Category Archives: art show

Art has a soul – so what should it cost?

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As part of getting ready for my upcoming exhibition,  I’ve been thinking about the complicated subject of selling art—not from a business standpoint, but from a human one.

Mendicant Messenger: The Nest Keeper
Carries the knowledge that home is not claimed, but tended. Belonging is made through return, care, and the patient shaping of small, protective circles.

While working on my Encantos and Mendicant Messengers for the Taos show, it became very clear to me that there was no rational way to calculate their “value.” Every element was touched, considered, set aside, returned to, and finally placed with care. The work carried intention, patience, and a kind of spiritual listening that doesn’t show up on a spreadsheet. How do you put a price on that?

The Listener of Copper Paths:  The Listener of Copper Paths encanto watches over people who carry hidden worries.

And yet, I still want these pieces to find homes where they’re needed. I want them to be accessible. They need to continue their lives beyond my studio. Somewhere between devotion and practicality sits the uncomfortable question: How do we translate process into money?

The first thing I keep coming back to is this: price is not a measure of meaning. It never has been. Money doesn’t pay for the spirit that went into the work. It simply allows the work to move—from studio to world, from maker to keeper. Price is not a judgment of worth; it’s a translation tool, a bridge between inner labor and outer systems.

Accessibility doesn’t mean undervaluing. Sometimes it means trusting that the right person will recognize the work, not consume it casually. Sometimes it means allowing the exchange itself to be part of the ritual of letting go—an acknowledgment that something cared for is being received with care.

And then there’s the bigger question that makes me pause: Is selling the ultimate goal for artists? If it were, art would feel thinner somehow. More transactional. Less alive.

Historically, artists have been motivated by things far deeper than sales: witness, transmission, service, continuity, remembering. Selling is just one possible outcome of that work—not its moral endpoint. When selling becomes the goal, art loses something. When art remains the goal, selling becomes quieter, more humane—a way of releasing work responsibly into the world.

If you feel sensitive or conflicted about pricing your work, that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means your work still matters to you. The sadness isn’t about money—it’s about not wanting what you’ve made to be reduced to a transaction.

We’re allowed to hold both truths at once:

This work is priceless in spirit.
This work needs a number so it can find its way.

That tension isn’t a failure. It’s a sign that the work still has a soul. In the end, pricing is not a test you pass or fail. You can seek counsel, follow structure, and change your mind—but the number you choose is simply the one that feels like a respectful release.

Teacups: Finding a Personal Voice Inside a Shared Theme

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When artists are invited to participate in a themed exhibition, the first response is often analytical: What is the prompt asking for? But the more meaningful question comes later, and more quietly: What does this theme stir in me? This is where artists stop illustrating ideas and begin translating lived experience into form.

The exhibition One in Eight / The Teacup Project offered a clear conceptual framework. Conceived by GAGA Founder and exhibition designer Sylvia Benitez, herself a breast cancer survivor, the project is grounded not only in art history but in lived experience. The result is not a single visual narrative, but a chorus of distinct voices, each speaking without explanation, yet clearly understood.

Artists were asked to interpret a teacup and saucer in response to breast cancer awareness. The idea draws inspiration from Meret Oppenheim’s fur-lined teacup—an ordinary domestic object transformed into something charged, unsettling, and unforgettable, and notably the first artwork by a woman acquired by the Museum of Modern Art. (Take this link to read the full story – it’s a good one.)

Those were the verbal guidelines. Everything else had to be discovered through looking, listening, and making. That combination has given artists permission to respond intuitively and honestly, whether through symbolic imagery, altered objects, or direct material references.

The challenge is not to illustrate the theme literally, but to recognize which images insist on being made. Some become two-dimension, some three-dimensional. Some are still unfinished.

Teacup Interpretations in progress

For my piece, Held, the teacup became a container—not simply an object, but a state of being.

A woman’s face rests inside the cup, eyes closed, suspended between vulnerability and protection. The numbers one through eight circle the surface, not as a statistic to be explained, but as a persistent presence. They hover and repeat, blurred enough to resist certainty, yet impossible to ignore.

