Summer VonHolten is a Texas-based artist celebrated for her vibrant, emotionally resonant oil paintings that reflect her deep connection to nature and storytelling. Born and raised in Tomball, Texas, Summer’s artistic journey began in childhood, inspired by the expansive landscapes, shifting skies, and quiet beauty of rural life. Her early fascination with capturing light and texture laid the foundation for her distinct style, which blends realism with bold, layered techniques to evoke emotion and narrative.
A graduate of the University of Houston with a Bachelor of Fine Arts, Summer honed her skills in oil painting while drawing inspiration from influential artists like Georgia O’Keeffe and Vincent van Gogh. Her career took a pivotal turn during her time in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where she embraced the vibrant desert landscapes and refined her approach to imperfection and creative risk-taking.
Since returning to Tomball, Summer VonHolten has built a thriving studio practice, crafting works that connect viewers to the beauty and emotion of natural spaces. Her paintings have been featured in galleries across Texas and recognized for their ability to tell stories through color and texture. In addition to her artistic pursuits, Summer is a dedicated mentor, offering workshops and guidance to emerging artists. Through her work, she continues to inspire others to embrace creativity, connection, and the art of storytelling.
What role does storytelling play in your art, and how do you bring stories into your work?
Storytelling is at the heart of everything I create. For me, every painting begins with an emotion or memory that I want to capture and share. Sometimes it’s a quiet moment, like sitting in a field as a storm rolls in, or the warmth of a late summer sunset. Those experiences aren’t just visual—they’re layered with feelings, sounds, and textures.
To bring that to life, I focus on details that hint at a larger narrative. For example, I painted a piece called Whispering Horizon that shows an empty field with a single trail cutting through it. It’s simple at first glance, but for me, it represents choices—paths taken and those left unexplored. I love leaving space for viewers to create their own story around it.
How has teaching and mentoring other artists influenced your own work?
Teaching has been transformative for me. It’s one thing to know how you approach your own art, but explaining that process to someone else forces you to think more deeply about it. My students often surprise me with their perspectives—they see things in ways I never would have considered.
Once, a student used bold, almost clashing colors in a landscape, and it was so unexpected that it stuck with me. That pushed me to experiment with colors outside my comfort zone. Teaching reminds me that art is about exploration, not just the final product.
What inspires your use of texture and layering in oil painting?
Texture is such an important part of how I tell a story through my art. Life isn’t flat or smooth—it’s full of layers, rough edges, and contrasts. I want my paintings to reflect that complexity.
I once painted a landscape of a dried riverbed, and I spent days layering the earth tones to give it depth. The process reminded me of the way the land holds history in its cracks and grooves. It’s those details, the imperfections and variations, that make the work feel alive.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever received about being an artist?
A mentor once told me, “The best art comes from what scares you.” That stuck with me because it’s so true. Art that feels too safe or easy often lacks soul.
When I was in Santa Fe, I was hesitant to paint abstract landscapes—I worried they wouldn’t resonate with people. But leaning into that fear was freeing. One of those abstract pieces ended up being a turning point in my style and connected with viewers in a way I hadn’t expected.
How do you approach balancing personal creativity with commissioned work?
It can be tricky, but I see commissions as a collaboration. They challenge me to step into someone else’s vision while still bringing my own voice to the piece.
I had a client who wanted a painting of their family’s ranch, but they didn’t want it to be a straightforward landscape. Instead, they asked me to incorporate elements that reflected their memories, like a particular tree they used to climb and the way the sky looked at dusk. It was a creative puzzle that pushed me to think outside the box. Balancing that personal connection with my artistic style is always rewarding.
What’s a specific landscape or moment that has had a lasting impact on your art?
The rolling hills of the Texas countryside at dusk will always stay with me. Growing up, I would sit on a hill near our house and watch the sky shift through so many colors—peach, lavender, deep indigo. That moment of transition, where everything feels quiet yet alive, has influenced so much of my work.
I revisit that memory often when I paint. It’s not about recreating the scene exactly but capturing the feeling of it—the sense of wonder and peace.
What’s a common misconception people have about being an artist?
That it’s all about inspiration. Inspiration is wonderful, but most of the work is just that—work. There are days when the paint doesn’t feel like it’s flowing, or I can’t quite capture what I see in my head.
Those moments used to frustrate me, but now I embrace them as part of the process. Creativity isn’t about waiting for the perfect moment—it’s about showing up, even when it’s hard. That consistency is where the breakthroughs happen.
How do you approach experimenting with new techniques while staying true to your style?
I think of my style as a foundation, not a limitation. It’s what grounds me, but it doesn’t box me in. Experimentation is essential to growth, so I’ll often try something completely different—like using a palette knife instead of a brush or working on unconventional surfaces like wood panels.
Recently, I started playing with metallic underlays in some of my landscapes. At first, I worried it might feel too modern or out of place, but it added a beautiful depth to the light in the paintings. Staying true to my style doesn’t mean staying the same; it means evolving in a way that still feels authentic.
How do you decide when a painting is finished?
That’s one of the hardest parts. I’ve learned to trust my instincts—there’s a point where the piece stops asking for more.
Sometimes, I’ll set a painting aside for a few days and revisit it with fresh eyes. If it feels balanced and evokes the emotion I wanted, I know it’s done. Other times, it’s a gut feeling—like a quiet voice saying, “That’s enough.”
What’s your ultimate goal as an artist?
My goal is to create work that connects people to something larger than themselves. Whether it’s a memory, a feeling, or a sense of wonder, I want my paintings to spark that connection.
I also want to leave a legacy of encouragement for other artists. Art can feel isolating, but it’s also a community. I hope my mentorships and workshops inspire others to find their voice and share their stories. At the end of the day, it’s all about connection—both with the world around us and with each other.
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