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Jumpstart your inspiration with a wall

Need some quick inspiration? Consider things that you have at hand. Postcards or photographs, some masking tape, and blank wall. Instant inspiration.

art inspiration wall

Postcards from museums and art openings inspire me whenever I’m in my studio.

Redecorating can recharge your creativity

I’ve just come off of some big completions… I finished a large linocut (see No Atonement for Arcadia here.) This month and the next will be times of transition for my family, with graduations and moves to other places. All of this is exciting, but also exhausting. Getting started on new work can be difficult for me. Enter the inspiration wall.

another inspiration wall

I try to use few words, but I felt these were important.

I have had an inspiration wall ever since I created my basement studio. The walls are an eggshell white.  I thought about painting areas with magnetic paint and using magnets, but the reviews of this type of paint are not good. Blue masking tape works just fine.

Be sure to refresh you inspiration wall

The trick to keeping your walls inspiring is to CHANGE THINGS. You get used to seeing the same images, and they cease to be as meaningful. Even if you rearrange the same images, this can help. I took down the previous wall and sorted into three piles: “definitely put back up”,  “if there is room”, and “time to file away.” Then I could work in newer finds from my trips over the past year to Spain, Vancouver BC and Santa Fe.

You don’t need to travel far to create something for yourself. You can use images from magazines, on-line resources or photographs you have taken. Getting things off your screen and onto a wall can make a big difference.

Have a new inspiration wall? Share an image of it here! Happy creating…


How to get (and stay) in your groove

One of my goals for 2018 is to develop a more consistent and intentional studio practice. I imagine myself like those famed artists and writers who march off to their studios each day to produce great art. I find it hard to create in the bits and pieces of time that my real life often provides.

I find I can really concentrate on airplanes. Not a good daily option, however.

What does the Emperor have to do with studio practice?

I often feel just like the Emperor in the Emperor’s New Groove. Remember the memorable scene with John Goodman as Pacha, who discovers an old man hanging upside down from a fabric banner? (more…)


Printmaking sometimes takes an eternity

Printmaking can sometimes take an eternity. Or this is how it seems. My first art professor impressed upon me that unlike reading a book which can be skimmed, or writing a paper during an all-nighter, making art takes the time it takes. This fall, I have found this to be true. I decided to create a linocut concept that had twelve layers of ink, the most I have ever done.

On the Far Side of Forever, an aerial inspired linocut.

Elizabeth Busey. On the Far Side of Forever. Reduction linocut on Rives BFK. 16 x 21in (image size), 28 x 37in (framed size), edition of 13, $375 unframed.

I wanted to create imagery that asked the question — what if aerial views were like topographical maps? To answer this question, I created both horizontal (above) and vertical (below) compositions. I imagined the views a hawk or turkey vulture might have, if they were flying around in a topo-filled world.

The Grand Eternal Show, a topographically inspired aerial view linocut.

Elizabeth Busey. The Grand Eternal Show. Reduction linocut on Rives BFK. 21 x 14in (image size), 31 x 23in (framed size), edition of 13, $375 unframed.

Creating similar but not the same

To make these works harmonize, but not be the same, I used different views of the topography so that the largest shapes are repeated. I also wanted to find a way to make the layers not be completely homogeneous. To do this, I started both series with some loose diagonal color fields as the first layer of ink. I even reversed the location of each color for the different linocuts.

First layer of linocut has rough inexact color fields.

The first layer had rough, inexact color fields.

Carve this, not that

One of the more difficult tasks was remembering where to carve for each subsequent layer. Once a layer was carved away, I could not go back and touch up the linear marks that divided it from the others. Each time I printed, I also printed the line marks to keep them a consistent tone throughout, even if the color was somewhat different.

The last layer — the lines alone — required some strategy. I could leave them with the darkest tone only, but this meant that the darkest areas were not well differentiated from a distance. So I went to my old friend, gold ink.

Getting serious with pigment

I had been using a very old gold ink from Handschy, and wondered if another ink would give me more brilliance. I ordered some Charbonnel gold etching ink on a whim, and now was able to give it a try. As you can see from the video, this ink does not have the viscosity of most relief inks. I wanted to keep the pigment as intense as possible, since it was going to go over fairly dark blues and greens. The addition of some burnt plate oil allowed me to gradually roll out the stiff ink.

Gold ink on the last layer of the topography linocut.

The last layer need to print clearly. The thick gold etching ink did the job well.

While the ink looked too thick on the glass, and didn’t make that velvety sound I usually strive for, it did adhere to the linoleum well and printed evenly on the ink-saturated paper. With one layer of ink, the gold sheen can be delicately seen, especially in the problem dark areas. I wondered if more gold would be better, and printed another layer of gold immediately. This gave me more gold reflection, but meant that now your eye was confused about what was important. I wanted the work to be more about the layers, with the lines playing a supporting role. So I stuck to one layer of gold ink.

The feeling of satisfaction I had upon completing these two linocuts was one I haven’t felt in a long time. For this, I am eternally grateful.


Sometimes it is smart to start small

Sometimes it is important to start small. I have a tendency to be impatient. I want to create an image on a LARGE scale. Unfortunately, I have some works that are large and problematic. If I had just taken the time to do a smaller study, I could have foreseen things that would go wrong later, but with much less heartache and with fewer sore muscles.

This year’s eclipse has been on my creative mind for a while. I spent the event deep in the woods, watching crescent moons dance across a dry shale creek bed. I have been wanting to capture the feeling of this experience, and tried out a few ideas recently.


Study of eclipse

A 9 x 12 inch study of eclipse moons on Thai Unryu paper.

When looking my eclipse photographs, I noticed two things. First, the crescent moon shapes weren’t sharp, but rather were soft, and didn’t meet at points. Some were larger than others, some more complete. The variation came from the different pinholes made in the forest canopy as the light came down. I wondered if I might distinguish between the shapes with different transparent colors, even though my experience and my photographs were mostly black and white.

Second, because it was not completely dark, you could see some of the tiny leaves and detritus that was on the creek bed. This provided some important 3D cues for the image. To address this issue, I decided to print on Thai Unryu paper. Sometimes called cloud paper, this is mulberry paper with thicker, longer fibers included. I wondered if the long fibers would show through in a way that might suggest the texture of the creek bed.

sample of thai unryu paper

Thai Unryu paper has longer fibers embedded in each sheet.

I’m glad I did this 9 x 12″ test print, because I think neither of these experiments was completely successful. Even while using very small changes in tone, the crescents separate in confusing ways. And when I printed the final darkest tones of the eclipse, the thin paper was completely saturated with pigment, and the long fibers are difficult to see.

I think I will do something I haven’t done for a long time — create an image with only one color — perhaps with only two or three passes of the same color. I will stick with my trusty Rives BFK as well, as the Thai Unryu paper became saturated and began to stretch out of shape as I repeatedly printed on it.

Learning on a smaller scale. It would be great if we could approach other things in life this way!


How do you make creative work in a time of chaos?

This blog post is a long time coming. Stuck in my throat for months, today is the day when the not writing becomes more painful than the writing.

How do you make creative work in a time of chaos?

I’ve been asking myself this question for the better part of nine months, without coming to any conclusions. Over the past months, I have felt my energies pulled in areas where I am deeply concerned, but powerless to affect in an immediate sense. I have felt this from my audiences as well. It takes energy to engage with artwork. When you have spent your emotions for the day by calling your elected officials, or trying to engage with your racist cousin, you want nothing else than to sip your purchased wine and stroll past art festival booths without going in.

Great Unknown, a linocut by Elizabeth Busey

Elizabeth Busey. Great Unknown. Reduction linocut on Rives BFK. 18 x 18 in (image size), ed of 21.

I get it. I feel that way as well.

Instead of throwing myself into my materials and the swirling worries of the day, it is easier to numb my brain watching energetic people flip houses in thirty minutes to an hour. If only a fresh coat of paint, some exposed shiplap and a new backsplash of subway tile would wash away the horrors of each day’s news headlines.

Making things new. Making things better. These are valid, even valuable goals to have. But what if what I “do” now seems superfluous, even vapid and shallow? Should I create more? Should I press on with my body of work and wait until the skies clear?

Some would argue that your work should speak to the times. How I envy people whose artistic vision can dovetail seamlessly and speak directly to all of the pain, fear and anger that has arisen in the United States. Perhaps my work is an antidote to all of these feelings, but right now that does not seem to be enough.

How do you make creative work in a time of chaos?

I visited the Catalan region of Spain this summer with my husband. We spent time in the cities of Barcelona and Girona, and hiked in the Benasque region of the Pyrenees. I saw the works of the native sons of the region — Picasso and Miro. I’m not a devotee of either artist, but it was illuminating to see their progression as artists at museums that housed their work.

What was more illuminating in this trip was learning about the Spanish Civil War. Both cities still had public bomb shelters that were now contained in city parks. Plainly said, these shelters were built to protect the citizens from the bombs of their own government. Both Picasso and Miro escaped to France during the Spanish Civil War. Picasso painted his famous protest painting Guernica in 1937 in Paris, a protest of the German bombing of the city of the same name.

Some people today will create work in the vein of Picasso’s Guernica. That will be valuable. Yet most of us would not like this image to greet us daily on our living room walls.

Is creative work that is calm, peaceful, rejuvenating, or even hopeful appropriate today? Necessary?

I would like to think that it is.


In Praise of the Traveler’s Sketchbook

My husband and I are on walkabout in Spain — our first vacation together since our daughter was born 22 years ago. Traveling with my children has been among the most memorable times I have spent with them, and I wonder what it will feel like to travel without them.

As I was preparing for my trip to Spain, I was looking through the travel journals I kept during our trips to Europe when my children were 7 & 9, and four years later when they 11 & 13. The notes and the watercolor sketches tell the story of our travels and my artistic journey as well.

Young children and a novice artist make for a humorous journal

On our first trip we visited provencal France and the limestone mountains of northern Italy, and then spent a few days in Paris.

Our first holiday home, many years before AirBnB made this sort of travel accommodation easy to find.

I carried a small Windsor & Newton watercolor set, waterproof pens and a multi-media sketchbook with us everywhere. At the time I used a hiking backpack, as the water bottle holders on the sides were perfect for the two baguettes we required each day.

Water and snack breaks when hiking allowed me to capture some of the scenery.

Some of my sketches show my inexperience in composition… Although the Dentilles de Montmirail translate as “teeth” I probably should have adjusted this drawing to look a little less phallic.

Sometimes the writing is hilarious to me as well. We have a penchant for traveling to France over their national holidays when all of the stores were closed. “Finally got fresh fruit” is a common entry. I wrote about some of the not so nice parts of travel. One day I wrote: “Tom wanted the quintessential rural French hotel experience — and he got it!” I go on to describe a hotel with only one toilet for all of its guests, but curiously a bidet in each room. Further, I wrote “the beds felt as if they were made of gelatin — where they move in several directions at once.”

Gelato stops in Paris were the perfect opportunity to practice capturing the city.


The view from our hotel window in Paris. I haven’t nailed down shading and perspective yet, but when I see this sketch I remember the fabulous narrow deep European tub that soothed our tired bodies and feet.

The passage of time shows maturity for children and the artist

Four years later, we again ventured to southwestern France, northern Italy and the Mosel area of Germany. My children are now 11 & 13, capable of longer hikes and wanderings, and therefore I have fewer sketches. My writing is often done each evening.

The ruins of a castle in northern Italy that we reached after a walk through terraced olive groves.

The back of this notebook has some phrases that remind me of how my son got lost coming down from this castle. “Mio figlio perduto — my son is lost.”  “Dieci anno — he is ten years old.”  “Giallo camicia — (he is wearing) a yellow shirt.” It is hard to take a photo of someone being lost, but this brings the memory and all the emotions right back.

I brought back leaves from our hike to explore printing with them.

