Alone in her bathroom, Holley Soro is pretending to drown.
Her hands wretch up from the tub, clawing at the baby blue tiles, faking a desperation for the handles she knows aren’t there. She bangs her feet against the wall, for sharp, dramatic effect. Her naked back shivers against the cold, hard porcelain, but she doesn’t mind. She can use that distress to her advantage. She needs that emotion to shine for the camera she has set to capture this anguished moment.
“I always take pictures of the things I want to paint,” the 22-year-old artist explains. “I work mostly with my own body, trying to capture strong emotions with just my hands or feet. Photos make that easier.” Now she’s fully dressed in a chalky studio, sitting proudly beside her painted drowning scene. Her frilly blue dress matches the hue of the tiles, and her long, black hair and dark eye liner complement the canvas’ brushed shadows. It’s one of the many pieces she’s preparing for this semester’s senior exit show as she tenders her graduation from UGA as a Painting/Drawing major.
Soro never wanted to be an artist, “but life is funny that way,” she reasons. Raised in Knoxville, Tenn., she came to Georgia as a Pre-Med student searching for a culture shock. “My hometown was like ‘Happyville’ or something,” she gripes. “I couldn’t stand how normal it was. I had to get out!” She thought a new city could help her find herself, but once she made her great escape, she only found herself depressed and homesick. After spending most of her freshman year asleep, she experienced a great awakening through a chance enrollment in an Art History class.
“I didn’t even realize ‘art’ could be a profession, but that class showed me so many amazing things. Now it’s my life,” Soro says. Her bright green eyes glaze over for a moment as she considers her words. “I have this love affair with paint... the texture, the feel of it...” she admits. As she speaks, her fingers slowly churn the air between them, remembering among themselves the feeling of warm, smooth oil. A painting of those same fingers churning dandelions hangs on the wall beside her. “I love what I do. It’s too bad art has such a bad stigma these days. It’s like people would rather have their children be circus clowns than artists.”
Not Soro’s parents, though. She says her mother and father, a teacher and engineer respectively, have been boundlessly supportive, even if they’ve never truly understood her art. “I’m thankful every day for them,” she says. “They’re the sweetest people who ever lived.” Family has always meant the world to Soro, so much so that she had her family’s name tattooed on her right foot. Her great-grandfather came to America from Italy in 1920, and since then, she’s says, “it’s just been us... then everyone else.” According to her, the name “Soro” comes from the Italian word for “sister.” It’s fitting, as she’s extremely close to her 21-year-old sister, Leah. “We couldn’t be more different, but it works. She’s an athlete, and I’m... me.”
While Soro gathers a lot of inspiration from her family, she rarely cites fellow painters as an influence on the work she’s most proud of. She turns mainly to feminist writers and poets for motivation, such as Barbara Kreuger and especially Judy Grahn. “I am what that lady is talking about. She’s such a badass.” Soro classifies her art as a visual voice of third-wave feminism. “I use a lot of feminist symbolism. I think I’m largely attacking the notion that women are expected to be only mothers and just... have children. I reject that,” she asserts, cracking her knuckles like a war cry.
Holley Soro has a narrow, determined vision of her art. She’s legally blind in her left eye, making her perspective of the world somewhat flattened, like an unfinished canvas. When she speaks, her words seem driven and deliberate, as if there’s a silent monologue constantly mulling under her tongue, constructing the perfect expression of her thoughts. Though she hasn’t made specific career plans for her post-grad future, she knows that she’ll continue to paint. “This art form offers the most possibilities for me,” she says. “You can’t say everything you want to say in a pot. To me, painting is the highest, most expressive art.”
Soro’s work, including the as-yet-untitled drowning scene, will be displayed from April 20-26 as part of the BFA senior exit show “Stitches” in the Lamar Dodd School of Art.
Her hands wretch up from the tub, clawing at the baby blue tiles, faking a desperation for the handles she knows aren’t there. She bangs her feet against the wall, for sharp, dramatic effect. Her naked back shivers against the cold, hard porcelain, but she doesn’t mind. She can use that distress to her advantage. She needs that emotion to shine for the camera she has set to capture this anguished moment.
“I always take pictures of the things I want to paint,” the 22-year-old artist explains. “I work mostly with my own body, trying to capture strong emotions with just my hands or feet. Photos make that easier.” Now she’s fully dressed in a chalky studio, sitting proudly beside her painted drowning scene. Her frilly blue dress matches the hue of the tiles, and her long, black hair and dark eye liner complement the canvas’ brushed shadows. It’s one of the many pieces she’s preparing for this semester’s senior exit show as she tenders her graduation from UGA as a Painting/Drawing major.
Soro never wanted to be an artist, “but life is funny that way,” she reasons. Raised in Knoxville, Tenn., she came to Georgia as a Pre-Med student searching for a culture shock. “My hometown was like ‘Happyville’ or something,” she gripes. “I couldn’t stand how normal it was. I had to get out!” She thought a new city could help her find herself, but once she made her great escape, she only found herself depressed and homesick. After spending most of her freshman year asleep, she experienced a great awakening through a chance enrollment in an Art History class.
“I didn’t even realize ‘art’ could be a profession, but that class showed me so many amazing things. Now it’s my life,” Soro says. Her bright green eyes glaze over for a moment as she considers her words. “I have this love affair with paint... the texture, the feel of it...” she admits. As she speaks, her fingers slowly churn the air between them, remembering among themselves the feeling of warm, smooth oil. A painting of those same fingers churning dandelions hangs on the wall beside her. “I love what I do. It’s too bad art has such a bad stigma these days. It’s like people would rather have their children be circus clowns than artists.”
Not Soro’s parents, though. She says her mother and father, a teacher and engineer respectively, have been boundlessly supportive, even if they’ve never truly understood her art. “I’m thankful every day for them,” she says. “They’re the sweetest people who ever lived.” Family has always meant the world to Soro, so much so that she had her family’s name tattooed on her right foot. Her great-grandfather came to America from Italy in 1920, and since then, she’s says, “it’s just been us... then everyone else.” According to her, the name “Soro” comes from the Italian word for “sister.” It’s fitting, as she’s extremely close to her 21-year-old sister, Leah. “We couldn’t be more different, but it works. She’s an athlete, and I’m... me.”
While Soro gathers a lot of inspiration from her family, she rarely cites fellow painters as an influence on the work she’s most proud of. She turns mainly to feminist writers and poets for motivation, such as Barbara Kreuger and especially Judy Grahn. “I am what that lady is talking about. She’s such a badass.” Soro classifies her art as a visual voice of third-wave feminism. “I use a lot of feminist symbolism. I think I’m largely attacking the notion that women are expected to be only mothers and just... have children. I reject that,” she asserts, cracking her knuckles like a war cry.
Holley Soro has a narrow, determined vision of her art. She’s legally blind in her left eye, making her perspective of the world somewhat flattened, like an unfinished canvas. When she speaks, her words seem driven and deliberate, as if there’s a silent monologue constantly mulling under her tongue, constructing the perfect expression of her thoughts. Though she hasn’t made specific career plans for her post-grad future, she knows that she’ll continue to paint. “This art form offers the most possibilities for me,” she says. “You can’t say everything you want to say in a pot. To me, painting is the highest, most expressive art.”
Soro’s work, including the as-yet-untitled drowning scene, will be displayed from April 20-26 as part of the BFA senior exit show “Stitches” in the Lamar Dodd School of Art.
Holley doesn't have a website, but you can find her on The Facebook if you wanna, like, poke her.
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