While working on this, I wrote down all kinds of words (as you can see on the paper hand rest in the video) that flooded my mind. Here is a list of the unedited stream of consciousness I jotted down between pencil strokes. These are unedited and reflect what I was feeling at the moment and not how I necessarily feel all of the time.

To be courageous in art, one should not censor the psyche

Don’t be afraid to expose the unseen

Art is part logic, part insanity

Some art requires courage to execute

Art reveals pain

Art speaks without verbalizing

Art is the unadorned soul

Art is menacing

Art reveals that which is not obvious

Art exposes the ineffable

It’s courageous to draw that which you fear

Art can be ugly

Art is 2% creativity, 98% intuitive impulse

Courage + Art= Penetrating

***
Thank you for watching.
~Lisa

Final drawing of the spirit Kuei

In a recent Facebook post of my pencil rendition of Shellycoat, several FB friends suggested I do a time lapse of the art progress; a sort of artist-at-work video. Having been a former art teacher who had engaged in demos routinely, I like the idea of sharing my process in this suggested format. I will definitely be looking into it. I’ll see if I can employ the talents of my husband as head camera man while I paint. haha. Stay tuned!

Meanwhile, I did manage to document my painting of the spirit Kuei via multiple scan passes between paint washes. It wasn’t easy as I’m the type of painter who has a hard time stopping midstream once I get going. But somehow, I managed to pace myself in a manner that allowed me to let the image dry between scans.

You can see that I always start with a solid drawing of the figure before letting it morph through the painting process. Having worked with watercolor for 25 years, I paint fairly quickly now, but I never shy away from experimenting and/or taking risks. It’s all part of the fun and it’s what hopefully helps to keep my work fresh.

I slowly build up the detail

The closer I am to finishing, the less water I use

Now to finish up the textures with a dry brush

And here’s the finished piece:

~ Lisa

Kyra playing the piano.

When is the last time you heard a song that transported you back to a book you were reading, or a romance you were experiencing or a painting that you were working on? For me, music awakens the senses in ways that deliver immediate imagery.  I have always drawn and painted to music. I can almost document my art and projects using my CDs as reference points. For example, I remember painting early college works to the music of the Moody Blues– brush strokes flowing with Justin Hayward’s smooth vocals. I can remember sketching dancing goddesses to Celtic music in between the pop sounds of Liz Phair, Sheryl Crow, Sarah McLachlan etc.. And like many artists who love sci-fi and fantasy, I had my “Holst: The Planets” period… and who didn’t gorge on Enya for a while?

Asparas & Gandharvas

Music has accompanied me through many projects along the way. Every time I hear Debussy I think back on the glorious time I had painting my Celestial Goddesses book—the music from the man who was tied to 19th century impressionism coincided nicely with the flowing images that comprised that particular body of work.  Mozart’s Concertos accompanied me through a challenging Master of Arts program—yes, I did listen to Chopin, Ravel and Mozart during grad studies and The Animals Divine Tarot. I give those great composers credit for making my brain work overtime! I don’t know if Mozart makes a person smarter, but it certainly made me more efficient.

I have to admit that Rock & Roll, the Blues, Soul, and Folk  were always interspersed between my rendezvous with classical. I love a good guitar lick as much as the next gal and I even had a soundtrack phase while working in production. But lately I’m back to standard classical. For me, working on ghosts has coincided with my deep reverence for music that has stood the test of time and carried me through different chapters of my life. Right now, my Pandora.com (online music) selections include Scriabin, Faure, Chopin, Mendelssohn, Grieg, Rachmaninov, Tchaikovsky and more. The romantic period (1825-1900) is particularly emotional and moody with elements of the supernatural revealing itself between measures. This period is packed with magical renderings of art and music alike. And such a raw exposition of the human condition is sure to inspire intrepid artists like myself. I can feel the ghosts and spirits transferring themselves from music to paintbrush.

Many of the paintings I’ve worked on for Ghosts & Spirits include themes that are tied to music in one form or another including the ballet “Giselle”, Undine, woodland spirits, the Undead, journeys to the underworld and what about Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman? It wasn’t hard to come up with ideas for this project–the spirits have been with me all along through their participation in music!

