The 100 Day Project

In 2017, I completed a 365 day project in which I endeavored to become ambidextrous by drawing a cat every day with my left hand (I am right handed). The progress I made from Day 1 - Day 365 was fascinating. A few months later, having sampled the power of goal oriented daily projects, I decided the time was right to engage with the annual #the100dayproject that is by now ubiquitous on Instagram. The purpose of the challenge is to commit to a personal creative directive of any kind for 100 days. Coming off of my 365 day Lefty Kitty Project, I thought, "100 days? What a piece of cake." Perhaps if I'd chosen 100 days of drawing cats, it would indeed have been a piece of cake. However, I did not, and it was not. Here is the task I engineered for myself:

"Create imagery using a limited number of strokes and/or shapes prescribed by the day of the week (Monday = 1, Sunday = 7) The process repeats every Monday for 100 days. My goal is to become comfortable working quickly and boldly and to force myself out of my obsessively detail oriented style. Consider these posts 'gesture drawings' of objects."

Every day I chose an object from inside my apartment that I felt could be rendered in the day's prescribed number of strokes. I chose traditional media (watercolor) because, as a primarily digital artist, I wanted to face the discomfort of making a decisive stroke without the security of an "undo" command. Day 1 fell on a Tuesday which, according to my self-prescribed directive, meant 2 strokes were my allotment. I chose a spoon. As soon as I sat down and put brush to paper, I realized I'd stepped into a mind-bending challenge. I became fascinated by the way I could manipulate my brush bristles and paint texture to capture my subject in different ways. How a watery application to one side of my brush and a dry application to the other could achieve a dimensional look in one stroke. How I could separate the bristles by design or cleverly rotate my brush to achieve more lines or shapes than one stroke would otherwise permit. I studied traditional watercolor for many years and never until this project did I grasp the full potential of my brushes. Every day was a revelation. 

Day 4: cup and saucer, 5 strokes/shapes.

At the project's end, I had amassed a collection of work I was truly proud of. I also had a new appreciation for the careful and deliberate consideration that is belied by the effortless appearance of this type of work. My best efforts were revealed in what I omitted from my object, not what I details I managed to shoehorn in through brushstroke trickery. More often than not, I found myself thinking 7 strokes were too many for any object I sat down to paint, a revelation that would have stupefied me prior to starting this project. I think the greatest lesson I learned from this project was the value of economy in my artwork. I believe the limiting parameters I imposed in this project made it the most instructive personal project I have ever taken on and I will always be guided by the lessons it taught me.

All 100 days of this project can be seen on my Instagram account @hennypennypress

Discover Iceland - The Hidden Folk

This time I am paying tribute to Iceland with some original art to reflect my enjoyment of the country during our recent adventure there. Outside of Reykjavik, we encountered a great deal of small and large scale homesteading practices from raising lambs to building greenhouses and a great deal in between. You may be surprised to learn that some of these homesteaders are literally invisible! There is great deal going on in this new piece. Let's start with some Icelandic legends.

“Discover Iceland” - my original artwork depicting Iceland’s "Huldufólk" (Hidden Folk)

When visiting a new place, my first interest is diving into its history, particularly stories unique to the evolution of its culture. When I did my preliminary research in preparation for our Iceland experience, I was particularly taken with the origin story of Iceland's "Hidden Folk", or "Huldufólk" in the native tongue. These are generally benign homesteading beings that are invisible to all but a select few. They live unseen in Iceland's unearthly landscape much as ordinary folk do: they farm, play, have families, and go to their own churches. Some believe they may cause perceptible mischief for humans when they feel they have been wronged or endangered in some way. They may also be persuaded to return kindness for kindness when the spirit moves them.

Reynisdrangar—basalt sea stacks beyond the black beach of Vik

Iceland's otherworldly landscape certainly feels symbiotic to the development of these stories. In fact, certain legends are clearly directly inspired by specific geological formations, such as Reynisdrangar—basalt sea stacks (pictured above) just beyond the black beach of Vik rumored to be trolls caught in an act of mischief by the morning sun. Once there, I could easily picture mystical beings employing the fascinating rock formations as homesteads. The internet will have you thinking that the vast majority of Icelanders wholeheartedly believe these beings exist, but I found that polls that make such claims are quite outdated and may not speak for today's population. Regardless, having the knowledge of them gave me a heightened sensory thrill as I explored the landscape and contributed greatly to my enjoyment of the country. 

The most common explanation for the existence of the Hidden Folk is derived from the collision of new religious influences (in this case, Christian doctrine) with established "Old Ways". Here, the influencing text is the Old Testament. Some time after the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise, God surprised them with a visit. As it happens, Eve was in the middle of bathing her children when this omniscient guest unexpectedly arrived. Not wishing to present God Almighty with filthy children, she hid those who were yet unwashed and introduced her clean progeny as her only children. God decided to punish Eve for this seemingly harmless deceit with some classic Old Testament retribution. He declared that those children whom Eve had hidden would remain hidden to her and all the world forever. A variation on this tale was penned by the Brothers Grimm whose version has Eve hide her ugly children as God blesses and bestows prophetic gifts on the handsome ones. 

In recognition of this origin story, I based my Hidden Folk characters on a 1968 illustration of Adam and Eve by one of my favorite artists, David Weidman. They comprise the central figures and all others are evolved from their style, as they are the originators of the Hidden Folk themselves. Although Adam and Eve are notorious for wearing fig leaves and the Icelandic legend often describes Hidden Folk as wearing traditional Icelandic costumes, I felt it was more logical for my Hidden Folk to be nude. It's likely that the children were already nude in preparation for washing. Even if they weren't, young children often seem to prefer the naked state. I like to think that, free from the influence of parents who would always mourn the loss of Paradise, these children were left to raise themselves with a naive sense of wonder for the natural world and freedom from the legacy of their parents' shame. I've therefore depicted them as happy sprightly souls uniquely at home in their landscape and bodies.

Artist David Weidman’s take on Adam and Eve

I’ve included Weidman’s Adam and Eve as my central characters

I also wanted to acknowledge the longstanding history between Iceland and Norway in this piece. They share much more than color-swapped flags. Iceland was settled in the Middle Ages primarily by Norwegian people and the two nations share much Norse culture and history. Iceland was brought under Norway's rule in 1262 until both countries were absorbed into the Kalmar Union under Danish rule in 1380. To recognize this connection, I turned to another artist: Gustav Vigeland of Norway. An exceptionally productive artist, his sculptures depicting scenes of the human experience are the proud feature of Oslo's most beloved park. I used four sculptures of infants from the Vigeland Sculpture Park as the models for the four babes in my illustration.

Various baby sculptures by Vigeland

Lastly, I wanted to represent the landscape under weather conditions most suitable for channeling legendary creatures. Naturally, waterfalls help—you can't travel far without seeing one. When the sun is out, waterfalls often go hand in hand with rainbows, which is a magical sight unto itself. However, I found Iceland at its most eerie and mystical when the skies were gray.  All of this, I attempted to put into good effect with my finished piece.

If you like my illustration and would like to have it, you may find it for purchase in my Etsy shop.

FIRESONG - AN INSPIRATIONAL DESIGN FOR THE NEW YEAR

(This post was first published March 25, 2017)

This new piece began as a simple homage to the Chinese New Year (the year of the Fire Rooster), but through the creative process it became much more meaningful than that. I didn't set out to create an inspirational design, but given all that I've been feeling during the particularly hideous election year that wrapped up in November of 2016, it was an inevitable evolution and a cathartic experience at the same time.

My final art is in part an homage to the tenacious spirit of the rooster in the face of adversity. It features a night scene with the central figure of a rooster in mid-crow. He is defiantly poised on a rock in a dark landscape rife with dangers. Above, stars in the sky are echoed in the space between the moon and the ground, suggesting the gleaming eyes of night predators as they float downward in pairs. Lurking in the foreground bushes, we see a hungry fox exposed in his deception, poised to pounce should the opportunity arise. The rooster has no recourse in the dark but to put his faith in his song—to keep confidently crowing—demanding the return of the sunlight. 

“Firesong”, 2017, by Joanna West Moser

Around the perimeter of the scene are these original words I composed to embody what I was feeling:

Crow, though the dark night is long—your firesong will yet bring the dawn.

These words advocate tenacity for any passionate voice in the face of symbolic darkness. The word "firesong" is symbolic of three specific things: 1. It refers to the inner voice, the fire-in-the-belly, the synthesis of passionate cause and individual voice, 2. It's a subtle nod to the Fire Rooster of the Chinese New Year and, 3. It's a personal reference to my own love of kennings, compound expressions common in Old English and Norse poetry which metaphorically illustrate a thing or concept (see item 1 above). 

In a time of unsettling divisiveness and fierce partisanship we're seeing every possible iteration of human frailty and ugliness. In all our battles—big or small—sometimes we need a reminder to hold fast to our goals and convictions, defy the night, and crow.

This piece is available in my Etsy shop.

Closeup of “Firesong”, 2017, by Joanna West Moser

ABSTRACT MODERN TURKEYS

(This post was first published November 28, 2016)

After a recent visit to the newly renovated SFMOMA, I came home inspired to try out some abstract modern techniques on my poultry subjects. As November comes with a very specific poultry association, it felt right and proper to focus on the majestic turkey for this effort.

At the museum, I was drawn to Georges Braque, Stuart Davis, and Juan Gris. Each of these artists are exemplary of the period and each portray in their different ways the aspects of this style that draw me in the most: line intermingled with shape, an expression of simplicity through chaos, and fascinating interplay of colors and textures. These features often work together to create a sort of visually perceptible rhythm or vibration that I find fascinating. 

I began with some detailed drawings of turkeys from reference photographs on Google. From there, I endeavored to simplify the creatures to their basic forms through expressive lines and minimal detail. Here you can see one of my detailed turkey portraits next to the simplified version:

I settled on a composition of three tom turkeys overlapped and interwoven in a posture suited to conspiring, gossiping, or perhaps caroling if you're feeling festive. The composition is symmetrical, but the left and right turkeys are dissimilar enough to keep the eye engaged. For the colors, I knew I wanted an autumnal palette with rich, warm earth tones and captured those pigments in an unexpected yet inspired way—all the colors are directly sampled from one photograph of turkey feathers:

That's right, each color in my final composition was sampled directly from the above photograph. Who knew turkeys were so colorful?

Here’s my finished artwork along with a closeup. If you like this painting you can purchase prints of it at my Etsy shop. It is also available on several household items at my Society6 shop.

NOD TO DAVID WEIDMAN, PART 1

(This post was originally published September 06, 2016)

A prerequisite experience for becoming an art enthusiast is that of encountering a particular piece, series, or body of work with which you feel an instant and sometimes inexplicable connection. Sometimes the experience is ephemeral. Sometimes the experience is formative. I've certainly known both kinds, but the latter variety is my favorite because it leaves a distinctive mark on your art practice and your aesthetic view in the same way that a relationship with another human being can shape your life. For me, one of the best examples of this has been the vast body of work of David Weidman.

David Weidman holding products from an exclusive Urban Outfitters collection that featured his work in 2010. (photo credit Ricardo DeAratanha / Los Angeles Times)

Weidman's work ranges from deceptively simple poster art to mind-bogglingly detailed masterworks that stretch the possibilities of the screen-print medium to the extreme. I've managed to collect several pieces of both kinds since first being introduced to Weidman and his work nearly a decade ago. He has unfortunately passed, but lived to see his work rediscovered and celebrated in a way most artists will never know. 

The great bulk of his portfolio was created in the 1960s and went largely unappreciated at the time. Many hundreds of his original prints languished in obscurity in his personal storage until the mid aughts when a feature on the wildly popular drama Mad Men thrust his work into the public eye. 

What fascinates me most about his art is twofold. First, that he successfully co-mingles colors that you would never expect could love each other. Second, no matter how simple or complex, his compositions are so deftly executed that my eyes never tire of wandering around and getting lost in them.

