Capturing Memory with Michelle (Mitch) Lee

This month, we're excited to introduce you to Michelle (aka Mitch) Lee, a Brooklyn- and Buffalo-based abstract artist whose work explores the tension between spontaneity and structure, chaos and control.

Michelle’s work is fluid and expressive, yet grounded by form. Inspired by elemental dynamics like erosion, turbulence, and flow, her pieces often feel like captured energy: sweeping gestures, atmospheric layers, and gestural marks that seem to hover between intention and impulse.

A former UX designer, Michelle recently returned to her art practice with renewed purpose. Her background in design lends her work a certain clarity of structure. But it's in the unpredictability of her brushstrokes and textures where her paintings come alive.

At times, her pieces resemble coded scripts, like calligraphy from another language. At others, they dissolve into waves of color and emotion. She describes her process as a dialogue between her and the materials, the controlled and the uncontrollable.

I came across Michelle’s work through a mutual artist connection, and was immediately drawn to the way her pieces hold mystery and softness at once. I was also really inspired by her background and the way design has made its way into most aspects of her life. 

At soal, we aim to bring out the emotional connection and natural affinity that we all have with art and the human story. Michelle centers this in her practice too, encouraging viewers to ask themselves what they feel when looking at her art. What memories do they evoke? What undercurrent do they tap into?

Beyond the practice, Michelle is also focused on building creative spaces for like minded artists and individuals. She hosts community art parties that bring together local and emerging artists. These events feel more like open studio salons than traditional shows. It is a part of her mission to make art more accessible, social, and playful—a theme that runs through both her work and her ethos. And it’s also a part of what makes her work more resonant.

The artwork above entitled summer dusk 1 is from her summer dusk series. Michelle underscores each series with prose, adding another layer to the storytelling:

dusk comes upon us

slowly, softly, gently,

drifting us to sleep

We love that she adds notes to her paintings, which already resemble handwritten letters to the viewer. First you see, then you feel. Kind of like that summer sunset you caught the other night, right?

The above painting is from her peering over the cliff edge series entitled peer over the cliff edge 4:

the edge of a cliff
pondering a jump into
crashing deep waters

In it, Michelle seems to capture that suspended moment of contemplation: standing on the threshold, caught between the known and the unknown, between stillness and the crash of deep waters below. Regardless of the series, Michelle's work invites a subtle kind of reflection. There’s room to interpret, to feel, and to simply pause.

What would you like people to know when they first come across your artworks?

The main thing I’d love people to know is to lean into whatever emotions, memories, or moments surface as they experience my work. What are you feeling? Why? I believe that when we allow ourselves to feel deeply,  instead of skimming the surface,  we begin to discover ourselves, layer by layer, like peeling back an onion.

When I paint, I focus on specific, fleeting moments — memories, sensations, or emotions — and I hope that energy translates. I’m drawn to the emotional tension between chaos and control, and that contrast is reflected in my process. Some pieces come through with highly spontaneous movements, while others are methodical and precise. That balance, or push and pull, is a central part of my language as an artist. I hope viewers feel invited to engage with their own inner worlds when they stand in front of my work.

When thinking about where you are in your journey, what are you most excited about and what keeps you inspired for the future?

I’m most excited about the openness of the future — the endless possibilities of where this journey might go. That sense of potential is what keeps me inspired. It’s been amazing to witness how many artistic communities have formed over the past few years, from art cafes to third spaces dedicated to emerging artists. There’s a growing culture of collaboration and support, and I feel lucky to be meeting so many inspiring creatives early on in my path.

What fuels me is imagining what lies beyond traditional roles, especially beyond the typical gallery-artist dynamic. The idea of building something new, experimental, and community-driven is incredibly energizing. Ten years ago, I thought I’d work in advertising. I ended up in UX design, and now I’m stepping more fully into my art practice. There are no longer fixed rules. That freedom, and the fact that art can be a space for pure, unfiltered expression, is what keeps me going.

If you could go to dinner with any artist, who would it be and why?

I actually have two: Rene Magritte and Salvador Dalí. I’ve always been drawn to the Surrealists. It’s incredible that there was a moment in time when artists finally felt free to create something so far removed from reality. I’ve always loved the idea of painting dreams, and both Magritte and Dalí had such expansive, fascinating imaginations. Their work feels like you’re stepping into another world — one that evokes feelings that are hard to put into words. That mystery excites me.

They were also known to be rivals, which makes the idea of a dinner with both of them even more intriguing. I’d love to just sit and watch their dynamic and to hear how they viewed art, the subconscious, and each other. I imagine it would be a mix of philosophy, ego, absurdity, and magic.

What is the best piece of advice you've been given?

“Discipline is choosing between what you want now and what you want most.” Another one I often return to is, “It’s better to move slowly up the right mountain than quickly up the wrong one.”

I think about those two pieces of advice often, especially when I’m caught in the whirlwind of moving too fast. They help me pause and reflect on whether I’m acting from alignment or urgency. As someone who tends to be fast-paced and ambitious, it’s easy to get swept up in momentum. But I’ve learned (and am still learning) that moving faster doesn’t always mean moving forward.

In a world that’s always optimizing and rewarding output, it’s difficult to resist the pressure to produce constantly. But I’ve realized that burning yourself out doesn’t get you closer to your vision. What is important is staying rooted in what truly matters, and allowing time for clarity to unfold.

What is one thing you wish you'd be asked in an interview?

I wish more people asked: What’s your dream passion project outside of painting?

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the decline of in-person creative community in the digital age. People crave real connection, whether they realize it or not. I think often about how to cultivate that — especially for artists or creatively curious people who don’t feel like they fit within traditional structures. You shouldn’t have to call yourself an “artist” to be part of a creative space.

I’ve been reading Ninth Street Women, about the rise of abstract art in New York and the role women played in shaping it. Artists lived near 8th Street, gathering at diners, bars, and eventually forming “The Club”- a place to just be together and talk art. It was organic. No curated panels. No hashtags. Just presence. That’s what I want to help create, a space where creativity happens naturally, and community forms through shared passion, not algorithms.

How has your practice evolved over time?

My practice has always moved in waves. At times, I focus on learning and refining technique; at other times, I’m led entirely by instinct. That tension between discipline and spontaneity is where my voice continues to develop.

Experimentation and reflection are central to how I work. I pay attention to how small changes — in mindset, in environment, in rhythm — ripple into the work. I document what resonates and what doesn’t, and then I iterate again. Over time, this layering of small insights has helped me shape a process that feels more honest and responsive.

What music are you listening to these days?

I’ve always gravitated toward indie electronic and indie rock.. they dominate my playlists. Lately, though, I’ve been leaning into my “Sunday Morning” playlist, which is full of soft acoustic bands. Ryan Harris, in particular, has been on repeat. His sound is calm but upbeat…the kind of music that pairs perfectly with sunlight through the window and pancakes on the stove. It’s become part of my ritual for slow mornings, when I’m not rushing anywhere and just want to ease into the day.

Did you always know you wanted to be an artist? If so, was there a particular moment that gave you the confidence to start sharing your work with the world?

Surprisingly, yes. Fun fact: I actually built a portfolio in high school with plans to go to art school. But one marketing class completely shifted my trajectory. I was fascinated, and I worried that turning art into a full-time pursuit might burn out my passion. So I chose a more “practical” path and went into marketing and advertising instead.

It wasn’t until much later that I came back to art in a real way. What gave me confidence was seeing other artists on social media — people putting their work out there, building community, and being brave with their expression. It stirred something in me that nothing else ever had. Art is still the one thing that consistently energizes and motivates me. And the social media era helped remove the gatekeepers showing that galleries aren’t the only way anymore. That shift made it feel possible to share, even imperfectly.