Benzie County artist Jessica Kovan’s mixed media work is now on display in the GAAC’s Lobby Gallery. The Birds Are Watching, Kovan said, “asks viewers to pay attention from the vantage point of local bird species.” Kovan combines the personal with the political in this series of mixed media, avian vignettes created on cardboard. She took on the subject of local birds “in hopes of establishing a sense of interconnectedness between all beings.”
Category: Creativity Q+A
Creativity Q+A with Royce Deans
Royce Deans’s creative life has been a “crooked trail” of work in graphic design, and illustration — a not-so-straight path toward a process-driven practice focused on painting and printmaking. “I’ve identified as a painter even before I got out of art school,” Royce, 66, said. He lives in Traverse City, Michigan, and is a well-known maker and teacher in the region’s creative community; but it wasn’t always that way. “I was almost 30 when I figured out that you could be an artist. That that exists,” Royce said. He was, he said, a “late bloomer.” This interview was conducted in February 2023 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.
You work in many media.
I am a multi-disciplinary artist. I’ve been a painter exclusively for the past 35 years. About five years ago, I picked up printmaking. And since August, I’ve only been printmaking — as well as developing into a burgeoning poet. But I don’t consider printmaking a different discipline than painting. It’s just another way of making visual art.
Talk about the transition from being, primarily, a painter to making visual art through printmaking.
It’s something I think about a lot — in my own work and when I’m teaching — solving creative issues by coming at it all from a different perspective. If I come at the same subject through printmaking, it pushes my brain to find new solutions that I wasn’t expecting. It’s like the exercise of writing or drawing with your non-dominant hand.
Is it the tools? That materials? The end result that has that effect of pushing your brain into a different place?
When I started making these monotypes, I started working on Plexiglass plates, and trying to do my paintings on the Plexiglass plates. That alone was enough to be interesting because of the different types of marks I could get. There’s a whole, new set of marks you can get with printmaking. It’s something I can’t achieve with painting.
Another thing that intrigues me about printmaking is I can work for hours on a plate — whether inking a mono type plate or cutting and inking a linoleum block — repeating the same process over and over, and there’s still so many variables left to explore: pressure of the press, what paper I’m using, humidity of the studio, or maybe I’m not paying attention and you print something upside down. There are so many things that could happen. Working without a net is exciting.
Did you receive any formal training in visual art?
I went to the American Academy of Art in Chicago [1980-83]. In some ways it was good. There was a lot of time spent on fundamentals of design and composition, which play into the way I approach a painting. I think most of the great painters throughout history have been great designers, too. I received an Associate’s Degree in Design and Illustration. After that I hit the pavement and started doing design work for agencies in Chicago.
Tell me about your studio.
My studio is located south of Cedar [Michigan]. It’s in a big 40 ft. x 50 ft pole building on a [50-acre compound and residential-farm collective]. I have a space where I can spread out and work. There are expansive views outside my windows, and I do look out of them.
How does this space facilitate your creative work?
The whole environment on this compound is super good for me. Nature is everywhere. The place feels nurturing to me every time I walk in the door. A studio is so important for artists, to have a place to make your mess and be able to come back to your mess the next day, and know it’s not going to be bothered. The owners of the place are wonderful patrons of the arts and good friends too.
That’s a lot of square footage. I’d imagine there’s a correlation between how much space you have and what kind of work you do.
Yes. It’s got a big, overhead, 10-foot door. I could drive a semi into it. I can do big work work if I want in the space.
What are the themes/ideas that you focus on in your work?
I’m an observationalist. The end result of my work may be abstracted or stylized, but none of it comes out of my imagination. It’s all from observation of nature, the landscape, the figure. The place we live in here is a huge inspiration to me. The texture of the water’s surface, or the bottom of the lake or the contours of the hills, they all play into the motifs that I find myself returning to over and over again. I’ve always had a strong interest in incorporating the figure into my work.
Why is the figure a subject of so much interest to you?
I’m fascinated with the shapes and forms and balance and composition possibilities that the human form gives us. I’m really interested in people, and people all have bodies, and it all weaves together to hold my interest.
You’ve been running figure drawing sessions in your studios for years.
With the advent of COVID and the pandemic, I switched over to doing them online for the last three years.
The model is there in your studio?
No. The model is somewhere else, in their own home or studio.
.And anyone who takes the class draws from their computer screen?
