From the Easel

  Self Portrait 2021 Every New Year people talk about “big leaps.” But if I’m being honest… this year reminded me that the real transformation happens in the groundwork. I’ve been laying a foundation for the last four years, pursuing an artist life full-time, showing up when it felt uncertain, learning what I’m made of, and slowly building something that looks like a real, steady artist career … not just a dream I talk about. And yes, it was hard.  But the hardest part wasn’t the workload.  It was getting to know me . W hat I’m drawn to, what I’m called to say, what I’m willing to protect, and where I actually want to go. Because if you don’t know that… you’ll spend years doing good things that still don’t feel like yours . The unexpected relationships changed everything One of the biggest gifts this year was forging relationships I never saw coming, we rarely do . The kind that open doors, shift perspective, and remind you that you don’t build a meaningful ar...

Photo by Jarry Photos (aka my talented Son)  After years of chasing many directions, then moving to a place where I could focus solely on building my art career (seriously building) I built a formula that keeps me centered: Activity + Art Opportunity = Leveling Up (Career • Financial Wellbeing • Purpose) Or  Activity – Alignment with Art = Depletion (When what I do doesn’t feed what I’m called to create, it empties instead of fills.) Every idea I choose gets measured against that. Does it help me level up — or pull me away from where I’m meant to go? If it’s not aligning with my art, my purpose, or my peace, it’s a side track… not a side gig. This is a question I face a lot in my career.  Faith Reset Reality When my thoughts spiral, I pray. I journal. I talk out loud    to myself, my family (who grew up in a creative house as well) my mentors and sometimes even to the walls of my studio.  It’s in those moments that peace settles in and I can finally take in...

  I’ve been working on my Be a Lady series for a while now (Since 2020) and it’s honestly one of the hardest art series I’ve ever done. Not because of the materials or technique, but because I’m constantly questioning what I’m really trying to say and how I’m supposed to say it. This series isn’t just about me. It’s about the women I’ve encountered, listened to and learned from. Each one has shared a piece of her story, and I feel a real responsibility to carry that honestly in my work. But that’s easier said than done. When I start painting, I’ll walk up to the canvas confident—I think I know the colors, the mood, the direction. I start loose and free, then suddenly I tighten up. I stop feeling and start overthinking. I step back, say to myself, “Okay, I know now,” then step forward and lose it all over again. The more I add, the less it feels right. The energy shifts. The painting feels off not just technically, which it is hard to paint on 5 x 5 feet canvas (they are bigger t...

Photo credit: Toni Lovejoy of My Name is Lovejoy There’s always music in my studio. Not as background noise, but as a pulse — a steady heartbeat that mirrors the moment I’m trying to capture on canvas. I grew up understanding the importance of music — how a single note can pin a memory in place. A song can hold a whole season of your life: the ache of a lost love, the rush of a found one, the joy that makes you dance barefoot in the kitchen. Every melody, a map back to a moment. In our family, we talked in music. Someone would say something — a word, a phrase, a feeling — and suddenly it became a song. My father was a blues singer; my mother’s side, steeped in Irish jigs, honky-tonk, and yes — a little rock ‘n’ roll. I was immersed in this dream of beats and melodies, a world where stories were sung before they were spoken. When I paint, I don’t just grab a playlist and hit shuffle. I build it — piece by piece — like I’m mixing colors on a palette. Each track has a tone, a purpo...

Hi, I’m Lyssa Lovejoy—artist, storyteller, color-chaser, and community dreamer. This space is where I’ll share the behind-the-scenes of my creative life—studio snapshots, thoughts on the art process, lessons from the journey, and stories that inspire the brushstrokes. Sometimes it’ll be a peek into a new piece. Other times it might be a reflection, a memory, or a little burst of joy I want to pass along. Whether you’re a fellow artist, a collector, or just someone who believes in the power of creativity—I’m so glad you’re here. Thanks for opening this letter. There’s more to come—sealed with color, Lovejoy

I recently finished a commission for a lovely couple—gracious, trusting, and kind. And yet, it may have been the most stressful painting I’ve done in years. Here’s the truth that many artists don’t talk about: doing intuitive commissions can feel like walking blindfolded across a tightrope. You’re not working off a sketch. There’s no blueprint. Just you, the canvas, and a gut feeling that sometimes seems to vanish the moment the brush hits the page. People often ask, “Do you do a drawing first?” I tell them, “No, I work intuitively—please trust the process.” But here’s the thing: while I ask them to trust me, I’m still learning to trust myself. This particular piece challenged me in every way. The color palette was outside my norm. The motif that once felt vivid and clear became muddy and loud. At one point, it literally hurt my eyes and ears to look at it. I painted that same concept—eight or nine times—trying to find my way back to the vision I thought I had. I couldn’t stop, and I c...