Portrait of Sally Anger, artist, at five

My mom likes to recall how when I was a kid I would sometimes say “Mommy, I’m bored…”  She would  reply: “Well, would you like to help me scrub the kitchen floor?” At which point I invariably found something very creative to do (something that did not involve housework – unfortunately a trait that continues to this day!)

In the book A Creative Companion by Sark, she writes:

“When I used to ask my mother so plaintively 'But there’s nothing to do!' She would reply 'You could dig a hole to China.' And just for an instant, I was transported…”

I am grateful to my mom for encouraging my creative spirit.  She wouldn’t complain if we made a mess in the name of art or cooking or building a fort.  We would clean up after, but didn’t have to worry about it during the process.  Getting messy still helps me generate new ideas.  It was very rare to hear my mom say “no” to an idea.

How patient she was to let me attempt the recipes from the All by Myself cookbook or to work at a famous new scientific experiment involving all sorts of concoctions at the kitchen counter.  She would often join in when we pulled out the watercolors and make wondrous abstractions of color and light from the inspiration of the flower garden.

At about age 7, I got it into my head that I really wanted my room to be painted like a jungle.  Mom bought the cans of spray paint and encouraged my older siblings to help.

My brother painted a big scary black bear behind the door, so I had to sleep with the door open from then on – too scared to close it and reveal that bear.  My bed was in the swamp with palm trees bending over and we had lions and tigers and a long snake.

I often wonder what the people who came to buy the house from us thought when they saw that bedroom.  It was a wonder.  All of my friends were envious.

When it came time for the kitchen floor to be painted, she encouraged us all to dribble, Jackson Pollock style, over the white base she had painted – creating a splatter-painted explosion of color.  Even our Siamese cat got in on the action when he ran across the wet paint leaving his footprints behind.

Fostering my interest in outdoor explorations and wonder at nature also nurtured that artistic spirit.  Climbing to the top of the huge mulberry tree gave me a different perspective on the world below, as did lying on my belly in the grass to really observe the ants at their busy lives or on my back watching the clouds form different shapes.

On a rainy day we would come inside and have puppet shows or build tents in the furniture.  My best friend and I would spend hours creating maps to a secret treasure we had buried in the yard for the other to find.

My mom encouraged me through her non-conformity as well.  She is sociable and enjoys interacting with people, but does not feel the need to conform to the latest fad or fashion.  Although sometimes embarrassing to a teenager, I came to really value this trait as I’ve gotten older.  I now see how it helps you to nurture your unique self.  By keeping true to who you really are without having to conform to what others want you to be, you are also true to your artistic self.

And probably one of the most important traits that my mom instilled in me is courage.  She had the courage to move by herself with two young children to the small town of Beaufort by the sea to escape the brutal Michigan winters.  It was wonderful to get out of that continuous gray weather into the vibrant sunshine of the coast.  The rich color and vibrancy of the town was a true blessing to my artistic soul.

Her courage showed me that you can venture out into the world and try something different.   She taught us to be independent and go forth in the world.

Courage and independence are crucial to an artist.  As Georgia O’Keeffe said, “Painting is not so much about talent as about having a certain amount of nerve and the ability to work at it in the right way.”

I owe a large part of my independence and nerve to my mom’s example.

Thanks, Ma.

Plein Aire painting in the beauty of nature

As an artist in a vibrant village, you have certain advantages over those creative souls working in a big city. In my vibrant village for example, the natural beauty surrounding us is a source of inspiration and renewal that is so different from the inspiration one gains from the cultural richness of the big city. Both are nurturing to art, but it depends on your personality to know which one sustains you.

The thing is, in addition to the natural beauty of our area, there is a richness of artistic talent here.

Perhaps those artists who strive to reach the pinnacle of the art world in New York City would disagree, but for those of us who are simply interested in finding out what we can do to express ourselves and make the best art of which we are capable, the welcoming cocoon of a close-knit artistic community is so much more conducive to creation than the destructive competitiveness of the art market in big cities.

I offer here an example.

Last year I lost my husband of 18 years unexpectedly to a sudden heart attack. I was understandably devastated. My community truly rallied around me and has helped me through in the nine months since that happened.

This month we had our local art show, which we have every year in February, called Art from the Heart. I decided to take the plunge and enter a very personal piece I have been working on called On the Mend.

