Category: Creativity Q+A

Jan Johnson Doerfer, 73, feels better when she is creating, when she can go down to the beach and watch the water, or connect with the birds, or add to a collection of sticks that are “art waiting to be made.” Creative work has been a constant thread throughout her adult life. Now, this enduring and driving passion is Jan’s primary focus.

This interview was conducted in October 2024 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.

Pictured: Jan Johnson Doerfer

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Describe the medium in which you work.

I started out primarily painting with watercolor; but then I got into working with pastel. Nowadays, I do some acrylic painting, some watercolor. Plus, I like to work with wood. I’ve got a huge collection of pieces of wood, sticks I’ve collected over the years from various places in the woods, or on the beach, wherever I find them — they are waiting to be made into art.

Is there anything particular about the wood you find in the wild that appeals to you?

I’m very inspired by nature. So, I’m always looking at natural things, whether it be wood, stones, bird feathers. I’m always looking around for interesting items when I’m out walking.

You started with watercolor, and then you began to explore and work in other media. Is there any particular reason why?

I started with watercolor because I love the transparency of it; but I think what happened, over time, was I started exploring other mediums to see what they do. I still love watercolor; but it’s very challenging. You have to put it down and get it right. You can’t erase it, or cover it over — it starts getting muddy. It’s very spontaneous. For that reason, I do like other media that give you a chance to play, to paint over it, adapt it, modify.

 Did you receive any formal training in visual art? 

I have not had a whole lot of formal training. I’ve always considered myself an artist. I’ve always loved drawing and painting. When I got into high school, there were four art teachers on the staff, and an extensive art program. I focused on that — until I was a senior. I had the head of the department as my teacher, and he totally turned me off of art, which was really sad. He had a certain way he wanted things done, and would not allow for [his students their] own creativity, exploration, experimentation. I wondered why I would want to [go to art school] and have someone telling me how to do art? So, I went to college [Miami of Ohio in the early 1970s] and became an English major instead. When I was a senior [in college], I did take a life drawing class and loved it; but at that point, I’d already committed to being an English major. As I began my life as an adult, I was still drawn to art, and started taking different workshops and classes. I lived in Ohio for a while, I had two little kids, and I lived in a small rural town [Waldo, Ohio] where I didn’t know anyone. It was difficult. I discovered a woman in Columbus, Ohio, who had been a teacher [at Ohio State University], who was doing a weekly workshop in painting out of her home. I joined her group. For many years, I ended up going weekly to that two-hour session, and I loved it. She’d start the class by showing work by various artists, different painting techniques. I learned a lot from her. When I moved to Suttons Bay, I took a pastel class from a woman in Traverse City, in her home. I also did a workshop with Suzanne Wilson [who helped found the Glen Arbor Art Association, now Glen Arbor Arts Center] in plein air painting. It was fabulous. And, that has been my training.

I’m interested that you began to ferret out teachers when you needed to learn something. Talk about that.

What’s the expression? When the need arises, the teacher comes. In certain periods of my life, I’ve been very open to the belief that art was really important to me, and I needed to focus on it. At those points, I would seek out — and I can’t remember how I found some of these teachers — and find something that would stimulate me. I do need motivation, and classes are a wonderful way to do that. With classes, you have an assignment. When I’m working on my own, everything else gets in the way: I need to go to the store and get groceries, go out and do something in the garden. That’s something I’ve struggled with all my life. How do you give [your creative practice] the time and importance its due?

In 1981 you began a card shop, and your work was the centerpiece of that business.

When I was doing the class in Columbus, I became interested in silk screen printing, and asked the instructor where I could learn silk screening. She set up a small seminar with another teacher [who worked in silk screen printing]. And I became very entranced with that. So, I decided I was going to get some silk screen supplies, and I was going to make some cards. I wanted to do something I could sell. I needed to make some money with my art. I was a stay-at-home mom, my husband was working, and I really wanted to do something that would make some money for me. I designed 10 different Christmas card designs … [and printed] 50 cards of each design. This was at the beginning of Autumn. I went to Columbus, to several little galleries and gift shops on the day after Thanksgiving. People laughed at me, and told me they’d bought their Christmas cards in June. But they looked at them, and I ended up selling all of them. I began to figure out how that business works. I started that in 1981. [In 1986, Jan and her family moved to Suttons Bay, and opened a card shop there called Loon Art Designs.] I ended up getting divorced in 1994; but my ex-husband and I kept the business going for two or three years after that. I was ready to move onto other things. The card company grew where I couldn’t do my own silk screening. Eventually I found a sheltered workshop [in Ohio] for people with disabilities. I taught them the whole process. Then a commercial silk screen company that had primarily done logos on hats and shirts for sport teams began producing my cards.

