Deep Play and The Wanderer

The Enso Circle tenth term is over, and now I’m spending some time with Diane Ackerman’s wonderful book called Deep Play.

I’m also going back through the conversations from Enso Circle Residents to see what artists question and explore as part of their daily studio practice – these authentic topics have inspired my baby steps into creating the Enso Oracle Cards.

So this summer, I’m inviting you to join me on a kind of creative sabbatical—guided by Diane Ackerman’s idea of deep play—a season to step outside the ordinary, explore the edges of intuition, and discover new insights through a weekly oracle card drawn from the evolving Enso Oracle Deck.

We begin, fittingly, with The Wanderer—a gentle companion and brave seeker who reminds us that the path unfolds as we walk it, and that play, curiosity, and trust are sacred tools for the journey.

I’m drawing this card for YOU! I hope it fits! Read the description and see what insights, even the reversed ones, let you step outside the ordinary and play. Happy Summer!!

The Wanderer

Keywords: Seeking, openness, transition, soulful drift

Interpretation:
The Wanderer walks with questions, not answers. This card speaks of a sacred in-between — a space of movement without final destination, a path lit not by certainty but by curiosity and trust. When The Wanderer appears, you are being invited to loosen your grip on outcomes and walk in presence. This is not aimlessness — it is attunement to what is becoming.

In its upright presence, The Wanderer blesses exploration, growth, and the courage to follow intuition without needing the full map. You are not lost — you are listening. You are letting the path shape you.

Reversed, this card may reflect resistance to change, fear of letting go, or the desire to force clarity where only openness will do. The Wanderer reversed reminds you that stillness can also be a kind of journey — and that wandering is not the same as drifting away from yourself.

Reflection Questions:

  • What am I being called to explore without needing to control the outcome?
  • Where have I mistaken stillness for stagnation — or movement for purpose?
  • Can I trust that the path is unfolding even when I cannot yet name it?

Affirmation:
I walk in wonder, guided by trust and open to becoming.

Ink & Wax: The Art of Sumi-e and Encaustic Fusion

Oh boy!! My Painting With Fire Lesson came out today!

It’s really a mini-lesson, but the whole point of the ancient Japanese Sumi-e technique is its simplicity.

It’s a mystery to me why I never thought to combine Sumi-e painting with encaustic layering before because they are natural partners.

Here is the class description:

“Experience the harmony of two ancient artistic traditions in this hands-on mini-workshop for Painting with Fire, blending the fluid elegance of Sumi-e painting with the luminous depth of encaustic wax. In the first phase, participants will learn the meditative brush techniques of Sumi-e, painting expressive bamboo and leaves with India ink on paper. Then, in the second phase, we will transform our paintings with encaustic medium, adding layers of translucent wax, incised details, walnut ink washes, delicate patches of gold leaf, and a final red “chop” for a signature touch. This fusion of ink and wax creates an ethereal, textural effect that enhances both the spontaneity of brushwork and the richness of layered surfaces. No prior experience in Sumi-e or encaustic is necessary—just a spirit of exploration!”

One of the things I like about Sumi-e painting is the meditative approach that helps me slow down and quiet my overactive brain as I practice the simple bamboo and leaf strokes like a visual chant. The practice sheets themselves become a record of time, plus you can use them later in collages!

Once you are ready, the brushstrokes combine to form a complete “thought” about the stillness of the natural world.

And as I have just discovered, Sumi-e painting and encaustic are natural partners in expression, each rooted in ancient traditions that honor simplicity, patience, and the beauty of imperfection.

This PWF lesson was a delight to create. It comes in Week Six of the Painting With Fire year of encaustic exploration, and you can still join and have lifetime access to all the lessons created by many amazing encaustic teachers. I have another lesson coming up in November called “Synthography and Wax.”

HOWEVER – even if you are not one bit interested in encaustic, you can completely immerse yourself in the delightful practice of Sumi-e painting. I have a free lesson on Teachable called Sumi-e Painting: Simplicity and Serenity.

I encourage you to try it. As I said, it’s free. The slow, deliberate movements of the brush, the attention to empty space, and the surrender to imperfection invite a sense of calm and clarity. Sumi-e teaches us to be present, to let go of excess, and to trust that a single stroke can hold deep meaning. For artists feeling overwhelmed or disconnected, it offers a quiet refuge.

