After sitting on my work for quite some time (having an infant makes it difficult to keep up!), I am happy to announce that my pastel “Pieces of the South” are now available at Alabama Goods in downtown Homewood, Alabama.
The specialty store will carry my large and small pastels of cows, pigs, cotton…all things Southern!
Here are a few of my new pieces that have made their way to the shop…
“Moo,” 8×8 pastel on card
all framed up
“This Little Piggy,” 8×8 soft pastel
Art desk scrubbed, pastels ready, paper cut, charcoal in hand, reference propped at just the right angle…
Deep, contemplative breath in, nervous exhale as I prepare to begin another portrait.
Grasping for my inner creative, I look at the photo reference, with the jet black backdrop behind this cute chubby baby, and I try to envision the finished product. I used to aim to be a camera: copy the image as exactly as possible. With some experience and years of art behind me, this is no longer my goal. I now try to take an image and “make it sing,” however that translates on paper.
Baby Boy, 11×14 preliminary sketch
I sketch out the sweet little boy; feel pretty good about feature placement. Now it’s time for the dreaded background. In my mind’s eye, I see a light, wispy something or other, which is not much help. Instead of agonizing over it, I just jump in.
Working on a deadline, I don’t have time to mess around.
The joy of being back at my art desk after a few busy weeks, mixed with determination to get the portrait finished, ended up surprising me with yet another evolution of my art.
I’ve found over the years, that even though you are creating art with your own hand, your own head and your own heart, the results can sometimes surprise you. Though you may have drawn something in the same way many, many times, all of a sudden the finished product is something unexpectedly and delightfully different.
With this portrait, I unknowingly used a lighter, looser hand, less defined edges, and worked the color and texture of my pastel card into the painting. I was (thankfully) quite happy with this new result, and am very glad that the new owners are as well!
Baby Boy, 11×14 pastel on card
Spring has sprung in Alabama, and with its advent comes the yellow haze. The dreaded pollen influx has enveloped our neighborhoods, coated our cars, and invaded our lungs. Yellow clouds are stirred by the wind like sand storms. We’re all on Zyrtec in order to survive.
But with all this yellow dust, comes the most beautiful array of Spring flowers. Now, if anyone cares to notice, I don’t often draw flowers. I think flowers are fabulous (hint, hint to my husband); but I’m just not a huge fan of choosing them as my subject. I’ve drawn them occasionally: daffodils, camellias, magnolias…
Do thistles count? Continue Reading…
I’m a planner…a list-maker extraordinaire. At work, I’m known for my broad use of sticky notes, so much so that the other day I found my office covered in notes, a joke from a supportive friend and coworker.
My expectations are so regularly thwarted by the not-unwelcome interference of life in family and community, that I’m slowly learning to relax and enjoy each moment as it comes, whether its on my list or a curve ball from left field.
As an artist with a “day job” and young family, art usually must take a back seat. I don’t have as much time as I used to for reflective, (I won’t even try to say uninterrupted) creativity. When I encounter a long stretch without creating, my mood definitely drops and I have to find a moment for at least a quick sketch.
My baby girl is about to turn one year old; my son will be starting kindergarten at elementary school in August; my 1st grade daughter has lost four teeth and can write her own stories; I’ve been married almost 11 years to my wonderful husband. Those busy days that usurp my sticky-noted lists are bearable-and enjoyable- because I know how fast time flies.
One morning before school, an amazing teacher and friend spoke in tearful reflection about her youngest daughter in her last year of high school. She shared some very wise, yet simple words that have settled and taken root in my heart:
“I look back on when my kids were young and realize it didn’t matter if my house was clean. Time with them has gone by so fast.”
I think of those words and that emotion often. When I get frustrated by my derailed plans, or my crumby table, or the mountain of laundry, I look at my family, at the trees, at my hands, and remember that life comes as a gift to us, one day at a time.
If I don’t relish life as much as I can, as each moment passes, it seems to pass like water through my fingers.
I am thankful for this day and all that it brings; may my eyes be open to its moments, and my breath be deep enough to absorb the minutes and make them count.
“Always remember that the future comes one day at a time.” -Dean Acheson
Making a List, charcoal and conte sketch on paper
It was a few weeks ago, I was driving with the flow of before-work traffic, sipping my blessedly fragrant coffee out of my travel mug and listening to NPR, while my son counted repeatedly to 100 and my baby threw her toys around. I heard snippets of an interview with Facebook CEO Sheryl Sandberg. Between listening to counting, stopping and going down the highway, and planning for the day ahead, one piece stayed with me: Sandberg’s favorite workplace poster: “What Would You Do If You Weren’t Afraid?”
That got me to thinking. Mary Liz, what WOULD you do if you weren’t afraid? That half-answered and waiting question floats in and out of my head from time to time.
What would you do if you weren’t afraid…
I would stand up for what is right, for what I believe is good and true. I would take action when opportunity arises to make the world a better place.
I would do these things in spite of fear of what others would think, who would disagree, who might think of my beliefs with distaste, or question me. If I were not afraid, I would be a better person, I think.
So I’m going to try to take steps as they come, to do more good with less fear. I’m sure the lesson should be much deeper, the deeds greater, but you have to start somewhere.
So I start here. I support and want to encourage equality among people…we are all human, we all feel love and hate, sadness and joy; we are a mixed up lot and disagree so much because we are all unique. But no matter our circumstance, we are in this together, in flesh and blood, living and breathing. We all have a story, half-hidden, so do not judge; I won’t judge you.
Marriage Equality, 3×3 pastel on card
When my alarm gently wakes me, the soft murmur of the sound machine and the endless comfort of my heavily pillowed bed drift before my senses much like a swift smack to the face. Daylight savings time has come to stay. The morning is dark, and I am almost inhuman as I hobble into the kitchen seeking the road back to life. As a tribute to that one cup brings me to life each morning, I hope you enjoy my “Ode to Coffee.”
O coffee, fresh coffee,
you restore my morning soul.
You give sight to my eyes,
purpose to my motion.
You awaken my mind.
With your cream and sugar
you balance my thoughts.
Your flavor and scent
give life to my days.
Your warmth restores.
Like the rising sun,
you raise the curtain
of my consciousness.
You lift my heavy brow;
humanity is renewed.
Morning Coffee, quick charcoal sketch
“Watching adults try to get up in the morning is like seeing a baby elephant take its first steps. Incredibly sad but also funny.”
“Toddlers know when parents haven’t had coffee yet. Say ‘good morning’ and they just stare for 10 seconds trying to place you.”
“‘I need coffee.’ No, what you need is zeal for life not a drink that smells like a forest fire.”
My kind and ever-patient art critic
It’s the moment when your artist’s angst is at its peak. Your anxiety and self-doubt threatens to swallow you whole as you contemplate your progress, your vision, your work-in-progress. You turn and address your spouse: “Woe is me! I am but a worm in the world of art! This eye is not right! This brush stroke out of place!” The profuse encouraging support fails to reinflate your confidence. You know something is artistically awry and such flattery falls on deaf ears. You ask for serious improvement suggestions. Bad idea.
It’s the moment when you soar in self-satisfaction over your seemingly greatest achievement. Your triumph is palpable as you gaze lovingly at your finished product. Eyes misty and senses blurred, you see only an image of perfection. Then you look more closely. And you see a flaw. Then another. You turn and address your loved-one: “I thought it was perfect! But, alas, I see flaw after flaw after flaw! How can I remedy this calamity?!” You’ve asked for a critique of your art-baby. You’ve opened yourself up to criticism. From a much loved, highly involved relation-of-sorts. Bad idea.
Whether in highs or lows, we are all – not just artists! – so very sensitive to criticism. I know when, in my own personal melodrama, I’ve asked for my husband’s honest and open and I-promise-not-to-get-upset opinion, it is a farce: I will get upset. It’s like asking if you look fat in a dress. No answer is acceptable.
