M O O N S H A D O W S & S U N B E A M S
GOOD THINGS COME IN THREES. Three Panels Press
03 JANUARY 2025
Femi Afariogun
Lola Braut
Laurel Cecilia
S
Dr. Deepak Dev
Rosalie Ferguson (cover artist)
Robin Elise Hamilton
Corinna Kaspar
Daithí Kearney
Peter Mangiaracina
Morgan Rose
Siete Snaps
Chase Tramel
C O N T R I
For this issue, we gave contributors the option to create ekphrastic pieces based on one of two paintings, Two Old Ones Eating Soup and The Starry Night. Therefore, you may read some poems that give a nod to these two amazing pieces of art.
Francisco Goya’s Two Old Ones Eating Soup (also referred to as The Witchy Brew, Two Witches, and/or Dos Brujas), painted between 1819 and 1823, powerfully embodies the theme of moonshadows and sunbeams through its unsettling depiction of aging, decay, and the stark realities of human existence. Part of Goya's Black Paintings series, this haunting oil on canvas presents two elderly figures consumed by a primal, desperate hunger, their exaggerated, almost skeletal features illuminated by dim, earthy tones. The dark shadows that envelop the figures create an oppressive atmosphere, while the lone light sourcedraws attention to the grotesque nature of the scene. The stark contrast between the figures’ haunting faces and the raw, almost animalistic act of eating, links this work to the theme of moonshadows, where darkness and light coalesce to reveal both the vulnerability and the savagery of life. The figures’ hollow eyes and the desolate tone of the painting speak to the duality of the human experience life’s inevitable decay in the shadows of mortality, yet still, perhaps, an eerie, dim light of survival, making this painting a perfect embodiment of the tension between the fleeting warmth of life (sunbeams) and the relentless cold of death (moonshadows).
Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night (1889), painted during his time at the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum in Saint-Rémy, is a striking visual exploration of night that transcends mere observation to evoke mood, emotion, and symbolic meaning. In this masterpiece, the luminous moon and Venus, glowing with intensity dominate the sky, while swirling blues and radiant yellows merge to create a scene that, while inspired by the artist’s window view, is deeply personal and altered by his imagination. The painting’s dramatic interplay of light and dark, paired with the vibrant colors and sweeping brush strokes, resonates with the theme of moonshadows and sunbeams, capturing the contrast between the serene beauty of the night and the internal turbulence Van Gogh experienced. The cypress tree and distant village, seemingly suspended in a surreal, glowing landscape, reflect how the artist used nature to channel his emotional state, blurring the line between reality and the symbolic language of color and form. Van Gogh’s approach to night, as seen in this work, is not just a portrayal of the sky, but an expression of inner turmoil and yearning, a haunting yet hopeful vision of the world bathed in both shadow and light.
Sources used for this section: artchive and MoMA
Dear Readers,
Welcome to Issue 03 of Three Panels Press (3PP), where we delve into the theme of "Moonshadows and Sunbeams." This issue invites you to explore the interplay of light and darkness, both literal and metaphorical, and how these contrasts shape our lives, our stories, and our art.
In this collection, our contributors have skillfully woven together narratives and visuals that reflect the dual nature of existence where shadows provide depth and meaning to the light, and light brings clarity and hope to the darkest moments. From quiet reflections to bold expressions, each piece illuminates the complexities of our human experience, reminding us that joy and sorrow, certainty and doubt, are often inseparable.
As you navigate through the works within these pages, we hope you are reminded of your own personal "moonshadows and sunbeams" those moments when opposing forces have shaped your path and your perspective Whether it’s the quiet illumination of a subtle thought or the stark contrast of a life-altering realization, we believe there is beauty in both the shadows and the sunbeams.