Rather than making a declarative statement about breast cancer, I wanted to explore what it must feel like to live with that knowledge—to carry it privately, bodily, and emotionally.

Encaustic was essential to this expression. Wax softens edges and obscures clarity. It allows images to hover in ambiguity, much like difficult truths themselves. Layers veil and reveal, holding space for complexity rather than resolution. The medium became part of the meaning. Even though I work often in three-dimensional assemblage, this felt right to me.

Material choice plays a powerful role in how artists interpret a shared theme. While I approached the teacup symbolically and atmospherically, other artists responded through direct engagement with the object itself. A real teacup carries familiarity and ritual. It is something we cradle in our hands, associated with warmth, pause, and care. When altered or recontextualized, that comfort can shift into something unsettling.

My friend Barbara took this idea one step further by placing a bra cup on a saucer. The gesture is immediate and unmistakable, collapsing metaphor and reality into a single form. The bra cup echoes the shape of the teacup while bringing the body directly into the conversation. Domestic object and intimate garment meet at the same scale, requiring no explanation. The meaning arrives visually, intuitively, and fully – and fluffy!

This is where non-verbal interpretation shows its strength. One artist may work symbolically, another literally. One may veil meaning in layers and atmosphere; another may present it plainly and directly. Neither approach is more valid than the other. Each is shaped by the artist’s relationship to the subject, their materials, and their personal history. What unites these responses is attentiveness—to the theme, to the body, and to the quiet knowledge we carry as women, caregivers, friends, and witnesses.

One in Eight / The Teacup Project is still in its development stage as a site exhibit, but the depth and immediacy of the responses so far suggest that it is already doing what meaningful exhibitions do best—opening space for reflection, connection, and shared understanding.  When an idea invites this level of engagement before it even takes physical form, it feels less like a proposal and more like an inevitability—one that will, no doubt, soon become a lived and visible exhibition.

In the meantime, you can see the virtual exhibition on the GAGA website on December 29. Brava to Sylvia for inspiring us to find our personal voices inside this truly interesting shared theme! 

Woolgathering — Juried Shows and Trusting the Process

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Lyn Belisle. 2025

(From the Dictionary: Woolgathering once literally referred to the act of gathering loose tufts of wool that had gotten caught on bushes and fences as sheep passed by. As you might imagine, woolgathering was not the most profitable of enterprises; its practitioners must have seemed to wander aimlessly, gaining little for their efforts. In the mid-16th century, woolgathering began to appear in figurative phrases such as “my wits went a woolgathering”—in other words, “my mind went wandering.” From there, it wasn’t long before the word woolgathering came to suggest daydreaming and mind-wandering.)

There is no Oracle Card for this post, but I do want to talk about something else that artists and makers hear a lot – that “Trust the Process” advice. In Shaun McNiff’s book by that name, he defines “trusting the process” as an embodied practice of letting go, staying open, embracing imperfection, engaging in improvisation, and responding to the evolving work—not insisting on a fixed result. It’s trusting that the creative intelligence inherent in the process itself will carry you to unexpected and resonant places.

What does that actually mean? Here’s a real example from my own studio that happened  when I wanted to create a piece for the Fiber Artists of San Antonio juried exhibition,  Rooted in Fiber: The Natural Textures of Texas. 

I started this piece with only a loose idea in mind—I wanted to make a vessel that would somehow reflect the call for entry, which asked artists to highlight our ties to the Texas landscape and textile traditions.

So I made a plain white form out of plaster and fiber. It sat on my table like a question mark: now what?

That’s when the process started asking me to trust it. My first risky move was burning holes into the surface with a soldering iron. It always feels scary—what if I ruin it? But the holes gave the vessel air, a kind of breath. (I thought about threading yarn through them, but that felt too simple, too obvious.)

