Category: Creativity Q+A

What is the medium in which you work.

Mostly oil [paint] and cold wax.

What does that mean?

A lot of people, right now, are interested in understanding the difference between encaustic and cold wax painting. Cold wax [medium], I like to tell people, is more about consistency. When you get a new jug of cold wax, it kind of looks like Crisco ….  It’s like softened butter. You add it to your oil paint. You can increase the translucency, the transparency of the oil paint with it depending on how much you add. Some artists put it right on top of [the painting]. There’s all kinds of uses for it … I use a palette knife. That’s the best way to use anything with cold wax. You could use a brush, but it tends to gum up the brush.

By using a palette knife, do you get a different appearance on the surface of the canvas?

I like things to be more textural. So, with a palette knife, you can really get that. You can cut into things more. I like things to be angular.

What draws you to the medium in which you work?

The fact that I can leave it for a long time and come back to it. I like to scrape things away and reveal what’s underneath certain colors. That’s easy to do with cold wax. That’s one of the things that draws me to cold wax. I never seem to have enough time to sit down and complete something. I work here at the gallery a lot, so I get interrupted a lot. I have to have that freedom to be able to come back to something.

It’s also interesting that you need time to think about your composition and the ideas in it. 

Yes. For sure. As artists, we spend a lot of time working on a section or an area, then you leave it, go get a cup of coffee, come back and just stare at it. I’ll have my easel next to me here at my desk [in the gallery] and I’ll be answering emails or something, and keep looking at it. [Taking a pause] promotes more thought about what’s going to happen next.

Did you attend art school or receive any formal training in visual art?

No. I have not. I did go to art school, but for music. I was a classically trained singer, and never had any inclination to draw or paint. In fact, I was terrified of it. I never thought I’d be good at it. I graduated [in 1997] from Interlochen Arts Academy for voice. And then, I went to Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore [1998 – 2000] for voice for two years, and then I and dropped out. I have severe stage fright, debilitating … It was really bad. Once you get to the college level of classical music, everyone is amazing. You’re not the big fish in the little pond anymore. [Between] that horrible monster of comparing myself, and trying to be as good as everybody else, I couldn’t take the pressure.

How did you learn to paint?

I grew up as a kid in the restaurant industry. My dad owned a restaurant and he would always take me to work with him. I always loved to cook. When I lived in Florida, I started my own personal chef business. My dad lived here in Elk Rapids [Michigan], and he came up with this crazy idea that we were going open up a restaurant together, and we did [Regalo opened in 2008]. After a year-and-a-half of being really successful we realized having a business together was not a good idea for our relationship. I was super depressed. I’d left behind my business in South Florida, which was doing great. Left all my friends. Moved up here to Northern Michigan. Didn’t know anybody. This was in 2008. I just felt this urge I wanted to be creative in order to pull myself out of what felt like a huge loss. It was like a divorce. I just went to Michael’s and got a cheap pack of canvases and kid’s paints. I started doing little paintings, and everybody said, “Oh these are good. You should sell them!” I didn’t but I thought I really like this. It made me feel really good. Without sounding cliche, it really was the power of art that pulled me out of that hole I was in. Shortly after that I met my partner — whom I’m with now. And she’s a dog trainer, so we had dogs coming and going all the time. As an easy subject, I started painting her dogs that were always around. Her clients started asking me if they could pay me to paint their dog. That’s where it all started. I started doing these dog portraits, and it led to other things.

Describe your studio/work space.

Right now my studio — I call it the nomadic studio. In the months that I’m really busy at [Higher Art Gallery], I can’t paint here. So, I have this little nook in my kitchen with windows. I put my canvas on the wall in the kitchen. Or, I use a little easel on a little table. It’s very cramped, it’s not ideal, but it works. When I’m here in the off season, I have all my paints in the office, and I have big easel I keep here next to the desk, and I just paint here at my desk. When people come in, we talk, and I just keep painting.

How does your studio/work space facilitate your work? Affect your work?