Thank you for joining us on this journey of discovery. Together, let’s embrace the balance of light and darkness and the power they hold to guide and transform us
Warmly,
Jhazzy Jhane Editor-in-Chief
PAGE 1
Panel 1: Poetry and Prose
PAGE 20
Panel 2: Photography
PAGE 32
Panel 3: Special Additions
P O E T R Y & P R O S E
Femi Afariogun
Lola Braut
Laurel Cecilia
Dr. Deepak Dev
Robin Elise Hamilton
Daithí Kearney
Peter Mangiaracina
Morgan Rose
Chase Tramel
I read words in the hands of other scribes
That shaped the stories of their times
Saw notes on notes from many minds
That some still try to harmonise
Some sounds were never heard by ears but were left on paper for many years
A reminder that what’s left behind is never the whole story
Some letters there were left unfinished
Although their message was delivered
For even when a person dies
Their words and art can still live on
I searched for footprints all around
For footprints in these texts are found
Each letter signed, some once being sealed
Some secrets only now revealed
Old maps provide us with a view
And leave us with a lot of clues
Sacred texts are set aside but What is sacred? Who decides?
Gathered from around the world
Translated into mother tongues
That we can read to understand and teach to others in our land
Inspiring minds inspiring lives
Towards greater knowledge we slowly strive For heroes great and heroines
Remind us of the power inside
As Shakepeare borrowed, so shall I and I’ll look to stars up in the sky and Reach and find and share so that When I am gone I’ll leave behind
Something that might please the mind Of someone who might follow.
Note from the Writer: 'In the Library' has a similar theme, reflecting on 'treasures' in the British Library. Both focus on the legacy of and learning from the art of others
Out of the darkness, a spark took flight, A flicker of hope in the heart of the night. I crawled from the shadows, trembling, raw, Grasping at glimpses of what I once saw. The light was distant, a fleeting flame, Calling my soul, whispering my name
The darkness held me, soft but cruel, Its silence deep, its embrace a rule “Stay,” it begged, with a lover’s plea, “You are safe here, hidden with me. ” But my heart yearned for the sun ’ s warm glow, For the light of life I used to know.
Each step I took was a fight with fear, The shadows clung, they whispered near. The light was not gentle it seared my skin, But burned away the ache within. It showed my scars, my fractured heart, Yet in that pain, I found a start.
The light is no cure; it does not erase, It shines on the broken, the human face. It reveals the beauty in every line,
In every crack, a story divine The darkness had shaped me, made me strong, But the light taught me where I belong.
Now I walk where the two worlds meet, Darkness behind, light at my feet. Each a teacher, each a guide, Both the shadow and the brightened tide. For life is not one or the other, But the union of both, like sister and brother.
The darkness taught me to stand my ground, To hold my breath where fears abound. The light reminded me of the dawn, That even in pain, life carries on. Together they form the rhythm I keep, A melody sung in both wake and sleep
And so, I step forward, into the day, Carrying both shadows and light on my way. For each is a part of who I’ve become, The silence and fire, the still and the drum. Out of the darkness, I’ve learned to fight, Into the balance of shadow and light
Two witches walk where shadows fall, One bends the night, one heeds its call. Their footsteps echo in whispered spells, A rhythm that bridges heaven and hell.
Dos brujas they are neither friend nor foe, But daughters of chaos, of ebb and flow.
One stirs the winds with a flick of her hand, Summoning storms that batter the land. Her laughter crackles, wild and free, A tempest-born hymn to the raging sea.
The other sings softly, her voice a thread, Weaving life where the dying bled
They are not opposites, they are the same, Two sides of a coin with no need for name
One casts fire, the other rain, Each a balance of pleasure and pain.
Dos brujas they walk as one, A dance of shadow beneath the sun.
Their spells are stories, their words like knives, Cutting through lies, reshaping lives
One writes curses in the earth’s deep veins, The other heals what her sister maims.
They are not bound by mortal laws, But by the rhythm of nature’s cause.
The forest hums with their secret tune, A symphony sung to the blood-red moon. The stars bow low when their hands rise, Each spell a tapestry that defies. Dos brujas they rule the night, A harmony forged in dark and light
They remind us of power both fierce and wild, Of untamed magic, tender and mild. For we are all witches, weaving our fate, Casting our spells, early or late.