One of the things I find interesting about this story is that size doesn’t matter; you just needed to be making. Because of your life circumstances, you started small, with a card; but you were doing creative work. At the same time, you were learning about the business side of doing creative work. It suggests that developing a practice can start with anything and anywhere.

Creative work extends to so many other things. Cooking is creative. Gardening is creative. Decorating your home is creative. After Loon Art closed in 1985, I started writing. I decided I wanted to write and illustrate children’s books. I wrote a first draft of a young adult novel; but I never got it published. I wrote another book, I See A Bird!, and I self-published it. It started with my granddaughters, one of whom was very interested in birds, and she was only 2. I would make up poems about the birds we were seeing, and recite them to her. I decided to a kids book about birds would be interesting, so I just did it. Birds are one of my passions.

 Describe your studio.

It’s a little room that’s the third bedroom in our house. It’s small; but I’ve got it set up just with the stuff I love. At times I wish I had a big studio where you can be really messy with stacks of canvases all over the place; but this works for me.

What themes/ideas are the focus of your work?

Birds are a big thing. Water. Natural things, mostly.

You exhibited two works in the GAAC’s Shrines + Altars show that are mixed media, and combine 2D and 3D. How often do your works migrate between 2D and 3D?

Three D[imension] is something that’s fairly new for me to be doing. I love it, and will be doing more of it in the future. I have this collection of sticks, and they’re in the breezeway [of her home]. My husband has asked me, so many times, What are you going to do with all these sticks? Can we get rid of them? No. We can’t. When I did the two pieces [for the Shrines + Altars exhibit], I said, See. This is why I have all these sticks. It’s art waiting to be made.

What’s your favorite tool?

A good paint brush. I love the feel of the right brush in my hand. The whole thing: the weight of it, the bristles, the way it moves paint across the surface.

What tools do you use to make notes and record thoughts about your work?

Nothing fancy. Notebooks. Scraps of paper. Sketchbooks. At times I think why can’t I be organized about keeping this stuff together. I’ll be looking at something, and come upon doodles, or little sketches I made, which I’ve forgotten all about. One thing I use a lot now is Pinterest. When I see something I really love, I have an art folder on Pinterest, and I can save it there.

When did you commit to working with serious intent? What were the circumstances?

When I started the greeting card company. The circumstances were that I was very isolated. I was living in an environment that didn’t feed my soul. I didn’t have any close friends, and I had two little children at home. I really wanted to allow my soul to expand, to be able to do what I needed to do to feel a sense of who I am. Now that I’ve retired, suddenly I have this time I’m free to use for exploring art, and creating. It’s a wonderful thing to have. So much of my life has been filled with other responsibilities. [Jan said that most of her adult work life has been spent with books — in books stores and municipal and school/college libraries.]

How hard has it been throughout the years to create the space and time and space you need to do your practice?

I’ve struggled with my feeling of commitment to taking care of others and being there for them; and what time and space I need for myself. [Both of her husbands] have been very supportive. I’m lucky in that regard. I haven’t had someone saying, What! You didn’t clean the house today! But it’s that inner sense, that I have to take care of the things I have to take care of that is the obstacle for me. As a child, I didn’t grow up in a family, with parents who said, How can we support your artistic inclinations? I wonder what would have happened if they’d said to me, Hey! You want to go take a class at the art institute this summer? I wasn’t the kind to say I want to do this. I was a nice girl. My dad was an electrical engineer, so he wasn’t geared toward art. My mom was a housewife and felt that women weren’t meant to be doing other things. I think: If only I’d had more support; but we have what we have, and manage somehow, and maybe it creates strength.

What role does social media play in your practice?

Very little. When I made the bird book I created a website. I thought I’d do a blog; but it all sort of petered out. I don’t have a social media presence.

What do you believe is the visual artist’s/creative practitioner’s role in the world?

To create beauty, or controversy, or make us think beyond the mere appearance of things. The artist is here to help us expand our vision. To go beyond the norm.

What parts of the world find their way into your work? We know that sticks do.

“Spirituality” is a broad term; but my understanding of spiritually, I want that to be incorporated into my work. Along with nature, of course. Nature is my spirituality. Over time, some of the social issues — climate change, how really horrible the future looks, how we really ought to be paying more attention — I would like to do more with that so that people will think about it a little more.