The Undine

Giselle

Rübezahl

And the more I listen to the great composers the more I think about art. To me, art and music are close cousins. This has certainly been reinforced to me through my friendship with my daughter’s music teacher, Sivabruntha (she plays a mean rendition of La Danse Macabre!). Over the last year, we’ve talked about our respective art forms, and have both discovered that the two disciplines are more aligned than one might initially think. Art and Music both entail practice, discipline, and soulful expression. It’s not enough just to be a good technician, one must invest soul in the delivery in order to make it come alive in a unique way. So much about music has been inspired by literature and art and so much of literature and art has been inspired by music.

Arnold Böcklin's Isle of the Dead

One feeds the other.. Just think of Böcklin’s painting Isle of the Dead, which subsequently inspired Rachmaninov’s masterpiece circa 1908 of the same title. Not only do the music lessons nurture my daughter (who takes back to back violin/piano), they have awakened my own passion for studying and playing music again.

And though I regret tossing sonatinas aside in a fit of adolescent rock & roll rebellion–  I never forgot about them, nor did I ever really stop playing or learning. So as I move towards the final creative stages of Ghosts & Spirits Tarot, I’m beginning my piano journey anew, almost 30 years later! It is now my goal to try and practice an hour or two a day (usually at night after all else is done–it’s my dessert hour!). How am I benefiting from this addition to an already hectic schedule? I’m feeling more connected with my internal visual insights–it’s like setting the stage for the next day’s creative outpouring and it’s certainly calming and satisfying to the soul. It is also opening the channels for further ghost and spirits exploration. When I’m playing music, I can feel these ethereal beings dancing through my mind!

Chopin is watching!

First pieces on the learning block: Chopin Nocturne op 9 no 2 (okay, I’ve been playing this one on and off for years, but it’s time to polish it to perfection), and Massenet’s Meditation from Thais for solo piano (thank you for suggesting this one, Sivabruntha!), one of my favorites. I hope to finish up Ghosts & Spirits and master those piano pieces by the end of summer–one discipline feeding another, right? And in the process, I’m forging wonderful musical memories from a particularly enlightening period of my life.
Do you think I can do it? Stay tuned.

To see a short video on Facebook of Kyra playing at her recital, CLICK HERE.

~Lisa

YES!
During a recent trip to an historical little bed & breakfast near Savannah, the “most haunted city in America”, my husband and I saw a ghost. And it wasn’t during a ghost tour or walk through a haunted cemetery or during a seance. The encounter happened while unassumingly relaxing out on the inn’s back porch. If we would have thought we might see a ghost, we would have had our cameras on standby. If we thought we would see a ghost, we wouldn’t have been chatting away. But this ghost sighting came out of nowhere and surprised us with its uncanny, inexplicable appearance.

Here’s a sketch of what we saw–the experience left an indelible impression in my brain and I just had to get it down on paper!

sketch of the eyewitness account of what we saw

And here is my husband’s account of what happened:
“It looked like smoke or mist. It appeared to come from a window at the opposite end of the porch. It exited the window area and swirled around in a a very cohesive manner, much like the vortex of a flushing toilet, and then dissipated in the space of a second or two. We thought it might be someone smoking in that room, but when we checked the window, we found it closed and there was no obvious source of its origination.”~Kort

It was like nothing I’ve seen before and it was every bit captivating! No, there was no fog in the air, or smoke, or exhaust or any other potential explanation for the ecto mist’s appearance. It was a rather clear late Tuesday afternoon, with activity at the inn being nearly non-existent that time of day. Well, except for the ghosts.  My husband asked a paranormal investigator-friend about the incident and he congratulated us for having witnessed “quantum fog”. I’m not sure if it was a “quantum fog” or an ectoplasmic mist or another anomaly with a scientific term attached to it. It almost seemed like the mist was trying to communicate or manifest into something, but then quickly disappeared leaving no trace of its visitation.

The inn used to be a hospital day-room for Fort Screven on Tybee Island, GA. People with battle wounds were brought in by a train that ran behind the structure. Those that died were transferred to the basement, serving as a temporary morgue. The inn had an odd vibe–hard to describe. It wasn’t a scary or uncomfortable place, but it did feel endowed with an inexplicable energy. There were other strange happenings like our porch door blowing open when there wasn’t any wind, or our phone having receiving strange garbled, cryptic messages on it (we hardly ever get cell phone messages because we only use it for emergency purposes and never give out our number), or things that went thump on the roof.