Dos brujas they are a mirror, a guide, Of the forces we carry, the light and the tide
And so they wander, dusk to dawn, Their work never done; their power drawn Two witches bound by a timeless thread, Walking the line between the living and dead.
Dos brujas they are us all, Rising and falling at nature's call. Dr. Deepak Dev|@Deepak.Dev
Note from the Writer: These poems reflects my raw and unfiltered thoughts and emotions The themes explore the interplay of light and dark, capturing the struggles, triumphs and contradictions that exist within the human mind.
What is the weight of hearts that choose the right, That seek the truth beyond the veil of sight? Is kindness etched in every word you share, Or do you falter, tangled in despair?
When shadows rise and bid your soul to stray, Do you defend the light or turn away?
Are your hands soft, prepared to heal and guide, Or do they grasp for gain and feed your pride?
When power tempts, or ease invites your hand, Do you still rise, though few will understand? Do you uphold the broken when they fall, Or pass them by, unmoved by mercy ’ s call?
When silence lingers, thick with fear and doubt,
Do you speak the truth, or let the flame burn out?
The mirror waits unyielding, cold, and true; It asks one thing: What kind of a soul are you?
For in the end, no wealth or pride remains
The heart alone weighs all that it attains.
So gauge your life: each choice, each scar, each deed; Have you fulfilled the world’s most sacred need?
To heal, to love, to tear the dark apart
This is the weight of a noble heart
But walls of doubt and whispers grew, A chasm vast between us two. My heart cried out, though silence reigned, A longing neither lost nor gained.
Outside, where autumn’s solace fell, I sought the air to break the spell. Yet still she lingered, soft and stark, A glowing flame within the dark.
As evening’s edge drew shadows thin, My words stayed trapped, my thoughts within. Did she feel the pull, the tether’s plea? Or was it only memory?
I’d trade my peace, endure the ache, For just one word that she might make. Yet silent stood the fragile thread, And all was left unsaid, unsaid.
Now, every leaf that autumn frees, Whispers her name upon the breeze. And though the anguish still holds sway, I’d relive it all, that fall day
Beneath the crisp breath of autumn’s sigh, I stood where morning’s whispers lie, In hues of salmon, soft and true, While amber leaves the walkway strew.
The crowd ascended, steps in tune, Through doors that framed a fleeting noon And there she stood, a vision, bright White-clad grace in shadowed light.
Her gaze, a thread, unseen, yet bound, Eyes that spoke, though lips made no sound. The color of her shadowed lids, Reflected mine, where longing hid.
Yet anguish stirred, a ghostly weight, Of moments past, a fractured state. I turned away, but still we’d steal, Those fleeting glances we could feel.
At midday’s pause, her presence near, A silent pull so loud, so clear. Her shoulders turned, fingers intertwined, “Step closer, you ’ re on my mind ”
Note from the Writer: Through the dance of light and shadow, the poem captures the tension of love restrained, where connection exists in the spaces between presence and distance.
Kosọkọ was an awaited chief to inherit the wealth and the affluence of my father.
He was expected by all the borokini and olóyè who wanted to lavish him with gifts.
His welcoming rituals were performed by the most divine of all Ifá priests and Yèyé Osun.
Wives were already provided for him, even those who were not yet born to persuade him to stay.
The barns are full of yams for pounding and rams for slaughter.
Many said he had been here before. Many knew him, but not his face
Some said he was just here not long ago, but we can’t say how he went back.
To some, he is the oldest, the one who has seen the ancestors.
The sight of a mortal for too long is taboo for him
Some said he is the youngest, a little coward that the touch of caring hands scares him and put him to a never-return sleep.
Babawande spoke too, he said he knew him, that they were friends coming from the Asèdá, Til he left him alone to this whirlwind of life and its cruelty, but check on him once in a red moon with the pretense of staying until he goes again
He even showed me the last of the sights of Kosọkọ, and I saw six doors of them.
