HOLLIS FLUKER

Over the course of developing this thesis, I found myself reflecting a lot on my relationship with drawing and art-making. I’ve loved art since I was a kid, but keeping that same excitement alive through the years hasn’t been easy. I don’t usually work in a consistent rhythm—sometimes I revisit drawings months after starting them—and paired with a pretty harsh self-critical mindset and the weight of academic expectations, it’s been tough to stay connected to my work in a real, personal way.

I realized I have a really hard time letting go of labor-intensive processes. Most of the work I made leading up to this project was shaped around assignments and deadlines, not personal exploration. Somewhere along the way, the natural curiosity that pulled me toward making art in the first place started to feel dulled. So, when this senior project came around, I made the choice to shift gears—to actually bring my personal life into the work: my travels, my experiences, all the uncertainty that’s been sitting with me for a while. Even then, though, the process wasn’t easy. I struggled to find a theme that felt "big enough" to dedicate an entire year to, and that left me feeling stuck and directionless. The fall semester in particular was heavy, and it definitely spilled over into how I approached (or didn’t approach) making. Portraiture has always been at the heart of what I do—capturing relationships, events, and those weird in-between emotional moments. For this project, I turned the focus entirely on myself, using self-portraiture and repetition to explore how I see myself, especially when I’m stuck or feeling disconnected. The clown, toy, and jack-in-the-box themes that pop up throughout the show tie directly to those feelings—of navigating unknown spaces, of trying and fumbling, and of feeling foolish for not managing my time the way I wish I had. The playful, sometimes absurd imagery let me process those feelings: the shame, the humor, and the very real frustration of trying to make something meaningful in the middle of creative burnout.

Anhedonia is about that emotional state—the loss of pleasure in something that once felt effortless and full of possibility. But despite the uncertainty (and a lot of second-guessing), I eventually found a rhythm that felt right. Toward the end of this project, I was able to work more quickly, more intuitively—almost like returning to the way I used to create before all the pressure set in. That small shift reminded me that even when passion feels out of reach, it’s never really gone—it just sometimes needs time, space, and a little patience to find its way back.