It affects me negatively and positively. I’ve learned how to work efficiently in a small space. I try to stay organized. I don’t have room to spread out and be messy — like I would love to do. Obviously, I can’t do that at the gallery. There’s [other people’s] art everywhere, and I have to stay neat and tidy. It gives me a feeling of restriction. One of the positive things is feeling like I’m forced to paint here while at work has helped me to get over my shyness. In order for me to produce art work, I have to be able to engage with people at the same time. They’re curious. They want to see what  you’re working on. It doesn’t bother me anymore. At home working in that small nook in my kitchen — I hate working at home. I’m constantly being interrupted. And then I also feel the sense of, “Oh, I’m home. I’m going to wait for this spot [on the canvas] to dry, so I’m going to do some laundry,” and the next thing you know you’re tired and don’t want to continue with the painting. I’m hoping to have a designated space of my own soon.

When you talk about how your “studio” in your gallery affects your work, you said it has forced you to get over your shyness. Is that about having to engage with all the strangers who come through the front door?

I’m outgoing when it comes to that. My paintings go through this awful stage where they’re just bad and you don’t want anyone to see them yet. They’re going through this ugly duckling stage while you’re working on it. I’ve just had to get over that. I’ve just had to not worry about what someone is thinking while I’m working on a painting, while we’re chit-chatting. But I’ve found it’s a positive thing. When people walk into the gallery and see an artist working on something, it’s like an ice breaker. It relaxes people. It gives you an introduction, a way to talk to people. And then they ask if I have finished work in the gallery, and I can show them.

What themes/ideas are the focus of your work?

I’m an emotional person. I internalize a lot of stuff. I think getting my feelings out with a narrative on a canvas helps me work through my own stuff. Also, I’m a very nostalgic person. I had a close relationship with my grandmother. A very bad relationship with my mother. A lot of time, who and what I paint — my subjects — have a lot of of metaphor-slash-symbolism for these things. I tend to paint women because I’m in a relationship with a woman. My subjects tend to be two women. It’s what I relate to in life.

What prompts the beginning of a project or composition?

So many things. I’m literally surrounded by art all day every day. Sometimes it can be something as simple as one of my artists I represent brings in a piece, and I’m obsessed with the colors [they’re using]. I love looking around at the color combinations or composition of an abstract painting, and [then] apply it to a figurative painting. Lots of time I’ll start working on a figure with no real idea of where it’s going, and then a dog will come with it. I like painting birds. Women and birds. I paint a lot of women holding eggs. I went through this weird thing when I turned 40. I was like, “Oh god, I’ve haven’t had kids,” and so I painted a lot of women with eggs because I was feeling really weird about not having children. Was I regretting it? Not regretting it? It’s usually something deep-seated in me that has to come out.

How much pre-planning do you do in advance of beginning a new project or composition?

Now, in the last two year, I do a lot more than I used to do. I never ever, until two years ago, had a sketch book. It’s so ridiculous. Everything in my head, I’d just start on a canvas and finish it. Now, I do have a sketch book and try to sketch out ideas. I get annoyed when I forget them. That helps me practice for what’s going to be on the canvas. It was really always because I was afraid of drawing. I thought I would be so terrible at it. It actually turns out that I’m not that bad as I thought, and I really enjoy it. It’s relaxing. I plan things out loosely with a painting, and then, usually, other things will start to appear in the painting midway through.

Do you work on more than one project at a time?

No. I’ve tried. I get so jealous of artists who can have multiple things going on in their studio. I really have the ability to work on one thing at a time.

Do you work in a series?

I did when Michelle Tock York and I had that show over the summer, Heroines, Real And Imagined [August 5 – September 5, 2021 at Higher Art]. That was the first time I’d tried to discipline myself to work in a themed series. And, I didn’t like it. So, no. I don’t really. As I’m working other ideas come into my head and I no longer want to do this. I need a break from it. I just get bored.

What’s your favorite tool?

Palette knives. I use credit cards a lot to scrape. Those are good for wiping away paint to reveal what’s underneath. To get a really clean look [at what’s underneath] I use a lot of clay tools.

Why is making-by-hand important to you?

It’s important to me because I don’t know what else I could do that would alleviate this feeling I get inside when I’ve gone too long without using paint and doing something on a canvas. I get really irritable, and not in a good space when I haven’t made something with my hands.

Why does making things by-hand remain valuable to modern life?