Six?’ I saw one that looked like the door I had once used for my ascension to Eledumare.
Is this a trance? I think I know him too! This Kosọkọ I passed someone the baton when I left, not to continue the race, but to start a new one.
“There will be a great ball.”
The letters were sent in lightening & Echoed in thunders. The celestials were dressed. But the sun seems uninterested, Maybe not invited.
The Cloud banks, all dressed in black, & Gowned like coal.
Suited as Night.
After hours of rumbling songs. They all left, leaving half-filled bottle &...
Note from the Writer:
These poems resonate with light and darkness from three dimensions, the one from within, the one outside but self orchestrated and the one beyond our dealing It reflects death and living, being lost, and the revival in it And all these are done vividly in sonic artistry
Orchids require a most tender care, a temperate space with humid air. Droplets of moisture cuddle the leaves. Soft sunshine rays directly touch the buds, pulling them open They will drown with too much care. Just enough water is needed to dampen the roots. Never too much control or care is required, As this will overwhelm & destroy the delicate balance.
-so is the care of true love
Paint me a picture with the melodies of a soft lullaby, lyrics of positive care & intricacies of doting.
Graciously bake me sweet chocolate verses
Notice my strong heart & loving mind.
Offer me a folk song with poetic words of admiration.
Carefully focus on positive moments
Horror music & gothic strokes are not for me.
Save those for your enemy.
Ensure the use of vivid colors, brightening my day & showing me a beautiful path.
Liven my space with your essence.
That sunny evening, clots of passionate blue act like satyrs in pursuit of blobby yellow nymphs above the provincial, unsuspecting town blessedly unsuspecting, as it would certainly expire convulsively from a collective paroxysm of shuddering revulsion at such unchecked overhead hedonism tearing a turbulent rend
to let the light in Until they abruptly vanish just as a Vogon DOT spaceship decloaks ‘twixt the Sun Moon and Venus to vaporize the Earth as part of an intergalactic bypass construction project that is already years behind schedule, so the destruction is a bit rushed and therefore maybe a little sloppy, coloring outside the lines so to speak. The end.
Note from the Writer: Inspired by Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night 1889 (with an unapologetic nod to Douglas Adam’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy 1978).
Robin Elise Hamilton|@robinelise007
Every time I betrayed her, my wife tortured me with questions, as if she were an evil cardinal stretching me on a rack.
“Who’s Angela? And why is she texting you at one in the morning?”
Crank of the winch, click.
“What’s this red acrylic fingernail doing in your pants pocket?”
Crank of the winch, click. And always that lined face in the background, peering at me from the darkness, smirking at my pain. My stomach churned as I pulled the Audi into the driveway of our Victorian fixer upper Ghostly fingers of dawn’s pale gold flexed across the asphalt sky from the east and threatened the maternal swaddle of darkness
I should have been home hours ago. The battered briefcase holding her lawyer’s unsigned divorce papers lay within reach on the passenger seat. I grabbed it and heaved myself out of the car. The briefcase fell open, and the papers glided everywhere, flapping like sparrows onto the dew-laden grass
The windows of my Victorian-style house were bleak and unsettling. I could swear I saw a hunched figure behind the curtain, but it might have been my nerves. Or a portent?
The façade of our unhappy home had been deteriorating when I bought it, but I could have sworn it had solid bones. I’m not so sure now. I could just make out a workman’s abandoned ladder reaching up to the antique gables at the side of the looming structure. A wrinkled and warped stack of unused shingles sat forgotten at its base.
A fog enveloped the house like an overbearing mother: heavy, inescapable, yet ephemeral and impossible to embrace. The sound of my car door closing grounded me I needed to focus My story? Think… Out with the boys. Drinks, laughs. No! An overused lie. Sweat stippled my upper lip even though the predawn was nippy.