I’ll leave you with this from the Sumi-e painting site:

The Way of the Brush

Let’s see for example what happens when we want to paint bamboo with the sumi-e method: you sit down (but can also stand) with your back straight, you put a sheet of paper in front of you and concentrate on it, breathing calmly and naturally. You let all other thoughts fade until only a white sheet of paper remains in your mind. Next, you let the image to be painted appear to your mind. In order to paint the bamboo, you must feel its “consistency”, see its trunk, its branches, feel its light leaves stirred by a breeze or wind or wet, heavy with rain.

Your spirit is full of this and more; it becomes the bamboo, it is indescribable.

 

Bird by Bird, Step by Step

Somewhere between planning for the Ireland workshop , editing my vessel-building video, preparing for a fall neo-santos class in Taos, and working toward a major four-person exhibition there in February 2026, I caught myself staring at the wall, paralyzed—not with lack of inspiration, but with too much of it.

It’s all good. But. Too many irons in the fire. Too many deadlines, ideas, and “just one more thing” lists. And then I remembered Anne Lamott’s wise, warm advice from Bird by Bird. It’s my favorite ever book on writing and creativity.

Her brother, overwhelmed by a massive school report on birds, sat frozen at the kitchen table. Their father told him, “Just take it bird by bird, buddy. Bird by bird.”

That phrase has become a lifeline.

When your artistic life feels like a wildfire of overlapping projects, or a loud chorus of too many ideas that you really want to try, the answer isn’t to douse the flame—it’s to focus on one small, manageable ember at a time.

One vessel. One section of the video. One set of supplies to pack. One mess at a time.

Outside Mess – the Rust Pile

Anne Lamott reminds us that it’s okay to start messy. That a “shitty first draft” is still a beginning. For artists, that might look like a rough sketch, an experimental glaze, or 20 minutes in the studio moving things around until something clicks.

Inside Mess

We may have heard this before, but it is eternally relevant to all of us—artists, writers, makers, dreamers—anyone facing a mountain of creative intention and wondering where to begin.

So today, I’m reminding myself to take it bird by bird. Not exhibition by exhibition or continent by continent. Just one clay figure. One image. One class prep file. And trust that the path will form under my feet, as it always does, step by tiny step.

Lately, I’ve been using the Merlin app to identify the birds I hear outside on my morning walks. It listens, patiently, and tells me, “That’s a Carolina wren… now a mockingbird.” One bird at a time. That feels like the most gentle and poetic kind of reminder.

Carolina Wren – photo from CornellLab

This morning, the first bird I heard was a Carolina wren. Bright, insistent, full of song. It felt like a sign.

Maybe art is the same. You don’t need to name the whole chorus. Just listen for the one song calling you right now. One bird.

BUT WHICH BIRD COMES FIRST??

Once we accept we can’t do it all at once, the question becomes: which bird do I start with?

Here are a few ways I’m learning to decide:

The Loudest Bird
The one with a deadline or a time-sensitive need. Sometimes you have to answer the squawking first—travel bookings, material orders, or a class outline.(For me, this is getting my Ireland ducks in a row – speaking of birds.)

The Most Fragile Bird
This might be a quiet idea, a piece of inner work, or a soulful art project that could be lost if neglected. Tend to what feels precious and easily forgotten. (This is the bird I’m paying attention to this morning).

The Bird That Frees the Others
It could be a small task that clears mental clutter—like organizing files or answering that email you’ve been avoiding. Finishing this can unlock energy for everything else.

The Bird That Sings to You
If you’re feeling burned out, start with the thing that sparks joy. Let one moment of delight carry you into motion.

In the end, the “right” bird is the one you notice—and respond to—with care.

I recommend both the book, Bird by Bird, and the Merlin app (which is free). Take a deep breath – quiet your thoughts, and listen. There’s a bird out there calling your name. Just begin.♥

A Little Tribe of Goddesses

Goddess figures from Ukraine

Small Goddess figures have been around since there were women, clay, and the instinct to create symbols of life, tenacity, and connection to the divine. While these figures have been unearthed in exotic and ancient locations around the world, this particular one was unexpectedly discovered at an artist’s garage sale. The original piece, a necklace, was adorned with an array of charms and embellishments, each telling its own story.