You lived for a time in Colorado, and that caused you to want to return to the Midwest to live, to be closer to water. How does living in Northern Michigan inform and influence your creative practice?

It’s hard to narrow it down. Everything about it. The water. The quality of the water. The different colors and textures of it. The way the waves are moving. We live very close to the [Grand Traverse] bay, and I can just walk down to the beach to be able to see what the waves are doing today. and how many rocks have moved onto shore today, and what are the patterns in the sand, and what has washed up on shore. Also, the cloud formations, and the colors of the sunset at times. Driving from [her home] to Glen Arbor, and seeing the trees, and the colors of the leaves, and the hillsides, and the textures of the fields and the trees and the orchards: It’s just wonderful. We live in a really special place.

Who has had the greatest and most lasting influence on your work and practice?

The people and teachers I’ve encountered in the various workshops I’ve taken. The painting teacher in Columbus: She opened up my mind, and exposed me to a lot of famous artists, and different types of work, and just being able to talk about other people. I appreciate her mentoring.

Where or to whom do you go when you need honest feedback about your work?

I wish I had a group of artist friends to get together with. I share with my friends, in general. And my husband is interested in what I’m working on, will ask questions, and give me some feedback.

What is the role of exhibiting in your practice?

Not very much. I was thrilled to be part of the GAAC’s Shrines + Altars exhibit. I’m not interested in selling stuff anymore. I like the idea of sharing, and having people see my work. I don’t want to feel a pressure that I have to make something great.

What drives your impulse to make?

It’s innate. I just feel better when I’m creating. If I’m not creating, I get kind of depressed and feel low energy. It enlivens me.

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Sarah Bearup-Neal develops and curates Glen Arbor Arts Center exhibitions. She maintains a studio practice focused on fiber and collage.

Deep Wood Press is situated on four acres in Antrim County, surrounded by 450 acres of land under the protection and stewardship of the Michigan Nature Association. This is Chad Pastotnik’s home, backyard, place of work, and shelter from the storm of contemporary life. This maker of hand-built, hand-crafted fine press books, age 56, bought the property in 1992, built a book bindery, and began creating a life and vocation focused on making beautiful things. “Nobody knows who I am in the region,” he said. But in the arcane world of fine press books, it’s another story.

This interview was conducted in October 2024 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.

Pictured: Chad Pastotnik

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Describe the medium in which you work. What is your work?

Private press books. The medium encompasses several disciplines: printmaking, bookbinding, designer bindings; the graphic arts of layout and design, and planning such things as books. It’s all done in-house, here [Deep Wood Press]. The type is cast on my linotype machine, in a separate building; brought over, proofed, corrected, printed onto fine, handmade papers from around the world, or specially made for the project at hand; the inclusion of original artwork; and then onto the bindery here. Basically, the only things that aren’t done here are making the paper and skinning the goats: That’s the primary leather we use for fine bindings. It’s traditional. Goat or calf [skin] are often used.

Is this a one-person operation? Or, do you have people who work with you?

It’s primarily me. I do take apprentices and students on occasion. On Tuesday, I have three of my former students and apprentices showing up to sew 60 copies of a book.

In your cosmos, is creating 60 books a big project?

It’s medium. My editions top out at 100 [books] these days. That’s primarily to expedite things. The bindery is the slowest process. Just staying under a certain number of books keeps me moving onto the next one.

Could you define what a fine press book is.

In modern meaning, it probably has its origins with the Arts and Crafts Movement. They brought back beautiful objects, and books were one of those things. Printing had become pretty well automated at that point, and book design was suffering greatly. Some interested individuals began promoting books beautiful once again, and presenting these kinds of editions — mostly classics on beautiful paper and well designed. So that tradition has carried forward into the 21st Century; but letterpress printing is no longer a viable, commercial entity, supplanted by computers and offset printing, and ink jet on-demand. Now it has become an even more specialized form of making books. I make books using pretty much the same practices as they did 150 years ago, and, essentially, the same forms as 500 years ago. Not much has changed here at Deep Wood.

I would imagine that when a fine press book is created, it’s usually not something like a Nancy Drew mystery; that the contents between the two covers have some special qualities, or are precious for some reason. Talk about that.

All the books I do speak to me in some way. Some of the books are definitely produced with some commercial ideas. All the books I do are on speculation. I don’t do much commission work. So if I commit two years of my life to a project, I have to have a pretty good idea that it’s going to sell. At the same time, for some of the smaller projects, I take on regional writers who aren’t necessarily known outside of my markets; but I still make the book because it has more meaning for me than a financial concern; the books I’ve done with Mike Delp, Jerry Dennis and Anne-Marie Oomen are all pure speculation. Most of my books are sold out pretty quickly, and they go to private collections around the world. As much as I love my regional writer friends, they’re not necessarily known outside of Michigan, the Midwest. So, name recognition with a book I’m pitching in England goes a long way. I’m at that happy point now where if I make it, they generally buy it.

Why do you think that’s true?

I’ve been doing this for 30 years, and I’m pretty good at it. I’m just lucky, I guess.

I can’t imagine there’s a lot of you doing fine press books.

Not a lot, no. I probably know most of them. We have a series of shows around the world that a lot of us travel to, giving the special and private collections people an opportunity to come to one place and do the hands-on thing. It’s an interesting group of people. There’s a lot of craft-centric parts to [bookmaking], so there’s a lot of people on that end. [On the other end of the spectrum] the book arts are now purely conceptual, and there are a lot of objects that sort of resemble a book.

When, and how, were you first introduced to this discipline?

Probably as an undergrad. I went to Grand Valley. And, [in the late 1980s] my professor [Delles Henke] had come from the University of Iowa, which has a long tradition of books arts. [Henke] showed us a couple of books he had done; but I wasn’t particularly interested in fine press then; The bookbinding part really intrigued me. At the time, I was doing really small engravings in copper, and they lent themselves to the book form. It wasn’t I until I got to be a better bookbinder that I wanted to introduce words. I found an old printer who was closing up shop on the northwest side of Grand Rapids, and he taught me some basics.

What draws you to the creation of fine press books?

I like being unique. There aren’t too many people who do it. I love the process — I’m a total junky for the process, the history, everything about books. The typefaces. The equipment. It’s the ultimate vehicle for information — or was for millennia. It’s all just beautiful. And the possibilities are unlimited. I could live five lifetimes, and still have things to learn.

What formal training did you have, specifically, for creating a fine press book?

None. I’ve done plenty of workshops through the Guild of Bookworkers, which is a national organization. So, if I want to learn a certain binding style, or leather tool technique, I can take a workshop. On the letterpress end of things, I did find myself in Iowa, not in a degree capacity; but I became friends with the people who were teaching the books arts there. Basically, I got a free education just for showing up. I got educated; but in indirect ways.

Describe your studio/work space you occupy.

There are 1 1/2 buildings devoted to it. The big intaglio press, and the typecasting are in a building 50 feet from here. The main studio is a building in two parts: half is the press room, the other half is the bindery, my office. It’s just full of stuff. In the early 90s, when I built the bindery part of the studio, print shops were giving away all the old letterpress stuff. They were making way for the new Xerox color printers and other things. Most of the stuff I got was free, for the cost of moving. It was the perfect time to get into letterpress because I was able to secure so much of this valuable equipment for little or nothing, and mostly from the region. The linotype machine came from Charlevoix where it used to make ballots, and newspapers. The only equipment I brought from a distance was a Little Giant [printing press] from a Carmelite Monastery in New Jersey.

I wonder if some of the people from whom you obtained your equipment scratched their heads and wondered, What’s up with this guy? He wants this old hunk of metal?

Certainly. The linotype machine guy said he’d deliver it to make sure he could get it out of his building.

Who typically comes to you wanting you to create a hand-printed, hand-bound book? And why?

Most of them are totally ignorant of the process. They don’t understand the costs involved. The other end of that spectrum is someone who does understand, and is still very interested in having their work produced. I’m finishing up a commission job at the moment. It’s 60 books, and it’s [the customer’s] second, fine press book. He’s got no wife, no kids, so he wants this to be his legacy. I don’t usually take this kind of commission work; but [the customer] was an exception. And, of course, anything Glenn [Wolff] and Jerry [Dennis] bring to me is instantly considered because it’s just so much fun.

People’s understanding of how books are created is now defined by different forces. You can push a button now, and have Amazon create, on-demand, 100 books in no time. Does that kind of understanding follow people when they come to you? 

Even when you do books on-demand, you have to use their tools to do a little bit of formatting. I think there’s a big disconnect — I see this with a lot of young graphic designers; they don’t understand the process after it leaves their screen.

What’s your favorite tool?

Maybe my Vandercook press. There’s so little I ever need to do to it. It always gives me the results I’m looking for.

What tools do you use to make notes and record thoughts about your work?