I love you. I need you. Don’t leave me. I’ll change
Peter Mangiaracina|@petermangiaracina
Better, but too cliché. Should I suggest more marriage counseling? Oh, God, not again!
The first time had quickly become an iron maiden of one-sided grievances. The second time, probing questions and dead silence
I retrieved the divorce papers from the grass They had wilted from the dew I dabbed the sheets on my pants, placed them back in the briefcase, and snapped the clasps. An echo like a gunshot filled the front yard, the sound too loud but reassuring. I was still there in my perfidious self
I sniffed the collar and cuffs of my pale blue shirt, checking for the lingering bouquet of my most recent indiscretion. I should have taken a shower
I had to cage the relentless hunger, end the yearning that traumatized my past and disabled my future.
If my mother hadn’t been so distant, yet so careful to carry out the trappings of motherhood without the emotional investment, maybe it would have been easier to feel love.
Outright rejection of me, her child, would have narrowed my focus on one partner; a man overboard, forever clinging to one buoy. Acceptance, on the other hand, would have grounded me. But caught in between?
Emotional purgatory.
If I explained this to my wife, would she forgive me?
I took a deep breath and shambled to the front door; a gaping hell-gate eager to gulp me whole. On the other side resided hope, or rejection. I wiped the sweat from my thumb and pressed the opaque panel on the biometric lock attached to its timeworn oak host. The mechanism clacked, swung open on oiled hinges
I stepped into the dim foyer. I opened the briefcase and removed the unsigned papers, moving into the parlor like a repentant wraith, ready to hand them back and plead my case
Intermittent gray flashes from a muted TV and the strains of Mozart’s Lacrimosa drifted in the air A lone figure rose slowly from the sofa, back to me. A diffuse light seeped through a white robe while dust swirled in the weak illumination. The ominous figure turned like smoke coiling away from a flame and faced me “She’s gone, ” croaked my mother, lips curling into a cruel smile. “I’m not surprised Again and again I reminded you that you push her too far. You never listen.”
The flocking on the antique parlor walls seemed to shimmer. The papers fell from my hand. My legs trembled.
“Sit down,” she commanded, turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you a sandwich ” Peter
Note from the Writer:
The story explores themes of guilt, broken relationships, and the haunting legacy of family influence Set against the backdrop of a crumbling Victorian home, it examines how past and present intertwine in unexpected and unsettling ways
Somewhere in the time between night and day
The universe spins in a delicate sway,
She is the moon, silver and full of grace
A light glowing on her, highlighting her tender face
He is the sun with a blazing heart,
A fiery flame that can be felt from a world apart
Their orbits are a special dance only they know
Two souls who shine so bright, but are told they are meant to live life alone
The moon rises as the world is covered in a blanket of shadows that fall
She sings her usual lullaby to the world as it lays stalled.
The sun rises as the day begins to unfold
He radiates his light so bold
He lights the way so bright
Yet, he secretly years for the moon ’ s endless night.
The distance pulls at their hearts, their paths diverge
But through their pain, stars emerge
They long for each others embrace
A love that physical separation can’t erase
Each day she goes away as he ascends
But when twilight hour descends,
They meet in silence, he kisses her face
In an eternal and loving grace
And in that short and fragile kiss, The planets, the stars, the wind, the mist
They are one Like the moon and the sun
Though physical distance temporarily keeps them apart, The moon and the sun share two sides to one incredible heart. A cycle that never ends, devotion that never thins. Because of their love, a whole universe spins.
Note from the Writer: Eclipse compares what both the sun and the moon bring to the world and how they come together despite their differences and forced separation and make our world spin.
