Category: Creativity Q+A

Northern Michigan is painter Randi Ford’s subject, from Sleeping Bear Dunes to Pictured Rocks. Her work is inspired by these natural places — so much so that the 34-year-old artist moved to Benzie County last summer so she could live and practice where she find artistic and spiritual nourishment. You may already know her work: One of her paintings, Path Through Time, was selected for the Glen Arbor Arts Center’s 2023 Manitou Music poster. Take a look at it here. With her husband, artist Ben Ripley, Randi has merged a last name [she’s Randi RipleyFord] and a life. “Life is art,” she said.

Pictured: Randi Ford

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

I currently work with acrylic paint. I’ve been acrylic painting for the past eight years. I was using gouache, and I also experimented with oil painting. I really loved gouache, but I wanted to paint larger, and not on paper but on canvas. I enjoy acrylic because I can layer, and blend, and create a lot of line work. I figured out how to make it flow well using a flow release.

Define flow release paint.

It’s an additive to mix into the paint, but I put it in a spray bottle.

It makes it easier to move the paint around?

Yes. It keeps it wet longer. A lot of people struggle with acrylic because it dries too quickly. I can also get longer, smoother brush strokes.

Did you receive any formal training in visual art? 

Yes. I first studied art in high school — I didn’t do it until my senior year, and all my classes senior year were art classes. We had a good program there. It’s a small school in Sturgis, Michigan. I went to Grand Valley [State University] and received my BFA in Illustration [2012], but I also touched on painting. For my senior show I did a combination of illustrative landscapes themed on the seasons of Michigan; and a series of abstract landscapes in oil.

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

I think college helped with creating work — we had to do so many different assignments that pushed us to develop our skills. And then, executing your vision and completing the projects helped me be able to do that on my own after I graduated. I learned how to lay out timelines, and set deadlines.

Describe your studio.

Right now I don’t have a full studio. It’s in process because we just moved up North. I have been working out of my home studio for 10 years in Grand Rapids. I had it in the basement. Then I moved into a room upstairs. In my studio I have an easel, a paint station, speakers for music, plants, stones, art objects, a few of my paintings as well — I like to create a peaceful, beautiful space. My computer and my iPad are there. I use my iPad to develop paintings, and I work from that developed image when I’m not painting outdoors.

When did you move North?

I live now in Beulah [Randi and her husband, hand engraver Ben Ripley, moved in August 2023]. I’ve been wanting to live in Northern Michigan since I started coming up here [to paint] in 2014. I’ve been getting inspiration up here, and in the Upper Peninsula. My work is inspired by these natural places. We found a home in Beulah surrounded by state land. My studio is a walk-out from the basement that overlooks the woods and the front yard. We’re putting in a slider with windows, so I’ll have a lot of natural light. His studio will be in the garage.

What themes/ideas are the focus of your work?

I was first drawn to nature, to paint it — I had an innate desire to replicate it, to show its beauty and wonder. Then I started working with different nature conservancies in West Michigan to create art for their [fundraising]. They [the Land Conservancy of West Michigan] have an art show called Preserved! to raise money for the nature conservancies [including Flower Creek Dunes Nature Preserve, The Highlands and Saul Lake Bog, all preserves in the Grand Rapids area]. My work allows people to appreciate the natural landscape, and hopefully want to restore their landscape or protect natural areas. That was part of my mission for my work — bringing the beauty of the landscape, and to help move forward people’s mindset of what a landscape should be. There’s also a spiritual part to the work. The desire to paint was a spiritual pulling. I feel that I’m called to bring beauty and light to others through my work.

What prompts the beginning of a project or composition?

First, it’s prompted by my different hikes in nature. It starts with the subject matter and the awe I feel, and trying to replicate that in the composition. I’ll go through my photos [taken during the hike], and find the images that create the most honest spirit to paint.

Your process involves being out in the natural world. Do you feel that directly experiencing these things comes through your paintings?

Yes. Part of it is the feeling I have when I’m in those spaces. There was only one time I referenced an image online. All the rest of the work is done from my own experience. Whatever drew me to capture that through my photograph, that’s what I want to express. I’ll try to show the spirit of the life in the plants in nature, making them feel more alive than just [representing them on canvas].

What’s your favorite tool?

The camera. But I also like to use Photoshop — I’ll it to design the scenes a little more, and edit the photos before I start painting. For painting, I use only two brush styles: the flat brush, which is squared [for line work], and round brushes to do tiny details.

Before Photoshop was invented, how would you develop the composition? Has Photoshop always been a part of your practice?

It has. Sometimes I don’t [run the photo through Photoshop]. I’ll just take the photograph, and start painting directly on the canvas. Sometimes I’ll sketch things out — I used to draw a lot for my illustrations, which I stopped doing when I got more into my painting. Sometimes I’ll do that to get the composition down. I don’t take my iPad out there.

You came of age when computerization was taking over hand work.

I was in high school when all this digital stuff was happening.

Do you have any thoughts on why making things by hand is important? 

I do think that making things by hand is very important, and that’s why I won’t fully go into digital art. I use that as a tool to make my paintings better. Digital things separate people. [The connection] isn’t real life. It’s in the digital world. I can’t use the computer too much. I get hand pain in my nerves. So, I’ve made it a practice not to be on my phone or computer too much. I take breaks. I think handmade art work has more spirit in the piece. It comes to life more. There’s more of spiritual essence to the piece. If you printed out a painting online, there’s not life or emotion that you can feel. The emotive energy that is put into the piece is actually felt more in the handmade process.

When did you commit to working with serious intent?

I did that right after I graduated. I didn’t want to get a “normal” job. If I get a “normal” job, I’m going to be giving up my time and energy, and putting that into a job I’m going to leave. I’ll have to catch up. So, it’s now or never to pursue my art career. Right after, I started creating as much as I could. I had a few part-time jobs where I was balancing that side-by-side, but, eventually I was able to let go of the part-time jobs that were preventing me from doing what I wanted to do with my art. I’ve been full-time since 2017.

What kinds of part-time jobs were you working? 

I worked at Jared’s, the [national chain] jewelry store. I was interested in jewelry making, and I learned how to connect with clients. I almost wanted to work as a bench jeweler, but I worked there seasonally and learned how to work with clients. I was kind of shy, and that helped me open up to strangers. And then I worked at LaFontsee Galleries [closed in 2022] in Grand Rapids in an internship. That got me more familiar with the gallery side of things, and I was using my digital skills to help them. They started carrying my work after I’d worked there for three months. I showed with them for a few years, and I was also showing in art festivals, which I wanted to do more — as well as [find representation] in galleries up North since I was painting up North. I also taught at Grand Valley for a year-and-a-half, teaching 2-D design. That was a great learning opportunity for me to teach students directly, and helped me to learn more about what I was doing by teaching that to students. I gave that up. It was a lot of work for not much money. I could make one painting in less time, and make about the same amount of money as an adjunct professor.

What’s the role of social media in your practice?

I’m not the best at social media. I wanted to use it to connect with people and gain followers who wanted to see my work. Now I use it as a gallery space. When I have something new, I’ll post it to keep people updated. I don’t want to post all the time. It distracts me from my art. It’s a trap. You have to be learning all the new things all the time. That’s a whole other job, social media.

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

The goal with living up here was to live among the places I paint. I’ve lived in the city since I graduated from college, and moved to Grand Rapids [Michigan]. I was coming up North all the time. I lived down there, but I’d be up here for showings, to get inspiration. Once a relationship I had ended there, I decided I wasn’t going to stay in Grand Rapids anymore. There wasn’t any point to it. My family’s not [in Grand Rapids]. A lot of my friends moved away. I’ve had a lot of signs [telling her] to move up here. When I moved up here, everything fell into place. I’m hoping to connect more with other plein air painters; to get more inspiration to make stronger pieces.

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

My grandmother wasn’t a professional artist, but she did create art her whole life. She was beautiful gardener. Cooking was an art for her. Her house was very colorful. She like to collect antiques. She didn’t paint landscapes, but did more expressive things. My dad is an industrial designer — he designs finials, the decorative end pieces for curtain rods. One of my mom’s friends made copper fountains, and sold them at art fairs. She’s how I learned about art fairs. My mom had a booth at the Shipshewana Flea Market selling antiques. I helped her, when I was young, to set up her booth.

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

[Randi mentions a number of teacher she studied with in college, as well as Northern Michigan painter] Margo Burian — I went to her, and she mentored and encouraged me, and talked to me about the art business.

Talk about the role of creating a body of work.

Creating a body of work means I’m creating a series of paintings. Each time I create a body of work it will be a little different than the last. The way I paint it changes.

So, you’re creating a group of paintings that have some relationship to one another? And when you show them, they all hold together as a unified idea?

Yes. The paintings will have the same kind of look because I create them in the same time frame.

To whom do you go when you need honest feedback about your work?

I go to Ben. I have a problem reaching out to people and asking for help. A lot of times, I critique myself; but then I’ll go to Ben. My dad’s a good critique-er. He has critiqued me throughout my lifetime, and pushed me to do better.

You exhibit your work at art fairs. When I was a more frequent visitor and exhibitor at art fairs, the exhibitors generally seemed to be older. I wondered why there weren’t more young people going this route. Talk about your experience.

Yes. I’ve been doing a combination of that and showing at art galleries. [Randi and Ben will] have a space in the future, in the barn down the road from the house, where we’ll have a gallery space. [Exhibiting at] art fairs is a way I can connect with people and share my work directly. Through galleries, you give your work to [the gallerist], and you really don’t have any way to connect with the people who are seeing the work. I like to know the people who are collecting my art work. It’s important for me.

When you’re standing in your art fair booth, you’re directly connected with the people who are looking at your work.

That’s part of it. I used to interact with people more, but now I sit off on the sideline to allow them to look at the work. I pay attention to [detect] if they want to communicate with me about the work. Or, if they’re looking at it, I’ll give them my message. I’ll have longer, deeper conversations with anyone who is looking my work, to make a deeper connection. I continue to have a relationship with them afterward through my newsletter.

Do you feel like an anomaly? Are you usually the youngest exhibitor at an art fair? 

I have been the youngest for a long time. I think there are more younger artists who are starting to show. But mostly it’s older people. I’ve overheard people talking about that at art fairs. They want younger people to start coming in. They were saying that art fairs might die if we don’t get the younger generation involved. A lot of [older exhibitors] are starting to retire. But it’s harder for younger artists to get in because the art work needs to be of high quality to get into art fairs, and younger artist might not have the body of art.

How did you learn the ins and out of being an art fair exhibitor?

