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

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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 . . .

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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

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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

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“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.

Design and Branding Input

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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

 

 

Fear of Fiber

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I just had the best weekend teaching at the UTSA Southwest Art Studios – twelve students and I explored materials and invented processes during the two-day Scroll and Surface fiber art workshop.

One of my favorite student comments  came from Susan, who said as we were reviewing our work, “I’ve lost my fear of fiber!!”

Sometimes we think that an unfamiliar medium can’t be used to express our unique message. If you work in watercolor, you can’t imagine yourself telling the same story or celebrating the same subject in clay or fiber. But this weekend’s workshop concentrated on fusing all kinds of media media into individual narratives – paper, fiber, photography, paint, even clay. Here was our working description:

This mixed-media fiber art workshop includes components such as re-purposed studio drop cloth (torn), hydrosoluable fiber, walnut ink, paper twine, surface design, found objects, fiber, wire, image transfers and paper clay to explore how surface design can symbolize the precious belongings that we carry with us on our life’s journey.

The students came from diverse background and places in Texas – a military veteran who worked as a language translator, an elementary school STEM teacher, a naturalist, a minister, several professional artists, a college student just starting his art journey. Our personalities came together like a beautifully composed collage!

One of the strengths in creative diversity is that every message matters. A successful art workshop results in many right answers to the same question – what story can you tell that makes us all nod our heads in understanding, recognition, and empathy?

My students were just brilliant in expressing their narratives. Here is a video that tells all of the stories that were written in fiber this weekend.

I’m in the middle of filming lessons for this workshop so it can be available as an online class, and it should be ready in a week or two. I’ll share some of the mixed-media secrets we discovered this weekend – toilet bowl cleaner was a big hit as was sticky cheesecloth. 🙂

Thanks for reading SHARDS! And don’t be afraid of fiber – it is your friend!!

Lyn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Playing with AI

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AI, AI, oh!

There’s a new exhibit opening at the San Antonio Art League & Museum next week called Lone Star Horizons: Texas Landscapes Past, Present Future. I have two pieces in it – one that was juried in, and one that I created for a special section about artists who use Artificial Intelligence tools in various ways in their work. There are nine other artists in this section – stay tuned and I’ll show them to you once the show opens.

Images generated with AI tools fascinate me, not because it want to find an easy way to make a picture, but because the tool itself has so many possibilities — and limits. For example, I created a series of coordinated collage mages in my Sisters workshop that are designed to teach combinations and composition without making students worry about copyright images from commercial sources. To me, that’s a help

It’s also fun to test the way that AI applications like DALL-E monitor themselves regarding content. As an experiment, I asked DALL-E, which is an image generator that make pictures from scratch, to create this:

Oops – it seems that “in the style of Georgia O’Keeffe” is not allowed. This makes me feel good because it shows level of protection for that artist. You’ll notice that DALL-E changed its “mind” before could generate the image.

Look what happens when I change the prompt and leave out the painter’s name:

Now it produces an image, one that is completely new and not copyright. Interesting!

But when I tried another prompt and asked simply for the “style of southwestern painters” it would not generate it.

When I removed the “style” part, look what happened:

It’s good to know that there are some limits. So how does this help with the creative process?

AI is a visualization tool for me. Let’s say I am starting on a new series of Spirit Dolls. I can use AI to generate a concept or design that gives me ideas on directions to follow even before I get out the fiber and clay. Here’s an example:

Obviously, none of these generated images goes with my signature styles, but I can try out the idea with Photoshop, using one of my Earthshard faces.

It’s a nice graphic, and while I like some of it, I can eliminate most of it as a possibility (like too much silver) without having to actually build it than take it apart again.

By the way, here is the AI-aided piece that will be in the Texas Landscape show. It is an encaustic collage with parts generated by the AI tool called MidJourney, and some parts from other sources, including some real pressed and dried flowers. It’s covered with layers of encaustic medium. And no Georgia O’Keeffe paintings were swiped in the production of this piece! 🙂

To me, a piece like this represents a fusion of old and new tools – an experiment that plays with new frontiers that we can chose to use or not. We follow out hearts and can go back and forth between comfort and experimentation.

No matter what the situation, remind yourself, “I Have A Choice.” -Deepak Chopra

Thanks for reading!

