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“What’s Got Your Goat,” or “Green with Envy”

Mary Liz Ingram —  June 4, 2013 — Leave a comment

For the fourth or fifth day running, I was in a foul mood.

I raise a glass to the single parents out there, because my temporary single-parenting has kicked my booty. I salute you. It is hard, lonely and exhausting. 

This string of strange, colorful barnyard beasts have been my unexpected therapy over this past week, letting my frustrations and irritations transfer from my mind to the paper. I have a solemn blue cow, a mellow purple pig, a feisty orange hen, and now a green billy goat.

This bearded fellow is quirky and odd, and I have to say I’m a little startled that I created a weird green goat. But hey, that’s what came out today. I was feeling some ugly emotions, and my almost creepy little friend told the story. I don’t mean for him to be creepy…he’s really a cute little goat until I turned him green.

As I repeatedly tell my kids: The good thing about art is that you can do whatever you want. 

You too can draw a green goat when you’re in a bad mood.

"What's Got Your Goat," or "Green with Envy," 8x8 pastel on card

“What’s Got Your Goat,” or “Green with Envy,” 8×8 pastel on card

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Mother Hen

Mary Liz Ingram —  June 3, 2013 — Leave a comment

I woke up early to the sound of the baby crying, impatient to be lifted from her crib and deposited into her high chair for some Cheerios. The other two were scurrying around in their pjs, building legos and sewing felt animals, asking for their breakfast.

I stumbled my way to the kitchen for some coffee, and had one of “those” moments: where everything feels like Groundhog Day with Bill Murray.

All I heard was “Mommy, mommy, mommy” and I felt really tired. 

For some reason, colorful barnyard animals have been popping into my head at these moments of heightened “sensitivity,” we might say. And this morning, as I sipped my coffee, I thought of a bright orange mother hen and her chicks.

A protective, attentive mother, a bit tired, perhaps letting out a sigh during a moment of weariness. Warm and cozy, but feeling a little irritable.

Well…that description came to me after I drew it. My first thought was of a tired, grumpy chicken.

I ADORE my children. They are unique, precious and beautiful to me, and I devote my life to their happiness, well-being and care with all my heart…

But, occasionally, a mom feels grouchy about being a mom, at least for a moment. And it’s okay.

We shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling like it’s Groundhog Day, when the cycle repeats and beats us down. We still gladly protect our little chicks– we still fix their breakfast, comb their hair and smother them in love and kisses.

The weariness passes quickly, and balance is restored…

Mother Hen, 8x8 pastel on card

Mother Hen, 8×8 pastel on card

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The Blues

Mary Liz Ingram —  June 1, 2013 — 3 Comments

Sometimes it’s just one of those days…

Moping around, I was feeling blue. It was evening, I was trying to be “nice mommy” and put everyone to bed with a gentle smile despite my cranky blues. Grrrr.

So I went into my art room and drew a blue cow.

After posting him on Facebook, a few comments about his expression showed how much he reflected my mood. My dear friend Carl wrote: “Love the look in Big Blues eyes! He looks like he’s daring you to cross him!” Yep, that pretty much sums it up.

Big Blue, 8x8 pastel on card

Big Blue, 8×8 pastel on card

So the next night, I was less grumpy and feeling more like throwing myself a pity party. Poor me, pitiful tired me…

My pity party lasted for a few minutes. I told myself to get off my booty and to stop wallowing.

Which made me think of a purple pig.

Not sure why I’m drawing these colorful farm animals, a la The Wizard of Oz’s horse of a different color, but I’m just going with it. It’s kinda fun.

So I drew a purple pig. And, as with the blue cow, I feel better now. Thanks, pig.

Stop Wallowing, 8x8 pastel on card

Stop Wallowing, 8×8 pastel on card

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Follow the Doodle

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 29, 2013 — 2 Comments

I label myself as “Mary Liz Ingram: Pastel Artist and Instructor.” You can read that on this site, on Twitter, Facebook, in my bio. I create “Pieces of the South”: cotton bolls, hay bales, cows, pigs, donkeys, you name it.

