In my studio

I’ve been very fortunate to have gotten some nice press recently.  Here’s the latest.  And I’m delighted to be featured along with my precious friend Liza…who is also one of the members of the recently formed women’s art collective, Four Rooms.  (More on that later!)  I will say that I thought the photographer was coming to take shots of my work, not me, so I was completely unprepared…no makeup, hair pushed up in a clip, old studio clothes on because I was working.  But no sacrifice is too great for our art, right?  Vanity went right out the window.  And that’s okay.

http://www2.ljworld.com/news/2010/nov/21/lawrence-art-guilds-holiday-art-fair-spans-ceramic/

2009 – Room to Work: Artists Balance Function, Style in Studios

2010 – Local Artists Open Homes, Studios for Lawrence ArtWalk

He collected art, Western and Native American in particular.  He pored through every issue of Southwest Art, loved the galleries in Santa Fe, and was always excited to share his latest find.   

He was passionate about live music, and it little mattered what form it took…iconic late-night jazz in a dark dive where he shouldn’t have taken his daughters, but he didn’t want us to miss a thing.  Broadway musicals, high school choir concerts, the opera, a country band at a Texas icehouse…it didn’t matter; if the music was on, he was there.

He read poetry, watched live theatre, sought every opportunity for his three daughters to learn and become a part of creative pursuits.  And while he practiced none of these things he so loved, he was monumentally proud of the wife and daughters and grandchildren who did.   

I’ve been thinking and writing about creativity lately, about how it feels to exercise it, to make something, to take an idea and coax/work/pummel it into existence.  And interestingly, I’ve come to the conclusion that sometimes it’s enough - more than enough – to simply partake in the creativity of someone else.  I’ve long believed that the cycle of artistic creation is not complete until the thing created is observed by someone other than its creator.   If that is indeed true, then we’re all part of the process, whether we are the ones who birth or the ones who receive. 

My father’s love of the visual, performance, and written arts shaped who I am as surely as if he had placed a brush in my hand himself, or composed the song I sang, or written the outline for a story.  Thank you, Daddy.  I love you and miss you and wish I could have known you longer and better.

The Honorable John C. Martin, 1936-2000

I’m a visual artist who spent a lot of years as a singer and songwriter and who has always been a writer of one sort or another.  I have a constant need to create in some way; for me, that translates into decorating my home (sewing all of the new draperies and bedding for my bedroom instead of buying them ready-made, for instance); making jewelry, which I’ll never do professionally, but I love making it; gardening (I’m a firm believer that most gardening enthusiasts are flexing their creative muscles); and so it goes…

I refinish furniture, I crochet a little, instead of painting I draw or felt, I make gifts for people rather than purchase them.  I go to art parties and make shrines and postcards and birdhouses and mosaics.  And I’m always thinking about something I might do, would do, should do, used to do.  A new medium?  A new story?  Sure!  It never stops…and I don’t want it to.

How do others express their creativity outside their primary medium or field?  What do you do?  And what does it do for you?

Those two pieces are from my encaustic “Midsummer” series.  Both sold very quickly; one in late 2008 and one in 2009.  I knew the purchaser of one piece (a fellow artist) and had some email correspondence with the purchaser of the other. 

So when I had the opportunity to have some of my work photographed at the 1109 Gallery in Lawrence, Kansas, I contacted the owners to ask if I might borrow the two Midsummers for an afternoon so that they could be included in the photo session.  Because both of these people are wonderfully generous, they unhesitatingly agreed. 

I assured them that I would take exemplary care of their artwork and further, on the it-will-never-happen chance that a piece was damaged, it would be covered by my professional liability insurance.  But none of us were concerned about that, because nothing like that ever really happens.  Ever.

It was a wonderful photo shoot.  (When everyone present is telling you how much they LOVE your work, it’s a good day.)  Afterward, I carefully packed the 15 pieces and returned home.  This is probably a good time to mention that this photo shoot took place in February.  And that we had ridiculous amounts of snow and ice this year. 

What happened next is so mortifying that I am reluctant to describe it.  Let’s just say that in relatively short order I was a) on the ground, howling over encaustic artwork that was cracked, broken, and in some places shattered, and b) calling my husband in near-hysteria, telling him he had to come home IMMEDIATELY, because I had done something BAD.  (Okay, it was actually full hysteria.) 

And because you, dear readers, are an intelligent and intuitive lot, you already know which two pieces received the greatest damage.  The two pieces from the Midsummer series.  The two pieces that belong to other people.  People who paid for them.  Who love them.  Who trusted me to care for them.

After my husband broke land speed records getting home and had helped me calm down, I was able to step back from my emotions and assess the damage objectively.  People who know me know that I am a particularly determined woman.  My modus operandi is to bare my teeth at a challenge and take that sucker on.  And although I had never had to repair damaged encaustic before, I was pretty certain I could restore the pieces.  Not being able to restore them was too hideous a prospect to consider.

