As a child, I always felt alone unless I was with my grandparents. My brother is eight years older and he had his endeavors, my parents were older when they had me, and I was the only kid in my neighborhood. When I think back on my childhood I was misunderstood and I was bullied my kindergarten year until third grade when I switched schools. While I was in elementary I never quite fit in with the boys or girls in my class. The boys thought I had coodies and the girls wanted me to conform to their demands. Demands such as give me your Lunchable sticker or I won’t be your friend go tell this guy I love them and then I’ll really be your friend if you don’t do what I tell you then we won’t talk to you. I refused to be their flunky so I opted to be alone. When I tried to tell my teacher what was happening the teacher would just say don’t be a tattle tale. I genuinely for the life of me had no idea why these girls when out of their way to make my days at school miserable. I never told my parents or my family what I was going through. I thought if my teacher didn’t care why would my parents. The only adult I told about my situation was my maternal grandma.

Grandma: "What’s wrong baby?"
6 year old Britt: "These girls are mean to me in school."
Grandma: "Really! What do they do?"
6 year old Britt: "They won’t play with me and make fun of me in front of the other kids. They talk about my hair and things I say."
(One of the reasons I don't wear braids as an adult)
Grandma: "The next time they make fun of you I want you to tell them this...."
​
The next day I said exactly what my Grandma told me to saw word for word to the Regina George of the group. Although I was able to express the internal aggression I possessed I was sent to the principles office my grandmother's words.
When my mother came to pick me up the teacher told my mother what was said.
When the girls came over I proceeded to say “ You know what I’m tired of your sh*t! You can go ahead and say what you want now but by the time you turn 16 you’ll be stuck with a sh*t load of babies in a dead-end job alone with no one”. Looking back it might not have been the best thing to tell a six-year old but it sure felt good! The girls were segregating me and treating me as an inferior individual. My grandma taught me how to stand up for myself because no one else would. She might have had brash solutions to any altercation but she was a fighter being a single mother of four. My grandmother's resilience continues to influence me when things seem gloomy. Although I'm a little scorned I'm grateful that it didn't affect me as bad as other people who have been bullied. My imagination was formed from instances such as this and I learned how to judge a person by their actions and not by the group​. 

As a child I always cherished and valued art and drew during the most in opportune time. One day during an alphabet lesson my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Moon, discovered I wasn't focusing on the lesson . "Brittany! Are you drawing again?" "No, Mrs. Moon" I replied. She glanced at me with piercing eyes and immediately stopped what she was doing to walk over and see for herself if I was telling the truth. Mrs. Moon discovered I was telling the truth, but I also lied. She found five pages of doodles under my alphabet page. That day a letter was pinned to my shirt. Although the letter was sent home my mother never received it. Although I was young I wasn’t stupid. I knew never give my mother that letter and never draw again because drawing meant trouble. For six years I stopped creating until I switched schools. During my fourth grade year I met Mrs. Grimes my art teacher at
Presbyterian School
.
Our first assignment was to sketch a still life of bottles. I didn't focus hard on drawing; my abilities were always overlooked so there was no need to try to gain attention I thought . After I finished, Mrs. Grimes asked the class who drew the bottles she held in her hand. Frightened I rose my hand and confessed to creating the picture she held. As I watched her put my name on the picture and put it in her bag I thought oh well it was nice to live to see fourth grade at least. After school I walked to my mother's class room at the end of the hall,. When I arrived I could see my mother’s stern eyes as I stood in the door way. " Mrs. Grimes came to speak to me about your classwork." My mother stated. "She believes you have an eye for art and that you should consider pursuing art as a profession."
Mrs. Grimes believed in me when no one else knew I existed. she made me realize the talents I possessed and the profession I wanted to pursue in life. 20 years later I still talk to Mrs. Grimes and meet her for lunch. Throughout my career there are four teachers who’ve influenced and nurtured my artistic journey. Thank you Mrs. Grimes for giving me the courage to be an artist and to realize the phrase starving art is a myth. Amy Lorino taught me how promote myself to institutions and how to take a chance and just apply. Carolyn Meyer taught me be flexible and to absolve all fears about well what if I mess up the painting if I correct this or paint here. Its perfects so lets not mess it up. She taught me my art can always be better, your painting can always evolve never take the first stroke as perfect.
Kevin Moore  taught me not only composition color, layout and proportion but the importance of your compositional message of impact (how a piece looks from a distance) vs payoff (what it looks like up close). Thank you to all of these teachers for influencing me and for all of the future artist you will impact. You are the true definition of what it meant to be an exceptional educator.

I’m noticing a trend! Everyone seems to like my stories about my family and my childhood so I thought I would share a fun story. As a child, I was left with my father most often on the weekends when my mother ran around running errands. Babysitting + Dad = A unsupervised fantastic day! My schedule was as follows.
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Run around screaming in the front yard until I collapsed in the grass and observed the clouds.
Bike down the street to the neighborhood church.
Find leftover remnants of car Bondo in the driveway then smash it with a hammer.
Play with my barbies in the grass.
Dig in the dirt until I find clay.

Have playtime with my grandfather who usually would walk to our home by 2:00 pm.
If you can’t tell I was a very eccentric child whose parents allowed her to be weird. One faithful day I decided to forgo my original schedule and stay indoors watching Nickelodeon. Yes, Nickelodeon I was a Nickelodeon kid more than a Disney type of girl add that another eccentric tick mark. While I watched Hey Arnold I got the bright idea to have a snow day in the house. Just so happened we had a large box full of styrofoam leftover from a delivery. Immediately I took out all of the styrofoam, ripped it into tiny pieces, and began to throw it up in the air. When I was done I sat in my mess and continued watching TV with styrofoam in every crevice of the living room. When my father finally came in he flipped out not because of the mess but because of the thought of my mother witnessing the mess Mother can be very very scary. The rest of my afternoon was filled with a vacuum in hand cleaning every square inch of the living room. Although this was my last time having a snow day in the house it wasn’t the last time my imagination got me in trouble.

My upcoming series "Home Sweet Home" is inspired by the bifurcate ideals of home. When I moved back to Houston the environment was different than how I remembered it. Places seem smaller, less vibrant, and the reality of people I once knew was different. This reality made me realize everyone have two circumstantial thoughts of home one  our memory of home in our youth and two the present reality of our home. Both ideas are our home but different recollections and times of it. Combining both ideals using 2D elements representing my memory and 3D elements representing the reality Home sweet home was created. When I was a child everything was in bright and in technicolor, often kiddish, and simple. I was obsessed with stars, space, and constantly was alone. My brother didn't share similar interest to me as a result of our eight years age difference, and I lived in an older neighborhood where i was the youngest person on my street. The only person I had to keep me the company with was my grandfather. We didn't live in reality but in a fantasy world created though my imagination. The flatness of the 2D elements will reflect my childhood-like spirit and the memories of the places in my compositions. The reality aspect of each composition will be sculpted items. The concept of Houston as home was a  notion I had to learn to appreciate in time. ​

Grandpa: "What are we going to do today Britt?"
5 Year Old Britt: "Let's go fishing using sticks and leaves"
Grandpa: "Okay let's get our bucket and go to the back yard"

My memories of my grandfather are some of the most cherished moments I possess of my childhood. I didn't realize it then but my grandfather nourished not only creativity as a child but my imagination. Although he was an adult he possessed a child-like spirit. Whenever I went to my paternal grandparents' house I had the best of both worlds. My grandmother was the average Texas southern baptist who dressed to perfection. Feathers, pearls, and hot pink were some of Vera's favorite things. When my grandmother was around I had a strict schedule.  

7:00 AM- My mother dropped me off where I would sleep until 8:00 AM
9:00 AM- Breakfast time in the kitchen with my grandfather
Grandpa: "What's your order today Britt?" 
Me: "I would like my eggs sunny side up with my bacon crispy but burnt a-little with toast and black coffee"
Grandpa: "you got it"!
11:00 AM- I would sneak into my grandmother's jewelry box and try on her pearls 
12:00 PM- 1:00 PM My grandpa would sneak me out of the house to play outside with my cat Dina  
1:00 PM- Nap time FOR EVERYONE!
2:00 PM- 2:30 PM Teatime with grandma 
2: 30 PM- 3:15 PM Cartoons on UPN with grandpa
3:15 PM- My father came to pick me up to go home

My grandmother taught me about the beauty in jewelry, etiquette values, and how to be refined in society. While my grandfather taught me how to see the humor in life and how to escape from reality. I was allowed to be a child as a child should be and for that, I am forever grateful. My grandfather taught me how to possess a childlike spirit into adulthood that continues to fuel my creativity. My mind is where I live and where I see them both. "Bennington Ave" will be the second artwork in the "Home Sweet Home" series dedicated to my grandparents. Within the artwork lies their home as I remember it from my childhood. Their house was white with grass green trim and an enclosed verandah. In front of the verandah lies a botanical garden behind a bench. Although their house is gone and stands as a vacant lot engulfed by grass their house stands the test of time engraved in my mind. My hope now from this moment on viewing  "Bennington Ave" bring you, the viewer the same magnitude of joy I experienced in this white green trim house with the magical garden. 

It’s finally Thursday! This has truly been the slowest most horrible week ever. I am one of the unfortunate Houstonians who lost power and water this week due to the winter storm.  I lost power Sunday night and remained powerless for two days. Houston hasn't been this cold in February for at least 122 years. Temperatures reached as low as 10 degrees with sleet, snow, and iced roads. During the blackout, my time was distributed in my bed under four blankets because my house was 45 degrees and in my car to charge appliances. By day three power was restored to my home but with rolling blackouts. Every four hours we lost power for at least an hour. Nevertheless, some power was better than none. As for water on day three it was none existent upstairs with low water pressure downstairs. Day four we have power with low water pressure and toilets have to be refilled with water we stored in our tub to flush. Although I feel as if I have been through hell and back I still smile and relish the small wins such as power. Moments like these remind me of similar emotions I felt when I created my painting  “Usps gloom technologies euphoria”. This college is the perfect college that was created when I encountered an equally gloomy time in 2012. The models all smile but what is behind the smile could they all be in denial of their circumstances or even their reality. We all hide the pain with a smile at some time or another. What pain could Mona Lisa be hiding behind the smile that she neglects to go admit?

“Asteroids in the night sky”  was one of my favorite paintings to create and is a diamond in the rough. This painting was originally created for a celestial exhibition for @mexic_arte but never made it to the exhibition because of a time constraint with shipping.
“Asteroids in the night sky” is available and can be purchase today with All Art Works https://allartworks.net/a-e/asteroids-in-the-night-sky?rq=brittany%20
​!!!! Go to the search bar and type in Brittany Ellis and you will find me 💁🏾‍♀️. 

The phrase HollowDolls derives from the integrated feeling of hollowness resulting from the emptiness of awareness, maturity, and nostalgia. On occasion, I live in the memories of the past reflecting on times before the loss of family and interwoven relationships. A time where blissful ignorance was present.
Since the loss of my father fleeting images of the past became moments of interest adjacent to the present. I can be just as hollow as the subjects portrayed within my artworks but climbing out of the emptiness is the true journey. Hollowness results from emptiness when moments of the present are negated. Everything in life is created, evolve, and cease to exist. Each series I’ve created became a
promotion of acceptance of the present. The nostalgia experienced within the past are
feelings that are obtainable in the present by pursuing our aspirations.

The journey continues! This week I continued my creative journey of exploration. Since the development of covid-19 I've become more creatively free. Exploring more creative aspects such as integrating modeling paste with acrylic and pastels. Pastels were one of the first mediums I began using when I began creating art. The pandemic really forced me to reflect on things that not only matter to me but influential moments of the past that embody who I am. I've always been a artist that integrates the nostalgic emotion of the past into my compositions. Nostalgia is a tethering thread that connects all of my artworks weather its celestial compositions, vintage portraits, or     week I began a new practice artwork. Shanti House is an image of a road trip I took a long time ago. I've been able to explore different methods of creating Because I haven't been working on a generalized series.