I started exhibited at church craft shows. And then I moved onto the [Fulton Street] farmers market in Grand Rapids. They have a craft show every Sunday. I slowly started learning about other art fairs from exhibitors there. I looked at other artists’ booths that I thought were strong. I used to have an E-Z Up tent, and then I invested in a Light Dome, and it looks more professional. Now, Ben and I are going to be showing together.

How do you feed/fuel/nurture your creativity?

Listening to music. I listen to music a lot when I paint. I also hike, and go on nature walks. That clears my mind. Nature inspires me, and then I get inspired to painting. Painting [brings on] a peaceful state for me, where I feel connected to spirit.

What is in in the world that drives your impulse to make?

It’s my nature. I just want to create beauty: a beautiful space, a beautiful life. Life is art.

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Learn more about Randi Ford here.

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

 

Mark Mehaffey relocated to Leelanau County five years ago. He lives in a house that bumps up against the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore — a fitting locale: A large portion of Mark’s work focuses on the landscape, although like so many things in this artist’s life, Mark is a guy whose creative work refuses to be shoehorned into tidy boxes. He moves fluidly between representing the visible world, and working with not-so-representational subjects: marks, lines, scratches, color stories. His practice is less focused on “subjects” than it is on ideas, the “what-if” of them that can take one down a wide range of creative avenues. On Christmas Day this year, Mark will turn 72. “Inside my own head I’m still somewhere between 24 and 26,” he said. Also inside his head are more ideas than he can explore in a single lifetime, he added. It’s a good problem for a visual artist to have.This interview was conducted in October 2022 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.

Pictured left: Mark Mehaffey

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What’s the medium in which you work. 

Mixed water media. Occasionally collage, but most of the time watercolor, gouache, and acrylic.

Do you consider yourself a painter?

I am a painter who uses watercolor, not a watercolorist.

That’s an interesting distinction. A “watercolorist” is what?

Somebody who relies on what gravity, paint, water, and paper will do all on its own accord.

Is watercolor just another technique/material?

Not just another material, but a material that’s available to me when that’s the best material for any given concept. Rather than allow the media or material to dictate to me what it does, I impose my will upon it.

Did you receive any formal training in visual art?

I have Bachelor of Fine Arts degree with Honors [1973] from Michigan State University. And a teaching certificate for arts, crafts and psychology.

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

Technically, hardly at all. Psychologically, it was an affirmation that making art, thinking about the arts, staying in [arts-related] education was important.

Describe your studio/work space.

It’s somewhere in the vicinity of 300 or 400 square feet. It’s essentially the whole upstairs of this house. I had a contractor open up the attic space above the main bedroom, and then I took the whole space above the garage as a studio space. It has two sky lights, one window, and enough lighting to make it daylight at night. It’s adequate for what I need to do, maybe a little cramped for large work: I’m currently working on a 48” x 48” collage, and it’s not the same as my previous studio [in Williamston, Michigan, where he resided for 31 years], which was 500 square feet and vaulted ceilings, but it works.

Talk about the themes and ideas that are the focus of your work.

I have a current motto based on the way I feel, and listen: Talk less, listen more. My interests, especially when it concerns painting, are broad. What I consider to be valid ideas and concepts for painting, equally broad. I explore lots of different roads, lots of different compartments, and if a tangent occurs to me, I take the time to follow the tangent because you never know where that might lead. If you saw the entire body of my work, and you didn’t know me, you’d probably think it was three or four different artists. Let us not even discuss “subject.” I really don’t approach [his work] as subject. I approach it as content: What is the idea behind the work, or elicits the work? That’s way more important than subject. Subject can be anything: meat, a tree, the sun, it can be sand dunes, right? It’s the idea that drives that work that’s more important. I take any subject and show you the effects of light — light, that’s the content.

Would you like to give an example of an idea you’ve tackled?

Let’s just take “meat” for example. My whole life revolves around my next meal. People who know me know I love to eat. Food is always paramount. Quite a few years ago, as my [late] wife Rosie and I were traveling the world — Europe, Asia, China specifically — and I needed to eat. Other people could avoid food that was too strange or tasted not the way they wanted it to taste. I avoided nothing. I became enamored with the idea of food as a messenger for what we are. I started a whole series of paintings — 12, huge, oversized transparent watercolors in the vicinity of 25” x 37” that visually describes what we eat, trying to make people think why. They range from a close-up of a meat counter, to  barbecued pig hocks, to Atomic FireBalls, the jaw breaker candy, and everything in between.

What prompts the beginning of a project or composition?

An idea. A “what if?” Or, can I say something about this that is unique to the way I do things? Not something that has been said visually before. Or, can I make people think about something they probably should think about? Or, can I tilt the entire world in the direction it needs to be tilted?

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

I have two separate approaches [dependent upon whether the work is representational or non-objective]. Let’s just go to the landscape, because of where we live. My house sits right in the middle of the [72,000 acre] Sleeping Bear Dunes Lakeshore. My side yard is part of the lakeshore. I can step out of my house, and be in the woods in about 10 steps. A lot of landscape forms appear in my work. By necessity, time being a factor, some of that’s based on photographic references. If I work from photographic references, then that photograph is distilled in a number of ways to simplify, and get to what I want to say. The photograph is taken with painting in mind. So when I bring the camera up, and look through the view finder, I’m already seeing a rectangular, picture space. That photograph is printed out, and distilled in my sketch book: Forms and shapes are eliminated; I get to the essence of what I really want to say. It’s simplified, and then I make a contour drawing of where I want the shapes to be, and then I — the artist — assign values [the lights and darks] to each of those shapes. Sometimes it’s based on the photograph. Often, it’s based on the way I think it should be rather than the way it is. Once I assign value, then I evaluate that value plan in my sketchbook. If I think it might make an interesting painting, then I might do the painting based on the plan in my sketch book, and I seldom revert to the photograph again.