I notified the Midsummer parents that there had been an accident, but let them know I was on the job and had every certainty that I could restore their babies to their former fabulousness.  I told them that if I didn’t restore the pieces to their satisfaction, I would repay them the full purchase price.  And I would throw in another piece of my artwork – their choice and anything they wanted.  Bless their hearts, they were super-duper gracious and showed total faith in my curative powers. 

However, as I stood looking at the two pieces on the work table in my studio, I pinballed between confidence and doubt and panic.  I considered taking photos of the damage and the repair process, but I simply could not bring myself to document the mess, even though I knew I would wish later that I had. 

It took a couple of weeks to make the repairs.  It was very wearing as I worked through trial and error, put everything I know about my process and my medium to the test, and had to take things slowly and methodically when all I wanted was to get this disaster fixed and finished.  But ultimately, the restorations were successful, and Midsummers #1 and #2 were returned to their rightful owners.

And I vowed that never, never again under any circumstances whatsoever would I ask to borrow one of my sold paintings, no matter what show I’m offered, no matter what opportunity is presented.

Unless it’s just too good to pass up.  And then I’m going for it.  No guts, no glory, people!

Click on the pics for the best view.  Photo credits to Robbin Loomas of Sterling Image Photography in Lawrence, Kansas.

Midsummer #1; Malissa Martin-Wilke; Encaustic; 20x24; 2008.

Midsummer #2; Malissa Martin-Wilke; Encaustic; 24x24; 2008.

A Spring in the Lilacs; Malissa Martin-Wilke; Encaustic; 16x24; 2008.

This is one of the first pieces in which I used incision in encaustic.  I really had no idea what to expect, and initially the scraping was more likely to create gouges rather than a (relatively) smooth surface.  It was also the first time I used a heat lamp rather than a heat gun to finish the surface…something I know that other artists working in encaustic use with great success, but I wasn’t too crazy about it.  That said, I’ll  give it another chance on another piece.

This piece also sold within the first few hours of being hung at a show, which was nice, but there’s a little bit of a story behind that.  A married couple saw the piece, and the husband fell in love with it…really fell  in love with it.  The wife, however, wanted a floral still life.  They disagreed in that very silent way couples have, when nothing much is being verbalized, but there’s a lot being communicated.  They left for a while and then came back, and it was pretty clear that the man was going to have his piece of art.  I sometimes wonder about this piece…given the wife’s desire for something else, I wonder if A Spring in the Lilacs might have met with an unfortunate accident, something like the one that befell the leg lamp in A Christmas Story.

And on that note, be sure and check out a great new blog I’ve discovered.   It’s the blog of Lisa Kairos (www.lisakarios.wordpress.com).  You’ll enjoy seeing her work, and she’s got super info on encaustic and plenty else besides.

One of the work tables in my studio - this one is used primarily for encaustic

In order to protect the surfaces of the work tables, which are my mother’s dining room table and my father’s desk, I have multiple layers of old sheets and tablecloths, and these are covered with the cheapest vinyl shower curtains I can find…usually about $2.99 each at Target.  I use them until their layer of encaustic drips is driving me crazy, then unload the surface, yank it off, put a new one on, get the equipment and supplies back in place, and then get back to painting.

From left, a heat lamp, a heat gun, a photographer's tacking iron, and an embossing heat gun.

I hang the heat tools that I use to work with the encaustic once it’s been applied to the support.  I learned the hard way that a hot heat gun – even turned off – can melt right through those vinyl shower curtains!

Encaustics waiting for the next round of painting

I use an old electric griddle from my kitchen as a hot plate for the encaustic.  I know that a lot of encaustic artists mix paints directly on the plate, but I always mix in my repurposed tuna cans.  The loaf pan has  unpigmented encaustic.  The encaustics in this photo are hard, not molten.

Two bins of brushes, but there are more!

These are some of the brushes I use with my encaustic.  Once a brush has been used with encaustic, it can’t go back to anything else!  I use very cheap brushes, as well as older brushes that are too worn to use with acrylics.  I generally have two or three sizes in the colors I use most often and only rarely do I clean my encaustic brushes, since I use the same brush over and over in similarly pigmented encaustic.

A wall of storage...everything for encaustic, acrylic, embroidery, beading and jewelry-making, and a ton more.

And finally, a quick look at the storage on the wall adjacent to the work table shown above…it’s clean enough.

Floral Geometric #1; Malissa Martin-Wilke; Acrylic; 24x24; 2007.

I like “Floral Geometric #1″ a lot, and a lot of people (men especially) always comment on it, but it has never sold, which has surprised me, given that I think it’s perhaps the best non-encaustic piece I’ve done.  In contrast, the one below was way more an exercise in texture than a serious effort, but I took it along to a show earlier this year when I needed to fill some space, and it sold pronto.  Go figure. 

Blue on Blue; Malissa Martin-Wilke; Acrylic; 24x36; 2008.