Category Archives: Discussion

Organized Chaos

Self-Portrait ©2026 Elizabeth Fram, Gouache & Embroidery on paper, 6 x 8 inches This represents a couple of firsts: my first time painting a face using gouache and a first self-portrait. While I think the stitched pattern works well in this case, what I’m ultimately aiming for is to find a way to more fully integrate pattern, stitching and paint with each other.

I have an uncle who wrote a regular newspaper column for years. During family get-togethers, including major holidays, he would inevitably sequester himself from the family group for a bit so he could meet his deadline. I was just a kid, but still peripherally aware that his challenge included what to write about week after week; it never occurred to me then how personal that memory might become.

Bowl and Cup, in process ©2026 Elizabeth Fram This piece shows my most exciting discovery to date. I absolutely LOVE the almost batik-like effect of the pattern which lies underneath this image. Gouache’s inherent nature to reactivate with water has worked to my advantage here. That said, it’s also a very tricky operation. I haven’t had a chance to add stitching to this piece, but I have ideas…

There are weeks when I really struggle with what to post here. It’s not that I lack things to share, but rather the challenge can be figuring out how to weave together my behind-the-scenes loose ends in a presentable and, hopefully, interesting way. It’s one thing to make the work, another altogether to write about it coherently, especially when it’s in a place of transition.

Establishing an under-layer of pattern with paint as a first step.

Anyway, that’s the spot I find myself in this week – trying to articulate organized chaos. I’ve been plenty busy, but other than just showing you my progress, I lack a cohesive way to explain where I’m headed, especially since I’m not exactly sure yet where that might be. I’m puzzling my way through unknown territory and thus finding comfort in that discomfort.

In progress ©2026 Elizabeth Fram, Gouache on paper Look closely and you’ll see that I painted this portrait on top of the above under-layer. I learned a couple of important lessons to carry forward. Still planning to stitch on this one, but again, haven’t yet had time.

The one thing I know from experience is that the secrets I’m hoping to uncover will only float to the surface through doing the work. One has to venture down a lot of dead-ends before finding the road through.
I’ll have to ask my uncle if that’s how it worked for him too.

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A colorful reminder that Spring is on its way.

The Reward of January

Happy New Year!

I’ve been getting my ducks lined up for the new year ahead – what about you?
What’s on your creative agenda for 2026?

With no chores hanging over me, I loved having time to sketch at our Airbnb every morning over Christmas week. This is Tom Leonard, Scottish Poet, painted from a photo I took at the National Portrait Gallery of Scotland, of a bronze bust by Alex Main (love what Main has to say in this short YouTube video)

Now that December’s festivities and accompanying chores are in the rearview, I’m pretty excited to get back into the studio. Sketchbook time and logging ideas/notes in my studio journal is a given, but otherwise last month’s change of scene (Christmas in Berkeley) and a holiday project for our new grand baby, were a good reset. Taking a breather – whether chosen or imposed – can be a very productive way to keep the creative juices flowing. Or maybe it’s just that absence from the studio makes the heart long to get back to it…or something like that.

The best way to learn about values is to minimize them

And suddenly it’s January — a month that I find tends to be relatively spacious and under-scheduled compared to the other eleven — or does it just seem that way because December is always overflowing? Either way, the weeks of January give us a chance to act on the new year’s sense of possibility. And that in itself is a gift.

A section of our yard, in greener days

My guidepost for the next month (and hopefully beyond) will be one of James Clear’s ideas from his most recent 3-2-1 Thursday Newletter:

“To learn, wander. To achieve, focus.”

I’m planning to put both approaches into action. I am following Peggy Kroll Roberts on Patreon and just enrolled in Lena Rivo’s course “Color Mastery”, which will give me a chance to dive deeply into gouache, as well as, I hope, new ways to think about incorporating stitching.

