Stephanie Peters

Years ago, I became fascinated by the Everglades and everything that lived there. This is when I fell in love with Roseate Spoonbills and their funny beaks. I told Neil we needed to go to the Everglades right now to see these amazing birds. Instead, we went to the Phoenix Zoo to see them, because well the Phoenix Zoo was a bit closer to Sedona than the Everglades… it wasn’t until a few years later I finally got to see these incredible birds in the wild – in South Carolina. I still haven’t made it to the Everglades…

But it was super exciting to see them in the wild; these birds are typically only found in the southeast – so Texas to Florida and up to North Carolina. Except, lately they have been wandering. Last year, one was spotted in Gilbert, Arizona – and apparently might still be there – and more recently, they have been spotted in DC, Delaware, New York, Michigan, New Hampshire, and Maine… apparently, they didn’t get the memo that they are “southeast” birds. In many ways I get it – sometimes you just need to wander from your “home.” After all I've been doing it for years.

It might be a few more months until I get to wander to the Everglades but until then, I’ll live vicariously through the wandering spoonbill…

 “The Wanderer – Roseate Spoonbill”, mixed media 6”

I find the song of a red-winged blackbird comforting. It's the soundtrack of spring for sure. But depending on where you are, these birds could be companions all year round. ​

Red-winged blackbirds are found all across North America - except for in the arctic tip of Canada. In most of the places I've lived, they have always been one of those birds you can count on seeing when hiking - at least if you are near water. From the bogs of the Adirondacks, to the water-treatment areas in Phoenix, you can see the flashy black male and the patterned brown female. I'm always surprised to see how different the female looks, even though I've seen the couple so many times. 

Because I've seen them so many times, and in so many places, I have tons of sketches and photographs of these birds sitting on things like cattails, branches, up in trees, bushes, etc. 

But it wasn't until I saw this red-winged blackbird precariously sitting on an echinacea flower that I found the composition I wanted. 

I spotted this bird sitting on this flower in the middle of a field of wildflowers tucked in between cornfields, in Iowa. Usually what inspires me to make a painting is the creature itself - whether it's a bird or a muskrat - I'm drawn to the experience I'm having of this particular creature in front of me.

But in this case, it was the red-winged blackbird's experience of the flower that I found interesting. I'd never seen them on a cone flower, and it was interesting to see how it hung on as the wind blew it back and forth. Like most of the times when you encounter a red-winged blackbird, they are more focused on what they are doing rather than what you are doing. Despite your presence, they will continue their songs or continue to hunt for worms. And I think that's what I loved about this moment, it didn't seem tainted by human activity, it was blissfully nature. 

Neil was the artist in residence at the Adirondack Interpretive Center in Newcomb, NY. For 2 months, he lived on Lake Arbutus to be inspired by the enchanting spirits of the Adirondack forest. A summer blissfully away from the hustle bustle of the modern world and immersed in the peacefulness of the forest...

Well... peaceful for the most part, I was lucky enough to join him for the summer. And if I wasn't questionably standing on rocks, balancing on fallen down trees, or falling in lakes, it was a pretty peaceful summer...

Common loons have very eerie and distinct calls. Yet, they are not the gloomy, dreary bird that one would think is behind a call like their wail. In fact, they are quite the opposite with their distinct and striking summer appearance, most notably the checkered white pattern on their back. And, their black feathers are iridescent in the sunlight, ranging from shades of reddish dark purple to deep emerald green!

Every fall, they molt their breeding feathers to transition into a very dull plumage for the winter. Common loons, like all loons, breed in fresh water and then migrate to winter in salt water. Our Arbutus Lake loons most likely migrated to the Atlantic Ocean which isn't too far, but some loons will migrate up to 1570  miles to their winter homes.

And, with us. Though we kept our distance and shot all of these photos using our 600mm lens, the loons found us interesting and would swim close enough to inspect our kayaks or wonder what we were doing on the shore (falling off rocks, duh...) 

Though it was during the times when all the loons would gather together that we would see the most interesting poses...