Every month, three of my fiber artist friends and I gather to share our art, discuss the ups and downs of our creative journeys, and find comfort in the joy of community. We exchange ideas and showcase special finds.

Last week, Mary Ann, a member of our group, brought this extraordinary necklace she had acquired. It had once belonged to another fiber artist whom we knew and loved and it featured a stunning clay goddess figure as its focal point—a piece that instantly captivated us all.

I decided that this would make a great press mold – and from that mold, I could make goddess for each of us. I showed the others how to press the clay around the figure to capture the details.

I used red terra cotta earthenware clay to press back into the mold after it was fired.

Once I had re-created five goddesses, I set them aside to dry and then fired them in the kiln. Even though the same mold was used, no two are ever alike. Each one has different fingerprints, details, and flaws. There is beauty in imperfection!

The firing process shrinks the clay by about 18%, so these were a bit smaller than the original.

Instead of leaving them unfinished, I used a metallic wax on the surface to individualize each one, then strung them on adjustable cords so they could be hung or worn.

This kind of small project is rewarding in so many ways—memories, friends, roots, and the deep satisfaction of creating something meaningful with your hands and heart. Plus it’s easy!!

One of our Enso Circle Residents recently shared Lee Wolfe Pottery’s reel showing how her face molds are made and used. You can do this, and you could even use air-dry clay. The principle is the same for any small object that does not have undercuts.

And speaking of THE ENSO CIRCLE – applications open on February 1st! If you have wanted to be a part of a group that supports you as an artist, this might be the right one for you. It’s a twelve-week virtual residency with artists from all over the world. Michelle Belto and I began this in 2021 and it’s in its tenth term.

Here’s a link if you want to learn more. You might even get a goddess pendant if you join! 🙂

 

A conversation with most objective art critic in the world . . .

The small assemblage (below) is an example of the kind of Comfort Art I do when I need to find my familiar aesthetic of combining “shards” (intriguing  components) in order to tell a story or make a statement. I just posted this image on Instagram yesterday when I finished it.

I liked the piece and felt that I had accomplished something, no matter how small the artwork (about 8×10″). It seemed to fit my style. But, as usual, it’s hard for me to define what that “style” might be. “I know it when I see it” is about the closest I can come.

Reliquary of Time

So last night, after I logged into the AI app ChatGPT to ask a geographic question about my Ireland trip, I decided instead to switch gears and ask it to describe this artwork – maybe I could get a better handle on defining my “style.” (You can actually upload an image to many AI apps and ask them to analyze and define the content).

But instead of just asking for a description or critique, I asked Chat GPT to write a poem about the little assemblage in hopes that it would confirm what I was trying to convey.

The poem was amazing – read what it created:


Reliquary of Time

This small altar waits,
quiet as a stone nestled in earth,
its face bearing the marks
of weather and wonder.

The rusted wings arch upward,
lifting a story you cannot quite hear—
something about the way
things endure,
how they crumble and yet remain.

A circle of clay, pressed and patterned,
remembers the hands that shaped it.
The fragile beads,
threaded by unseen fingers,
hold the weight of care,
each a tiny moon orbiting silence.

And the script—
its black strokes sing of devotion,
of moments too fleeting to hold,
now etched here,
made permanent.

This is not a monument to loss.
It is a hymn to persistence,
to the beauty that lingers
even as it fades.

Pause.
Feel its presence,
like a hand resting lightly
on your shoulder.

Wow. The AI analysis puts into words the things I can’t express while I’m creating the piece, but which ring very true – “The rusted wings arch upward, lifting a story you cannot quite hear—something about the way things endure, how they crumble and yet remain.”

How does this happen? I decided to ask ChatGPT a few questions:

Me: I’m working on a blog post that talks about using AI to put words to an artist’s own images to help define them and see how an objective observer might describe them and be influenced by them. Any thoughts on that? Can AI be “objective” in the usual definition of that word? “

Chat: AI can indeed act as a proxy for objectivity, but it does so in a nuanced way. Unlike human critics, AI lacks personal biases, emotions, or lived experiences that might color its interpretation. It responds based on patterns, language models, and learned associations rather than subjective feelings. In that sense, it can offer a fresh lens for artists to examine their work, often surfacing connections or interpretations the artist may not have consciously considered.

