Featured Artist

Through her multidisciplinary practice, Sara Nesbitt investigates historical places and narratives, touching on the current and the past. Her substantial drawing works depict animals and figures metaphorically dancing and chasing each other through the landscape; these scenes are all influenced by places Nesbitt has lived in in her travels. Ubiquitous architectural sites depict ‘the pulse of an urban world,’ while both imagined and experienced narratives leap at the viewer through intense detail and inked lines.

“Natural Man versus the Civilized World, democracy versus Inherited Status, and Individualism versus the Collective Good. Using referential historical figures from the 17th century, when the Western World and our country were discovering new ideas, philosophies, and lands, the unintentional ambiguity of these figures shows an apt reflection of our own time.” SN

What prompted you to have a studio in Ancramdale, NY?

In 1790, my ancestors moved to this area; they were whalers based in Hudson, ultimately moving west and ending up in Montana. The family has been out west for 150 years, and I was born in Salt Lake City. We moved to Rome, Italy, when my father earned his doctorate in architecture. They later relocated to the New York area and returned often to the Hudson Valley to explore their roots. So, I grew up coming up here to fish or look at old houses and towns. 

Ultimately, I moved here with my young family to Columbia County in 1997, and nowadays, I find it so much easier to focus on my work here without the distractions of New York City. 

Initially, when I came here in 2008, the studio was not heated; it was a summer studio. I would tough it out until the end of November and then return to my house to work there. One year, I rented a little, old store in Ancram, and even migrated to the Shekomeko General Store for a couple of years. I moved around a bit; however, as soon as this space had heat year-round, I moved in. It’s a good space, literally three minutes from my house. In the early days, the studio practice aligned with raising my young children. I dedicated that time in between to work through the school drop-off and the pick-up. 

Nesbitt’s hidden gem studio is a treasure trove of found objects that she incorporates into her art. The space is a visual feast, from stools rescued from the roadside to antique dolls and various decoy owls. The smaller animals engage in lively conversations on the shelves, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of an Alice in Wonderland book. 

What path took you to ink drawing? 

When I attended Suny New Paltz and worked toward my BFA degree, I drew, painted, and made collages, creating mandalas, which combined painting, collage, and drawing, but initially, I showed as a painter. Ultimately, I realized that drawing was my primary love; the mechanical action of doing it is an exciting process. Eventually, I found my favorite tool in the dip pen, a unique process; if I didn’t have to dip the pen into ink, the marks would not be the same. As you apply the pressure on the paper with a pen, the line fluctuates, which adds an ineffable quality to the drawing. If you’re using something like an India ink felt tip pen, the line doesn’t fluctuate; it’s much more static, not as alive, not as interesting. I prefer more life in the process; I like to see the hand in it, so the pieces have that variation.

The creative process is quite intense; I can draw for about four hours a day before my hands groan. I jump around a lot, every half hour. I might take a break from drawing and go over and work on composing another piece. Some pieces come together quickly, and others take time. Often a piece is not quite right, and you fight with it until, suddenly, two years later, you’re like, “Oh, wait a second. I need to add that single element, like the squirrels need a drawing of their own, or they need to be the major player.” 

Have you ever made your inks?

No, I often work with the traditional ink colors used in early toile printing. However, I sometimes modify the nibs because I can’t find the width needed. Recently, I sold my car through a friend, and when Peter came to pick it up, he generously gave me all of his father’s drawing equipment: boxes and boxes of pen nibs and rapidographs. I gave my son a bunch of rapidographs, as he also loves to draw, but I still have boxes and boxes. Each of these tools carries a personal connection and a history, making them an integral part of my creative process.

There is always something interesting about art that incorporates a used object. The history embedded in the object somehow plays through.

Yes, I’m an object-oriented person. Objects take on some aura from their earlier lives and those around them. Many of my finds are from tag sales. 

The dolls are lined up on studio shelves, next to the owls. A couple of taxidermy foxes weave in between, wearing little smirks and moth-chewed ears. Deer and owls often appear in Nesbitt’s work; even the feathers on the found plastic owl decoy seem to have smiling faces embedded in them, peering back at you. 

When you look at Nesbitt’s large drawings, the images are filled with unique animal characters, often conversing with each other or traveling on a journey while flying fish or tiny squirrels skitter above, racing like kites through the sky. In the background, people are frolicking, with little interactions evolving throughout the scene. Each work narrates a tale; some seem familiar and idyllic, and others seem fearful. Aesop’s fables and Lewis Carroll are dancing hand in hand.

I grew up heavily immersed in world mythology, reading Joseph Campbell, amongst many others. There are universal themes in these myths and fairy stories, but today’s versions have taken the teeth out of most of these stories; some of them are terrifying: people get killed, there are trolls, there are goblins and scary giants – all of these things address universal themes in the human society: universal terrors and relevant dangers in the world. Witness the woman going to pat a huge bison in Yellowstone, how surprised she was when he lunged at her. 

