Archives For Liz

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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Mr. Bean

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 31, 2013 — 1 Comment

toasted donuts, original photographySo I’ve had quite a few days on my own with the kids. I congratulate myself for successfully ending each day with everyone happy and whole by treating myself to a dessert or (oftentimes and) a glass of white wine. After a day of many doings, the house is always very quiet. All my little peeps are asleep, and it’s just me and the cat (my Dad might say, correcting my grammar, “The cat’s not mean.” But I think “me and the cat” sounds more fun than “the cat and I,” and on here I can write how I want. So there.).

It’s quiet. And a little boring.

So here’s a jaunty little poem to describe and illustrate the odd things that may or may not occur on such an evening:

Twas the night with just mommy, the toys put away, successfully living to the end of this day

The children were snuggled up tight in their beds, as visions of Scooby Doo danced in their heads

I on the couch in my pjs at 8:00, settled in with a blanket and dessert on a plate

I’d puttered about like a little old granny, and hummed and muttered and sat on my fanny

I had been in the kitchen preparing my snack, and was struck by a thought as sharp as a smack 

I was making odd noises in a sort of narration, excited by donuts, a cause for elation

When it hit me that in this sad humorous scene, I sounded a lot like the man Mr. Bean

Well the noises stopped there, and I went to the couch, I tried to sit up instead of assuming the slouch

“I’m a 31 year old woman,” I said in my head, and though I may not want to go paint the town red

I can hang onto my dignity and hold my head high, then I ate my three donuts without even a sigh.

Toasted Donuts, ink sketch

Toasted Donuts, ink sketch

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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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Summertime Slow

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 27, 2013 — Leave a comment

Summertime and the livin’ is easy…

 

Summer break has come to Alabama. Routines change and slow, the weather heats up, and the leisurely way of Southern living sets in. Time to relax and stroll, swing and sip, sleep in a bit more, and play with the kids.

This weekend, I felt less like doing my “serious” art, and more like playing. First, the kids and I made duct tape shoes.

Later in the afternoon, while baby was napping, we went outside for some “free painting,” thanks to a huge roll of beige wallpaper I’d somehow acquired. I love to watch kids paint.

My daughter went for splatter painting and “graffiti,”

while my son painted a stormy ocean with a rainbow.

Days like this make the hard days worth it.

message

“One of these mornings you’re gonna rise up singing
And you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take to the sky
But till that morning, there ain’t nothin’ can harm you
With daddy and mammy standin’ by”

-Ella Fitzgerald, Summertime

Painting Day, 8x11 watercolor on board

Painting Day, 8×11 watercolor on board

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The Siege

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 19, 2013 — Leave a comment

Once upon a time, down the hill and around the curve, there lived a small woman in a castle of painted brick and siding. As the flowers bloomed brightly and the vines curled gently up the wall, the woman prepared for her day of honor: a day when the small folk in her care brought tokens of love, thanks and devotion for her days of tireless service.

The woman, who thought herself queen over her realm, received gifts of breakfast, priceless art, blossoms and praise as she reclined on her pillowed throne. The sun lit her day, as the small ones brought smiles into her presence.

Later in this day of tribute, the tides began to turn. There was a shift in the small folk’s demeanor.

Thus began the siege.

It began with a small rebellion by a 5-year-old boy, who called strike upon his labors. No laundry would he fold, no dishes would he put away, no rooms would he clean! He attacked the firm walls of authority with persistent whining, crying and the stomping of feet.

The woman, adept at handling unruly charges, placed him calmly in the corner of reflection until he relinquished his fight. As she took on his labors and folded the clothes of the residents, the boy continued his barrage of shrill protest, chipping rhythmically against the walls of her patience.

Fighting back against the siege, the woman hummed calming melodies as she attempted to retain her stalwart composure. But the battery did not cease.

Hours later, the dinner bell announced the time to serve the feast. The woman, offering treasures of coin to the oldest small one, farmed out the undone chores to the responsible peasant. Meanwhile, a tiny villager ransacked the palace kitchens, scattering plates and bowls all over the dirty floor. The boy continued his attack with tears and the gnashing of teeth, wearing down the resolve of the barely-standing battlements. Continue Reading…

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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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Time Goes By

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 10, 2013 — 2 Comments

We arrive in our Mazda 5, which we affectionately call the “mini mini space van.” I’m dressed in my skinny jeans, a loose silky top, my iPhone in my pocket ready to snap some pictures. We walk hand in hand, the kids, my mom, and I, down the street in downtown Birmingham towards the flickering sign of our destination. We wait outside the stage entrance with other families, shivering and huddled against the unexpected cold Sunday air. Most parents are holding phones…sending texts, posting Facebook photos of shivering ballerinas, tweeting a comment here and there about waiting. Finally the doors open and we usher our tiny dancers inside.

Walking around the corner, we follow the flood of locals into a glass foyer, moving slowly in the crush. The area opens to an atrium, and time seems to shift.

The crowd seems to change in my minds eye. The jeans, phones and sandals give way to an elegance from an era past, one of red lipstick and gloves.

Alabama Theater, original photography

Alabama Theater, original photography

The ornate ceiling is bathed in a golden light; rich, red velvet drapes archways and staircases. Moravian stars light up the mirrored accents; “As Time Goes By” drifts into my senses, played softly in the background. I was enveloped in a glowing, decadent atmosphere that transported me to the Alabama Theater’s heyday of the 1920s and 30s.

We make our way to our seats, and I take a moment to entertain the baby by, once again, exploring this beautiful space. We’ve been there several times before; in the Summer, the Alabama Theater plays movies like The Wizard of Oz, Gone With the Wind, Indiana Jones, and Cinderella, and they hold concerts and performances periodically. The impact of the place never gets old, never fades.

I took some photos of our visit, using a lens/film combination that brought out the richness of the place. I hope you enjoy:

For more info on the Alabama Theater, including its restoration, visit http://alabamatheatre.com/about-the-alabama/history/

You must remember this 
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. 
The fundamental things apply 
As time goes by.

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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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