Again, coming for the illustration background where all you work from is photographs — when I started doing what I’m doing as a fine artist, working from photographs … It’s such a thing for me to be in close proximity to the three-dimensional experience, so working from photographs and the screen: I had my doubts; but it has ended up being fabulous. Socially, during the pandemic, it was good to bring people together on a weekly basis. For me, I got used to the idea. What helped my drawing was everybody works with some sort of different computer or phone. All these have a different camera, and all the models have different set-ups. I realized the nature of what I’m providing is, in many ways, distorted by the lens, and once I just drew what I saw — not what I think I know — I got better. After doing that for a couple years, when I did draw from the figure live again, I was a little bit nervous that I’d ruined myself working from the computer screen. And, I found that I could draw better. It was an interesting surprise I was really pleased about.
What prompts the beginning of a project or composition?
I’m process driven — that’s another reason I really like printmaking. There is such a specific process you have to go through; including the preliminary work of thinking about it. I usually have a very loose concept of layers of shapes or colors that may, or may not be, rectangles with designs in them. It’s usually not more than a wisp of smoke. When it comes down to the doing, I leave myself open for opportunities to change lanes, really quickly. As an illustrator, I always had to have the clients wishes in mind. So, from the very beginning, I had to know what [the outcome of the project] was going to be at the end, and I’d work and work until it got to that place. When I started doing more paintings for Royce, I was thinking in that way — I became the client, and I was making myself unhappy working that way. [Now] I put one brushstroke down, and respond to it. I might have thought I was going off here and there in one direction, but by just responding to what I put down [on the canvas], I may [find] I’m going 180 degrees in the other direction.
Do you work on more than one project at a time?
I try to keep a couple paintings going, but it’s hard for me to keep close tabs on them. In the printmaking studios, it’s a little easier easier to do that, especially when I’m working on bigger pieces because they need to dry.
What’s your favorite tool?
I think right now, my favorite tools are an etching press and a brayer. It’s what I find myself using most. I do love the carving of a linoleum block, but I think that the magic happens in the application of ink, and transferring that to paper.
Do you use a sketchbook?
Absolutely. I try to map out my jumping-on place with drawing. I draw a lot. It’s important for me to figure out what I’m doing in a pencil sketch. That said, the body of paintings I have at my studio now, they’re as improvisational as the prints I’m doing. It would be impossible for me to put them in a sketch book ahead of time. Ninety-nine percent of the time, my sketch book is for me. It’s really personal, and I’m probably the only one who could understand it — even if you could say, Oh, that’s a tree, or a person. It represents me making sense to myself of form.
When did you commit to working with serious intent?
About 30 years ago. As far as the direction I’m going now, I realized I had to put the time in instead of fitting the work in between other stuff. I consider myself fortunate to have crafted the other projects I’ve done have always been art-centered, whether I was the art director or the graphic designer, that sort of thing. I was always on the art side of things. I’ve been fortunate to have work outside of painting. I did realize that some of those things were a distraction [from his studio practice]. So I put them aside.
What role does social media play in your practice?
I share my work often on social media. I’m careful though to not post too much work that’s not finished or is only half-way there — the reason I put it out there maybe because I think it’s cool, and I get positive reinforcement, but then it can be really hard to work on it more. It derails me somehow.
What do you believe is the visual artist’s/creative practitioner’s role in the world?
I know there’s a lot of ugliness out there, and it can be depressing, but I’m an optimist. There is so much beautiful stuff, and peacefulness that’s overlooked, not seen by anybody. If I can bring some of that peace and beauty that I purposely search for, and bring that into this other realm — the gallery, somebody’s home — I think that’s what my goal, my calling might be. A lot of artists have a narrative that’s obvious — it’s religious, it’s political, whatever that might be — I’ve struggled with that thing over the last few years — wondering if I ought to have a more cohesive narrative for my work, which isn’t one that’s so easy to verbalize, but it’s one that resonates with people when they see it.
Did you know anyone, when you were growing up, who had a serious creative practice?
No. I had really supportive and creative parents. My mother painted a lot, and my father played music, and they took us to lots of museums and symphonies. So, I had this exposure; but at the same time, I never knew that being an artist in my day and age was possible.
How did you figure that out?
Who has had the greatest and most lasting influence on your work and practice?
Tenacity.
Is that a guy?
What drives your impulse to make?
It’s a problem to solve, and the problem is to see something brand new. I just want to see something I’ve never seen before. . It’s really exciting when I can see a glimmer of that. I’m not always successful. I’m not interested in trying to paint like whomever I saw in a museum or gallery. I’ve been having this discussion because in November I started knitting. And that’s making. I’m so fascinated by the simplicity of these two stitches — knit and purl — and I can make a hat, or hand warmers, and a scarf. It’s so simple: two sticks and yarn, and you can make something.
To whom do you go when you need honest feedback about your work?
