1. I finished Doomed Queens.

2. Though I finished Doomed Queens, I’m still dealing with some last production-oriented details. So finished editorially, not finished design-wise.

3. Doomed Queens needs a website.

4. Yes, I’ve designed a teaser page, but it really needs a website.

5. My whole website needs to be redesigned. I know it’s a sad mess since I got hacked into several months ago and had to change ISPs.

6. Guess what I’ve been doing the past two weeks? Yes, I’m knee-deep in html and css and so on. I’m still not finished with the site, but getting close. Tentative launch date: August 7, 2008.

7. But there’s been good news for Doomed Queens.

8. Costco picked it up! “Attention, shoppers….”

9. There will be a point-of-purchase display for participating independent bookstores.

10. I want one for my gallery. I’m an independent bookstore. (Kind of. I do sell books in my studio-gallery.)

11. There will be an exhibition of Doomed Queens‘ art at my studio-gallery this winter.

12. The exhibition will be called “Royally Screwed: Doomed Queens through the Ages.” The opening will probably be Friday, October 29 — in time for Hallowe’en.

13. I’m going to create a window display for it at my studio-gallery. Maybe I’ll even include a faux guillotine to set the mood.

14. Actually, I’m thinking a lot about window display these days.

15. I want my gallery window to look like a Joseph Cornell box.

16. I wish I had more time to dive into it — maybe this autumn.

17. Also, on the gallery front: I’m planning to paint the area above my window cobalt blue with gold ornaments.

18. It will look like a medieval illumination. I hope.

19. I also plan to paint a large art deco-inspired tree on two walls. But in very subtle paint, almost like a paper watermark. (If walls can have watermarks.)

20. My friend Lisa Hunt just started a blog about her upcoming Fairy Tale Tarot. It’s very good!

21. She’s coming up north to visit me later this summer. I can’t wait!

22. Also on the social front: Two friends moved to my neighborhood, one into the apartment above my studio. My life feels like a sitcom.

23. I’m enjoying lots of café society this summer.

24. On the family front: Thea is potty trained. Hip, hip, hooray!

25. Tom is going away for three weeks to curate an exhibition in Germany. Yay for him, boo for us.

26. My father-in-law had a book published.

27. I designed the cover for it.

28. We all went away to Idaho for our vacation, right after my last blog post.

29. It was beautiful, but we lost electricity for three days after a giant tree fell in a windstorm.

30. Thea liked swimming in the lake. I liked reading lots of books.

31. We had a stop over in Colorado. They had lots of great book stores. We had to check an extra bag on our flight home.

32. Since our return to Brooklyn, I’ve been dealing with items # 1-19. I’ve also started opening up my gallery to the public Saturdays from 12 - 4.

And that’s the latest here! How was your July?

This past week has been a flurry of appointments and preparations for our time away. I met with the good people at Doubleday, who were full of helpful advice and exciting plans for publicizing Doomed Queens. They’ll even be producing a Youtube video for it.

Toward that end, I’ll be relaunching my website, something I’ve been long planning — and equally as long putting off. But I now have no choice. Aside from it getting too close to my pub date, my ISP was hacked into last week, which disabled some of this site’s functionality. One example: I can no longer receive e-mail notifications for comments for this blog. So update I must!

You can grab an advance look at the front page teaser for www.kriswaldherr.com here. It features my new author photo by the illustrious photographer Nina Subin.

The quote is by Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, the eighteenth century German poet-philosopher. Here’s a rough translation of what it says:

“You can not please all with your actions and your art.
Do it right for the few. To please many is bad.”

And here’s the painting it is extracted from. It’s Gustav Klimt’s Nuda Veritas, or the “Naked Truth”.

I seem to remember first encountering Nuda Veritas at the Vienna Secession exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art when I was in art school. Like most Klimt paintings, a four color reproduction can’t really capture its physical beauty — the three dimensionality of the frame, with its hammered metal, the shimmering golds, and the translucent, shimmering coloration of the main figure, with that matter-of-fact serpent twisting around her feet. The painting felt both sacred and profane to me. On one hand, there was something so pure and vulnerable in her glowing intensity. Yet she bears a slightly dangerous edge, in that manner that fin de siecle women bear.

I even pasted a postcard of it on my journal, that’s how much I loved this painting.

And what of its text? At the time, it spoke to my condition (as a Quaker would say). I mean, what better advice for a young artist to have than to be reminded that not everyone is going to like your work. Yet we shouldn’t let that get in the way of doing our best, to try to meet our highest aspirations — “do it right for the few,” in Schiller’s words. It’s part of life: even when we try our hardest, we can’t please everyone. Nor should we want to — though it’s hard to let go of wanting to do so. The desire to be loved and approved is built into our very bones, I think, as is the desire to do good. And for artists it’s especially so. No one wants to feel that they’re working in a bubble, where no one “gets” your work.

Even then, though, I had a hard time with the last sentence of this edict. Is it bad to please many? And why would not pleasing people be a sign of artistic integrity, of quality?

Yeah, there’s crappy artists who have great success — think Thomas Kinkaid (no offense to any fans of the Painter of Light tm). But there are also artists who manage to both please people and make wonderful art. I think of Tim Burton, who combines the best of commercial success with his unique brand of gothic quirk (though some of his films are clearly more successful than others). Or Audrey Niffennigger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife, a stunningly original and affecting piece of writing. Even Gustav Klimt — it’s ironic that he produced a painting bearing this quote, yet was one of the most financially successful artists of his era.

I suspect that these examples started out seeking to please themselves, to express their own unique aesthetics. But the power of their art spoke to the masses — to their conditions, if you will. I don’t think their ability to please many lessens the value of their art, or makes them any less successful as artists. It may lead to overexposure. But that’s a different issue.

Yet so often people — Schiller included — equate popular success with losing integrity. And that, even in a painting as stunning as this, invites artists to believe that suffering is something to strive for, that pain is good.

I don’t think it is. And that’s my naked truth.

Technorati Tags: gustav klimt, nuda veritas, schiller, artistic success, artistic integrity

This year we visited Montreal and Quebec City, mainly because I was hungering for some French culture. Yes, I know that French-Canadian is very different than French Parisian. But there are some similarities — cosmopolitan cities, a sense of historic proportion, and great food in cafes that encourage lingering over an espresso. While we were there, I have to admit to more than a few times forgetting that I wasn’t in some European city I’ve yet to visit — Quebec just doesn’t feel like North America to me.

Our favorite cafe was a place called Cafe Titanic, located close to our hotel in Old Montreal. Why it was called Cafe Titanic was a bit of a mystery — maybe because it was located below street level, in a subfloor? It was decorated with a slightly nautical theme, but nothing too obnoxious. Even though it was just before the lunch hour, small candles flickered invitingly on its walls. I loved the huge bowls of cafe au lait, which were sprinkled with a dash of cinnamon — just the thing to have right before setting off for some serious sightseeing — and the comfy upholstered booths, set against the dark wood interior. Just my kind of place!

We also enjoyed a high tea at the Chateau Frontenac, an experience enhanced by the knowledge that my in laws had enjoyed their honeymoon there 55 years earlier — and here we were with their granddaughter! The tea was complete with a tea sommelier who brought around a tray of fresh teas for us to combine into new combinations. One of the teas was maple-flavored — not surprising for a country that features a maple leaf upon its flag. Oh, and a lot of good bookstores featuring books not-necessarily-published in the US.

What else did we do? Besides Canada, we spent a week in Vermont at a family reunion. Thea had a wonderful time with her older cousin Daisy, who was glad to do kid stuff with her, like visiting secret beaches, playing ball, dressing up teddy bears, painting faces and running around laughing.

And now we are back.Though I was away, the New Book was never far from my thoughts. In my studio, I have a piles of research materials to plow through. It was nice to have a break from this blog, knowing that it was well served in my absence by Elizabeth, Lisa and Karen. I did manage to get a little writing in this week, but frankly, most of the week was devoted to running errands and paperwork — life maintenance, in other words.

And now it’s back to work!

Next up is Karen Zuegner, a painter, cellist and travel enthusiast extraordinare. I joke (but with good reason) that Karen has the best travel karma. She somehow manages to find and stay at the most amazing places—French villas, Venetian palazzos, and five star luxury hotels, all for much less than you’d think. France is an especial passion for Karen and has inspired many of her paintings; her last trip abroad inspired this travel blog and a website about luxury hotels.

Karen’s created this stunning slide show to share another one of her great inspirations: New York City. It’s a real work of art which features some of her art.

* * * * * * *

It’s a great honor to guest blog at Art and Words. I’m a fellow artist and cellist and have been friends with Kris for many years. I’ve lived on the Lower East Side of Manhattan for the last 16 years in a wreck of a loft that has astonishing, gorgeous views toward the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges.

This short slide show has some of the moments I’ve captured over the years and also some of my work that has come from window gazing.

all images 2007 © Karen Zuegner. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

I’ve long wanted to feature some of the talented people whom I’ve linked to on the sidebar of this blog. If all goes as planned (thank you, Wordpress!), you’ll be reading some wonderfully inspiring posts from writers Elizabeth Genco and Ellen Dreyer, and artists Lisa Hunt and Karen Zuegner during my absence.

