It was a typical chapter in the terror and rewards of my art life. It started with a phone call from Maureen Sagui, saying she’d like to commission a portrait painting. She’d heard about me from a friend who had sent for my brochure. Most of my work comes from friends telling friends. I only paint 10-20 portraits a year.

We scheduled the time for me to shoot the reference photos to work from. I was hoping for an overcast day, which is ideal for ‘shadow-less’ photography of people. For a portrait of people and horses, I let the effect of the light on the people be the determining factor. I want soft light if it is a portrait of women or children. If my subject is a horse alone, I go for the golden and glossy light of late afternoon.

I was unsettled about this commission as it was to be an entire family: father, mother, daughter, pony, horse, and dog. How would I pose them-what would they want? I had a partial idea from my talk with Maureen. They did not want something "formal". She said this was a very happy time in her family and she wanted to capture a memory of that for her daughter Jane to keep.

I told her to choose neutral clothing in similar tones so it didn’t overpower them. This was fresh on the heels of my wading into a portrait of a handsome retired banker in his trademark red plaid shirt. Set against the blue haze of the Tennessee river valley on his beautiful wooded estate, his red shirt was wonderful in that setting. I don’t mind complexity, I even enjoy painting lace, but plaid is another story! His heirs will forever have to hang it in a room that ‘works’ with plaid too. Thus my cautions about classic clothing choices.

Maureen thoughtfully asked if I wanted their dog clipped- saying all those curls on a Portuguese Water Spaniel could be a challenge. I said to just have the dog at the haircut stage which she liked. I had once spent $80 for my standard poodle to have "the best" haircut- and while truly he looked as cute as a stuffed toy- it wasn’t how I thought of him on the farm- so his portrait has yet to be done!

What was on my mind more than the curls, was the color difficulty a black dog would pose. It is hard to get photos without the ‘black hole’ effect. I’ve even heard of artists who refuse to paint black subjects since when they show the highlights to give detail, people say it isn’t "black" enough.

So the day was overcast, in fact I had no sooner pulled onto the highway than it began pouring buckets. I felt enormous relief. I could deal with the challenge another day. I called Maureen’s cell phone since they were already in route to the barn. "Oh could we please try" she asked "it’s not raining here and we have everything ready." I could tell she was looking forward to it. "Sure, sure, I’m this far, I’ll keep coming and maybe we’ll get lucky." I prayed the rest of the way, more for artistic courage and inspiration than good weather.

I’d never been to their particular boarding barn, Fields & Fences, and had ten minutes to scope it out before the family arrived. As she predicted- there was no rain. I ‘d hoped for a charming bench or some natural prop to use. The place was lovely, manicured, and pristine with scenic views.

Not a charming bench in sight! But for some reason my eye kept travelling to a white fence corner. Hmmmm, could it work? Now to meet my subjects. Will they judge me by my frugal car? I hardly had time to be self-conscious. My usual uniform of jeans, black shirt and photographers vest with many pockets was pretty generic. I didn’t find out until later that to my red-faced embarrassment-- this professional look could be better described as absent-minded-professor since I had my shirt on inside out!

I immediately found they were as nice as I’d suspected from that initial call. Maureen had the perfect blonde hair, a sparkling smile and natural warmth. Her husband Gary was rather tall, good looking and intimidating to me. He spent the preliminary photo time on his cell phone. Maureen wistfully sighed "Ah it’s work, and it’s Sunday, but that’s our life…" my reserve towards them melted right there.

Their daughter Jane reminded me of an improved Disney version of my childhood self. She has brown-blonde hair, is wiry thin, and beams with a loving affinity for animals. Her amiable chestnut pony is aptly named "Buddy". Maureen’s Oldenberg mare "Alley Cat" turned out to be gorgeous, tall, and black, yes, inky black. I pushed through my reservations and put one foot in front of the other. Our little procession moved outside to the fence and Maureen pulled her husband away from his calls. "Rosie", their dog was like a giant muppet, and yes, very very black and very very curly.

