Reflection, Quick Graphite Sketch… I gave a speech today. I dont like public speaking…not one bit. In seminary, I took all the classes but the preaching classes. I love teaching; I can lead a pastel demonstration for hours and actually get energy from “speaking while doing.” But at a podium with a microphone? No thank you. I’ll do it, I’ll try my best, but I don’t like it. Who does like public speaking anyway? Oh right, my HUSBAND, who happens to be really great at it. Continue Reading…
War Helicopter, oil pastel by my son, 4 years old…I love my kids. They crack my husband and I up with their schemes, and they love to copy us. One day it might be our little boy walking in with his chin tucked back, his chest puffed out, holding a pretend cup of coffee, saying in a deep voice “Hmph, I’m Dad. I’m going to work now.” Or our daughter popping out of her room (“Ta da!”) dressed exactly like me in jeans, blue T-shirt, bandana head band and flip flops, proclaiming herself “Mini Mom.” Its funny and scary at the same time, watching these little copycats. Some of the things we do, I hope they don’t copy: Continue Reading…
Shoes, Graphite Sketch… Sunday, a day of rest and renewal; a time to reset. Sundays have become a mental health day for me…I tidy up, listen to music, drink slow cups of coffee, think about life. I shake off the stress and rediscover the joy. I clean up the grime, and unearth the shine of love and life; breathe in fresh air, notice my surroundings, find peace in my place. It keeps me going, week after week. Today I drew my little boy’s line of shoes: the epitome of tidiness in our house, since his room is always the messiest. “We are not afraid to look under the bed, or to wash the sheets; we know that life is messy. We know that somebody has to clean it up, and that only if it is cleaned up can we hope to start over, and get better.” -Marsha Norman, quoted in Real Simple, May 2012
Sky, Hipstamatic photo… Its frustrating, being human. I hate messing up, missing an important detail, dropping one of the many balls I am juggling, not being able to “do it all.” I want to do everything perfectly. This is obviously unrealistic and impossible, yet I continue trying: Semper Reformata, the cry of the Protestant Reformation, “always reforming.” I’ve been watching the Olympics everyday, marveling at the abilities of my fellow human beings. These people are intense. Continue Reading…
Shepherd, Soft Pastel… On my twelfth birthday, my grandfather gave me a collection of my first “real” art supplies. Never doing anything halfway, he went to a local art store to have a professional choose the best materials: a selection of nice brushes, a set of watercolors in tubes and in a pan, acrylic paint, oil paint, canvases, papers, a set of drawing pencils, erasers, and a large box of pastels. With that gift, I moved from the childhood world of drawing cartoon characters with a #2 pencil to exploring the world of fine art. Years later, after I had painted and sketched the days away, I finally picked up the untouched box of pastels. But what to draw? It was my sophomore year of college, and I had recently returned from a Jan-term trip to Jordan and Syria (where, incidentally, I met my husband, a fellow student). There were so many new memories forever burned into my mind, but one stood out, and still does to this day: standing atop a golden ridge, looking out as the amber sun set over the Dead Sea, viewing the Bedouin caves from above, and spotting a flock of goats and sheep with their robed shepherd in the valley below. It was a beautiful moment, rich in color, that became the subject of my first pastel drawing with my first set of pastels. I have drawn it several times since, and it has become a repeated special request from my grandmother. The image has been altered as my hand has gathered new techniques and greater knowledge over the years, but here is a version from today, commissioned as a gift, sitting atop the greatest treasures of my much-expanded collection of art supplies: my Sennelier Soft Pastels.
As I’ve said before, there are five of us, plus two cats, living in a small house. When we were house hunting, we wanted something small but with the requirement of one extra space for my art room. The “one extra room” we found is a long skinny room with lots of light, and as an artist, I have a lot of stuff to cram in there: acrylic paint, oil paint, watercolors, soft pastels, oil pastels, graphite sticks, brushes, papers, boards, easels, frames…you get the idea. The tricky part is storing it all in the small space in a way that keeps kids out of it, and making it clear enough to actually enjoy being in there! To make this space livable, there is a constant cycle of cluttering and cleaning. I purge the room (and the house!) fairly often, but this time, more was needed. My art room needed a renewal, just as my art and my outlook has been renewed. I took out curtains, junk, and reorganized to make it brighter, fresher and CLEANER. The good news for those interested in exploring pastels and fearful of what I half-jokingly call “pastel lung,” is that there was remarkably little pastel dust after 5 years of not wiping my window sills and top molding (gross, I know…sorry!). So, ta-da! I’m ready to work, the room as cleared out as its going to get.
I even cleaned off the kids’ art area. My trusty sidekicks got right to work messing it up, as expected. But what else is an art room for, if not to get messy?!
Hay Bale, Graphite Sketch…My husband and I have a ritual; it helps us decompress after our busy days, and is a routine time to relax and enjoy being together. Each night once the kids are tucked in bed, we sit on the couch, each with a glass of milk and two freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, to watch one of our recorded shows. Last night we watched the Next Food Network Star. Each Star hopeful must have a “POV,” a “Point of View” that would make their own Food Network show unique. Two weeks of my daily drawings are now complete, and over morning coffee, I reflected upon my “POV”…my own point of view around which my art revolves. I know art doesn’t have to have a “point” or a “meaning,” that it can be art for art’s sake, but my organized self loves to have everything in its place, categorized and grouped. I want my art to fit together and have a meaning, a purpose, a POV. When I reflect upon my daily drawings, I see the common thread of my own human experience: family, relationships, love, warmth, what surrounds me in my place, what is important to me in my life. Linking the theme of my sketches with my current pastels and paintings, my POV emerges as, in my husband’s words, “Southern eclectic”: a mixture of rural and city, objects and figures, past and present…the story of my place. I find warmth, family, richness and beauty in the South, in its porches and fields, its trees and marshes, its people and history, its rust and wood. A representation of the story of humanity, the South is a tightly woven tapestry of good and bad, hospitality and hatred, comfort and pain, smiles and sorrow. Despite its dark threads, my South triumphs with beauty, with color, with life, with strength; in my place and through my art, I hope to reveal and foster greater peace, honest love, and a warm, genuine reality of Southern hospitality, a welcoming with open arms.
Daddy’s Home, graphite sketch…Today’s big event is that “Daddy is home!” My kids have been counting down to this day all week. Just as my dad did for my sister and I when he travelled, my husband always brings our kids a “prize.” This week he was in rural Alabama, not a place very conducive to buying souvenirs, but he nonetheless came home with some very interesting treasures! Cue the knitted Spiderman finger puppet made in Ecuador. It makes me laugh (it’s so odd!), and it made our son very excited. So here’s a fuzzy little Spidey: a celebration of homecoming, family and the funny things in life!
Nora, 3 months, Graphite Sketch…Today is the birthday of Edgar Degas, the French Impressionist famous for his figures of ballerinas, bathers, and other turn-of-the-century subjects. He also happens to be my favorite artist and major influence on my own art. I especially love Degas’ pastels…the vibrant contrasts, the intense markings, the vivid colors. His preparatory sketches are often a combination of strong, dark shadows mixed with precise, yet loose, lines. I like to study his work and absorb what I can into my own way of seeing color and interpreting subjects. In homage to Degas, I chose a figure drawing for my daily sketch, drawing my sleeping baby girl (who was a bit squirmier than I expected, once drawing commenced!) I used my darkest pencil, marking in the shadows, contemplating the art of Degas as I recorded this day in my baby’s young life.
The Tub, Edgar Degas, Pastel
Two Dancers Resting, Edgar Degas
About a week ago, while running errands with my family, on a persistent whim I decided I wanted one of the several thistles scattered along the shoulder of the road. As with most “whims,” there was not much reason for it…I just saw a tall, spiky, blooming thistle and became briefly obsessed with pulling one out of the ground. Partly driven by nostalgia, remembering a trip from my youth when my parents pulled over and showed my sister and I a thistle, partly driven by an “educational opportunity” for my own children (and humor at hearing my daughter say “thithle” with her slight lisp), and partly driven by an artistic impetus, I cajoled my husband into making two loops on a busy road so I could pop out of the car and pull up my coveted thistle.
It was one of my finer moments: dressed in nice clothes, climbing out of a little mini van, carrying a brightly striped child’s pullover (for spike-protection), dashing down a weed covered hill, watched by a whole intersection of onlookers merging off and onto the interstate, I quickly yanked up a thistle before scurrying back to the car with my strange prize. I’m sure I looked totally normal…
When I got close to my chosen thistle, which was much larger than I expected, I had a moment of panic that after all this trouble, in front of all these anonymous commuters, I wouldn’t be able to pull it up, and there I would be tugging in vain before retreating to the car in shameful surrender. To my relief, it came up with a quick snap.
My thistle has been blooming steadily all week in it’s little jar of water and giving me lots of opportunity to draw it, observe it, and reflect upon why I am fascinated by this odd plant.
At once both soft and jagged, with downy coverings and serrated thorns; both beautiful and dangerous, with soft red tufts of flower tempting the touch, while fingers must weave cautiously through the plentiful thorns. Strikingly harsh with it’s stiff, sharp leaves, and artistically intriguing with it’s curving, striated stems and colorful urns of flower. An unlikely place to find beauty, grace found among thorns.
Here are my impressions/studies of the thistle; I plan on trying it again soon with some different techniques.
3 Studies of a Thistle, 5×7 soft pastel on card coated with pastel ground
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.
