Biologist E.O. Wilson coined the term biophilia in the 1980s. Literally, it means love of life or empathy with all living things. The concept has been embraced by artists, designers, and architects, who seek to recreate nature's elements in urban design to promote well-being. Biophilic design draws on natural materials, shapes, light, and patterns to build a connection to nature within the human constructed environment to promote wellness, creativity, and productivity. For many indigenous cultures it has been an essential way of life since the beginning of time. Biophilia is the wellspring of my abstract painting practice. As we shift into seasonal spring, a time of rebirth and renewal, my new series, The Nature of Kinship, celebrates the unsung beauty of plants and our relationship with them—they feed us, they clothe us, they heal us. They create the very oxygen we breathe. As a long-time artist, naturalist, and gardener working to create a permaculture yard, it's taken me a lifetime to begin to scratch the surface of plants' complexities and interactions. We have much to learn from their wise ways. My paintings—swirling patterns, leafy shapes, and abstracted human forms—are a prayer of thanksgiving to life in a tangled verdant world. By embracing the kinship of all beings and bringing biophilic design into our human-built environment we cultivate a greater sense of harmony and balance. I hope you can sense the uplifting energy of these biophilic paintings. I hope they remind you that we are not separate from nature or from each other. We are all kin. But my true wish is to inspire you and your children to seek out connection and appreciation outdoors no matter where you live. See the Nature of Kinship series here.
 "Entwined (The Nature of Kinship)," Michelle Louis, 2023
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My first vacay since the beginning of the pandemic was last summer's road trip to the American West. I've driven out there many times before. But this trip was special. Maybe it was being cooped up for so long, but I was wowed. The beauty and immensity of the land and sky hit me hard. I'm so excited to share my new paintings with you.
I've been working feverishly for half a year on these babies and I couldn't be more delighted with the outcome. I'm doubly pleased and honored to be collaborating with Saatchi Art, the world's leading online gallery, and virtual gallery platform, Art Placer. Saatchi Art will be promoting this special collection through their extensive social media and collector network. I'm incredibly grateful to be able to share my work in this virtual gallery space and special collection. Anyone, anywhere with an internet connection can visit. And while it's not like seeing them in person, in some ways it's better. The paintings this trip inspired conjure an iconic story of canyons, sky, mountains, and mesas. Reflecting sensations of place and time, they are not representational landscapes. Here earth and jewel tones are powerful, grounding, and healing. Hard edges melt into soft spaces where spirit and mind are free to roam. Back in my Wisconsin studio, I felt like this series painted itself. A good road trip has that kind of power. For months the shapes and colors I'd experienced out west flew from my mind through my fingers to the canvas. I couldn't stop seeing them and I couldn't stop painting them. I hope this euphoria of shape, line, and color guides you toward a deeper sense of what it means to be alive in this astonishing world right now. Please enter my virtual gallery and have a look!
I've been totally obsessed with a series of 25 paintings based on my roadtrip out west and I can't wait to share some exciting news with you!! Soon!
Goodbye 2022!
Here's my last painting of the year. It's called "Essence." I love how it moves and bends in an imaginary breeze. We've all needed to boost our ability to flow with change the last couple of years. What will 2023 bring? IDK, but I'm wishing you the very best!! Many thanks for your kindness and support!!
