Visit my new Portrait Store to easily commission a portrait of your pet, loved one or favorite location. Follow the link here and get started today!
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Create an heirloom to be enjoyed for generations by commissioning a portrait of your loved ones, your pet or a special location. Color commissions are painted in pastel or watercolor; black and white are drawn in graphite, charcoal or ink. Each piece is made with the highest quality materials on archival surfaces, so these pieces are guaranteed to last and satisfy.
Portraits are completed in a timely manner and at reasonable prices, so all can enjoy the special presence of a personal work of art in their home. Portraits make meaningful gifts for birthdays, holidays and special occasions.
The process of commissioning your piece is easy; choose from the options below and contact Mary Liz today!
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- 11×14 pastel on card
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- Tudor Home, 11×14 watercolor on paper
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- 8×10 watercolor on canvas
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- 8×10 watercolor on canvas
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- 11×14 watercolor on paper
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- Grandaddy, 8×10 graphite on card
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- Maine Coon, 8×10 watercolor on board
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- Siblings, 24×36 pastel on board
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- Stephen, 12×12 watercolor on canvas
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- Bogie, 11×14 pastel on card
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- Family home, 11×14 graphite on card
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- Ukelele, 9×12 colored pencil on paper
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- For the Girls, 20×20 watercolor on canvas
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- Mother’s Day Commission, 11×14 Watercolor
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- Bandit, 8×10 pastel on card
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- Family, each 5×7 ink on card
The sincerity of a 5 year old
standing straight and tall on a bench at the table, blue eyes bright
a passionate speech delivered
about love, hate, division
about broken hearts
courage, dreams.
She learned about Martin Luther King, Jr. at school today, and full of fervor, recounted the events of the Civil Rights Movement. She is known for giving spontaneous speeches, and I listened closely. My 5 year old, in all her innocence, spoke such truth in a time when it feels like truth is lost:
“You shouldn’t judge people. It matters what you say, even how you look at people. Words hurt. It can break your heart. It splits them in two. When people are mean to people just because they look different, it hurts their heart. It doesn’t matter what your skin looks like, or your hair, or your eyes. Your heart is what matters.”
“He was a good man. I want to be like him. I look up to him. Even though he’s dead, I look up to him. He wanted people to be friends.”
An hour before, I spent time sketching a portrait of one of my dearest friends.
I heard today what our President said about her country, many countries; the man who is supposed to represent the land of opportunity, the land built of immigrants, who calls other countries “shitholes.” Just a few days before we celebrate the bravery of Martin Luther King, our president again shows his racism.
In response, I sought to honor my friend by drawing her beautiful face, thinking of her grace and kindness, her strength and worth. I thought of my many friends from Haiti, Peru, Vietnam, Indonesia, Yemen; people I see and love everyday. People who matter. People whose hearts are broken by other people who judge them and do not know them.
A 5 year old knows we are all human; that we all have deep worth, and that it lies in our hearts. No matter our gender, our ethnicity, our religion, our country. We would do well to listen to her and do what is necessary to restore our common humanity. It seems more fragile every day.
“Whatever you do in life…remember…think higher, and feel deeper. Life is not a fist. Life is an open hand waiting for some other hand to enter it in friendship.” -Elie Wiesel
This girl. She is strong. She sees past excuses. She has a spirit that is passionate for justice. She is small of stature, great of heart. When I see her, I see hope. I see a backbone that won’t let you push her around. She makes me stand up a little straighter, which is hard to do these days.
Every day I wake up to a struggle for hope in a world that keeps beating us down. Reasons to be afraid are paraded before us, dividing us, depressing us, threatening to consume. Fear of violence, fear of leadership, fear of catastrophe, fear for the environment, fear over the food I buy, the way I live, the places I go, the choices I make, the things I say.
The world seems tilted and it’s hard to find my footing. But when I look at a child, when I look at my child, this brave young lady, I find it easier to plant my feet, to find my balance, to keep moving forward. I find the strength to grab the world with a white-knuckled grip, filled with outrage at the mistreatment of truth and love and faith, and hold on tight, pulling with a determination on my one piece of this world to keep it from tilting further. I add my weight, however little it may be, for decency, for kindness, for peace, for hope. Because what we do matters. Our choices matter.
