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Note from the Atelier August 15, 2026 Hi There Reader... Apparently, I'm not quite finished with my back-to-school shopping. I bought a box of 64 crayons today. Did I need crayons? Probably not. Did I need the box with the built-in sharpener? Yes. Yes, I did. I also couldn't resist Crayola's Colors of the World crayons AND colored pencils, with 24 different skin tones in each box. I'm not entirely sure what I'll do with all of them yet, but that's half the fun. And, they were on sale. I practically made money. This week's newsletter seems appropriately timed. I'm thinking about finding your artistic style, sharing a new solution to my sketchbook dilemma and, apparently, adding crayons to my art supplies. Happy exploring!

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Hiding in Plain Sight

What the art on your walls might tell you about finding your style

Artists talk a lot about "finding your style". I know I've been trying to find my style for a long time. Every artist and every book says you can't find your style, it finds you.

I've always found that a little intimidating. It makes it sound as though your artistic style is hiding somewhere and, if you look hard enough, eventually it will jump out from behind a closet door.

But maybe there's another place we should be looking...not behind the closet door, but in plain sight in our own homes!

What kind of art have you chosen to live with? Not what do you admire in a museum. Not what do you think you're supposed to like. What have you actually spent your own money on, brought home and hung on a wall where you'll look at it every day?

I recently really looked at my own art. And honestly, it was kind of an aha moment.

My first clue was the art I've collected while traveling; it's my favorite type of souvenir. I especially love buying from street artists. The pieces are usually small, affordable and remind me of the place I'm visiting.

I've always been a fan of Shakespeare. On my first visit to London, I found a whimsical little series of Shakespearean musicians near the Globe Theater. I loved it then and it's still one of my favorite pieces. I also picked up some loose watercolor and ink drawings of the big London sights. In Ireland, I found four tiny paintings of scenes from the countryside. In Venice, it was a small canal scene surrounded by an enormous expanse of beautiful handmade paper. I bought each of these pieces on separate trips in the 90s. They started my collection and still hang prominently in my home 35+ years later. (Ignore the horrid reflections in the pics below.)

My latest find came from the Inspired by Yellowstone Artist Marketplace at the Old Faithful Inn. Among all the art inspired by Yellowstone, I came home with a fantastic bison print made by a Native American artist. I just love it. And of course, it epitomizes my recent trip.

None of these pieces looks exactly like the others. But when I put them together, they do have some things in common.

They're not photographic representations of the places I've visited (which I don't need because I literally have thousands of actual photographs). They're interpretations. I seem to like visible marks, imperfect edges, selective detail, interesting surfaces and pieces where the artist has left something out. I like art that gives me enough information to recognize something, but doesn't tell me absolutely everything.

And then there is the art I'm drawn to that has nothing to do with remembering a particular trip.

I've long admired the work of Jaune Quick-to-See Smith. More recently, while wandering through a gallery in Jackson Hole, I discovered the work of Carrie Penley. Her paintings often feature Western life and wildlife, but it wasn't necessarily the animals that fascinated me. It was the way she made the paintings. That distinction seems important. What we're drawn to in a piece of art isn't necessarily what the artist painted. It may be how they painted it.

Penley combines recognizable imagery with collage, drawing, abstraction and layers of marks and materials. Parts are beautifully rendered. Other parts dissolve, disappear or seem unfinished. There is always something more to discover.

Those are many of the same things I've been experimenting with in my own work this past year.

Collage. Layers. Texture. Bits of recognizable imagery. Marks that don't have to represent anything. Covering things up and allowing other things to peek through. Letting the viewer discover something rather than explaining everything.

Maybe finding your style isn't about deciding what your work should look like.

Maybe it's about noticing what you're already drawn to.

I recently read Lisa Congdon's Find Your Artistic Voice, which is filled with exercises and questions designed to help artists think about what makes their work their own. One thing it reinforced for me is that finding your style isn't necessarily about sitting down one day and deciding what your art is going to look like (although that might make it easier). It's about paying attention. What are you repeatedly drawn to? What materials do you love working with? What artists make you stop and look? What elements keep finding their way into your own work?

I'd add one more exercise: look around your house.

Look at the art hanging on your walls. Think about the pieces you've carried home from trips. Remember the paintings that caught your eye at a museum or gallery. Don't just ask yourself whether you like them. Ask yourself why you like them.

Is it the color? The subject? The brushwork? The simplicity? The layers? The realism? The lack of realism? The way the artist uses empty space?

You may start seeing patterns.

And if you make art yourself, pay attention to those patterns! ;)

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Inside the Atelier:

A Sketchbook Solution

I love sketchbooks. In theory.

Here's my problem. I like order. So clearly I need a different sketchbook for every medium. And every subject. And every style. And probably several other categories I haven't thought of yet.

Then there's the other problem. What if I create something I actually really like? Something I want to frame, photograph or display? It's stuck in a bound book.

Well, I recently stumbled across what may be my perfect solution: loose sheets of thick watercolor paper, pre-punched for a binder and available in my favorite sketchbook size, 5.5 x 8.5 inches. Why is this so exciting?

I can use the paper for gouache, acrylic, watercolor, pens, collage, mixed media or whatever else I decide to experiment with that day. Then I can put the finished piece into whichever sketchbook binder it belongs in.

Or take it out.

Or photograph it.

Or frame it.

Or move it three weeks later when my brain decides that, obviously, it belonged in a completely different section all along.

It's all the things I love about a sketchbook, without the commitment (of a bound book)!

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