Tyler Murphy
Billings, MT
Billings, MT
"Summer in Paradise Valley" (2016) oil on canvas, 14" x 18"
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Hi I’m Tyler,
I opened Montana Gallery in May of 2013 in Red Lodge, MT. In April of 2016 I moved everything to Billings.
Here’s what’s been on my mind lately … (as of 2019)
An alcoholic finds strength and freedom in the very confessing of his shortcoming. Similarly I find my identity in the fact that I am a mess. I am at times lonely. I do struggle with insecurities. I do feel again and again that I’m not enough, and, thank God, at times I’m graciously reminded that I’m small, not by cause of other people’s belittling remarks or actions, but because I see the stars above, the mountains before me, the mass of humanity to my back and those unborn that have already and will one day turn to dust. In these ways I remember I’m small. I find my identity in the fact that the universe refuses to let me make sense of it. That quantum mechanics can’t be reconciled with Einstein’s theory of relativity. That everytime I think I’ve got life figured out I’m up-ended. That explanations of the horrors of this life fall flat, and yet that this world, and this life is so indescribably beautiful that it inspires poets and painters to take up the never-ending task of trying to tell us about it.
Hi I’m Tyler,
I opened Montana Gallery in May of 2013 in Red Lodge, MT. In April of 2016 I moved everything to Billings.
Here’s what’s been on my mind lately … (as of 2019)
An alcoholic finds strength and freedom in the very confessing of his shortcoming. Similarly I find my identity in the fact that I am a mess. I am at times lonely. I do struggle with insecurities. I do feel again and again that I’m not enough, and, thank God, at times I’m graciously reminded that I’m small, not by cause of other people’s belittling remarks or actions, but because I see the stars above, the mountains before me, the mass of humanity to my back and those unborn that have already and will one day turn to dust. In these ways I remember I’m small. I find my identity in the fact that the universe refuses to let me make sense of it. That quantum mechanics can’t be reconciled with Einstein’s theory of relativity. That everytime I think I’ve got life figured out I’m up-ended. That explanations of the horrors of this life fall flat, and yet that this world, and this life is so indescribably beautiful that it inspires poets and painters to take up the never-ending task of trying to tell us about it.