I wish I were more organized; but usually it’s whatever scrap of paper is conveniently near. I’m organized enough that all those notes make it into one folder for each project — both for my own benefit, and I have places approaching me for my archive. I want things to make sense down the road.

Is this a personal archive? Or has the Smithsonian come knocking on your door?

U of M [University of Michigan].

Do they want your papers? And stuff?

Yes.

Did they tell you why?

I’m a Michigan Cultural Asset [a designation that comes out of the Michigan State University Michigan Traditional Arts Program.]

That must have blown your mind.

It’s nice to be recognized. I grew up in Cadillac. I’ve lived in Michigan my entire life; but nobody knows who I am in the region. Michigan’s institutions do collect me, so I’m grateful for that.

How often, in this day and age, are people recognized for doing hand work?

There’s the Traditional Arts Program at Michigan State. It’s geared toward craft — basketweaving, native dance, traditional instrument making; but they did award me a grant [in 2016]. Fine press books is one of those things that happily transcends both art and craft, or are equally represented in the end result.

When did you commit to working with serious intent? What were the circumstances?

Pretty much right away, when I bought the property and built the studio in 1992, and immediately began filling it with presses. That’s when I put the shingle out. A lot of the early work wasn’t fine books, but wedding invitations, and corporate print jobs. Soul-crushing work. They paid the bills. You pay your dues.

What made that work soul crushing?

Inevitably, working with people who don’t understand the process. Trying to make everybody happy. It wasn’t creative in any way. I was just a printer. I was also trying to sell my own art work; but at that time I was trying to sell locally. Engravings don’t sell very well in Northern Michigan. Not my stuff anyway. Focusing on book forms is what ultimately got me on the track I’m on. There aren’t any book shows in Michigan, so that forced me to go outside the state, and start taking workshops, and teaching.

What role does social media play in your practice?

I wish more; but I’m terrible at that stuff. My partner, Madeline, is the one who comes into the studio and takes pictures. Yes. I’m on Facebook, but I’m there for the friends’ kids. I don’t look at that stuff. I know it’s a powerful tool; but I guess, if I were hungrier, I’d exploit those tools more.

What do you believe is the visual artist’s role in the world?

I think the role of the visual artist is probably a purely selfish one. I think the role is just to make [the work]. That’s about it. It’s somebody else’s role to interpret it.

Not everyone agrees that the arts are an important part of being human, so the arts get scattershot support. You’re not turning out 2,500 widgets every day. You’re doing work that doesn’t necessarily yield a huge presence on the world. You’re living back in the woods in obscurity, and yet you have the audacity to think you should be doing, and you are entitled to do, creative work. With all that, how do you think about your role in the world as a visual practitioner?

I have a hard time with the commercial, established “fine art” world. Having achieved success [on his own terms, the fine art world] is a crock of shit. It really is. Most people don’t understand the processes anymore. That generation of people are dying, who grew up understanding this work. I struggle with this. I have a peer group, and I’m considered the socialist of the group. I’m the one who’s welcoming in the new people, trying to organize dinners, and group accommodations. That doesn’t go over well with the establishment sometimes, where they want to pick and choose who’s coming up.

To what degree do you feel that the creative work you do makes the world a better place?

The books are exquisite, if I do say so myself. A recent edition I did of The Winds In The Willows — I’d argue that that’s a book everybody should read. It’s not a kid’s book. And, our edition is exquisite. This is a book that will be around in 500 years; probably longer if taken care of. That’s a legacy. Books are something that tend to stick around. There’s more than one copy, so there’s a chance there’ll be a copy somewhere, in some collection, at some point. To whatever value that will have for the person pulling it from the stacks in 100 years, who knows? Each book I make — the subject matter and treatment — can vary widely. My collectors do appreciate the fact each book is a new exploration of a different process I know well. Keeping it fresh is important to me, as well. If I did the same thing for each book, it would no longer be art. That’s the fun part, coming up with the ideas, the artwork, and the design.

How does living in Northern Michigan inform and influence your creative practice?

A lot of my books have to do with the natural world. Trees. Conservation. Water. Trout. Growing up and living in Northern Michigan has defined the work I do, and the projects I choose. The potential projects on the horizon — the Jim Harrison stuff, some more Hemingway perhaps — it’s all Michigania, the exploded version.

Did you know anyone, when you were growing up, who had a serious creative practice?

Not really. We had a good work ethic [in his family]. We were always helping somebody build a house. There was always a project at hand; but no musicians or artists to influence that kind of creative direction. From the time I was a kid, I knew that was what I wanted to do.

Why is making by hand important to you?

The craft aspect of the books, and in all art, has been neglected for 60 – 80 years in American art movements. I don’t think you can have successful art without successful craft. Craft just means you know your process, your materials, and you have a deft hand. I can show somebody how to make a book; but that’s just superficial — it’s just a blank book without contents. Right now, the emphasis in a lot of the arts is conceptual. It has a lot less to do with craft. It’s all about the idea part of it. As I alluded, the book arts have embraced that. You’re at a show, and the guy next to you has cranked out a book in a week on the ink jet [printer], and it’s selling for the same price point as something I’ve spent two years doing.

Your process is a hand process, and by design, it’s slow, it’s deliberate, it’s mindful. Why has it not been crushed by a world that is obsessed by speed?

Because books, whether or not you read them, are still revered by a lot of people. There is an undeniable history there that has shaped our world. Books are part of the public consciousness. In my case, it’s unique to make books the way that it used to be done, and I think people still value that. When they see the physical object, when they handle the book, and feel the materials, and see the presentation, it evokes a completely different reaction than you’d experience opening up a modern book in a book store. To open a book is intentional. Unlike a painting on the wall, the book is there on the shelf or the table, and to engage with it, you have to engage and use at least three of your senses to make that happen. I can’t imagine a world without books.

Do you have a library card?

Of course. Three. Two, local village cards, and one for the Traverse City library.

How do you feed and nurture your creativity?

That’s easy. I walk out the backdoor, and there’s every reason to be here in Northern Michigan. That’s one reason. The other end of it: I get to travel a fair amount now for work. My partner and I have a home in Avignon, in Provence, and I’m active with a foundation [the Foundation Louis Jou] over there. I get to see a lot of books, art, and beautiful places. I filter out the bad stuff, and keep all the good. Louis Jou is private press practitioner. In his lifetime, he produced 140 books, 90 of which were done on his iron hand presses, which I’ve now restored over there. My main connection with Jou is that he designed his own typefaces, which are exquisite. His studio was turned into a foundation, and I’m on that board, creating awareness of Louis Jou. I do projects when I’m over there, and bring in people to teach wood engraving, linocuts.

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Read more about Chad Pastotnik here.

Sarah Bearup-Neal develops and curates Glen Arbor Arts Center exhibitions. She maintains a studio practice focused on fiber and collage.

Frankfort artist L.C. Lim feels her way through her work. “Once I get a feeling from a place, then I’ll use whatever medium will make that feeling [visible],” she said. “That’s how I always go about it. I never think about the medium.” Instead, she think-feels the places that bring her joy: the view through her studio window; her muse, Northern Michigan. “The view outside my window is a view of Lake Michigan through trees. On the other side it’s a forest. In all four seasons, I look out, and I see different things, and I get different feelings…. [I]f something looks good out the window, that’s where my easel’s set up,” she said.

This interview was conducted in August 2024 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.

Pictured: L.C. Lim

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Describe the medium in which you work.

I think about this question in terms of what I’m trying to do. I like to look at nature, and capture the feeling it creates in me. I spend a lot of time looking at things, and wait for something to talk to me — I try to get the feeling from the thing that’s talking to me. And then, it turns into my art. I’m all about feelings; not about painting a place. People think they can see a place in my work, which makes me very happy; but usually it’s not [the place they’re thinking of]. Usually they’re getting the feeling, and they’re feeling it.

Once I get a feeling from a place, then I’ll use whatever medium will make that feeling [visible]. That’s how I always go about it. I never think about the medium. I think about: Does this make me happy? Does this make me calm? Does this make me feel stoic or colorful? And then, I use my mediums. My mediums are a broad range of things that I’ve come to be expert in — not because I try to be; but because I use them to create my feelings.

What are those mediums?

Pastel, watercolor, printmaking, etching, acrylics, collage, pen and ink. There’s quite a few of them.

Did you receive any formal training in visual art? 

I have a certificate from the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts [PAFA, 2004]. It’s a four-year studio degree where, you’re literally in the studio from 8 in the morning until 5 at night.   In the last two years you have weekly critiques from very accomplished artists/teachers.

How did your formal training affect your development as a creative practitioner?

You learn composition, line, space, color, materials, all the fundamentals. And then, you find that you use them later when you least expect it. It was an intense four years. There was a lot of homework, so it really wasn’t 8 am – 5 pm. It was 8 am – 9 pm. There were a whole lot of talented young people, and I was catching up.

What had you been doing before that?