Next came long sticks and a branched rim. That looked promising, but the proportions were off—it seemed more like a bowl trying to become a bonfire. I painted everything white to unify it. Still, it wasn’t quite there. (Note – it really IS pretty, but I was trying to honor the theme of the exhibition by creating a conversation about Texas fiber and this was going in the wrong direction – I’m saving this idea, though!!).

Then I stained the rim with walnut ink, hoping the earth tone would anchor the piece.

The shift came when I added unspun wool roving to the rim. Suddenly, something clicked.

On impulse, I looked up the word woolgathering. I discovered it referred not only to pulling scraps of wool from fences after sheep passed by—a task rooted in Texas’s textile history—but also to the act of daydreaming. That was the key.

But I had to cut back the sticks to change the focus and to reflect the idea of a rustic fence.

Cutting the sticks down was painful—they were beautiful, but they were overwhelming the form. Once shortened, though, they offered a perfect fench-like perch for bits of wool.

After reshaping the twigs, I brushed encaustic wax across the vessel’s surface and rubbed in pan pastels, earthy tones that recalled the grazing fields of sheep.

The vessel seemed to root itself in the land. When the wool was woven and integrated into the rim, I added final “sparkles” of white wax across the surface, echoing both stray tufts of wool caught on fences and the small white wildflowers that brighten Texas pastures. At last, the vessel became whole.

Every stage of this work asked me to let go, to take a chance, to risk losing what I had in order to find something better.

Woolgathering is the result: a vessel that holds both memory and imagination.

It carries the story of Texas’s fiber traditions, of sheep and goats shaping the land, and also the quiet act of wandering thought. For me, it’s a reminder that trusting the process is less about control and more about listening—about gathering scraps, following clues, and allowing the work to become what it wants to be.

And maybe that’s true for all of us, no matter what we’re making: the real beauty often emerges in the space between what we plan and what we dare to discover.

For me, trusting the process shows up in a lot of different ways:

  • Following a hunch. Sometimes I don’t know why I reach for a certain tool or material—I just feel the pull. Trusting the process means letting myself act on those impulses without needing a guarantee that they’ll work.

  • Welcoming accidents and discoveries. When I looked up the meaning of woolgathering, it was almost by accident, but that small act gave me the concept that tied everything together. Trusting the process means staying open to those chance encounters and letting them shift the work in a new direction.

  • Pausing when needed. There were moments when the vessel just wasn’t working, and I had to stop and wait for the next clue to reveal itself. Trusting the process means giving myself patience and permission not to solve everything at once.

  • Being willing to risk and revise. Cutting down those tall, beautiful sticks was hard, but it changed everything for the better. Trusting the process means being brave enough to undo or alter something I love for the sake of the whole piece.

  • Listening more than controlling. Over time, the vessel began to tell me what it wanted to become. Trusting the process means letting the work guide me, rather than forcing it to fit a plan I made at the start.

So for me, trusting the process isn’t just one thing—it’s following hunches, welcoming surprises, taking breaks, risking change, and listening carefully. It’s my way of saying: “I don’t know exactly where this is going yet, but I trust it will show me.”

My Invitation to You

How does trusting the process show up in your own work? I’d love to hear where uncertainty has led to discovery in your creative practice.

 

Butterfly carrots and pumpkin shepherds

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Words are becoming increasingly important in my recent work, both as design components and as inspirations. I’m honestly not sure why, maybe it’s because I’ve been rediscovering some of my beloved Abstract Expressionist heroes  when I was an undergraduate art student — Larry Rivers and Robert Rauschenberg. Those guys were amazing.

Parts of the Face: French Vocabulary Lesson 1961 Larry Rivers 1923-2002

Robert Rauschenberg, Metropolitan Museum of Art is an offset Lithograph poster made in 1970.

Sometimes the words I’m finding are strange and somewhat obscure, like “hiraeth,” the Welsh word that inspired this series, which is now complete and will be shown at my solo exhibit next Saturday. I’ll post those soon.

