Meet Cat Powell-Hoffmann | Writer and Fine Artist

We had the good fortune of connecting with Cat Powell-Hoffmann and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Cat, why did you decide to pursue a creative path?
That’s actually an interesting question. It’s not really a decision, it’s more of a habit, or maybe a need. My mother used to say, “You’ve been drawing ever since you could hold a pencil.” I never stopped. I drew on the walls, the family dog’s forehead, my bedroom furniture, even my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Ruscoe’s shiny new desk.

I paint when I have a loss for words and I write when the imagery in my head is too big for color. And while it might be a more solitary career choice for me, it’s also an incredibly inclusive one. Artists and writers are quiet observers with big voices. I don’t make a lot of money which is probably why the coined term, ‘starving artist’ remains so relevant today.

Alright, so let’s move onto what keeps you busy professionally?
My art has been compared to surrealism, pop surrealism, art nouveau, contemporary, macabre, blah, blah, blah. I prefer to compare my art to either a good hair day or a dumpster fire, it all just depends on the circumstances. But I will confess that every single one of my pieces are never planned out or drafted or even sketched. I just direct my passion on paper or canvas or maybe even Mrs. Ruscoe’s shiny new desk.

When I’m writing, it’s intuitive as well. I have no outlines or story arc that I follow – I just go for a stroll inside my head for awhile. It’s cathartic for me.

Any places to eat or things to do that you can share with our readers? If they have a friend visiting town, what are some spots they could take them to?
Definitely Stepping Stone Cafe for brunch (because I like to sleep in). It’s the coziest diner in the Alphabet District. I’ve been going to Stepping Stone for many years. The place has a mom & pop kind of vibe but with a post-punk twist. The ceiling is rigged with tiny figurines that bob in the air and they serve dishes called, Joey Fatone Waffle and Mancakes. I’m still hoping to witness someone actually finishing the Mancakes.

In the afternoon, I would take my bestie to New Renaissance Book Store, also located in the Alphabet District. It’s like walking on clouds when first entering. The atmosphere is perfumed in incense and wild flowers while little wooden flutes are played by glittering nymphs named Arethusa and Maia. At least that’s how it makes a patron feel. They have everything from spell books to crystals to oils to candles. It’s like a luxury store for witches.

In the evening, we’d probably just walk across the street to The Soop. “Soop” means forest in Korean which is fitting for this farm to table restaurant. Inside there is a hydroponic garden boasting succulent varieties of vegetation. Normally, I only go there for the soju and Omma’s kimchi, which I always order a bucket-full of because I’m a snob and I like it homemade.

Like I said before, I’m not much of a planner, I’m more spontaneous, go-with-the-flow type of person. I know my bestie would probably make me drive her to Multnomah Falls, Saturday Market, and Voodoo Doughnuts: the usual attractions which I normally avoid as a city dweller, but will relent for special guests.

The rest of the week would be be a dizzying exploration of gallery gazing and local theater productions and hopefully…lots of Netflix binging because I am more of a moth than a butterfly.

Who else deserves some credit and recognition?
There are many people who have inspired me. My son, Stephen was my first muse and first love. I often refer to him as, ‘my reason,’ because he saved my life in a sense. When he was born, he made me want to be a better human. It felt like a miracle to have such a precious being by my side, not everybody gets that kind of magic in their life.

While we’re on the subject of magic, I got lucky when I met my husband, Tylan. He’s a whole lot younger than me – and it scared the bejeezus out of me. But he taught me that age is just a number, it’s a conditioned way of thinking. Nowadays, I forget our age difference because we have more important things to do, like making the world cringe with our adorableness and dominating the world with art (he’s a creative too).

And then I have my circle of friends. There’s my long time best friend and fine artist/tap dancer/dog rescuer, Jackie F. who encourages me to keep going when I wanna give up. And there’s my other long time musician friend and collaborator, J. Christopher who believes in my worth. There’s my author friend, Diana K. who is dedicated in elevating the voices of emerging creatives. There’s my mother, Deanna K. for continuously driving me to the library so I don’t have to lug home a backpack full of books. There’s my photographer/musician/artist friend, Ken B. who mentored me in photography when I showed interest. I can’t forget my artist friend, Miranda B. who works ten hour days but still finds time to run her two art businesses. My older sister, Stephanie K. who drives me batty but I love her for keeping it real with me. Also, Daniel M. who, like Diana, passionately promotes others successes as much as his own. As I answer this question, I realized that there’s too many people to dedicate my gratitude for. More recently, my new author friend, Sandra H. who introduced me to my now editor/author, Michel W. Every single person in my life has been illuminating for me.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself, because I feel like my cup runneth over. And over. And over.

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Image Credits
Photographs of art: Cat Powell-Hoffmann Portrait photographed by: Kenneth Barton