I have been wanting to make some art after his style for a long time and think this is the perfect venue for it. I'm starting with his poster style. I have two examples of them hanging on my walls:

As you can see, the compositions are strong and central. A very limited palette helps to keep the image focussed and simple, and yet look at all the detail in the linework. These are things I wanted to capture in my first Weidman inspired tribute. Another truly delightful quirk of Weidman's was to often create two different color schemes for the same image so that buyers could choose the palette that most suited their taste. I preserved this quality in my creation as well not only because Weidman would have done it, but also because it's fun to do!

Here is my design in two color schemes:

These prints are available in my Etsy store. If you'd like to see more of David Weidman's art check out his family-maintained website and shop here. I'll be back with Part 2 and a new Weidman inspired piece soon.

THE BLESSED BROODIES

(Originally Published September 01, 2016)

While I was browsing reference imagery for my Byzan-teeny Bantams piece, I noticed a glut of "Madonna and Child" themed art from the period. It's a ubiquitous theme for much of Western art history, but I can think of no period with more redundant examples of it than the Byzantine era. In viewing endless depictions of Mary nurturing her wee one, it wasn’t long until I began to draw a comparison to the devotion of the Broody Hen to her nest of little peeps—especially when faced with an image like the one on the top left.

Basically, what we have here is Mary in a giant church-nest with her little chick under her wing. How could I possibly leave this alone? Obviously this needs to be done with chickens.

As with my previous Byzantine inspired piece, I wanted to make recognizable references to the style without beating the viewer over the head with it. I kept my color palette very limited, settled on a generally symmetrical composition with architectural elements, and incorporated some symbolic imagery. My interpretations can be seen on the lower left

Eggs and feathers decorate the column designs which are each crowned with rising suns to symbolize chickens as heralds of the morning. The corner decorations each feature two of my hens' favorite snackable insects—crop destroying moths and beetles—highlighting their role as frontline pest repellents for hobby homesteaders. Individual corn kernels are arranged as 4-leaf clovers to represent their contribution to garden fertility through the use of their composted droppings and how lucky I (and the whole family) feel to have stumbled upon the practice of keeping chickens in the first place. Lastly, the hen's halo symbolizes her sacred role as protector and provider for her brood.

I'm very, VERY happy with how this piece turned out. If you'd like to have your very own copy you can buy it framed or unframed in two different sizes here in my Etsy shop. 

BYZANTINE BANTAMS

(this post was first published September 01, 2016)

The moment I realized I was making a collection of chicken themed art inspired by the world of art history, I knew my next piece would pay homage to Byzantine art. If I asked you right now to conjure up an image typical of Byzantine art in your mind, I can all but guarantee that whatever you're picturing is smothered in gold leaf, and any humans involved are stylized, stiff, and probably wearing a halo and a fancy robe. In fact, it probably looks a lot like the image on the top left.

The examples of this period's artistic offerings as seen in museum collections strongly emphasize non-secular subject matter. These scenes are elevated to extreme heights of religious import through intricate patterns, meaningful text, overzealous applications of gold and even jewels in the case of mosaics. The reverence for the subject matter is clear. 

I thought it might be fun to apply some of this to a portrait of chickens. Obviously the background would have to be gold (at least in color). In rendering the chickens, I wanted them to have the stiff demeanors and unamused expressions that so many dour figures have in the Byzantine paintings I most enjoy. Odds are good that the less fun the Byzantine subjects seem to be having the more fun I have looking at the artwork. I even took care that the chicks' expressions would appear a wee bit sour.

Line work complete, I began to think about how to reference the painting style without being too authentic to allow for creativity. I found the image on the lower left (described as Archangel Michael from the Hagia Sophia) while browsing for examples of Byzantine styled feathers.

On top of the feather inspiration, I also sourced some colors from this piece to apply to my own artwork as it has a great balance of the tonality of gold. In the end, I opted out of halos—they seemed to make the composition too busy. A mosaic-influenced border gives a nod to that other ubiquitous art form of the period—and of course, no shadows to be found anywhere. Here's my final piece below:

The text is a bit silly, I acknowledge, but the whole situation is rather ridiculous so I decided to embrace it. I made this piece (and all of these chicken pieces) in 2016-2017.