As I drove along in traffic one morning, this image of her face flashed in my mind. With the laundry list of world problems, American problems, Alabama problems that are dividing us, I can’t help but scream, “Aren’t we worth more than this?” We trudge along, hunkered down in whatever way feels most comfortable. We may plug our ears, turn away from the pain and insulate ourselves; we may succumb to fear and batten down the hatches, mistrusting everyone and everything; or we can stand up to the tumult and weather the storm with each difficult step. How will it get better if we don’t stand up and raise our hands together for goodness, for unity? What will this current course leave for our children? For us?
So I stand up. Even if it feels scary, however standing up may manifest itself today.
For the girls. For the boys. For the tired, the fearful, the hateful, the loving, the strong. I will pull and pull at this tilting world like a life or death game of tug-of-war.
It would be so much better if we can all pull together. To look in each other’s eyes and see we are not just divided into men and women, republican and democrat, liberal and conservative, this and that, us and them. We are human – e pluribus unum. Out of many, one.
Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
-Walt Whitman, O Me! O Life!
For quite awhile, I have been using Square to accept online payments and send invoices. I am happy to announce that I now have an online store where you can securely and easily purchase many items including my Birmingham notecards, Alabama art, and custom commissions. Visit my online Square store today by following the link below!
I tried to avoid the steady gaze. It seemed like the brown eyes pierced into my very soul, asking questions, surveying my existence. So contemplative, so knowing. I unwittingly mixed in a little introspective therapist into the pastels I applied, and I had to giggle a little when I stood back to survey the finished product. He’s very regal, very convicting, on his leather couch, eliciting introspection as he silently listens.
While drawing this winter, I listened to Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey, a fascinating book in bite-sized pieces detailing the routines and habits of around 160 artists, musicians, writers, and great thinkers. Along the way, as I layered fur and leather, I thought about my own daily habits, my own rituals to entice and encourage my artistic creativity.
I have to say, after listening to over 100 stories of artists’ bad habits – alcoholism, substance abuse, and some really weird rituals – I feel a little bit better about myself. They do take a lot of afternoon naps, though; I wish I could incorporate that into my life. What a lovely habit.
I began to worry, as I have joked in the past, based on the biographies of great artists such as Van Gogh, Degas and the like, that I will never be a very successful artist unless I have more problems, more existential throes, more drama. Luckily, after I finished Daily Rituals, I listened to Elizabeth’s Gilbert’s Big Magic. Speaking on the same subject – these crazy artists literally killing themselves over their creativity, living in the bowels of anxiety and personal torture – she gives a different view:
On these grounds, naturally I am tempted to make the case for drinking myself to death as a creative exercise, but that would be self-destructive.
Creativity resides in making the choices that make you happy, and anyone who tells you otherwise — your inner critic, your outer critics — is fooling you. Originality is out, authenticity is in.
Whew. That’s good news. As I finish up “Bogie” the dog, I relax a bit, look him in the eyes and say “thanks.” We made it out together. He seems relaxed.
Bogie, 11×14 pastel on card
I woke up this morning to a dark blue sky streaked with gray clouds. Yawning, I made my way to a cup of coffee and settled in my chair in a quiet den. I felt clouded and sleepy, like the early morning sky. Struggling to wake, hoping to sweep away weary expectations, I leaned back and looked out the window. The rising sun sent a gentle light through the stripes of dreary January clouds, a hope-filled breakthrough. Light is always brighter than darkness.
Sometimes you are fortunate to capture these moments in life, to notice them like the morning sun, when love and light shines through. A gift from a friend, a warm fire to welcome you home, a hug from a child. I’m sure you can think of many others. I know I can.
Simple, everyday moments, like a father gently preparing his daughter for a performance, carefully drawing lines and arranging her hair. His hand placed tenderly on her cheek, her eyes closed in trust and rest. I was fortunate enough to be able to preserve this moment for a family, with a watercolor on canvas.
