Daily Inspiration: Meet Harrie Handler

Today we’d like to introduce you to Harrie Handler.

Hi Harrie, so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work-life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today?
Creation is where I lose myself — and where I find myself again.

I’m a native Arizonan, born into the warm, wide-open landscapes that helped shape my appreciation for beauty in its rawest forms. My creative path began early in life. A single high school photography class ignited a passion for the visual arts that would never fade. That spark led me to pursue a Bachelor of Fine Arts at the University of Arizona, where I majored in art education with an emphasis in photography.

During my time at the university, I had the privilege of training under renowned master photographers. Their mentorship left a deep and lasting impression on me — not just in terms of technical skill, but in the importance of vision, emotion, and storytelling through art.

After graduation, I embarked on a teaching career that would span nearly three decades. I began teaching high school photography in the Tucson Unified School District while also leading evening courses at Pima Community College in “Art for Personal Development.” I later expanded my teaching to middle school students, nurturing self-expression in the areas of photography and home arts. Those years were incredibly fulfilling, as I watched creativity bloom in my students — sometimes quietly, sometimes all at once.

When I retired from the classroom, I found myself drawn to new creative challenges. I entered the world of commercial interior design, overseeing two large-scale projects that allowed me to bring my artistic sensibilities into physical spaces. Still, it was painting that ultimately called to me the loudest — and it became my most powerful form of expression.

Then, three years ago, everything changed.

My husband Jeff, my partner of 45 years, passed away suddenly. One moment he was there, vibrant and full of life — and the next, he was gone. Grief hit like a tidal wave, and I found myself submerged in sorrow, unsure how to go on. The only place I could fully process my emotions was in my studio, where I poured them into my canvases. Embracing painting as both crutch and therapy, I navigated my way through the darkness, finding a guiding light in my art.

Just a week after Jeff’s passing, I visited the website of an international online art contest I had entered. There, staring back at me, was one of my pieces — The Melting of Winter — marked “First Place.” What should have been a joyous moment became bittersweet; Jeff wasn’t there to see it, to celebrate with me. But instead of feeling hollow, I chose to see it as a sign — a message from him, nudging me forward on this new path.

In the weeks that followed, I began work on what would become the most difficult painting of my career. With guidance from a dear friend and mentor, I created a piece that viewers interpreted in deeply personal ways — glimpses of heaven, earth, even death. I titled it What New Path Awaits, an open-ended question wrapped in hope.

Grief, despair, loneliness, and depression were constant companions. I was trying to find joy in everyday life. I always saw the beauty in the smallest objects, forms, color and textures in our world, but where was the Joy? Embracing painting as both crutch and therapy, I navigated my way through the darkness, finding a guiding light in my art.

To reconnect with others and further immerse myself in the art world, I participated in a juried art fair in Carefree, Arizona. There, I met a kind, compassionate man who resonated with my work. What began as thoughtful texts evolved into heartfelt conversations. As the months passed, something remarkable happened: the color returned to my work. Friends and collectors noticed a shift — more vibrancy, more life in the brushstrokes. And I realized, to my own surprise, that amidst grief, I had fallen in love again. Love had quietly found its way back into my life, and painting had led me there.

Not long after Jeff’s death, I had a dream — one that planted a seed. What if I could create memorial paintings for others? Works that transform grief into something beautiful, woven with tangible mementos: buttons, jewelry, fabric from a beloved shirt, a scrap of a quilt, a stone from a road trip — objects infused with memory, warmth, and life.

I already work in mixed media, building my paintings with molding gels, pastes, glass fragments, metals, natural stones, and discarded treasures. Many of these came from my mother’s sewing supplies. She suffered from macular degeneration and could no longer see the clasps on her jewelry, leaving many pieces broken and tucked away in drawers. I began incorporating them into my art — and with each piece, I felt the stories they carried. That’s when the vision became clear: I could help others transform loss into lasting beauty, creating art that holds both memory and love.

This, I believe, is the next chapter in my painting career — creating custom memorial works that speak not just to grief, but to the joy and memories that remain.

In March, I participated in the inaugural Scottsdale Ferrari Art Week, exhibiting large-scale mixed media abstracts rich in personal and found materials. In December, I’ll be bringing similar work to the Miami Red Dot Art Fair — a new stage, a new audience, but always the same heart.

Above all, I hope my paintings serve as invitations — to pause, to feel, to remember something long forgotten or never fully known. And maybe, within the layers, to recognize a piece of your own story reflected back at you.

Tell us about your most important painting.
This painting was born from a place of deep empathy and love. Over several years, I watched far too many close friends and family members face the devastating reality of breast cancer. Some were in treatment. Others were survivors. All carried scars, both visible and hidden.
As I listened to their stories, stood beside them, and quietly witnessed their battles, I often felt powerless. I couldn’t take away their pain. But I could honor it. I could reflect their strength, their vulnerability, and their beauty in the way I know best — through paint.

I Will Not Be Defined by My Scars. I Am Beautiful is the most personal and important work I have ever created. It is not a tribute to the illness, but to the women who met it with unimaginable courage. Each brushstroke carries elements of their lives, their personalities, their resilience. The figure in the painting is not one woman, but many — a fusion of spirit, poise, and power drawn from each of them.

This piece speaks to anyone who has felt broken by circumstance yet continues to radiate strength. My hope is that viewers see themselves, or someone they love, within her. Because the women who inspired this work are nothing short of extraordinary — and they are, without question, beautiful.

What quality or characteristic do you feel is most important to your success?
When I paint, I feel like I’m Seeing from my Heart.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.artbyharrie.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/abstract.art.by.harrie/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/harrie.handler

Image Credits
photographs by Wilson Graham