But I haven’t been drawing with my pastels very much lately. And I haven’t been drawing cotton or pigs. If you keep up with my blog, you might notice lots of ink doodles, graphite sketches and watercolors of my children.

I believe in a lot of things.

In business, I believe you go for it, you work hard, you do what needs to be done. When beginning my art career, I drew and sold lots of sheep pastels. Sometimes I wanted to draw something else, but I needed to make a name for myself and I needed to “increase the funds,” if you get my drift. So I drew more sheep – lovely, puffy little fellows.

In art, and in life, I believe you need to follow your inspirations. I am now in a place (hooray!) in which I don’t have to push myself as hard to promote and sell my art (thank you world!). I can “chase wild hares,” as my mother might say; I can follow inspiration without asking to where it leads.

As a mother of three, who thankfully gets to spend time with my children in tandem with my day job, I collect moments and experiences that scream to be drawn. I see so much art in my children: in their expressive, clear blue eyes; in their little hands with dimpled knuckles; in their creative mischievousness and busy minds. I’m sure my Facebook friends tire of the barrage of pictures I throw at them; some of the photos I am lucky enough to take are so artistically beautiful and touching to me, I want to share them with others.

There is something so deeply magical about the innocence, freedom and creativity of a child. It touches all our hearts in one way or another. So I follow my inspirations.

Here are a few doodles from our day together:

Front Yard Baseball, ink doodle

Front Yard Baseball, ink doodle

First Corn on the Cob, ink doodle

First Corn on the Cob, ink doodle

Silly Girl, ink doodle

Silly Girl, ink doodle

More of my art inspired by my children (just to choose a few…)

Pillow Fort

The Corner

Rainy Day Sketch

 

Sewing Lesson

Lovely Girl

Snowballs

Change of Shoes

“Write down the thoughts of the moment. Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable.” 

-Francis Bacon

 

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Grandfather's OLD and awesome coffee can with my brushes

An Artist’s Perks

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 14, 2013 — Leave a comment

There are many of benefits to being an artist:

*Free, yet thoughtful, Christmas presents (as well as wedding, birthday, baby, anniversary, and, ahem, any presents…)

*An excuse for any quirks or eccentricities, aka being weird

*A ready excuse for wearing odd or mismatched clothes, or for having embarrassingly shabby fingernails

*Having a creative storehouse at your (dirty) fingertips

Another fabulous perk to being an artist is that if you are at your daughter’s ballet recital, and your phone (yes, I didn’t bring a camera) is unable to take photos due to the lighting, you can doodle your way to preserving memories.

I sat down at my kitchen table the Sunday evening after her glorious “Under the Sea” ballet performance and doodled a few of my favorite ballet moments:

The little 3-year-old “beach-goer” who frolicked around the stage, refusing to follow the plan:

Scamper, Ink Doodle

Scamper, Ink Doodle

The sweet little ballerinas dressed and accessorized to be “jellyfish,” with tentacled umbrellas:

Jellyfish, Ink Doodle

Jellyfish, Ink Doodle

Continue Reading…

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A Tranquil Moment, or Mushy Cereal

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 12, 2013 — Leave a comment

The sound of a few tiny footsteps brings me out of softly nestled dreams into the awareness of morning. It’s 6:45 on Sunday, and I open my sleepy eyes to a beaming, messy-haired and snaggle-toothed 7-year-old, who greets me with a whispered “Happy Mother’s Day Mom!”

Mother's Day breakfastShe holds a tray, taken off one of our nesting tables, set with her own well-intentioned version of breakfast:

  • a bowl of now-mushy cereal
  • a peanut butter granola bar
  • the “prettiest orange” she could choose
  • a little candy heart made out of tootsie rolls and leftover Easter candy
  • a small glass of milk
  • a rose pulled out of her dance recital bouquet
  • and a homemade card

Her Batman-footie-clad little brother comes pattering in soon after, with a handful of stickers and drawings especially for me. They also picked out all the yellow tubes of various paints from their own art kit, since yellow is my favorite color.