I love to watch for the light. You never know when it will shine through.
Love and Light, 20×20 watercolor on canvas
One of the main reasons I began using pastels was to loosen up.
In high school and early college, I was the queen of minute detail. I loved teeny tiny brushes and sharp pencils. I had a huge callous on my right middle finger from squeezing the pencil so hard to get every last dot on paper.
I still love detail, as I adjust the picture next to me to the best angle and spell check myself as I type. I’m sure it drives my husband crazy, as I settle in on the couch each night, needing the correct lamps turned on, my blanket just so…the list goes on. I will spare you, even though he is trapped. I attribute this desire for order and quirky detail to my father (hi dad!), who must have his lunch of a sandwich and chips on a paper plate every day, with a Mountain Dew of course.
But I digress. My oldest daughter, to whom (poor thing) I’ve passed much of this down, calls us “noticers.” We notice things. I’m good with that.
But when it comes to art, it can be FRUSTRATING. Especially on a portrait. Sometimes you just have to let go; you have to loosen up. So I grab a big piece of chalk. Still getting good detail, the large pieces keep me from over-detailing, from stressing and focusing on minutiae. It has helped me take the leap from tight drawing to something closer to my favorite style of Impressionism.
Using big pastels is like having a third child.
You have to loosen up, or you won’t survive. It just won’t work. You have to learn and train yourself to go with the flow, to notice the important things and pass over the stressors and tiny dots that just distract. You can more easily see the beauty that stands out, and enjoy it, record it, embrace it.
Martha, 18×24 pastel on board
We have busy minds. We are always in the process of becoming. For better or worse, our thoughts, actions and choices move us forward, or maybe backward, along the line of history and personal quest. I frequently get caught up in the existential throes of being an artist, of trying to be the best person I can be for the time I have on earth.
One morning I was thinking about fear,
how to overcome it, how to lessen the fear around us. I realized that most cruelty, most fear comes from us, from humans. We humans, more than any other species, threaten each other – with hate, with guns, with war, with irresponsibility, with greed and robbery, with anger and disregard for human life. Recently two young boys that I count as nearly my own had a gun pointed at them while they were simply playing near their porch, and this in a safe neighborhood. There was no cause or prompting, just a quick move by a man with unknown motives. It causes fear. Fear that must be overcome daily.
May we live with more peace and regard for each other. May we treat each other with love and loyalty, as members of the human race, members of creation.
I hope we can learn from the example that surrounds us, the peaceful cooperation found in nature. The trees, the soil, the birds, the animals work together to survive and thrive with beauty.
In my garden, I witness a microcosm that balances and cooperates to bear fruit. Insects, bacteria, nutrients, soil, water, sun, roots, leaves…it all works together to form food we can eat, beauty we can enjoy. And I get to be a caretaker, to guide and protect the process. May we do the same in our everyday lives, care for each other, guard the process of becoming.
At this point, I hear Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life, waving dismissively, “Sentimental hogwash!” Maybe I’m laying it on a big too thick. To bring it a few steps down from mushiness, I hope we can be more like our dogs. Our pets love us, even when we act like jerks, when we ignore them or forget to buy dog food. They are loyal and forgiving, and their love is constant. We are the ones who complicate things.
Here are a few furry friends that now have their portraits painted, a testament to their worth and value, and their loyalty to a fickle race.
Rest, 11×14 pastel on card
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- Big Dog, 9×12 pastel on card
Sometimes it’s so hard to choose a piece of art for a friend! Or you want to commission a portrait for a family member, but you’re not sure which photo they would like. If you’re stuck, I have an option for you:
Gift Cards for artwork!
Gift cards can be purchased in any amount and are redeemable for commissioned or available pastel paintings of chosen value. From pastel portraits, to ink doodles, to watercolors…so many options available for your friend or family member to choose from!
Gift cards will be written for the amount paid & purchase intention noted (ex: 5×7 framed pastel; 8×10 unframed portrait, etc.). Gift cards will be signed by the artist for authenticity. Those receiving gift cards may upgrade to higher-priced artwork by paying the balance.