Sometimes the words are both inspiration and visual elements. I’ve just completed five “story banners” which will also be shown in the exhibit. These were partially inspired by two of three random words from a vintage child’s stamp set that was a gift from my friend Jean. I talked about those delightful word stamps in an earlier post, and am still discovering ways to use them.

Look at these words that are available in the old stamp set – limited but evocative. Picking any two or three can can conjure stories that blend nostalgia and weirdness and wonder. Try it! Butterfly carrots?? Pumpkin shepherd??

For a narrative artist like me, this is gold! And when these words are combined with synthographic and vintage images in fiber and mixed media, the results are really intriguing.

Here are the five banners. Each one is about 14×24″ with layers of fabric and images and old milagro charms.

Lyn Belisle, Mother Nest, 2024

Lyn Belisle, Seven Horse, 2024

Lyn Belisle, She Know, 2024

Lyn Belisle, We Were Sisters, 2024

Lyn Belisle, Little Tiger, 2024

During this process, I continue to learn that “shards” can be more than just pieces of stuff for assemblage – they can be scraps of fabric and synchronistic words that appear from unusual places. And these “shards”—whether bits of fabric, stray words, or found objects—are fragments of meaning waiting to be woven into something whole.

By embracing them, we give ourselves permission to see beyond the ordinary, to let coincidence and curiosity guide us. In this way, each piece or word becomes part of a larger narrative, inviting us to craft stories that feel both ancient and freshly our own, across any medium we choose. And then it’s up to the viewer to join us in figuring out these stories in a way that speaks to them. What fun!

Thanks for reading!!

Pleeeeeze buy my art??? (whimper)

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When I was a Girl Scout, we were supposed to go door-to-door selling Girl Scout cookies as part of our merit badge activities.

I was painfully shy, and had to force myself to slink up someone’s front steps and ring the doorbell. When it was answered, I’d hang my head and mumble “You wouldn’t want to buy any Girl Scout cookies, would you?” People felt so sorry for me that I actually sold a few packages.

Fast forward about six decades to the Uptown Art Stroll which took place last weekend. It had been years since I had sold art in person at a large art fair like that, and I had forgotten how weird it can be.

First of all, when I got my art together the night before the Stroll to tag it and such, it looked like a whole lot of exciting stuff.

But by the time I got the table set up the next day at the sale, it looked pretty puny. Yikes!

You have to remember that there are about twenty square blocks of art tents in this event with eleventy-thousand artists packed on every corner, so there is a whole bunch of competition! Gulp. No wonder it looked puny.

And it’s called a “Stroll” because people walk around at the event, look at your stuff, pick it up, ask questions, and then stroll away. Actually, that’s a fib. They often purchase art, and I made a respectable number of sales. But it did bring back memories of Girl Scout cookie days.

When people came close to the booth, I tried to balance my expression somewhere between desperation (“pleeeeze by my art”)…..

. . . .and sophisticated coolness (“if you knew good art, you’d definitely buy one of these assemblages, dude”).

I want to give a high five to my fellow artists who do this kind of event with such ease and grace. And I want to thank the buyers who actually purchased my art – you will never know how much it meant to me! Want some cookies to go with that art??

And finally, thanks, Marta Stafford – you do a much better job selling my art than I do!

 

 

 

Art and Climate

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For the last five years, The Encaustic Art Institute, based in Santa Fe, has been hosting a juried national exhibition called Global Warming is Real.

Here is this year’s overview. Artists were invited to interpret the theme in their encaustic work.:

THEME: Global Warming is REAL. As nations and economies shut down due to the COVID-19 pandemic, pollution levels and human patterns change in ways that were detectable by satellites. As all types of social, economic, industrial and urban activity suddenly shut off, nature took advantage and showed improvement in the quality of air, rivers, less noise pollution, and undisturbed and calm wildlife. COVID-19 may have temporarily lessened our carbon footprint, giving us a view in to what our individual affect on Global Warming constitutes. At the same time, Climate Change is becoming more visible and tangible through increased fires, glacier melting, and warming oceans.

