Like most kids in the 70s and 80s, I grew up with the traditional and practically obligatory art influences. The works of Norman Rockwell, John James Audubon, Leonardo daVinci printed in old calendars, were hung on the wall or displayed on the coffee table in books (right under the full-color glossy tome of King Tut’s treasures). But it wasn’t until I got into high school when I discovered other, more interesting influences. For a time I was absolutely wild about Aubrey Beardsley and made work in “homage” to his. Alphonse Mucha had a similar effect on me as I attempted to absorb all of that wonderful swoopy design of the Art Nouveau movement. Sometimes I directly “borrowed” elements of it for my own imagery as I learned how to unlock its system.
The influence of of Hokusai and Hiroshige’s block printed art was more subtle. It was with their imagery that I began to understand how to incorporate someone else’s handling of pictorial space into my work without stealing their specific ideas. I began to see the universality of design and how these are shared across artists and cultures and expressed in countless variety.
Finding the work of Maxfield Parrish and JC Leyendecker reinforced this idea. I really liked how Parrish applied his paint in multiple thin layers over a drawing. When I first started to learn oil painting, I used that strategy in my work. The striking design of the large paintings of Georgia O’Keefe stopped me in my tracks and I understood that I wanted to explore more of the intimate botanical world in paint.
And because I lived with Mark Zug for a decade I really do have to count his work and his influences (Frank Frazetta, NC Wyeth) to a large degree. I truly learned how to paint during those years we shared a studio and that approach to painting is still the method I typically use. And, I remain quite fond of all of his subject matter.
But I kept finding more influences.
Sometime in 1989 (?) I was on campus in the great library of UCSD and discovered a giant folio of the works of Walter Linsenmaier which blew my mind. I had an epiphany. Field natural history was a genre of illustration! I was greatly attracted to from the depths of my soul and so I began generating a portfolio of insects and plants.
This image is from Swiss artist Walter Linsenmaier’s book, Insects of the World. Linsenmaier worked in colored pencil on vellum and was a self-taught entomologist (and yes, I have a copy of his book in my library).
Fast forward a decade or so, past college and into my grad school years at MICA and I began to be introduced to more art. In order to grow my practice into a modern one I needed to expand my awareness of what was possible with my work. Gleefully, I glommed on to the slithery paintings of Francis Bacon. Perused the highly contrasting work of Tamara DeLimpicka. Got my eyeballs full of the heroic paintings of Jenny Saville. And I also found some really terrific illustrators and painters I didn’t know much about like Virgil Finlay and MC Escher, both having work that is amazingly, beautifully well-designed.
Currently, I find myself dazzled by a few of the artisans of the American and British Arts & Craft movement, specifically William Morris, Ernest Batchelder, and Adelaide Alsop Robineau as I make the crossover in my mind from 2-d space to the pictorial design space of clay and back again.
Although it’s possible the viewer might catch a glimpse of something in my design that illuminates the pathways I’ve taken to get about my own work, I try to make it so that the specifics of these influences aren’t at all visible. Perhaps that’s not as important as seeing how these artists and their work made me think about creating my own.
What are your influences, gentle Art Gnome? Feel free to share them in the comment section below.
Your work's right to exist doesn't depend on whether you've been validated, or trained, or praised, or paid. It depends on whether you show up for it.
A friend of mine and I have been arguing about realism in art. It started with a conversation about photo reference. It prompted a larger question in my mind: what makes realism meaningful in the first place? And how much of it does a viewer actually need?
Some of my sigil tiles sprouted wings—so naturally, the paintings had to follow. In this post, I share how clay sketches began transforming into small oil paintings, carrying the Eye of Providence and other symbols into dreamlike new forms.
Why do I sculpt so many eyes into my work? It’s a question I get asked a lot—sometimes nervously. The answer has more to do with protection, presence, and ancient symbolism than you might expect...
Asimov’s I, Robot stories; the idea of positronic brains, the laws of robotics, etc., fascinated me. I loved the mix of complex ancient civilizations, philosophy, and science fiction. His writing made the potential exploration of worlds by future beings seem so vast and interesting.
What has become pretty clear to me is this: Artists who use their work or others’ work to train an AI to spit out images for them to paint are completely missing the real value of what they potentially could get from working with an AI assistant.
Some time ago, my friend, Marian, asked me to make a sigil tile for her. What the heck was that? I thought. A sigil, or “seal” is a magical symbol of a desired outcome based on a word.
I’ll be attempting to provide you with shorter blog posts more frequently— once or twice a week — to fill you in on what’s happening in my studio.
Recently, I downloaded the ChatGPT app to see what all the fuss was about and I was pleasantly surprised at how immediately the AI made itself useful…
Recently, I sold this little piece and was quite happy to hear that the buyer was someone who was familiar with my ceramics (they have a handful of monsterpots) but was totally unfamiliar with my drawings and paintings…
Can we separate the artist from their output? Can we value the genius of an artist’s ouvre if the artist is a jerk? Conversely, if the artist is a genuinely stellar human being but their work is sort of meh, will their art be as memorable and legacy-worthy? I think this question merits real analysis because I think it sheds a lot of light on how art is consumed by the public. It’s always said that people don’t buy art, they’re buying the artist. But why?