Another ghost sighting happened at The Pirates’ House in Savannah. The Pirates’ House is an 18th century seafarer’s inn, where pirates and sailors gathered, drank and exchanged tales of the high seas. Captain Flint of Treasure Island fame is said to have died in one of the rooms with Billy Bones by his side. The inn was converted to a restaurant, but much of the basic structure remains intact.

Why did we choose to dine there? We’re not sure. We saw it and felt compelled to go inside. Out of all the restaurants that populate the great historic city, here we decided to patron a wooden structure that stood in a rather unglamorous section of town. As soon as we walked in, we could feel a pervading heaviness. Pockets of decay assaulted our olfactory lobes as we weaved our way around the restaurant. The strange smell/air was especially concentrated near thresholds to other levels. Kort took some pictures and we left feeling sated and relieved to be back outside in the fresh, rain soaked air.
It wasn’t until Kort uploaded photos to Facebook that another ghost enthusiast (thank you, Nefer!) spotted the face in the window. Take a look for yourself. This is the actual photo–no touching up or special effects (we couldn’t make it look that real if we tried). We ourselves didn’t even realize this ghost was looking right at us when the photo was taken. To me, while we were there, the glass appeared completely transparent and void of any ecto fog. There was also a face in the seat in front of us, but it might have just been part of the wood grain. What do you think?

This trip is not my first ghost encounter but it certainly reinforces what I believe about multiple dimensions and that fine veil between what we perceive as “real” and what is real. If you’re a paranormal investigator, I would appreciate any help/assistance regarding these events.

Much of what I do as an artist is to try and make sense of the world. The images come from dreams, they encompass feelings, and derive from the unconscious–perhaps a place that is receiving messages from “the other side”. Much of my fascination and compulsion to depict and explore “fantasy” is not to provide myself with escapism but to help find my way through a tangle of persistent mystery. This painting depicts creatures I have been seeing in my dreams all of my life. I can’t figure them out, but they do fit a profile found in spirit lore. The only difference is that the ones I see in my dreams always emit a reverberating hum, like they’re alerting me to something profoundly important. Maybe someday I will be able to decode their message, but for now, I will have to be satisfied with exploring them further through paint and brush.

~Lisa

Where I grew up (1971)

Lions, tigers and bears oh my! The mysterious forest is full of unknowns and teeming with mysterious life.  As a symbol of the unconscious, it is a place inhabited by wild things, often obscured by the shadows of tree branches and layered with the remnants of seasons gone by. When we walk into a forest, we step into a world full of adventure and trepidation. We leave the comfort of paths familiar and cross the threshold into a realm  full of challenges and unpredictability. Who knows what monsters lie in wait and who knows where the wayward path will lead. Myths and fairy tales often use the woods as a stage for the evolving protagonist. The character leaves the safety of home and wanders into the realm of the psyche, where growth is inevitable.

Drawing from the 80's

When I was in high school, I often sketched the forest using the wells of my imagination as reference. These forests were alive with spirits and elusive beings, there to provide me with messages. They dwelled  in a place that offered  temporary refuge from the province of a chaotic reality . I loved exploring the twisting tree limbs and fortifying roots that helped me to feel grounded in a world of teenage confusion.  I was wandering into the path of the unknown and these fantasy tree drawings helped me to manifest the deep-seated worries I was experiencing as I approached adulthood.

Pencil drawing done in my teenage years

My Mom as the Hermit (Fantastical Creatures Tarot)

Lisa as a teenager

Lisa in the snowy woods of northern New England, 1990s

Fairy tales often employ these settings as metaphors of the shadow. They are the wild, untamed symbols of our own inner landscapes, where creative thinking and intrinsic energies reside and beg to be released. It is here where we meet frog princes, wise old men, a golden goose, a ravenous wolf, imposing giants, spirit messengers and all manner of creatures that help us shed the constraints of a rational mind. It is here where we let go and become more self-aware. It is under the dappling light that we recognize our full potentials and find our way through the tangle of brush.  Through the darkness of paths unknown, we have the possibility of seeing the light.

Forest images from The Fairy Tale Tarot

Here is a neat “forest” video from friend and fellow artist Carisa Swenson:

The Forest

~ Lisa

Final painting: The Nightingale as 6 of Cups

I’ve been using the same basic illustrative methodology since my late teens. That is not to say that I haven’t deviated from my technical repertoire, but the basic formula  from initial sketch to finished painting has pretty much remained the same.

First comes the sketch. As you can see from the photo in part 1, I’ve filled many sketchbooks while brainstorming Fairy Tale. The purpose of these drawings-in-the-raw is to help me connect conscious deliberation with automatic delivery.

The sketches represent unfiltered, intuitive thought processes. Oftentimes, the initial sketch (design-wise) looks very much like the finished product. For me, over-contemplation of a drawing dooms it to failure. If it doesn’t flow, I leave it, only to return when inspiration strikes. Some ideas can be fleshed out with immediacy while others need time to ripen before the creative juices are ready to flow. While teaching, I used to tell my students to doodle a series of thumbnails and follow the designs that felt *right*. If it’s not working, take a break or turn to another task in the interim. It’s amazing how effective this was.

Then comes the refined sketch. At this juncture, I would research and acquire reference material such as pics of period costume, accouterments and photos as needed. Here you can see my husband assuming a pose as the spirit.

FINAL DRAWING & TRANSFER

Final Drawing

I then draw on tracing paper, rub the back with a 6B (softness of lead) pencil and transfer it using a 4H (hardness of lead) pencil to final watercolor paper. I use 140lb hot press Waterford paper that I’ve soaked in a bathtub for 15 minutes before stapling it onto watercolor board. As it dries, it tightens up like a drum, thus preventing the paper from wrinkling while painting. The paper I use is rather pricey, so once a transfer is made there is little room for mistakes. If one is made, I integrate the “mistake” into the piece sometimes with a surprisingly positive effect. The drawing is refined using a mechanical pencil before initial watercolor paint is applied.

FIRST WASHES

my wonderful, magical palette

The initial paint application is done in broad water-saturated washes using a 1/2 inch paintbrush (I’ve been using the same large paintbrush for 25 years–talk about quality materials!). Effects like the ones seen around the figures can be achieved by sprinkling salt directly on the washes (a technique I learned from the legendary illustrator/educator Lauren Mills back in the 80s). I love to see what happens as the salt separates the paint from paper, leaving a lovely texture filled with figments of my imagination ready to be born. This is when I paint additional images spontaneously—as I see them appearing out of the paint (some may see this as a sign of madness, I see it as being pellucid-haha). The figures are painted with deliberate technical facility (as I’m a stickler for anatomical accuracy) while the peripheral material is improvised.

The painting in progress.

As I begin to refine the painting, I will slowly limit the water and create details using a dry brush technique (very little water). Upon completion, I’ll put the painting away for a few hours and come back to it for a final review before taking it off the watercolor board. If my rhythm is good, I can usually finish a painting within a week or less, depending on the complexity of the image. How do I know a painting is finished? I listen to that inner voice that tells me “ahhh, it’s done”.

~ Lisa

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The Three Little Pigs

Lisa tarring her parents house, age 12

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a pretty resourceful woman. I grew up in an environment where being hands-on with sundry tasks was part of the childhood experience—this included helping expand and remodel my parents’ house. All those chores of yesteryear provided valuable lessons in carpentry and home improvement, as I began tackling my own remodeling endeavors in chez Hunt/Kramer. My Taekwondo Master and classmates have told me that I’m really strong. Well, this is not from ever having a gym membership or engaging in organized strength training. Rather, my strength derives from good old-fashioned manual labor, a humble and effective way to stay fit and save money!

Working Lisa 1

My most recent accomplishment, with the help of my trusty assistant Kort-hubby and under the experienced eye of my father, entailed installing hardwood flooring in my hallway. I’ve been wanting to do it for years, but such an undertaking takes mental and financial preparation—there is some planning to consider including what wood to use, color, square footage, thresholds, wood grain direction, adhesive or nails and all manner of particulars that must be pre-determined before commencing with this no-mistakes-can-be-made type project.

Hammering

While on my knees working on the floor (next time, I’ll invest in knee pads!), I felt like one of the cloven-hooved protagonists in The Three Little Pigs fairy tale. In the artwork for the story an ambitious pig wearing a blue apron, symbolizing focused labors, is building his house one brick at a time. This is how I felt as I smeared the adhesive and placed a wooden plank down gently. I knew what I wanted and despite the mess and misery that are byproducts of such intense physical labors, I enjoyed envisioning the floor and watching it slowly come to life one plank at a time.

Gluing the floor down.