Because we live in this society where everything needs to be done so quickly, and spit out so that people are happy. Making something by hand is so much more valuable because, well, it’s one-of-a-kind. And even if the artist makes multiples, it’s still one-of-a-kind because their hands have touched, and that leaves rooms for variations on what might appear to be the same thing. That’s one of the hardest things to get across to people when they’re trying to understand why something costs what it costs. Saying there is only one of something: When you think about it, it’s really pretty powerful when most people buy things now that there are millions of them.

How do you come up with a title?

I love titles. Titles come a lot of times from a song. I used to keep a book in my purse because I’d hear something that was really smart, clever or touching, and I’d write it down and think that that would make a great title for a painting. Titles are usually pretty personal. I don’t love it when I see something titled “No. 20.”  …… I understand why artists do it. I understand why you don’t want to explain to the viewer exactly what they should be thinking. And, you don’t always want to do that. I get it.

What’s the job of a title?

I think, for my paintings, people sometimes look at them and think they’re cutesy or whimsical — which I hate — or something like that. Yes. Sometimes I paint something just to paint it. Most of the time there’s some deeper metaphor in the painting, so I try to not make those metaphors so blatant. They’re a little hidden in the painting, and the title will allude to that

When did you commit to working with serious intent?

About five or six years ago.

What were the circumstances? What prompted that?

When I felt like I needed to [paint], having to do it for my well being.

What role does social media play in your practice?

It plays a big role. I do share a lot of things on social media [Instagram and Facebook]. In terms of the business side of selling my art, I do make sales using social media. It’s a love-hate relationship. I wish I didn’t have to use it. It’s a necessary evil …..

What’s its influence on the work you make?

It’s very convenient to have in your hand a virtual art gallery for the entire world. Almost every artist has social media. Or, if they don’t you can look at gallery accounts and then look at those artists. It’s inspiring. It does have an affect on me, and not just for looking at art, but for learning about new tools, new mediums. So many artists now post videos of themselves making their art. It’s a great way to learn new things.

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

On one hand, artists shouldn’t feel like they have to take on having a role. We’re just here to create what moves us, and if it can effect change or move other people in some way, then that’s great; but I don’t feel that that should be our role or responsibility.

What parts of the world find their way into your work?

I think one of the reasons I paint women a lot is not only in response to what has been happening for the last five years. When Trump came into office, I felt like women were under attack all over again. That inspires me to focus more on women. In the smaller, microcosm of that, being a woman gallery owner I feel like I’m constantly questioned and tested by men, male artists and patrons who question my level of knowledge about what I’m doing with my business. I feel like everyday, on the smaller level, I have to face it here, too. I’m friends with other gallery owners in area who are women, and we get together and talk about this all time. It’s a real thing and starts to wear on you … I came in here a few weeks ago, and had a message on the gallery answering machine from a man who went on [such an extended] rant that the answering machine kept on cutting him off. He called back three times to finish his thought, which was all about how I’m on the wrong side of history because I’m choosing to represent mainly female artists; and that I’m part of the problem in this country of dividing men and women, and black and white. It was a really angry message. That was the blown-up version. But I deal with little comments all the time. It, honestly, makes my stance on this even stronger. Obviously there’s a problem if people feel these things, and feel a need to say these things. I’m not going to stop doing what I’m doing.

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

It affects it greatly. I am somebody who’s affected lot by seasonal changes. I tend to paint accordingly. Living in Northern Michigan with the beauty that surrounds us  around affects my painting. In the spring I paint outside, and those things will find their way into my paintings.

Is Northern Michigan reflected in the work you make?

I notice that in the winter when I’m painting more, my paintings tend to be more introspective and quieter because it is quiet. I’m inside more. Definitely in the spring and summer, birds and nature will find their way into my paintings. If I’m home in the summer, I’ll try to paint on my front porch. We live in the woods so it’s easy to take that in, and it comes out in the work.

Would you be doing different work if you did not live in Northern Michigan? Would it have a different appearance?

I think so. For instance: I lived in South Florida for many years. You can look at [the work of an] artist who lives in South Florida, and know they live in South Florida. Oftentimes  they use very different colors: a lot of turquoise, pink, and things like that. After I’ve gone to South Florida, I soak up the colors from around there, and I want to use them. I want to paint them.