I found out this morning that my entry, below, was accepted. Yay! This encaustic/mixed media work called River of No Return.

Lyn Belisle, River of No Return 2021

This was my accompanying statement:

This work, called River of No Return, suggests extreme negative impacts – droughts, floods,  famine – on populations whose vulnerability to Global Warming put them at extreme risk. The looming climate change is catastrophic for third-world countries that rely more directly on rivers, rain, and oceans for their agriculture and survival. The colors of ash, bone and rust in the work serve as metaphors for the decline and corrosion that will affect every lifeform on our planet,not just people in industrialized countries.

I am really curious to see how the theme will be interpreted by the others in the exhibition, which opens virtually on July 10.

In the meantime, here’s a link to a thoughtful, sometimes disturbing, online exhibition called Resilience in the Age of Climate Change.

https://artsandculture.google.com/exhibit/resilience-in-the-age-of-climate-change

In this exhibit by Art Works for Change, thirteen visionary artists and architects consider the consequences of climate change, including excess heat, drought, flooding, extreme weather events, food insecurity, displacement, and the loss of biodiversity. Through their work, we can visualize the challenges of a warming planet, and discover opportunities to overcome them through innovation and resilience.

__________________

We’ll have plenty of time to ponder resilience during the days of heat and drought – hope all of you are well and finding time to create safe space for yourselves.

From Spark to Finish

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Finding time to work on pieces to submit for juried shows is definitely a luxury these days, but I’m always looking for the spark of an idea that might work for an interesting “Call for Entry.”

So I got an idea last week for  the upcoming Fiber Artists of San Antonio show based on a piece I did for a show at St. Mary’s University in February. It was a standing screen sculpture with silk ribbon pieces on the surface. I wrote about it in a previous blog post.

I made a very rough drawing in my sketchbook with tag-shaped objects that might have faces on them to be printed on linen and then attached to a new screen structure.

You can see the word “beeswax” under the sketch – honest, that’s what it says. But I wasn’t thinking about encaustic at this point, focusing on fiber instead.

I decided to use the faces in this 1936 photo of children in the Netherlands who were living in poverty – isn’t it haunting?

I adhered a piece of linen to some freezer paper that was cut to 8.5 x 11″ and then opened the photo in Photoshop, edited it for a sepia tone, and ran it through my printer. Once the freezer paper was peeled off, I tore two of the photos apart and adhered those to some rice paper. Here they are:

They looked good – and then I got stuck. They really weren’t right for the screen idea – too strong, too something. Days passed. Then I remembered the piece I had just written about, the one at the Museum of Encaustic Art with the faces of young girls working in poor conditions but looking both brave and resigned.

I hadn’t planned on making an encaustic piece from these faces, but coincidentally, the Museum of Encaustic Art in Santa Fe has a current call for entry called Global Warming is Real. All of a sudden, I could visualize these children’s faces looking through a window  onto a world where crops fail, oceans rise, and humans suffer devastation.

In the studio, I built a panel frame and added layers of wax and tissue with words of warning about climate change collaged around the edges. I waxed the linen and rice paper images. When the children’s faces were added, the piece worked as an expression of the theme. I call it “The Last Window.”

You can see in these details how well the linen works with the beeswax:

My beloved professor, the late sculptor Phil Evett, once told me that if an idea isn’t working, it’s not about the idea, it’s about where it belongs. In his case, he was talking about a carved head that had sat in his studio for 20 years until he finally found the right piece to attach it to.

In my case, these compelling children’s faces belonged in a mixed media encaustic and fiber collage about a critical environmental concern. It just took me a while to figure it out.

So let’s keep making those sketches and creating small shards of ideas – they will let you know where they belong! Oh, yeah, and I’ll let you know if “The Last Window” is accepted for the exhibit! (The deadline for submitting is tomorrow).

Thanks for reading SHARDS today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Me the Jury – not an easy task

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It’s such an honor to be asked to juror an art show. I’ve done it several times and always learn a lot. The Canyon Lake Art Guild (CLAG) recently asked me to juror their annual show, and last week I drove up there to see the artwork and choose the award winners.