And that's where I first saw the 'penguin dance'  - where they rear up in the water with their wings either spread out or clasped against their body, and rapidly paddle their feet. They do this when another loon or predator gets a bit too close. I suppose loons are very into their personal space (they probably social distance quite well...) So it was this pose, the penguin dance, that inspired my latest, bird migrating painting  and haiku poem:

under morning fog
flapping wings and eerie songs
checkered flashes rise

Spending the summer in the Adirondack forest was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences. And continues to inspire painting after painting - and despite my best efforts, Neil even enjoyed some peaceful moments to get inspiration for his own works of art 😊.

Recently the universe gave me a little push of inspiration to create a new Natural Disaster Painting - and it wasn’t just the freezing temperatures that have been pushing me into hibernation 🥶

In February, the central part of North America experienced an arctic blast that plunged temperatures into below freezing for days. From frozen cacti in Texas to blizzard conditions north into Manitoba, it was cold... so so cold. According to weather.gov, “Over 3,000 daily cold records were set across the USA, with around 80 all-time record cold readings.” Here in Iowa, I experienced the coldest temperatures I’ve ever felt (-27F!) and blustery winds became a new normal.

Fortunately the weather changes quickly and although it’s still very much winter in Iowa, the temperatures are above freezing again and there’s hope for spring. But the Arctic blast was for sure a natural disaster - though minuscule compared to other disasters. But I feel it needed to be included in the natural disaster series. For all the hearts that were bruised and/or lost, this painting is for them.

I haven’t created a natural disaster painting in a while, not that there is a loss for inspiration for a new one with everything that is going on in the world - I’ve just been focused on birds and urban wildlife. Subjects that bring me joy and peace. But a week or so ago, a class asked me what my process was for making a natural disaster painting. A question I could easily run off an answer to a couple of years ago, but at that moment, I didn’t have the words, I just had the urge. The urge to paint this particular disaster. A feeling I haven’t felt in a long time. 
I’ve felt inspired to paint wildfire art, but that art has been more realism than abstract in the last couple of years. It has felt like the ability to make something abstract died in me – the candle burned out. I just didn’t have the steam. When I tried, it was mostly failures with a few cubic zirconias mixed in – paintings that at first glance look like diamonds, but at closer inspection, just imitations.

Though when I painted this, a flame was reborn. A deep in the heart knowing and awareness just reappeared like an old friend.

Abstract art is not just throwing paint on a canvas; abstract art like all well thought out art, requires a nod to the elements of art, design, and so on. But great abstract art – at least for me – has always been letting the paint flow from within – letting the subconscious tackle the rules and the conscious focus on the spirit from within. A familiar home that I’m glad to have returned to.
​
Who knew freezing temperatures would lead me back to abstraction, especially since I’m more desert cottontail than arctic hare…

Kee Dee, Kee Dee is part of a series of bird paintings about migration. For more information about the collection, visit Migration Circle Bird Paintings.

​This painting was inspired by the sunsets we would see in the evenings over Coffee Pot, in Sedona, Arizona, during Slide Fire, in 2014.
 
Thankfully where we were living was not physically affected by Slide fire, but we were still impacted by it. From experiencing the smoke to the way our communities came together to support those who were physically impacted – we were reminded that we were all in this together, much like today with Covid-19.

If you are lucky to not physically experience coronavirus firsthand, you will still be experiencing it with empathy and compassion towards others by staying home and washing your hands. Arizona has phased into reopening, much like the rest of the country has or will but that does not mean we are healed or no longer vulnerable. Where I am today, the cases are increasing daily with no sign of decreasing. It’s important to do what you can to stop this pandemic – this never ending natural disaster. Viruses spread rapidly like wildfires but it’s our job to do what we can to prevent how many victims there are. Just like you would put out a campfire completely to prevent fires (or maybe not even start a camp fire because of fire restrictions), wear a mask and wash your hands to do your part from a continuous rapid spread of coronavirus.
 
One day the flames of coronavirus will be put out completely, but we’ll be left with the scars and burns, like what was left after Slide Fire along 89A towards Flagstaff - the burned trees you can still see today. 

Slide Fire Sky (smoke) is part of a series called Flames to Ashes, inspired by wildfires, that I’ve added new work to recently.

I think everyone can share, with excitement, a story about a hummingbird they have experienced - these magical birds are so tiny, but so full of energy and spirit. When ever you encounter one, you can't help but look and smile. At least that is my reaction every time I see one. 
I remember when I first acknowledged hummingbirds as a kid. I was living in Maryland at the time, and right outside our kitchen window was a big bush filled with flowers. I recall it being this enormous tree, but I was like two feet tall, so everything was big to me. The bush attracted hummingbirds every morning. And I remember sitting at the table in a trance, just watching them fly around the flowers. My mother would share little tidbits about hummingbirds, and I would learn they loved 'sugar' as much as I did, making me a little hummingbird too.
I have since learned that high quantities of sugar is not good for you - so, um, you shouldn't try to be a hummingbird -  and a whole bunch of scientific facts about the why, the how, the where, the what and when hummingbirds eat and live. But the excitement I get every time I see a hummingbird is not because of all the science and knowledge on the subject, instead, it's the pure joy I have watching them buzz around, just like I experienced as a kid.  

I was inspired to capture that feeling in a painting, when I watched a hummingbird fly around a pile of washed up seaweed on the coast of California (turns out, some hummingbirds will eat flies and other insects.)  I wanted this painting to be colorful, vibrant, and echo the joy of a kid in awe of the spirit of a hummingbird. 

As I worked on this painting, and another similar painting that reflected my interest in Grackles, I started thinking about all the birds that I have had a personal connection with during my life. From the iconic mallard duck to the exotic flamingo, to the unique one of a kind experiences with rare birds like the Northern Bald Ibis during my travels - I feel inspired to create a series of paintings that reflect my joy, excitement and love for birds - especially when they are flying and the colors of their plumage. If you aren't envious that they can fly, you are certainly envious of how incredibly beautiful their feathers are. 
This new series, like most collections of paintings I start, is of course, an ongoing work in progress. 

Last Saturday, I spent the afternoon painting at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, Arizona. It is an amazing place to see all kinds of desert plants, but unfortunately I can't tell you what kinds of plants, because I wasn't paying any attention to the plants. Although I find flowers pretty, plants aren't really my thing - I'm sure my botanist Grandfather is rolling in his grave hearing that - But, animals - animals are my thing. And the Desert Botanical Garden is a great place to see some native desert animals.. like the Round Tailed Ground Squirrel, or the Harris Antelope Squirrel... 

​...and a great place to see native birds like the Gambel's Quail, Roadrunner, and even some non-native birds like the house sparrow. 

Painting animals from life is not exactly easy, because they never stand still. It is recommended you learn a bit about the anatomy and movement of your subject before you enter the field - and way before adding water, paint and a brush. I am no expert at painting animals from life, but I have been practicing a lot recently. My practice method is not drawing the animal in detail, but instead capturing their gestures in watercolor. With gesture painting (same principles as gesture drawing in learning how to draw the figure), you can get a better understanding of the creature's movement - which ultimately helps me when I'm in the studio painting from photographs. 
So last Saturday, I was doing some gesture painting of Quail, House Sparrows and my favorite this week, the Harris Antelope Squirrel. Now, because the animal moves... and really doesn't stop moving... ever... with watercolor gesture painting, you get blobs of paint that kind of resemble a distorted road-kill version of the really adorable creature you are trying desperately to paint... 

But sometimes, you can get some really interesting results. And those blobs and layers of watercolor paint can catch the essence, the life, the energy of that really adorable creature you are painting...

Then, make them available as prints on products of course... 

Just another fun way of merging technology and art: The traditional into the digital. 

I think the best thing about gesture painting is that it keeps you loose. When painting from photographs, I tend to get too technical and focus on all the details. Which can be interesting if you are trying to render a subject accurately and realistically. But, I prefer to paint abstractly - I love how abstract marks can add an energy that sometimes gets lost in 2D art. So when you are out in the 'field,' this method really enhances the movement and I feel it brings the soul of the subject to life.  More gesture painting to come as warm spring days invite me outdoors. 

Recently, I have created some new art magnets. These miniature works of art (2.5x4.5") are created on wood panels with a magnetic strip on the back. The weight of the magnet is perfect for holding photos and papers to a magnetic surface. They are not only decorative, but functional! 

I've been experimenting with new materials and approaches, so these magnets are a glimpse of whats to come... Here they are: