Today we’d like to introduce you to Stephanie Goldman.
Hi Stephanie, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
I walked on fire in the eighties, and that’s pretty much where this all began. It was a Tony Robbins seminar where you walk across hot coals to prove to yourself that you can go beyond your fear. For me, the fear turned out to be admitting that I wanted to be an artist.
I didn’t pick up a paintbrush right away. Instead, I went in a completely different direction first—completing ten thousand hours of massage therapy training, years of hands-on clinical bodywork, and a Master’s in Humanistic Psychology. I became fascinated by the ways people carry their experiences in their bodies.
Then I went to Europe for a couple of years, studying, traveling, and standing in front of original paintings by artists I’d previously known only through books. Along the way, I trained at places including the Margarethe Hauschka Schule, the Goetheanum in Dornach, and the Ita Wegman Klinik, within a tradition where art and healing are closely connected.
Painting had been waiting for me all along. Once I finally allowed myself to take it seriously, I trained intensely in oil, acrylic, and watercolor, studying the Old Masters and Byzantine icons up close and becoming almost obsessive about materials, technique, and process.
Eventually, that path led me to the National Watercolor Society, where I’m now in my eleventh year on the board, serving as President Emeritus. I also teach, mostly on Zoom, so my students are scattered well beyond San Diego.
Everything I’ve learned along the way—the psychology, the bodywork, the years of looking and studying, and decades at the easel—has come together in the project I’m working on now: a series called The Embodied Soul Cries Out to the Lord. It includes more than two dozen paintings, following one figure through different spiritual states, each rooted in the Psalms.
I didn’t plan it this way. The paintings themselves have led to this, and I’ve followed.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Interesting question, as if life could be smooth. There have been many twists and turns, and the hardest part wasn’t technical but internal. For a long time I didn’t let myself take being an artist seriously. I kept circling through other paths—bodywork, psychology, workshops—as if I needed to earn permission to call myself an artist. The firewalk cracked that open, but it didn’t fix it overnight. Even after Europe and years of serious training, there was a long stretch of learning to trust that the work itself would always lead the way.
The other real struggle has been patience. A series like The Embodied Soul Cries Out to the Lord doesn’t move fast. There were plenty of points where a painting sat unfinished for months or even years because I hadn’t lived enough yet to know how to finish it. Learning to let a piece wait, instead of forcing it, took a long time.
There’s also the subject matter itself. Painting a nude male figure through theological territory isn’t a neutral choice—it invites questions, sometimes skepticism, from people who expect religious art to look a certain way or who aren’t sure what to make of a body treated as sacred rather than simply decorative. Sitting with that discomfort, and trusting the work anyway, has been its own kind of struggle.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I have been painting one long, sustained body of work: a series called The Embodied Soul Cries Out to the Lord, following a single male figure through different spiritual and emotional states, each piece paired with a Psalm. I work in oil, acrylic, and watercolor, trained closely on the Old Masters and Byzantine icons, so the craft itself is classical even when the ideas underneath it aren’t.
What I’m most proud of is probably the commitment itself—more than two dozen paintings, one figure, built over years rather than rushed out. It’s a body of work that can be contemplated in many different ways. Every piece has had to earn its place in the series.
What I think sets it apart is the combination of classical figurative painting alongside a contemporary theological project, with physics and theology worked into some of the paintings—Euler’s Identity—The Most Beautiful, where I painted the equation directly into the halo, is a good example of what I mean.
What has been the most important lesson you’ve learned along your journey?
A few things stand out. I don’t need anyone’s permission to take myself seriously as an artist. I had to trust the work myself before I could expect anyone else to.
Staying with one idea for years, instead of jumping around, is what actually let it grow into a serious body of work.
My ideas needed a trained hand behind them and that technical training had to come first, or the theology alone wouldn’t have worked on canvas.
But probably the biggest one: I don’t have to understand what a painting is about before I make it. For years I thought I needed the meaning figured out first—why a certain image kept showing up—before I could paint it. Eventually I learned the meaning and title usually come later, sometimes years later, and often after a lot of research. The painting generally understands what it is about before I do. My job is just to keep showing up and let it teach me, instead of demanding the answer up front.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://goldmanfineart.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/goldmanfineart/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/1goldmanfineart
- LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/stephanie-goldmanfineart-51a43234
- Twitter: https://twitter.com/goldmanfineart
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@goldmanfineartists
- Other: https://www.pinterest.com/goldmanfineart/
Image Credits
All Images courtesy of the artist, Stephanie Goldman.