If you like silly art, this illustration is available as a print in my Etsy shop.

ETRUSCAN EGGS

“Woman Holding an Egg” - Etruscan, 490-480 BCE - The Walters Art Museum

“Enjoy Etruscan Eggs” - my illustration inspired by the above ancient sculpture.

(this post was first published August 28, 2016)

After sharing my Dionysos creation, I received a challenge from a friend who works at The Walters Art Museum in Baltimore. She sent me a link to an Etruscan sculpture from their collection that she felt was on-theme for use in another chicken keeping illustration.

The sculpture (top left) depicts a woman with an impish smirk gently holding out an egg as she steps forward. It's as if she's offering the egg to the viewer. I felt a connection with the image right away. My first thought was that my interpretation would be iconic—like the statue—but perhaps with a wine label treatment. The text basically wrote itself. I borrowed the date from the museum description of the original sculpture.

In consideration of the background, I turned to researching the artwork of this time period. I encountered many mosaics in a wide range of complexity featuring various natural themes from gardens to animals. I settled on a simple repeating pattern of mosaic eggs for my background—both thematically and historically appropriate to my inspirational source.

The result is a sort of synthesis between a modern screen printing style and the common traits of stylization that predominate both Mid-Century American style and that of the Ancient World. What a fun project!

If I had not received this challenge, I might have stopped with the Dionysos painting. Having completed the two, it makes me itch for a historically inspired poultry illustration series. Thank you, Thea, for helping me channel this spark of inspiration into a new creative vision to explore. 

Another thing I discovered while working on these two pieces is that so many museums now have browsable digitized high resolution catalogs of their collections. Many—like The Walters Art Museum I linked to above—include several different views so that 3D objects can be more fully appreciated. If you've never done so, take one of these digitized catalogs for a spin!

If you like my illustration, you can buy it in various sizes in my Etsy shop.

DIONYSOS

(this post was first published August 27, 2016)

In October of 2015, my husband and I found ourselves wandering through The British Museum with no agenda but to immerse ourselves in as much antiquity as we could stomach before succumbing to museum exhaustion. As we walked through the Greek and Roman exhibits, this cheerful image on the left caught my attention. Before I read the placard, I assumed it was a bust of a scantily clad silver-haired lady proudly showing off the egg her little hen had produced. I immediately snapped a picture and sent it to my mother (photographed on the right) with a jocular note about it probably being one of her ancestors. You see the the resemblance, certainly.

I immediately concocted this idealized narrative of a cheerful ancient woman with a great fondness for chickens, immortalized forever in the ceramic bust before me, acting as a bridge between poultry enthusiasts of the current world and a world long lost to history. I felt this connection like a warm fluffy hen nesting in my heart. Aww...

Upon review of the placard, I quickly realized this was not a kindly Greek granny but rather Dionysos, legendary good-times god and wine-addled mischief advocate. The bird he holds is a cockerel and combined with the egg represent common attributes of Dionysos that symbolize fertility and virility. 

I couldn't help but feel some magic looking at this piece. The bird and egg may be merely attributes, but the tender way in which the protome-god is holding them suggests that he may care for them for their own intrinsic virtues. Perhaps this particular Dionysos is a chicken person. The thing about chicken people is this: we are truly nuts for our chickens. We talk to them, we pet and cuddle them, and we anthropomorphize every little thing they do. The hen-yard is a never ending epic play full of comedy and drama and we are a grateful and insatiable audience. Do you know what else Dionysos is a patron god of? It's theatre. See what I just did there?

Given all of these associated symbols and attributes, I decided to rebrand this artifact in promotion of homesteading, and particularly chicken keeping. I usurped the basic iconic posture of the god and gave him a crown of chickens for added drama and to emphasize his new role as patron god of the chicken-yard. Fertility and virility are carried forth through the background imagery of rain clouds and wheat in addition to the ready symbolism of the chickens. Finally, I scrawled a godly endorsement of chickens across Dionysos's chest to really drive home the message and pull the work together. Presenting Dionysos, Lord of the Chicken People: