My Kitchen Counter

When I first met my husband in Manhatten we were invited to dinner at his cousin's apartment. She was a chef at the Union Square Cafe, a hotspot in the restaurant world of the mid-80s. We sat in her kitchen as she prepared our spontaneous gourmet meal. I say spontaneous because she surrounded herself with all of the ingredients and intuitively chopped and sauteed, stirred and whisked the dinner together before our very eyes. She used her fingers and hands for measuring and mixing. It was a very sensuous affair, all the time tweaking with a little bit of color-- by this I mean adding more herbs, more spices, more butter, or whatever made itself known to her. There were no recipes, only her imagination and her wits. As artists, both my husband and I remarked how it felt like painting-- being present at the canvas, noticing where a bit more naples yellow is needed or a little less cadmium red light, and relying on imagination, wits, and experience.

I have no doubt that the chef's process of working intuitively through an experience of trial and error is very much like the process I go through in my studio. I prefer not to have clear sketches and color studies in front of me like a recipe. I prefer to see what happens on the page, allowing the colors to settle and stand out as if speaking to me. Luckily I have worked with the same editor who has faith that the tiny chicken scratches I send her will turn into something beautiful and bold. When I was working on "Our Family Tree" after showing the small sketchy book dummy to her new assistant, the assistant asked "Why did you choose this artist for this book?" My editor replied, "Patience. Just wait and see." 

My palette, like the countertop in the kitchen gives me plenty of preparation space for mixing the colors and laying out the right brushes, flow enhancers, and spatulas. The author's story or my own is completely committed to memory and the words float like a mantra through my head-- perhaps like the name of a recipe. "Chicken soup, chicken soup", may run through the mind of a chef, while the ingredients make themselves known while using all of the senses. I too, use all of my senses to open to the possibilities of color and shape while holding the particular text of the spread I am working on securely in my mind. The words: "Patience. Just wait and see." also flicker through my consciousness. It is not always successful. I have been know to throw out an entire batch of illustrations and start over. No wonder it takes me a year or more to paint a book! But with imagination, wits, and experience I don my apron and begin anew.