Did you know any practicing studio artists when you were growing up?

No.

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

Two people. My partner, Pam. We’ve been together almost since I started painting. I know people who are in relationships with someone who is not an artist, and their partner does not understand, does not give them the solitary time they need to make things, and it’s bad. I’m very lucky that she gives that time even though she doesn’t always understand it. She’s very encouraging, and has always encouraged me: from the artist standpoint to opening the gallery. I think who you’re sharing your life with is a huge component in what you’re able to accomplish.

From an inspirational standpoint, and as a  huge muse for me, is my grandmother [Beverly]. Even though she wasn’t an artist I like to think she was an artist in her spirit. She collected art. She appreciated well-made, fine things, and she filled her home with them. Growing up, all that [sunk into] me. I spent a lot of time with her. When she was alive I was her only grandchild, so she poured it all into me. She was silly, and strange, and different stories she told me shaped the way I see the world today.

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

My friend Julie has the best eye for when something isn’t working. I always send her a picture of [a work in progress], and say, “What’s wrong with this?” She immediately will respond with what I need to do to fix it, and it always works.

What is the role of the exhibition in your practice?

It’s important to me. I only exhibit my work here and at Twisted Fish  [in Elk Rapids]. Of course I hear all sorts of feedback when I’m sitting here in the gallery, and people are looking at a painting they have no idea is mine. I know some artists who hide their work away.  And, they’re OK with that. I like to get my work out there. It’s one of the ways I can connect with people in a positive way. It always means so much to me when people look at my work and connect with it on a personal level, they see something in it that I intended it to mean or to be.

Why did you open a gallery?

How does your work — owning and running Higher Art Gallery — cross-pollinate with your studio practice?

The obvious thing: I show my work here. Sometimes somebody will ask if I have work here, and I say no. I lie [laughs]. I may be having a particularly vulnerable day.

What challenges does working outside the home present to your studio work?

A lot. One of the things someone told me before I opened the gallery is that I’ll never have enough time to work on my own art work, and that is 100 percent true. If there was just one thing I could change in my life, that would be to have more time for my own art work. Since I moved [the gallery from Union Street] to this location, it’s much busier now, even in the off season. In the old space be able to paint for an entire day, and maybe someone walk through the door if I were lucky. It’s not like that any more.

See more of Shanny Brooke’s work here.

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

Nick Preneta, 37, works in wood. Green wood. Mostly with his chain saw. Notching and carving and creating marks, both intentional and serendipitous. The Leelanau County artist, trained as a furniture builder, began to explore the aesthetics of non-functional wood shapes and objects when he started looking at the scraps he was generating. This interview took place in September 2021. It was conducted by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.

Describe the medium in which you work.

I work in wood. Generally when I start working with wood, it’s green wood, so there’s a lot of moisture in it, and that’s a key part of my process: starting with green wood.

Why is that key?

I explore the medium itself, and structural elements. Working with green wood allows me to dive deep into the structure of the wood, and explore how it changes as it loses moisture during the drying process … Different species of wood act differently during the drying process, and even the conditions the wood is under affects it. That’s what I explore. I make “suggestions” to the wood while I’m working it, by making cuts in the wood, and seeing how what I do to the wood will affect the visual outcome as it dries. I don’t know what’s going to happen — as far as the wood changing after I cut it. I look at the grain, and I have a guess, but sometimes I’m surprised. Those could be good surprises or bad surprises.

I’m really interested that you factor in things that are out of your control.

That’s really what draws me to the work I do: being able to experience something that’s out of my control. It’s a living material. Even after its cut down it can still be “living.”

What draws you to the medium in which you work?

Wood is something I’ve always been drawn to, since childhood. It goes back to playing in the woods, and making forts with sticks, making crude play toys with sticks. How I work with it has evolved over the years.

 Did you attend art school or receive any formal training in visual art?

I studied at Northern Michigan University [2002-2006]. I received a BFA — it was a concentration in furniture design. I had been accustomed to woodworking before; but [school] opened up concepts of visual presentation, conceptual ideas and social implications.