About half of my work, I don’t start with a plan. I start with an idea. So I jump into the surface, maybe with mark making, maybe with scratchy brush strokes, maybe with a big, overall dominance of one color or value, and then I make the next mark based on that mark, and the next mark based on those two, and the next mark based on those three. It’s more of an intuitive approach, but it’s intuition based on 60-plus years of  painting.

This second way of working is not the route you take when you’re working representationally.

Occasionally, recognizable subject may enter into this work, but most of the time [it’s] non-objective — although I’ve been known to hide social commentary in some of this work, or political messages, or other ideas I’d like people to perceive or think about. Sometimes they’re pure design.

If they’re hidden, how does the viewer perceive them?

Sometimes the viewer will pick up on the hidden messages. Those people who know my work will often look for them, and sometimes they don’t, and I don’t care one way or another because I’m the one getting a chuckle out of it.

You specifically referred to your photographs as “reference.” That indicates that your photographs are another way of gathering information; you’re not taking dictation from the photograph.

The last time I looked, there’s about 57,000 photographs on [his computer’s hard drive]. And, then I have a couple external hard drives that are also full. Each of those photographs was taken for a specific reason at that time. Sometimes it was the effects of light. Sometimes it was how shapes are put together. Sometimes it was the dramatic color or mood. That concept recurs to me as I look at those photographs. Once I have the idea that drives what I want to say visually, then I can expound on that idea — and it’s better for me if I can explore that idea in a smaller sketch book before I attack a painting. I made some decisions, prior to beginning a painting, that are very helpful.

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

Yes I do. My studio’s a trash pit right now. I took some small collages, and did some more, and now I’m blowing these up into 48” x 48”, 40” x 40”, and 48” x 60” giant collages that mimic the 6” x 6” and 6” x 8” collages. That’s been great fun. In addition to that, I’ve just ordered eight, 20” x 20” panels because I have an idea for a landscape series I want to execute in acrylic. Also, laying [in his studio], are five, totally nonobjective paintings that are transparent watercolor and gouache, and I go from one project to the next to the next based on what captures me when I walk in, or what’s in my head when I wake up in the morning.

Do you work in a series?

I do. And the series continues in my head for years, and years, and years. We’ll go back to the food series. That’s been ongoing for 13 years, and I only do two a year. My nonobjective work, think totally abstract — the two terms have become interchangeable recently — that’s pure design. That’s an ongoing project. I usually work on those paintings — eight, 10, 12 paintings at a time. They all get laid out on my two drafting tables, my two work tables, and the floor, and I cycle from one painting to the next, and the next. Eventually one or two might reach some sort of conclusion, and they get separated out, all the rest go back in the flat file until I feel like doing that again.

Clarify the distinctions between “abstract” and “nonobjective.”

Abstract implies that something has been abstracted. This is sometimes based on a recognizable image. Depending on how much the artist distorts – abstracts — this image, it may or may not be recognizable. Once that occurs it pushes into nonobjective (no subject) territory: [There is] no object. My work wanders back and forth, over and around this line. To most people these days, abstract has become the term that covers both.

The purpose of going back and forth between works is that you’ve found another idea to work on in the series to continue the idea forward — true or false?

Yes. It sits there in the small part of my brain, in the background, and will eventually go, Oooh! I can paint this. I can make a series that will make people think about food, and what we eat, and why we eat food. 

What’s your favorite tool?

Brushes. Counting brushes dedicated for watercolor and gouache, and brushes dedicated for acrylic, and brushes dedicated to be abused, the last time I counted it was pushing 400. How many do I actually use? The same seven or eight.

Then, someone might ask why you have so many? 

Every now and again, a specific brush will bring up a past idea, or elicit a future idea, and the what-if happens: What if I did this with this brush instead of that brush? Or, what if I held the brush this way instead of that way? Or, what if I were very delicate with this brush instead of heavy handed? I like brushstrokes, mark making with brushes.

This collection of brushes goes back how far?

To the beginning of time. They probably go back to my late teens, early 20s. I’m hard on brushes. They’re a tool. Just like a computer is a tool. A hammer is tool. A pencil is a tool. They allow you to accomplish what you need to accomplish. Eventually, if you use the tools, you wear out the tools. Very, very old brushes have a tendency to go under the sink as glue brushes. Eventually glue brushes fall apart, and need to be trashed, and then other brushes take their place. It’s a constant recycling of brushes and uses.

Do you use a sketchbook?

Yes. I use a white page, drawing paper, 5 1/2” x 8” sketchbook because it’s easy to carry around and work out of. My idea drawings in the sketchbook are small — 3 1/2” x 4 1/2, or 5”. They don’t take that long, and I can decide if this is [an idea] worth painting by seeing it. Once a sketchbook is finished, it goes on the shelf, but I do take it to a printer, and have a booklet made of my sketchbook. I blow it up a little bit so they’re easily seen, and print and bind a copy of my sketchbook. That way, when I travel and teach, or want to share with somebody, I can pull out that book, and thumb through it, and not smudge the pencil.

