Sometimes, I change the art daily. Sometimes weekly. Now and then, I may leave a statement piece – art with a strong message – on my door for a few weeks. It varies with my mood, as well as my schedule.
Here’s some other original art – with messages hoping to encourage neighbors in challenging situations – that I’ve displayed on our front door:
Of course, what I display also varies with my mood and the creative project I’m working on.
Not long after, I saw an article about another artist with an even better idea, her Little Free Art Gallery.
That’s not entirely practical where we live, but I love the concept. I may create my own version at our next home… wherever that is.
But mostly, I’m always looking for ways to share original art – in real life – with lots of people in unexpected settings.
One of the best things about being an artist is the beauty I see everywhere.
When I was cleaning one of my palettes this past week, the running colors were so gorgeous, I had to capture them with a photo.
(Note: I paint with water-soluble oil paints, so I can clean them in the sink without toxic cleaners such as turpentine. My cleaning product of choice is Incredible Pink, a biodegradable general cleaner from Maine.)
The photo shows my palette in the sink. The picture was taken without a flash.
From left to right on my palette, here are the colors I routinely use for my paintings:
French ultramarine blue
Alizarin crimson
Cadmium red
Cadmium orange
Cadmium yellow
Lemon yellow
Pthalo blue
White (sometimes Zinc white, sometimes Titanium white)
I also add Sap green and/or Burnt umber for some paintings.
Of course, in the photo above, you can see the residue of lots of mixing on every square inch of the palette.
Before renewing my love affair with pen & ink illustration, I needed a new rapidograph.
Since childhood, I’ve always loved black-and-white illustration, and my drawings are a mix of contour-style line drawings accented with cross-hatch (etc.) shadows.
My “people” have always been silly-looking things with large noses that often extend directly from the hairline and either amused or perplexed expressions.
When I first stumbled onto illustrations by Edward Gorey, I knew I’d found a kindred spirit. Though his writing themes are far darker than mine, I got his artwork. I’d filled notebooks with similar drawings; they were created during high school study halls when others were either working on homework or passing notes.
Though I used a traditional crow quill pen (and ink well) during my teen years, I discovered rapidographs once I went to college.
As I was breaking-in my new pen, I wanted to create a series of ATCs. (Artist Trading Cards are usually 3.5″ x 2.5″ mini-works of art.)
The first was a drawing of my painting umbrella, shown above. The umbrella has a silver top and vents to keep me cool when I’m painting outdoors on summer days. The lining is black, so reflected light doesn’t affect the color of my work.
The next ATC was a sketch of our living room fan, shown on the left.
We keep this fan by the patio door, to bring in cooler breezes when summer days are a little too warm… but not hot enough to use the a/c.
The tricky part of sketches like these is knowing how much detail to include and what to leave out.
I’m not sure I got it right with this card, but these were just for practice, anyway.
In retrospect, I probably wouldn’t do so much cross-hatch style shading on the fan’s support. However, that exercise helped me with a later card, and I try not to get stuck in making everything just so.
Perfection is one of those traps for me as an artist. If I get bogged down trying to improve my work to an unachievable standard, well, I stop making art after a while. So, I try to remember what’s “good enough” when I’m working.
The next ATC in the series was a little trickier, at least in perspective and detailing. It’s my husband’s desk chair.
When he’s not sitting in the chair, he leaves a folded piece of flannel fabric on the seat. That’s to provide a softer surface for our cat, George, to sit on and to keep some of the cat hair off the chair.
So, I was once again faced with the question: How much detail should I include? The flannel is plaid and has ragged edges; I left out the former and included the latter.
The sketch isn’t perfect (ah, that word again!), but it’s good enough.
My next ATC was based on one of my favorite scribbles from junior high school and later. I used to draw these in the margins while taking notes in boring classes.
Though some elements are reminiscent of Peter Max’s art, I drew these before he became popular. Several artists of that era drew from popular and iconic 1960s art and illustration.
In some cases, I’d color these kinds of drawings.
One eventually became a huge work of art that decorated three walls in an elevator of a Marlborough Street apartment in Boston, Massachusetts.
Later, one became a massive mural for an office just outside Salt Lake City, Utah. It could be seen from the street through a huge plate-glass window. I was tremendously proud of it.
Both were full-color paintings, usually featuring vivid crayon-box colors.
My next ATC is a nod to my high school art teacher, Roger Mulford.
One of my best friends (and classmates), Laura Whipple, and I both drew flowers for a class assignment. Like me, Laura favored pen-and-ink drawings with lots of detail and sometimes “dotty” shadowing.
Roger called it the Morey-Whipple (or Whipple-Morey) style of art. We thought the name was pretty funny.
(Roger had always been a somewhat renegade teacher, insisting that we call him by his first name. When the school insisted that he had to be “Mr. Mulford,” he retaliated by calling us “Miss” and “Mr.” with our surnames, so we were still all on equal footing.)
My final ATC in this series was a moment of whimsy. It represents the skies over Whitefield, NH.
The Inn is on the general path described by Betty and Barney Hill, the first Americans to report an alien abduction.
They talked about the route the UFO followed, over their heads as they drove south on Route 3 from the Canadian border to around Exit 33 (off Rte. 93) where they were abducted.
The UFO overhead may not be realistic, but… well, it’s fun.
And, for animal lovers, here’s our cat, George. He’s the one on the left. His brother, Tom, is on the right.
As I’m writing this, Disneyland is celebrating its 55th anniversary. I grew up surrounded by Disney art, figures, and I watched the Mickey Mouse Club every time it was on.
I’m commemorating Disneyland’s anniversary with an artistamp. It features art by my mother, Muriel Joan Bernier (1919 – 2010).
Click on the image to download a PDF copy of the actual stamp (smaller than illustrated).
If you’re not sure what an artistamp is, you can learn more at my other art website: Artistamps – Definition at Aisling.net. (Page will open in a new window.)
The artwork at the upper left, which was also on the Fantasyland board game, was my mother’s original art*. She freelanced for Disney in the 1950s, and I remember her drawing this picture and many others for Disney.
(The cover of the Fantasyland board game, above, and the actual board shown below, are entirely my mother’s artwork.)
One of the best benefits of growing up with a mom who drew for Disney is that we’d go to the Disney movies over & over again. My mother would sit next to me, with paper and pencil, and she’d sketch ideas for new artwork as we watched… well, whatever Disney movie was at the theatre that week.
My mother created all the artwork for the Fantasyland board game, and most of the artwork for the Steps to Toyland game, also a Disney-related theme.
(Scanned from a vintage Parker Brothers Game catalogue)
Though Mum did lots of artwork for Disney, her first actual visit to Disneyland was with me, in 1978. She loved it.
I remember asking her what her favorite attraction was, and she answered without hesitation, “Space Mountain… and I will never go on it again!” Then, she laughed.
In the late 1980s, Mum visited Walt Disney World with my children and me. We had several days there, and stayed at the top floor of the Contemporary Resort.
We went on nearly all the rides, but – as Mum said – she wouldn’t go on Space Mountain again.
Every moment was great and filled with awe. For us, there’s no such thing as “expecting too much” at Disney World.
My mom passed away earlier this year, and she didn’t want me to post her artwork online. (My mother’s always been eccentric. Once she decides something, she rarely changes her mind. Questioning her about it… well, it was pointless.)
This, however, gets around that. The images shown above – including the artwork for my artistamp – were already online… just not credited to her. I know she’d be irked if she realized that her artwork was displayed without acknowledging her as the artist. So, if anything, this corrects that.
So, here it is as an artistamp. Ordinarily, I add my artistamp postal name – Ballynafae – and a postage amount (usually 3p) to make my artistamps look more stamp-like. In this case, it didn’t seem right, so I added the basic text and here it is, as-is.
I still miss my mom, but moments like this bring back happy memories of an extraordinary childhood.
…Wherever you are, Mum, your artwork is still bringing smiles to Disney fans. Thank you for such wonderful memories!
*My mother was primarily a painter. Though she graduated from Massachusetts College of Art with a major in Portrait, she loved painting landscapes and still life subjects.
The following is edited from my post for writers in a private, online forum.
It also applies to art, in general.
I’ve worked as an editor. The greatest tragedy is to see a first draft of a book that was raw and full of creative energy, but then… the “polished” draft that the author sends is technically better, but it’s lost its energy.
It won’t sell. If it earns any reviews, they’ll use words like “lackluster” and “disappointing.”
(If this doesn’t make sense to you, think of all the rock bands you loved when they were new and fresh and raw. Their later work is more technically perfect, but it’s lost the energy. It sounds derivative.)
The first version of your book might need a few tweaks, but it had a spark.
That’s what ignites enthusiasm in most readers.
So, don’t edit as you go along. 80% of the time, your book will reach the finish line and need just minor edits.
You may not be able to see that, clearly, when it’s in progress.
Monet’s paintings didn’t look like photographs. His fifth-grade art teacher would probably have taken his pencil away and told him he didn’t get the number of windows right in his cathedral paintings.
Copland’s music, “Appalachian Spring” doesn’t have any birds in it. Not really.
Like Monet’s work, it’s his impression of something worth sharing with others.
Hold your writing to a creative standard, not to some level of supposed perfection that you inherited from some English teacher, or a voice in your head that insists you need to “try harder.” (Seriously, in the arts, that phrase probably needs to be banned.)
Your unique voice makes a book great, far more than technical perfection. The energy you convey is what matters. It’s practically your signature.
You get your spark of energy from the initial idea.
Keep that spark alive. Don’t choke it with editing as you go along.
And, at least when you’re a struggling writer, don’t share your ideas — or your unpublished books — with others. Too many will eagerly shovel fertilizer for self-doubts onto what’s best about your work.
Be uniquely you. Use every tool you can to maintain that unique voice, and keep the creative spark alive.
A couple of weeks ago, I looked at how stress was affecting my work. It’s straight out of The War of Art book. (I should at least browse that book once a week. It is brilliant.)
This situation was a Catch-22 in a way: I needed to complete a commission… to feel free of the stress that keeps me from completing it.
(It was a painting for a friend, but I soon realized the subject didn’t inspire me. Worse, the friend was sure to be insulted if I said that.)
Meanwhile, I needed to maintain my sense of joy in art. That’s where this painting has come to the rescue.
Local inspiration
Living in New Hampshire, I’ve seen many landscapes that inspire me to paint.
The painting I’m working on started as a view from a highway near the White Mountains. I’m not sure where we were driving to, but the image out the passenger-side window was almost hypnotizing.
When I realized how enthusiastic I felt about that subject for a painting. It swept me up, and I had to turn it into art.
Of course, the view was magnificent but – as I studied it – the concept of the painting emerged. It had to present something engaging but also comforting.
It needed a focal point.
I decided to make that a hotel… a destination.
The painting is the destination?
I knew the building I probably wanted to feature in the painting. It’s the Spalding Inn, a quiet little hotel my husband and I had visited regularly, and my father’s generation had stayed at, too.
In the mid 20th century, I guess it was the place to stay. Today, it’s a nice alternative to more commercial hotels. (There was no way I was going to try to place the nearby Mountain View Grand Resort in this painting. Oh, it’s gorgeous, but it’s also a behemoth to try to paint.)
So, my husband & I visited the hotel and took photos from a variety of angles and locations.
I even stopped by the side of the road, about 20 miles away, to get a long-distance photo of the hotel’s setting. (My idea was to place the hotel, like a jewel, in its magnificent setting amid the White Mountains.)
When I returned home, I worked on a pencil sketch until I had something I liked.
Then, the underpainting
The next step was a quick sketch, to use as an underpainting. It’s cadmium red paint on the white canvas.
The sketch (in red acrylic paint) is in the photo at the top of this page. That kind of sketch is where the current work really began to take shape.
Even better, working on it exhilarates me as an artist.
So, each time I reach a stopping point on this piece, I’ll switch to the commissioned painting until that’s finished. Ta-da! The energy & enthusiasm carry forward.
(Have I mentioned how much I don’t like half-finished paintings sitting around my studio? To me, they always look like failure trophies.)
I either want to finish the work, happily… or paint over it and pretend it was never there.
Ah, yes, studio drama! Well, at least I have my creative meltdowns in relative solitude.
Further refinements
I decided the painting should show the hotel at night. The initial sun became a moon in the sky. I’m also including several physical landmarks nearby, somewhat exaggerated to present a more lyrical context.
I’m going to avoid the “starry night” imagery as much as possible. (That’s a Van Gogh reference.)
However, a certain amount of texture may be essential.
Well… maybe.
It’s a little early to decide, yet.
Yesterday afternoon, I worked on the hotel painting again. That’s it on the right.
Oh, there will be about six or seven more layers of paint on this. The finished work will look only vaguely like this early, sketch-y version.
That said, I’m pleased with it.
And yes, I was able to work on the other (commissioned) painting, when I’d reached a good stopping point with this one.
Everything’s moving ahead nicely.
When one project falters, add a second one?
Throughout this process, I was reminded of an old friend, “Hap” Hazard. In the 1970s in L.A., I heard him talk about how he nearly went broke with his flight business.
He presented the dire figures and his dilemma.
Then he asked if we could figure out how he solved it.
Nobody replied.
His answer? Get a second airplane.
His other expenses (hangar, PR, etc.) were all fairly constant, but by increasing his fleet, he not only looked like a more successful business (attracting more customers), the increased flights only slightly increased his expenses.
Meanwhile, he doubled his income. And that kept him in business.
From that, I learned that cutting back isn’t always the answer to problems. Sometimes, you have to increase your reach for success.
————————
Later note: I finished the painting and I love it. It’s now in the collection of the friends who’d encouraged me to paint it.
Before renewing my love affair with pen & ink illustration, I needed a new rapidograph.
The next ATC was a sketch of our living room fan, shown on the left.
The next ATC in the series was a little trickier, at least in perspective and detailing. It’s my husband’s desk chair.
My next ATC was based on one of my favorite scribbles from junior high school and later. I used to draw these in the margins while taking notes in boring classes.
My next ATC is a nod to my high school art teacher, Roger Mulford.
My final ATC in this series was a moment of whimsy. It represents the skies over 
(Scanned from a vintage Parker Brothers Game catalogue)
The following is edited from my post for writers in a private, online forum.
Yesterday afternoon, I worked on the hotel painting again. That’s it on the right.