It was rainy and gray almost every day we were away which, frankly, I don’t mind. It helps other colors sing

Time to get to work!
And best of luck to you as you jump into 2026.

Risk, Discovery, Momentum

With Art at the Kent now in the rearview, I’ve just finished another broken vase and shadow piece and have a fresh sheet of paper stretched on my board, ready to begin a new one. I still need to get these pieces out of my system before I can move on.

Even so, I’ve spent the majority of my studio time pushing forward with gouache. It’s a dance of two steps forward, one step back, yet feels ever so liberating. With each sketch – and at this point they are definitely just sketches – I’m becoming more aware of what a deep and, at times, mysterious pond I’ve jumped into.

Stlll, there are plenty of folks to lead the way. Aside from masters such as Paul Klee, Lois Dodd, and Fairfield Porter, contemporary painters like Lena Rivo, Maru Godas, and Mike Hernandez give me plenty to think about and to study.

In a timely bit of kismet, I was listening to an “I Like Your Work” podcast by Erika b Hess in which she touched on the commonality, and even the bravery, of delving into the fresh territory of a new medium. Her characterization of such explorations as a period of “risk, discovery, and momentum” nails the feeling. What better time than now, after a couple of big exhibitions, to thwart complacency by breathing some fresh air into my practice?

Orange and Purple Bowl

Please note: I’ll be back in four weeks (Nov. 20th). We have a date to meet our first grandbaby!

Epiphany

My father passed away last week.
He was a Mainer through and through, a fact upon which most of his life hinged.

White Pines 1

Sitting by his bedside during his final week, I listened as he fondly reminisced about many things that were so “him”, including: his love of being on the water (he marked periods of his life by sailboats, much the way many of us recount the years by the succession of dogs who have graced our families), the pride he had in crafting the delicate curve of a particularly challenging set of table legs for one of his many fine furniture projects, and memories of the island people whose salt-of-the-earth integrity had greatly influenced his own approach to life throughout his 98 years.

Early in the morning, before going down to be with him, I would sit on his apartment porch and take a few moments to quietly paint the nearby pine trees — tall and stately Eastern White Pines, which coincidentally are Maine’s state tree.

White Pines 3

I realized as I worked to capture their distinctively irregular shapes that these sturdy conifers could be seen as an apt representation of the man who, along with our mother, had raised my brother and me: tall, upright, determined, resilient, unique, long-lived, and even, to make a terrible pun that he would have loved to hate, a bit sappy (classical music, especially Bach, could bring him to tears).

Much of making art is seeing the connections and metaphors that hover over our lives. Thanks to this unexpected sketching epiphany, I have a new way of seeing and remembering Dad — not only here in Vermont, but especially along his beloved coast of Maine.

White Pines 2

Rolodex of Inspiration

Walking to the compost the other morning, this sight caught my eye.

Hosta Leaf

I’m not sure what creature or disease found this one particular hosta leaf, ignoring all others on this and numerous other plants, but considering how much I’ve been immersed in knotless netting over the past several months, I was immediately smitten.

My camera roll is filled with such images — quick captures of all sorts of things that grab me in the moment and which would soon be forgotten if I didn’t take the shot. The results would mean absolutely nothing to anybody else, but to me they are a reminder that inspiration for my work is everywhere.

The color combination of magenta and burnt orange in humble drips from my chipotle and beet leftover lunch concoction, were recorded and became the root inspiration of a later work.

Similarly, for years I’ve kept a couple of cheap spiral sketchbooks that I continue to fill with images of all sorts. Gleaned from anywhere and everywhere, just looking through them gets my creative juices flowing.

My inspiration notebooks with assorted images waiting to be glued into them

For the most part these images (or parts of them) are merely jumping-off points. Various elements — be it a shape, a color combination, a texture, you name it — are ripe for contributing to the structural underpinnings of some future unknown piece, or for making my way past the inevitable stumbling blocks that crop up in the middle of works in progress.