One of the challenges of organizing a juried show is coming up with categories – there are so many media options that can be included. Here’s how the CLAG did it:

  1. Oils and Acrylic – Treated as oil and any mixed media with oil or acrylic as the dominant media
  1. Water – Watercolor, Gouache, Tempera, inks applied with brushes or poured, acrylic treated as watercolor and any mixed media with water media as the dominant media
  1. Drawing – Pastel, ink, charcoal, pencil and colored pencil, Cont’e crayon, graphite, scratchboard, handmade prints (etching block, silk screen, or mono) and any mixed media with drawing media as the dominant media
     
  2. Photography and Digital – All images must be artist’s original work.   

 3-Dimensional:

  1. Jewelry, glassworks (including fused glass & stained glass)
  1. Pottery, ceramics, sculpting, stone, mosaics
  1. Collages, fiber art and any mixed media with 3-D elements as the dominant media

The largest categories are usually Oils/Acrylics, and Water Media. They are also the most diverse. Here were four of the entries in Oils/Acrylics – completely different! (Each of these got an award). Blue tape covers the artist’s name for complete objectivity.

First Place

Second Place

Third Place

Honorable Mention

How do you judge such different pieces? My rule is to ask myself two questions – what is the artist telling us, and how technically successful is the result – i.e., concept and skill.  Based on this, I awarded the top painting a First Place, the second one a Second Place, the third one a Third Place, and the fourth an Honorable Mention. OK, why??

The First Place top piece is a portrait of sorts, and it’s mysterious and engaging. There is a smaller profile off to the right that directs our eye back to the main figure. The artist is obviously exploring diverse media to enhance the symbolism. Great concept, good skill.

The Second Place painting of the cow was a favorite of mine for sure – it’s so “in you’re face, I’m a cow.” Loved the colors. After I got home from jury duty, I found out that it was painted by one hundred and one-year-old local artist Carmen Willey!

The Third Place piece shows a fine grasp of color and composition – it’s small and simple and elegant.

The Honorable Mention painting was really large and resembled a poster, but it was hand-painted. I appreciated the way that the background picked up all the paint colors and integrated the work.

So, on to the Water Media, another large category – in the interest of space I’ll just show the top two choices, in my humble juror’s opinion.

First Place

This First Place painting shows a mastery of transparent watercolor, plus the subject is unusual. Look how the chicken shapes play off each other, and how the spatters give the feeling of scratchy gravel and chicken fee without being overworked.

There is a strong focal point with that splash of red. And the painting seems to symbolize a feeling of community. I loved the composition – it looks good even upside down, which is always a good test!

The Second Place winner was also beautiful – a sensitive watercolor portrait with a limited palette. Choosing between these two was tough! Which would you have chosen?

Here are the first and second place in the drawings category – do you agree?

First Place

Second Place

There was lots more work – Photography, Mixed Media, glass, jewelry – here are just a few of the other winners that I chose in various categories

Finally, this was the piece that I awarded Best of Show:

Best of Show

It is a very large clay sculpture that looks as if it could have come from a children’s book. It’s titled “Duet.”

It met my juror’s criteria of original concept, and expert execution. I found out after the show that it was done by sculptor Susan Calafrancesco, who has a large following and a published body of work. While it’s not a new piece, there were no time restrictions on submissions for this exhibition, and it was truly masterful and appealing.

One last story about the jurying experience – I had been invited to juror by Marlene Skaggs, an active and talented member of CLAG. She functioned as my note-taker. As I evaluated each piece, she wrote down notes to share with the artists whose works I was critiquing. When we came to those watercolor chickens, I went on and on about the freshness of the brushwork and the appeal of the subjects. I said, “This artist must have been working in watercolor quite a while to achieve this confident style.” Marlene just kept writing, not saying a word – and of course, after everything was over, I found out that it was her painting!