Recently, on Dugway Road, an enormous black bear was walking right next to my car, and when I looked at it, the hair stood up on my back; I could not think about getting out of the car or taking a selfie with this incredible creature. Where is the primal sense of fear and wonder of nature? Even before Instagram, I remember being in Africa on a trip across the Masi Mara. One day we were in a Jeep, and we went to the edge of the game park, where we saw foolish people leaning out of a Land Rover to get closer to take a picture of the lion. The lion looked up and seemed to think about having an easy snack. Werner Herzog made a documentary about Timothy Treadwell, who studied grizzly bears in Alaska and became so enamored with them that he felt they wouldn’t hurt him, yet the bear killed him. When Herzog was interviewed, he said, “You know the bear doesn’t care about you. The bear is just being a bear.”

I previously installed life-size plywood figures, creatures, and trees at The RE-Institute, where you could walk through the work as if you were in the woods, imagining the history of a place. I am currently working on a three-dimensional work, a series of chimeras. These creatures are a conglomeration of other animals. For example, this one is a conglomeration of a jaguar and a cockerel, and the one up there is half horse and half cobra. Each will get several more coats of plaster and then get sanded and waxed to look like marble. Another represents Dulcimina, who is a creature I have been going back and forth with. She is a conglomeration of a woman and an inspired Regency footstool. The idea of the stag and Dulcimina is a play on mythology: If you follow the myths, you follow the stories.

These sculptural works in progress are placed around the studio and sit alongside unfinished drawings, akin to a play rehearsal. The three-dimensional works have almost stepped from the drawing page onto the table. Nesbitt’s significant drawings portray narratives of seemingly familiar scenes, akin to the printed toile de youy fabrics, featuring pastoral scenes; however, as you gaze through the image and more details appear, the story differs from what it initially portrayed, and multiple interactions weave throughout each piece.  

Early fabric printing was the first technical innovation in the Western world. Until 1752, Europeans could not create color shafts for printing onto fabric. But India and Turkey already used this process, and an Irishman named Francis Nixon brought the secret from Turkey. He became the tech billionaire around 1756 using copper plate printing on cotton fabric. A few years later, a German-Swiss gentleman named Christophe-Philippe Oberkampf ‘borrowed’ the secret from him and set up shop in Jouy-en-Josas, France, creating toile de jouy. Scientific research and knowledge were exploding during the Age of Enlightenment, and it’s interesting because we’re in a similar period. How we see the landscape and the natural world is influenced by how we feel about ourselves and the conflict between reason and the natural world.

Nesbitt received a commission from The Neue Galerie, NY, who asked her to collaborate on a new textile for its contemporary artists program. This collaboration, ‘Toile de Vienne,’ was fabricated into scarves, pillows, and various domestic items. The fabric has six different images printed onto it, each with a personal, whimsical narrative regarding the Neue Galerie, the architecture, and the people involved in its history. 

What would be your dream project?

Architecture is embedded in my drawing from my father’s practice, and I would love to produce a piece for the side of a building, creating multiple large screen prints or silkscreen images as one giant work. I devised a set for the Ballet Collective’s Nutcracker at Weathersfield during COVID-19, which was performed outside and in tents; here, I created the backdrops for the sugar plum fairies scene.

Do you teach drawing techniques?

Occasionally, I’ll give a drawing seminar with the Columbia County Arts Coalition, which I find fulfilling. The most valuable lessons I learned in art school were discovering inspiration through work and that you must put the time into the studio. Also, you are never ready to show your work, but you must show it anyway. Often, the work will rarely arrive at the point where you’re satisfied. Only one piece in this studio turned out exactly how I visualized it without any changes. Feedback is essential; receiving the right outside advice and criticism is crucial and helpful. I credit Alexandra Kasmin, who responded to my work and pushed me to focus on other areas. Finally, playing with scale is very important; I like to work with large drawings, but finding larger size paper whose surface I enjoy working on is sometimes challenging. I have always been motivated to make marks on paper and canvas. I am happiest when working with a compulsion to keep making images. 

The best definition of art I’ve ever heard is ‘it is a view of life through one person’s eyes to show others a different or specific view of the world.’ I enjoy it when people come to look at my work and am fascinated at what they respond to. People always see things I haven’t noticed, which is enlightening. There’s an ineffable connection between the maker or artist and the viewer. 

If you could art heist a piece of work from anywhere in the world, what would it be?

Gosh, there are so many beautiful pieces. I would love a Pieter Bruegel work or an Albrecht Dürer woodcut but would happily settle for a Tintoretto; I love the works on paper. I also highly regard Alex Katz’s positive/negative space, Kara Walker’s use of line and narrative, and Sigmar Polke’s line and composition.

Nesbitt’s images, pulled from the 17th century, show a transforming aspect of the landscape within our society, each filled with mystery alongside a sweet edge of darkness. I wonder what’s peering back at me through the undergrowth when I look at the intensely detailed works, smiling at the joy and yet recognizing the essence of myth and magic through all of these scenes. As the stories unravel, dancing characters entice you into their world. •

You can see more of Sara Nesbitt’s work on her website, saranesbitt.com, Instagram, @saranesbitt_art/, or gallery website, kimschmidtfineart.com.