Those drips on my lunch plate were the impetus behind this piece from 2011

Deceptively simple yet worth their weight in gold, these resources are my rolodex of inspiration. Often lying dormant for years, somewhere down the line one image will seed exactly the idea I need.

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Distraction of the week:

Take a swing through Susan Lichtman’s website – her paintings are a wonderful dance between representation and abstraction, with light carrying the rhythm.

Nothing Lasts Forever

I received an email in May alerting me that Pocket, the free save-for-later app I’ve been using for years to store all sorts of reading content, is going away. This change is a bit like mandatory closet-cleaning, forcing me to make my way through the virtual piles I’ve amassed, deciding what to keep and what to toss before it all disappears into the ether.

It’s been a handy app to have but, if I’m honest, I’ve used it like a virtual attic, forgetting most of what I’ve stowed there once it was safely saved. Rediscovering what is still relevant and getting rid of the rest is long overdue.

Here are 5 links I’ve unearthed that are worth saving & sharing:

Jerry Saltz’s 33 Rules for Being an Artist
“Making Your Life as an Artist” by Andrew Simonet
“10 Creative Audiobooks to Artistically Inspire Your Mind Through Your Ears”, compiled by Sara Barnes
“Drawing is the Best Way to Learn, Even if You’re No Leonardo da Vinci”, by Anne Quito
Get lost amidst The Louvre’s collection, no matter where you are

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On the more creative side of things, you may remember that in March I began experimenting with knotless netting as another way to add textural interest to my paintings. Those explorations have continued behind the scenes while I’ve been pulling “Full Bloom” together and getting it launched.

Here are a handful of the pieces I’ve been working on. I’ll have more to show next time.

Great Blue © 2025 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor & knotless netting on paper, 6 x 8 inches. The heron silhouette was painted with gold pigment watercolor that I bought from Daniel Smith when we lived near Seattle, decades ago. It’s a powdered pigment that comes to life once you add water – and the fact that it remains dry until you choose to use it is probably why it has lasted so well across the years. It’s lovely on paper but hard to capture in a photo.

Fleeting Recollections ©2025 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor & knotless netting on paper, 6 x 8 inches What is it with the birds? I’m not absolutely sure, but “memory” has remained in the back of my mind as I’ve worked on these pieces. Somehow birds feel like a suitable metaphor for carrying that idea forward.

Memory Vessel ©2025 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor & knotless netting on paper, 6 x 8 inches Moving on to objects… This pitcher is an old family item that doesn’t belong to me and probably isn’t worth much monetarily. Still, it holds within it a sense of place, and that in itself is priceless.

The Other 50%

Some weeks I feel like a jack of all trades.
While painting, drawing & hand-stitching may be the face of what goes on here, plenty of other, behind-the-scenes activities are just as integral to keeping everything steaming along.

These past weeks I’ve been preparing for an upcoming solo show that will run throughout the month of June. My stitched paintings of elder women — 2-1/2 years of work — will be seen all together in one venue. I hope you’ll join me for the Opening Party on June 7th!

Framing

Meanwhile, lots of unsung chores surrounding the show are keeping me busy. I’ve been cutting mats & framing the remainder of the 19 pieces that will make up the exhibit while getting the associated paperwork and computer records in order. I’ve designed an announcement/invitation and have begun promotional outreach. Leading up to this point, I’ve spent hours writing artist statements, proposals, follow-ups and, as you may remember, assorted blog posts sharing the process of each piece over the past couple of years.

There is a general wisdom that artists only spend about 50% of their time actually making art; the rest is devoted to business, which is just as demanding. How very true.

With this in mind, please note that I am going to take a short break in early May. Look for my next post in 4 weeks, on May 22nd.

