I received a text message this morning from an abstract artist living and working in Austria. I don’t know him. He reached out a week ago, expressing how much he loved my work (already, I’m thinking it’s spam). He appears legit. He has an active, consistent web presence, yet I am cautious. ImportantTip: I did not click his website link in the text. Never click links from suspicious texts or emails.
He sends a second message that says: I’m wishing you a wonderful year, my friend. May your creative journey continue to unfold with clarity, inspiration, and artistic freedom. It could still be spam…and yet…
Those last two words hit me. Artistic freedom.
Here in Minnesota, I feel we are the epicenter of artistic freedom. My state has (almost) always been a welcoming state for immigrants, starting with Europeans in the 1800s and more recently for the Hmong, Somali, Ethiopians, Vietnamese, and Latinos.
With a melting pot that diverse, we have artistic expression that is as rich and diverse as the people of Minnesota. We have the artistic freedom to express ourselves in any form we see fit, from visual arts to writing, dance, music, poetry, theater, and even puppetry.
Throughout history, artistic freedom wasn’t even a concept or considered a right.
There was a time in history when you, as an artist, were male because only male artists were hired. You had to have patrons in order to eat and have a roof over your head. That meant painting yet another ugly pope. It meant painting a ceiling you despised painting. It meant keeping your artistic freedom in your sketchbooks, in your studio, and painting what you really thought about the establishment in subversive symbolism in your work.
It might have been the Renaissance, but how much artistic freedom was there?
Then I think of all the artistic voices that were lost under Chairman Mao, where art, music, and religion were banned under his Cultural Revolution. Instead of playing your violin, writing that poem, or painting a moving landscape, you marched, sweated, and toiled to Mao’s drum until you died.
I could go on and on about the suppression of artistic freedom throughout the ages to today, especially for women artists.
So let’s look at artistic freedom in the context of the individual. As an artist, I am the keeper of my artistic freedom. There are times I held back, suppressing that freedom because of insecurities. “The work won’t be well received if I move in this new direction,” I tell myself.
In other words, I can squash my own artistic freedom like a dictator.
Honoring your artistic freedom is part of the work, part of your art practice. Dare to be brave and bold and see what comes of it. It’s the freedom to explore new territory instead of going down the same gravel road that has grown tired and too familiar.
I’m posting this because of that text message wishing me artistic freedom.
It hit a cord because I am working on a new body of work that diverts from the layered, detailed, intimate views of nature I have discovered and find fascinating and beautiful.
I’m moving towards my first love subjects — insects and birds. I want to capture these as individuals in their own right. Every beetle and every blackbird is a sentient being. I want to write their stories. If you’ve been paying attention at all, both insect and bird species are on the decline around the world due to human activity and climate change.
Instead of a dramatic drop, it’s more like a gradual thinning. I feel it throughout the year, even though I have plenty of bird species visiting my bird feeder every day. I see fewer varieties of insects when I’m outdoors. No mosquitoes are biting me as I water and casually weed my garden.
So why the mental wrestling match about exhibiting birds and insects? Insects are misunderstood, deemed pests, and they have that “ewww” factor. Many people love birds, but they don’t know them by name, except maybe that red bird (a cardinal). Some people are terrified of birds, especially in flocks. I don’t know what happened to them, but I call it a “Hitchcock syndrome.”
What is helping me get over self-censuring and on to embracing my artistic freedom is to plan out the exhibit. Knowing what I want to draw and paint and feeling the story behind each piece lifts the insecurities and doubts I have in preparing for my solo exhibit this year (2026).
Artistic freedom with a plan. It’s going to be alright.
Note: The text originated from a 213 area code number notorious for generating a high volume of spam. I reported it as junk. My heart sank a little more. It erodes the freedom to trust.
Second Note: The featured watercolor+drawing at the top of this post is a piece I did in 2017. It was my breakthrough work, moving away from small, insignificant studies of random things into a whole new direction that felt right. Titled Thicket No. 1, it shows dried milkweed pods dangling from dried stems and brush along the banks of a local lake. The “ghost” drawings of the monarch caterpillar and butterfly foreshadow a world without them if we don’t continue to protect habitat and allow milkweed plants to flourish.
What are your feelings about artistic freedom? Are you an artist who denies themselves their own artistic freedom? Or are you an artist where outside forces suppress your and other artists’ artistic freedom?
Jot your thoughts down below. I reply to all comments.
Did this post get you thinking? Then you might enjoy these, too.
How This Artist Structures Her Week.I have been building my art career and business for about 5 years now. Something had to shift. I needed a structure that would help me move the needle without burning out. See how I plan my studio art practice week.
Bird Watching as Art Practice: I Don’t Have a Hobby.Birds have always been my go-to subject when I hit a dry spell. Yet, having an art practice based on environmental concerns, birds began to have a whole new meaning for me and my art practice. Thank you, Amy Tan.
Shown above: Little Spring Thing (Wild Sarsaparilla)
I imagine a mundane but curious question: “Most artists work in a rectangular orientation, whether that be on paper or canvas. But you tend to work in a square format. Curious as to why that is?” The answer is not what you would expect.
ANSWER: Did Instagram influence me when image posts were square in a feed? The real story is that I have always loved the square for aesthetic reasons.
As a graphic designer, I would design print pieces in a square format because it’s different from the norm and would stand out. Unfortunately, designing to the square could be expensive, especially for mailing square invitations.
There is a deeper reason for painting in a square format.
There is a deeper reason for painting square watercolors, beyond the fact that it looks good in a social media post. It stems from how Frank Lloyd Wright designed his homes with the intention that each window should be a frame to the natural world, thereby bringing the natural world into one’s home.
That’s exactly the intention of my work: to bring the natural world into a home and, at the same time, create curiosity about the natural world and the desire to venture out into it daily. Square windows appeal to me, the ones you often see in old barns or traditional Scandinavian-style homes.
A side note on aesthetics:
I read in The Gardens of Frank Lloyd Wright by Derek Fell, pages 46-47: Out of conversation with Wright’s dairyman, Jack Sangster, Wright complained that his Guernsey cows were not producing enough cream.
Sangster proposed switching to Holsteins. To that suggestion, Wright ranted, “Jack, Holsteins are black and white. Black and white on green?…coffee and cream, which are the colors of my Guernseys, on green, are the three most restful colors you can find.” Only Guernseys grazing on green pastures for Frank.
P.S. The title of this post is a wink and a nod to one of many favorite rock groups in my early 20s, Yes, and their song Your Move. There, I’ve just dated myself.
Watercolors in Squares
Shown from top, left to right:
Forest Custodian (Jack O’ Lantern Mushroom) (15 x 15; 28 x 28 framed)
The Garden Nature Grows (8 x 8; 21 x 21 framed)
Orange Fairy Cup (8 x 8) Original Sold; available as a fine art print
Under the Forest Canopy (8 x 8; 12 x 12 framed)
Marshland: Casting Spells (21 x 21; 32 x 32 framed)
We Will Know When We Get There (15 x 15; 28 x 28 framed)
Passing Through (15 x 15; 28 x 28 framed)
Devotion (12 x 12) Original Sold; available as a fine art print
Tiny Universes (8 x 8) Original Sold; available as a fine art print
Cradling (In Praise of Leaf Litter) (20 x 20; 33 x 33 framed)
This is Not a Weed No. 1 (15 x 15; 28 x 28 framed)
This is Not a Weed No. 2 (15 x 15; 28 x 28 framed)
Sizes are in inches. Original artworks are framed in a simple pine frame with double-thick white matting and plexiglass.
I don’t have a hobby. At least not how I would describe the things I do outside of the studio.
Much of my time and brain are devoted to making art, marketing and writing about the art I make, getting to know other artists and their work, attending their exhibits, promoting their work, trying to build a business and community around art…and on and on.
There is one thing outside of art, though. I feed the birds. The times I uttered this activity to others, I was looked at as if I was feeding rats or worse, the spawn of Satan.
I should call it “luring the birds with food so I can watch them.” I’ve always been curious about animal behavior and studied animal behaviorism in college. Birds allow me to continue my studies.
Birds taught me to meditate.
Honestly, you can’t think of anything else while watching birds. Birds have also gotten me out of difficult dry spells when I was practicing my art in the margins. Every hour counted back then, and birds were a way to get drawing and painting again.
I have two hanging feeders, a suet feeder, and a deck railing where I place a stream of seed for the “ground feeders” to partake. Actually, everyone loves feeding from the railing. There is ample space, so at any given moment, there can be 6-7 bird species dining together like it was the last supper.
Over time, I have gotten to know individual birds by their temperament. Cardinals are especially expressive with their crests. A bird brushing its beak back and forth on a branch isn’t a sign of grooming; it means the bird is frustrated or plain pissed off. Chickadees get pissed off a lot.
I have so many questions about birds.
Do birds make friends? Do birds understand the songs of birds outside their species? What are birds saying when they sing? Do they know who I am? Where do birds go when it’s cold or pouring rain?
I admit, I sound like a ridiculous bird lady. This spring, I intentionally went looking for a book I had heard about a couple of years ago: “The Backyard Bird Chronicles” by Amy Tan.
As I’m reading her book, admiring her many sketches and fine drawings of birds, I stopped feeling absurd and feel I have found a kindred spirit instead. Amy asks many of the questions I do about birds, though with more wit.
This spring, I am noticing fewer birds. Did the avian flu take its toll? Fewer birds means fewer birds. I’ll continue to feed them as long as they show up. Part of me feels obligated. The once wild habitat has been sliced into suburban development, leaving me the ultimate colonizer.
Side Note: Today’s featured art is an early foreshadowing of things to come. Both birds and insects are subjects I love and want to incorporate back into my work, and tell their stories.
If this post resonated with you, you might find meaning in these, too.
Reflections. We All Start At Zero.A watercolor artist’s career journey. From practicing art in the margins to going full-time as an artist, exhibiting my work, and building an art business.
Artistic Freedom. How a random text message led to reflecting on what artistic freedom really means.
How This Artist Structures Her Week. See how I learned how to structure my weeks to keep me from burning out and being able to grow my business, moving the needle slowly, intentionally, yet sanely.
Even baby cabbages watercolor studies have their stories.
One of Robert Frost’s most famous poems, “Nothing Gold Can Stay,” came to me in the coming-of-age novel “The Outsiders” by S. E. Hinton, a book we collectively read in 8th grade. Both the novel (now banned in some parts of the country) and Frost’s poem (thankfully, not banned) have stayed with me.
But here’s the thing, Bob. Among all that early spring gold you wrote about, there are many others — like pale lavender and blues, muted pinks, and translucent yellow and white.
If you’re like me, the response to the first spring gold or any other color you see is jubilant.
Every perennial, native or not, pushing up tender growth among the dried stems is cause for celebration. You can tell I go over the top about the small things in nature only because so much of it symbolizes rejuvenation and resilience.
If you’re like me, the daily shocks and disappointments keep our hearts heavy and anxious. Which is why I speak of spring on this last day of February. Shown here is Baby Cabbages, a watercolor study, a.k.a. Sedum, sometimes called Stonecrop. The thought of gardening, like art, eases my mind, a positive thing to do as everything else falls apart.
Their young bundles of Sedum do look like babies and like cabbages, with tiny mouths opening up to eat the sun.
Even though this is a study (in preparation for a much larger piece featuring Sedum), my significant other, who holds back his opinions of my work, says, “It’s a keeper.”
Views of Baby Cabbages Watercolor Study
Perhaps it could be that the Baby Cabbages watercolor study would make a good fine art print in my shop. At an 8 x 10-inch size, it might be a welcoming sight hanging in a back entrance, perhaps a mudroom that one would see upon coming inside after a day’s work in the garden.
Like this little art story? You might enjoy these, too.
Oh, Jack!How an amazingly orange fungi had me fooled.
The Story of Soil.How little green shoots, a wetland protected area, and childhood memories weave together to give this watercolor deep meaning.
Post-presidential election, this is what it feels like. Still does. The only response I have left is to make art and continue to make art.
I didn’t want to let a long lapse of time go by before I played with abstract painting again. The opportunity to do so presented itself with an idea gone south that I had for a watercolor years ago. It was all drawn out with faint pencil lines on top of a lightly drawn grid to guide me through the complexities of the composition. You can still make out the guidelines in these abstracts.
Again, these are NOT paintings, per se. This is pure play and a chance to stretch outside the other highly detailed work I love to do. An exploration of color, design, my (lacking) glue skills, and collage. It’s also a nudge to others who feel like they need a break from their business-as-usual studio routine. Play is necessary!
Taking the lessons I learned from my first Abstract Play,I divided the large 20 x 30-inch sheet of 300 lb. 100% cotton Fabriano hot press watercolor paper into six sections, blocking them off with artist’s tape.
Next, I did a few layers of gouache, mixing white, red, and yellow to make pink, coral, to sunset hues painted in broad strokes with the biggest paint brush I have. In between layers, I let the sheet of watercolor paper dry. I wasn’t rushing this play at all.
After contemplation and working on the other watercolor project I had going on in the studio, I added marks of black and blue gouache mixes, letting the paint run and travel at will. Then I let it sit some more, like a fermenting wine.
Never having tried collage before (I truly admire and love a good collage artist!), I decided that I would give pasting random, yet connected bits to my abstract painting.
Enter the sources of storylines photocopied from old, now well-worn, children’s story books: Crib and Fly: A Tale of Two Terriers by Charles F. Dole, copyright 1900. The illustrations by Gwendoline Sandhal are enchanting. I should note this book is the property of the Community Library of Hancock, in Pope County, Minnesota.
Peter and Polly in Winter is one of many Peter and Polly books by Rose Lucia, published by the American Book Company, copyright 1914. My copy happens to be the property of the Glenwood Public Library, also in Pope County, Minnesota.