In general terms, everybody should find someone who knows their work that will be objective with them. Your mom will tell you it’s great regardless. When it comes down to honest feedback, I need to turn to other artist who I trust, I admire, who don’t really gain from telling me it’s good when it’s not.
What’s the role of exhibiting in your practice?
While I’m a non-performative person, I am relatively comfortable talking to people and being in front of a group — but I recognize the need to have my work seen. It’s super important to have that feedback — not the feedback of [social media] a thumbs up or likes; but having somebody respond to it in a personal way — my work made them think of something they hadn’t thought of. Then, I know I’m communicating. It’s nice to sell work, too.
Talk about the ways your teaching activities cross-pollinate with your studio practice. Do the two feed one another?
A lot. Definitely. The way that I teach is not technique-based. If somebody wants to know how to mix colors or how do I paint a bird, we can talk about the technical aspects of it; but I’m a big believer in the want to make, and then the necessary facility will come. . What I needed more, and how I give my students a new way to see, or a new in-road to a problem. It’s much more about feeding your creativity, and what you need to do to have ideas flow. What do you need to be told to give yourself permission to go for it? So many people I work with want to, and keep telling themselves they can’t. One-hundred percent of the time there’s something in what they did that’s better than admirable, but they can’t see it. There’s one part of it that’s wrong, and they’re right that it’s wrong, but they don’t see the other 80 percent of it that is pretty terrific, so let’s focus on that.
Do those questions come out of your own practice?
Yes. If I was going to give away the secrets to my teaching technique it’s that I don’t tell my students anything I don’t do on a daily basis. Exactly how I go about it, from the very beginning seed of an idea. And that sometimes I go sit on the beach for a couple hours and just look. It isn’t always best to beat-yourself-up-in-the studio. Everything is inspiring and everywhere.
You’d don’t close yourself off to possibilities.
No. I’m probably a little too open. I run into a lot of walls, but I do tend to run after ideas and whims. Sometimes when you do that you find a cool little trail nobody ever knew about.
Read more about Royce Deans here.
Sarah Bearup-Neal develops and curates Glen Arbor Arts Center exhibitions. She maintains a studio practice focused on fiber and collage.
Creativity Q+A Video with John Hartig
A conversation with John H. Hartig, Ph.D, author of the 2022 book Great Lakes Champions, the story of 14 people who loved the Great Lakes so much that they devoted their careers to leading grassroots partnerships to clean up the most polluted of these freshwater seas.
Creativity Q+A with Cynthia Marks
Leelanau County, Michigan, artist Cynthia Marks, 71, has been “making art for 50+ years, a startling and comforting thought,” she said. “I am consumed by using clay to conceptualize most any thought in a form or surface, generally drawing from my everyday life, art history, and nature.” Cynthia hand-builds vessels and pots from terra cotta and white stoneware clay, into which she carves, stamps, and draws to create highly decorative surfaces; “experimenting with different clay bodies and always searching for that huge, new thought.” And it all begins with a coil of clay. This interview was conducted in January 2023 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.
Pictured left: Cynthia Marks
What is your process for making vessels?
I build using coils. I roll coils. I score and slip in-between. I often use a template to get the form. If it’s a large piece, I always use a template that I’ve made out of tag board.
The scoring of the coils is to create two, rough surfaces. You lightly score the coil, then score the preceding coil, which is affixed to a base. That allows you to get a better bond. Some potters will leave their coils showing on the outside; I do not. I’m quick at rolling coils. I find that when I build with slabs, I spend more time getting rid of the slab mark, and sometimes they come back when subjected to heat. I use coils to build about 90 percent of the time. Once in a while I’ll get on a jag and throw but I’ve tried throwing vases and doing my surface technique that I’ve adapted or invented, but people prefer hand building — as far as selling my work in galleries goes.
Does hand building give you different kinds of freedoms that throwing does not?
Yes. And, I’m better at it. I lived in an area, most of my life, where there were many potters. Goshen College was right up the road, and at the helm was Marvin Bartel, and no one could throw better than Marvin and all of his students. And some of them, especially big brawny men, stayed in the area. In the other direction, to the west, we had Bill Kremer at Notre Dame, and he had a following and a flock that stayed in South Bend [Indiana]. So there were a lot of these young, brawny men who could throw. And even when I was young, I couldn’t throw as well as they did, and I didn’t have time to perfect the skill because I was teaching [high school art] full-time and raising a family.
Were you trying to differentiate yourself from the herd of throwers?
I taught throwing for a long, long time. I taught it every semester. I had six wheels. But for my own personal work I felt more satisfied when I hand built. You can experiment more.
[NOTE: Cynthia taught visual art in the Indiana Public School system from 1975 – 2008.]
Why do you like working in clay?
I came to clay as a means of expression because it was what the schools [she attended] could afford to buy. My degree is actually in jewelry design and metal smithing. But I had also taken a good amount of hours in ceramics in undergrad, and I liked it. I was good at it, so I did it.
How did your formal training affect your development as a creative practitioner?
I wouldn’t be where I am today. I always say it’s the power of an IU degree.
[NOTE: Cynthia attended Indiana University/Bloomington from 1970-74, receiving a Bachelors of Science/Education; and a Masters of Science/Education from Indiana University, 1976-79.]
People say, Oh, you’re so talented. And I say, No. I’m highly educated. I was so fortunate to work with and be mentored by famous people. Alma Eikerman, the head of metal smithing and jewelry design at IU, was my friend. We had a long relationship, long after I graduated. And the same with Karl Martz and John Goodheart in ceramics. They were huge in the field. I didn’t know it until later, but for a public university their art program was sixth in the nation. For a little girl from Mishawaka [Indiana], who was first generation [college student in her immediate family], it was a pretty big deal.
Describe your studio/work space.
My work space is probably why I live here. We [husband David] built our little cottage in 2015. It was just to be a weekend place. When we got tired of going back and forth after four years, I said that I can’t live here without a studio. There’s no way. So, over the course of a week, my husband and my son-in-law’s father framed out half of our basement — about 600 square feet, but it’s more than adequate. It has an easement window, so birds hop along the edge, and once in a while a frog or snake gets down in there. I go down there, and I just smile. I used to laugh. Before we remodeled, the most expensive thing in the house was my kiln. My husband insisted I couldn’t buy a used one. So I bought a brand new Skutt. Great big, beautiful Skutt.
Why did your husband insist on a brand new kiln?
He likes me to be happy. I wasn’t keen on this idea of moving here. I thought of myself as a city girl. His grandparents had a cherry farm in Arcadia, so he spent his whole life coming here every summer, and then we started vacationing [in Leelanau County].
How does your studio facilitate your work?
I think artists are very much into their tools and equipment, at least I am. I’m also old school: I have to have a book shelf because I still use books. I have a big bench and wedging board. I have an array of glazes. I have everything I need, and more. It’s the biggest room in our house.
Tell me about the books.
I have jewelry books. I have animal books. I have pattern books. I have textile history books. I tend to not look at other people’s pots. Marvin Bartel taught me that. He advised his students to look at jewelry, painting, sculpture, art history. We can borrow; we don’t need to copy someone else’s pots. And, I took that to heart. I had an extensive library when I was growing up. We used to laugh about going to the Church of Borders on Sunday mornings. I used to buy the newest, latest [ideas], boxes of books to take to my classroom, and I kept a lot of them when we moved here.
Many people use the internet in the way you use books.
I do that, too. I’ve been on the internet all week trying to get my thoughts together for my next show [a group show proposed for 2024] — as well as making my work for my spring gallery orders.
What themes/ideas are the focus of your work?
I always start with form. It’s like putting lipstick on a pig if you put a beautiful design on a sloppy pot. There are rules. At least there were rules for the people I studied with. A pot’s top and foot should differ, they should not be the same. The fullest point should not be the top or the base. A pot needs a shoulder. A pot needs a neck. To have some interest, it should look like there’s a life inside trying to get out.
Your pots are very decorative. Talk about your approach to surface design.
I do brighter colors in the winter. When it’s cold, I want warm. And I tend to do cooler, more landscape-y colors in the summer. We do some hiking and foraging for mushrooms, and I love the palette in the spring. I generally make about 12 pots at a time. I start with pinch pots, in varied sizes, then I coil them shut. And then I have spout day. I might make 25 spouts. I do all kinds of crazy things. I roll them up and down the woodwork in my studio, or the metal shelves. I do things to get striations and texture. I’ll let them harden, and then go back down and try to figure which spout goes with which pot. And then I’ll decide: Do they need a handle? Or a little cape [IMAGE?] on the top. I do a lot of trial-and-error, and a lot of experimenting. I don’t have completed drawings of each pot before I begin.
Talk about all the flowers and vegetation that you add to the surfaces of your pots.
Our whole yard is flowers. We don’t have grass. And, I’ve gardened all my life. I suppose, if we’re talking about our histories and our pasts, and our stories, and our lives, spending time in my grandmother’s garden was certainly why I do what I do. I spend a couple hours in my garden two or three days a week, and then I go down to my studio.
I might do five or six pieces from nature, and five or six pieces from art history. Those are my two loves. That’s what I’m interested in. If someone says to me, Would you make me a pot with a picture of my dog on it?, chances are good I would say, I love that you love your dog, but there are other people who can do that better.
If you focus on art history, what themes or visual references are you pulling from that for your own work?
It isn’t usually themes as much as it is individuals. I have certain artists I’ve always been drawn to. I’ve been into Paul Klee since I was 10-years-old. I’ve always loved Kandinsky, and Caravaggio. Right now, I’m sort of learning toward American artists for this next body of work. I’ve spent all my time in the past 30 or 40 years worrying about the Europeans or the Africans. We’re planning on taking a trip to the Hudson Valley. We had a great Wyeth experience a couple of years ago, and we’ve been trying to get to Chadds Ford.
What’s your favorite tool?
An expired card from the subway in London. I brought it back when I went to the Chelsea Flower Show [in 2019]. That’s my smoothing device. I have a whole bowl of different expired credit cards, and driver’s licenses, and ID. They are all different. They come in different weights and grades, and some work better for some things than others. I use a clay body that has a fair amount of grog in it. When I rake that credit card across the body of the pot, it creates a mark. I sometimes think I’m a frustrated printmaker because I love mark making, texture. Maybe that’s why I’m not so much into throwing [pots on the wheel]. I don’t like things that are smooth.
I also paddle a lot. That comes my background in metalsmithing: the hammer against the metal against the stake, which stretches it. And so, I stretch the clay. I build with a coil of clay that is the size of my index finger. As I paddle I’m stretching the clay, thinner and thinner, higher and higher. I like the sound. It’s just fun.
Why is making-by-hand important to you?
I’ve never not. I’ve said to my family — I have macular degeneration, but it’s under control — when and if I go blind, and I can’t make work, then I can’t see much point in being. I’ve never done anything but make art. What I like about being an artist and using my hands is the solitariness of it. I’m never bored.
Why do you think hand work needs to remain a vital part of human life?
My daughter and I talk about this all the time. I think about the satisfaction we get from creating. I figured out one time I saw 20,000 kids over 35 year, and so many of them are still using the [hand-making] skills I taught them. It’s a pleasure to them. It balances their families. I look at people, and I don’t know what they do all day — if you don’t sew or knit or make art or go out and take photographs. I can’t imagine how you fill your days if you’re not creating.
When did you commit to working with serious intent?
I was 10-years-old. In Indiana, in the fourth grade you study Indiana history, and I made a Native American sculpture on a bottle of dish washing soap [with modeling clay, and papier mache]. I can see her today. I just always thought I could keep doing it. A lot of it might have been the teachers, who were so encouraging. But I never wanted to do anything else.
What role does social media play in your practice?
I have a network of former students I stay in touch with through Instagram and Facebook. I like [for friends and family] to see the old gal is still doing the work. Walking the walk. I don’t sell or have a website. [Conversely] I do a lot of gallery visits through social media. I use it that way.
What do you believe is the visual artist’s/creative practitioner’s role in the world?
As an educator, I was constantly pointing out the role of art in our lives, and how much nicer it would be to have a spoon that feels good in your hand, or have a cup that’s made by an individual.
How does living in Northern Michigan inform and influence your practice, and what you make?
I don’t think it does. I’ve always said, I try to optimistically bloom where I’m planted. Wherever I am, I try to do my best, and help others, and make art. I really did not want to live here. It’s too rural for me. I do [however] like the quiet, and I like the light. I like the colors here. I’m not a big beach person. But my flowers do better here [than in Indiana].
Did you know anyone, when you were growing up, who was a serious, creative practitioner?
My high school art teacher. Her name was Rosa Weikel who taught at Mishawaka High School. She was a wonderful watercolor painter, and sold work in a little framing store downtown. That said to me she must be good! She painted very traditional themes. She was very quiet, and stern, and tiny. And, she paid a lot of attention to me.
Who has had the greatest, lasting influence on your work and practice?
Alma Eikermann. She was the head of metals at I.U. A phenomenal artist and teacher. She brought the idea of Danish holloware to America. She was a really colorful woman. She’d show up at the studio at 11:30 pm after having gone to the opera. She had us to her home. She owned a Chagall. I mean, God … I’d never met anyone like that.
Where or to whom do you go when you want honest feedback about what you’re making?
My daughter [Brooke Marks Swanson]. I was fortunate, when I was teaching, one of my colleagues was my best friend, and we’d critique each other. He was honest. And, my husband — he has a degree, too [in graphic design].
What role does exhibiting play in your practice?
When I began teaching, and my daughter was young, I didn’t feel like I had the time to give a piece my full attention. But when she was about 10, I entered a show in a Midwest Museum of American Art show, and they had a juried regional annually. I’d enter, and almost always got in, but I didn’t win awards. I kept at it, and started winning awards. It felt good. It gave my life validity — i.e. she knows what she’s doing. I enjoyed the process. And I enjoy working thematically. If [a gallery] gives me a theme, a title, an idea, man … I’m off and running. That’s half the problem solved. I know what I have to make. I like being a conceptual artists. When I started working, that [idea] was just beginning, in the ‘60s. I was raised on formalism — all we worried about was craftsmanship. It wasn’t very often we thought how your day was going and could we work it out in some clay? I love the idea of 50 different people use a theme [to direct their making]. How exciting.
How do you feed and nurture your creativity?
We travel quite a bit. And we always go to museums. We plan trips around shows, museums.
What drives your impulse to make?
This sounds trite: I like to keep busy. I just love making things. I wouldn’t matter if someone said, We’re going to take away all your clay. Clay is no longer being made. I would probably go back to collage. Or, I could paint. I love making jewelry. I just like art.
For me, it wasn’t challenging at all. My [students] knew I had a theme — that I wouldn’t ask them to do anything I wouldn’t do myself. I had this marvelous classroom, with this great big counter in the back, and I’d always have something going. Especially in the beginning [of her teaching career], I’d always do the project first. That’s where I made my entries for the juried regionals. One of our banks held a Christmas card contest, I’d make a Christmas card for the competition. I walk every morning with a [former] art teacher. I was working in the back of my classroom, and a principal I didn’t enjoy came in, and I jumped when he got up beside me, and told him I hadn’t heard him. And he said, Oh, a bomb could have gone off here and you wouldn’t have noticed. I looked him right in the eye, and I said, Well, for an art teacher, I think that’s a compliment. I was engaged in what I was doing, and I was making art. There were some art teachers, over time, that never make another art piece after they graduated. I always did. I continued making art throughout my entire career. I always felt like I was an artist who taught.
Cynthia Marks is represented by Sleeping Bear Gallery, Empire, Michigan; and Higher Art Gallery, Traverse City, Michigan.
Sarah Bearup-Neal develops and curates Glen Arbor Arts Center exhibitions. She maintains a studio practice focused on fiber and collage.
Creativity Q+A with Laura Hood
It was never a question of IF Laura Hood would play an instrument, but WHICH instrument she would end up playing. It was all in her genes, and part of her familial inheritance. Hood, 61, makes a wide range of music with her horn and guitar. She performs and teaches — at The Leelanau School for the last 30+ years. She writes and composes. And she believes that making music is good for the soul and the brain.
This interview was conducted in November 2022 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.
Pictured left: Laura Hood
What draws you to the horn and guitar?
Almost opposite things. I love playing the horn with other people. And, I love being able to play some of the finest music ever composed by Mozart and Beethoven, Tchaikovsky. To be a part of performing the big, standard musical works in history.
On the opposite side of it, I love playing the guitar because it’s my voice, and my guitar. I’m a whole “thing.” It doesn’t take a whole group to create something. I can create it all by myself in my little room, and sound good. With the horn, I can play by myself, but where it gets really fun is playing with other people.
Did you receive any formal training?
I grew up in a family of musicians. In our family the question was not: “Would you like to play an instrument?” It was always: “What instrument do you want to play?” From the time before I could remember, I played piano. I can’t remember learning how to read music. I was so young.
Were the piano lessons with Mrs. Smith down the block?
Yes. And I took private lessons on the horn and the guitar. Actually, on the guitar, I started learning from a class at the [Grand Haven, Michigan] YMCA in sixth grade. I have a Bachelors of Music in horn performance from Michigan State University [received in 1985]. While I was there, I took classical guitar lessons as well.
How did your formal training affect your development as a creative practitioner?
I can’t imagine being able to do what I do without it. It’s invaluable. It teaches you the discipline of your skill. A lot of artists think that it’s this free-flowing, creative process all of the time. Depending on your art, maybe it is. But to be a symphonic musician, there’s a lot of [technical] skill building and knowledge that are necessary. You have to understand the historic context of the pieces you’re playing, and have the chops to play it. That takes a lot of discipline. You have to play your scales, and your arpeggios, learn how to practice. And, you do that every single day.
Describe your studio.
At home, I have a small music room [at The Leelanau School]. I have a piano, shelves that have all of my instruments stacked on them, there’s a beautiful window. It’s just big enough to put two chairs and a music stand.
I spend much more time creating, playing the guitar at school. My classroom is super cool – I’ve hung guitars on the classroom walls. With my horn, a lot of the inspiration comes from the other people I’m playing with. My own studio is so small that I can’t have other people play in it.
With whom do you play?
You bring a great deal of creativity to the way you approach teaching kids. Your own music making isn’t divorced from that. And, I think it informs what you do as a teacher.