My painting skills are improving. I’m no longer relying on a pen sketch to create the image. I’m also using text and shapes to explore ideas when there wasn’t something special to paint. On this day (below) we visited the Otzi, the man from the Copper Age who was found frozen in a glacier. A fascinating experience, but it did not seem appropriate to paint an ancient dead human.

Sometimes I used the sketchbook for calculations. In this case, we try to figure out just how hot the hot springs were to decide whether we should pay the entry fee. At 95 degrees F, we thought it wasn’t worth it. Plus the guys did not have the requisite Speedos.

It is hard to understand my sketch here, but if you read the text you might be able to decipher that warm water was supposed to be gushing from the rock. As spoiled Americans, we did not think it was warm enough.

It amazes me that trips that I took nine and eleven years ago become vivid once again when I see and read these entries. I remember that I painted this sketch of a hillside hermitage while squatting on a trail. My family had gone exploring, but I had to kindly chat with each hiking party as they passed with only my poor traveller’s French.

A hillside hermitage is a challenging subject for an watercolorist, including me.

Why some journals get filled, and others do not

I did find a journal from our trip two year’s ago to Amsterdam and Berlin. My children were 18 & 20. I only wrote on the first page, perhaps in the airport or on the plane. Our trip this time was punctuated by almost adult children wanting to venture off on their own — developmentally appropriate, but stressful for me. Strange hours, poor sleep and the ambivalent feelings of an older parent meant I spent no time with my journal.

This trip I am determined to sketch and write each day. I have a sketchbook that is small enough to fit into my purse. I will send my photographer husband off to take some photos while I lounge beneath a tree, or on a rock, and try to capture the sense of my surroundings.

Art and writing provide us with a muscle memory that photography alone cannot. Time to flex those muscles…


Staying Inspired When You Can’t Create

How do you stay inspired when you can’t create? Maybe your studio has been flooded by a wet spring. Perhaps the tendons and muscles in your thumbs demand rest. What if you are forced to be on bed rest to recover your health? Two on-line series provide me with inspiration, even when I have my feet up…

Dried ink -- up close supporting bar on my rubber roller.

When I can’t create, I look for unexpected images with my Iphone. This one is the supporting bar of one of the rollers in my studio.

Netflix’s Abstract

Netflix’s new eight part series Abstract is an absolute delight. Each 45-minute episode profiles a different design professional. We learn where their ideas come from, how they began, and most importantly how they go about creating.

Episodes include:

  • Christoph Niemann: Illustrator
  • Ilse Crawford: Interior Designer
  • Tinker Hatfield: Shoe Designer
  • Paula Scher: Graphic Designer
  • Platon: Photographer
  • Bjarke Ingels: Architect
  • Ralph Gilles: Automotive Designer
  • Es Devlin: Stage Designer

I used to have favorite episodes, but after seeing all of them, I would recommend watching them straight through. I find watching people create a calming yet stimulating experience, as well as a hopeful interlude while you wait to get back to your own creating.

Illustrator Christoph Niemann

Illustrator Christoph Niemann is the genius behind many notable New Yorker magazine covers.

Craft in America

Craft in America is a PBS series created in conjunction with the Craft in America Center. While most episodes focus on three -dimensional or low-relief two dimensional work, they do include printmaker Tom Killion in an episode on process. On the Craft in America site, you can search by episode theme, location and even medium. I could lose myself in this site for days.

Craft in America artistsCraft in America artists are fascinating to watch, and tell inspiring stories.


So whether you are cooped up by circumstance or weather or health, there is always something you can watch to stay inspired.

What are your inspirations?




Make more art in 2017, but how?

I’m one of those people who loves New Year’s. I appreciate an annual moment to take stock and make a new plan. I have a solo show in a large gallery space in April, so for the next three months, the entire goal is MAKE MORE ART.

Aspirations for the New Year are great, but will be unattainable without a plan.

Goals need a plan

It is one thing to set a goal, but to achieve it, you need a plan. You need actual steps and deadlines so you can see if you are making progress or not. I am not an artist who avoids the studio, but one of the things I noticed from my 2016 evaluation was that my actual productivity wasn’t nearly what I thought. Printmaking takes copious amounts of time, some of which is in your control, and some of which isn’t. Inks dry when they want, paper deliveries can be delayed, or the huge table saw you need to cut your next block can be unavailable.

I realize that in order to make more art, I need to use whatever time I have more efficiently by minimizing distractions.

Taming the devices

I love my smart phone. I delight in having something in my pocket to communicate instantly with my family and friends, take photos and listen to music or podcasts. Not having my phone with me during the studio day is not an option. This device is chief distraction for me, however, so I’ve planning to do several things to help me focus.

• Put it in airline mode
If I really need to concentrate, airline mode means no notifications or texts. My family can call me on my landline if they need to speak with me. But I can still listen to downloaded podcasts or my music.

• Turn off notifications
I still have my email accessible on my phone, but without that enticing number in the corner of the mail icon, maybe I won’t be tempted to check email so often.

• Decide when to interact
One of my main challenges is to decide when to look at email and social media. Perhaps my best strategy is to check the email once in the morning for things that need an immediate response, and then plan a time to sit down and respond at my desktop in the afternoons. The same goes for social media. I will only look at Facebook and Instagram when I’m prepared to post and respond.

Making a plan for action

Because of the current political climate in the United States, I often feel anxious after I read newspaper and online articles. Social and environmental issues I care about are in flux and I often feel powerless. Political scientists state that one important thing people can do is to directly contact their elected representatives, especially by mail.

Postcards to the rescue! I plan to use my leftover postcards to contact my elected officials. Make sure to have addresses and stamps handy.

I’ve decided to press my leftover postcards into service. I’m printing out address labels for my senators and representatives, both national and for Indiana, plus lay in a supply of stamps. When I read or hear about a potential issue about which I am concerned, I can very easily fire off a brief postcard to the appropriate people. If the issue is urgent, I can immediately place a phone call to my representative’s office, because I have their phone numbers in my phone. I make sure to leave my full name and address each time.

YOU can make your own resource list and labels.  Go to to create your own list. Do it right now before you forget.

I may not be in the majority, but I can ensure that my opinions are counted. Actual mail — especially handwritten — counts most, by the way, followed by phone calls. Those fun internet petitions, while easy, may not make that much difference.

Making a way for me to quickly send a response is my best attempt at dealing with my anxieties, and getting back to my studio work. After all, those gallery walls won’t fill themselves.


Artists need to be in shape

Artists need to be in shape. This is not one of those annual missives that occur around the New Year, exhorting people to improve their physical health. Artists certainly don’t need to be athletes, but art making is a physical activity, and thus taking care of your body is extremely important.

The studio is an inherently physical place.

All it takes is one twinge

I have been working out at an exercise studio almost daily since August. I started this regime for stress relief and distraction, but I do find that I feel more fit and strong. Yet all of this bodywork could not save me from injuring myself while lifting the heavy block for Emancipation of the Sun. It is 25 x 40 inches and weighs about ten pounds. As I tried to lift it up and over the rollers and gears on my press, I felt something give in my shoulder. This led to two weeks of complete incapacity, ibuprofen and heating pads. Finally, my GP sent me to physical therapy.

Posture is everything

In my two weeks of agony, I discovered that if I stood with rigid military posture, the muscle spasms and tingling in my left shoulder blade would subside. My physical therapist confirmed that my tendency to slump my shoulders and lean forward, plus my weak shoulder muscles, were the problem. Exercises with colorful bands were prescribed, plus a way to stretch out the front of my shoulders which get tight when leaning forward.

I purchased a three foot firm foam roller, and now use it frequently to open up my chest. It is hard to keep perfect posture when I am carving, or rolling out ink, and taking a break each hour to stretch is very helpful. Most things we do — whether at a desk, looking at our electronics or working in the studio — encourage us to lean forward and slump our shoulders, so I highly recommend the foam roller.