When did you commit to working with serious intent?

I was 10 or 11 years old. Psychologists have studied what makes people an artist, and one of the ways is this flash moment. So, when I was 10, I was hanging out with this friend of mine. We walked through his house — his dad was an artist — and on this big drafting table was a watercolor painting in progress, and all of his paints laid out, and brushes in containers, and paintings above him, and I just stopped dead, and was mesmerized by everything that was going on there. Visually. I vowed at that moment I would continue to figure that out. I got for Christmas that year, a little Prang set of watercolors, and I started with that and never stopped. The next Christmas I got the [Prang set with] 16 colors, including the black and white, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. For years, I’d sit in my room, and try to match the colors in my room — match the wall color, the book bindings, the wood work. I’d go out into the middle of the street, and try to paint the street in perspective to figure out how that worked. A couple years later, somebody told me there were actually books on perspective. All that occurred as a kid for me. Learning on my own, a lot of what I did because I just made watercolor do what I needed it to do, held me in good stead in later years.

What role does social media play in your practice?

Less now than it used to, although I’m still “on” both Facebook, and Instagram. I think Instagram makes more sense for visual artists — it’s shorter, to the point, and more visual.  As I age I’m less into posting on social media as I am getting to work in my studio. [Social media] is a way to sell paintings, and I have sold paintings on Facebook and Instagram. It’s not my major focus, if it ever was. I prefer to deal with real people in brick and mortar galleries.

What’s its influence on the work you make?

I make what I make, and let the chips fall where they may. I paint for myself. I do what I do, and go to the next do-what-I-do.

What’s social media’s influence on how you let the world know about the work you make?

Less these days. I’ve come back as a supporter. I have a lot of friends that are deep into marketing on social media — by necessity. Some of us need to sell work to pay our bills, or to afford our habit. And, so, I’m fully supportive of their efforts. Do I need [to use social media for marketing]? Probably not. Most of the work I make goes to the five galleries [that represent him]. They do a good job of marketing, and take that off of my shoulders.

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

Don’t you wish visual artists ran the world? I’ve found that creative people seem to be a lot more accepting of different, and divergent ideas, and a lot more open to the flow of both ideas and discussion of those ideas. Some folks dig their heels in because that’s the way it has always been — even if the research indicated that a change would make it better, they still want to stay stuck in the past. Creative people, and artists, are a little more open to change.

So, is the answer to the question of the visual artist’s role in the world that of “changemaker”?

Often we deal with what could be, rather than what is or what has been. It’s the what-could-be, and the always looking forward that artists seem to be more aware of than non-artists.

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

The woods. I grew up in the woods. At age of five I was let loose on two square miles of Northern Michigan woods with a trout stream that ran right through it. When you let a five-year-old loose on that kind of expanse, results can be profound and very interesting. I learned to find my way in the woods. I learned all of the animals of the woods. I learned what you need to do to see in the woods. So, I continue to spend time in the woods. Since I live in the middle of the Sleeping Bear Lakeshore, what I do is drive, park, and hike right into the woods off-trail, and then go, and go, and go, and go. With my visual memory, I can remember that hike forever.

When you’re walking in the woods, is it fair to say you’re not only doing it for your soul, but you’re also taking things in visually that get catalogued for future use?

I see paintings. I see them in terms of shape, color, value, texture, and how I might manipulate all those into an interesting painting. We all carry cameras now, in the form of a cell phone. I carry a point-and-shoot with good capabilities. If I see a “painting,” I might snap a photograph of it. That’s why there’s 30,000-plus images on my cell phone.

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

Hugely. I prefer late fall and winter because of the lack of people. It becomes a matter of simplicity and complexity. In my head, I prefer simplicity, so the starkness of winter feeds that simplicity. I lean more and more, even in plein air painting, toward painting in the winter for the simplified landscape form. Complexity enters into it also, especially when we’re dealing with this riot of glorious, fall color, and the myriad shapes in the woods. I was sitting in the woods last night, with the light shining through, and staring into the woods. A painting of that complexity would take lots of hours to include it all.

Is the work you create a reflection of this place?

Yes. Specifically, most of my landscapes are based on where I live, and the surrounding area. There’s a lot of interesting farm land between Empire, and Traverse City, and a lot that is interesting beside the lakeshore, and a lot of lakes that need to be fished. You add the rivers, and the dunes, and everything on top of that: I’m going to need three lifetimes to incorporate all the forms, and shapes I see daily.

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

Remember my earlier story about flash beginnings? That gentleman was middle age at the time when I walked through [his home]. Years, and years later, we had a show together. So, I was in my mid-20s, and he was probably 50, 60 at the time. Because of that beginning, he and I have talked through the years. We decided to have a show together. It was a lot of fun, and made the circle come round. His name was Pat McCarthy.

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

My wife Rosie. First and last critic, confidant, marketer, and partner. We lost Rosie to metastatic lung cancer [in June 2022]. It was devastating.  Rosie was the biggest influence. I’m learning life alone, let’s put it that way. [Mark and Rosie were married for 51 years at the time of her death.]

Who’s the critic, confidant, and marketer now?

That is a huge hole. To be determined. Probably me. It’s going to be a hybrid. I don’t have the time to do all of that. That’s part of the reason my brick-and-mortar galleries have become so important. They’ve taken over a lot of the role of marketing. I paint, and paint, and paint, and feed them. Some of the work is wildly popular. Some of it, not so much. My job is to create. They do the marketing. All of the owners/directors of the galleries that represent me: I’m proud to call them friend.