True, true…art is free and open and without rules. As artists we can paint or draw or sculpt or carve however we want, whatever we want, and who’s to say if it is good or bad, right or wrong, perfect or imperfect. But, still…some things are better than others, and most things can be improved.
So, our lesson for today is this:
Or else don’t ask if the metaphorical dress makes you look fat.
My poor husband…how does he put up with having an artist for a wife!
“Let us go on talking about ourselves and our own particular little niche in life. The world is too vast a place.” –The Colossus of Arcadia E. Phillips Oppenheim
Today I read a blog post by one of my fellow artists that encouraged the art of self portraiture. Hmm. Not something I do very often – ahem – I mean ever. I’m not a big fan of photos of myself, much less drawing my face.
But there is something fascinating about an artist’s self portrait. It is a window into their life, their thoughts, their persona reflected in their own creation. I browsed the web for self portraits and came across a Russian artist from the early 1900s with whom I was unacquainted.
Zinaida Serebriakova self portrait
One of the first Russian women to gain real fame in the art world, Zinaida Serebriakova painted images of her surroundings and the people in her country. She valued life and beauty, worked in oils, charcoal and pastels. She was a wife, mother, daughter and experienced her share of tragedy during the revolution in 1917. She began her successful art career as a young woman, and painted many beautiful self portraits that stand out to me because of her charm, her smile, her friendly, welcoming expression. The props and surroundings she chose give you a glimpse into her life: paints and brushes, her children, her dressing table with jewelry, perfumes and combs. I was fascinated by her. While most self portraits portray serious expressions, without hint of smiles, Serebriakova’s portraits intrigue me with her pleasant, almost mischievous grin.
I began thinking on my own self portrait. What would I include? What expression would I depict?
We all seek to be known. Continue Reading…
I’m sitting on my art room floor, folded in an adolescent position (for which later my joints paid dearly), bent over an 8×10 sepia colored piece of pastel card. My pastels lay to my left, my reference in front propped against a child’s white & marker-scribbled chair. The sun is shining in, the Lumineers sing to me as Pandora plays my choice of music.
The metaphorical bell sounds; that hollow metallic announcement that the fight begins.
“DING!”
In one corner, there is me, bent and ready for the battle. My opponent in the other, a photo of a large silver Maine Coon, waiting to be drawn.
The match begins with ease. I sketch that cat and win round 1.
“paint by number” phase
I tackle the image with my initial layers of pastels, and reduce my opponent to art reminiscent of the “paint-by-numbers” of my childhood.
When it’s time for the unifying layers, where it is expected that I will triumph, the cat fights back. It’s lunchtime and I’m growing weak. My frustrations mount as we’re locked in a fierce battle. I attack with my pastels to no avail.
I return to my corner. My eyes are numb to the big picture and I need a rest. Details are blurred and frustrated, and my animosity towards the cat has escalated to muttered swearing. I eat. I rest. I separate from the cat. Continue Reading…
I'm a self-taught pastel & watercolor artist and instructor, raised and based in Birmingham, Alabama. I constantly collect stories and pieces of the world around me, turning them into works of art. Inspired by nature, I love to share what I've learned and build connections and community. I invite you to browse and join my site. I hope you find something that inspires you!
Voted one of Birmingham's Best Local Artists 2013, Birmingham News & al.com
Featured in Birmingham Magazine, March 2018
Visit the Commissions page on the top menu to find out more about my pastel & watercolor portraits. Portraits are drawn from photographs in a timely manner with the highest quality materials to ensure they will be enjoyed for generations!
Thanks for visiting my site! I am an awarded pastel artist and instructor based in Birmingham, Alabama. A self-taught artist, I have been working with pastels for over 6 years, selling in shops, galleries, shows and by commission. I teach pastel workshops for adults, and love to help emerging artists on their journey into the art community.