Sunbeams press against the skin hot and unrelenting a brilliance that fills but does not stay they demand your surrender to joy as if the light alone can make you whole then the shadows arrive slow and patient settling into places the light has abandoned they speak truths too heavy for the day pulling you inward to the parts you ' ve learned to look away from we fight the light for blinding us we fight the dark for consuming us but it is in their collision the fleeting kiss of warmth and ache that we discover ourselves not as halves but as something infinite burning breaking yet somehow still rising
P H O T O G R A P H Y
Macon, GA
Canon Rebel T7
Year 2024
Note from the Photographer: Throughout the years I have captured the image of the moon and here I combined the images to present this I wanted to showcase how even the moon reflecting the sun in one way can show us a multitude of faces
Sea World London 23 December 2024.
Note from the Photographer: The white-spotted jellyfish, or phyllorhiza punctata, is a species of jellyfish native to the western Pacific Ocean.
Kjeungskjær Lighthouse
Norway
Samsung SM-G980F
Corinna Kaspar|@fairiesandtale_atelier
Kjeungskjær Lighthouse Norway Samsung SM-G980F
Corinna Kaspar|@fairiesandtale_atelier Note from the Photographer: 1527 and 1624 is part of a series focusing the hours of sunshine at the coast of norway.
S P E C I A L A D D I T I O N S
Charlotte Cooper's Igniting Intuition, an Ode to Feminine Rage is a raw, evocative exploration of emotional turmoil, resilience, and self-discovery following divorce and grief.
This collection of poems delves deep into the psyche of a woman grappling with love, loss, and the search for personal strength.
Through stark imagery and honest language, Cooper crafts a narrative of emotional upheaval, presenting the reader with a powerful, personal journey.
Each poem serves as a poignant moment in the author’s process of healing and reclamation of her own voice.
The poems in Igniting Intuition, an Ode to Feminine Rage are unapologetically vulnerable, with Cooper’s lyrical voice expressing both pain and defiance. I found myself deeply impacted by “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” “Still Waters,” and several other poems. The whole book is very heartfelt. Through Cooper’s reflections on love, betrayal, and self-worth, the book resonates with anyone who has ever felt overlooked or undervalued.
One of the most striking aspects of this collection is its focus on selfawareness and the journey toward empowerment. Cooper doesn’t shy away from exploring the darkest corners of self-doubt and regret, yet her words are imbued with a sense of emerging strength.
In conclusion, this is a haunting, cathartic body of work that speaks directly to the heart. This book is a testament to the transformative power of vulnerability and self-expression, offering a compelling narrative for anyone looking to reclaim their own story
Jhazzmyn Joiner
Strap on your boots because Words for Weary Wanderers is a book that takes you on a profound journey of feeling, healing, and reflection. Through the lens of Victoria Grace’s poetic voice, we are invited to explore themes of illness, mental and physical health, and the quiet, yet powerful beauty that emerges along the way
Within these pages, you’ll discover poems that encourage you to reconnect with nature’s wonders and its restorative power You’ll find verses that challenge you to delve deeper into your emotions, urging you to embrace them rather than mask them with a forced smile.
By the time you reach the end of the book you’ll be left with a renewed sense of resilience While some struggles may never have a clear solution, Grace reminds us that there is beauty in learning how to live alongside our difficulties, finding joy in the small, yet meaningful aspects of life.
There were certainly poems in this collection that spoke to me on a deeply personal level. “Cut Down” stood out as a short but intensely poignant piece that captured the all-too-familiar feeling of being discarded by someone important.
I wholeheartedly encourage you to pick up Words for Weary Wanderers. After reading it, I’m sure you’ll feel inspired to embrace yourself fully flaws and all and perhaps even take a moment to step outside and appreciate the natural world around you.