I had told them to recruit an "ear getter" to help us. I had to discourage other willing helpers as it gives the animals too many focus points. A young gal had been chosen and I told her to wait for my signal. I moved Maureen and the mare behind the fence corner, then asked Gary to step to the center, and lean on the fence. I put Jane and her pony to his right where as a bonus Gary could unobtrusively hold the rein of the pony if need be. The pony could bolt, and without hard hat, Jane would be vulnerable. I’ve seen too much. I worry too much! Mo was able to hold Rosie’s leash and lean forward on the fence as well. Simple, direct, informal. Clean and uncluttered. My prayers for artistic inspiration had been answered.

A million technical thoughts were vying for my brain space—shutter speed, focus, depth of field, light meter setting—the Nikon I use is like flying a 747 with all its controls. I had a Minolta for 16 years and have only had a Nikon for 3. It’s not second nature to me yet.

"Ok everyone look right at me, smile… wait, ear-getter do your thing in a minute… Mo, try to move Alley in a little closer." Alley took her cue and reached out to nuzzle the pony. Oh my heavens! I got goosebumps… I could see the life breathed into the portrait at that moment. Maureen’s words echoed in my head "A happy time in our family for Jane to keep forever".

Keep shooting, zoom in… the warmth on this dad’s face is priceless. Click, click, click, my brain saying film is cheap but orchestrating all this might not happen again. Ok, break. Take close-ups of Rosie for enough detail to enlarge and print lighter to "see into" the black . Shoot some of Mo with her mare in a full body pose of the horse. Could I possibly have "aced" it in the first ten frames? I keep following them around for more individual photos. Processing on some deep level like the absent-minded professor again, gleaning all I can about these people and their animals. What is their house like, what colors seem like them? I loved the periwinkle shirts Mo and Jane chose, and Gary’s navy golf vest ‘anchored’ the composition fabulously.

The rain sprinkles began and I reluctantly headed home. I was excited! I dropped the film at the lab enroute. I’d shot 5 rolls! It’s insurance when it’s too much to try to see all aspects through the viewfinder at once. Someone may blink or look away etc.

I code each photo when I get them back. They can then be shuffled and I can still find the negatives when there is only a minute change of expression to differentiate between so many. When composing a painting I often use a hand from one, a face from another.

A phone call to Maureen a few days later, and yes she will come to my studio. I have samples of my oils and watercolors and they can see actual work in progress. The trade off is not seeing their house and getting more information about personalities and interests.

It is a scramble running my farm this time of year due to the mowing, so I don’t have a preliminary photo picked and sketched as I often do. But I’m not sure I know them well enough to pick anyhow. Will she like what I like? Will the husband want to appear more "serious"? I had one client who insisted I paint him taller and more prominently than his dog (both were seated on the couch) so I don’t assume anything if I can help it.

I did select a few photos I felt were strong possibilities. Of course, my favorite one of the nuzzle shot. Not a classic "ears up" pose- but the force of that mare’s presence could have blown the balance of things otherwise. The white fence served to break up some of her overwhelming size. Alley is her first horse and I loved Mo’s statement that she does not have her own barn as it is more balanced for her husband and family life to board their equines out. She obviously cherishes her family, and that one remark spoke volumes. I didn’t have to worry about unconsciously painting in some lurking family frictions!

Jane and Mo visited the studio, and we were in sync. Mo loved the nuzzle shot! I loved her decisiveness. The mares ears up? She said "No- it would spoil the nuance of the moment and look--- the horse and pony’s necks even form sort of a heart shape!" What a sophisticated observer I’d met. An art ally! Thank you God for getting us together.

I ask for an idea of the size painting that Mo envisions. We consulted my price list for the resulting fee. I love my work and I find it hard to face the business of cost. But I must buy myself time to create it and there’s only so much time and only one of me. So I follow the price list.

