Widener Arts - Artist Lisa Widener

08/31/2026

Some of my favorite things to look at aren’t particularly extraordinary.

Most mornings, I step up onto the flagstone beside our pond, take off my shoes, and sit close to the edge to feed the koi.

And I’m almost always sitting beside these little white flowers.

There’s nothing particularly exotic about them. I just think they’re beautiful.

I love seeing them against the granite—the rock turning almost black where the water keeps it wet, then becoming lighter where the water doesn’t reach. I notice the lines and variations in the stone, the flowers and greenery growing beside it, and the constant movement and sound of the waterfall behind everything.

There are even spiders that have made this little area their home. One web stretches right across part of the waterfall. I’m certainly not a spider enthusiast, but I don’t want to disturb them either. I find myself watching them go about their business while everything around them is rushing and moving.

And I always take my shoes off.

There’s something about putting my bare feet directly on the solid rock that helps me feel grounded and present.

I’m not out there looking for inspiration or trying to accomplish something.

I’m just paying attention.

And quite often, the ordinary things are the things I find most beautiful.

What ordinary thing around you have you noticed lately?

08/28/2026

Some subjects have a way of staying with us, even as the way we paint them changes.

The first painting is an earlier one called Our First Pony. I've always had a soft spot for it because the horse reminds me so much of Dusty—one of the first horses we owned.

Technically, Dusty was a pony, just a few inches too short to be considered a horse. She was my youngest daughter's first pony and her Gymkhana partner.

More importantly, Dusty was the pony who helped give my daughter confidence as a rider. They developed a wonderful partnership, and my daughter learned how to understand her, handle her, and ride her with confidence.

Years later, I'm still painting horses.

The second image is what's currently on my easel, and looking at the two together, I'm struck by how differently I approach the same subject now.

This one is still very much in transition. This week I switched to oils, searching for more depth and aliveness of color. I don't know exactly where it's going yet. It doesn't even have a name.

And I'm okay with that.

Sometimes we return to the same things—and see them differently.

Do you ever find yourself returning to the same subjects, ideas, or places over the years?

08/26/2026

08/26/2026

A little look back at the making of Whispers of Flight. ✨

Some paintings know where they’re going before I do.

This one began with layers—color, texture, loose marks, circles, and movement. I wasn’t working toward a completely mapped-out finished image. I was responding to what was happening on the canvas.

And somewhere along the way, the hummingbirds began to emerge.

That process of discovery is one of the things I love about intuitive painting. A painting can change direction, surprise me, and slowly reveal what it wants to become.

This little progression takes you from those early layers all the way to the finished Whispers of Flight.

Whispers of Flight
Original mixed-media painting
Available

I’d love to know what catches your eye first in the finished painting—the hummingbirds, the color, or the layers underneath?

08/24/2026

Sometimes I just need to play.

Yesterday it was my sketchbook. Today it was pulling out a few pieces I’d already started and adding a little more — another layer, more color, a mark here, a change there.

Nothing had to be finished. Nothing had to become anything in particular.

I could just follow my curiosity.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying so much about what I should be doing and simply enjoyed making art again.

Maybe that’s the way forward sometimes.

Just make the next mark and see where it leads. 🎨

🌐 widenerarts.com

08/21/2026

Sometimes being grounded doesn’t mean knowing exactly what comes next.

Lately I’ve been thinking about that in my own creative practice. There are always decisions to make. Another layer? Keep going? Stop? Change direction?

And sometimes there isn’t one perfect answer waiting to be discovered.

This morning, while reading Psalm 46, I came across the word Selah again.

Its exact meaning isn’t completely certain, but it’s often understood as an invitation to pause — to stop for a moment, reflect, and let what came before settle.

That felt particularly timely.

Maybe before every next step, there are moments when what I really need isn’t another answer.

It’s a Selah.

A pause.
A little space to listen.

And then...

Choose.
Commit.
Respond to what comes next.

Maybe that’s part of what Grounded Presence means to me now.

Not certainty.

Presence.

🎨 Grounded Presence
🌐 widenerarts.com

08/19/2026

I keep coming back to the idea that becoming doesn't always happen in a straight line.

Sometimes it twists and circles. Sometimes it doubles back on itself. And somewhere in the middle of all that movement, something begins to emerge.

Emerging Grace grew from that kind of place.

Layers of color, marks, drips and intertwined forms surround a lotus reaching into the light — not untouched by what came before, but shaped by it.

Maybe that's part of what grace is.

Not arriving perfectly formed, but continuing to grow through all the layers that brought us here.

And it seemed only fitting to pair this one with a little piece of my song, Still Becoming. 🎶🎨

🌐 widenerarts.com