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Irish actress Jessie Buckley has won a Critics Choice Award for her role in the acclaimed film "Hamnet," which tells the imagined story of family and loss as the primary driver behind William Shakespeare's "Hamlet." In her acceptance speech, Buckley shared an anecdote from her brother's recent visit to the famous caves at Lascaux, France, which are the site of the first known example of art created by human hands. She shares how he noted that the drawings aren't near the entrance to the cave, the only source of daylight, but rather in the deeper, darker, less accessible areas.

"...these first-ever humans, first-ever artists, decided to go with fire and minerals into the darkest part of the cave to tell their stories."

Buckley then credits Hamnet director Chloe Zhao for helping her create art from her character's deepest, darkest grief:  "...you have reminded me of the power of telling a story and the journey that you can go on to touch the deepest parts of what it is to be alive."

The point is so profound:  the human ability to bear witness and create beauty -- that is, make art -- from the deepest darkest parts of our lives is as old as humanity itself. It IS our humanity, to use creativity to express and process emotion. Creativity is the well by which we tap into our emotions and our inner selves.

The metaphors are endless, but the lesson is unchanged:  that we NEED creativity, just as we need air, water, food, love and learning. Creative pursuits are paramount to the pursuit of happiness, perhaps. It's not a stretch that the framers of the Constitution considered this philosophical idea when they made freedom of speech the first amendment. Because we need freedom of expression more than anything else that adds structure to our lives.

I've not yet seen "Hamnet" but I know the film, its story, and its message of creating from pain and grief and crushing heartbreak will stay with me for a long time. 

I'm raking a different approach to the New Year this time around. In past years, I've tried setting goals or intentions of what to work on, improve or strive for. As I mentioned in my latest newsletter (sign up here), 2024 had different plans for me than I had for myself. A reality check, literally and figuratively. Where I very, very much don't want to repeat that experience in my creative practice, what I can learn from the year behind me in order to set up the year ahead?

For starters, I can't create for the sake of being productive. I wanted to grow my body of work, take commissions and be an artistic machine.

How cute! My artwork doesn't happen that way. After making "With These Hands," my Unfinished Pile grew considerably. I didn't think I was lacking inspration but I was definitely lacking something, for all these pieces to trail off incomplete.

Turns out I wasn't listening to my creativity. I wasn't in tune. I wasn't working intuitively. I wasn't *into* it. (Like that use of alliteration? Me too.)

Another hard truth was that I wanted to create work in order to chase social media approval. Threads has become my main platform, with a health list of nearly 600 followers and some great interactions with fellow artists and other creatives. I even made a new friend in real life (hi Kristin)!

And that's the difference:  IN REAL LIFE. All of my sales in 2024 happened out of in-person events or exchanges. Actual sales!

Now, social media has value for sure, and I'm thankful for each person online who shares enthusiasm for artwork. BUT. The magic is happening in person, and that's something I can't ignore. I also can't overlook the fact that social media is fraught with instability and headed in directions that don't align with my values (looking at you, Meta).

Recognizing the limits of social media will let me channel energy and efforts to where I'll see the success I want. Listening to my creativity will put me in the right head space to work with organic and authentic intention.

Learning from 2024 to set up 2025. That's the plan. 

The other day on Threads, I caught a post by @alchemistress_ about setting up her first studio. The final line of the post:  “I’m sitting in the art room I wanted as a kid, surrounded by dreams.” 

Well if that didn’t touch a nerve! Of course I liked and commented on the post right away, but the sentiment has stayed with me since.

Surrounded by dreams. It made me think of my own journey to becoming an artist, which I got to recount a couple years ago in an essay that appeared in the premier issue of Living Crue magazine. 

The pencil tin has a vintage, almost other-worldly feel. Of course, the pencils and their case are other-worldly. They are artist-grade Derwent watercolor pencils, imported from England. I am 14, the youngest child of a low income family on Cape Cod. Money is tight in our house. There are few to no circumstances that justify the expense for nice and indulgent things like these pencils, and I know this. I stare at them endlessly, lost somewhere between the luxury and improbability of owning them.

I recently bought a new set of Derwent pencils. These are pastel pencils, to compliment the Caran d’Ache and Generals pastel pencils I already use. They round out my tool kit of pastels, so that I can render a full range of marks from bold and loose to soft and layered and finer detailed lines that offer eye-catching definition. I keep these pastels in a studio dedicated to a creative practice that’s produced award-winning artworks and earned me membership to nationally-renowned fine art organizations.

I’ve come a long way from that teenage summer, but the memory of not even daring to dream is never far from the surface. I’m no longer a 14-year-old who’s too scared to dream, who knows she can’t afford the missteps that come with dreaming. Now? I’m surrounded by this dream, living it. Nevermind that it’s one I only felt comfortable dreaming well into adulthood. 

Back in September I got the chance to consider all that’s brought to this point in my life. It sparked an intense wave of gratitude, and this recent realization that I’m surrounded by dreams brought me back to that gratitude. May it color my work in all the same ways my pastels do, in boldness and softness, in layers and details. Amen.

We’re a full two weeks into the new year and I’m still pondering the goals and resolutions I’ve set for myself. After going easy in the years since Covid, I realized that I need a push, a more  deliberate effort to advance my creative development and the work I create.

And that there is the first step: Create. More. Art. Do the thing! I need to prioritize studio time and getting to the easel. Can’t promote my artwork if I don’t make any!