What do you mean by “social implications”? 

My initial goal in going to school for furniture design was to learn how to make furniture, and make useful things for peoples’ homes. But when I was there I was exposed to a lot of different studio furniture makers. So I found myself being drawn to creating forms that weren’t practical at all for making furniture; but I really liked the form. And the fact that I could make this form out of wood. That was a big mind shift for me: You can still make a piece of furniture, but it might not be functional as a piece of furniture.  It could be a dining room table, but it could be saying more than this is just a surface for you to  eat off of. I’m thinking of a dining room table, classically constructed and [the artist] hand-drove a nail right in the top of it [so the nail is sticking up and out of the surface] … It creates an emotional response in the viewer. At that point in my life that was really intriguing to me. I’d never explored forms like that. It was a mind-opening experience for me.

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

It was what I needed at the time. It exposed me to new ideas. As far as the work I do now, that was the first introduction I had to working with green wood. I developed techniques at college that I use if I get stuck with visual problems … The whole university scene of being around other people making things, having constant feedback: I realized that that’s very important.

You’re living in a place where there are a lot of creative people, but you’re not bumping into them every day like you’d would in college.

You’re not in the same studio they are. I think it’s really important, but I don’t really share a lot of my work in process with other artists. It’s something I need to do more of; but it’s something I haven’t incorporated into my work.

Describe your studio/work space.

I live on an old farm. I converted an old outbuilding for my studio.  It’s approximately 16 ft x 30 ft. When I first converted it, I was still in the mindset of making furniture. So, it’s a practical work space. This suits my needs for now. I suppose, if it were a different situation, my work would be a little bit different. For instance: I work with green logs, but the space isn’t conducive to bringing big logs [into the studio], so I also work outside. I do a lot of the rough shaping outside with the chainsaw. Once the pieces of wood are broken down, I bring them inside and work in the studio. Bringing big, heavy, bulky pieces of work into my studio is cumbersome, so the scale of my work is smaller than that.

What woods are you using?

Whatever comes my way that I’m interested in. What I’m using right now is beech — there’s a lot of Beech that’s available because of the fungus. People are taking it down. I use ash — [available] because of the emerald ash borer. On my own property, I have a lot of Black Locust trees. That wood is very intriguing to me. I haven’t done a lot of it in my art work, but I have a great resource when I’m ready to do that.

What is it about Black Locust that intrigues you?

Black locust is an invasive, which is intriguing to me on its own, because it’s seen as undesirable. It’s also very useful. Farmers used Black Locust traditionally, and people are stylizing Black Locust now. It’s tough wood, very dense, and the grain structure is very interesting to me.

How does your studio/work space facilitate or affect your work?

Part of it is the space. I’m not able to drive a piece of machinery right up to it, to bring logs inside [the studio]. What I bring in, I have to carry, and it has to be small enough to get it through the door. The tools I have, as well, limit the size of the work. When I first set up my studio I had a small band saw, which cut a height of 6 inches. That was a big constraint on the size of my work. Recently, this past year, I upgraded to a different size band saw so now I an cut double that height. I feel like that’s going to make a big difference in my work, as far as what I’m able to do [regarding] size.  I’m excited to see how that affect the work and changes the scale of things …

Is your studio a year-round space?

Yes, it is. It’s an old pig barn. When I converted it I put insulation in and I’ve got a wood stove as my heat source.

What themes/ideas are the focus of your work?

What I focus on in my work is very minimal aspects — I would call most of my work minimalist, and that plays well with wood. As a material, it’s more about highlighting the qualities in the wood, especially as it changes during the drying process. That’s what I explore: the structure of the wood itself and what happens after it’s a tree, and it [arrives at a the point when it’s] dried and seen as a commercial material that can be used to make things. I want to highlight the in-between part, or the life the wood has after it’s [done] living, how it chooses to change.

When you have a piece installed in an exhibition, is it still drying?

Not usually. Most of the moisture has left it at that point. Depending on how I treat it, some of my pieces I leave raw, unfinished. And some I put a finish on. The raw pieces will [absorb] moisture in the atmosphere. They’ll change slightly. Up until now, they’ve all been dried, but I do think it would be interesting to do an exhibit that is an experience thing, where you get to see the whole process if you’re there every day. You can come in every week and see how the wood changes week to week. That’s a goal of mine in the future if I find the right spot for that.

