Surreal — that’s the word illustrator Tony DiTerlizzi uses to describe his new show at the Norman Rockwell Museum. DiTerlizzi says he was raised on Rockwell’s work, with a big coffee table book that he studied when younger. In high school, he copied Rockwell to hone his skills. His first two children’s books, he says, were strongly influenced by Rockwell’s style.

“I always learned from emulation and copying,” says DiTerlizzi. “I could learn more from that than doing anything any teacher could show me. The hope is that a young artist or a kid will come out of there seeing that copying another artist is okay for building your foundation as an illustrator.”

DiTerlizzi is best known for his works of fantasy like The Spiderwick Chronicles (with Holly Black) and says this interest stretches back to his childhood also. He was a fan of Jim Henson, especially movies like Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal, and Brian Froud and Alan Lee’s book Faeries had a major effect on his creative pursuits. DiTerlizzi says that he spent a lot of his time with his face buried in a drawing.

Goblin Warbuggy from Magic the Gathering. Photo courtesy of Tony DiTerlizzi

“I was a scrawny kid with glasses, your stereotypical nerd in the typical ’80s,” he says. “I grew up in South Florida, and it was a world of jocks, a world of surfers. In 8th grade, I looked like I was still in 5th grade. So, of course, I wanted to go to Middle Earth or a galaxy far far away or anywhere else but where I was. And I think that escapism had a tremendous effect on my developing the talent of drawing.”

The art of the Dungeons and Dragons books from the 1970s also had an impact on him, one that would eventually define his professional career. When DiTerlizzi finished art school and returned home, his goal was to do children’s books, but he still had some creative growing to do. He also hadn’t had any success in pursuing editorial art jobs. He spent time reconnecting with old friends and playing Dungeons and Dragons for the first time since 7th grade. Those friends insisted he submit his work to the Dungeons and Dragons publisher.

Kenny and Dragon. Photo courtesy of Tony DiTerlizzi.

“I was certainly in a funk when I sent the stuff to Dungeons and Dragons, but it rekindled this thing that I loved when I was 12,” DiTerlizzi says. “I felt like this was within my grasp. I was relentless. I submitted samples of my work over and over and over again. I just wasn’t going to take no for an answer until finally, they said yes.”

His 10 years working for Dungeons and Dragons trained DiTerlizzi to think in more expansive terms as he began to shift from illustrating other people’s words to writing his own. “That was my internship,” DiTerlizzi says. “I realized it wasn’t about wizards zapping beholders. It was so much more than that. It was all about what is the philosophy, what are the artifacts, how do the artifacts inform what the character is, how does the wardrobe affect the character, how does the setting affect everything, all that. You start realizing that you’re setting a stage for the characters to interact on, and there’s so much more to a stage than just a knight with a sword and a monster.”

DiTerlizzi believes the key to successful creativity is encouragement — not just not discouraging, but actually taking the time to encourage creative kids rather than being passive. He says that is what made the difference for him, but today he sees too many kids receiving little support in their pursuits.

“I think about when I was a kid and liked to draw and come up with crazy stories, so, too, did a lot of other kids,” DiTerlizzi says. “There wasn’t anything exceptional about it. By the time I got to middle school, there was a still a group of people who liked to draw. But by the time I got to high school? There was a handful of kids who liked to draw. It whittles down through the years. When I look back at it as an adult, I realize there were definitely not necessarily adults who discouraged it, but there were adults that just didn’t necessarily encourage it.”

“You are who you are at a younger age, and if you’re lucky, you can really bring that spirit of who you are into focus at an older age.”

Tony DiTerlizzi, Illustrator and writer
Amherst, Massachusetts
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Top image: Poster created by Tony DiTerlizzi for Norman Rockwell Museum show. Photo courtesy of Tony DiTerlizzi.

The post The Art of Geeking Out appeared first on Take Magazine.

Boston-based multimedia artist Erica Licea-Kane creates mysterious maps of herself, cryptic in their information and elusive in their materials. Her recent show at The Kingston Gallery, Over & Over, highlighted these explorations, featuring her complicated three-dimensional weaves and a series of drawings on paper that both feature layers upon layers that reveal hints of what lies beneath but never spills the whole truth.

Licea-Kane creates her “object-paintings” with acrylic paint applied not with a brush, but a pastry bag. This latest series builds from a grid that starts with a base of pieced-together balsa and basswood, giving them irregular shapes. It’s a culmination of the last 17 years of her work, with various ideas and methods coming together.

“You cannot weave without a grid,” says Licea-Kane. “It’s inherent in many textiles, even the printed textiles because they’re often printed on a gird repeater. It’s very very inherent in my work and in my background.”

Quietly Observing. Photo courtesy of Erica Licea-Kane

In the 1990s, Licea-Kane would weave her own fabric together, stiffen it, paper over it, and then paint on top of it, as well as create her own knotted nets. In 2000, she moved to canvasses to create physical patterns on top of. That evolved into her current method of squeezing the acrylic through a pastry bag onto the surface, creating multiple layers of what Licea-Kane refers to as “squeezed medium.”

“This is hours and hours and hours of me bending over, squeezing a pastry bag layer after layer after layer until I get the quality of the surface that I want and until I get the undersurface peeking through the top layers,” she says. “They’re very premeditated.”

The Embrace. Photo courtesy of Erica Licea-Kane

For her recent show, Licea-Kane also drew a series of related circular pieces that had her drawing grids for about five months and then burning the surface with a stencil in order to break it up and add dimensions. “I’m a very additive artist, and so there’s lots and lots of little parts that make up the whole surface,” she says. “I’m doing that in the other pieces as well. I was thinking about these as little parts disrupting the grid underneath, so there is this order theme in my work. Order and balance.”

Her work has a topographical quality, resembling urban landscapes and at times reflecting Licea-Kane’s long term fascination with aerial land imagery. Her consistent use of a grid hearkens back to her weaving days and is crucial in her work’s map-like appearance. And these aren’t maps to imaginary places—just emotional ones. The work explores aspects of herself in an almost coded, abstract way. You have to look at them to see what lies beneath. The work appears to be one thing at a distance but a closer proximity lends itself to revelations of depth. Things are revealed as hidden.

Orange Distortions. Photo courtesy of Erica Licea-Kane

“There are a lot of questions about time in my work,” says Licea-Kane. “How much time does this take? It takes a long time. So I guess the pieces are about time and order and spatial divides and all the formal devices. I use all of them. Balance.”

Erica Licea-Kane, multi-media artist, director of the Towne Art Gallery
Boston, Massachusetts
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Top image: “In Comparison,” by Erica Licea-Kane. All images courtesy of Erica Licea-Kane

The post The Layered Look appeared first on Take Magazine.

Northampton-based artist David Teeple doesn’t just create art from light and water. He collaborates with the two in a series of installations created from simple tanks of water arranged geometrically.

Teeple has created such installations for nearly 30 years. His largest, in 1996, was 46 1/2 feet long, 63 tanks, 9,000 pounds, 7 feet wide, and 27 inches high. Regardless of the size, Teeple’s installations represent his huge commitment to the ecological issues of water and his desire to examine them.

In his most recent two works featured at Hancock Shaker Village in Massachusetts, Teeple took inspiration from a series of canals and pipes that connect to a reservoir on the property. This ingenious system, engineered by the Shakers, produces hydro power and water for various purposes throughout the village. “It’s really the life blood, as water always is,” he says. “That’s a common theme for me.”

One installation features 25 glass-topped tanks on land and filled with water, containing 3,125 pounds of water from the reservoir system, which Teeple puts through a two-step filtration system to render it “pure optically.” Teeple leaves a small space between the surface of the water and the glass top to handle water expansion and contraction. This prevents a tank from bursting, but also allows for visual interest as the water changes thanks to rain and condensation, and also pollen and dust that enters and turns each tank into a tiny ecosystem. “I wanted the surfaces of the 25 tanks to act as a painting, a living painting of water,” Teeple says.

The other installation presents 16 tanks within the village reservoir. These have no tops, so environmental material enters with ease and the wind influences the water patterns within it. The reservoir has a 23-inch high-to-low variable, which can cause water to flood into the tanks, as well as sink below them, adding a kinetic quality to the piece.

“The night of the opening, it was level with the bottom of the tank,” says Teeple. “Yesterday it was five inches down. Last week it was seven inches down. I’m hoping we get some serious flooding and it does come up and even drown the tanks, and you’ll just see them through the surface.”

Teeple believes the Earth’s water system is over-stressed in a variety of ways, but fears that since the hydrologic cycle isn’t something people can view, they don’t take it seriously enough. Teeple’s tanks capture that cycle in miniature, offering visitors a chance to witness it for themselves through repeated viewings,  as well as affirm the clarity of water’s beauty.

“What the work is about is very, very simple,” Teeple says. “This body of work is about the poetry of light through the intersection of water and glass. It’s about beauty; it’s about simplicity, it’s about repetition and how simple materials put together in a simple pattern, a repetitious pattern, can create a very complex visual and phenomenological and psychological experience.”

David Teeple–multimedia artist
Northampton, Massachusetts
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The post The Life of Water appeared first on Take Magazine.

For painter Julie Graham, it’s not the architecture that receives applause that captures her fascination but the utilitarian forms derived from practical necessity. Whether functional industrial buildings or clustered slum dwellings, Graham is inspired by the practicality and improvisation of the structures and the beauty in the haphazard pairings of material within them.

In Incidental Matters, her show at Kingston Gallery‘s Main and Center Galleries in Boston, Graham has simplified her materials and her approach for a more pure meditation on these interests. Stripping down the textural additives has shaped more minimal pieces. With this method, every mark becomes more intentional to Graham and hopefully more meaningful to the viewer as she brings the complexity of the subject matter down to a more basic language that addresses the core of her interest.

“Incidental matter refers to those things that we see or find that are not necessarily meant to be together but they are together by default, and uncertain or unplanned relationships,” Graham says. “That’s what I’m really looking at.”

Balance. Photo courtesy of Julie Graham.

Graham prefers architecture of the humble variety that results in clustered housing structures. Poor urban areas utilize less expensive material, particularly material that is already -hand, convenient and local, and Graham sees this as creating surprising relationships between the parts of the whole. “I’m interested in details,” she says. “I’m interested in fractions or fragments of things. I’m not interested in defining representation or making something refer to something specific. I want it to be open-ended, so I want it to be ambiguous in that regard. That’s why I focus in and look at the details and make the entirety of the object less important.”

Black and Blue. Photo courtesy of Julie Graham

One material that remains at the center of her work is the building material spackle, which she mixes with her paint to add a dimension of construction to her paintings. Graham makes use of other materials, like fragments of canvas and wood, for further construction parallels.

“Spackle a pretty important staple of my vocabulary,” she says. “It allows me in the process of having flexibility in terms of adding and subtracting, so I can build and take away and build and take away, so that becomes a process, so it’s not unlike, in my mind, making a building.”

Julie Graham, Brion

Graham says that she has always been interested in ruins, fueled by a trip to Rome that expanded her understanding that history can be told in surfaces and states of decay. It also formed for her the idea of “how nature and man collaborate with time.” The human touch in that collaboration is important to her.

“There’s a lot of extra marks that I intentionally leave, evidence of a process having taken place,” says Graham. “I don’t want it to be pristine. I don’t want it to be all wrapped up and clean, necessarily. I want there to be the evidence of things that came before. That’s a huge part of the human element.”

Julie Graham–artist
Somerville, Massachusetts
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Top image: Julie Graham by Jerry Russo

The post Exploring Incidental Matters appeared first on Take Magazine.

Five mysterious black structures that have appeared on the Mass MoCA campus are the work of architects Tessa Kelly and Chris Parkinson. Called the Mastheads, they’ll be there through October and offer writers a chance to get down to work, and to link their current efforts to the literary past of the Berkshires.

Kelly is from Pittsfield and began devising a Pittsfield-centric project while working on her master’s thesis in architecture at Harvard. Her partner Parkinson moved to Pittsfield with her, and the two concocted an architectural project celebrating something unique about Pittsfield. “The idea was to create something smallish scale that we could feasibly get done,” Kelly says, “and bring new creative people into the city of Pittsfield to introduce them to this place in hopes of secretly recruiting a younger creative set to look at Pittsfield in a new way.”

Each structure is based on the historic home of a Berkshires writer. This past July was the first season of the Mastheads program inviting five writers from around the country to spend the month working in the tiny writing studios placed around the Berkshires. The Melville and Hawthorne studios were at Arrowhead, now home to the Berkshire Historical Society; the Holmes and Longfellow studios were at Canoe Meadows, Holmes estate and a meeting place for the Fireside Poet group; and the Thoreau studio was in Springside Park, which was on Thoreau’s path to Mount Greylock.

Thoreau studio in Springfield Park, Pittsfield. Photo courtesy of the architects.

“The approach we took with all of them was to simultaneously look at the houses themselves but also to understand what works they were actually producing when they were in those houses,” says Kelly, “and to think about ideas we could take from the thinking they must have had to write those works, and then somehow set up those conditions in the studios.“

Portland OR-based writer John Lusk Babbott worked in the Holmes studio through July and said it was a productive time for him. “The interior was pale, grained pine and larch, and was fragrant with wood, pine tar, and stayed comfortable well into the afternoon despite the summer heat,” says Babbott. “To write in an environment like the one The Mastheads offers is to write truly in situ, and to do so as many hours as desired, for 31 days in a row.”

Hawthorne Interior. Photo courtesy of the architects.

Comfort was a big part of the architects’ consideration. Each studio features a built-in desk and bench, along with a chair, as well as various-sized operable panels in the walls. Cross-ventilation created by these keeps the atmosphere fresh, and the use of cross-laminated timber to build the structures maintains the night-time cool throughout the day.

Tessa Kelly and Chris Parkinson. Photo by Ben Garver of the Berkshire Eagle. Provided courtesy of the architects.

Kelly says that while they are unsure if Mass MoCA will repeat the project in 2018, it will return to Pittsfield next summer, though the Mass MoCA location has been unique to the architects, giving the studios a chance to stand united for a change. “When they were in Pittsfield, writers were alone in one vast studio, so this was our first time seeing them all together as a little community,” Kelly says.

Tessa Kelly and Chris Parkinson, architects
Pittsfield, Massachusetts
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Top image: The Mastheads at MassMoCA. Photo courtesy of MassMoCA

The post Literary Structures in the Berkshires appeared first on Take Magazine.

The concept for painter Lavaughan Jenkins’ new work “Reconstructed Figures”, currently showing at Abigail Ogilvy Gallery in Boston through October 1st, came to him as his ideas often do—in a dream. His previous series of oil paintings focused on texture in such a way that they could barely be considered entirely two-dimensional, given the way Jenkins slathered the paint onto the canvas. “I had a dream about them where I was walking through the paintings,” says Jenkins, “and that’s when I knew it was time for me to figure out how to make them three-dimensional.”

Jenkins’ interest in three-dimensional paintings centers around the idea of seeing the other side of the canvas, a concept that has fascinated Jenkins for years since he was an undergraduate at the Massachusetts College of Art and Design. He returned to consult with professors who specialized in clay, but Jenkins didn’t want to use that medium. He wanted to sculpt with oil paint. “I figured since I’m a painter I should probably use oil paint,” he says.

The figures he created have skeletons of wire and molding paste with four to five dense layers—up to an inch-and-a-half thickness—of oil paint on top. These took Jenkins a year-and-a-half to complete and required a break from working on them before the show’s opening to give them time to dry properly. The pieces take up to four months to dry enough for travel and display, particularly in the leg areas, which Jenkins says are almost entirely made of paint, and in the sections using darker colors, which are more oil heavy.

Once dried, the figures are attached to spinning wood platforms and mounted on the wall to be presented as paintings traditionally are. The mechanism allows the viewer to experience the paintings from all vantage points, like the three-dimensional versions Jenkins imagined.

The figures are a manifestation of Jenkins’ own life, what he calls “the accumulation of things forgotten.” He points to images in ancient Egyptian art of figures called gift bearers, and he sees these figures within the same context. He is giving the gift of his life to the viewer.

“They’re like landscapes of my personal history,” says Jenkins. “My dad, women who have played a role in my life, mentors, artists who have helped me get to where I am right now. Those stories are now physical, and I won’t be able to forget them because they are documented.”

Jenkins still loves working in the two-dimensional, and his plan isn’t to move away from either that or three-dimensional, but rather to integrate them. One plan has him creating life-sized versions of clay and plaster. Another will find Jenkins creating portraits of his figures, which suits him fine.

“Everything that I do in 3D I’m going to end up painting in 2D,” Jenkins says. “I think they’re the best models now. They already look how I see the figures, so I don’t have to alter people, and also they don’t move, so they’re the best models. And they don’t complain about how bad I make them look.”

Lavaughan Jenkins–artist
Boston, Massachusetts
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Top image, Lavaughan Jenkins, all image courtesy of the artist

The post Oil Paintings Enter a New Dimension appeared first on Take Magazine.

When Mass MoCA asked watercolorist Barbara Ernst Prey to capture on canvas the pre-renovation state of its new wing, Building 6, for the space’s opening, Prey thought such a big event deserved a painting of equal magnitude. The result is her largest work to date, 8 feet by 15 feet, taking a year and a half to complete.

It’s certainly huge, but the work is just as much about her relationship with Mass MoCA. In her student days at Williams College, where she is currently an adjunct professor, her teacher and mentor, S. Lane Faison, took her on a tour of the space that would become the museum, which Prey now sees as bringing her full circle.

“I really wanted to stretch the watercolor medium, take it in a whole new direction because no one’s done this,” Prey says, “but I was really interested in the space because I had a personal connection, and I think that comes out in the painting. It’s not just coming and doing a commission. It’s something where I lived there, I spent a lot of time in the building looking at the space, thinking about the space. I was there in my down jacket when it was dusty and dirty, and I would come out with dust all over me.”

Pencil study for final work, 5″ X 10″, Barbara Ernst Prey

Prey grew up in an art studio. Her mother was head of the Pratt Institute design department and Prey started painting as a small child alongside her mother. She’s since had work commissioned by NASA and for the 2003 White House Christmas card, but the Building 6 painting truly kept her on her feet, both figuratively and literally.

“You’re up and down,” she says. “I always like to step back and see. That’s my process—go back and see how it integrates with the whole. I’m painting something that is a defined space, but my painting is really abstract going into the structure so I’m always comparing different parts of the painting and going back and going up and down. Very aerobic.”

This came after a significant time just planning the work, which the scope of the work demanded. Merely tracking down a source for oversized watercolor paper took time and Prey had to figure out positioning such a large piece at an angle to prevent drips, while at the same time working from a ladder and scaffolding.

Prey started the process with nearly 50 on-site color studies. She continued work in her New York studio but moved everything to her Williamstown studio to be physically closer to the space. The final work also features experimentation of material not often found in watercolors—dust, dirt, and paint chips from the space embedded in the painting.

Though the work was daunting in the beginning Prey is pleased with the outcome, so much so that she’s not inclined to think small if she doesn’t have to. “It was actually pretty scary,” she says. “When you’re looking at this huge white piece of paper and it’s like, ‘Oh my God, how in the world am I going to pull this off, how is this going to work?’ Then you just dive in and work and work. I want to continue large. I feel like I can do this, whereas in the beginning I thought, ‘How do I do this?’”

Barbara Ernst Prey–artist
Williamstown, Massachusetts
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Top image, Building 6 renovation, watercolor, 8’ X 15’, Barbara Ernst Prey. Photos by Jack Criddle

The post This Watercolorist Thinks Big appeared first on Take Magazine.

Painter John Walker first visited Maine in the 1970s, but it took him a couple of decades to figure out how to paint what he saw. “There was a long time of thinking it was impossible to paint Maine; it’s too beautiful, too scenic,” Walker says.

He finally did, and his show From Seal Point, which runs at the Center for Maine Contemporary Art in Rockland through October proves it. The show captures multiple studies of the same part of his property in Seal Point, Maine. The paintings were created over the past several years, both pre-and-post retirement from his teaching and leadership position at Boston University College of Fine Arts.

These paintings are his second body of work, which Walker refers to as High Tide. He began the first phase in the 1990s—the Low Tide work—as an attempt to capture the Maine landscape in a manner that hadn’t become a common approach. “When I say that I tried desperately to avoid the scenic, that was because I thought there were some wonderful painters who did that and are doing that,” says Walker. “It took me a long time to digest what I thought was essential to a landscape.”

Island, John Walker

The main difference between the two series is basic—water. The first series was dominated by mud, while the second series dives into the currents and rhythms of the water as it washes over the mud. But that was only part of the reason Walker says he endeavored on this second phase.

“I had a lot of blue paint,” he says. “It had been sitting there for probably 10 years. I had this ambition to paint some blue paintings. I think I had about eight or nine buckets. It was as simple as that. I had the paint; I had all this water in front of me.”

Walker made good use of all that paint, abstracting the coast line in such a way that he presents not a picture-perfect representation of the classic Maine scenery but rather a personal vision of what he sees in it over a stretch of time, what he obsesses about when he looks at it. Walker says he has no interest in standing at the easel and painting faithfully what he sees in front of him. He paints a process of perception that he holds within.

White Reach #2, John Walker

“The paintings are an amalgamation of lots of things I see that may not be seen at the same time,” he says. “They appear to me over a period of time, and they get re-digested. They may be something I see in one month, and I see again in another month, and it’s changed, and I have to reevaluate the painting again.”

Walker often takes his canvases outside to paint directly from one particular scene and then bring them back inside to change. “Then they have to go back outside again to confirm that they are what I’m looking at—or the essence of what I’m looking at.”

BrakeII, John Walker

It’s a busy process, and Walker plans to continue it well into his post-teaching life. Retirement, he says, just means more time to work. “There’s no retirement because suddenly there’s this ample opportunity to spend all your time painting. But even when I was teaching I didn’t think there was a day that I wouldn’t paint. That hurts, the idea of retirement.”

John Walker–painter
Seal Point, Maine
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Top image, John Walker, courtesy of John Walker

The post Following the Tide appeared first on Take Magazine.

If you can imagine a world that manages to creep you out while being simultaneously outrageously adorable, then you’ve landed smack in the middle of Mimi Chrzanowski’s brain—a mythical land of cleaner-shrimp dentists, post-death anxiety, and Mother’s Day in hell. Like her work, she possesses an air of absolute magic and a dark force of weird. “Mimi is a national treasure,” says artist and friend J.R. Uretsky. “Her work is fresh and unassuming. A mixture of joy and play with a touch of queer rage. Mimi’s gifs and comics make me want to keep making art in the wake of an uninspired political landscape. She’s a real gift.”

Born in Chicago, but raised in the small town of Tomah, Wisconsin, Chrzanowski made her way to Providence, Rhode Island on a whim after graduating from the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire where she studied illustration. In Providence, Chrzanowski has been a part of the Dirt Palace and AS220, both artist-run collectives committed to the unabashed and uncensored production of art across all mediums. “I have been incredibly lucky to be in a city where there are so many beautiful weirdos doing incredible work,” she says. “I have a crush on everything everyone is doing, and I feel super inspired all of the time.”

Mimi Chrzanowski, Shrimp Cleaners, pen and marker, from The Providence Sunday Wipeout #3

Chrzanowski’s first love has always been illustration. Inspired early by anime such as Pokémon and Sailor Moon, she finds drawing a natural extension of her brain. “Drawing feels so pure; it is just pen or pencil and a piece of paper,” she says. “I love watching what other people can create out of such a simple medium, building these entire weird worlds that just feel like a pure form of expression, a place where people can get out whatever they want to say.” She also engages with other mediums such as screen printing, video, and animation, but feels most at home with the flexibility of just a pen and paper.

In 2016, Chrzanowski was invited to create her own LeyLines comic, a quarterly publication co-published by Grindstone Comics and Czap Books. Made with Love in Hell is a Heironymus Bosch-inspired extravaganza set on Mother’s Day in Hell. Clad in a single burnt orange tone, the comic unleashes a cast of iconic hell imagery with a sadistic and adorable undertone featuring familiar characters from her previous comics. Writer John Seven described this work as filled with “…oogly, creepy monsters in lots of gruesome crowd scenes in which atrocities, or at least ugliness, are smashed together like sardines, only this is all cute instead of horribly nightmarish.”

Mimi Chrzanowski, LeyLines Interior

Fresh from the QTZ Zine Fest at AS220, she is currently working on a children’s illustration for Cicada Magazine, a small batch publishing company that focuses on illustrated books for adults and children. In the fall she will showing work in an exhibition at Hoof Print in Chicago. “I have been lucky enough that I can make art for a living,” she says. “I just want to live a life where I can be in nature, be at home, be at the beach, and continue to be inspired and make things that make other people happy as well.”

Mimi Chrzanowski–illustrator
Providence, Rhode Island
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Top image, two of Mimi’s Shellies, illustration courtesy of Mimi Chrzanowski

The post Made with Love in Hell appeared first on Take Magazine.