Getting support for standing

On printing days, I can stand for hours. I find that two things help keep my legs and feet in good condition. Compression calf sleeves — sold to runners who suffer from shin splints — keep the blood flowing up from my feet and ankles and make me feel less tired. Plus they come in super neon colors.

I haven’t been brave enough to wear my calf sleeves with shorts yet.

The floor in my studio is a cement slab which can be hard on the feet, even when I am wearing good shoes or clogs. I purchased two anti-fatigue mats for my studio that I can move around depending on my activity.

Do not forget your hands

The length of  time I can spend in the studio is often governed by how my hands are feeling. I can only carve for a few hours, and need to take lots of breaks, especially when I am using my Foredom drill. I found these gloves meant for knitters help support my hands and keep them warm in the winter.

Pushing too hard for productivity

The biggest danger to my artistic practice is my impatience. I wish I could carve or print for hours upon hours, but I know that my productivity in the coming days will only suffer if I push too hard. Stopping before things hurt, stretching, going for a power walk and switching activities are just some of my artistic training strategies.

What secrets do you have for keeping your creative self in the best physical shape?


Why would you want to print on silk? Part 2

Water is not a friend of relief printmakers who usually print on dry paper. Water sinks into the fibers of printmaking paper and makes it buckle and ripple. After this, registration is a problem. So when I set about glueing silk fabric onto Rives BFK, finding a glue with a large enough open time and low enough water content was a challenge.

Cutting the silk

(See Why would you want to print on silk? Part 1 to see how I stabilized and dyed the silk.) Before glueing, I had to cut the silk down to the size of the block so it would register. Using the block as a guide, a very sharp Exacto blade was a quick way to trim the dyed silk down to size.


Even with a sharp Exacto knife, cutting away the silk was tricky.

The secret glue recipe

After trial and error with PVA (an archival white glue), rice paste, and methyl cellulose, I settled on a three-quarters PVA and one-quarter methyl cellulose mix. The PVA provides a strong bond, but dries almost instantly in the very thin layer that is needed for my purposes. Methyl cellulose, which creates a hair gel like substance when mixed with water, put enough water into the mix to allow for a very brief open time.


Work quickly from the center outward, making sure to go over all the edges.

Thanks to several bookbinding videos on mounting silk onto paper, I learned to work fast with a rubber scraper, pulling the glue from the center across the silk and off onto the newsprint. (You need to use new newsprint for each piece of silk.)  Any globs of glue will squeeze out when run through the press, so an thin even layer is critical.

A chine collè of sorts with silk


Quickly transfer the silk — glue-side up — onto the block that is registered in the jig.

After getting the silk all glue-y, I had to work fast to orient it on my block (glue-side up please!) so that it would register later with my lino block. On the first pass I made the mistake of having the block lino side up, which gave a much more embossed effect, but less consistent glueing. The registered printing paper is gently lowered onto the glued silk, run through the press, and then you get…

Taking the time to dry right


The silk is glued down to the Rives BFK, but needs some time and pressure to convince it to stay flat.

Here the silk is adhered to the paper (above), but remember we still have the freezer paper on one side of the silk. To make sure that the silk dries as flat as possible, I sandwiched the newly glued paper/silk combo with newsprint and blotter paper, and let this stand under old lino blocks over night.

Finally the linocut takes shape


Carefully peel the freezer paper off the silk starting at one corner.

After everything is dry, you can carefully lift one corner and pull off the freezer paper. A corner or two may need a bit more glue… Now it is time to add the lino block. Here are several versions as I thought about seasons, and had a bit of fun with colors that you don’t typically see in the forest. The topo lines are taken from an actual place in the Deam Wilderness (near Bloomington, IN) poetically called Cope Hollow.





In my painting, I used a reversed image of the block as a crude guide to have the colors follow the topo lines. Lucky for me, the colors seem to move through the silk for a long time, and the merging effect is better that I could have imagined.

An art-group friend asked why I was insisting on glueing down textiles instead of letting them float freely. I don’t have an answer to this yet, but perhaps some hanging silk will be in my future. For now I’m enjoying the free-flowing intense colors that dyed silk brings to my linocuts.