During these days of literal and figurative darkness, choosing love over fear, day after day, is a worthy endeavor. Winter's holiday season is a perfect time to foster an attentive "now"—to be active and grateful, to celebrate family and friends and food, and the abundant Earth that sustains us. I am beyond grateful for the privilege of presence, and to you for encouraging my explorations. Your kind words, likes, thoughtful critiques, and support mean the world to me. Choosing love over fear, day after day is not easy. Let's work at it together. Can we begin by sharing our humble gratitude for a moment? It is not from ourselves that we learn to be better than we are. -Wendell Berry Studio news-
I'm delighted and honored to be part of an exhibition presented by James May Gallery. "Shared Space," explores the ideas of collective space: the natural and the feminine. I have 5 paintings included in the exhibition. Now through Feb. 2023. Check out the exhibition on Artsy. The world's leading online gallery, Saatchi Art, has once again included me in Best of 2022. "A year of arresting visuals and creative innovation, 2022 has seen no shortage of impressive art. From boundary-pushing painting to experimental new media, discover this year’s most sought-after artists and exciting new presentations of art.  New painting, "Simpatico." You can see the finished painting and details—just tap the photo! I feel like things change fast this month—the angle of light, the intensity of color, even the feel of the air goes from cottony-thick to crisp as the natural world prepares for winter here in the north. It's been a gorgeous, busy fall. My last garden task of the season is canning the rest of the pears for a sweet taste of summer some snowy night. Outside and in, the windows need cleaning to welcome every sliver of light as daylight dwindles. My bum knee is trying to heal so maybe I'll get to that odious task, maybe not. The firewood is stacked and soon we'll light the first fire in the hearth—a much revered event. Surviving a long northern winter means change and adjustment. We all live with and depend upon the whims of Mother Nature. From bum knees to white-out blizzards, taking note of these "whims"—Earth's patterns, rhythms, and balance—inspires my artwork and life choices. The contrasting fragility and tenacity of life never cease to astound. So a special thanks to the Earth that sustains us, and to you for encouraging my explorations. Your kind words and support mean the world to me. Thanks for reading this and stay cozy, friends! See all my available work here.
 In the studio next to recent painting, "Chroma Glow." Click on image to see details. What does it mean to be engaged with this particular place and body at this particular moment? That's a question that painting challenges me to ponder. Because things happen while I'm painting that tickle my inquisitive brain and soothe my restless body. I find these things irresistible—the centering I feel in front of the canvas, the transcendent moment when surface and paint and motion begin to meld into something that pushes me farther than I thought I was able to go. My outward environment and inner concerns turn mysteriously to color and form. I look up, three hours have passed, and it felt like three minutes. My art-making practice examines this kind of engagement while questioning traditional painting gestures and methods. It is a meditation on pattern and rhythm, on process and repetition, on body and mind. Interacting colors, forms, and layers of paint make meaning not only via the gestures that created them, but through their references to everyday acts like walking, eating, exploring wild places, scrubbing the bathtub, listening, conversing, loving, and longing—all the things that make a life. What does it mean to be engaged with this particular place and body at this particular moment? I think I'll go pick up a paintbrush and keep wondering.  "Color Rush," 47H x 67W x 1.5D inches, on canvas. Click on image for details. I'm taking some time for a road trip. My first vacation since Covid. Yay! See you next month.  Hiking, 11,000 ft. in the Mosquito Range, Colorado.
As a full-time artist who's a naturalist I consider exploring wild places with my canine companion an essential part of my art practice. Each daily trek cultivates a rich palette of experience, movement, color, life, and form ready for my brush. Back in the studio, what becomes a painting emerges from these doings, and the paint, and the moment. My senses kick in—I paint touch, scent, sound, sight, even taste. I make things up. I giggle and fret. I remember, and I aspire.
"Wild and Tangled" explores patterns and rhythms in nature. These artworks extend the sense of how it feels to be immersed in the natural world, vulnerable, yet uninhibited and fully connected. I'm delighted and honored these NFTs were selected as a "top pick" at 1stDibs, a leading online marketplace for extraordinary design. Click on each image to view the NFT.