As I ate my – ahem – delicious breakfast, being eagerly watched by little expectant faces, I felt grateful for every too-sweet, soggy bite.

Peter Ilsted, "Girl Reading"Later in the morning, I followed a white rabbit down the Google trail, discovering art techniques and artists previously unknown. A Danish artist from the turn of the 20th century captured my interest, with his “Sunshine and Silent Rooms.” Peter Ilsted, along with several of his contemporaries, created paintings and prints of clean, sunlit rooms with calm, still figures…very beautiful, very peaceful, very quiet. The pieces were so calming, I couldn’t help but pause. It was as if the only sound to be heard was the rhythmic ticking of a clock on an unhurried day; snapshots of ordinary places, ordinary moments, yet full of beauty and grace.

Inspired by the tranquility of Ilsted’s work, I sat down in my own quiet, sunlit room and sketched my two older children, who were quietly playing with a few small toys at the coffee table. While drawing their busy little hands, my daughter’s crossed feet, my son’s little nose, I felt so grateful for the ability to absorb each detail in this every-day moment, and so happy to be a mom on this Mother’s Day.

Sunshine and Quiet Play, graphite sketch

Sunshine and Quiet Play, graphite sketch

“How wonderful life is while you’re in the world” -Elton John

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Soundtrack to Art

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 8, 2013 — 2 Comments

Back in the day, I might have made an Art Mixtape. It would’ve been awesome. I would have made several to keep on hand and pop in “ye old tape player” as needed: a mixtape for those days of “Existential Flu“; a mixtape for those productive days full of eager creation and purpose; a mixtape for days spent drawing cotton fields and pigs.

Mix TapeFor me, art and music go hand in hand. I can draw and create with children on my back, showing me lego creations and spilling paint, as long as I have music to help me ride me above the chaos. Music imbibes life into each stroke of my pastel. It helps me work quickly and, well, musically; loose and free marks are capable because music carries my thoughts and keeps me relaxed.

Music gives expression to complicated thoughts. As I look back on the soundtrack of my life, I can associate songs with different phases. Songs of searching and even despair when I was trying to find my way in the world; songs of triumph and energy when I’d found a path to follow; songs of ease and depth when my life feels full and rich.

What songs are on your playlist? What music gives expression to your life? What music aids you in your art?

 

Here are a few of my current choices:

The Lumineers, Mumford & Sons… for those much-needed “art days,” when I am free to create as I choose

The Alabama Shakes… when I want to relax

Old Crow Medicine Show & Johnny Cash… for those pigs, cows and cotton bolls

Some past choices that have run their course, but you never know if they may see a resurgence: Norah Jones, Coldplay, Bob Marley, Jack Johnson, Madeleine Peyroux, classical piano

 

“He was full of emotions struggling for expression…“

–The Survivor, E. Phillips Oppenheim

 

Some of my art inspired by song: 

Dancing in Clover, ink sketchLovely Girl

The Honeysuckle Vine

Carousel

Dancing in Clover

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The Honeysuckle Vine

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 5, 2013 — Leave a comment

You can learn a lot of things from the flowers, for especially in the month of June. There’s a wealth of happiness and romance, all in the golden afternoon. … 

-Alice in Wonderland

Honeysuckle Vine, Ink and Pastel Pencil sketch on paper

Honeysuckle Vine, Ink and Pastel Pencil sketch on paper

A quiet Saturday in May, we decided to take a stroll through the neighborhood. Our boy on his bike, Spiderman helmet secured; our eldest first trying out her roller skates, then after squeals and crashes, switching to her bike, sans training wheels; the baby in her stroller until Mommy’s hip sounded like such a better place to ride; Daddy helping the cyclists-in-training.