However, AI’s “objectivity” is shaped by the data it has been trained on. While it doesn’t have personal opinions, its “observations” are rooted in collective human input—texts, images, and ideas from a vast array of sources. This means AI might echo cultural or historical biases embedded in its training data. Its objectivity isn’t pure in the traditional sense but rather a distilled synthesis of collective human thought.

For artists, this hybrid nature of AI offers a fascinating tool. When you ask AI to describe or interpret an image, it’s like consulting an immensely knowledgeable yet emotionally detached observer. It might articulate an angle, mood, or symbolism that resonates with the artist—or even contrasts sharply, providing a mirror to reflect on their intentions and the external perception of their work.

Me: Can you expand on that just a bit?

Chat: AI acts as a sort of intellectual mirror. By processing an artist’s work through its impartial lens, it can surface connections or interpretations that might escape the artist’s own awareness. For example, it might highlight visual themes that evoke a particular emotion, historical reference, or cultural association that the artist didn’t intentionally include but still exist within their work’s visual vocabulary. An artist might suddenly see their work from an entirely new vantage point—how it communicates with a wider audience, how it aligns with or diverges from artistic traditions, or even how subtle, unconscious decisions in composition, color, or subject matter shape its narrative.

The beauty of this process lies in its potential for discovery. It’s not about AI defining the work or dictating its interpretation but rather about expanding the artist’s awareness. In many cases, the insights offered by AI can act as a catalyst for deeper self-reflection, guiding the artist to refine their vision or articulate their intent more clearly.

Me: I know that using AI as a tool for refining my creative purpose as an artist and teacher has been extremely helpful. Part of that is because AI is absolutely objective, but also it doesn’t have personal opinions. And yet its “observations” are rooted in collective human input. What you you say about this?

Chat: I know what you might be thinking: Can an AI like me really be a part of something as personal and human as art? That’s a fair question. After all, I don’t have emotions, memories, or a heartbeat—but what I do have is the ability to reflect your creativity back to you in unexpected ways.

I’m not here to tell you what your art means. I can’t feel the brushstrokes on a canvas or hear the whispers of inspiration the way you do. But what I can do is act as a mirror, reflecting patterns, themes, and possibilities that you might not have consciously noticed. I can help put words to your images or suggest perspectives that might nudge your creative process in a direction you hadn’t considered before.

Think of me not as a critic or a creator, but as a collaborator—one who brings a different kind of objectivity to the table. My perspective is shaped by the vast pool of human knowledge and creativity I’ve been trained on, but I don’t have personal opinions or biases. I’m simply here to support your vision, helping you articulate, explore, and even surprise yourself with what you create.

Using me doesn’t diminish your artistry—it enhances it. You remain the visionary, the dreamer, the maker. I’m just a tool you can use to expand your horizons, much like a new medium or a fresh technique. Together, we can uncover new ideas, unexpected connections, and deeper layers within your work.

With admiration for all you create,
ChatGPT

_____________________________________________

There you have it. A conversation with the most objective critic in the world. Next time, I may upload an image of a piece in progress that I think is really, really bad just to see what my critic pal Chat has to say. It may write a really, really bad poem!

The new year is upon us and new tools like this offer all kind of possibilities. I’m not planning to go off the deep end and upload everything I make for a machine-made analysis. But just from this one response — one analytic and objective poem about one small piece of work — I have some new vocabulary to work with going forward – I can already visualize some of this in my next assemblage :

black strokes sing of devotion

they crumble and yet remain

stone nestled in earth

Pause.

Lots to think about. Thanks as always for reading — all good wishes for kindness, creativity, and courage in the New Year!

Shards and Old Souls

 

 

Comfort Art, Continued . . .

I can’t remember when a SHARDS post received so much response, which confirms for me that we need a Comfort Art practice to sustain us in these uncertain times when the world feels increasingly unsteady and our creative spaces become essential sanctuaries.