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we get to meet Sarah Heinbaugh, one of rite artists. She's very talented. I love her ecially her pastry art. Fun fact, she once a portrait of me, which I still have and angirled when she agreed to this w. Without further ado, a conversation rah Heinbaugh!
us a bit about yourself (Where are m? What are some of your favorite to do? Fun facts, etc.). When did art painting and why?
s born in 1984 in Houston, TX in a on the south side of downtown near Both of my parents (and later, my arents as well) worked for the NASA Program, so that’s where I grew up. ents are all very kind, super smart er-types, so it’s always strange to me nded up taking a completely different path from them. I don’t really remember not being considered an “artist”, as so many other creatives say in their life stories I was always the artsy kid, taking art classes outside of school on the weekends and choosing art as my elective in school. It’s my happy place and always has been! I think my first real painting was in my 10th grade art class as an assignment, when I was 15. I fell in love with it 100%. There’s never been another medium that has moved me as much as painting has, it’s pretty amazing
Jhazzmyn Joiner
J: NASA!? I am amazed! I love a lot of your food drawings, as you know because I have bought a few of them. Where do you draw inspiration from for what you paint?
S: This is going to sound like a “ no duh” statement, but I am simply drawn to pretty things. Be it a display of pastries at a bakery, a plate of artfully or thoughtfully made food, lighting on a glass, bright colors on a street, someone with a super interesting face and features, etc , there are things happening around us all the time, all day that are like little twinkles to me. Simply put, those things entice me, and I want to capture them and translate them. I love painting objects. I suppose my style of painting just kind of lends itself better to painting something solid as opposed to atmospheric, but I absolutely want to conquer my weaknesses and get better at things like painting landscapes.
J: What a great answer! I love pretty things, too. Do you have a routine for painting or do you just go with flow?
S: You know hmmm I think I do have a routine? lol :-) I also want to say I go with the flow in some capacity, though. For all paintings, I will start by making sure I have a good reference photo to work from. If it’s a “for fun” painting (as opposed to a commission), I’ll pick out what size I’m feeling from my stash in my studio. I like to keep several options on hand anywhere from 4x4” to 30x40” are in my storage area in my studio Sometimes the
photo will dictate the size for me, or maybe the amount of time I want to spend on the painting. If it’s a quick painting or a study, I’ll usually go for something in the 11x14” or smaller size range and decide between canvas, wood, or paper. Then, I’ll choose my ground color based on the reference photo I can generally visualize what the end result will look like, so I’ll choose a color that is completely unrelated to the photo. I find it’s more exciting that way, and some of that color ends up popping through in areas love those moments! Then, I draw out my composition, kind of making a map for myself to lay out color and shapes, and once my drawing is looking good enough, I start laying down color. I start in with a larger brush, and generally with the darker tones, and work all over the canvas. My eye is always moving around the whole canvas and working in the color I have on my brush into the painting all at once. Then, color by color, I start refining and sculpting the form. I’d say, in general, I work from large brushes and loose brush work to smaller brushes, and move my hand closer to the bristles so I can get detail work in. Of course, this is not the end-all, be-all, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
J: When do you know that a painting is complete?
S: There are some paintings that I am sure I could paint on forever typically it’s the super detailed paintings that I have a hard time walking away from. I stop painting when 1. the time I’m spending on the painting is not making the painting look any different, or 2. I have a feeling that it’s done. There are times when I wish I would have stopped sooner it’s too easy to over work paintings sometimes.
J: Absolutely. Sometimes, there's just a feeling of knowing when something is complete. I can relate to that with writing. What are some of your favorite mediums and techniques to use?
S: Paint is my favorite medium! I work with pretty thin layers of paint, and when I’m using acrylic paint, I will mix with water, and rarely will use a medium. I have used Golden brand’s Retarder to help slow the drying time a bit. I love oil paint, too. I do use more medium with oil paint just to make it more loose and lower the viscosity. For the “lean" layers, I use odorless mineral spirits. I also love Galkyd Gel to help thin the paint a bit and speed up dry time. Linseed oil is great for the “fat” layers.
Jhazzmyn Joiner
J: What's one of your favorite paintings to date? Why?
S: One of my favorite paintings to date such a hard question! I think I might have to go with "Float On". What I like about it is a combination of things: -I took the reference photos myself and combined them together to create this painting. This felt like a new thing for me and I feel proud with how it turned out.
