Oil Pastel--first attempt
Areas that need revisited
Today's post is about the things I--all artists?--obsess over.
A week ago, after returning from a roadside farmstand in Duck, NC, and rinsing a pair of peaches and a handful of tricolor grape tomatoes, I set them on a dish towel--French, as it turns out, purchased at Le Marche in Norfolk, VA, and gifted to us by a friend--and was immediately struck by their stunning beauty. I snapped a photo (first image) thinking I would eventually interpret it as an oil pastel. But I could not get it out of my mind. With temperatures soaring dangerously high on Independence Day, I tucked into it in my cool studio, surrounded by shade trees, after morning dog walks.
What emerged is in the second image. I know the design on the towel on the far right is not exactly like that in the photo, but I knew I would need a stencil in order to create such a regular pattern and I decided I would be happy with whatever I could find at the "the Walmart" in Kitty Hawk. The selection was slim, but I chose a stencil with a variety of flowers and birds. And I quite love it.
What I didn't love were two areas near the stem ends of both peaches: the shapes were too geometric (third image). So, unable to get THAT out of my mind, I woke up this morning and, before I hit the (much cooler) pavement with the dogs, I softened those edges, brightened up the yellow on the right hand peach, and did a few other little manipulations.
Now, I would be proud for anyone to add this to their collection.
Tools of the Trade. Did you know that glue stick typically takes 24 hours to cure? I press my collages under books--with a piece of parchment paper or foil on top to prevent sticking--for a full day or often much longer.
The clear stacking drawers are a game-changer for storing collage papers. Happy to share a link if you are insterested. And all of my tool storage vessels to the left of the drawers, plus the tray, are thrifted finds.
Work in Progress (not yet glued and missing details): Sometimes the Scariest Places Are Inside Ourselves, June 2026
Fini! Sometimes the Scariest Places Are Inside Ourselves, June 2026
For the first post on my new website, I am sharing my most recently finished project: new website, new project.
From 2021-2023, we built a home in Southern Shores, NC, where I paint on occasion. But mostly, since my studio doubles as a guest room, I like to keep it clean and tidy, which means I typically work on small oil pastels or collages for my larger acrylic paintings, as I did this past weekend.
A few weeks ago, when I was working on another piece and selecting various papers out of my collage storage drawers, pictured above in the "Tools of the Trade" photo, this group resonated with me. The colorway wasn't right for that project, but I saved the swatches in their own drawer, as I do when brainstorming upcoming projects.
I thought they were exquisite together, but they were almost too beautiful. So, as I was deciding which of my concepts to pursue--I keep a running list of ideas in my phone--I knew I needed to inject a hint of darkness, but one that is familiar to people--all too familiar, as it turns out--and not so terrifying that it was off-putting. I chose Sometimes the Scariest Places Are inside Ourselves. This well-known proverb has been echoed in various ways by psychologiests, spirtual leaders, and writers to express that contronting internal fears is the ultimate human challenge.
The second image is the collage in progress--missing the moth and border around the doorway--and the third is the finished piece ready to paint large for someone for whom this truth reverberates. Does it for you?