Sandi Calistro has never known a version of life without art. Raised by parents who recognised and nurtured a creative instinct from the start, the work that has developed over the years draws deeply from family history, Acadian French roots in northern Maine, French Italian roots in Connecticut, a father whose true love was Colorado, weaving ancestry, place, and personal story into paintings that treat the natural world as both subject and symbol. Woman as mother nature, flora and fauna as carriers of feeling, the grief of losing both parents translated into image: this is a practice built from the inside out, rooted in what matters most and unwilling to pretend otherwise.

✧✧✧
How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

My mother and father have always been a driving force behind my art. As soon as they realized I was artistic, they nurtured it every moment of my life. I have more recently incorporated elements of my childhood, my mother and fathers upbringing in a lot of my art. My mother was Acadian French raised in northern maine. My father was French Italian raised in Connecticut, but his true love was Colorado. I have incorporated elements of these places and people in most of my work. I’ve loved deep diving into my ancestry and those stories in my art.

Can you pinpoint a single moment in your life when you realized art was not just passion but your purpose?

 I cannot remember a time where I wanted to be anything but an artist. I first became a tattoo artist and later circled back to creating more fine art. I noticed that even when I wasn’t getting paid for it, I still wanted to make art. It felt like I needed it especially when things got hard. The journey has been lifelong and I wouldn’t recognize myself without it.

Does spirituality or a connection to something larger than yourself influence your creative process?

Absolutely. I have always been described as having my head in the clouds, and when I was in school, my teachers often told my mother I was a daydreamer. I feel in my bones that things are not as they seem, there are other dimensions and realms and it’s the duty of the artist tap into them. 

Do you believe an artist's passion is something destined or a conscious choice?

I would say it is a bit of both. I think for me personally, it has been a way to make sense of my thoughts and a grand imagination is certainly helpful. I’ve noticed a lot of artists kind of have the same way of thinking, and art makes more sense for them, but I think the practice can be found later in life when someone never distinguished themselves as an artist previously. 

How does your art engage with or comment on pressing contemporary issues, social, political, or environmental?

I consider myself an animal rights activist and environmentalist. I try to  incorporate these themes in  all of my art. Woman as mother nature is a common theme in my work, often incorporating Flora and fauna. In my most recent show at Lein Gallery in Denver, we put up a piece for auction benefiting a horse rescue.  If you don’t want to show literal themes of things important to you in your art, you can at least raise money to benefit them.

I've been vegan for quite a few years now, and have done a deep dive into the issues of animal abuse in the meat industry. It’s hard not to be heartbroken, knowing some of the information that is out there having a platform where you can share your feelings and get people talking feels like I step in the right direction. 

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression?

I found that people interpret my work differently than what drove it to come into existence. Artwork seems to change overtime. The same image can morph into so many different things in the mind of different people and it’s magical. It’s one of my most favorite things.

Describe a piece you’ve created that has held the most emotional weight for you. What makes it significant?

I’ve lost both of my parents. About 8 years apart. After losing my father, I kind of had to process the loss of both my parent, I felt like an orphan. It has been incredibly difficult. In the midst of my heaviest grief, I made a piece, told the story of my childhood, the trauma and the growth. The house that has been burned into my memory, the water that flooded the yard every year, two cocoons for two children…  It felt like a way to collect my thoughts and make sense of them. 

How has your artistic style transformed over the years? Are there specific influences, experiments, or moments that marked a turning point?

I started out so proud that I was self taught. I never went to school and the closest I had was a tattoo apprenticeship. I continued drawing things without reference for the most part thinking it was truly authentic because of it. Since starting my oil painting practice, I’ve realized the importance of reference and education. Having a vision in your mind and studying the anatomy of those things, and how they move. There is so much to learn there and I wish it was always a part of my practice. 

Do you believe the ‘mad artist’ stereotype still holds weight, or is creativity more grounded than we think?

Personally, I think art has been extremely grounding but I don’t necessarily think I am less insane. I just think I found a way to exist in it. Hahaha 

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally, or seen it impact others?

I’ve often painted images of women who depict heartache, grief and growth. People will share the feelings that come up for them around that and how important it is to feel seen and begin and open conversation around those things.  I had my most recent show at a lovely little gallery in Denver, Leon Gallery. My body of work was created in a state of pretty immense grief and I dedicated the show to my parents, so many people shared the importance of this show with me during the opening, and it was incredibly moving. 

Artificial Intelligence is increasingly infiltrating creative fields. Do you see artificial intelligence as a threat, a tool, or a collaborator in the art world?

As someone who advocates for environmental change, I am deeply disappointed with the advancements of AI. as most of us know by now, the use of AI exasperate, one of our most important resources, water. Living in a state that is currently facing a drought and water restrictions. It just seems completely ridiculous that we are going down a road where we are entertaining a future with AI, when we’re not even certain of the future of humanity. I also think AI is just plain old creepy.

If you could live anywhere in the world to further inspire your creativity, where would it be?

I have always wanted to live in France. The arts are so celebrated there. I spent some time in a small village in Provence and it seemed as though even in the smallest corners of the country people were still so excited and passionate about art. 

What artistic “superpower” would you choose to have, and how would it shape your work?

I wish I had the superpower to create work without connecting it to a possible sale. It clouds my creativity.

How do you envision the evolution of your work in the coming years?

Since starting my oil painting practice, I feel like I have found my way home cannot wait to dive deeper and deeper into it. See myself as an old woman and a beautiful studio with natural light a space to share with the people I love. 

What are your long-term aspirations as an artist, both personally and professionally?

I want to make work and I want to share it. I want to share knowledge and ideas with other creatives. 

Have you considered teaching your artistic skills to others? What excites or challenges you about that?

I have recently started a paint and sip class. It’s been so fun and mildly challenging continues to grow and change shape and it’s wonderful. 

✦✦✦

Sandi Calistro makes art from necessity, not as a professional strategy, but because not making it was never a real option. The most honest moment in this conversation may be the simplest: the wish for a superpower that would allow creation without connecting it to a possible sale, because that pressure clouds the work. What remains when the noise clears is a practice grounded in grief, love, advocacy, and a lifelong conversation with paint. The vision for the future is equally clear and unhurried: an old woman in a beautiful studio with natural light, making work and sharing it. That is not a small ambition. It is exactly the right one.