PS If you wold like copies of any of the images that were generated in the examples, just let me know and I will make them available for download. They are not copyrighted and you can use them in any way you wish as long as you don’t say that you painted them! LOL.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Landscapes and homecomings and a gift for you

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For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been working on the back-end of the upcoming Lone Star Horizons show, an exhibit of Texas landscapes in every media imaginable that opens at the San Antonio Art League & Museum on January 6th. Our Juror, Harold Joiner of Houston, had a tough job choosing 50 pieces from the 200 submitted.

Setting up a Call for Entry like this one is kind of complicated, but once it’s up and running, as the admin you get to see all of the entries come in via digital photos before the Juror sees them and makes his selections. So I’ve been viewing landscapes in all forms and media for the last two weeks and thinking about how we create them as artists.

Landscapes, as I have said before, are the most popular subject for paintings because they suggest a sense of homeland, a place just over the hill or down the road where we truly belong and will be happy at last.

All of those thoughts reminded me of one of my early online workshops called SMALL WORLDS: Creating Fantasy Landscapes with Altered Paper. This course was first presented over ten years ago as part of the summer program at Artful Gathering and quickly became one of the most popular in-person workshops at my Studio.You can still see many of these collaged landscapes in galleries around town with torn CitraSolv paper and other altered collage materials.

Tying this all these landscape thoughts together with this season of homecoming and sheltering seemed natural (I’m writing this on the night of the Winter Solstice) I figured  that this oldie-but-goodie workshop might be just the perfect thing to offer you as a holiday gift for a limited time. There are a zillion techniques for altered papers in this workshop and lots of composition tips. You’ll have fun with it.

You’ll need to go to my Teachable Studio page first, then find the Small Worlds workshop – here’s the link.

Go ahead and register for the course (it normally costs $29) and when you check out, use the coupon code FREEDEC31. That means the course is free for you until December 31st. Go ahead a check out and you will see from the screen shots below that you will be charged zero dollars! Free is good.

When you submit you payment, you will see that your total becomes $0.00.

Giving credit where credit is due, my friend Eva Macie was one of the first artists to discover the possibilities of CitraSolv on magazine pages. She’s even on the CitraSolv website! Thanks, Eva!

So enjoy creating landscapes, and thinking about homecomings and the promise of good things to come down the road and over the hill into the New Year. Thanks, as always, for reading SHARDS.

Lyn

 

Decisions on Bearing Arms

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As artists, no matter what medium we employ, our job is to make the right decision.

Does yellow look best as a highlight on that purple grape? Will adding gold leaf to this acrylic medium enhance it or make a mess? How will this nylon thread react to the encaustic medium?

There is always more than one right answer, but there is usually just one answer that gives you the “eureka shivers“ that it’s the best one. And to get to that, you have to try some different solutions.

Take arms, for example. I am constructing some of my beloved Wanderer figures for an exhibition at Jane Bishop’s Mockingbird Handprints in December. Here’s one in progress – I already love the layered fiber wrapping:

So I have the head ready – but does it need arms? (Decision=Yes) If so, what kind?

First idea – how about plaster wings??

This might work if I sprayed it with terra cotta walnut ink – or rust paste, and added another one on the left side…but the shape and weight just aren’t quite right.

How about something really different?? Shannon Weber gave me these great old vintage faucet taps–

They are cool, but they almost need their own sculpture to be a part of, one that shows them off more. These “arms” compete with the layered and wrapped body.

How about sticks?? Like the ones on the head?

Close, but no cigar – too matchy-matchy.

How about just one curvy stick??

Up? Down?

Not quite there – too spindly in relation to the body. But I got an idea from this experiment – since the body is wrapped in fiber, why not wrap some stick arms in the same way?

This is the result, and it gave me the “eureka shivers“. Just right!

Sorry to say that you won’t see the finished Wanderer yet – I sewed her arms on last night (they look great) and I’m still adding her special touches, but you will see her soon.

Here’s the take-away – when you see  finished artwork that resonates with you, whether it’s a painting or a sculpture or a piece of jewelry, remember that what you see is a process of informed and personal decision making that is hard work and takes a lot of time, love, and experience. The artist thought and experimented and perhaps failed and tried again to get the piece just right for you to see and appreciate.

Try to imagine the back story – put yourself in the artist’s place and see where complex decisions were made to find the “eureka shivers” moment in every step.

Thanks for reading!!