Widener Arts - Artist Lisa Widener

09/14/2026

Knowing when to stop can be harder than knowing what to change.

When I stepped back from Unshaken, I could see a few areas I could technically correct—especially some of the proportions and angles in the lower legs and hooves.

I went back and forth, wondering whether adjusting them would make the painting stronger or take away some of the movement and life I already liked.

Eventually, I decided to let them stay.

I know how easy it is for me to keep adjusting and refining until I lose the very thing that made the painting feel alive. I’m learning that finishing a painting also means knowing when to leave it alone.

With this one, movement won.

Unshaken
24 × 30 inches
Original painting on gallery-wrapped canvas
Available—message me for details.
Prints available at widenerarts.com

09/11/2026

By the time I began closing up the studio, I realized how different I felt from when I arrived.

Earlier that day, I had taken care of several things I felt prompted to handle. When I finally got to the studio, I felt calmer and more settled.

I put on music and painted—adding color, making marks, experimenting, and allowing things to change without trying to solve everything at once.

Then it was time to put the lids back on the paints, close the water containers, and leave.

The painting still has questions, but I left feeling peaceful, focused, and very grateful that I had been there.

The music in this video is from one of my original songs, “Trust.” These words felt especially fitting today:

“I may not know what I should do,
But I know where to find the Light.”

09/09/2026

I usually show my paintings on their own, but seeing artwork in a room changes the way you experience it.

I’ve been experimenting with room mockups for Where Light Remembers, a large 60 × 48-inch painting.

In one setting, it feels quiet and expansive. In another, it becomes more dramatic. And in a neutral room, it brings in color, movement, and depth.

This is one reason I would love to connect with more interior designers. Artwork can help shape the entire feeling of a space, and I enjoy imagining where each painting might belong.

Where Light Remembers
60 × 48 inches

widenerarts.com

09/07/2026

I can spend so much time completely absorbed in one small area of a painting.

Saturday, it was these cranes and cherry blossoms. I was playing with a new stencil, coloring parts in, softening others, and trying to create the feeling of another image living within her face.

Up close, I kept thinking, “Oh, that’s kind of cool.”

Then I stepped back, looked at the whole painting, and thought, “Ah…what the heck did that actually do for the painting?”

That’s the strange part of working without knowing exactly where I’m going. Something can be interesting on its own and still not belong in the finished piece.

The cranes may stay. They may change. Some may disappear completely.

For now, I’m letting it sit.

This is the middle—the part where I don’t have the answer yet.

09/04/2026

Funny—the horse showed up early. It was the background that couldn’t make up its mind. 😂

Putting these progression photos together, I realized the horse herself didn’t change nearly as dramatically as I remembered. Most of the transformation happened around her—dark greens and purples, neutrals, turquoise, circles, flowing marks, gold, and finally deep blue.

Still, every time her surroundings changed, I saw her a little differently.

Maybe that’s part of why What Lies Within feels like the right title. So many of the earlier layers and marks are still there, visible beneath the surface.

She seemed to know who she was. I just had to keep working until the world around her felt right.

09/02/2026

Not every horse looks like a horse.

With *Mystical Majesty*, I let color and imagination do most of the talking. I wasn’t concerned with making every part realistic. I wanted to see what would happen if I loosened my grip a little.

What catches your eye first: the horse, the color, or something else?

See more of my work at [www.widenerarts.com](http://www.widenerarts.com)

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?