I find that the structure of a medium -- its requirements and its very limitations -- provides a certain framework in which creation can more easily take place. When the infinite possibilities of a blank canvas are reduced to infinity-minus-a-few, that little crevice allows for a beginning. The wonderful graphic quality of linocut is enabled by the fact that there are only two kinds of lines the medium allows: a positive (or black) line, and a negative (or white) line. Gra

Stickiness has magical implications for printmaking. Fluids with different degrees of stickiness, technically known as viscosity, will resist one other – literally pushing each other away on a molecular level. If you’ve poured a cocktail of orange juice and Campari, the luminous separation into layers of red and orange is the result of differing viscosities. In printmaking, this allows multiple colors to be applied to one plate. A thinned-out, runny ink is rolled on first, th

My creativity ebbs and flows, so over the years I’ve developed strategies for dealing with ebb times. I maintain a creativity file during lush periods, into which I put images, words, colors, quotes, and artwork I find inspiring. During a lull, lollygagging in this file often revives me. When it seems the well is dry and will never see moss again, I like to spend time with a technique that renews my faith in simple, pared-down, creative play. With “multiple-drop” monot

When I began printmaking, the images that instinctively came from my hands had a certain look: full of detail, and leaning always toward the precise. For years I resisted this, wanting my work to be more gestural, to have vigorous, loose movement like my teacher’s. I yearned for a style that didn’t come naturally -- the way, it seems, people with straight hair wish they had curly, while curly-headed people always seem to want straight. Over time I came to embrace the style

My niece recently called urgently to my sister-in-law Fiona: “I need some help here! I need some help here!” Fiona rushed over and asked what was going on. Imogen said, “I need some help admiring my art.” I love that Imogen understands admiration as the final step of creation -- and knows that assistance is helpful. I find that when creative work approaches completion, the critic often takes over, pulling my eye to the places I’m not thrilled with, noisily pointing out

For a long stretch of my life – from college past grad school – I did very little creative play. The primary exception was gifts: while I thought that art-making was frivolous and I was serious, I granted a sweeping exception to hand-painted cards or tee-shirts printed with potato stamps (my first adult venture into printmaking). During those years of creative drought, gift-making was truly a gift to me. It allowed me to connect to that glorious current of creative play, s

I celebrate September 26th every year as my Art Anniversary – the day I took the plunge back into creativity. I’d done lots of crafty things as a kid, but once I headed off to college I put “childish” things aside. The result? I was a Ph.D’d college professor, and I was miserable. Determined to find my way back to joy, I took a linocut class. Below is the first print I created, focused on pleasure. “A Few of My Favorite Things” depicts gardening (I do more these days),

I grew my first ever watermelon! The hardest part was trying to figure out when it was ripe. An array of remarkably unhelpful youtube videos shows numerous methods for determining ripeness, from thumping to counting to spinning a piece of straw on top. My favorite video: the one in which the guy confidently says all you have to do is check that the tendril nearest the melon is withered; shows that it is, indeed, fully withered; then cuts open his very obviously under-ripe

Monotype is the most serendipitous of printmaking techniques for several reasons: it can be quick; it offers numerous options; and it involves immersing yourself, hands-on, in colors, textures, patterns, and possibilities. Contrary to first impressions, I find that serendipity has some requirements. First, it demands an open awareness, a kind of relaxed receptivity, to allow the intuitive, the unexpected, to make itself known. Second, the corollary: serendipity requires

My process as a visual artist usually involves careful planning: I think through an image, design it carefully, change my mind several times, but then stick pretty close to the plan. As a writer my process is much more organic – which, for me, is a fancy way of saying I have no idea where I’m headed, make it up as I go along, and am frequently astonished by where I land. A great pleasure of teaching is having a front-row seat as a variety of artists, from just hatched to