“Falling into Gold: My Love Letter to Klimt”

There are artists we admire.
And then there are artists who live in our skin,  who breathe through our brush, who whisper when we dream.

For me, that artist is Gustav Klimt and also, without question, Frida Kahlo.

Sometimes I ask myself, is it okay to love someone else’s style so much that it seeps into your own work? And I always come back to the same answer: yes. Actually, not just “okay”  it’s necessary. Because art isn’t made in isolation. It’s built from feelings, memories, admiration  and the artists who moved us deeply.

I love Klimt. And I love Frida just as much. They’re so different, but they live side by side in me. Klimt, with his golden auras and sensual figures, reminds me that beauty can be powerful. That softness can have strength. That love, when painted right, can look like a prayer.

And Frida  she reminds me not to look away. From pain. From truth. From myself. Her work doesn’t ask permission. It just is. And somehow, that gives me permission to be raw, to be imperfect, to be real.

Sometimes I hear people say, “Don’t follow a style. Be original.” But... what if following a style is my way of being original? What if letting myself be influenced is how I find my voice?

I follow styles, yes. I study them, love them, and let them teach me. But at the same time, I’m creating something that’s fully my own. My work carries my story, my energy, my hands, my heart. I don’t want to copy Klimt or Frida.  I want to have conversations with them through my canvas. I want to respond to them with my brush, my colors, my feelings.

One of the artworks that’s stayed with me for years is The Kiss by Klimt. So I made my own version of it. Not a replica. But a kind of love letter  to him, and to the way that painting makes me feel. In my version, I opened the background up more. I let the figures breathe. I made it a little quieter, but more emotionally sharp. Maybe even a little more... me.

When I paint, I don’t try to impress. I try to connect. And if you’re reading this, maybe you’ve felt that, too. Maybe when you look at my work, you feel something familiar. Not because we’ve met... but because you’ve felt what I’ve felt.

I guess that’s what art is to me. It’s not about being new. It’s about being honest. It’s about letting everything I’ve seen and loved flow through me. Gold like Klimt. Thorns like Frida. And everything in between, like me, like Lucia.

Thanks for being here. For reading this. For looking. If this speaks to you, tell me — who are the artists you talk to when you paint, or write, or live? I’d love to hear.

 Lucia
from Deluzia Atelier