It is said that you must suffer for your art. Dean Mitchell understands the sentiment, but is not ruled by it. But the images of the life he sees around him are filled with emotion, whether it is a painting of a plain, light-splashed, whiteboard-paneled Southern church or a woman bowing in prayer. It is etched in the portraits of his grandmother’s face,who raised him from the age of eleven months in a small town near Tallahassee, Florida.
As a child, Mitchell knew he wanted to be an artist, a seemingly impossible choice for a boy in his. . .