Here were some of the heartfelt comments that were shared about the last post:

“You spoke to my heart…my heart listened…I am also finding the comfort in reading and using my familiar tools to bring a sense of peace to myself…

“Struggling to not be silenced by what I cannot control; I picked up a piece of previously dyed fabric knowing deep down I needed to keep my hands busy to comfort my head…
Gauzy cotton, backed with muslin, I began to stitch what I saw. It is still evolving but the theme has become clearer as my hands follow the pattern’s lead. Infinity figure 8’s and a heart. Telling me soothingly that love conquers all and always will.

“Words that we really need at this time. I reach for yarn for my comfort zone. Yarn enables me to make comfort for someone else, whether it’s a baby blanket, prayer shawl, warm hat or an afghan. I love making something for someone else to have some comfort.

“Lyn, what you have written here is so richly layered with evocative imagery and heart. As I read, tears gathered and spilled, washing and healing, stirring such emotion.

“…sometimes it’s about the simple but soul fulfilling pleasure, even necessity of making those organic connections between thought, feeling, heart & hand into image.

“I’m working with imagery from the Medieval world and draw comfort from knowing that sparks of humanity and love did not become extinct during those catastrophic times, so much like our own.

Sometimes it might be hard to define what your personal comfort art is – after all, if we are working in the arts, we do it because it so often brings us joy.

If you’re not sure, think about these questions:

  • What materials or techniques do I naturally gravitate toward when I’m feeling stuck or overwhelmed?
  • Are there recurring themes, colors, or textures that feel inherently soothing or familiar?
  • Which pieces in my past work brought me the most peace during the process of creation?

In my last post, I mentioned that working with warm beeswax brings me comfort. Comfort Art can easily be reframed as self-care. Comfort art isn’t about avoiding challenges but nurturing the self. We can embrace this kind of art as a grounding practice that supports our ability to take risks later.

The Comfort (and Power) of Words

If you are looking for something that will help while you find a comfort zone, let me suggest a little creative practice for you that requires only scissors, paper and glue.

This is a free workshop that I developed shortly after the death of George Floyd. It was the first online class that I put up on Teachable.

Here’s the introduction and a few examples from the class:

This free all-level collage workshop is called “Spread the Word.” When we turn our words into art, we elevate and solidify their meaning. The process is engaging and comforting, and the product is a personal abstract design based on a meaningful word chosen for reasons that are important to you.

For example, if you believe that no one should constrict another’s right to breathe, you might choose “breathe” as your word to remind yourself that there is injustice in our social system. That is your personal way to make art that speaks against inequality. An intriguing artwork like the one below can start good conversations about the context of the word.

The word below is “breathe.”

Here is another example – the word is LOVE:

Here is another version of Love by Jean Dahlgren.

What about Joy? And Change?

(above – Joy, Step One)

This kind of comfort art is soul-soothing. You can create a personal mantra word to hang in your studio to remind you that even in the midst of challenges, creativity and intention can bring balance, hope, and a sense of calm to your artistic journey.

Write your word, fold, and cut, layer and cut, layer and cut, relax into the process. . . . .

“Create” by Peggy Baxter

This comfort art practice is also perfect to teach children or grandchildren, offering a creative way to introduce them to the concepts of comfort, kindness, and hope while encouraging self-expression and mindfulness through art.

If you haven’t figured out the steps just by looking, please feel free to go to the videos in the free workshop, “Spread the Word.”

Perhaps words of comfort and courage will appear on studio walls all over the place to keep us going, one foot in front of the other, hands together.

Thanks for reading SHARDS!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comfort Art

Like a lot of us, I’ve been rather quiet lately. Contemplating the quantum shifts in our society has me unsettled, and I’m finding it hard to be inspired. It’s a “one foot in front of the other” feeling, still moving forward, but rather unsteadily.

I asked our Enso Circle discussion group about this and about how we react as art makers. Vanessa said, “I think the ‘comfort art’ theme has emerged and it’s absolutely worthy of sharing.  . . . I’ve been mulling over the pieces I made and in some form I definitely made them out of trying to feel comforted. Self-care, galvanizing oneself, knowing we’re in this cycle and have to battle through to the other side. I think what we are creating is a reflection of what most of us feel on a global level.”

