Today we’d like to introduce you to Laura Leigh Funk.
Hi Laura Leigh , 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?
At this moment in my life, I’m realizing that my Self and my artist self are inseparable—bound together as a single, indivisible existence. Art is the thread that tethers me between this world and something deeper, something Other. It’s how I process, how I survive, and how I connect.
I was born into a creative family—my father a pianist, my mother an actor—and I stepped onstage for the first time at ten years old, sharing the spotlight with my mom in a community theatre production in my hometown of Mobile, Alabama. From that moment, it felt like the stage was a portal to something sacred.
Though I was awarded scholarships for oboe performance, I veered off the expected path, moving to Orlando to work for a famous mouse named Mickey. That adventurous detour led to nearly two decades immersed in the performing arts—working for the Walt Disney Company, collaborating on artistic projects, singing at open mics, performing in jazz concerts and orchestras, and acting in theaters across every city I’ve called home.
Creativity has shaped every chapter of my life, whether through music, drawing, animating, acting, or filmmaking. But it wasn’t until I moved to Atlanta that I discovered sculpting only a year ago under the mentorship of Susan Krause. Clay became another kind of language for me—one that let me speak from the deeper parts of myself, expressing grief, healing, and transformation in a way words never could.
Now, I’m a multidisciplinary artist, pursuing my BA in Film, Media, and Theatre. I’m preparing for my third art exhibition, traveling to Greece this summer to study acting, and completing a poetic short film that explores the quiet beauty and ache of being a deeply feeling person. Looking ahead, I plan to begin an MFA in 2026, continuing to hone my craft and expand my capacity to create meaningful, resonant work.
Ultimately, I’m not here for indulgence or escape. I make art to feel it all—and to invite others to do the same. I hope when people encounter my work, they feel known in the feelings most find overwhelming: pain, sorrow, grief. All is not lost. There are tiny miracles and profound beauty blooming from even the darkest places. That’s where my work lives—and why I keep creating.
So many of the opportunities that shaped me—from community theatre as a kid, to the sculpting, film, music and acting mentorship I have found here in Atlanta—it all comes through local spaces, local people, local stories. That’s why I continue to be a collaborator and curator. I am not just making art–I want to be a springboard for the creativity of others and give meaning to our lives, offering beauty and reflection right where we live.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
The road has been winding, layered, and often lonely—but always meaningful.
As someone in my mid-thirties from the Deep South, I sometimes wrestle with the societal timelines and expectations we place on women—when we’re “supposed” to arrive, achieve, or settle. But I remind myself: time in this sense is a construct. An invention. And so is gender.
When I remember that I am a breath of the universe, of Love Itself—breathed out in rhythm, one beat in a greater symphony—I find peace and purpose–to be. I am here exactly when I’m meant to be. Whether or not others recognize the beauty or necessity of that rhythm is not my concern.
In this sense, time being a fundamental dimension of reality, my very existence is miraculous.
My life is full of joys and sorrows that have shaped me into the artist and person I am. I’ve always been someone who feels deeply—sometimes overwhelmingly so—and with that sensitivity comes depression, isolation, and the ache of feeling unknown.
But I’ve learned to take refuge in thinkers and artists who live in the depths—Miguel de Unamuno, Richard Rohr, Mary Oliver, Max Richter. I find comfort in philosophy, in the space where truth and nuance are held with reverence. I lose myself in Neorealism, in slow cinema, in stories that give permission to feel and see the magic in the mundane.
So yes, I’ve struggled—with being overwhelmed by the pain of others, with the solitude of sensitivity, with a world that doesn’t always make space for stillness or complexity. But these struggles are dear friends, ones I hold close. For they only want to be seen.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I’m a multidisciplinary artist, and my work spans sculpture, performance, filmmaking, and curation. I specialize in creating intimate, emotionally resonant pieces—whether that’s through a sculpted figure, a poetic short film, composing instrumental music or a live performance. I’m drawn to overlooked details and heavy truths. The themes that guide me most often are grief, memory, healing, and transformation.
At the core of everything I do is a desire to speak to the unspoken. I want to hold space for the complex, often uncomfortable parts of being human—the feelings most people avoid. My work isn’t flashy or escapist; it’s contemplative. I like to think I create art that doesn’t ask for attention, but instead quietly asks to be felt.
I’m most proud of my ability to weave together the many parts of myself and let them coexist: the actor, the filmmaker, the sculptor, the philosopher, the poet, the woman, but more accurately the human, who feels everything a little too deeply. I recently completed a poetic short film about sensitivity and stillness, and I’m preparing for my first solo sculpture exhibition in the fall—two projects that feel deeply personal.
What sets me apart, I think, is how I use art as a way to invite others into the parts of life we usually grieve in silence or carry alone. I want my work to whisper to someone, “I see you.”
If we knew you growing up, how would we have described you?
I was gregarious, loud, and completely myself—sometimes to the delight of others, and sometimes to the disappointment. I was always animated, always full of big feelings and even bigger expressions. I loved to make people laugh, even as I carried a deep sensitivity beneath the surface. Being a teenager with hormones and a tender heart? Not always the smoothest ride.
I never quite fit the mold of a “young Southern woman.” I didn’t shrink myself to make others more comfortable—and that both helped me and hurt me, depending on who was watching.
I’ve always envisioned my life in scenes—like a film unfolding. In my mind, there was always a soundtrack playing and extreme close-ups to capture every raw emotion. I used to take pictures of everything. Storytelling and art has always been how I made sense of the world, even before I had the language for it.
Through it all, I’ve remained unapologetically myself—and that inner narrator, that cinematic and dramatic way of seeing life, has never left me. It’s just evolved into the art I now create.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://LLFunk.com
- Instagram: @ll.funk
Image Credits
Green Top: Toni Riales
B&W: Jeannie Albers
Shower/underwater: David Lawrence
Plane: Aaron Funk
Blue Top: Sean Patrick
Original B&W photo with hat: Hannah Flores
