I am intrigued by the idea of a hidden domestic world: An efficient household and nursery, entirely female-run, very active and real, where
the only “expectation” is to replicate other, equivalent worlds.

But that is just one thought about why I am compelled to draw these nests. Others come to mind, like the idea of space travel, space stations and colonization, architecture, robotics, war and ecology. I’m also interested in the anxious fear so often associated with these things. Yet, upon study, one learns that the creatures constructing these nests are unfortunately misunderstood, irrationally persecuted and under-appreciated for the good they actually do. In fact, they consume harmful insects and help pollination. As someone with a deep love for the natural world, I’d like my work to help replace the autopilot exterminator company mentality toward hornet and wasp colonies with more curiosity, wonder and respect.

I want to show people something they typically know little about, and nearly always associate with fear, and reframe it in an entirely different way

A Question of Color

Working exclusively in black and white since 2005, I introduced a bit of color in Mother Ship in 2011. That decision was organically grown out of what the piece needed. There was an actual leaf that still had its fall colors protruding from near the top in the original reference nest. I decided that if I didn’t depict it in color in my drawing, no one would ever notice that the hornets had woven that leaf into the structure of their nest. Without clearer differentiation, the rendered leaf would not only meld into the surrounding details, but it would end up appearing as a confused passage. Putting the color in was a gamble, but not a terribly big one. I tested the effect on a tracing paper overlay and let it live in place on the drawing a few weeks while finishing all the black and white portions. I could study the effect every day before committing. The last thing I did on Mother Ship was render that leaf in pastel. My main concern was that the color would call too much attention to itself and thus distract from the bigger picture. Balancing the color so that it was neither too stridently vivid nor ineffectually muted, was a way to manage that. Since then, every single comment I have received concerning the color in Mother Ship has been positive. From that point, I decided that other pieces in the Paper Nest Variations could also benefit from judiciously placed color. Use of color in this way can’t be arbitrary. It has to somehow advance the thematic scheme of the individual piece and also fit the series. Progressing in this vein, I am now working on a hornet nest piece in which large bold areas of color figure prominently. Everything stems from what comes before.

The Cosmic Muse

Intuition is what moves me to select both my series’ themes and individual subjects within those themes, and that intuition arises from the sum of my life experiences. So, occasionally, an insight might arrive in an instant like the proverbial “bolt from the blue.” But the closer truth is that my radar was set, ready to receive, and at the right moment the message could come through and be recognized. For this to happen, one needs a solid sense of what one cares about, trust that intuition will eventually supply the needed spark, and of course, the patience to wait. And while waiting for said inspiration, one should always be working! These days, I know in a very deep way when a subject is right to work on. But it took many years to arrive at that place.

I trust my instincts 100 percent, but while honoring this intuitive connection, I also evaluate my options rationally. I am thinking, with all of my accumulated knowledge and experience in art-making, “Will this work? What problems might I run into?” Most of those thoughts move to the technical issues I might face. For instance, I want the work to be challenging to execute, but not defeating. I’m well aware of my limitations. Some concepts or subjects might be better served photographically, as was the case with the paper nest Satellites series. Once I’m on a track, the work usually proceeds in a workman-like fashion, which I find very satisfying. The way I work is systematic, solving problems as I go, whether using photography or drawing. With the charcoal drawings, working from my own gridded photographic reference (or real world subject), I execute a light, detailed line drawing in vine charcoal to position the essential shapes accurately on the page. Then I work mostly top to bottom because that is what makes sense with charcoal. I keep the white paper clean as I go and use no cover-up whites. I always have classical music on as I work.

I get a lot of satisfaction in the process and production of these pieces, those are my moments of zen, where the craziness of the world falls away and I can just live in the moment inside the world of the drawing.

Creative Growth

There have been many difficulties along the way, but I’ve learned to deal with them one by one as they come along (and still do). What’s important is that I never gave up. Art-making in some form has always been with me and is integral to every aspect of my being.

I will say that for the better part of my life, I struggled to obtain appropriate art education and it came to me very, very late. My five-plus years at the Museum School in Boston gave me the necessary time, support and context in which to locate my creative voice. By the time I arrived there, I had already learned the technical skills I needed through a wide range of experiences acquired with each move while following my husband’s career. The most pivotal of those experiences was a year studying at a small classical atelier in Baltimore, the Schuler School of Fine Arts. Being at the Museum School was about first determining the most personally compelling content for focusing the work, then finding the best format and visual language for that expression. It took a whole lot of thinking, sorting, sifting, trying and patience – a long period of intense growth. But the effort resulted in that I am now completely confident about my direction. Those years allowed me to find emotional connection and bring strength to the work not previously possible. Everyone has to find their own way, and that was mine. I’ve only just started making meaningful art since 2005. My challenge now is to fly with what I know for as long as I can.