 My new painting, "Solstice-Earth," June 2022" 30H x 24W x 1.5D inches, on canvas. Click on image to see details. The summer solstice means 15 hours and 22 minutes of daylight on June 21st in Wisconsin. It marks summer's longest day. June 24 is Midsummer Day. Nordic myth has it that dew gathered on Midsummer Day brings youth to aching bones and aging bodies. Since ancient times, people in northern regions celebrate this time of year by enjoying the season's first strawberries. My own ritual is a breakfast of fresh-picked strawberries and a walk in the dewy wild. Here in the wilds on Midsummer Day, thick tangles of green hide legions of eyes. Leaves and scented blooms twine up and up, to a sky full of floating and flying things. Mingled roots burrow deeper and deeper in search of nutrients and water. Wandering the meadows and woods, lost in profusion and plenty, thought finally slows then stops. Within this abundance of wild-living things, it is possible to become absorbed. Not absorbed in the sense of being mentally occupied and focused. Not communing in meditative oneness. Literally absorbed in the sense of being drawn in, swallowed up, ingested by the wholeness of the visible and invisible world. Disappeared. A heart pumps but it's no one's and the trees breathe. Ephemeral, undaunted, these longest days of summer. Click to see details of these paintings:
"Solstice-Earth" "Tropical Fruit" "Octopus's Garden" "Daylight"  I'm delighted to participate in The Other Art Fair Global Virtual Edition beginning in May 2022.  Welcome to The Other Art Fair’s Virtual Edition, presented by Saatchi Art, running May 23 - June 5. Look forward to dystopian islands of discovery in the sky, 150 new artists from across the world, thousands of artworks for you to view and buy, crypto art installations, NFT projects and art for sale, virtual curator tours, conversations in art podcasts and more… Enter the Fair and discover art differently. Take a virtual tour of my fair booth to see some of my favorite works up close and personal See my available and sold work See me talk about my work See everything! Home/Landing page for The Other Art Fair Global Virtual Edition    "Becoming Wild" by Michelle Louis, virtual gallery of NFTs on OpenSea. Click on the image to connect to the collection. Thoughts about my place on this planet and in this universe are undercurrent to all my work. Quietly exploring wild places everyday, I can see things that normally go unnoticed. Animal interactions are common and day-to-day changes in the land and its inhabitants are more easily spotted. Back in the studio, painting extends that sense of how it feels to be immersed in the wilds, vulnerable, yet uninhibited and fully connected. “Rewilding” and "Becoming Wild" are two recent NFT collections of hand-made, IRL(In Real Life) abstract paintings photographed and then digitally worked like a canvas. Each is a high res, 1/1, digital image, unique in the world, for sale as NFTs(non-fungible tokens) on Foundation and OpenSea in the metaverse. Each includes a brief narrative. You can see details and read about them by clicking on an image and then on "Description." What you see on this page is a brief selection from each collection. Thanks so much for your support. Purchasing my work and commenting are not the only ways you've given me a boost. Believe it or not, every time you "like" or even just click on any or all of my photos and links, you help me get my work out into the world. I sincerely appreciate your help.
 Michelle Louis, "Peaceable Being," 38H x 60W inches, on canvas. Click on image for details. Expressing artistic creativity in times like these feels uncomfortable. With all of the things we take for granted while others endure torment, even simple pleasures feel self-indulgent. Grief can seem a constant companion. In my experience, grief is profoundly personal, takes many forms, and doesn't just go away with time. Further traumas can set it off and grief can be cumulative. I've been painting for more than 40 years. One thing I've come to realize is that grief is a wellspring for remarkable art. I don't mean that remarkable art is deeply sad. Or that grief is "good." Rather, it is through the wrenching experience of grief that one can begin to understand and appreciate the full spectrum of what it means to be alive. Working alongside grief, with a little luck, and maybe a good therapist, one can better appreciate its opposite—joy. It's about feeling and expressing the contrast, and balance, and emotion—things an artist labors to master in order to make remarkable art. For most of us it's a life-long, work-in-progress. Having a clear-eyed view of the extremes gives "center" a placeholder. From this centered place, remarkable art emerges in the most turbulent of times. It feels urgent to identify and choose the things we do in our lives that bring us closer to personal and collective equilibrium. For many of us, art-making is one way to do that. So please--say it, sing it, dance it, paint it, write it, play it, compose it. Do your thing. Ask for help when you need it. Help others when you can. Keep going. Art teaches us what it means to be human. We have much to learn. See my available work here.
 Another year's gone by and I'm noticing some new folks around here. So first of all—thanks! You can't imagine how much that means. I'm Michelle Louis from Wisconsin, USA. A full-time painter who's also a naturalist, I'm curious about how I experience the land, how I feel it deep in my bones, how to express that relationship, and what I can learn from it. My paintings resonate with the seasonal patterns, dynamic forces, and synergies that connect us.
I tend to work large scale, painting with acrylic on big canvases tacked to my studio wall. My drive to paint is indefatigable. I work hard. And I'm honored to have been selected by the curators at Saatchi Art, the world's leading online art gallery, as one of their "Best of 2021." One of the strengths as a painter I've worked to achieve is the ability to silence the constant stream of distraction and self-criticism, connect with earth's natural rhythms, and see what my brush and paint will do. Exploring wild places in nature by myself is another way I'm able to tune in. On these kinds of adventures, I'm more aware of things beyond my usual perception. You might spot them in my paintings. Shapes, lines, and patterns appear, disappear, and then recur. Some make sense to me. Others, not so much. I don’t begin with a sketch or specific thought, but with being open to the emergence of something unexpected, unexplainable. I love the excitement of facing a large-scale, blank canvas. The magic that occurs between the present moment and what comes next reflects nature’s alchemy and that’s where I engage. The natural world is still largely cryptic in spite of our many discoveries. What we understand is based on repeated patterns, methods, and materials. My work is that kind of process. It’s active. It arises symbiotically, holistically, in repetition. It's a map of points in time that leads to the “presence” of a finished piece. Abstract expressionist in process, I'm kind of obsessed with how the natural world communicates with me and how I communicate that relationship. I love abstraction as opposed to more realistic work because it challenges my courage as a painter and your openness as a viewer. I especially love painting big because it allows my whole body to join the process, over and over, in silent rhythm. It's so satisfying and has the added bonus of being great therapy for the painful and exhausting auto-immune disorder I'm working to overcome. Trained in studio art, graphic design, and landscape architecture, my studio extends to our yard, where I grow many edibles, including eight kinds of berries—honeyberries, strawberries, raspberries, aronia, mulberries, goji, kiwiberries, jostaberries, serviceberries. Okay, that's nine. Thinking of adding goumi berries this year. Have you tried growing them? Please share your experience. I love being an artist because it helps me cultivate connection while honoring my kinship to the natural world. Thanks for looking and connecting! You can view my newest series of paintings, still underway, here.  Another year's gone by and I'm noticing some new folks around here. So first of all—thanks! You can't imagine how much that means. I'm Michelle Louis from Wisconsin, USA. A full-time painter who's also a naturalist, I'm curious about how I experience the land, how I feel it deep in my bones, how to express that relationship, and what I can learn from it. My paintings resonate with the seasonal patterns, dynamic forces, and synergies that connect us. I tend to work large scale, painting with acrylic on big canvases tacked to my studio wall. My drive to paint is indefatigable. I work hard. And I'm honored to have been selected by the curators at Saatchi Art, the world's leading online art gallery, as one of their "Best of 2021." One of the strengths as a painter I've worked to achieve is the ability to silence the constant stream of distraction and self-criticism, connect with earth's natural rhythms, and see what my brush and paint will do. Exploring wild places in nature by myself is another way I'm able to tune in. On these kinds of adventures, I'm more aware of things beyond my usual perception. You might spot them in my paintings. Shapes, lines, and patterns appear, disappear, and then recur. Some make sense to me. Others, not so much. I don’t begin with a sketch or specific thought, but with being open to the emergence of something unexpected, unexplainable. I love the excitement of facing a large-scale, blank canvas. The magic that occurs between the present moment and what comes next reflects nature’s alchemy and that’s where I engage. The natural world is still largely cryptic in spite of our many discoveries. What we understand is based on repeated patterns, methods, and materials. My work is that kind of process. It’s active. It arises symbiotically, holistically, in repetition. It's a map of points in time that leads to the “presence” of a finished piece. Abstract expressionist in process, I'm kind of obsessed with how the natural world communicates with me and how I communicate that relationship. I love abstraction as opposed to more realistic work because it challenges my courage as a painter and your openness as a viewer. I especially love painting big because it allows my whole body to join the process, over and over, in silent rhythm. It's so satisfying and has the added bonus of being great therapy for the painful and exhausting auto-immune disorder I'm working to overcome. Trained in studio art, graphic design, and landscape architecture, my studio extends to our yard, where I grow many edibles, including eight kinds of berries—honeyberries, strawberries, raspberries, aronia, mulberries, goji, kiwiberries, jostaberries, serviceberries. Okay, that's nine. Thinking of adding goumi berries this year. Have you tried growing them? Please share your experience. I love being an artist because it helps me cultivate connection while honoring my kinship to the natural world. Thanks for looking and connecting! You can view my newest series of paintings, still underway, here.