What is the role of exhibiting in your practice? In this case, I’m differentiating between showing work in a sales gallery, and showing work at a nonprofit arts center.

If I have work that fits a curated exhibit, I often will put a piece in the show. I will, fairly often, enter pieces in juried exhibits. I do less of that than I used to — it was a promotional tool for me. It worked. Got me lots of teaching jobs, accolades, and that kind of thing. I pick three or four large water-media shows, and most of the time enter. My work is more internal these days, as I’ve gotten older, and the the only person I feel like I need to please is me.

How do you feed/fuel/nurture your creativity?

So here’s the deal: work. Work begets more work. I don’t wait around for inspiration. I have way more ideas than I could ever get to in this lifetime. Those ideas are because I work. I get up, I do what needs to be done around the house, and then I go to work. Sometimes I hit the studio at 8 am. Sometimes I hit the studio at 6 am. Sometimes I hit the studio at 1 pm after lunch, and I work. And then the next day, I work some more. I occasionally take the weekend off — for visitors, or to go plein air painting. Basically, I’m in the studio working. When you’re working, you get ideas. You’re working on this idea, and while you’re working another idea may occur to you, and so, you should follow that idea. And while you’re working, another idea will occur to you. It’s a reoccurring thing. But to get there, you need to get to work. On the days I don’t feel like it, I go to work anyway.

What drives your impulse to make?

It’s over-active brain, thought process. It’s constantly making connections in my head, trying to link an idea with a process. Some ideas are better said one way than another. Do I make mistakes? Yes. Lots of mistakes. Mistakes can lead to breakthroughs, to a different avenue to say what you wanted to say. It’s a constant firing of synapses. Three lifetimes might do it for me. Maybe four. One, no.

I want to talk about your former day job, which was teaching art in the public schools. You taught art in the public schools — from elementary to high school — for nearly 30 years, in the Lansing area. Talk about the challenges that teaching presented to your own studio practice.

I retired 20-some years ago, and I didn’t really retire. I just went right into teaching water media workshops for adults for private and public organizations. I just taught my last travel workshops. Now I’m retiring from that job as well. Traveling isn’t as much fun as it used to be. Even though they pay well, and it’s fun to share, as I get further into my older years I feel more like I need to paint, and walk in the woods [versus] travel, and teach. Will I continue to teach? Yes. I have enough [local] teaching opportunities to keep me going.

While you were teaching in public school, did that drain any of the creative energy you had for doing your own work in your studio?

Especially when I taught in the public school, it was my goal to do a good job. Some days were totally exhausting. To do a good job, it took a lot of energy, so there were times where I didn’t have the energy to paint evenings. I’d paint on the weekends, or call in sick, and paint all day. When summer arrived, I only took one day off. School ended. The next day of summer I took that day to rest, relax, and the next day I went straight to the studio and put 8-to-12 hours in, all summer long for 30 years. It’s that work-ethic thing. Growing up, I can remember my dad saying to me, No matter what you do, be sure you work hard at it.

How did the work of your day job cross-pollinate with the work you did in your studio?

Especially as a high school art teacher, you have to be able to teach all of it. Printmaking, painting in all media, jewelry making, metalsmithing, ceramics, I had to be able to do all of that to be able to teach it. Am I good at all that? Not really. Teaching during the day, against vast expanses of concept, processes, and media, informed what I do visually. I’m still there, but it’s all painting, collage, and two-dimensional now. What I do, and the ideas I have, are broad — just like in the teaching days. It informed. I guess it still does.

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Read more about Mark Mehaffey here.

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

 

 

Laura Korch joined the Northwestern Michigan College art department in August 2023. She runs the ceramics and sculpture programs. “I had a very strong pull to [clay] as a child,” said the 43-year-old Traverse City resident. “As my work in pottery began changing into sculpture, I went to grad school [Arizona State] and started painting, and working with wood, and welding with steel. Now, my work can be a lot of different things”: vibrating wooden tubs, and walls of depressed coffee cups for starters. School cross-pollinated with studio work. Studio work cross-pollinates with teaching. It’s all of a piece.

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

Pictured: Laura Korch

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Describe the medium in which you work.

I primarily use clay. I had a very strong pull to that as a child. As my work in pottery began changing into sculpture, I went to grad school and started painting, and working with wood, and welding with steel. Now, my work can be a lot of different things. It mostly lands on clay and ceramics; but sometimes there’s an interdisciplinary approach. Sculptures are wood and metal with glaze and house paint. Or, one of my most ambitious projects was a giant, wood, interactive sound sculpture. People laid into this life-sized sculpture, and there were shakers that would pulse a two-way frequency at 528 hertz. When the person laid down they would insert their arms into these two tunnels that formed the shape of a large hug. The sculpture would then begin to slowly comfort and vibrate them with these frequencies.

I originally came up with the idea, as controversial as it may sound, in 2011. I was in Thailand, and was with a group of people who were living in Southeast Asia. I was going to ride an elephant. I was in this amazing jungle with a 15-year-old tour guide. At one point, we swapped seats, so I got to put my legs around the elephant’s neck. She had just given birth, so she was massive. And, she vibrated. She was rumbling. And, I thought everything in the universe vibrates. It was such an enlightening moment with this creature. Seven years later, this wood sculpture burst out from those travels, and that experience.