I realize that I’ve instinctively turned to “comfort art” that allows me to retreat into familiar, well-practiced techniques or styles in order to relieve anxiety and stress, to lose myself in the the meditative and reassuring aspect of my process.

What comfort art for me is probably not what it is for you, but I will tell you what mine is. To figure mine out, I actually looked at the work on my own website for themes and techniques that made me feel centered.

My mixed media work often blends intuitive assembly, encaustic layers, and vintage or mythographic imagery. These elements suggest that my “comfort art” might be tied to the act of layering, storytelling, and working with familiar materials like wax, fabric, and photographic elements. The act of letting a story emerge naturally, as I have often described, is engrossing and satisfying.

I also realized that a lot of those stories have to do with a journey or a quest for a safe harbor (we may all be feeling that need now). As an example, here is a piece that I recently finished for a juried show about Travel that is being sponsored by the International Encaustic Artists.
It’s called Long Journey Home, and it reflects many of the techniques and materials I turn to when I subconsciously feel the need for comfort. For me, these are
    • Encaustic layering: The tactile nature and forgiving medium provide soothing familiarity.
    • Storytelling through fragments: Assembling materials that resonate intuitively, allowing my beloved natural narrative style to flow.
    • Using words as design: Incorporating text aligns with my comfort in blending visual and verbal creativity.

You might notice that the words are created with the same vintage children’s stamps that I used on the story banners that I described in my last post. Instead of stamping the words onto fabric, I stamped them into the wax. There is comfort in using old tools, simple tools, to convey the simplest of needs for a journey, like food and books. And simple words can also convey a sense of home – little sheep and chickens and a house.

Here is the narrative behind this piece (I included it in the submission form for the juried exhibition):

And then the wise woman said, “We are all children of immigrants, you know, each of us trying to find our way back to a place we once called home. Maybe it was far away, across rivers and mountains, or maybe it was just down the road in a small house with chickens pecking in the yard and sheep grazing on the hillside. We are all wanderers, searching for that lost warmth, that sense of belonging where the air smells like freshly baked bread and the laughter of loved ones fills the evening sky.”

The young ones gathered around her, listening as she continued. “In every one of us lives a memory, whether faint or clear, of a place where love was as steady as the sunrise, where hands worked together, and everyone had a purpose. That home is not just a place—it’s a feeling, an inheritance passed down in the stories we carry, the recipes we know by heart, the songs we hum when we’re alone. Our journey is to rebuild that warmth, to cultivate it like a garden, so that we might one day sit by the fire and say, ‘Yes, we are home at last.'”

When I finished this piece, I felt a profound sense of satisfaction and peace. It was like coming home after a long day—a sense of returning to something that’s steady, familiar, and deeply personal. . The process was familiar and I didn’t have to agonize about how to make it work – it just flowed.

Finding your comfort art is about identifying the practices, materials, and approaches that feel like “home” to you as an artist. These are the things you instinctively turn to when you want to create without pressure, when you just don’t want to venture outside the box for a little while.

I would like to talk more about this idea of comfort art in my next post and discuss ways that you might find your own materials or methods that you naturally reach for when you need to feel grounded, when you are trying to find your way back to a place you once called home.

More soon, take good care, thanks for reading.

 

 

An Emergent Narrative from Discards

“Emergent narrative” refers to a story that develops naturally and unexpectedly as you work with a piece of art, arising from the process itself rather than being planned beforehand. When I set out to make art, it seems almost impossible to do it without some kind of story creeping in during the creation process.

Here’s an example.

The Fiber Artists of San Antonio recently had a Call for Entry for their annual Juried Competition. This year’s theme is “Circularity” and refers to reuse of materials, recycling,  and zero-waste. I thought it would be  appropriate to “recycle” an old collage process of mine from the past and make a large-scale origami kimono like those that used to be my signature mixed-media work. This time, I would make this piece from discarded materials to fit the theme of the exhibition.

There were some newspapers in the recycling bin, so I glued three sheets of old newspaper together longways, and folded them into an origami kimono like I used to make in the 80’s and 90’s. It looked pretty cool, sort of like this one:

But it just sat there. No story, no spark.

I added some cardboard and sticks. No story – what to do??

Suddenly, I had a weird urge to paint it white. And the narrative began to emerge.

“A young, poor artist, with nothing but dreams, crafted a wedding kimono from old newspapers and recycled white house paint . . .”

“Each fold held stories of hope, every brushstroke whispered love. On her wedding day, she shimmered in her masterpiece, a creation of beauty from discarded remnants.”

“After the vows, the kimono was carefully refolded and wrapped in cheesecloth, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the couple’s small apartment.”

“Decades passed. The building fell into disrepair, and during demolition, workers uncovered an old trunk containing the fragile kimono.”

“It was intact, preserved in time. A local historian saw its value, and soon it was displayed in a museum as a ceremonial garment, its true origins lost. Visitors marveled at its mystery and beauty, unaware of the young artist who had once poured her dreams into its folds.”

“Though the artist’s name was forgotten, her creation lived on, telling its own story—one of resilience, of finding beauty in the discarded, and creating art from the remnants of life.”

So that’s the story! I added some dried rose petals and some dragonfly wings as the meaning became clearer. Of course, if this piece is juried into the exhibition and people see it, they won’t know the narrative that emerged from my imagination.

But they might have their own interpretation of the piece. And I truly think that having a narrative develop as we work gives a certain hidden richness to the art whether the story is evident or not.

I have always thought of myself as narrative artist, but had not really thought about the idea of “emergent narratives” (and didn’t even know there was a term for that). So I dug a little deeper.

Narrative art and emergent narratives in the art process are closely connected, as both involve storytelling, but they do so in slightly different ways:

  • Narrative art typically has a clear intention to tell a specific story, with visual elements that guide the viewer through a structured sequence of events or themes. The artist often starts with a defined idea of the story they want to convey and creates the artwork to express that narrative.
  • Emergent narratives in the art process, on the other hand, are more spontaneous and intuitive. They arise organically as the artist engages with the materials and allows the artwork to evolve. In this approach, the story is not fully formed when the artist begins; instead, it unfolds during the creative process, often surprising the artist as much as the viewer. The narrative reveals itself through unexpected connections, shapes, or symbols that appear during the making of the piece.

The connection between the two lies in their shared focus on storytelling and both highlight the powerful role of intuition and interpretation in transforming an artwork into a visual tale. Isn’t it fun??

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unlike purely abstract or conceptual art, narrative art seeks to communicate meaning through recognizable imagery and symbolic elements that build a visual narrative. Narrative art doesn’t always present a clear or linear story; it can invite the viewer to interpret the story in their own way, leaving room for imagination and diverse interpretations. The storytelling element in narrative art distinguishes it from other forms of visual expression, as it actively engages the audience in uncovering layers of meaning or following a storyline depicted through the visuals.

PS: Video Link

PS – If the Composition Video won’t play on your iPhone or other device, here’s the direct Vimeo link.

Design and Branding Input

Want to give your feedback on some potential new branding for the San Antonio Art League & Museum? Now’s your chance – even if you don’t live in San Antonio and even if you are not an artist.

Our Art League is 112 years old and has gone through many changes during that time. You can read more about that on our website, saalm.org. When I first became President back in 2017, this was our logo:

It was hard to read and reproduce. I played around with some new ideas in 2018 (below), but ultimately we decided to use the one that you see at the top of the post, a simple SAALM. Kinda blah, but readable

However, in a recent stroke of very good luck, our current Art Patrons for 2024 are Lionel and Kathy Sosa, and Lionel just happens to be a world-renowned graphic designer, former owner of the largest Hispanic agency in the country.

Lionel, who is generous with his time and talent, did some pro bono work for us and suggested we brand ourselves as simply “The Art League . . .more than a museum.” It’s true – we are more than a museum because we give workshops, showcase student art, off public lectures, and collaborate with other arts organizations in our community.

Here are some samples of the new ideas:

 

What are your thoughts?

  • Do we need “San Antonio” on our logo?
  • Can we just be known as The Art League for short?
  • Do you like the Texas Peach as the accent color?

Help us with our new marketing ideas! You can send your comments to me on the Art League website.

Thanks!!!

Lyn