 "Escape Velocity," 45H x 70W inches, on canvas. Available on Opensea. Click on image for details. My new painting, Escape Velocity, seems an appropriate way to end the year. I've been reflecting on the lessons of 2021 and asking myself—how I can use what 2021 has shown us for the better? Let's just say it's been quite a spin both personally and all around. I'm still feeling a little dazed. You? Any wisdom you'd like to share? Please do! Sincerely wishing you, my friends, a healthy new year full of grace, kindness, and wonder—Happy 2022! I'm trying something new—my above painting, Escape Velocity,
is available exclusively as an NFT + physical painting combo. Have a look!  My paintings are diverse as the natural world that inspired them. Some are luminously colorful like a garden in spring, while others illustrate the monochromatic contrast of a pine forest under a fresh blanket of snow. Some interpret the sound of wind over dry grasses, others celebrate the comforting earthy smell of rain. For me, painting reaches into the mystery of what comes next and carries it the canvas in front of me. Painting is my flowstate; it sets me free, and lets me honor my kinship to the natural world. As an artist, part of my mission is to share and connect with others. I'm outing my portfolio on web3 as NFTs to bring a greater sense of interconnection, a natural, wild and earthy essence, to the emerging metaverse. Born too soon to be a digital-native, most of this stuff is totally weird and new to me, and maybe to you, too. That's why I have lots of links to helpful info highlighted. If you don't understand a term that's highlighted, click on it to find out. Bridging my work to web3 and the metaverse is a risk. With many artworks in public, private, and corporate collections, I've worked hard to earn my social following and build my brand, and I can never tell how people will react. A few months ago when my son brought up the idea of minting my work as NFTs, like many others, I thought the whole thing was a gimmick. Delving in as a fact-finding mission to inform myself, I've begun to see a nascent world take shape under the flag of decentralization. I see a place where ownership and power can shift to individual artists. Recently, my own business's fragility became apparent when a mega social media platform, without explanation nor response to appeal, revoked the ad account I relied on to show my paintings to potential collectors. Web3 can be a path to progressive decentralization that would prevent such actions. I've learned the hard way how valuable that is. If I'm bringing my work to the metaverse, I want to support decentralization. Carbon footprint matters to me, too. That's why I'm choosing Ethereum. Ethereum's currency, Ether (ETH), unlike other crypto currencies, is moving to "proof of stake" the first or second quarter of 2022. Proof of stake, rather than "proof of work," makes the carbon footprint of ETH 99% smaller. Fingers crossed! In my art career, I follow five steps: 1. Take a risk. 2. Make something you want to see/experience. 3. Go ahead, be vulnerable and share it. 4. Listen, but don't obsess over response. 5. Repeat. I'm taking a risk and jumping into a new frontier of art collection and trading. If you already have a crypto "wallet," when you click to see each of my pieces, maybe even "like" them, it's helpful and appreciated. You can see my first five NFTs for sale here on OpenSea. Each NFT documents one of my paintings and includes a detailed image, description, basic set of physical properties, and an IPFS image link. Select NFTs include a claim for the physical painting as well. Thanks for looking!