-It came out fairly easily for me, not too much “struggle” along the way. -The end result is a combination of loose brushwork in the water and very tight details in the people. I think it shows a range of what I love to do, which is paint representationally but also convey a feeling or motion.
Jhazzmyn Joiner
J: I really like that painting! Are there any painters or art periods that inspire you?
S: Painters that inspire me absolutely! It’s interesting, what usually motivates me to paint is seeing other paintings. Kind of like watching a cooking show might make you want to cook or eat, or an instructional workout video might inspire you to get up and work out that’s something that works for me. I’ve always been SO inspired by Chuck Close’s incredibly photographic way of drawing and painting portraits. I love his work. Wayne Thiebaud’s use of color and his compositions are so expert and beautiful to me, also Of course Monet and Van Gogh are brilliant, as well. In college, I discovered Egon Schiele and fell in love with his style. A lot of living artists inspire me daily Sari Shryack, Ashley Longshore, Tom Croft, Lucille Smithson, Tim Horn, Alai Ganuza, Felicia Forte, the list goes on and on.
J: Great answer! I spot some favorites of the Three Panels Press team and some new names that I will be looking into. What's your favorite time of day to create? Why?
S: My favorite time of day to create is first thing in the morning. When I was just starting to paint regularly again during the covid shutdown in March 2020, I would set my alarm for 5:30am and have coffee, and go down and paint right away! I loved it. It’s dark and sleepy at first and there’s so much quiet and specialness in having that alone time in the morning. Then, slowly the sun rises, birds start chirping, and I’ve got so much energy It’s a fantastic way for me to start my day! Realistically though, with two kids in school, I can’t do that anymore. Ha ha! So now I think my most productive time of day is between the hours of 10am-2pm. I’m sure once the kids start driving themselves to school, I will go back to those early morning painting sessions, though.
J: How do you define success as an artist?
S: For me, success is so many things. There’s success in being able to create freely, and for people to connect with what you ’ ve made. There’s success in setting a goal for yourself and achieving it. Success in just getting down to the studio and making something even if it isn’t any good. Connection is a huge one for me. I’m a very introverted person, so if I make something and I’m in my own world while making it, and then that thing goes out into the world and connects with other people, that's huge success! Also, real talk, when I’m able to provide financially for my family in any capacity, that feels like a huge success and validates me and what I do big time.
J: Such a great answer. I agree. Connecting with people through my work is a huge one for me, as well. What do you hope that people take away from your art?
S: I hope that people will take those sparks in life from my art. Those moments that are all around us, those beautiful things, that’s what I want people to feel when they see my artwork.
J: Well, I will tell you that I get sparks from your work! Why is art history important today?
S: Art history is important today for the same reason that world history is important today it’s our foundation and where we come from. Artists react to what’s going on in the world and use art to translate those events into feelings. It is valuable to learn what artists in the past have done for the art world today, and incredible what they have gone through. As well as techniques that have been around for centuries!
J: Is there anything else you'd like to share?
S: I think I’m all talked out! ha ha! Maybe I’d like to say that I very much feel like I am still just starting out in the art world today I had a late start after college graduation in 2006 to now in taking the leap to creating art full time, and I am excited to see where my next step takes me whatever that may be! I’m still trying to figure out what I want out of my art practice Painting is something I absolutely love and must do no matter what, but turning it into a business is a whole different approach and way of thinking. The possibilities are endless and that can be a little overwhelming to think about sometimes. I can’t wait to find my place in the art world!
J: I love that answer. Where can we find you and follow along with your journey? Do you have any events or special things coming up that you'd like to share with readers?
S: You can find me on instagram @SarahHeinbaugh art and Facebook @Paintings by Sarah Heinbaugh and my website www.sarahheinbaugh.com.
Thank you so much for taking the time to chat with us, Sarah. I have learned so much about you and your journey. I think you are amazing and I am sure that more of our readers will engage with your work.
JHAZZY JHANE, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
LOLA BRAUT, EDITOR
CORINNA KASPAR, DESIGNER