From the Easel

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...