I’m so grateful to the Canyon Lake Art Guild for inviting me to be the Juror for their show. There are some astonishing artists in the group, and every piece I saw had its own heart and soul. In closing, I’m going to steal the words of Stephanie Fox Knappe, who juried our 89th Art League exhibition, who said it better than I can:

“When called upon as a juror, I am acutely aware of the incredible subjectivity inherent in the task at hand. Simultaneously, I make a conscious effort to try to step outside myself. I attempt to consider what I intellectually know contributes to a strong piece—mastery of art’s formal elements such as line, shape, form, space, texture, value, color. I observe these components to assess and understand how an artist manipulates them, tells stories with them, makes magic from them, and brings something into being that did not previously exist.”

Amen!

 

 

 

Naturally Inspired – a natural collaboration

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Lyn Belisle, “Bedrock” – Earthenware, found objects, 2019

NATURALLY INSPIRED: WORK BY LYN BELISLE, SABRA BOOTH, JESUS TORO MARTINEZ, AND TIM MCMEANS

I finally got to the this fantastic exhibition at St. Mary’s University which opened while we were in Cuba. The last I saw of my “Unearthed” pieces was dropping them off in a big box to curator Brian St. John at St. Mary’s University – goodbye, stuff!

Brian, a huge talented painter and professor of art at St. Mary’s,  treated me to lunch yesterday and a tour of the exhibit – wow! The works by (lucky) me and the other three artists integrates beautifully. Read Brian’s statement to see how all of this came about:

I knew Tim McMeans’ work well and had admired it for some time. His hybrid painted-drawings of two dimensional figures in broken geometric planes were recently featured in a great show at the Felder Gallery.

Jesus Toro Martinez is also a well-know San Antonio painter whose work I knew for its textures and power depicting earth themes. We had met a couple of times, and I loved his outgoing generous nature.

Jesus Toro Martinez, Sagebush by the Creek

Sabra Booth was new to me, but no longer – she is amazing. Her organize prints and collographs are stunning. In the exhibition, she has one huge collagraphic printing plate displayed next to the framed print it produced. I am a new fan of her work!

Sabra Booth, Frack House (detail)

I took some photographs of the exhibit when I was there with Brian yesterday – want to see? Just click on the image below!

Lyn Belisle, “Unearthed” – earthenware and found objects, 2019

 

 

 

Unearthed

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“Unearthed”- Lyn Belisle – Mixed Media Sculpture – 18″x 8″x 6″- 2019

Much of my new work is influenced by the Archaeological Investigations report which describes the 1979-80 research and discovery of 13 Archaic period human burials removed from a prehistoric cemetery by Olmos Dam. The investigation provided important information on the cultural practices during that period among people who lived almost exactly where I live now.

I call this new sculpture “Unearthed“ because I deliberately followed a process by which the clay shards that I created were fired in pieces that would be assembled like an unearthed archaeological puzzle – I did not have a plan about how they would go together, but rather worked on instinct. I let the piece “tell” me how it wanted to be built.

Clay shard pieces at the bottom of the kiln

It was harder than I thought. First of all, engineering a stable form from diverse clay pieces was a challenge. I used a combination of wood, plaster gauze (a gift from Shannon Weber) and a product called Platinum Patch in a few places where stability was critical.

Creating in three dimensions means paying as much attention to the sides and back as the front. The back of the piece shows the intricate textures pressed into the clay shard.

Here’s a detail of the texture on the front. I really like the way the plaster gauze looks like aged fabric remains.

I actually created two heads for this piece and ended up using the larger one.

A large head suggests child-like proportions, while this body suggests armor, so the whole piece resembles an ancient child warrior. Again, when I started out, I had no idea what this creature wanted or how to get there, but — trust the process!

You’ll be able to see this guy (and more of my brand new 3-D work) at  St Mary’s University Library in February as part of the exhibition called  “Naturally Inspired: works by Sabra Booth, Lyn Belisle, Jesus Toro Martinez, and Tim McMeans.” 

It’s gonna be a creative new year!