This summer I worked the same two small paintings every time I needed a change of pace from the large canvases occupying most of my time. Scribbles, scratches, plops, and doodles, these stalwart diminutive paintings are acrylic, oil, ink, and graphite on hardboard, cradled on natural wood. It's odd, but finding retreat and refuge in their surface over many months, I've come to love them. These closing days of October, it feels their purpose has been met. I'm setting them aside now, to begin again. What We Need Is Here
by Wendell Berry Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear in the ancient faith: what we need is here. And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye, clear. What we need is here.  A new painting, "The Golden Hour," 40H x 60W inches, on canvas. After a summer of haze from the devastating western wildfires made worse by an increasingly warm planet, the skies have finally cleared and it's glorious to see September bring vibrant, intense blue to the world overhead. In that wild blue yonder, shimmering milkweed and goldenrod seeds float and fly with hope for fertile landing, while brilliant fall-blooming asters splash pale pink to deepest purple across the fields and roadsides. I always feel like things change fast this month- the angle of light, the intensity of color, even the feel of the air goes from cottony-thick to crisp as the natural world prepares for dormancy here in the north. Strategies for surviving a long winter necessitate change and adjustment. Strategies for surviving global warming necessitate change and adjustment, too. When we all consider the things we use every day, like TP, that's a step in the right direction. Here's something—I just saw this graphic from the Natural Resources Defense Council in a Greenmatters article comparing TP brands for sustainability. What's your grade? But more important—will you improve it? That's all for now. It's a busy time inside and out. I'm working on a couple of new projects to share with you soon. Take good care! 
The intensity and determination of yellow's last hurrah across the prairie is achingly beautiful—if you've been out there lately, you know what I mean. It reminds me that the world we can grasp with our ordinary senses is finite. But beneath and beyond that material world lies a continuum of patterns and rhythms more impressive than our perceived reality. Connecting to rhythms and patterns that are within our reach, but beyond our usual senses is commonplace for most living beings. But our conscious human minds bend us to believe we're separate and apart from each other and everything else. We've become a slack bunch. We need connection, and we need it now more than ever. Like many creatives, I have a tendency to overthink. Overanalysis and self-criticism are not helpful when it comes to reaching beyond our usual senses to connect—the opposite is true. One of the strengths as a painter I've worked hard to achieve is the ability to silence the stream of distractions and self-criticism to see what brush and paint will do. Exploring wild places by myself is another way I'm able to tune in. On those kinds of unfixed adventures, I encounter patterns, forms, and thoughts that are truer, deeper, and richer. You may spot them (or maybe not, and that's okay) in my paintings. My body repeats familiar gestures and movements that create marks, over and over. Shapes, forms, and patterns appear, disappear, and then recur. Some make sense to me. Others, not so much. I'm kind of hooked on how the world communicates with me when I'm receptive. So I keep going. Why does it matter? All of us have the ability to catch glimpses of a picture that is greater than our understanding. Actively working to get a better view of that picture is a lifetime's work. It never looks the same twice. Not to me and not to you, because life experience curates an individual's view. Each of us sees a tiny piece of the whole—an abridged version. Together, our diverse vantage points can help us make sense of rhythms and patterns to illuminate what no single individual ever sees—the big picture. More of that, please. What do you do to help yourself reach beyond your usual senses? I'd love to know—please share! See details of the above paintings, Flying Gold, and Moves Like This  I took these photos before haze from the wildfires raging out west drifted in, dimming the sky's intense blue. These glorious North American prairie natives look like they've evolved specifically to highlight a stunning blue sky and spark the rest of us to do good things. Scorching wildfires and haze may have dimmed the sky's radiant blue, but back in the studio, I remember that blue. I remember the prairie. Be sure to check out my paintings at the bottom of the page. Deep summer. Mosquitoes and butterflies. Fireflies. Japanese beetles. Woods are loudly green and prickly. Sweet corn and summer squash. Pup dozes on cool floor. Deer munch green beans to the very last pod. Cicadas hum. First ripe tomato. Anise hyssop. Purple coneflower. Daylilies. Swimming at Salmo Pond. Pulling weeds. Speckled fledgling robins, baby skunks, and adolescent foxes gorge on fallen mulberries. Here comes the basil. Pesto. Yum. Homemade dill pickles. Hammock in the shade. Waiting for a cool breeze. Drought. Floods. Wildfires. Diminishing food security. Increased competition for potable water. Aquifer contamination. Record-setting heat. Largest reservoirs down 60%. Sea level rise. Habitats destroyed. Bird and bee populations plummet. Mass extinctions. Crumbling infrastructure. Poverty. Political division. Uprisings. Suppression. Pandemic. Corporate greed. A plethora of -isms. Arrogance. Ignorance. Denial. Indecision. Inaction. As they say, if you're not worried, you're not paying attention. Honest-to-goodness, while elated with summer's splendor, I continue to be appalled by the overarching idiocy of my own species. Don't worry, I'm not buying into the doomsday thing, either. Fear and hopelessness drain power and ability to act. And it's the beauty, activism, and innovation that I still see all around me every day that inspire hope—the sky in 2050 will be blue. The challenges we face are not insurmountable. When we love something, we work to protect it from harm. If you're able, I hope you'll take an opportunity to volunteer in or support local public lands wherever you live, in whatever way you can. Convert some of your yard or neighborhood park to native plantings, or just grow edibles on your balcony. Or specifically, help with local prairie restoration here and here. Or actively work to make Earth a better place in any of these 25 ways (be sure not to miss #13!). Please share with those around you (including me!), the steps you're taking, large or small, toward blue skies and a healthy tomorrow for all of Earth's beings. We need each other's encouragement. And we need to hold corporations, as well as local, state, and federal officials, accountable. Thanks for taking the time to read this. I appreciate you.  My new painting, "Ode to Blue Sky over Prairie Oak." 40H x 60W inches, on canvas. Click on image to see details.  "Across the Sky," diptych, 60H x 80W inches, on canvas,. Click on image to see details.  "Yes, Please," 37H x 67W inches, on canvas.  "The Golden Rule," quadriptych, 12H x 36W x 1.5D inches, hardboard on cradled wood.  "Peace and Quiet," 40H x 60W inches, on canvas. I don't know about you, but now that I'm back out there, meeting friends and actually doing things with bunches of maskless people, I notice how awkward and overcome I often feel. Stilted conversations, forgotten gestures of affection, and out-of-practice manners abound. It's like a garden overgrown with weeds–I want my plants to thrive but just can't seem to get started or find the energy to get things done. Well, the weeding has begun. I'm plugging away at it, slowly, surely, deliberately. Here are 3 Helpful Actions that 18 months of relative isolation have left a bit rusty, as expressed in my recent paintings:
1. Say, "Yes, Please," without expectation or self-absorption. It's a big world full of faces and it's not all about me and my quaranteam anymore. 2. Follow "The Golden Rule." Seems a no-brainer. The hard part is taking the time to truly put myself in others' shoes. 3. Make space in every busy day for "Peace, and Quiet." We've gotten used to a lot of quiet time. A lot. The thrust back into hustle-bustle requires reprieve. Wouldn't it be great if this formidable pandemic left us kinder, gentler, and more receptive? As we launch ourselves into the peopled world after a long, dark year and a half, I wish you a soft and blissful landing. Enjoy summer, my friends!
After a long winter's wait, homegrown salad. Yum. The effort to grow as many vegetables and fruits as possible begins its payoff. Did you know I have eight kinds of edible berries growing in our modest yard?