I treasure the remark of one client who said "Gosh I wish I’d found you before that therapist set your self worth in order- but you’re STILL a bargain! I can hear the shrink saying something like ‘you are a professional- you are unique, and you offer a wonderful service. You are NOT depriving people of food. It is a choice, their choice. Everyone loves a Mercedes too, but not everyone can afford one, and they cost what they cost for the quality. Think of your price list as a menu. They don’t have to order. They can order an appetizer or a full course meal, or they can go to McDonalds.’

So I advise people to envision their ideal and then they can scale back if they have to. If you’re like me, you don’t remember exactly how much your couch cost, but years later you do know if you like it. Most people have their paintings a lot longer than their couch or even their car for that matter!

I send Maureen a rough sketch so she can preview the size in her house. Maureen doubles the size and says she will confirm after she checks with her husband. Then I order my canvas materials and the reference photo enlargements.

Mo calls and it’s a go. I immediately buy bones. Bones? Well I live with my pack of rescued dogs and it’s our way of celebrating the start of a big commission. So "bones all around" from the butchers shop for my friends. My Morgan mare Faerietale gets a bag of apples.

I assemble the canvas and pencil in my sketch on the linen and begin to block in the shapes. The smell of turpentine and the feel of my artist’s tools are as familiar and intoxicating to me as the smell of horses and leather. WOW. The composition is so strong right off the bat. Times like these I sure feel a humble conduit for the Great Creator.

People ask how long a painting takes. It varies from a weekend for the simplest head study to many months and many glazing layers for the biggest oil. Part of the time is my percolating time. I eat, breathe, sleep and think art. I’m using the bush hog on my back pasture and I’m noting the clover in bloom and how the grass fades to pale in the distance. When I ride I’m studying the submaxillary facial vein (one of my favorites!) or how the sky’s light reflects blue on Faerie’s bridle. I fit in a commission of a black Giant Schnauzer for Tim Haman’s birthday surprise to his wife, Deb. It lets me wrestle with black dog problems before Rosie. I juggle many paintings at many stages. I set deadlines and I deliver on time. It is good discipline. It battles art cowardice.

My biggest obstacles in art are mental ones. The constant dream of what a piece can be and fear of disappointment if it falls short of my vision or expertise at the time. I must keep a constant willingness to be humble enough to accept that this is as good as I am at the moment and give it my best shot. If you never finish it—the illusion persists that "this one will be the best." You can be easily paralyzed by artistic fear.

It is a blessing to do this for a living. The household bills force me to fight my shyness, and return phone calls etc. It forces me to at least "try", and most of the time that’s what it takes. I have a cross on top of my big old paint splattered easel and I pray a lot for strength and guidance. I remember my sister Julie Cameron saying of her writing ‘ "I ask God to take care of the quality and I take care of the quantity." Her book The Artist’s Way, isn’t a best seller for nothing!

When I practice that, the fear of failure evaporates. Mo’s was the biggest painting of the year 2002. A lot was riding on it financially and artistically. I try not to think about the financial part. It’s irrelevant if the work isn’t good anyhow. The work is the thing. Last years biggest was a huge oil of seven dogs. That was in five figures. Each person has their own ideas about the painting they want. I do many watercolor-mixed-media dog or horse head studies for $700 from owners photos too.

Gisela and Robert Baltensperger have had me paint eight of their Bernese Mountain dogs individually, so they can hang as a collection. (And that way they can add paintings as they add dogs!) But the most requested portrait is an oil of a person with their horse; people constantly tell me it’s unusual to find someone who paints people as well as animals. With a portrait there’s a million little solitary decisions. Did I fluff her hair enough, does she like her nose, oops, did I bow that horse’s tendon? Should Jane’s braces show or is it better for her smile to be more timeless?

