The Grande Italies: Art You Can Step Into
There are places you visit…
and then there are places that imprint on you.
Italy imprinted on me.
Not just because it’s beautiful,
but because it invites you to slow down and actually see.
See the way morning light softens stone.
See the way color lives in shadow.
See the way a place can hold you without saying a word.
Every time I walk through Venice, Florence, or along the coast, I feel the same shift inside me:
My nervous system drops into presence.
My breath gets deeper.
My shoulders let go.
And with that comes clarity.
That clarity is what inspired The Grande Italies, my large-scale, palette knife oil series that captures the emotional architecture of Italy through texture, color, and scale.
Not a postcard version of Italy.
A felt version.
Why Grande? Why Large Scale?
Some emotions don’t belong on small canvases.
Italy isn’t subtle.
It isn’t quiet.
It isn’t meant to be contained.
Large canvases 24x48, 36x36 force honesty.
There’s no overthinking when your knife meets a canvas that size.
There’s only movement. Decision. Presence.
On a grande scale:
Texture becomes sculptural
Color becomes immersive
The painting becomes a place, not an object
The canvas stops being decoration
and starts being experience.
Texture as Architecture
In Italy, even the walls have stories.
Layers of plaster.
Edges softened by time.
Patches where history shows through.
I don’t use brushes for that reason.
I use palette knives
steel against paint
because knives allow the paint to build, layer, and catch light the same way old plaster walls do.
With every swipe, there’s commitment.
With every ridge, there’s history.
These pieces aren’t smooth.
They’re alive.
The Palette: Soft Light, Warm Stone, Quiet Water
Every color in the Grande Italies series is chosen intentionally.
Blush tones of early evening on Venetian canals
Sandstone, ivory, and warm whites of sun-aged architecture
Sage and slate from the reflection of water on old stone
The colors are muted but radiant.
Elegant.
Understated.
Timeless.
They bring calm, not chaos.
Presence, not noise.
For the Collector Who Wants a Feeling, Not a Souvenir
Art doesn’t have to shout to be powerful.
The most striking rooms often have one focal point, not many.
A single large painting that anchors the space.
The Grande Italies are for collectors who value:
Quiet luxury
Texture you can see and feel
Depth without heaviness
Art that evokes a place and a memory
I’ve had collectors tell me:
“Your Italy pieces feel like breathing.”
“This one painting changed the energy of the whole room.”
That’s exactly what I want them to do.
Featured Release: Venetian Bloom (24x48)
The newest piece in the series just went live:
Venetian Bloom 24x48 palette knife oil on canvas.
It’s romance in soft ochre and blush tones.
Bold texture.
Delicate palette.
A statement without shouting.
Available now, first come, first collected.
👉 View Venetian Bloom and the full Grande Italies collection here:
https://windsweptstudio.com/shop-f8A7B/grande-italies
A Final Thought
Italy taught me something simple and profound:
Beauty doesn’t need permission to exist.
It just does.
These paintings are a reminder of that.
A reminder to slow down.
To notice more.
To let presence be the luxury.
Thank you for being here.
Lisa
Lumera™ is here
A new kind of meditation, for the ones who could never sit still.
There’s a reason I never really connected with traditional meditation.
The part where you’re supposed to transcend your thoughts.
Clear your mind.
Sit perfectly still.
My nervous system didn’t calm, it tightened.
Stillness felt like something to perform.
Like something to do right.
So I kept trying.
Until I stopped.
And I started listening to what my body actually needed.
That’s when Lumera arrived.
Lumera isn’t a technique.
It’s not visualization, hypnosis, or spiritual homework.
It doesn’t ask you to “clear your mind” or disappear from your body.
It asks you to stay.
To stay with yourself in the simplest, most human way:
A whispered phrase.
A gentle rhythm.
A soft physical cue to bring you back home.
Just enough engagement that your mind no longer has to “try.”
Just enough movement that your body feels safe to relax.
This practice was born out of lived experience.
It’s for people like me, and maybe like you
who are deeply intuitive, sensitive, intelligent…
but who carry a nervous system that’s been through too much to fake stillness.
If you’ve ever felt like meditation wasn’t for you
because you couldn’t quiet your mind the “right” way…
This is my invitation to try something different.
Lumera is now available as a 15-20 minute audio practice.
It’s not a product I’m trying to sell.
It’s a moment you get to have.
On your terms.
In your rhythm.
If it’s for you, you’ll feel it.
👉 https://windsweptstudio.com/lumera-meditation
No pressure. No performance.
Just breath.
Just return.
Just you.
Lisa
When the Yes Disappears
How to stay steady when the thing you hoped for… doesn’t happen.
There’s a moment every builder, artist, founder, or dreamer knows:
You’ve put your energy out there.
You’ve taken the risk.
You’ve followed the signs.
You’ve had the call, the meeting, the green light.
And then…
Nothing.
No follow-up.
No explanation.
Just silence.
It can feel like rejection.
Or like failure.
Or worse, like a cosmic joke.
“Why would it come into my world at all,” you wonder,
“if it wasn’t going to land?”
The part no one talks about
is how confusing it feels to hold yourself steady in that middle space.
When you’re not in defeat, but you’re not in triumph either.
You’re just… waiting. Recalibrating. Wondering what it meant.
In my own creative work, from painting to pitching, licensing to podcasting, I’ve learned to meet this moment with something softer than urgency.
Because what looks like a stalled opportunity
is sometimes just a message:
This wasn’t the destination.
It was the rehearsal.
The mirror.
The refinement.
Sometimes, the offer comes to help you practice saying yes.
Sometimes, it comes to help you practice saying no.
And sometimes, it comes to remind you that your value is real,
even if the world hasn’t fully caught up yet.
I call this the ‘coherence gap.’
It’s that space between the output and the outcome.
Where your energy was clean.
Your effort was real.
But the result doesn’t show up… yet.
Not because you did something wrong.
But because the alignment wasn’t full.
And instead of spiraling into doubt,
this is where I’ve learned to pause and ask:
What if this wasn’t about them at all?
What if it was a checkpoint for me?
A test of whether I’ll shrink or stay sovereign,
even when it gets quiet.
Here’s the truth:
Not every yes is meant to become a contract.
Not every green light is meant to be final.
But every one of them teaches you something
about who you are in the waiting.
So if something felt right and didn’t land,
you’re not crazy.
You’re not failing.
You’re not being punished.
You’re refining.
You’re becoming.
You’re building the capacity to hold what’s actually yours.
Let the beauty do the work.
Hold your posture.
Keep creating.
Stay available, not desperate.
And know this:
Sometimes what doesn’t land
is clearing space for what will.
🎧 Want more?
This week’s short podcast voice note expands on this idea:
When It Doesn’t Land, now live on Spotify + Apple.
👉 Listen on Spotify
The Quiet Stretch: My Sacred Beach Walks at Sunset State
There’s a particular stretch of coastline here in the Monterey Bay that feels like my own secret world. It’s not hidden, exactly, it’s just a bit of a walk. And that walk makes all the difference.
Sunset State Beach, nestled between the Moss Landing stacks to the south and Manresa Beach to the north, holds a kind of hush that I crave. Most visitors stop at the access points, but if you’re willing to wander, the crowds thin, the noise drops, and something exquisite begins to emerge: space. Spaciousness in the body, in the breath, in the mind.
This is where I come to reset.
Maybe three mornings a week, I make the drive with a thermos of tea and no particular agenda other than to arrive, to this moment, to myself, to the horizon. Often, there’s no one else in sight. Just pelicans slicing through the sky, sometimes dozens at once, and the rhythmic hush of the Pacific rolling in.
Barefoot grounding is non-negotiable. I step onto the sand and let it wake up my feet, recalibrate my spine, return me to something ancient and alive. I pick things up, driftwood, feathers, seaweed tendrils, anything that calls. It’s a simple way to let my body remember that it belongs here.
I’ve painted many of my Monterey Bay-inspired pieces from this stretch, not always directly, but energetically. The pelicans, the long sweeping lines of ocean, the soft hazy light that kisses the dunes, it’s all encoded. This place breathes into my work. And I breathe better because of it.
There’s also something scientific beneath the soulfulness. The Earth’s Schumann Resonance, its subtle electromagnetic pulse, has been shown to align with and soothe the human nervous system. It’s measurable. But I don’t need a study to tell me what I already feel: after just 15 minutes with my toes in this sand, I’m different.
And then there’s the horizon. I make myself look at it, eyes lifted, scanning the blue edge where ocean meets sky. Neuroscience tells us that lifting our gaze, especially to long vistas, reduces our sense of threat and opens the parasympathetic pathways of calm. I feel that truth in my body. Every time.
So while I love my studio, and my podcast mic, and the daily work of art and voice, this, this quiet stretch, is the ritual that holds it all together. It’s where I remember who I am when the algorithms, inboxes, and invoices start to blur the edges.
And I suppose I’m sharing this not because it’s for sale, but because it’s real. And maybe you have a place like this, too, or maybe you’re looking for one. A place that doesn’t need to impress anyone. A stretch of sand where you get to just… be.
Here’s to the quiet ones.
The long walks.
The recalibration.
And the return.
Lisa
The Inspire Easel That Became Part of My Rhythm: My New Collab with KraftGeek
I don’t usually gush about gear.
But this easel?
I genuinely love it.
It’s become part of my creative flow,
from studio mornings to plein air afternoons,
from quick sketches on the patio
to full palette-knife sessions at the beach.
The KraftGeek Inspire Easel is light, sleek, and folds up like origami.
No clunky cases. No complicated setup.
Just effortless creativity, wherever the inspiration lands.
I’ve painted for years on a wide range of easels, heavy wooden studio beasts, classic French styles, and everything in between. But none of them moved with me like this one does. This one feels… alive. Designed with the working artist in mind. Thoughtful. Modern. Functional. And beautiful.
Here’s what I love most:
Portable & Convenient
Whether you’re working in a small studio or out on the cliffs, this easel travels light. No extra bag required, just fold, sling, go. I’ve taken it from trail to trunk to table without missing a beat.
Adjustable & Versatile
It adjusts up to 65” tall and works just as well on uneven ground as it does in a calm studio corner. From quick studies to larger pieces, the setup flexes to your flow.
Canvas-Friendly
With its expandable spring holder, it easily fits most of my canvas sizes, especially my signature 11x14s, 16x20s, and beyond. It holds everything steady, even with my thick impasto textures and bold palette-knife gestures.
Weather & Studio Ready
Rain mist? Beach sand? Paint splatters? No problem. It’s stain and water resistant, which makes it a dream for outdoor use and daily studio life. Durable enough to live in your car if needed. (Ask me how I know.)
🔧
Smart Details
There’s a 1/4’’ screw mount for lights or cameras (great for time-lapse captures), and even a hook for your bag or rag, no more scrambling for dropped brushes or balancing your gear on a rock.
If you’re an artist who loves mobility, simplicity, and gear that disappears into your rhythm, this is the one.
🧡 I’ve partnered with KraftGeek to offer you 15% off
Use code: lisa15 at checkout
✨ Shop here: KraftGeek Online Store
✨ Or via Amazon US
Here’s to making beauty wherever you are
with tools that carry the weight,
so your art can stay light.
Lisa
The Arrival of the Lisa Elley × RGM Palette Knife Collection
There’s something sacred about the tools we hold in our hands, the ones that translate vision into texture, thought into form, and feeling into paint. For me, palette knives have always been more than instruments of craft; they are conduits of movement, freedom, and the language of light.
I’m thrilled to share that my limited edition Lisa Elley × RGM palette knife sets are now available on my site, a collaboration grounded in beauty, heritage, and timeless craftsmanship.
Three Curated Sets
Each collection was designed for a distinct kind of artist, from the studio explorer to the seasoned painter:
🌿 The Studio Set: Five versatile knives for daily use and fluid expression.
🌸 The Grande Set: Four larger knives built for bold, sculptural impasto and expansive canvases.
🌺 The Floral Collector Set: Five specialty knives with unique blade shapes, inspired by the organic curves and petals I so often paint.
Italian Craftsmanship & Artistic Lineage
Each knife is crafted in Italy by RGM, a company whose legacy of precision and artistry spans generations. Their tools are used by artists around the world who understand that the right knife isn’t just a tool, it’s a lineage of mastery.
These knives carry that lineage: beautifully balanced, elegantly designed, and ready to become part of your own creative story.
Limited Edition
This collaboration is deeply limited. Once these sets are gone, they won’t return in this exact form. Each set arrives beautifully packaged, a keepsake as much as a working tool, designed to honor the craft of painting itself.
To everyone who’s already ordered, thank you. Your support means the world.
Announcing My Collaboration with Fracture: My Art, Now on Glass
I’m so excited to finally share this…
A new way to experience my work has arrived, and it’s absolutely stunning.
I’ve partnered with Fracture, a company I genuinely admire, to offer select pieces of my art as frameless glass prints, a modern, sleek, and luminous way to bring fine art into your space.
And it’s not just the result that’s beautiful.
The process behind each Fracture print is something truly special.
Fracture X Lisa Elley
From Canvas to Glass: A New Chapter
Before it ever hangs on your wall, every Fracture print begins as a piece of durable glass, hand-prepared and precision-cut to size.
It’s not printed on glass, it’s printed directly onto it.
Here’s how it all comes together:
COLOR INK
Rich, vibrant ink is sprayed directly onto the glass, not paper or canvas, and cured instantly using UV light.
This process locks in the brilliance, ensuring the colors pop and stay vivid for decades.WHITE INK BASE
Beneath that color is a bright layer of opaque white ink. This base gives the art its signature depth and clarity, allowing even the most subtle texture and hue shifts to shine through.FLOAT MOUNT BACKING
Finally, a clean, lightweight mount is attached behind the glass so the piece floats slightly off your wall, minimal, elegant, and strong.
Why I Love This Format
I’m so intentional with how I create, and it means everything to me to partner with people who care as much about the final experience as I do.
Fracture’s process is:
Sustainable & carbon neutral
UV-proof and long-lasting
Proudly made in the USA
Hand-checked by real humans before shipping
All of their prints are assembled and shipped from their workshop in Alachua, Florida, and every order goes through a rigorous visual inspection before it leaves.
It’s a truly thoughtful approach, and you can feel the difference when you hold it.
Now Available: My Work on Fracture
A curated collection of my pieces is now live on their site, printed on sleek glass, ready to elevate your space with bold, modern clarity.
Whether you’ve been collecting my work for years or are just discovering it, this new format offers a beautiful, accessible way to bring my paintings into your home.
🖼️ Click here to view my exclusive collection with Fracture
I can’t wait for you to see it!
Oceanlight Reverie: A Portal of Poppies and Sea
There’s a certain kind of morning light along the California coast, the kind that blurs the line between land and water, color and feeling. Oceanlight Reverie was born from that light.
This 10x10” original oil painting came to life in the studio with my trusted RGM palette knives, no brushes, just movement, texture, and presence. Thick impasto layers catch the sun like wet petals, while waves of aqua and cerulean whisper of spring poppies blooming by the sea.
But more than a scene, this piece is a frequency.
I don’t paint to replicate a view. I paint to encode a moment, a breath of aliveness, a portal to coherence, a little square window into what it feels like to belong to the world again.
Oceanlight Reverie is part of a new unfolding, one-of-a-kind originals released in real time, while the paint is still fresh, and the transmission still humming.
If it calls to you, you’ll know.
🖼 Painting Details:
• 10x10” oil on gallery-wrapped canvas
• Edges painted, ready to hang
• Created with RGM knives only, no brushes
• Ships immediately
• Signed front and back
• Certificate of Authenticity included
🎨 Available now → https://windsweptstudio.com/shop-f8A7B/p/oceanlight-reverie
Thank you for being here, witnessing the work as it arrives.
With texture, color, and light
Lisa
A Sneak Peek Into the Big Italies
There are some places that live in your bones long after you leave them. For me, Italy has always been one of those places. The golden light spilling over stone walls, the rhythm of church bells in the distance, flowers tumbling down balconies like laughter, it’s a world that begs to be painted not just once, but over and over, in every season of the heart.
Collectors often tell me they can feel my love of place in the paint itself. And lately, my palette knives have been pulling me toward something new: a body of work I’m calling the Big Italies.
Unlike my smaller “Little Italies,” which capture quick impressions and vignettes, the Big Italies are immersive. These are large, vertical canvases, 24 x 36 inches and beyond l, with rich impasto palette-knife texture. Imagine stepping right into a sunlit courtyard where roses bloom shoulder-high in the foreground, or wandering a narrow passageway where geraniums spill onto cobblestone. These paintings are not just scenes, they are invitations.
Each canvas holds that unmistakable Italian romance, but without leaning on obvious landmarks. No tourist postcards here. Instead, these works are about resonance: the way the air feels when you stand by a Venetian canal, the hush of a Tuscan evening, the wild color of flowers climbing across a centuries-old wall.
This is the first time I’ve shared a glimpse of this series. They are still in progress, still humming with possibility, but I couldn’t resist letting you in on what’s taking shape in the studio.
As always, my collectors’ list will receive first access when these paintings are released. If you’re already on it, keep an eye on your inbox. If not, I’d love for you to join me [link to sign up is below on the footer]
Italy has a way of weaving itself into your soul, and with this series, I’m letting it weave itself into paint, palette knife, and canvas. I can’t wait to show you more soon.
Art with Impact: A Collaboration with Kaiser Permanente
A few years ago, I was approached by an art consultant working on behalf of Kaiser Permanente , who were building a new hospital in San Diego. Kaiser is known for its commitment to supporting the local art community through commissioned works for their new facilities, a thoughtful initiative that integrates creativity into healing environments.
I was honored to be selected as one of the artists for this project, and ultimately commissioned to create several original pieces for the new hospital. It was a beautifully expansive project, not just in terms of scale, but in meaning. There’s something deeply moving about knowing your work will live in a space of healing, witnessed quietly each day by patients, families, and medical professionals alike.
It also marked a significant step for me into the commercial and healthcare art industry, where art becomes part of the architecture of care.
It’s been a joy to continue this relationship and to see how my work continues to resonate in these spaces.
These projects are a reminder that art is not limited to galleries or private collections. It lives in the everyday, in hospital corridors, waiting rooms, and places where beauty can make a difference.
If you’re an artist exploring new pathways, don’t underestimate the value of these kinds of collaborations. They offer scale, visibility, and long-term impact, and they allow your work to hold space for others in ways that are quietly powerful.
Little Italies: A Slower World in 6x6 Inches
There’s a certain hush in the narrow alleys of Italy.
A quiet joy in the clink of a coffee cup, the open window, the lemon tree that always seems to bloom.
That’s the frequency I painted from.
And this week, I released it.
Little Italies is my newest collection, a series of 6x6” impasto oil paintings capturing vignettes of Italian life in miniature:
stone archways, bougainvillea spills, turquoise seas, laundry lines, café tables, shutters cracked open to sunlight.
These are not just scenes. They’re reminders.
That life can be slow.
And beauty doesn’t need permission.
Each piece was created using my signature palette knife technique, bold texture, thick color, unapologetic joy. The challenge? Translating that onto a tiny square canvas. And yet, somehow, the smallness made them more alive.
They’re flying off the shelves already, and I’m grateful to the collectors who felt the pull.
🖼 A few are still available here:
As I painted, I kept returning to one phrase:
“Italy gets it right.”
Not just in architecture or cuisine, but in how they live:
Time is art. Meals are connection. Days are for savoring.
This series is my love letter to that rhythm.
And perhaps a soft invitation:
To make a little room for your own Italy.
Even if only in the quiet corner of a wall.
A window. A shutter. A vine. A pause.
Lisa Elley
Professional Palette Knife Artist
Italy in California
Arrival, in stucco and light.
There’s a reason I’ve always been drawn to Italy.
It’s not just the colors, the villas, or the scent of citrus hanging in a courtyard breeze.
It’s the pace, the texture, the way beauty is not reserved for special occasions, but baked into walls, bread, and silence.
Italy doesn’t try to impress you.
It just is.
And that’s the resonance I’ve been painting toward, not just on canvas, but in life.
✨Little Italies
This month, I’m releasing a capsule series of small works called Little Italies
6-inch originals thick with impasto, each one a tiny portal to that remembered frequency.
Balconies with overflowing flower boxes.
Weathered doorways in warm light.
Lemons on cool marble.
Golden hills where cypress trees wait without urgency.
These aren’t travel paintings. They’re feeling paintings.
Little echoes of a life lived slowly, richly, without needing to earn rest or explain joy.
✨ Beauty as Birthright
Italy taught me something long before I ever stepped foot there:
That beauty is not a luxury.
That arrival is not a performance.
That texture is a language all its own.
So whether it’s in a painting, a meal, or a single lemon placed with care…
I want to live like that.
And this new chapter, with paint on my fingers, emails to collectors, and light shifting across the studio wall,
is not a departure from art.
It is art.
It’s Italy in California.
It’s arrival, in form.
A New Chapter: My Collaboration with RGM Knives
Some collaborations happen quickly and fade. Others span years, deepening in trust and meaning. My partnership with RGM Knives belongs to the second category. It’s a relationship rooted in artistry, quality, and a shared devotion to craft.
From the very beginning of my palette knife journey, I’ve always used RGM. Not out of brand loyalty or convenience, but because their tools are simply the best in the world. True Italian craftsmanship has a soul to it, precision balanced with artistry, durability combined with elegance. When I paint with an RGM knife, it feels less like a tool and more like an extension of my hand, able to translate energy directly into texture and light.
That’s why this next step means so much: I’m beyond excited to announce our co-branded collection of RGM knives, carrying my signature etched directly onto the blade.
What It Means to Partner with Italy
Italy has always been synonymous with beauty, tradition, and excellence. To collaborate with a company like RGM is to be part of that lineage, a lineage where artistry is not rushed, but cultivated. Where objects are not disposable, but designed to endure.
There’s something almost poetic about blending Italian refinement with the wild, untamed edge of the California coast that inspires my work. RGM brings centuries of European design philosophy, while my art carries the salt air, the poppies, the cliffs, and the hum of the Pacific. Together, it feels like a meeting of worlds, heritage and horizon, tradition and risk, elegance and raw nature.
Why It Matters to Me
When I first picked up a palette knife, I couldn’t have imagined how it would change my life. The very act of painting shifted. Texture became voice. Movement became language. Collectors began to tell me that my work felt alive, like they could hear the wind in the strokes.
To now see my name etched into the very knives that allow me to do this, tools made by a company whose standards and philosophy align with my own, feels like a full-circle moment. It’s not just about putting my name on a blade. It’s about aligning with a tradition that values mastery, beauty, and integrity.
Looking Ahead
In the coming weeks, I’ll share videos, reels, and photographs of these knives in action, the way they glide through thick oil paint, the way they catch light, the way they’ve become part of my hand. They will also be available to collectors and fellow artists who want to experience this collaboration firsthand.
This isn’t only about steel and wood. It’s about what happens when two worlds meet: when Italian craftsmanship and California creativity combine. It’s about honoring the lineage of artistry while creating space for something new.
For me, this collaboration represents the very heart of my journey as an artist: joy, texture, beauty, and coherence.
And I’m honored to share it with you.
Lisa
When Art Meets Wine: My Year as Artist of the Year at Wente Vineyards
In 2019, I was invited into a collaboration that remains one of the most meaningful chapters of my career as a painter. I was selected by jury as the Artist of the Year for Wente Family Vineyards, a vineyard with deep roots in California’s winemaking tradition and a reputation for excellence.
As part of this partnership, I was asked to design five original wine labels for their Artist Series collection. Each label became a canvas, not just for paint, but for story. I wanted to capture the same sense of richness and layered texture that I bring to my landscapes, translated into the language of wine: depth, body, and time.
For one year, I also had the honor of exclusively exhibiting my work in Wente’s tasting room. Every few months, I attended private release parties with their members, signing bottles, sharing stories, and watching as my paintings found homes with collectors who connected to both the wine and the art.
It was a busy year, and I’ll admit, I didn’t post as much as I should have at the time. I was immersed in the experience: the design process, the events, the connections. Looking back, I realize how valuable it is to pause and reflect on collaborations like this.
What I Learned
Art as Experience: Art doesn’t live only on a wall. It can be woven into everyday rituals, like opening a bottle of wine, and become part of memory-making.
Partnerships Elevate Both Sides: Wente’s wines carried my art into hundreds of homes, and my art gave their wines a visual story. Together, the impact was stronger than either of us could have created alone.
Collectors Value Connection: Signing bottles, telling the stories behind the paintings, and seeing faces light up reminded me that art is as much about presence as it is about product.
Looking Forward
This collaboration showed me what’s possible when art meets lifestyle, when creativity partners with legacy. It planted a seed for the kind of future collaborations I want to continue building: immersive, high-end experiences that bring art off the canvas and into people’s lives.
Even though it’s been a few years, the spirit of that project is alive in my work today, every time I think about how art can cross boundaries, elevate experiences, and create connection in unexpected ways.
✨ If you’re part of a brand, gallery, or space that values immersive, textured experiences, I’d love to connect. Collaborations like Wente remind me: when art meets life, something unforgettable happens.
The Real Value of Art: Why Creativity Deserves to be Valued Like Any Profession
“Can you come do a free demo? It’ll be great exposure.”
If you’re an artist, you’ve probably heard this more than once. On the surface, it sounds flattering, an invitation, an honor, even a chance to give back. But underneath, it reveals a cultural blind spot: the way creative labor is still treated as optional, secondary, or somehow less “real” than other professions.
The Asymmetry
No one would dream of asking a lawyer to show up and argue a case for free. No one would ask a dentist to spend an afternoon pulling teeth at a community event. But for artists, requests for free work are commonplace. They’re often couched in noble language, supporting community, inspiring others, sharing your gift. But the subtext is: your time, training, and expertise don’t need to be compensated.
What Art Really Costs
Behind every painting I make are years of study, thousands of hours of practice, and the daily commitment of showing up to the canvas. There are materials, shipping costs, crating, galleries, marketing, and the invisible labor of holding a creative vision through dry spells and doubt.
Art isn’t a hobby. It’s a profession. And like any profession, it deserves fair recognition.
Why This Matters for the Whole Ecosystem
When artists are undervalued, the ripple effect is huge:
Communities lose: Artists burn out, step away, or shrink their practice when it’s not sustainable.
Collectors lose: The pipeline of serious work narrows, and the culture they crave is thinner.
Emerging artists lose: They learn that free labor is the norm, and struggle to build viable careers.
This isn’t just about one invitation, it’s about a system that either nourishes or starves its creative roots.
The Trap of “Exposure”
Exposure doesn’t pay for materials. It doesn’t ship a painting across the country. It doesn’t cover rent or groceries. Yes, visibility matters. But in professional fields, visibility is rarely asked for in exchange for free labor. It’s earned through contribution, innovation, and excellence. Artists deserve the same respect.
What I Choose Instead
For me, the path forward is clear:
I focus on creating new work that pushes my craft forward.
I connect with collectors who understand that owning art isn’t just decoration, it’s investing in culture.
I say no to opportunities that drain energy without reciprocity, even if they look “noble” on the surface.
That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in community. I do. But I believe in communities that honor art by valuing it, not by taking it for free.
Reframing the Narrative
Artists don’t just make pretty pictures. We make culture. We create memory. We distill beauty, grief, joy, and wonder into forms people can carry home. We remind communities of what it means to feel alive.
That is not a side hobby. That is essential work.
Closing Reflection
To my fellow artists: it’s okay to say no. Your “no” is not selfish; it’s a declaration that your work matters.
To collectors and community leaders: thank you for supporting artists not only with appreciation, but with compensation, respect, and recognition. That’s how culture thrives.
And to anyone who’s ever thought of asking for free work, consider what it would look like if art were valued at the same level as law, medicine, or architecture. Imagine the strength of a world where creativity is honored as much as commerce. That’s a world I want to help build.
The Hidden Architecture of Self Worth
Most of us are taught to build our lives on strategy.
We’re told if we plan well enough, work hard enough, or market ourselves consistently enough, the results will follow.
But in my experience, both in art and in life, strategy only ever rides on top of something deeper: self-worth.
The Universe Meets You at Your Level of Worth
There’s a line I’ve carried with me for years:
The universe doesn’t meet you at the level of what you want.
It meets you at the level of what you believe you deserve.
That’s confronting. Because it means our hidden architecture, our beliefs about ourselves, often unspoken and unconscious, quietly shapes the opportunities, the pricing, the relationships, even the attention we allow in.
Art as a Mirror
In my own work as a painter, I’ve seen this play out vividly.
When I price a painting from a place of fear or scramble, I undercut not just the value of the piece, but the resonance of the entire exchange.
Collectors don’t just buy brushstrokes. They’re responding to the pulse underneath, and that pulse carries my self-worth, whether I admit it or not.
When I stand in coherence, when I trust that what I create is worthy, the work attracts a different kind of collector. One who isn’t bargaining. One who feels the value before they even ask the price.
Self-Worth in Business and Leadership
It’s not just about art.
In business, leadership, or entrepreneurship, the same thing applies. You can have the perfect pitch deck, the cleverest marketing strategy, the sharpest skill set, and still watch opportunities pass you by if deep down you don’t believe you’re worthy of them.
People sense it. Just like collectors do.
Worth transmits.
The Hidden Question
So the real question becomes:
Where am I setting my baseline of worth?
Not: what do I hope for?
Not: what do I wish others would see in me?
But: what do I actually believe I deserve when no one is looking?
A Simple Practice
Here’s something I return to when I feel shaky:
Notice the discount. Where am I tempted to underprice, over-explain, or apologize?
Interrupt the story. Remind myself: this urge is not truth, it’s old programming.
Stand in coherence. Say out loud: I am worthy of being here. I am worthy of this exchange. I am worthy of being seen.
It sounds simple. But the difference it makes in outcomes is not subtle.
Closing Thought
Self-worth isn’t just a mindset. It’s the architecture under everything we build.
And like any architecture, when it’s strong, the whole structure changes.
So as you move through your week, ask yourself:
What do I believe I’m worthy of?
And how might my life, my work, my art shift if I lifted that baseline just one degree higher?
The Art of Reconstitution
The Cycles We Pretend Don’t Exist
In creativity and in business, we celebrate the spark.
The new idea, the launch, the fresh momentum.
We celebrate expansion. Growth.
But what about when everything slows down, or even falls apart?
We rarely celebrate that.
We tend to label it “failure” or “burnout.”
What I’ve discovered in my own journey as an artist and entrepreneur is that these quieter phases, the ones that feel like unraveling, are not wasted time. They are reconstitution.
A Story From the Bench
Yesterday I was pulled to an old stone bench by the sea.
It wasn’t on my to-do list. But the pull was unmistakable.
Sitting there, watching the Pacific roll out, I noticed something shift. My body softened. My breathing changed. It was as if my system knew this moment mattered before my mind could name why.
I had a painting with me, of that very bench, and in that layering of art and place, I realized: this is what reconstitution looks like.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not loud. But it’s alive.
The Nature of Reconstitution
Reconstitution feels very different from expansion.
The signs are subtler.
Instead of rushing inspiration, desire trickles back in quietly.
Instead of needing proof, you start to trust the process again.
Instead of bargaining with outcomes, you create from a steadier center.
In art, this might mean returning to the canvas not to perform, but simply to be present.
In business, it might mean letting a team regroup, or giving yourself space before the next push.
Reconstitution is not regression. It’s rewiring.
Why Leaders Need This Lens
For founders, executives, and creators alike, this matters.
We’re conditioned to equate constant output with progress.
But in reality, growth that endures doesn’t come from endless acceleration.
It comes from respecting the cycles.
The pause is what prepares the leap.
The unraveling is what allows the rebuild.
If you’re in a season that feels quiet, heavy, or uncertain, it may not be failure at all.
It may be reconstitution doing its work in the background.
Closing Thoughts
Yesterday reminded me of this truth.
The stone bench didn’t solve my challenges, but it reframed them.
Not every season is meant to be expansion.
Some are meant for stitching things back together in a new way.
So if you find yourself in one of those quieter seasons, take heart.
It might just be the moment where everything is quietly preparing to change.
The Sketch I’ll Never Send: How I Stopped Performing for the Art World
A fellow artist friend messaged me this week, mildly irked by yet another opportunity that required “sketches” to apply.
He’s an intuitive abstract painter. There is no sketch. His work is born through process, movement, layers, and surrender. And once again, the application disqualified him before he even had a chance to be seen.
When I read his message, I felt the familiar pang.
I knew that feeling well. I used to contort myself for those kinds of “opportunities” too. To prove my worth, to prove my professionalism, to prove certainty before the work even began.
The Trap of Proving Yourself
On the surface, asking for sketches doesn’t sound unreasonable. Many industries are built on outlines and proposals, drafts and mockups.
But art, at least my art, is not built that way.
I paint with a palette knife. My process is physical, textured, embodied. It is not linear or predictable. When I used to force myself to provide sketches, they looked nothing like the finished piece. Instead of helping, they created confusion, or worse, disappointment, when the real work emerged in its own language.
The deeper issue wasn’t the sketch itself. It was what the sketch represented: a demand for performance. A pretense of certainty. A submission to an industry model that rewards compliance over authenticity.
I realized every time I bent to those rules, I was shrinking the very thing my work was here to expand.
So I stopped.
Drawing My Line in the Sand
Years ago, I made the decision: No more sketches.
I wrote it into my commission packet, clearly and unapologetically.
If you want to work with me, you’re not buying a plan. You’re not buying a draft. You’re investing in the unknown, a portal, a coherence, a trust that the work will emerge as it is meant to.
And something surprising happened.
My collectors weren’t upset. They were relieved.
They didn’t want to micromanage the creative process. They wanted to enter into it with me. They weren’t investing in certainty; they were investing in resonance.
That shift taught me something profound: the boundaries we draw in our creative lives aren’t just about protecting ourselves. They invite others into a deeper form of trust.
Beyond Art: Where Else Are We Performing?
This isn’t just about commissions or sketches. It’s about a larger pattern that many creators, and really, many humans, are caught in.
Where are we still shape-shifting to be palatable?
Who are we performing for?
What systems do we participate in that prey on our fear of not being picked?
For artists, this shows up in all kinds of ways.
I don’t apply to juried shows anymore. I don’t pay to be seen. That model, where thousands of artists pay $30 or $50 just to have their work “considered”, is a racket. It’s an economy of scarcity, where the real winners are not the artists but the organizers.
And this is not unique to the art world. Writers, entrepreneurs, consultants, even healers, all face some version of this same pressure: to prove themselves in ways that betray their real process. To hand over sketches of a life, instead of living it fully.
There’s a difference between positioning and performing.
Between professionalism and pleasing.
Between devotion and contortion.
The moment we stop performing for an outside gaze, we reclaim energy that can go back into the work itself.
The Freedom of Coherence
The clearer I get in my process, the more the right doors open without me bending.
That’s not just poetic language, it’s practical. Collectors can feel coherence. They may not use that word, but they sense when an artist is steady in their process and boundaries. They sense when the work is authentic, not diluted.
And in a world where much of the “art market” is clouded by opacity, speculation, and performance, coherence itself becomes magnetic.
It’s not about rejecting every opportunity. It’s about discerning: is this an invitation that aligns with my integrity, or is it asking me to perform at the cost of it?
What Line in the Sand Are You Ready to Draw?
For me, the line was sketches. For you, it might be something else entirely.
Maybe it’s refusing to underprice yourself.
Maybe it’s no longer chasing algorithms that demand daily output.
Maybe it’s saying no to clients who drain your energy.
Maybe it’s choosing not to measure your worth by how quickly someone else “approves” your work.
Whatever it is, the act of drawing that line is not just a refusal. It’s an affirmation.
It says: I trust my process. I trust my resonance. I trust that the right people will meet me here.
And when you stand in that kind of clarity, the invitations that arrive begin to look different. They don’t ask you to contort. They ask you to show up as you are.
A Closing Reflection
I never sent the sketch. And I never will again.
That decision wasn’t just about my process as a painter, it was about how I want to live my life.
Less performance. More coherence.
Less proving. More belonging.
Less fear. More resonance.
So I’ll leave you with the question that lives at the heart of this:
What line in the sand are you ready to draw?
✦ If you’d like to see my latest originals, textured palette knife landscapes inspired by California’s coastlines, forests, and wild blooms, browse my available paintings here.
✦ For more reflections like this, listen to my podcast, The Coherence Channel, available now on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your pods: https://pod.link/1833682316?view=apps&sort=popularity
Lisa
The Corridor
There are moments on this path when we don’t know if we’re walking forward or falling apart.
Moments when everything that once felt solid dissolves into fog, timelines, dreams, even identity.
This episode, The Corridor, was recorded from the middle of that fog. Not from clarity or resolve, but from the hallway between stories, that raw, often invisible phase where one chapter is complete and the next hasn’t fully formed.
If you’ve felt the press of this in-between space, not who you were, not yet who you’re becoming, this one’s for you.
We speak often of quantum leaps and energetic upgrades, but rarely about the space in between, the corridor where nothing moves fast and everything is being rewired beneath the surface. It’s uncomfortable, yes. But it’s also sacred. It’s the crucible that coherence is forged in.
In this 7-minute transmission, I speak to:
The ache of feeling like it was all for nothing
The disorientation that comes when the old has fallen away
How to stay connected to your own signal when nothing reflects it back
And the quiet, undeniable knowing that something is emerging, even when you can’t see it yet
This isn’t about waiting. It’s about walking, even barefoot, even in the dark, because you know something is calling you forward.
If you’re in your own corridor right now, this episode is a soft hand on your back.
Listen now wherever you get your podcasts:
When the Field Needed a Voice
There’s a certain point in the transformation where words on a page and paint on a canvas are no longer enough. The transmission needs breath. Tone. Silence between syllables.
That’s when the podcast began, not as a project or a marketing arm, but as a portal.
Each episode is a frequency match to the moment it’s recorded. I don’t script the signal; I follow it. Sometimes it arrives in a rush, like tidewater spilling into a hidden cove. Other times it’s a slow inhale that waits until my bones say yes.
Painting taught me how to hold light in color. The podcast is teaching me how to hold it in sound. Both are acts of translation, the unseen made tangible, the shimmer given form.
This is not a “listen and move on” kind of space. It’s a sit-with-it, feel-it-in-your-skin, notice-what-shifts kind of space. A coherence studio in your earbuds.
You might hear stories, the kind that arrive in whispers from the field. You might hear about a ripple, a painting, a threshold crossed at 4:42 AM. You might even catch the sound of the Pacific if the wind is right.
If you’ve been following the paintings, this is the companion you didn’t know you needed. If you’re new here, welcome to the transmission.
🎧 Listen to the latest episode here: https://open.spotify.com/show/3C76YaLpKbwgz4mK9liZti?si=8e7ff968cdec4583
🖌 See the paintings that live in the same signal → https://windsweptstudio.com/shop-f8A7B
The field always finds a way to speak. Now, it’s speaking out loud.
