When I was in my early thirties, I picked up a Reader’s Digest in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. It was on the last page that I read a promise I would hang onto for decades: it simply stated that the Japanese believe a person’s seventies are their most creative years. Assuming this idea was universal, and everyone was eligible, I determined to see for myself if the Japanese were correct on the matter of aging. I had almost 40 years to get ready!
I did not draw as a child or give anyone the impression I needed the biggest box of crayons. I did ask for a trumpet in fourth grade, but never looked forward to the solos with anything but terror. By the time the University of Colorado handed me a diploma in music education, I had decided I did not want to teach or play the trumpet professionally. Not just yet, anyway.
After moving around the globe as a missionary during my twenties, I returned home to Kansas City. I credit my mom for pointing me in an entirely new direction at that point. She was learning to paint and thought I might like to try it. Having only a seventh-grade arts and crafts class under my belt, I went from dismissing it as an odd suggestion to giving it consideration because, frankly, I had nothing else on the list of things to do with my life.
A well-known illustrator from New York had moved to Kansas City and was teaching a ten-week portrait class. I signed up, bought the required pencils and papers, and timidly walked into a classroom of people who, like me, had never drawn a portrait in their lives. The next three hours changed the course of my life. At the age of thirty, I learned how to draw a nose! I took my nose home and practiced. Six noses later, I went back to the second class and learned how to draw eyes. Eventually, I put an entire face together. No one was more surprised than I was that I possibly had some artistic abilities in my soul buried under layers of trumpet music. By week number ten, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I continued the portrait classes up to the moment I knocked on the door of Hallmark Cards, Inc., headquartered in Kansas City. I was thirty-three years old by then. They let me in, looked at my portfolio, then gave me paints and brushes and all the paper I could want. And they kept doing that for the next twenty- three years. It was the best job in the world. I retired from Hallmark and went on to work for American Greetings as a freelance artist while also illustrating books and magazine articles. During much of that time, I was playing my trumpet in local bands, at weddings, and in an all-women’s Dixieland group. It was the best of both worlds.
I loved the freedom of working from my home throughout my fifties, as I moved from Kansas to Colorado, and then, to Iowa. When I turned 65, I packed up an RV and headed to Florida. If there were states in one’s DNA, Florida would be found in mine. And Florida has been the setting where I have come to agree with the Japanese thought expressed once upon a time in the good old Reader’s Digest. The first seven years of my seventies have lived up to the promise of being my most creative years thus far. I have tried my hand at writing books, creating mosaics, painting, and more painting. But nothing has been as much fun as creating Seashell Zoo, which I started in April of 2023.
I love seashells. They are quite perfect as is. Being the exoskeleton of creatures with no backbone, most are made by mollusks such as clams, oysters and snails to protect their soft bodies inside. The design, engineering and color of a seashell is marvelous to me. When the sea creature’s life is over, or when the animal inside molts (the process of shedding the shell in order to grow bigger), the shell is abandoned. It is often pushed by sea waves and tides up onto the beach where it can be admired, collected or left alone to glisten in the sunlight. When taken home, seashells require little more than a good soak in a tub of water for a week or so, and sometimes an old toothbrush to remove grit.
I was told, as I began my beachcombing life, to not over collect seashells at any one time. I took that to heart, along with the absolute rule that I must never ever disturb a shell that still has a living occupant. Over time, the shells I did allow myself to pick up accumulated, and I have also been the recipient of many shell collections people no longer want.
In early 2023, I glued a few shells together and painted them to look like a friend’s cat. It was a quick little birthday gift. I then did three more simple shell portraits of my own cats, Mama Kitty, Ringo and Mr. P (they insisted their names be somewhere in this article).
At that point, I thought I should attempt something larger and more complicated, like a Bengal tiger. I honestly did not know if I could make it work, but I love a challenge and thrive on pushing myself in new directions. I set up the computer in my garage art studio, found pictures of Bengal tigers, and got started. I had no expectations, no restrictions and no deadline. I just needed to have fun trying. The Bengal tiger was a success. So, I made a lion, giraffe and zebra. That was the beginning of Seashell Zoo.
It takes me up to three days to figure out which shells to use and how to put together the form of the animal I am creating. There is a whole lot of trial and error, and it is very much like putting a puzzle together. I often need to cut or shape some of the shells. I built a Dremel booth out of an old plastic tub to keep the shell dust confined and attached that to a simple dust collection system. When I am satisfied that the arrangement of shells looks like the animal, I glue it all together. That takes about a day. I have tried several glues and continue to look for the perfect product. At present, I use a combination of hot glue and E-6000, but am always open to suggestions and experimentation.
The painting part is the most relaxing. I sometimes use shrink-free spackling (Sherwin- Williams) to fill small gaps between some of the shells. I then gesso the entire piece with Utrecht Professional Gesso and let that dry. I paint the animal with acrylic paint (Liquitex and Golden) and prefer brushes that come in inexpensive packages of ten or more rather than single brushes of high-priced fine pedigree. They just work better for me. I recently shopped at IKEA where I picked up a package of 6 brushes for kids that cost $3.99. I love these brushes! My years of portrait painting, plus my cheap brushes, equip me with the necessary skills to paint realistic eyes onto my seashell animals. The most fun part of the entire project is when the critter starts to look back at me.
After the paint has dried for a couple of weeks, I varnish the piece. I use Liquitex Matte Varnish. When all the work is done, I either put the critter up on my gallery wall at home or package it to be mailed or given to a customer. To date, I have created approximately 120 seashell zoo animals, a couple dozen having been for people who requested I do their pet or favorite animal. That group includes horses, rhinos, schnauzers, poodles and donkeys, to name a few.
I have several friends who know the kinds of shells I need. Some bring me clam shells from New England, but most bring me shells from Florida’s beaches or their Aunt Judy’s collection. The greatest driving force for me, at this point, is learning about the incredible creatures on this planet that I knew nothing about a couple of years ago. Whoever heard of a Northern rockhopper penguin, an Iberian lynx, a red howler monkey, or a common patas monkey? Well, this artist had not!
Some concluding thoughts about the trumpet sitting in the back of my closet… I started losing my hearing fifteen years ago and am now in the profoundly deaf category. I am so very thankful I learned to draw noses forty years ago!
When I was in my early thirties, I picked up a Reader’s Digest in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. It was on the last page that I read a promise I would hang onto for decades: it simply stated that the Japanese believe a person’s seventies are their most creative years. Assuming this idea was universal, and everyone was eligible, I determined to see for myself if the Japanese were correct on the matter of aging. I had almost 40 years to get ready!
I did not draw as a child or give anyone the impression I needed the biggest box of crayons. I did ask for a trumpet in fourth grade, but never looked forward to the solos with anything but terror. By the time the University of Colorado handed me a diploma in music education, I had decided I did not want to teach or play the trumpet professionally. Not just yet, anyway.
After moving around the globe as a missionary during my twenties, I returned home to Kansas City. I credit my mom for pointing me in an entirely new direction at that point. She was learning to paint and thought I might like to try it. Having only a seventh-grade arts and crafts class under my belt, I went from dismissing it as an odd suggestion to giving it consideration because, frankly, I had nothing else on the list of things to do with my life.
A well-known illustrator from New York had moved to Kansas City and was teaching a ten-week portrait class. I signed up, bought the required pencils and papers, and timidly walked into a classroom of people who, like me, had never drawn a portrait in their lives. The next three hours changed the course of my life. At the age of thirty, I learned how to draw a nose! I took my nose home and practiced. Six noses later, I went back to the second class and learned how to draw eyes. Eventually, I put an entire face together. No one was more surprised than I was that I possibly had some artistic abilities in my soul buried under layers of trumpet music. By week number ten, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I continued the portrait classes up to the moment I knocked on the door of Hallmark Cards, Inc., headquartered in Kansas City. I was thirty-three years old by then. They let me in, looked at my portfolio, then gave me paints and brushes and all the paper I could want. And they kept doing that for the next twenty- three years. It was the best job in the world. I retired from Hallmark and went on to work for American Greetings as a freelance artist while also illustrating books and magazine articles. During much of that time, I was playing my trumpet in local bands, at weddings, and in an all-women’s Dixieland group. It was the best of both worlds.
I loved the freedom of working from my home throughout my fifties, as I moved from Kansas to Colorado, and then, to Iowa. When I turned 65, I packed up an RV and headed to Florida. If there were states in one’s DNA, Florida would be found in mine. And Florida has been the setting where I have come to agree with the Japanese thought expressed once upon a time in the good old Reader’s Digest. The first seven years of my seventies have lived up to the promise of being my most creative years thus far. I have tried my hand at writing books, creating mosaics, painting, and more painting. But nothing has been as much fun as creating Seashell Zoo, which I started in April of 2023.
I love seashells. They are quite perfect as is. Being the exoskeleton of creatures with no backbone, most are made by mollusks such as clams, oysters and snails to protect their soft bodies inside. The design, engineering and color of a seashell is marvelous to me. When the sea creature’s life is over, or when the animal inside molts (the process of shedding the shell in order to grow bigger), the shell is abandoned. It is often pushed by sea waves and tides up onto the beach where it can be admired, collected or left alone to glisten in the sunlight. When taken home, seashells require little more than a good soak in a tub of water for a week or so, and sometimes an old toothbrush to remove grit.
I was told, as I began my beachcombing life, to not over collect seashells at any one time. I took that to heart, along with the absolute rule that I must never ever disturb a shell that still has a living occupant. Over time, the shells I did allow myself to pick up accumulated, and I have also been the recipient of many shell collections people no longer want.
In early 2023, I glued a few shells together and painted them to look like a friend’s cat. It was a quick little birthday gift. I then did three more simple shell portraits of my own cats, Mama Kitty, Ringo and Mr. P (they insisted their names be somewhere in this article).
At that point, I thought I should attempt something larger and more complicated, like a Bengal tiger. I honestly did not know if I could make it work, but I love a challenge and thrive on pushing myself in new directions. I set up the computer in my garage art studio, found pictures of Bengal tigers, and got started. I had no expectations, no restrictions and no deadline. I just needed to have fun trying. The Bengal tiger was a success. So, I made a lion, giraffe and zebra. That was the beginning of Seashell Zoo.
It takes me up to three days to figure out which shells to use and how to put together the form of the animal I am creating. There is a whole lot of trial and error, and it is very much like putting a puzzle together. I often need to cut or shape some of the shells. I built a Dremel booth out of an old plastic tub to keep the shell dust confined and attached that to a simple dust collection system. When I am satisfied that the arrangement of shells looks like the animal, I glue it all together. That takes about a day. I have tried several glues and continue to look for the perfect product. At present, I use a combination of hot glue and E-6000, but am always open to suggestions and experimentation.
The painting part is the most relaxing. I sometimes use shrink-free spackling (Sherwin- Williams) to fill small gaps between some of the shells. I then gesso the entire piece with Utrecht Professional Gesso and let that dry. I paint the animal with acrylic paint (Liquitex and Golden) and prefer brushes that come in inexpensive packages of ten or more rather than single brushes of high-priced fine pedigree. They just work better for me. I recently shopped at IKEA where I picked up a package of 6 brushes for kids that cost $3.99. I love these brushes! My years of portrait painting, plus my cheap brushes, equip me with the necessary skills to paint realistic eyes onto my seashell animals. The most fun part of the entire project is when the critter starts to look back at me.
After the paint has dried for a couple of weeks, I varnish the piece. I use Liquitex Matte Varnish. When all the work is done, I either put the critter up on my gallery wall at home or package it to be mailed or given to a customer. To date, I have created approximately 120 seashell zoo animals, a couple dozen having been for people who requested I do their pet or favorite animal. That group includes horses, rhinos, schnauzers, poodles and donkeys, to name a few.
I have several friends who know the kinds of shells I need. Some bring me clam shells from New England, but most bring me shells from Florida’s beaches or their Aunt Judy’s collection. The greatest driving force for me, at this point, is learning about the incredible creatures on this planet that I knew nothing about a couple of years ago. Whoever heard of a Northern rockhopper penguin, an Iberian lynx, a red howler monkey, or a common patas monkey? Well, this artist had not!
Some concluding thoughts about the trumpet sitting in the back of my closet… I started losing my hearing fifteen years ago and am now in the profoundly deaf category. I am so very thankful I learned to draw noses forty years ago!