I’ll be back from my travels on August 27th. This year, we’re visiting New England and Montreal -  not as exciting as last year’s trip to Greece, Turkey and Italy, but probably less stressful for a toddler and her parents.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

KEYWORDS:
the arts
science
creativity

Invoked by poets, artists, and musicians, these nine nymph-like goddesses presided over the arts and sciences in the world of the ancient Greeks. The Muses offered their supplicants the purest form of inspiration—literally infusing spirit into creative works to animate them.

Though their parentage is uncertain, most stories hold that the Muses were the daughters of Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory, and Zeus. Originally there was only one Muse. Over time, they grew to number nine goddesses, suggesting the expansion of their powers. Each of the nine Muses concerned herself with an area of art. The power of the Muses still exists today, though mainly in our language. When we are amused, we are reminded of the charms wielded by these graceful goddesses.

Text and art adapted from the Goddess Inspiration Oracle, published by Llewellyn Worldwide. All content © Kris Waldherr 2007. All rights reserved.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draw strength from Diana, the beloved Roman huntress. Channel your anger wisely with help from the Hawaiian fire goddess Pele. Consult Anuket for prosperity. The Goddess Inspiration Oracle makes it easy for women to tap into the sacred wisdom of these powerful deities.

From Abeona to Zhinu, eighty goddesses from across the globe are represented in this deck. Each card features a striking portrait of a deity, her attributes, and a message inspired by her unique story. It’s an ideal instrument for creating affirmations, sparking creativity, gaining fresh perspectives, and uncovering insights related to health, love, creativity, motherhood, and other issues specific to women. The guidebook offers in-depth descriptions of each goddess, keywords associated with her, and practical suggestions for working with the cards.

Purchase now.
Learn more or try a free reading.

I’m getting close to completing a book design dummy, where all of the art and words are roughly drafted in. Next is filling in all the research that I still need, so I can expand and finetune my draft. I have a large pile of books next to my work area to make my way through. It’s fascinating reading—easy to lose myself it in. That said, there’s a part of myself who stands aside as I read, unwilling to get too carried away as she mentally making notes for what will be eventually woven into the book.

Because I finally signed the contract for the New Book last week (yay!), I feel a little more secure about revealing its subject matter. With this book, I’ve shifted my passion for mythology back to my other love, women’s history. I’m writing about queens and other female regents, many whose reigns ended not-so-happily: Anne Boleyn, Cleopatra, Caroline of Brunswick. The stories I’m including are darkly fascinating, funny as well as heartbreaking. I really see them as parables for the ways women in power are treated, for better and worse—and they’re especially appropriate now that we have a woman running for the White House here in the United States.

(A publishing side note: contracts can take a while to arrive—this one took almost three months, between agent and publisher revisions and so on. You might be wondering why I was working on the book before signing a contract. Well, my agent had a deal memo in place, a sort of temporary document with the terms for the book contract already spelled out in detail. So signing the contract was a bit of a formality, though it’s important for both legal and financial reasons. After all, the book advance does’t get paid until the contract is signed!)

While I’m away, this blog will remain active. I’ve banked a few Goddess Inspiration Oracle posts to go live in my absence. I’ve also asked a few guest bloggers to stop by—I’m very excited about this!

I’ll write more about the who and when in a post before my departure.

I’ve been thinking lately about defining moments. (Maybe this phrase should be written with a capital “D” and “F”, to underscore their importance.) My life lately feels a bit like this right now. For the most part, things are in a welcome state of peaceful equilibrium, like the Balance card in the Goddess Tarot. I tell myself to remember this peaceful state and to cherish it. Having sold the NB, watching my daughter grow up into a beautiful little girl, feeling connected to a supportive community around me — it’s all good. I want to capture this defining moment, like a snap shot to be pulled out of my memory at will.

Though other defining moments I’ve experienced haven’t always risen out of contentment, they are equally important to me. They’ve helped me to figure out exactly I am, what my path should be. We all experience these moments, these quick-brilliant flashes of mythic living that illuminate our lives. What’s tricky is to recognize them for what they are before they fade into yet-another-detail to be cataloged.

One true story: I think I’ve mentioned in the past here that I lived for a year in England after I sold my first book. It was one of the most magical years of my life — it was the first time that I was able to devote myself entirely to art. And I was living in one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen, surrounded by intensely creative and gifted people.

Sometimes it was hard. Even with a book contract, I still worried about making a living and whether I’d be able to sell future books. I also worried that my art would be beautiful enough to move people as I’d like it to. Would I’d ever be able to reach the artistic goals I yearned for? I pondered this intensely, wondering if I’d chosen the right path. Art can feel like an indulgent proposition, when so much of the world is in trauma.

And one day, the answer came to me when I least expected it.

Of all places, it was on the Underground, London’s equivalent to the NYC subway system. I was in London to show my portfolio around, in hopes of alleviating my ever present “can I make a living as an illustrator” anxiety. Though the Underground was crowded, I managed to score a seat — much welcome, since I was tired from walking around the city all day. I settled in, keeping my eyes low and body tucked tight, to avoid any contact with strangers.

Suddenly, I heard a woman’s voice. “You must be an artist.” Sitting next to me was a middle-aged woman, neatly dressed in business clothing. She continued, “I usually don’t do this, but look at your hands — they’re so long and graceful. You must be an artist.”

Stunned, I nodded yes.

The woman said nothing else to me during that crowded train ride. But what she said was enough.

And what about you? What defining moments do you value?

We were fortunate to obtain tickets to the highly popular Tutankhamun and the Golden Age exhibit at the Franklin Institute. It is from this exhibit that I draw inspiration for today’s Goddess painting of the day, Hathor.

Hathor, as the goddess of beauty, prosperity and all good things, was honored as the Golden One — an appropriate title for a deity concerned with the good life. She was usually depicted with the form of a cow, which is how she is presented here. Her traditional rites often included libations of milk offered to the fertile soil. In this particular painting, the god painted her side is Anubis, who serves as the gatekeeper to the heart; Hathor is invoking him with her magical sistern and chants.

This art excerpted from a painting (below) that I created for Shamanic Mysteries of Egypt, a book recently published by Inner Traditions. I used watercolor, gouache and pencil to make it.

The other gods and goddesses in the painting are Wadjet, Anubis and Set. This particular composition was seen in a vision by Linda Star Wolf, who authored the book along with Nicki Skully; I tried to hew as closely as possible to Star Wolf’s description, which was divinely inspired. Ancient Egyptian art was also an inspiration — I did my best to respectfully incorporate its traditional imagery.

Growing up in (to my mind) boring, suburban New Jersey, maps offered a glimpse of an alternate world that I might visit one day, if I got lucky. Whenever I looked at a map, I would imagine what each place might be like, what their names signified. Even local place names held magic within them: Would Spring Valley be filled with flowers? What about Bellemar — how beautiful would the ocean look there?

In particular interest to me were places that shared the same names. Vienna, Virginia and Vienna, Austria. Paris, France and Paris, Texas. Jamaica, New York and . . . well, you get the idea. My favorite fantasy was that there was a sympathetic field between each of these same-named places. Words are magic, after all. If you located this power field, you would be instantly swept in a vortex of energy from one place to the next. You’d close your eyes in Venice, California and next find yourself chasing pigeons in the Piazza San Marco.

Name travel instead of time travel, as it were.

All of this is a long preamble to describe my visit last week to Chadd’s Ford, Pennsylvania.

Chadd’s Ford, as some of you might know, was home to the noted book illustrator N. C. Wyeth. N. C. Wyeth may now be eclipsed in fame by his son, Andrew Wyeth, but during the early part of the twentieth century, he was quite the celebrity among artists.

N. C. Wyeth was the student of Howard Pyle and inspired generations of illustrators, including myself. He was also well-paid: N. C. Wyeth used the payment he received for Treasure Island — the modern-day equivalent of $200,000 — to purchase land at Chadd’s Ford, where he built his home and studio. When you consider that most children’s book illustrators make under $10,000 for a picture book, this is an astonishing symbol of the power Wyeth’s art wielded in the marketplace.

N. C. Wyeth’s studio (above) is only available for visits during warm weather. Though I’ve visited the Brandywine River Museum previously, it was in the winter. This time, I got lucky.

This is the view from his studio. Imagine gazing upon this as you paint, and how inspiring it must have been for the great illustrator. His commute to work was a bucolic garden path leading up from his home, about 100 yards or so.

In my twenties, I lived for a year in a village in England named Chagford. Chagford was home to several well-known book illustrators. (I do not include myself in their illustrious company, though I hope to one day!) These artists included Alan Lee and Brian Froud. Terri Windling of the Endicott Studio for the Mythic Arts has a cottage there. In other words, Chagford is a nexus attracting book artists of all sorts — illustrators, writers, and so on. Including myself.

When I left Chagford to return to the United States after my visa expired, I felt like Eve expelled from the garden. I still dream about Chagford regularly, walking its winding streets toward the moors beyond.

Chagford, England and Chadd’s Ford, Pennsylvania. Both homes to noted illustrators. Both attracting artists and writers.

Coincidence? Or a bit of sympathetic place name magic?