When you use clay in a sculptural capacity, there are remnants of its functional personality — but you’ve moved it beyond the functional into something else. Talk about that.

I was always fascinated with the pottery wheel. I thought that in conjunction with learning about clay as a material — there’s endless exploration with that material — I was so rooted in functional making, and wanting to be a full-time potter for more than a decade; by the time I was making sculpture, it was a surprise to me that I could open up enough to step away from the entrenched mud of [function-oriented] pottery. So, what you’re seeing is someone with a strong foothold and passion for functional pottery beginning to explore what it means to un-remember what I’ve learned, and try to approach it in a new way, which sometimes seems impossible. I do branch out, and sometimes I can succeed in making sculpture of various sizes out of clay. It’s most effective when I can combine the clay with another material. It reprograms my mind. It plays tricks on me so that I can’t settle into that habit of working with the material.

You’ve talked about yourself as a sculptor who works in a variety of materials. What draws you to sculpture?

It’s funny. It came about unexpectedly. I found myself working with the material in a different way than I was used to, and challenging the material at its maximum capacity. For example: I’d roll out these thin coils out of porcelain clay, and pinch it, make it into a ring, and I’d made 50 of these. The dry time for porcelain is very short — it goes from being soft to hard very quickly. I chose to stack all these rings with little clay pegs to make these fragile, cage baskets. That was a stepping stone for me. I became fascinated with this new way of working. And, also, from that, began thinking of concepts.

You received a BFA from Eastern Michigan in 2004, and your MFA from Arizona State in 2019. What happened in between?

I apprenticed with John Glick, a master potter, in Farmington Hills [Michigan] for a year. Next, I was hired as a ceramics studio manager for the Ann Arbor Arts Center, and that was when I first started teaching adults, and I had to begin explaining all the nuances of what I was doing with the material. That was a humbling period in my life. In 2007, I moved to North Carolina. There’s so much local clay. There was a low cost of living. And, I began teaching at several different art centers. At one of them, I was able to rent studio space — for pennies — for five years. Clay-makers had a cordoned off studio space there, and it was a very supportive community. Meanwhile, working at Trader Joe’s part-time. I was trying to make it as a potter. I was practicing selling at craft fairs, applying to exhibitions and shows. Finally, I bought a house in 2012 and renovated a garden shed [into a home studio]. Once these rings of sculpture came into my studio work, I took a four-week residency at Alfred University, which is one of the best ceramic schools in the nation and got to work with John Gill. I talked to the grad students there, and was convinced that I needed to go to grad school. That was why there was this gap. I was content with how I was living.

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

It affected everything. I’m definitely a product of academic training. In middle school, there was a ceramics department where I learned to hand build, sculpt and throw. In high school, I was convinced the only reason I was going was to take pottery classes. Our ceramics studio was huge. I felt like I had tons of support from teachers — we were glaze testing, raku firing, we had 12 wheels. When I went to college, I chose EMU because Diana Pancioli was there. She was an Alfred grad, and working very functionally.

Describe your studio/work space.

Here in Traverse City I’m occupying half the basement. We’ve put up a wall with a door. On the other side is a giant window and a door — so I can move things out the door if I can’t shimmy them up the stairs. I’m also occupying the laundry room — in this ground-floor basement. I’m able to have my kilns in there, a sink, and my oversized extruder. I’m storing my raw materials in that room, too. Now, I’ve got spaces to spread out. Originally I thought we’d build a studio off the garage, and I had plans for space where I could do welding. But it’s really hard to combine wood and clay. Currently, with me working for NMC, I’m able to use the welding shop if I need to.

What ideas are the focus of your work?

Usually, it’s whatever has called me to do. I went through a lot of life-changing events at the end of grad school that lead me to mysticism, Kabbalah, meditation. My work became more about these interactive sculptures that branch connection and consciousness. A lot of the time, I move into the work with that intention — whether of not it’s part of it. I’m still trying to embed it into the process of making. Currently, in the last three years, I have an agent. Tim McElligott, who is the owner of Curator Engine, approached me after my grad thesis exhibition, and said he wanted to work with me — whether it was the sculptures for businesses, or [other clay constructions]. He and I have been working for a number of years, and he’s bridged these connections with developers. What has ended up happening is I’ve gotten commissions through Curator Engine. Tim has a portfolio of artists that he takes to developers. There have been times when Tim will show me the color palette. The building has been constructed, here’s the parameters of the scale of the work we’ll need. We’re looking for a sculpture here, we’re looking multiple pieces there. What ideas do you have? I’ve really enjoyed this way of working. I got really burned out after grad school, and felt like I was giving up the rat race. I could never do enough. The artist in America has to be the photographer, the marketer, the maker. I got so tired of running hard with that game. These commissions work great for me. I don’t have to search out to the client. My agent is doing that. I get to stay in my studio and work. I’m not traveling all over the country to do art fairs. Instead, I have a couple gallery shops where I have pottery and sculpture, that sell really great. It keeps me in my space, working and making the way I want to do it.

It sounds like the themes and ideas for your work come out of these commissions.

That first commission, I came up with the idea of what to make; but there were parameters, and parameters can be really helpful.

The clients are saying, I have this space, and I like this, and what can you make of it? You come up with the creative juice?

And, my agent is not an artist. He has his masters in business; but he’s become pretty savvy over the years working with all these different artists [he represents].

What’s your favorite tool?

That’s changed over time. My first thought was my hands. We essentially, as a civilization, built everything with our hands. At different times I would have said [her favorite tool is] a pottery wheel, a kiln. Welding makes me feel like I’m looking into the universe with that light.

At this moment in time, what is your favorite tool?

My intuition. It’s a muscle I like to try to strengthen and flex. It’s learning to trust what I don’t already know. Putting my faith into the [belief] that my gut will tell me that the ideas will come.

Why is making-by-hand important to you?

It has been a compulsion for me. It’s what I’ve been destined to do. I was enthrall to the process in elementary school. In fifth grade I had a teacher who let us do pinch pots, and I think that lit a spark for me. I always enjoyed art classes; but clay is grounding. The hands do the thinking. It’s even exciting to think, What’s the proper way to use a hammer? There’s a certain way you hold it. There’s a certain way you swing it; and we’re empowered by using our hands. It’s an extension of ourselves.

Why does working with our hands remain valuable to modern life?

To each their own.There are people working in other mediums who may not be using their hands as much. I think it keeps us human — but I’m not stuck in that either. Back in 2005, we did a throwing day where we put the pottery wheels up on a table and we were throwing with our feet. It was silly and playful; but our feet are a lot like our hands. For me to touch something is for me to understand it.

What role does social media play in your practice?

I was putting a lot of pressure on myself to promote myself and my art work. I did that for a time. I do still have a few things on Etsy; but that’s a hidden closet. So, I would post on Instagram and Facebook, and I found that it drained me. It was not fulfilling. Reflecting on how I wanted to live my life with more intention, I turned away [from social media]. Now, when I finish a big commission, social media becomes a place of celebration for me. To show, and to share with other people what I’m doing.

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

I talk about this question with my modern art history students. I believe artists are here to show that everyone around them is also creative. Maybe that’s not as obvious; but I think that’s what we’re here to do. Art work is another form of communication — just like sound and music are different ways of communicating. If we can demonstrate doing anything in joy and love, that’s the point; and also reminding people of their own creativity.

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

I am a Michigan native. I grew up downstate [in Highland, Michigan]. I moved away in 2007, then moved back to Michigan in 2023. I was part of a huge, vibrant, progressive community in Durham [North Carolina]. My neighborhood was revitalized and thriving; but I lived next to a really loud freeway. Especially during COVID, it was wearing on me. The noise. The street lights were very bright; I had light-dampening curtains. I knew I wasn’t going to be at that house forever; but I was there for 12 years. Because of all the travel I’ve done, the timing was good to want to be near family again. My parents live up here half of the year, and this is the first time I’ve lived near them in 15 years. But, also, I was pining for a healthier environment for my emotional and mental wellness. We’re living in an old 1970s neighborhood [in Traverse City] that’s hilly and wooded, and it’s silent. When we go to bed at night and turn off the lights, we can’t see our hands six inches in front of our faces. I was craving this. I think the influence it has is that I have the capacity to expand. I feel like physically I’m expanding. Mentally I’m expanding. The weather here makes me feel childlike and free. It’s doing all kinds of wonderful things for my artwork. Making art involves a lot of rest. I know what it means to be completely depleted. So I want to be excited with I start a project, and scared, and challenged, and uncomfortable, and then I want to rest. This is the perfect environment.

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

Anyone who was a professional artist wasn’t someone I knew in childhood. My aunt taught me how to meditate. She had projects going on on the sidelines: wood shop, she could work with metals, she even knew how to throw on a wheel. She was very conscious. She’d talk about faith and god and mysticism, so I felt as though she lived her life creatively. She was also different. She was the black sheep of the family. So, I had this hippie aunt who was really creative.

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

This intuition, trusting that I’ll know, this channeling of god creativity has been the biggest influence. Instead of taking all the responsibility, and thinking, These are my ideas. I’m creative; I started thinking, Where is this light bulb, and all these pops of ideas, coming from?  Who’s lining up all these synchronicities? I think it’s this collective consciousness of being these expressions of god that work and move through us.

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

I’m so lucky. I’ve made really great friends from my grad school peers. There’s a handful of them I’ll go to. A few of my professors. On the daily, I’m in touch with my partner, Nick. He’s a musician. It’s fun to show things to my aunt, too, because she’s not fooled by art trends. She’s pretty cut and dry, and can weed out the bullshit. I have a lot of resources, including my new peers at NMC.

What is the role of the exhibition in your practice?

That ties into what I said about the pressure to advance your CV, to work. In general, I do like exhibiting. I love the chance to showcase a body of work that gives me a lot of information about what I’m doing — which I can see when all the pieces are shown together a a group. It’s fun to be part of a group exhibition because now you’re interacting with other pieces, or a theme. Most currently, that my commissioned works are like permanent exhibitions. They’re in these collections, on display.

How does the work of your day job cross-pollinate with your studio practice?

Over the years, my perception has changed a lot on how I view life and my work. First off, grad school has really prepped me for this way of living, being able to juggle a lot of different things at the same time. I’m so relieved to have a full-time art instructor position that I’m also energized from teaching. It’s an invigorating environment. And, because of grad school, I still have the energy to do my own work. You learn structures and schedules in undergrad; but you learn endurance in grad school. Right now I’m in a really good spot.

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Learn more about Laura Korch here.

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