It’s a great idea. We all come to an exhibition being trained to think the pieces we’re looking at are “finished.” What you’re suggesting with the show like that subverts that shared understanding of what work in an exhibition is supposed to be.

My work is 3D. It’s kind of finished. If I found a way to present my work that it’s more of an experience, that would be really interesting to me. Sometime when I cut wood and I observe the changes, the piece — when it’s dried completely — isn’t as interesting at that point as it was [in wet form]. An exhibition that somehow captures that … We live in an age when that’s possible, with technology and sharing. That’s a whole different realm I haven’t explored …

What prompts the beginning of a project or composition?

A lot of times it’s the wood that I have available. From there, either the wood will inspire what direction I want to go in, sometimes it’s the idea of exploring the aspects within the wood: I want to explore a certain form and the cuts that I’ll make to the form. It’s the material or the idea that will prompt. It depends upon what’s available.

Do you ever stumble across a piece of wood and say, “A ha! That has possibilities.”

I saw this log and said I want to do something with that. It had a lot of different branches coming off the main trunk. I thought it was really interesting. I didn’t know what I was going to do with it, but I wanted to work with it.

How much pre-planning do you do in advance of beginning a new project or composition?

Not much. Sometimes I will have an idea … But I can’t really predict what’s going to happen. A lot of the time it’s just that cutting multiple forms that are the same with slightly different variations to the cuts or the shape or the grain within the piece, and seeing how that reacts, and then reacting to what the wood does. I liken it to a conversation. I have an idea and throw it out there …

Do you work on more than one project at a time?

Sometimes I do. It depends on what’s going on as far as what I have to work with, and what else is going on in my life. It’s not something that needs to happen. The nature of the process allows for that — as far as the time it takes from starting a project, to the wood drying, to continuing to work on it after the wood has dried. There’s multiple months between those two points. I can start something, and then work on a different idea.

You’ve got things in different stages of readiness?

Yes. It’s kind of seasonal, too. I do a lot of the rough shaping of the forms in the wintertime. I find the wood dries best because of the dryer air. Toward spring and summer is when I refine those shapes and forms.

Your work is tied to the natural world in so many ways. Your materials come out of your own woods. Your processes are tied to the seasons — you do certain things because the weather has a different effect on the materials in the winter than in the summer. It’s an interesting way of working.

I do it because it makes sense. It works for me. I’ve thought of ways to dry wood in the summer when the humidity’s higher, but I haven’t needed to … It is a nice rhythm to just work with nature and the environment the way it goes.

Do you work in a series?

I definitely explore the same idea over time. I feel like its the same idea I explore over and over again with slightly different variations. I do it because I don’t know what’s going to happen …

That’s an interesting thing about your practice: You don’t try to control the materials. You are very democratic. You allow your materials to have a say.

It’s a very individualistic process. I want to know [of the wood] what are you going to do? And, what are YOU going to do?

What’s your favorite tool?

The chain saw is my favorite tool … This tool is used to take down the trees. What I like about it is similar to what happens within my piece. [The chainsaw] makes cut very quickly; but there’s a lot of interesting details that comes from that tool. That’s what I really like: the uniqueness of the results.

Do you use a sketchbook? Work journal?

I do, a little bit, not extensively. What I end up drawing is just different variations of the same thing. My work is nothing I can predict what’s going to happen to each piece, so I can draw ideas of forms I’d like to see, but that’s all they are: drawing. It’s not anything I can really control … It’s not a big planning tool for me. I use it for inspiration. Just drawing out forms I’d like to see, and how can I get this form.

How did you think about hand work before you began practicing seriously?

I was always intrigued with craftsmanship and things constructed with intent. Even in grade school, using scissors and crayons, I was pretty controlling in that work and precise — you know, coloring within the lines. When I was younger I valued controlled skill in handwork. As I’ve grown, I’ve let [the need to control] go.

Why is making things by-hand important to you?

