Stormie Steele didn’t come into art through the front door. No formal training. No academic blueprint. Her creative path is rooted in something quieter and more personal—years of inner work, reflection, and a deep connection to spirit. As a self-taught artist, writer, and healing arts guide, Steele doesn’t separate her art from her life. The way she lives and the way she paints come from the same place—intentional, intuitive, and full of listening.
Her work isn’t trying to impress. It doesn’t shout for attention. Instead, it unfolds slowly, with a softness that asks you to pause. There’s no perfection being chased here. Just the real, open edges of what it means to be alive and in motion.
For Steele, abstraction isn’t about avoiding reality—it’s a way to sit with it. Her canvases don’t offer conclusions. They offer space.
Inside “A Collection of Original Abstract Series”
Stormie Steele’s paintings land gently, but they carry depth. There’s a stillness in them, a kind of breath. They don’t tell you what life means. They hold up a mirror to how uncertain and layered it all feels.
In Abstracts by Storm (48 x 36), there’s a sense of movement without destination. She writes of “graceful nonresistance,” and that energy moves through the work. Soft transitions of color, loose shapes that never settle—this is a painting that leaves space for you. There’s no demand to understand, just an invitation to experience. Steele’s approach is grounded in trust: trust in the process, trust in the viewer, trust in what unfolds.
The second piece, Abstracts by Storm (36 x 48), leans into that same trust, but turns inward. Here, faith takes center stage. Not faith in a rigid sense, but faith that lives in the unknown. The composition is sparse but steady. There’s room to breathe. Her writing speaks to “growing with the uninterpretable”—a phrase that could describe her entire practice. These works don’t reach for clarity. They honor ambiguity.
These paintings aren’t made to be decoded. They’re more like songs without lyrics—you feel them before you understand them.
Then there’s Resurrection (49 x 40). The energy shifts. There’s more contrast, more tension. The texture suggests something buried, something breaking through. “From the ashes,” Steele writes, “glimmers of possibility emerge.” That moment of reawakening is held in the surface of the work—quiet, raw, and undeniable. Rebirth here isn’t dramatic. It’s subtle, honest, and rooted in vulnerability.
Throughout her work, Steele paints like someone who’s learned to release control. She lets the paint lead. The canvas isn’t a stage—it’s a listening space.
And as viewers, we’re invited to do the same. Her work doesn’t push for a reaction. It gives us room to respond in our own time.
There’s no chasing trends here. No polished narratives. Steele’s paintings live in their own rhythm. A rhythm that values the pause. The silence. The complexity that doesn’t always need to be resolved.
There’s discipline in how gently she paints. It takes strength to work from a place of surrender. But that’s where her clarity comes from—letting go of the need to direct, and instead creating from presence.
Stormie Steele doesn’t paint noise. She paints stillness. And in a world that rarely stops moving, that stillness feels like a gift.