Lastly, Little Tonino is about a little donkey, a story by Helen Hill and Violet Maxwell, copyright 1928, published by The MacMillan Company — a book that doesn’t appear to have been swiped from a local library. (Thank goodness. I was thinking of the library fines I would owe for the first two!) The colorful landscape-illustrated end sheets and interior illustrations show there was likely a healthy budget to produce this storybook.
The “clip art” of frogs and fish comes via SCAN THIS BOOK: Over 2500 Copyright-Free Objects for Scanning and Photocopying compiled by John Mendenhall. The book is from my early days as a graphic designer, where clip art came in handy when there was zero budget for original illustration for layouts, design, etc.
Other embellishments include thick black paper, semi-transparent vellum, white gel pen, and black Sharpie. I feel like the pauses in between working on this abstract collection didn’t hurt it, as I did my best not to think, just feel my way along. I’ll let you be the judge. The titles for each came easily as fish swimming downstream.
We May See Interesting Things. 8 x 10 gouache/mixed media/collage.
Everything That Grows Below the Earth. 8 x 10 gouache/mixed media/collage.
Mr. Green Is Very Kind. 8 x 10 gouache/mixed media/collage.
Where We Can Find Rabbit. 8 x 10 gouache/mixed media/collage.
Where Can The Fish Swim Now That The Lake Is Dry. 8 x 10 gouache/mixed media/collage.
We’re Not In Kansas Anymore. 8 x 10 gouache/mixed media/collage.
Your Turn.
What are you doing to cope with the post-election results? Whatever your means, I hope it’s creative and constructive, and includes friends and community. We are all in this together. Jot your thoughts in the comments. I respond to all. Till we meet again, be kind to everything that lives, and especially be kind to yourself.
Shown above are some of the items I have on hand for making ink: A large mixing bowl, rubber gloves, a potato masher, a glass flask, small glass spice jars with tight lids, and paper towels. I would include coffee filters for filtering out organic matter from your ink and a trusty apron. You’ll want gum arabic as a binding agent and a wintergreen essential oil to use as a preservative.
Shown above are recently harvested buckthorn berries from my backyard. It was an unusually warm October day. The redwing blackbirds and grackles declared their displeasure with my berry-picking presence during the hold time. It took about two hours to gather about 2 cups of berries — I’m eyeballing the amount.
How I Went About Making Natural Ink.
A little video short I put together to show how even a novice can make ink. The whole process from harvesting to making the ink took about two days. I harvested one day, made the ink on the second day, and let the ink filter from the second batch of mashed berries overnight.
Before I ventured into making ink, I decided to collect everyday objects needed and dedicate them to making ink exclusively. (This is where a thrift store comes in handy. This also removes any barrier for when I want to make ink. Sadly, I was too late to harvest black walnuts this year. Black walnut ink is the ink of scribes and Shakespeare.
I would love to have the buckthorn removed so I could see the beautiful marsh that lies just beyond the wall of barbed nuisance. And yet, the buckthorn gave me a gift. Life, as in nature, is a paradox. The ink turned out better than expected — a rich, earthy plum that takes its time resting and drying on paper. When the ink finally dries, it has a luminance that I am not used to seeing with other mediums.
There’s plenty of room for experimentation. I mentioned I added about 10 drops of wintergreen essential oil to preserve the ink, but you can add vinegar or salt. Each additive will have a different effect on the ink and how it performs when it hits paper. For now, I love the waft of wintergreen when I open a bottle of home-made ink.
Have you ever made ink from natural sources before? How did it turn out? Have a natural substance that’s unusually good for making colorful ink? Please share your ink-making adventures. I respond to all.
Till next time, be kind to everything that lives and especially be kind to yourself.
Was this an inspiring post for you? These might inspire you, too.
Making Paper Houses.Instead of getting pissed and pitching perfectly good watercolor paper, I do this instead.
Got art? Make Greeting Cards. For years, I made greeting cards using my artwork. Here I show you how and the tools I use to do it. Card templates included.
Once a month, usually on a quiet Tuesday morning, I send a short note from the studio, show new work in progress, upcoming exhibits, things that are inspiring me, what's on my nightstand, and the occasional shop offer just for subscribers.
It's a small, unhurried letter. Very much like me.
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Terra Kind Studio Co. is the creation of Kristin Maija Peterson, a life-long visual artist, writer, art director, and recovering graphic designer.
“I write stories about of my work to give you a deeper connection and understanding of the natural world. These stories blend of art, observation, experiences, and science. As a self-proclaimed “Beauty Hunter,” I represent and celebrate the wild, messy, and misunderstood ecosystems that are either ignored, destined to be controlled, or developed for human consumption. There is beauty and awe to be found in unexpected places, in the natural chaos of things. I hope your visit here inspires you to find your own beauty and wonderment in the natural world.”
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