Golden Afternoon, original photography

The sun shining golden through the shade trees, heavily laden with rich green leaves, adds warmth to the unusually cool Spring day in Alabama. We wind our way in an unplanned pattern through the web of streets and sidewalks. As we’re admiring the fresh cut grass of a friend’s home, half-jealous as ours is still in need of a trim, a sweet scent teases our senses. Briefly caught on the soft breeze, the smell conjures immediate memories of childhood. For a moment, we are all enveloped in a completely carefree moment, gathering around the happily discovered honeysuckle vine, relishing the tiny drops of nectar that hide inside each flower.

A song floated into my mind on the tails of the honeysuckle vine, and I slowly spun and danced down the street singing it to my giggling dimpled baby girl, as the big kids successfully pedaled home. I noticed a neighbor on a porch mid-(not-so-graceful)- spin and, I’m sure, badly sung version of the Alice in Wonderland tune, but I shrugged off any embarrassment and continued our freely twirling walk home, experiencing for a moment that pure, open and innocent enjoyment of all the good things in life.

 

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What’s the point?

Mary Liz Ingram —  April 28, 2013 — 3 Comments

“Ah, ignore me. I’ve got a touch of existential flu”  –Inspector Lewis, “Soul of Genius”

Every now and then I have a bout of artists angst.

The Point, original photographyMy creations seem worthless, foolish, juvenile attempts. I ponder questions of the meaning of life, of my daily doings. I wonder internally and externally “What’s the point of it all?”

After purposed distraction away from my “existential flu,” I am able to reflect upon firmer footing. I hear quiet, in-progress answers.

The point of art, of “platform-building,” of more Twitter followers, more Facebook likes, more blog subscribers, art shows…well, of everything really…the point of it all is to share.

At least to me, at least today.

Sometimes our efforts are directed toward success: fame and fortune. Probably not gonna happen. I honestly can’t name a single “famous” living artist. I can name successful, well-known local artists, or respected artists in this particular group or that. But an overarchingly world-famous modern day artist? Not your household name.

Hoping for posthumous fame? It could happen…but why strive only for such a slim, seriously almost impossibly slim, chance? Not my goal… (I mean, hey, if I turn out to be amazing and take the world of art by storm, and am remembered throughout future history, I won’t complain).

Fortune? I sell art  in a satisfying amount, at what I hope are reasonable, accessible prices… Not seeking my fortune.  (yes, I have a day job, as most artists do…)

At this point in my life, the point of my strivings are to collect and share.

To collect pieces of beauty, depth, purpose; to evoke memories, some form ofgoodness, to encourage reflection and change, to share truths small and large as I find them.

It may sound mushy; “sentimental hogwash,” if you will. But I think it is a worthy endeavor.

I think this “point of it all” can be applied everywhere in life. To share what we can with our fellow beings. To share support with those who need it, to foster environments of safety & respite where it is lacking. To share peace & beauty when things seem dim, to share some sort of goodness in a world that holds on to much pain. To share a presence and an understanding that life is not easy, and you are not alone.

“We’re all in this thing together
Walkin’ the line between faith and fear
This life don’t last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears”
-Old Crow Medicine Show

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Hee Haw

Mary Liz Ingram —  April 25, 2013 — Leave a comment

So I drew a donkey. He is up close and personal. He is stately and thoughtful. He is probably stubborn and temperamental. And he really needed a name. 

"Donkey Hotey," 11x14 soft pastel on card

For this important task, I turned to my friends on Twitter and Facebook. I got tons of great feedback from peeps all around the world:

Blue, Don Burro the 3rd, Ned, Sir Yeknod, Trevor, Hector, BrayPitt, Platero, Daniel, Donk, Charles, Rabbit, Darcy, Murray, Homer, and I have to admit my favorite:

@sbarrphoto: “Hotey, that way he is Donkey Hotey, to dream the impossible dream.”

You dream that impossible dream, Hotey. Dream big.

 

 

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