This leads me to my next resolution: Set Some Goals. Say them out loud and give them voice. Manifest my success. To that end, I’m aiming for 10 commissions this year. If you’re reading, consider how you could enjoy a commissioned work: a portrait of someone special, of your home or a beloved getaway. I’m also going to make more seashell mosaics. They’re great little pieces that I put together when I need a break from painting and they’re wild popular. So yes, more of those!

How do I know they’re popular? That’s what sells at the local arts event I’ve attended a few times. So that’s my next nudge: do more events! There’s a great local artists association that holds a fantastic open studios event in my studio building and I’ve never participated. Not anymore! Again, DO THE THING.

I had a decent year last year. I redesigned my website and branding materials. I showed — and sold — work at some fantastic events. My portrait ‘Snuggled In’ was featured in an NPR roundup of pet artwork and later took 2nd Place at the Salmagundi Club’s Animals: Domestic & Working exhibit. I joined Threads and am growing a nice following.

Oddly enough, I didn’t feel great about the year as it was passing by. I wasn’t in my studio enough towards the end of the year and it put me in a funk. My confidence took a hit and my headspace was not good. In the spirit of preventing that nonsense from recurring, one final important thing I’ll work on this year is shedding some of the fear that too often holds me back. I avoid the follow through and just end up feeling bad about myself. It makes no sense! I don’t want to be afraid of success anymore.

I think that about sums up the annual peek inside my head. Hopefully I’ll get to revisit these goals and resolutions as the year goes on, to keep myself on track and mindful of what I wanted for myself (and what I thought I needed) when the year began. Until then, to the studio!

It's the universal cause for chagrin among pastel artists, when a stick falls to the floor and shatters. The world stops for a moment, while we take in what's happened and collect the pieces, grieve what's lost and self-flagellate for our clumsiness or absent-mindedness. 

I learned early on, as many pastelists do, to save those scraps! After all, pastels are expensive, and it's always a color we can't do without. At first I tortured myself trying to use the fragments. The difficulty of manipulating these tiny pieces seemed like appropriate penance for my carelessness, but really, why do I always need to make things more difficult for myself?! 

Reconstituting pastel into stick form is easy and so worthwhile, to give new life to broken sticks and even form something useful from the dust on the easel. Here's a quick tutorial:

STEP 1:  gather what you have, be it broken fragments or your collection easel dust

STEP 2: grind down your pastel, as finely as possible. I use a marble mortar and pestle. Some folks even use a coffee grinder but those can clog with the fine dust

STEP 3: Carefully transfer your dust to a clean flat surface. Make a small well in the center.

STEP 4: With an eye dropper and distilled water, slowly add water to the pastel to activate the binder. I use an icing knife to mix. You want the mixture to have a similar consistency to wet clay.

STEP 5: Shape into a stick by rolling or using a putty/icing/palette knife along a flat surface. Gently compress to remove air bubbles.

STEP 6: DRY! Leave it alone. Don't touch it. Depending on your humidity, sticks can take up to 24 hours to fully air dry.

Like all DIY activities, there's plenty of trial and error to this process. There's also some fun! You can learn to mix colors and create your own custom blends. Homemade sticks certainly aren't the beauties that Terry Ludwig or Henri Roché makes, but it sure beats throwing away all that good pastel!

After Labor Day I found myself back in my hometown on Cape Cod, a plus-one to my husband’s work retreat. With a morning to myself, I went on a field trip down memory lane. The first of these stops was a popular bakery in Woods Hole. From there I wandered around the corner and back in time. There, on School Street, is the former school house that for decades has been the home of the Children’s School of Science, a summer program that gives kids hands-on learning experiences in a range of science fields. As a bookish/nerdy 14-year-old I spent the best summer of my young life learning Biological Illustration.

The class did more than teach me techniques for rendering observations of the natural world; it showed me capability and possibility that I’d never even dared to imagine, let alone explore. It planted seeds that, decades later, grew into a creative practice and my achievement as an artist.

Standing in front of this building 30+ years later, I was quickly overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings about my childhood and all the circumstances and decisions that led me to this point. The term ‘self-taught’ woefully overlooks all of the people who support and impact an artist’s creative growth and development. And I have so many such people.

This flood of gratitude came at a moment when I’d been feeling unsure about the future of my artwork. Imposter syndrome is real! A lifetime of wearing the mantle of perfectionism is tough to undo. So, the universe helped me realize some serendipity and reaffirm and rededicate my practice of fine art. Just what I needed, when I needed it.

That time NPR (!!!!) featured one of your artworks...

My email inbox is a right mess. After months of ignoring Gmail's urgent warnings about storage, I deleted 7 bazillion emails from Amazon, which seemed to buy me some time, but I still don't have a great system for consistently checking and organizing email. Which is why I missed an email yesterday from a web producer at NPR letting me know that they'd included 'Snuggled In' in their roundup of pet portraits.

*Falls to the floor in a puddle of disbelief*

Check it out HERE

One thing I've consistently loved about practicing artwork is how I have to push myself to grow and achieve. This right here is a great example. For soooo long I've been scared to promote my work. But I also know that the scary things are usually precisely what you need to be doing. Stretch. Reach for the next thing, the next level. 

And here we are, with a national news organization giving my artwork space and recognition.

*Falls over again*