I went to engineering school at U of M [University of Michigan] and a few years later I went to business school there. 20 years later I was running a half-billion dollar division of Honeywell when I left the corporate world.

You went to the PAFA after you’d had an entire adult life.

Yes.

What prompted your departure from the corporate world?

I always wanted to be an artist. I went to [elementary and middle school] at Greenfield Village. I benefitted from all the arts and crafts of the Village. It was amazing. We were weaving, and making candles, and there was a lot of independent study. Class size was 12 people or less. Greenfield Village school closed when I was in high school so I started taking classes at Pewabic Pottery in Detroit.

I was able to leave the corporate world because I was financially secure and could do what I wanted to do. And, I was young enough. I had been accepted to PAFA before I left corporate America.

And then you went on to become an instructor at PAFA.

I teach at PAFA, at Woodmere Museum in Philadelphia, and at community art centers in Northern Michigan. As long as it doesn’t get to be full-time, I really love teaching, and I feel that it enhances my art. You can learn a lot from people of all different levels.  My classes have an intellectual component to them. I try to take about 15 minutes and do — we’ll call it “art history” — a 15-minute vignette called “What Can You Learn From This Artist?” I feature lesser-known women artists who, actually, should be famous. A lot of them are now getting museum shows, and I can actually see the work I’ve been presenting for years in person.

Are you able to springboard from something you’ve highlighted in the vignette to something that’s taught in the classroom?

I teach two different courses, Realism to Abstraction and East meets West – How Western artists were influenced by the East. In Realism to Abstraction I look at how art is actually a continuum, and [the artwork] is likely somewhere on the continuum. So, for instance, when I talk about trying to get a feeling from a place, the viewer isn’t going to know what that place is; but you’re going to [experience] a feeling [from looking at it]. As [the artist] goes farther and farther toward abstraction, you get more and more feelings, and less of a “Oh, I just saw that out the window” response. So, what I do is feature various artists who are on the continuum that lets students think about their work in a different way.

Describe your studio/work space.

My [Frankfort, Michigan] studio is organized by stations. I have a place for etching, pastels, and painting/drawing. The view outside my window is a view of Lake Michigan through trees. On the other side it’s a forest. In all four seasons, I look out, and I see different things, and I get different feelings.

I have a workspace in [her home in] Pennsylvania, which is actually an extra bedroom. The house in Pennsylvania is an entire studio because if something looks good out the window, that’s where my easel’s set up. We back up to a nature preserve in Philly, and a creek runs through the backyard. It’s an ordinary house with extraordinary views.

How does living in Northern Michigan inform and influence your creative practice?

Northern Michigan is everything. Literally. It’s my muse. My spot [home] in Philly is very nice; but this is my muse. There are four seasons, and I’m here in four seasons. I like winter as much as I like summer. It’s calm. It has a different rhythm to it. Autumn is gorgeous and colorful. I frequently drive around, aimlessly, looking for “that spot.” You can find me pulled over on the side of the road. I’ve been coming up here, first with friends, for 40 years. Northern Michigan is completely the thing for me. And, my husband, he loves it.

What’s your favorite tool? 

I would say it’s either my etching press, or my fingers. I like work you can touch.

Talk about your etching press.

It is a wonderful tool. It enables you to do etching, monotypes, and woodcuts. Hand printmaking is fun; but you can get more crisp lines and images with a press

Do you use a sketchbook? Work journal? What tool do you use to make notes and record thoughts about your work?

I almost always do a sketch, lots of sketches. And then I take photographs. I rely heavily on photographs — after the sketch.

What role does the photograph play in your process?

This could be old, academy training: You never paint from a photograph without having done a sketch. A photograph flattens everything out — no matter what you do; but a photograph can be very helpful when you are back in the studio to remember details if you are trying to create space, if you’re trying to create the tree, if you’re trying to create roundness.

When did you commit to working with serious intent? 

The minute I left my corporate job.

What role does social media play in your practice?

Actually, it plays almost none. Now, the internet: That’s different. The internet I use to research my classes, to research artists. I have a website. Once in a while I’ll post a class; but the places where I teach already do it. I would probably be better known if I used social media more but I’m just more focused on creating.

What do you believe is the visual artist’s role in the world?

I think the visual artist’s role is to be true to themselves, to put out whatever their creative intent is — meaning if it’s political, or, in my case, creating feelings and beauty — and let the recipient take what they want from it. I really appreciate people who are making a political statement [through their creative work]; but that’s not me. I think part of the artist’s role is to be who they are. It’s unbelievably important. It’s really good for people who think they’re not creative, even though they probably are, to be able to interact with people they perceive as creative. I think that’s really good for the whole world.