I think it’s a great involvement for the brain to be able to make something with your hands, just to be able to successfully create something with your body is great.  I encourage my children to make things. It’s what kids do: exploring, playing and exploring with their hands …. It’s a connection to your physical world.

You work with machines; but it’s at human scale so your hands don’t get overridden by the machines. 

Yes. True.

I think handwork is so important because it keeps us honest about what our powers really are.

In woodworking, working with hand tools you might see more clues of that in the work.

Why does working with our hands remain valuable and vital to modern life? Or, not?

It goes back to my draw to the material I work with. We have bodies and hands and we need to be connected with what we can create with them — not just what we can create with our mind.

How do you come up with a title?

My titles are based on the thought process I go through while making the piece. Sometimes my titles are suggestive of the process — this was a struggle for me to get to this point; or there’s something that reminds me of the form I’m working on.

What’s the job of a title?

To give a clue to the viewer of what your intent was. To let the viewer know what was going through your mind when you made it.

When did you commit to working with serious intent?

Sometimes I feel like I have to re-commit. I remember the first time when I shifted from the idea of trying to make furniture to more sculptural pieces. At the time I was doing a lot of carpentry work. I was  building cupolas for a barn. It had rafters that were curved [cut from straight pieces of lumber] … After I’d cut 20-some rafters I was cleaning up the work area and I looked at this piece of [guide] wood I’d laid all the rafters on to cut [curves], and I thought to myself that I really like this piece of wood more than the cupola. [The guide wood] had all these lines [saw cuts] made by this tool in the process. That was the point I decided to really pursue sculptural forms. When I was in school, I always found myself drawing these forms that were very impractical as furniture. I struggled with that internally, [asking], “Why are you doing that? No one could every use this. Is this going to be valuable to people? Are people going to want to buy this?” But, that point, when I was cutting rafters for the cupola, I realized I wanted to make sculptural stuff. I didn’t want to make “useful” things. I wanted to explore making something to look at.

What role does social media play in your practice?

I don’t exhibit a whole lot — maybe 1 or 2 times a year — so social media is a way for me to get work out there, and get feedback during those times when I don’t have work hanging in galleries. I go through spurts of being very active on social media, and not being active at all. It’s a good way for me to get feedback from people. It’s really the main source of seeing what other people are doing.

What’s social media’s influence on the work you make?

There’s no artist that’s not influenced by [others’ work]. I see what other people are doing with wood. I see forms and lines, and I put those in my wheelhouse. It all affects me; but what kind of affect? I don’t know.

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

To share the human experience in whatever way they individualize it … It connects people to shared emotions shared experience.

What part or parts of the world find their way into your work?

I think the history of working with the material, and what other people who’ve worked with wood have experienced before. It’s something that influences me. The historical method of woodworking before power saws was handwork. Those woodworkers found it a lot easier to work with green wood, so they capitalized on that. They worked the wood while it was green, and they knew it was going to change as it dried. So, some people started thinking about that … The thing that makes it way into my work is that basic, first knowledge of wood and how to work with it; what it’s properties are; and how to use those properties to get a result that’s something you want.

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

There’s a lot of trees around us. If I wasn’t living here, I’d like to think I’d still be exploring the same thing. I live in a community, and my social media has some influence on me; but I draw inspiration from the landscape; but I feel I would do that anywhere. It goes back to my thoughts on observing the world, and finding beauty in small details. I don’t need to live here for my work; but for my sanity, I do. I guess that would affect my work … I choose to be here. This is my home. This is what I love. It fits me. It makes me happy, and that’s how it affects my work. It provides a supportive environment.

Did you know any practicing studio artists when you were growing up?

I guess I didn’t realize they were practicing studio artists. I had a neighbor who was an artist; but it didn’t dawn on me what that meant. He made dulcimers. He was a professor at Kent State University in the art department.

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

I go back to the historical references. The scores of woodworkers before me who have explored the material. Those who work with wood, and push its boundaries for things other than a useful material to make functional things with.

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

I don’t do that a lot.

What is the role of the exhibiting in your practice?

It’s to share what I really enjoy and find value in with other people. It’s important to me to get my work out there.

See more of NIck Preneta’s work here.

Watch this time-lapse video of one of Nick’s pieces moving from green to dry.

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