I started the Sagui’s painting with Gary’s pants. I laughed when I realized the outline of the ever-present cell phone was showing in a pocket! I made it less obtrusive. Fabrics are easy for me now and it is reassuring to have something look good right away. I lay in more paint on their faces because I know I’m avoiding it. But the more I avoid it the crabbier I get.

Some days I am sick, or tired and I don’t dare tackle it. Some days I must do my outside horse farm chores or photograph for other coming portraits and work nights on this painting. At those times I work on less critical places. I want my painting light and myself to be at my best for the hard parts. Friends start coming over to see it. They are encouraging and wonderfully helpful:

Fran Martin notes the husband’s shadow needs darkening and she’s right. My sister in law Barbie loves the dog and that cheers me. Heck, Norman Rockwell used to nab the UPS guy for an opinion - some people have a good eye and it’s nice to get their response. I can tell from her email note that Mo would like to see it but I don’t dare quite yet.

I think about it all the time. My world revolves around it. Barbie and I visit the Chicago Art Institute where I discover Pompeo Batoni’s work. With even one month in Florence I could be so much better! Who do I think I am? Batoni was the best there was in his time! I’m schizophrenic in needing a big ego to believe my skills can do this work, and then I’m constantly eating humble pie when my inner critic shreds what I do!

I wake up at 4 a.m. when I realize the painting needs clouds. I photograph clouds for days. I try to under-stand clouds better. I page through a lot of my art books. It looks like Stubbs had a lot of gold in his clouds along the horizon lines. I watch for gold clouds. (I don’t see any.)

For awhile my life is a punishing treadmill of work, sleep, mow, work, sleep, mow, and I feel exhausted and sad. My work is chicken scratches compared to the real thing. In art agony I talk to my shrink and he sets me right with saying "Who are you to compete with deities? It is Talmudic wisdom to make the world infinitesimally better." So I go back to feeling it’s okay to do my best, I’m not God. I can admire his creations.

I work better if my life is balanced. I’ve been told "Libby, you have to work at relaxing like most people work at working." Early in my career I did a joking self-portrait "The Artist At Work" showing me in a ball gown and tiara with my dogs lounging around me on the sofa. It was in response to someone who had said "Why can’t you talk on the phone more? You’re an artist, it’s not like you work or anything." Yeah, right! So, I study the grass as I ride. I find dog art books on the internet and get "A Social History of the Dog in Art 1840-1940" . Any black dogs? How did they do it. Am I reinventing the wheel? It is fall. I must shoot more portrait references like storing up nuts for winter. One of my fall portraits is to be of Beth and Jim Slocum. But I find out their horses are Icelandics and I start to see a Zhivago scene. Photos after my Christmas rush deadlines are a bonus, so the postponement is great. I am thrilled that they like the Zhivago idea! I see fur hats and icicles and…

No fair lavishing glazes on Alley and Buddy, I must put in equal mileage even on the scary parts! I add sparkles to everyone’s eyes and I like the effect. Photos are NOT the ultimate truth after all so I take license as I wish. I add three manicured trees to the painting. I photograph the portrait and look at it upside down. I view it through a red filter to spot values out of whack. It’s hard to get a perspective when you’re this close to something. I like it, I feel good about it. I can do no more. I set a viewing date.

It’s always a shock for a client to see someone else’s idea of them and I wonder how Mo will react. Horses can’t voice their opinion about my version of their nose, so the people portraits are harder. Mo arrives with her sister. Gulp. Two critics and I have a stomachache. The good news is I try so hard. The bad news is I try SO hard.

They love it and can’t stop looking. "Jane is so Jane!" and "Gary is great!" Whew. Mary says "Oh Maureen, you look great, it’s WONDERFUL." Not one word about Rosie or Alley not being black enough! I feel great. Thank you Good Lord.

I don’t have to get a "real job" yet. I can even get groceries and squeeze in a ride this afternoon. I make the phone call to set up the next portrait out east. And you know what I do after that? Yep. Apples and bones all around.