One of the challenges I faced while making ceramics over the past several years is how to re-create something as it was the first time. Someone will say— “Oooh, I love that!” and want the same thing. This is where molds and stamps come in handy….
Making the award sculptures for ConGlomeration’s Art Show was a fantastic time. Being given carte blanche meant I could just have a blast imagining anything at all…
While art-making isn’t as high stakes as eating a wild mushroom, sometimes it can feel just as terrifying to “trust the process” when you don’t have a clue where your work is going or how you’ll get it where you want it to be.
Art collaborations are quite interesting. There’s Warhol & Basquiat, Dali & Buñuel, Björk & Barney, and the list goes on. Artists work together to stretch their abilities and techniques, and to gain important feedback about their work. In a collaborative visual artwork, you’re also “listening” to what the other artist is creating …
Laura Ingalls’ book and series, Little House on the Prairie, about her life as a pioneer, was an incredibly influential bit of literature for me in an important time in my life. Few books had such a lasting effect on me as this one did.
We sometimes hear people referring to their children and family surname as their “legacy” and this is an oft heralded achievement. But when artists use that word, legacy, it’s suspect. Is it because we’re not dead yet? Because we haven’t yet finished the work? Perhaps legacy is…
What is letterlocking? It's the old practice of sewing and sealing your letter with wax to create an “envelope” to ensure that the letter hasn’t been read and that it hasn’t been tampered with. In 2022, unopened letters from Mary Queen of Scots surfaced and were unsealed by historians. The banished rival of Queen Elizabeth I used a “dagger”…
In 2023, my keyword is commitment. It’s not a very flashy word inspiring a lot of boldness or risk, but one that speaks of quiet grit. It’s a word that really describes what I feel is an appropriate focal point for my current thought.
You see, I know what burn-out is….
I started working on weekends and summers when I turned 14. My very first job was cleaning hotel rooms. The cigarette smoke and weird smells of the aerosol cleaners weren’t a great combination (and people can be really gross), but I could walk to work and…
Sometime in the mid-90s, I had the opportunity to visit Harlan Ellison and his wife Susan at their home in Thousand Oaks, CA, and what I remember most was the gargoyles they had hanging over the garage entrance. When I got home, I just had to try making some of my own….
“Moonpots” are my variation on the 1000-year-old Yixing tradition of making lidded teapots. The Jiangsu region boasts a unique purple sand clay which the artisans use to produce beautifully hued ware, but it’s the method and precision of the construction of the pots which first grabbed my attention when I became aware of this tradition.
Okay, so this blog post is a little off the beaten art path, but I had a conversation with someone today which made me realize that I use a specific strategy…
Like most kids in the 70s and 80s, I grew up with the traditional and practically obligatory art influences — Norman Rockwell, John James Audubon, Leonardo daVinci— seen as an old calendar page framed and hung on the wall or as a fancy coffee table book (right under the full-color glossy tome of King Tut’s treasures) but it wasn’t until…
Hoo boy, I get asked this question a lot. I’d quit the small art college I was attending in the 80s to work for an illustrator as his ghost painter. Back then, I’d have said an art degree was a waste of time. After I’d graduated from college with my bachelor’s degree in the early aughts, I was pretty darned sure that a college degree was the best thing anyone could do for their life in general. Later I earned my master’s at MICA and the experience was…
For the past couple of decades, a late December tradition has been to look back on the past 12 months and give its passing some kind of assessment. I remember all the wonderful people in my year and the “successes” for which I’m grateful, and then there are the things that didn’t go as planned but I’m still happy if I learn something from the experience. This exercise is also accompanied by a list of
You know that fun little new avatar creator, the Lensa app, that’s exploding in popularity right now? It’s made your new favorite avatars on your social media, it’s cheap, and best of all, you can tell it to make up to 50 avatars in a variety of art styles. Is it just harmless fun?
The Monsterpots are what you’d call a staple in my Kest Pottery shop. In marketing parlance, it’s called a “signature item” that I make all the time and it’s a unique thing. One might call it a branded work and in doing so, I betray the fact that I’ve been doing waaaaayyyy too much research about marketing.
Say “SEO” and my stomach churns a bit and I feel a low grade anxiety, but I can’t place its source. It’s just a phrase that describes the rules that govern how other people search stuff online. According to web wizards like Neil Patel, how your product/ offering/ service is searched by the majority of us humans is the guide by which you should choose your keywords— and not how you would maybe categorize it or describe it yourself.
Most artists have been taught that self-critique means finding what's wrong and fixing it. But real self-critique isn't subtractive — it's gravitational. Here's how to find the signal that actually guides your best work.