I’m glad that people can recognize that in me. After doing this for 30 years [at The Leelanau School], some days I feel like I’m just the teacher up there going, “Wah-wah, wah-wah.”
[Laura also taught at Pathfinder School in the 1990s, and has taught private lessons since she was a girl.]You compose music.
Yes, but I think of myself more as a songwriter.
Define what a songwriter is.
A song is a piece of music that has lyrics. Whereas a composition would be a piece of music that is all musical instruments. It also has to do with my approach to writing music. My approach is very much guitar-centered, thinking of melody in my head. That’s the way I’ve written almost every song I’ve ever written. However, Manitou Winds has inspired me to explode some of my songs into guitar-plus-harp-plus-woodwinds.
You write for yourself, and you are also orchestrating for other instruments?
That’s right. When I write a song, I write it in chord. But when I write for other instruments, I use a software called Sebelius, which notates everything. The first piece I composed on Sebelius, I wrote for woodwind quintet during the COVID lockdown. I had so much time at home, so I finally took on that project. But I didn’t save it correctly, and my computer died, so I lost the whole thing: six weeks’ worth of work. I haven’t written anything since that. I feel like I’m still grieving for losing all that work.
You just told a very sad story that involved computers croaking and your creative work is lost. Both of these things are interesting because, in a time before computers, all this work was done by hand. How do you reflect on the role of computerized machinery in your creative work?
I don’t think I would be able to compose as much as I have been without the computer. It enables me to try things — and have the computer play it back for me so I can hear what it is I’ve invented. I’m not a trained composer. Whereas with songwriting, I don’t use a computer ever. I use a pencil, and a piece of paper, and my guitar in my hands. The way my brain is working is totally different between writing a song with my guitar, with lyrics — that feels very creative, intuitive. When I’m writing for Manitou Winds, that is much more analytical, intellectual, and that I do on the computer.
What are the themes you explore in your music making?
In my songwriting, I’m much more of a guitar player than a singer so I always emphasize my guitar playing over being fancy with my voice. Stylistically: My music is much more folk with a classical or jazz flair. I’ve written songs about motherhood, relationships, and sprinkled in all of my songs is a sense of Leelanau County and the lakes.
How does Northern Michigan find its way into your work, and inform it?
Constantly. One of the songs I wrote was all about Glen Arbor, in September, when the leaves start to fall. You can feel Glen Arbor start to take a deep breath. Everybody’s gone. And, then the magic of Glen Arbor comes forth during that time. If you only stay here in the summer, you never see the magic. I’ve written songs about the Manitou Islands, and the Sleeping Bear story. When my son Ian graduated from high school, I wrote a song about him, but it was about the way he skis, and climbs trees, the way he is in water. I don’t think I can ever separate myself from this place.
When you teach songwriting to your students, how do you distill it down?
We work on three different aspects of writing a song. One is the lyrics. The other is the chords. And the third one is the melody that lies in your voice. It’s like braiding together these three different abilities and talents. To be a really good songwriter, you have to be able to do all three of those things. Writing lyrics can be a very creative process. Coming up with a melody is tricky if you’re not a great singer, but that’s more intuitive. Coming up with the chord progression is more theoretical. You’ve got to have the chops on your instrument to do that. So, writing a song combines a lot of different skills and abilities into one thing, and then you have to be able to perform it.
What tools do you use to make and record thoughts that go into your work?
My phone. I’ve always got a list of thoughts and ideas on my phone. That can be written or recorded. If I’m playing around on the piano, and I come up with something I like, I always make sure I record it. In my mind I’m thinking, “Oh, I’ll never forget this,” but I never remember it at all. The software Sebelius is pretty important, and pencil and paper, too. I never write lyrics on the computer. I don’t really like computers. I’m not good at it. I don’t do it naturally. It doesn’t feel very creative to me at all. But I don’t think I could write for Manitou Winds without a computer. It’s a love-hate relationship, I guess.
What role does social media play in your practice?
None — except when Manitou Winds is going to have a concert. They’re publicized [on Facebook], snippets of our rehearsals are put up, which I think helps to get us a great audience. I don’t watch any YouTube videos, or take inspiration from other people or Tik Tok.
Another thing I’d like to say about the internet with music: For instance, I love Sarah Jaroz. A great, young musician who uses Spotify, and Instagram in such wonderful ways. She has promoted herself beautifully on line with class, and grace. I do think it can happen, but you have to sort through all the crap first to get to the good stuff.
We live in a time when we can all be consumers of music, but not as many people play and make music themselves. Your thoughts?
I feel concerned about that. In a couple different ways. First of all: Not as many people are making music. I think back to when I was in school, there were so many kids in the school band and orchestra program. I see fewer and fewer young people being really involved with learning musical instruments. It’s just so easy to plug into their technology. Practicing, as a young person, is hard. Nobody likes to practice when you’re distracted by video games, and social media. There are so many distractions now-a-days.
What is it about making one’s own music — from blowing air through a tissue-paper covered comb to strumming a guitar — that’s good thing for humans?
I’ve read quite a bit about the difference between just listening to music, and feeling the music go into you. Playing an instrument lights up neurons in your brain that nothing else does. If you are a life-time musician, your brain actually develops physically different than somebody who is not. It’s like when your brain is in the zone, playing music is all consuming. Music takes you there, and it takes you there quickly through the rhythms, the melodies, the lyrics; the feeling of you’re using your own voice as an instrument; when you’re harmonizing — all those pieces fit together is pretty inspirational.
Making your own music is about being human, about tapping into your human-ness.
And connecting with others in a really deep and intimate way. Back to playing with Manitou Winds, the way that there’s the give-and-take, the absolute listening to the way somebody else is playing, and then trying to imitate or match that. Those are the subtleties that make groups really good, away and beyond hitting all the notes at the right time.
When you were growing up, did you know anyone who had a serious creative/musical practice?
Yes. My family. My grandfather [Bob Warnaar] was a composer.He wrote for big bands. He spent his whole life writing and arranging big band music, and has a good band of his own. So when Woody Herman and Duke Ellington came through town [Grand Haven/Muskegon area], it was always my grandfather’s band that they would hire to back up their main musicians. There were a lot of jazz people who came through Fruitport back in the day. There was a big pavilion that many of these jazz musicians performed at. It was right on the Grand River. People would come up in their boats for an evening of jazz and dancing. I have file cabinets of all of his big band music. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. It’s all handwritten, beautiful manuscript.
My father [Don Warnaar], his son, was a classical trumpet player who played in the West Shore Symphony for 30 years [Muskegon]. He was a band director. My mother [Gail Warnaar] was a double reed specialist who played double bassoon. She still runs a music business where she sells specialize music and reed-making equipment for double reed players. I came from a family of three girls. My older sister is a violinist. My younger sister teaches music, plays percussion, guitar, and sings.
Who has had the greatest and most lasting influence on your work and practice?
On the guitar: I’ve gone to the John Lamb songwriting retreat in Harbor Springs. I’ve gone to that for a couple of years, and met some really neat songwriters. Another big inspiration is [Leelanau County musician and teacher] Pat Niemisto. Patrick is so versatile, and he gives the gift of music to so many people in this area. He’s so professional, and humble.
How do you nurture your creativity?
Playing in Manitou Winds, and the symphony.
[NOTE: Watch a short video here of Manitou Winds and The Benzie Area Symphony Orchestra performing Laura Hood’s composition Happy Feet.]
Performance is a fuel for your creativity?
Yes, but so is rehearsing with other people. I probably enjoy that more than performing. I don’t have to worry about being nervous. I can completely immerse in the moment, and not have to worry about an audience.
I’d imagine, with rehearsal, there’s opportunities to discover things that aren’t on the notated page.
Absolutely. And, to laugh with others, and try different things. There’s more creativity happening in rehearsal. By the time you’re performing something, there’s the moving forward, and the gift of giving your music. But it’s not a super creative thing.
So, we’re talking about process versus product.
Absolutely. It’s interesting. In an orchestra, it’s the conductor who is really being the most creative. We’re just following what he wants us to do, and using our knowledge of and skill with our instruments to put that forth. It’s not a woo-woo, creative process. It’s more technical, and intellectual.
How does your day job cross-pollinate with your studio practice?
There’s a lot more going on in the other direction.
What do you bring to teaching young students that comes out of your own practice?
I encourage a lot of free-flowing, creative, guitar playing in my classes, but I think I’m able to balance that. I want my students to know their scales, some music theory, so that they’re musicians beyond what you can learn on YouTube. I think a lot of that comes from my background as a musician. When I’m playing a concert, I try to get my students to come and listen, and really observe: How does a group play when there’s no conductor? I talk to them about what is proper rehearsal etiquette; How do you have a group of four people where they all have equal leadership in the group; how do you work together as a group? We work on that a lot. That all comes from my experience playing in an orchestra, or with Manitou Winds.
What’s your favorite tool?
My horn and my guitar.
Read about Laura, and her composition First Flight here. And, listen to it here, and here.
Sarah Bearup-Neal develops and curates Glen Arbor Arts Center exhibitions. She maintains a studio practice focused on fiber and collage.