There may be a project that you’ve always wanted to do, but have put off for a while. The Three of Pentacles reminds us that envisioning a plan and bringing it to fruition requires focus, attention and productive determination. But the results can be most gratifying! And there is something to be said for feeling tired after a long day’s work. There is a big difference between mental fatigue and good, deep physical exhaustion. I think I like being physically active because it provides a nice break from the intensity of my studio. And I need both to feel accomplished and alive. Good thing my house still needs a lot of work!

Lisa Work Finished

~ Lisa

To view the Three Little Pigs art, click HERE.

(click here to see the transformation)

After a somewhat sedentary existence following the birth of my daughter, I was cajoled by my son Connor’s Taekwondo Master to take a non-obligatory trial class. Here I was, a chubby post partum mom staring impending middle age in the face and I was being coerced into a situation that I was less than enthusiastic about. I told myself there was no way I can do this. I was clumsy and achy. I had two left feet and I had multiple abdominal traumas after a near fatal appendectomy in my 20s and two cesareans in my 30s; and now I was willing to subject myself to kicks and punches? I suffered from migraines (requiring quietude and darkness), borderline high blood pressure, high sugar levels, being overweight, low self-esteem and an exceptionally high heart rate. Years of concentrated studio and educational efforts took its toll and I had resigned myself to physical mediocrity. In other words, I was a mess! But despite my misgivings and because of the pleas of my young son (who thought it would be cool if his mom did TKD) I put on my sweats and showed up to class: There, are you happy? I thought to myself. The academy was populated by the young and fit, seasoned super people called black belts, and an unrelenting Master who, having survived Vietnam as a Marine, had no mercy for excuse makers. How was I going to be able to do even one stomach crunch? I still couldn’t feel the abdominal surface marred by medical emergencies. I hadn’t done a push up since high school and I had no idea where my withered deltoids, biceps and triceps were hiding…and here I was a bloated spectacle who somehow survived the hardest part of this unexpected journey: taking that first step onto the dojo mats. I came home with a new ghee and a white belt, triumphant in a sort of rebellious way but feeling crazy for abandoning my supposed comfort zone.

That was the beginning of an incredible journey.

Since then I’ve cried in class, I’ve “quit” multiple times, I’ve yelled, I’ve sounded off expletives (and I don’t typically swear), I’ve been bloodied, bruised and battered, I’ve been mangled to the ground, rough and tumbled and pretty much stripped of all dignity. And frankly, if it wasn’t for my wise son’s repeated recitation of the school’s code of conduct policy: “Perseverance: we keep on going in spite of difficulties”, I probably would have caved into defeat long ago. Connor was instrumental in making me see that giving up was not an option. If I did throw in the towel, what message would I be sending my impressionable son? He too was training and he too had his own challenges to face. I needed to keep on going for myself as well as for him. As a result, we were forging a close mother/son bond with our martial arts collective. That alone had been worth the effort.

But also through the physical and mental trials, something subtle began to envelope my being. Mental malaise was surrendering to physical prowess, a part of me that was allowed to languish in my 30s. I was reawakening my long dormant senses. The once competitive cross-country runner in high school, affectionately called “wild horse” by her mother, reacquainted herself with the very spirit that fueled her desire to conquer grueling trails of long ago. I had run like the wind, a wild horse with pony tale flowing behind. I had felt exhilarated and free as I struggled through stitches and discomforts-consequences of pushing a body beyond perceived limitations. Those races were a rite of passage, setting the pace for indefatigable nights at the ever-ambitious drawing table.

But as time went on, the physical accompaniment to a somewhat balanced existence relinquished under the strains of deadlines and life stuff. In an effort to streamline my daily repertoire, I axed physical activity. Not one of my smarter moves. But Wild Horse was still there, deep down inside. I had only hit the pause button while the passing days continued to prove distracting.

Back at the dojo:
Thoughts of my former life would occasionally taunt me as I struggled through hardcore pushups, having to dig deep inside for assistance from internal Wild Horse. It was hard–really, really hard, almost impossible; the quest beyond white belt seemed insurmountable and foolish. But climb I did and with each belt progression I grew stronger, fitter and most importantly, calmer—the ol’ sense of balance was returning as was my once size 8 physique. That first stomach crunch became 200. That first assisted push up became 50 standard pushups. That first clumsily executed form became a series of eight mellifluous ones. And instead of falling over with each kick, I was now flying… like a wild horse in the wind: white, yellow, gold, orange, green, blue, purple, and then red…fiery red belt before finally making it to the elusive brown belt. And a brown belt evokes exactly what you may think: earthy calm, collected, ripe and ready like the leaves about to fall from the trees. The autumnal leaf analogy came from the mouth of the wise Master himself. I understand what he means now, but would not have comprehended those sagacious words without having traveled the challenging road of his teachings. In a few days, those leaves will fall-December lucky 13 to be exact. I had sprouted, grown, fruited and am now preparing for the end of one cycle only to start a new one as a black belt. Like Jung’s ouroborous, the martial arts path is an infinite one. And the day the black belt is placed around my waist, I will be reborn and ready for the next phase of training, or as my Master poignantly suggests: “Then the real training will begin.”

Although I have not seen it, the Master has informed me that the black belt will have “Wild Horse” emblazoned on it—my indelible identity. I will have found and embraced my inner Wild Horse, now tame, seasoned, free and fully alive.
My spidey senses are tingling!

The black belt test is supposed to be grueling—it is said to be an excruciating mental ordeal in addition to a physically challenging event. The objective: exhibiting an indomitable spirit in the face of adversity using sheer will and discipline as compasses for survival.

Just to make sure, I went for a physical and to my great surprise, was deemed in “excellent shape” (although I still get that rare migraine)—for example my heart rate went from 98 to 65, my blood pressure is 110/70 and my sugar and cholesterol are low. I’ve dropped 40 lbs of fat replacing it with invaluable muscle. I have more energy and endurance and feel empowered and undeterred—these fortifications carry over into all areas of my life and have made me more efficient and balanced with everything that I do. I’m also much more keenly aware of my surroundings, having recently caught a glass that flew out of my cabinet. How about that? I shan’t collapse into cardiac arrest after all like I thought I would the first time I did a rising kick—I’ve trained, prepared, conditioned and am now ready to face whatever challenges await me. Not only have my muscles come out of hiding, sending a photo to my mom turned out to be a mind blowing experience for her. Who is that fit, muscular woman? It’s just me mommy, Wild Horse!

Supposedly, the test starts off with a mile run in under 10 minutes (easiest part of test) and then it escalates from there including standard strength drills, accelerated forms, 30 minutes of sparring with a constant stream of blackbelt brawn bent on making the candidate cry and many surprises in between. I cannot completely imagine what I’m up against—probably better that way. And it has been said no one will hold back from fully engaging me in this hazing process even if I am an almost 42-year-old whose had her share of hard years. I have long since learned there are no excuses. I must take the punishment like all others before me and “persevere despite difficulties”. Earning the black belt will be a monumental achievement that I will carry with me forever. And perhaps, I can be an instrument for inspiring others, who may eye the threshold of the dojo with trepidation. Maybe, just maybe if I can do it, so can almost anyone. To quote a Chinese proverb: a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. And the first step is most certainly the hardest!
*******

Hok Lee & Tatterhood, click for images

The Chinese fairy tale Hok Lee and the Dwarves as represented by the Three of Wands is a fascinating story about a man cursed by the spirits for living a double life and engaging in misdeeds. In order to alleviate the curse, that had rendered his cheek grotesquely swollen, Hok Lee must successfully perform a dance to an audience of forest dwelling dwarves. His first attempt ends miserably as he stumbles his way through an awkward performance. As a consequence, the curse expanded to his other cheek. This left Hok Lee with little choice but to request another chance to redeem himself. The dwarves agreed and the contest commenced. Hok Lee took a deep breath and decided to let his spirit soar. He raised his arm and then his leg and boldly jumped into a graceful dance. He let go (something I’ve heard my Taekwondo Master say to me over and over again). He kicked and twirled and soon the leaves were spinning along with him. When he finished, the dwarves clapped and cheered. His growths disappeared and from there on in he helped others find a way to their own cures.

Tatterhood is the spunky heroine of a Norwegian folktale. She is an untamed wild child whose resourcefulness leads her to rescue her more prim and proper twin sister from hobgoblins. As you can imagine, I loved painting Tatterhood in all her ragtag glory. She is the princess of wands, with her demonstrative confidence, determination, creative energy and adventurous spirit—all the things I will need to earn my Wild Horse black belt. I also love to a paint goats. Perhaps because I’m a capricorn.

~ Lisa