I often think of people who do creative work as translators of the world. You’re translating how you feel as you’re responding to a certain thing. All the arts give us powerful tools for talking about the world.

I agree. Maybe somebody looks at my landscapes, and thinks, Wow. Maybe I shouldn’t cut down all those trees. I’ve had people say to me, I’ve never seen snow that looks so good.

Did you know anyone, when you were growing up, who had a serious creative practice?

No. I would say it was Greenfield Village. It was unbelievable. To this day I think of how lucky I was to be amongst creative, super intelligent, left-brain/right-brain people. I felt like I was in a candy store. You were given a lot of different avenues to learn. And we went to museums; we went to the Detroit Institute of Art. I learned to play the piano. There was also math and science instruction.

Who has had the greatest and most lasting influence on your work and practice?

I have favorite artists— Morris Graves, Helen Frankenthaler. And then, I have a teacher at PAFA who became a mentor; her name is Elizabeth Osborne. She had the most direct impact. She’s amazing. She doesn’t tell you how to do something. I have a couple of friends from art school who are good peer critique-ers. We have an informal, what-do-you-think-about-this group with honest feedback. And, I still take classes, Zoom classes. It’s good for continuous, adult learning.

Let’s go back to Elizabeth Osborne. How did she impact you?

She doesn’t tell you how to do something; she gives you ideas. A lot of the instructors at the Academy, they’re going to tell you how to draw, what palette you should have. She’ll look at what you’ve done and say, Have you ever thought about working in a square? It’s an interesting shape. Her approach is that of a mentor rather than an instructor. And she’s an amazing colorist. She would always come to my shows. She’d look around, pick something out, and say, That’s so interesting. It got you thinking: That’s interesting? You’re doing the work. She’s just pointing it out. That’s what I hope to do with my students. I try not to tell them how to do it. I try to get them to think: What do they think? Liz was the first, female teacher at the Academy.

What is the role of exhibiting in your practice?

I have a regular solo show in Philadelphia at F.A.N. Gallery and have exhibited in Michigan extensively. The owner at F.A.N. actually cares about artists. [Exhibiting] gives you a deadline. People have been collecting my work for many years, and it makes me ask, Is this [new work] worthy of being one of those pieces in the show? Unfortunately, it’s a tough time for artists. Galleries are going out of business. Exhibitions are important; but I think people can get overly focused on exhibiting. I can make art that sells; but it doesn’t mean it’s good. And, it doesn’t make me happy when I get up in the morning thinking, Oh, I have to make this. I have the luxury of making what I want. Once you get in with a gallery, they know their market and want the same type of art. Maybe you’ve moved on; but they want the same thing. Showing in a gallery can be very positive, and there can be some negatives with it. I try to explain that to my students. You want to be true to yourself. If you want to try something new, try it.

Does having an exhibition on the books help you to structure your time? Or, how you think about what you want to make?

I get up every morning and go into my studio. I don’t need much motivation. It is fun to see what people react to your work. I’ve created these feelings and once the work is out there, it’s out of your hands. My favorite thing to do at an opening is to hear what people say. You have to be prepared. It might not be what you feel; but it’s really interesting to hear what people think. I like that about exhibitions.

When you have an opportunity to hear what people are saying, how does that get synthesized into your practice?

It doesn’t. I try to let it be separate. I try to just be me.

How do you feed/fuel your creativity?

I wander around a lot. Drive around. Now I can look out the window a lot. I bird watch and play the piano. The other thing I do is buy a lot of art books. I used to think it was funny when I’d see the PAFA students in the library — they weren’t reading the art books; they were looking at the pictures. At the time, I didn’t understand it but that’s what I do now. I read about the artist so I can talk about them in my classes; but I’m looking at the pictures. I go to museums shows.

What’s going through your mind when you’re looking at the pictures?

Sometimes you get ideas for color. Sometimes you get ideas for composition. Sometimes you just think you like it, or you don’t like it, and you think why?

What drives your impulse to make?

I’ve always had it. I don’t know. It’s almost like what else would you do? I was making Christmas cards when I was seven, and sending them to people. My mother has saved a lot of this stuff, and I asked her, Really? I was doing that? And she said, Yeah. You’ve been like this forever. 

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Read more about L.C. Lim here.

Sarah Bearup-Neal develops and curates Glen Arbor Arts Center exhibitions. She maintains a studio practice focused on fiber and collage.