In this work I delved deep to express not only the pain I feel but also the incredible mending that my friends and family have helped me achieve. It is a heartfelt expression not only of hurt but of gratitude that so many people have helped me pull through.

Then tonight I find a message on my cell phone from a fellow artist. Now, in a competitive big city environment this artist and I might have been rivals. But here in the Beaufort area, we are friends.

Here is her message:

Sally, your On the Mend is so well done! All the rich varieties of materials and creative combination. I just really love it. Great work. Keep going!

I was so moved by this generosity of spirit. It is like a breath of fresh air that flows through your studio and lifts you up to tackle the next creative challenge. For me, that is priceless. And in this community there are many examples of fellow artists offering un-selfish encouragement and support like this. This what feeds my spirit.

As David Bayles and Ted Orland write in their book Art & Fear:

After all, art is rarely made by Mozart-like people – essentially (statistically speaking) there aren’t any people like that. But while geniuses may get made once-a-century or so, good art gets made all the time. Making art is a common and intimately human activity filled with all the perils (and rewards) that accompany any worthwhile effort. The difficulties artmakers face are not remote and heroic, but universal and familiar.

This is why it is essential for me to create in the nurturing atmosphere of a vibrant village. We help each other along the path, realizing that we each have a unique voice to share. Quoting again from Art and Fear:

To make art is to sing with the human voice. To do this you must first learn that the only voice you need is the voice you already have. Art work is ordinary work, but it takes courage to embrace that work, and wisdom to mediate the interplay of art & fear…Your art does not arrive miraculously from the darkness, but is made uneventfully in the light.

Here’s to the light.

Sally Anger grew up in the coastal town of Beaufort, North Carolina after moving there at the age of nine. She has loved art all her life, and attended workshops and painted for many years. In 2002, Sally took the plunge and left a career as a nutritionist to pursue art full time. She is grateful to make her living through the art she loves. She lives in Morehead City, NC.

Sally Anger writes Artful Village

Dulce Domum

Although I was nine years old before we moved to the small town of Beaufort, North Carolina, it is where I spent most of my youth and what I consider my true home. Beaufort had not yet been “discovered” when I was growing up here. The boardwalk where tourists stroll on humid summer nights had not yet been built. It was a creative place to develop.

My cousin and I would roller skate down to the Rose’s Five-and-Dime and skate inside all the way to the back to buy a bag of freshly popped popcorn. I can still hear the sound of the skates clickety-clacking on the wooden floors. No one ever yelled at us; they just sort of smiled.

The Guthrie Jones Drug Store on Front Street is where I'd go with my friends. There, we'd sit on the floor and read the comics. If we were a little short on change or not very hungry, the lady behind the grill would make us a half of a grilled cheese sandwich.

It is those little creative exceptions to the norm, small but important, that helped to nurture my creativity in a small town.

Many factors go into the making of an artist; one of them is the willingness to let things be a bit different; to not have to conform. Beaufort has retained this characteristic. There is a celebration of the eclectic that is nurturing to the artistic spirit.

I remember feeling this even as I prepared to leave Beaufort for college. In the speech I gave for my welcoming address at high school graduation, I quoted from the Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.

There’s a scene where Mole has been out exploring the world and having wonderful adventures and then one day he stumbles upon the smell of his old home and it draws him back. He’s overjoyed to be back with old friends and to see his humble abode. It was the way I knew I would always feel about Beaufort after I went off to college and to explore the world. Here’s how Mole described it:

“He saw clearly how plain and simple -- how narrow, even -- it all was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special value of some such anchorage in one's existence. He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to; this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome.”

The chapter from which this is quoted is called Dulce Domum which means Sweetly at Home.

Now I have been off to other parts of the world and have come back to this area to live as an artist. There are many artists in this area and we know one another. There is a camaraderie amongst us that continues to nurture that artistic spirit.

The natural beauty and days of sunlight here are a constant inspiration. I still travel to large cities to sell my art, but am glad that I have this place of refuge in which to create it.

What about you? Are you, too, an artist 'sweetly at home' in your small town? I'd like to hear your story. Please comment below.

Sally Anger grew up in the coastal town of Beaufort, North Carolina after moving there at the age of nine. She has loved art all her life, and attended workshops and painted for many years. In 2002 she took the plunge and left a career as a nutritionist to pursue art full time. She is grateful to make her living through the art she loves. She lives in Morehead City, NC.