Tag Archives: watercolor

Waxing poetic

15 Sunday Apr 2012

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Okay, that’s the very last wax pun, I promise. :) I tried encaustics — the art of painting and collage with wax — for the first time a couple of months ago, and I was instantly hooked. I love the depth and texture added to paper and fabric by the waxy, slightly opaque layers of encaustic medium. As a collage enthusiast who owns at least two dozen types of adhesives ranging from hot glue to glaze, tacky tape to epoxy, I am also fascinated by the endless potential for embedding objects in and on beeswax.

March was a fruitful season of learning and growth for my family and I, but it wasn’t one that allowed for much time in the studio. I decided to celebrate my return with a second encaustic piece. As with my first, this one is on a 4″-square piece of watercolor paper mounted on masonite. I made the abstract pastoral background by applying wrinkled plastic wrap to still-wet watercolor washes to add texture and grain. I sketched and cut out a few small paper trees to give the scene a little more depth and detail, then added a bit of yellow patterned cardstock to the center of the sun.

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The final touch was tiny text that reads “keep growing,” snipped from the pages of a 1938 farming magazine. I painted on several coats of encaustic medium, warming the surface with a heat gun between each application to help fuse the layers. After applying the last, I floated a smattering of miniature resin daisies in the hot wax. I love how the liquid wax drifted up and around them, almost enveloping their delicate white petals.

I am already at work on a slightly larger scale encaustic piece, and this time I want to experiment more with achieving patterns in the wax. My studio smells musty and sweet, perfumed by watercolor and heated wax that seems faintly scented of honey. It is how I imagine the inside of a beehive must smell (don’t tell me otherwise — I like the romance), and it makes me feel inspired and busy. More to come!

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Paper plum blossoms

02 Friday Mar 2012

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Usually, surviving February merits a celebratory rush of energetic, brightly colored projects in the studio. But it has been so unseasonably warm and mild this winter, I don’t feel quite the same urgency about ushering in springtime. I wore shorts the last week of February, and the weather is already playing its April games, revolving between sunny 70’s and thunderstorms. Tornado season also seems to have arrived earlier, much to my children’s chagrin. (There are only so many times you can make a game out of doing your schoolwork in the downstairs hall closet by flashlight.)

However, the last few weeks have felt distinctly February when it comes to matters of the heart, and this paper craft seemed the perfect fit: hopeful, but fragile. The blooms and leaves are made from pieces of a coffee filter. I folded and watercolored the small shapes, then glued them in place on a tree branch. (That’s twice now our Bradford pear tree has done something useful — pretty sure that’s a record.)

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This is another project from Margaret Van Sicklen’s fantastic Modern Paper Crafts. Like the pleated paper bowl I made from the same book, this also required some complex paper folding and a delicate-but-determined touch. I found the leaves much simpler to make than the blossoms, but the instructions were clear and detailed enough to get me through it without frustration. And the nice thing about a paper craft with coffee filters is that your raw materials only cost a few cents, so it’s no great loss if (when) you have to start over.

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Watercoloring the blossoms and leaves also required a gentle hand, but I love the effect gained as the paint bleeds into the fibers of the filter. I used to make watercolor coffee filter art with my kids when they were little, so this was a sweet reminder of those early homeschool years. My son and daughter are more complicated creatures now, but we all still revel in doing art together.

In the end, that is what my plum blossoms speak to: fondness and nostalgia for a more innocent time, determination to get through winter’s challenges together, and growing hope for the future. I think that’s a pretty good way to end February.

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Storms

25 Saturday Feb 2012

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Is anyone else having one of those days? Actually, I think I’m having one of those weeks, the “when it rains it pours” kind that make me want to yell in frustration or stomp my feet, quite possibly both at the same time. For my family and those dearest to us, there have been more challenges than usual lately — many of them the wail-prompting, tear-stirring variety. These are not training-wheels sorts of days, these are all about wobbling and swerving while we try to keep our balance.

I spend a lot of time on this blog talking about things like yummy cheesecake brownies and delicate origami flowers, caramels from scratch and handmade valentines, and I really love making all of it. Creating keeps me aware and joyful, and it nourishes my body and mind. But I just want to be sure I am clear that these things are not born of a frivolous, unhurried life. My bookshelf holds dozens of beautiful art books, but right now I’m reading Boundaries with Teens; my calendar holds the promise of lunch with friends this weekend, but it also has appointments with the dentist and pediatric cardiologist. For me, cooking and crafting are ways of celebrating both the plenty and the drought and the lessons I learn from both.

I made the watercolor sketch above because it says what my words cannot manage right now. The corner of it tore when I ripped it from my sketchbook, and I think that feels just right, too. No matter the frustration or obstacles today might bring, whether these hours feel overwhelmingly full or acutely empty, I am prayerfully hopeful for you and me. With that in mind, I have my next few posts planned about lovely things like almond granola parfaits and collages with cork and batik fabric. I am enjoying my time preparing them, and I am excited to share what I’m doing with you, even when times are not simple for either of us.

Hello, Chickadee

01 Tuesday Nov 2011

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The black-capped chickadee is a charming little bird found all over North America. It gets its name from the most familiar of its calls — there’s no mistaking that distinctive chick-a-dee-dee-dee. I love that they look like feathery little puffballs, and their shape and color is especially striking against winter’s bare brown branches and snow.

Chickadees tolerate humans well all year long, but in the winter they will actually eat from human hands. I find it fascinating that this small, undomesticated bird has learned to trust humans in order to obtain food during the leanest months. That willingness to take nourishment where he can find it, combined with a remarkable ability to use what he takes in efficiently, means the chickadee can endure harsh winter conditions that might otherwise threaten him.

It’s fitting that the last watercolor I did in 2007 was of a chickadee. I didn’t know at the time that it would be almost two years before I held a paintbrush again, and I never could have imagined the winter that was about to follow. I have that painting on display in my living room now — not because it’s the best I’ve ever done, but because it reminds me every day of how important it is to trust, especially during the hardest times; to take nourishment when and where it is offered, even if it means leaving myself vulnerable.

Just the beginning…

21 Friday Oct 2011

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chrysalis

I recently got this piece back from the gallery exhibit where it’s lived for the better part of a year, and it feels like reconnecting with an old friend. I think every piece of art captures a place in time, a version of the artist and her thoughts and feelings. Regardless of whether art is intentionally autobiographical, it is inherently personal. In this case, it’s both.

This artwork was inspired by a challenge from Brevard Art Museum to transform an ordinary white Chinese take-out box into a piece of art. At the time, I was just beginning to understand that serious illness had changed me, but also that those changes could lead to something beautiful. The butterflies are watercolor versions of the blue morpho taking off in flight. The lettering on the back of each butterfly reads What the caterpillar perceives as the end, to the butterfly is just the beginning.

The take-out box is covered in handmade silk paper and silk fibers, and the stem is made of paper-wrapped wire and beads. The inside of the “chrysalis” is layered with ecru raw silk rods and glass seed beads in shades of purple and green. This piece uses a lot of my favorite media — paper, textiles, glass beads, and watercolor — and speaks to a lot of what art means to me.