Joining me in their wait for the season's first berries, robins fill their bellies with wiggly worms. Nearby, big fuzzy bumblebees tumble the columbine and young squirrels are practically giddy with the abundance they've discovered their first spring. It's all so exciting! Spotting a pesticide truck cruise the neighborhood, I cringe. It's hard to comprehend people still spraying so much poison in their yards. Disheartening—and stinky. Is the sight of dandelions so disagreeable that we poison everyone and everything around us? Trying not to let it drive me crazy, perhaps the most effective therapy is to thank the kind, bright folks who strive to avoid the stuff. Want a truly healthy yard? You're a champ!. Thanks for being considerate. While it's busy in the garden, I'm still putting in plenty of studio time. Colors and forms have been bold and strong. Someone recently told me my new painting, "Swing the Balance," seen here, reminded them of "pool toys floating around." I love that! But the only pool around here is a wee kiddie pool our pup loves to lounge in on warm afternoons. Here's to almost summer! Enjoy!  2021 painting, "Talk With Trees," 46H x 67W inches (117 x 170 cm), on canvas. Click on image for details ©2021 Michelle Louis The energy is palpable. Sky will be interrupted, even blocked, by masses of green that will last until fall. This time of year is exhilarating. Every time I walk outside, birds sing it, insects hum it, flowers dance it. From mighty oak to graceful maple, something exciting is going on and everybody knows it. Sap is rising. Buds are breaking. Leaves are unfurling. Here come the Trees!
I'm off on woodland adventure to one of the trees I appreciate for her willingness to listen, and once in a while, to sing in response. Stretching my arms around her immense girth, I feel a pulse rise through her roots and up through my feet. I thrum back pulses of my own. An energizing reciprocity. I highly recommend tree-hugging. The more hugs, the merrier. To Trees–some of Earth's wisest, most generous beings–thank you. Happy Earth Day!! 11 Things to Know About Trees- Click on the blue link to learn more 1. One large tree provides enough oxygen for a family of four 2. The world's largest tree, by volume, is the General Sherman Sequoia in California 3. Tree shaded surfaces can be 20-45 degrees cooler than area in open, direct sunlight 4. Trees remove pollutants and reduce stormwater runoff 5. Trees provide essential food and shelter for wildlife 6. The oldest trees in the world are more than 5,000 years old 7. Trees communicate with each other and recognize their offspring 8. Trees and plants boost memory, attention, and cognitive outcomes in children 9. Trees help us all feel good both physically and mentally 10. Forests are carbon sinks and help fight Climate Change 11. Worldwide, a football field sized swath of forest is destroyed every second of every day Trees do so much for us. What can we do for trees? See details of my "Talk With Trees" painting here Follow me on Instagram  My 2021 painting, "Theoretical Optimum," 50H x 67W x 1.5D inches (127H x 170W x 3.8D cm), was recently snapped up by a young art collector. ©2021 Michelle Louis I've been getting lots of questions about my painting process, so, with as little fuss as possible, here goes– Trained in studio art, graphic design, and landscape architecture, I have a broad background in art and design, and enjoy many techniques and styles. Deeply imprinted to lands I've been exploring since childhood, painting cultivates connection and honors my kinship to the natural world. The last bunch of years, as a full-time painter, I've settled into a sort of abstract expressionism as my process of choice. There's no plan in sight when I begin a painting–no drawings, no sketching on the canvas, no preconceived ideas, just an open mind, a lifetime of experience, some paint, and my brush. Don't get me wrong–I like to draw and sketch, just not as preparation for painting. My painting process flows from the brain through the brush in the moment. It's entirely spontaneous and unpredictable. Oddly, I find the lack of certainty soothing. Painting connects me to myself, and at the same time, frees me from that very same self. It's about willingness to trust. When it's going well, painting takes the snippets and shards that make my life and releases them onto canvas in a voyage of curiosity, authenticity, skill, and perspective. Many of these things are, of course, hard won over time...and...wait for it...experience. Nature knows it. Living humans like me need to remember it. Whether by choice or by chance, we are what we do. We are the sum of our experiences. For the moment, I'm going to keep painting. Then...out into the sunshine! How about you? Hello Spring!!  "Ahead of the Curve," 66H x 79W inches (168 x 201 cm). ©2021 Michelle Louis |
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Artist and naturalist Michelle Louis has a vigorous curiosity about the natural world. Her abstract landscape paintings cultivate connection to the lands she explores. Archives
February 2023
©2022 Michelle Louis All rights reserved. Content and images are property of the artist.
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