Invitation / Announcement

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If you’re looking for a diversion, Austin Kleon’s Substack post this week is filled with all sorts of art-y goodness. It’s been a treat to slowly chip away at his links during my breaks. Each is a source of inspiration in its own way, especially “Art Thief: Lessons from Wayne Thiebaud”. But if you only have time for one thing and are looking for a sense of connection across time, and/or a source of hope, remember gardens and read Kleon’s 2017 post “Planting Iris”.
Planting season has arrived, time to get to it!

The Name Game

An unsung step in the making of every work of art is the choosing of a title. I have a friend who often decides what she’ll call a piece long before the work is complete, but I believe she is the exception. For me — and I gather a lot of people — titling is a frustrating end-of-work challenge. I think a title ought to be more than a mere afterthought once a piece is finished. Beyond just a label, it can also be a bridge – another opportunity to connect with a viewer.

When I photograph works in an exhibit, I almost always follow each shot with a picture of its descriptive label. Aside from wanting to be reminded of the materials and techniques, I’m interested in what else the artist may want to convey to me through the name they chose.

Among the many approaches are:

Purely descriptive

Green House and Table, Jay Stern, 2023, Oil on canvas

Atmospheric

Avenue de l’Opéra: Morning Sunshine, Camille Pissaro, 1898, Oil on Canvas

An identifier of place

Meeting Street, Ivan Summers, ca.1925, Oil on canvas

Or person

Café Fortune Teller, Mary Hoover Aiken, 1933, Oil on canvas

A Marker of Time

Last Sickness, Alice Neil, 1953, Oil on canvas

Or a literary reference

Diana of the Sea, Marguerite Thompson Zurich, 1940, Oil on canvas

And some are completely enigmatic

The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even (The Large Glass), Marcel Duchamp, 1915-23, Oil paint, varnish, lead foil, lead wire, dust, two glass panels. Curiosity got the better of me. For a better understanding behind Duchamp’s title, read this article.

And then there is the total (IMHO) cop-out: “Untitled”.

I bounce around in my approach, but often go the esoteric route.
While I don’t believe that a title creates a “make or break” situation, or that a sense of connection necessarily hinges on a title, I do think it adds another layer of depth to a work — another chance to create a sense of understanding.

The Secrets She Keeps, after Hans Memling ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk, 24″ x 18″ This piece, which I’m happy to say has found a new home, is of Barbara van Vlaendenbergh. She was the wife of Willem Moreel, a prominent and wealthy landowner in 15th century Bruges. While there is plenty of information to be found about him, sadly all I could find about her was that she had given birth to 18 children. I felt compelled to give credence to the depth of her story which remains untold in history. My title was a nod to that omission: imagine the wisdom she would have been able to relate, if only she could!

But I admit, it’s something of a game. I look at my titles as an opportunity to encode the work with a reference that, while often not immediately obvious, has the potential to reward anyone who takes the time to pay attention.

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If you’re in the central Vermont area, treat yourself to the three exhibits currently on view at Burlington City Arts: Bunny Harvey: World Within Worlds, Stéphanie Morissette: Speculative Future and Susan Smirka: in the Lorraine B. Good room.

Comfort in Discomfort

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot more at ease delving into new projects once my slate has been cleaned of older ones. December and January are usually so consumed with juggling year-end evaluations and formulating plans for the months ahead, never mind all the holiday hoo-ha, that it takes a lot effort to keep my eye on the ball and to finish up whatever was already in the works.

If Only ©2024 Elizabeth Fram and It Was a Dream ©2025, side by side. Reeling from November’s election, these two pieces were my way to address the concept of dreams that ultimately don’t pan out, and the hope that bolsters us in the face of such setbacks. Light vs dark, day vs night — reality is a full circle that necessarily encompasses both. BTW, I’m currently reading Judi Dench’s Shakespeare The Man Who Pays the Rent. So with my head in that space, I had to look to see what the Bard had to say on this subject. He never fails us: “The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together” (All’s Well That Ends Well).

In early November I began a couple of “companion” pieces. I shared the first, If Only, in my post Something to Lean On. Today I’m showing its counterpart, It Was A Dream. The two were conceived together but are meant to work either in tandem or independently – viewer’s choice.

Now that they’re both finished, I can turn my attention to whatever may be next. I’ve decided I want to carve out time in 2025 to push some of my trusty processes and techniques in ways that will hopefully open the door to different outcomes. But that said, it’s a lot easier to come up with nebulous goals than it is to succinctly outline the specific steps to getting there, so I have some serious experimenting in front of me.

And while there’s no way to know at this point what the results might look like, I guess that’s exactly the point. If I knew where I was going I doubt there would be much growth, and I feel like I’m ready for a stretch. Meanwhile, I’m keeping in mind what my favorite fitness coach says: “find comfort in discomfort”.

Carry On

Happy New Year!

My December break is over and I’m sure it won’t surprise you that removing this commitment from my plate during the busiest month of the year was revolutionary — enough so that I am planning to do it again next December. But with that said, it’s sweet to be back.

©2024 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor, 14 x 12 inches. I’ve been working with watercolor during our live drawing sessions. It’s very humbling. I’ve learned from watching Portrait Artist of the Year that having a photo of the model during the session can be very helpful, if they’ll allow it. A picture on my phone allows me to zoom in on facial details – especially around the eyes – that I can’t see from 15-20 feet. Later, in the studio, having the photo gives me a shot at a second practice round, from which I often learn even more.

Before I go any further though, many thanks to those of you who sent notes in support of my pause and for expressing your hope that I would return. It meant more than you can know.

This and the following pictures follow a second attempt, this time back in the studio. Here, a quick wash maps out the general dark areas, giving me a basic structure to work from.

So now that we’ve all arrived on the fresh page of 2025, what’s up your sleeve for the year ahead? I’m sure you’ve been thinking and scheming about it.

I used a Pitt Oil-base extra soft pencil by Faber Castell to loosely rough in features. Its rich black marks are much like charcoal, yet glide on the paper and over the watercolor without any dust.

While I mull over my own future projects, most of which aren’t fully imagined yet, I’m glad to have a holdover piece to dive into post-holidays. It isn’t far enough along yet to share here now, but I’m hoping it will be finished by next time. Anyway, I wish I could remember which writer it was that coached it’s best, at the end of each day, to leave your work at least partially unfinished so that you know exactly what to do when you get back to your desk the next morning — a brilliant tip.

Adding Neocolor II’s over the previous pencil and watercolor layers, while judiciously running a wet brush over some of those marks, gives a sense of vibrancy and looseness that I quite like.

It’s a lot less intimidating after any respite to just carry on with something already in the works than it is to face the pressure of starting something completely new. And by the same token, it’s much easier to begin new work directly on the heels of finishing a previous piece, thus taking advantage of the full head of steam you already have underway. In other words, use momentum to maintain momentum.
And most importantly, keep going!

©2024 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor, Oil base pencil, Neocolor II, 9.5 x 8.25 inches. The final shadow over the right side of his face makes the lighter areas pop. I’m coming to really love using Neocolors because they offer the best of all worlds: strong color, the ability to make energetic marks as well as to create a wash. Even though the original watercolor was done in situ and this one in the studio, this second drawing feels a lot more immediate and successful.

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On a completely different note: Dipping into Substack can be just as inviting as the idea of sitting down with a full box chocolates. There’s a lot of interesting and inspiring content to devour, but absolutely guilt-free. I am so happy to have found Canadian painter Harry Stooshinoff there. Love his work, love his ideas. I’ll leave you with this thought of his, which I think is a very apt way to begin the new year:

So much water under the bridge. At a certain point it doesn’t even matter if the work is good or bad. Obviously we try to make the best work, and move it in the direction we think it needs to go. It’s utterly stupid to do otherwise. But it doesn’t matter much how it is accepted, sorted, or judged. It matters only that it is made.