11 creatives on their first art love
Ft. inflatable Italian chairs, floor burgers, & the patron saint of "sprezzatura"
No matter who you are, you remember the first piece of art you ever loved. In this week’s newsletter, some of my v creative friends answer that question, featuring: Joe Henry Baker, Ali LaBelle, Gordon Winarick, Emilia Petrarca, Somsack Sikhounmuong, Lauren Sands, Jalil Johnson, Conway Liao, Kelsey Keith, Kelsey Rose, and Sandy Sanchez.
What was your earliest memory of art that really meant something to you? I remember mine. I was 5 years old in St. Paul MN and my alternative pre-school just finished our unit on belly dancers (YES!!) & was onto the next. It was on a French artist who would send me head over heels into a lifelong love of art. Yes, you guessed it: claude<3 monet<3
We sipped sparkling apple juice, pretended to picnic in Giverny (cue five-yr-olds’ version of French accents) and I drew my own Monet-inspired bridges with those chubby crayons I still think about once a week. A few years later, my first painting would be of that very scene.
No matter who you are, you remember that first piece—the one that stuck. Maybe it was in a children’s book, a classroom, a museum with your mom. So I asked 11 of some of the most creative people I know:
“What’s the first piece of art you ever loved?”
Joe Henry Baker
London-born NYC-based artist whose work you’ve seen on the walls of Gem Home, The Invisible Collection, The Somerset House, and more. Follow him on Instagram here.
I was 14 years old and living in London when I visited the Tate Modern to see Olafur Eliasson: The Weather Project. This was an entire takeover of the impressive turbine hall - a warm and soft light installation at one end bathing the entire space in a comforting glow, reminiscent of a setting or rising sun, both of which bring comfort, joy, and a certain level of anticipation. As part of the interaction with the piece, the entire ceiling was covered in mirrors. Without instruction, viewers were enticed to lay, splay and play on the floor in the light, forming shapes and groups, and losing inhibitions. The entire experience was mesmerizing, hypnotizing and intoxicating.
Interesting then to see later in life how light has played an important role in my work:
Ali LaBelle
Author of A La Carte, founder of Ali LaBelle Creative, and fellow pasta appreciator
My first real art memory is of George Seurat’s 1884 painting A Sunday on La Grande Jatte thanks to Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I was maybe 4 or 5 when I watched the movie for the first time, and in addition to it being a pivotal film for me sartorially (I thought Sloane was the coolest) and musically (I went on to become The Beatles' youngest fan), it left a lasting impression on my budding artist brain, too.
In the scene, Cameron is having an existential crisis as he stares into the face of the girl at the center of A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, and while I had no idea what it all meant at the time, it now hits me as an adult differently—I always tear up at that part.
My mom taught me about pointillism after the credits rolled and I spent many afternoons thereafter stabbing the tips of my markers into construction paper to try and practice it myself.
Gordon Winarick
Artist behind Winarick Studios (v Rothko-inspired paintings which I love), actor & model - one of our faves for Alex Mill;)
The first piece of art I remember truly falling in love with was Joan Miró’s Bleu III (1961). I was 22, maybe. I had thought I loved art before, but seeing this painting redefined what love for a piece could feel like. It wasn’t just admiration. It was recognition, like something inside me had been named without words.
Bleu III struck me because it’s deceptively simple. Just a few forms suspended in an endless, celestial blue, yet somehow, it felt complete. There was a sense of freedom in it, like the painting didn’t care what anyone thought. It was daring and childlike, yet precise and intentional. At any moment, it felt like it could either explode and swallow the world whole or vanish into thin air without a trace. That kind of tension, restrained yet immense, is what made it unforgettable.
It taught me balance. It showed me that art doesn’t have to shout to be heard.
It stayed with me because it made me feel something I couldn’t explain. That mystery felt like a kind of truth. I think that’s what great art does. It shows you something about yourself you didn’t know you were looking for.
Find more of Gordon at @gordonwinarick or @winarickstudios - and his available works here.
Emilia Petrarca
Fashion editor and writer you’ve definitely seen in NY Mag, The Cut, WSJ and more. She is the author of Shop Rat on Substack.
When I was around nine, my dad, who was an architect, took me to the MoMA. I found the museum mostly boring, but I remember my eyes lighting up at the sight of a big, red blow-up chair on display in a room full of other home objects from the permanent collection.
Designed by Jonathan De Pas, Donato D’Urbino, and Paolo Lomazzi in 1967, The Blow Armchair was the first mass-produced piece of inflatable furniture, and probably the first design object I became truly obsessed with.
I wanted this chair so bad. I begged for it. I dreamt about it. I never got it, but I still think about it often, and it has probably informed my sense of high-low taste. It was only until I purchased the couch currently in my living room that I realized how deeply it had been lodged in my subconscious.
I also bought an inflatable stool from Prada last year, so I’ve finally come full circle.
Somsack Sikhounmuong
Creative director / co-founder at Alex Mill, incredible ceramicist, author of Somstack, my boss & bestie
I was in 4th grade - 9 or 9 years old - at AGO (the Art Gallery of Ontario) when I saw Claus Oldenburg’s Floor Burger (1962) for the first time.
It wasn’t so much “love at first sight” but maybe “shock then smile at first sight.” Up until that moment I knew paintings and drawings and busts were art but a GIANT soft dusty hamburger?!?! How could this be?? It didn’t fit and def didn’t make any sense but boy did I LOOOOOOVE IT. This piece reset the parameters of what art could be for me- art didn’t need to sit within the 4 sides of a frame nor sit atop a pedestal. The Hamburger was silly, monumental, and absurd!! I was too young to understand the full extent of what Claus’ work meant to the art world but as I saw more pieces I started to understand. I love that the Hamburger is dusty and a bit unrefined. I love that he elevated this everyday thing but put it on the floor and that everytime I see it I’m reminded that art can be many things and one of those things can be FUN.
Lauren Sands
Founder of LES Collection in Brooklyn, writes Whimsical World on Substack (my favorite piece on Elsa Schiaparelli here) and has impeccable taste in emerging artists and designers
The first artist and work I ever fell in love with was Martine Lepore - I must've been around 10 or 11. She was local to Rochester, where I grew up, and her work was everywhere inside Artisan Works—a wild, eclectic art warehouse my family would visit often. We even had a couple of her pieces at home. Her art was a little weird, sometimes even dark, but it had this way of revealing the strange beauty in the world.
I've always been drawn to things that are a little weird (sometimes very weird, though back then, I was just dipping my toe in). Martine's paintings had this dark whimsy to them; there was a bit of glamour but also something unsettling. It lingered with me. It made me feel alive, like the world was full of hidden magic.
I was lucky to grow up surrounded by that kind of art. It shaped the way I see things now.
Jalil Johnson
Author of Consider Yourself Cultured, our everyday style icon, and a very good wearer of hats
The first piece of art I remember seeing, really seeing, was when I was around four or five. Whether I truly loved it or was simply so mesmerized that my fascination has since morphed into love in my memory, I’m not sure. It was a sculpture by Philippe Wolfers called Le Chant du Cygne, which translates to The Song of the Swan. The title feels a bit misleading, though. The piece isn’t some delicate or romantic rendering of a swan mid-song. Instead, it’s a swan cast in metal, wings spread wide, one webbed foot pressed firmly against the belly of a snake mid-struggle.
At that age, I didn’t really know what I was looking at. I just remember feeling a little scared and a little thrilled, like I’d stumbled onto something I wasn’t supposed to see. It was beautiful, yes, but also wild and strange.
I never really asked why my grandmother always made a point for us to see that sculpture, but maybe she noticed that it intrigued me. Maybe she read that spark of curiosity as interest and decided to feed it by making it part of our ritual. Whenever I visited Richmond, we always went to the museum, and no trip was complete without a stop in the room with the Fabergé eggs and that statue.
I think what’s always stayed with me is how it shows the duality of beauty. Even the most graceful creatures have to fight. So why give up, even when life feels hard?
Conway Liao
Founder of Hudson Wilder (the iykyk design space in Brooklyn) & of design consultancy BAD (he’s got that *eye*)
When I was 21 (in 2001), I visited Europe for the first time. The last city I ended up in on my 2-week trip was Amsterdam, by myself. This was before smartphones and Google Maps.
I booked a hotel randomly online and printed our directions to the hotel from the airport on Mapquest. The hotel happened to be a block away from the Van Gogh museum. I grabbed breakfast at the hotel and headed to the museum. I've always admired his work but seeing his works in person brought on a much deeper level of appreciation.
Each brush stroke had so much emotion and depth, you could experience his deep psychiatric struggles. My favorite piece were the Sunflowers.
Kelsey Keith
Author of Ground Condition (which I recommend constantly), Creative Director at Herman Miller
The portrait of Baldassare Castiglione by Raphael, from 1515. It's housed in the Louvre and is one of the quieter/less flashy 'destination' paintings in that wing.
I was 20. I did my junior year abroad in Paris (it's a cliché for a reason!) and studied art history at the Sorbonne. In that program, all students had a free museum pass so you could skip the queues and just go hang out... and stare at paintings.
This portrait is out of time—its luminescence that doesn't erase the character of Baldessari but underscores it. Raphael's technical skill is really evident here (look at that fur shawl!) but the portrait represents so much more: its naturalness, the subject's direct gaze, the minimal, muted background. Those things scream 'modern,' and that is hugely exciting from an artwork coming out of the High Renaissance.
Kelsey Rose
Eames Archivist living in Basque Country, France & my new internet friend with the best art substack Absolument!
My earliest, vivid memories linked to loving art are centered more around me making art—drawing, painting, and crafting up clothes for myself at the age of four. But the first real piece of art I ever fell in love with? That’s way more tough!
It’s a little less conventional than being captivated by a painting like Starry Night, but I think most people will relate to the wonder of what I remember best.
I can distinctly recall a school field trip to my local art museum when I was eight years old. While waiting with my classmates to enter the building, I found myself totally entranced by the entry’s textured, green-stoned wall. I knew we were visiting an Egyptian exhibition, so I methodically traced my hands over the facade’s jade-colored pebbles and ridges while thinking that I had found paradise at what I nicknamed “The Egypt Museum.” Inside, I remember being floored by hieroglyphic paintings and a glimmering tomb. Maybe the architecture itself was the first piece of art that I fell for? It was a mosaic of stones that sparkled at little-me like they were stars in the sky.
Over a decade later, I worked at The Egypt Museum (its real name: the Phoenix Art Museum) while studying art history at university. A year after, I found myself similarly enchanted by The Met’s Egyptian wing just after moving to New York City.
And, almost fifteen years after that—today!—I’m still itching to learn more about the histories behind artworks, architecture, and places all over the globe. Perhaps I need to whisk myself away to Egypt next to bring this love of art full-circle.
Sandy Sanchez
Author of Small Pleasures, writer, and advocate of tiny things (like me)
Aside from being intrigued by a Starry Night poster in my 1st grade art class, I didn’t grow up going to art museums or knowing anyone who was into art. But I did have Tumblr! And that ended up being my introduction to art as a teen. My love for art continued to grow throughout high school to the point where I became the president of our school’s art club. It was during this time that I first became seriously obsessed over a piece of art: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec’s “Divan Japonais” (1893).
At the time, I was 15/16 and taking IB and AP Art classes. One of my art teachers throughout high school was named Mrs. Luciano. She was an incredible Italian woman with big curly hair who loved painting. I stumbled upon the world of cabaret posters while looking for inspiration one day, and when I saw “Divan Japonais” I immediately fell in love with it.
The muted but still interesting background, the seated pose, her extended hand, the red-orange hair, the chic outfit. There was so much movement in the poster, and I liked the combination of words and visuals. The piece gave me an exciting peek into Parisian nightlife and culture during the late nineteenth century and I loved it. This piece featured some key people from that scene: can-can dancer Jane Avril in the middle, singer Yvette Guilbert in the background with her head cropped out, and writer Édouard Dujardin on the right.
You know you really enjoyed a piece of art when it makes you curious and you end up researching for hours afterward. That’s one of the reasons why this piece stuck with me. Whenever I see work from Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec now, it always brings me back to that time when I first fell in love with art and it’s so special.
Ok there you have it! 11 very cool creatives on the first art they ever loved. One common theme I found fascinating: so many of us trace our FIRST memories of art back to around age 4 or 5 - usually the first time we start to remember things. But the art that really left a mark often hit us in our formative early 20s. All of that is to say: as soon as my future child turns four, they’re getting a computer-paper printout of this Joan Mitchell painting and a copy of 9th Street Women in their tiny hands - consider it part of the dowry (duh).
As Jerry Saltz puts it in his memoir…
What artwork really pulled the rug out from under you?! Sound off in the comments.
P.S. leaving you with a human interest story - my preschool teacher who introduced me to Impressionism, didn’t just turn me into the ~cultured soul~ I am - she has a VERY ACTIVE Facebook page where hundreds of her former “Room Zoo” students share memories of how she shaped their lives.
The posts usually come with photos from our wonderfully chaotic curriculum: a Bob Marley quote, prayer flags from our Mount Everest unit, and most often — a picture of someone standing in front of Monet’s Water Lilies or wandering the Monet Gardens.
Many times the legacy isn’t the art itself but the person who got us there<3 That is awwwww!!!
As always, make sure we are friends everywhere - find me on insta at @rfranderson and tell me your first art love in the comments below!
Also, needless to say… this is such a fun round-up. Loved hearing everyone’s art ‘first love’
Mine was probably in high school. Reading about Theodore Gericault’s “Raft of Medusa” in western civ class and then seeing it in the Louvre on a trip with my parents later that summer. I could’ve stared at that painting for hours. It’s an absolute giant canvass which you don’t really get when your context is a tiny version in a high school textbook.
Jerry Saltz of NY Mag wrote a great essay about this painting years ago that brought some of these feels flooding back: https://www.vulture.com/article/jerry-saltz-art-is-life-raft-of-the-medusa.html
Love everything about this omg everyone’s art memories 🥲 ty for having me 💙