matter how awake or asleep we are—in fact, we usually only consider them when they bring us some sort of pain/difficulty. (Then we are annoyed and grateful for them at once.)

In Sanscrit, the heart chakra is called Anahata, which translates to "Unhurt, Unstruck, and Unbeaten" in English. The heart, as they say, is its own drum...perhaps thats why I resonate with the unbeaten idea: no one else can beat yours for you, no matter what. And of all the organs, as far as I know, its the only one that makes consistent sound (at least that I've heard recorded.) Maybe that's why we say: "Listen to your heart?" (I live in a world of metaphor so it makes sense to me!)

And also...love wins.

20x30, oil

“Now is the time to listen within, tend our inner garden mindfully until new flowers, new blessings can blossom.” —Hermann Hesse

24x24” Oil on Canvas, 2017

30x40” oil

Based on a cross section of the pelvic area. When I started doing abstracts, I began with pelvis bones, now I’ve moved to internal organs. So much more life here. This one also reminds me of the textile Molas of South America.

The Sea Inside a Cell/ That’s What Little Girls and Boys Are Made Of

20x28” oil on canvas

"Fractures well cured make us more strong."—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Part of the "Fractures" series, painted August 2017

2017

"The starry vault of heaven is in truth the open book of cosmic projection." —Carl Jung

Part of the "Fractures" series, painted in the month before the year anniversary of my husband's death. There was much thought about creating some sort of "garden" out of those long-broken places (literally and figuratively.)

Another from the "Fractures" series. After layers of a painting I tried to make into something else, this emerged. Light in the bones. A sunrise. The title was what I meant to give the drawing underneath. Try as I might, that drawing/painting didn't take. So I returned to my bone motif and found quick healing in that touch of light.

Painted after a trip to Northern Norway, Summer 2017

“Mirrors Should Think Longer Before They Reflect”—Jean Cocteau

12x16 oil, 2017