Armadillos & Cowboys: A New Series

If you’ve ever sat by a campfire, you know the rhythm of it and can picture sparks floating into the night, hear the strum of a guitar and feel the warmth of the fire on your face. And just when everything feels steady and familiar, something crashes in the underbrush around you as then scurries into the glow of the firelight. Not anything dangerous but an armadillo jus smooth brained, armored, half blind and completely unbothered.

That little image stuck with me and grew into this series. Six watercolors where cowboys meet their unlikely companions in scenes that are sometimes funny, sometimes quiet, and always just a little unexpected.

The collection includes:

• Fireside Companion – a cowboy with his guitar, and an armadillo perched to listen like an old friend.

• Barroom Troubadour – the smallest of the set, showing music and nostalgia under dim bar lights.

• Heads I Win and Tails You Lose – a pair of pieces meant to be seen together, playing on chance, fate, and cowboy luck.

• He Says Howdy – A happy little guy dawning a cowboy hat.

• Armadillo Rodeo – a playful spin on Western life, replacing a bronc with our high jumping little guy.

Each painting is its own story, but together they celebrate the humor and heart in everyday cowboy life. The armadillo isn’t just a sidekick here it’s a reminder that the West is full of surprises, and sometimes the smallest characters leave the biggest impression.

You’ll find a collage of all six works above, but if one of these moments speaks to you, originals and prints are now available in the shop. You can start here with the collection.

Until next time, may your coffee be strong and your trail full of surprises (so long as your horse doesn’t spook),

MERC

Chasing Sunsets and Patience: Planning Adventures That Never Go Exactly as Planned

Planning a vacation sounds simple enough in theory. Pick a destination, book some flights, pack a bag, and go. In reality, when your life revolves around someone else’s unpredictable schedule, it quickly turns into a careful balancing act between hope and frustration. Right now, I’m juggling the plans for three very different trips: the sweeping landscapes of the Sonoran Desert, a quick visit to family in Washington State, and the rugged peaks of Glacier National Park. And, if everything aligns, a final escape to Big Bend.

The tricky part isn’t picking destinations or figuring out what to see; it’s navigating the invisible calendar of someone else’s availability. Booking too early feels risky, like locking yourself into something that might crumble, but waiting too long is just as painful when every flight and cabin seems to disappear overnight. I’ve found myself staring at maps and hotel listings late into the night, silently negotiating with the universe, wishing I could control both time and tide.

Despite all that, there’s something thrilling about this uncertainty. It forces me to be flexible, to imagine more than one path to an adventure, and to appreciate the small victories like finally snagging a hotel, finding a hiking trail that isn’t overrun, or discovering a roadside diner that feels like it’s been waiting just for us. Planning trips has become less about perfection and more about embracing the process and taking in the little moments.

These trips are about more than just getting away they’re about inspiration, art, and breathing in a fresh perspective. Each landscape, every county road, and time spent holding my husbands hand is fuel for creativity. From the desert’s golden hues, the green forests of the Cascades or glowing blue glaciers they all spark ideas for new paintings, sketches, and stories I can’t wait to share. And the best part is experiencing them together with my husband Alex. Even when the timing is messy, even when things don’t line up perfectly, it’s still an adventure.

At the end of the day, some of my most memorable experiences have come from the parts that didn’t go as planned. A wrong turn on a hiking trail can lead to a secret waterfall and caves. A sold out hotel might push us into sleeping in the truck. The unpredictability adds a little magic to each trip, and when you’re with the right person, it doesn’t feel like a problem it feels like a real adventure. Not to glamorize it too much since when I can’t fully plan out the trips we do miss out on a lot. But in the end, even with the frustration of not being able to plan anything, I wouldn’t change my travel partner for anyone else.

Safe travels 

MERC

Wearing All the Hats (and Then Some)

Some people collect stamps. Some people collect coffee mugs. Apparently, I collect job titles. Depending on the day, you’ll find me answering to artist, photographer, wife, mom, chicken wrangler, social media director, and art council representative. That’s a lot of hats for one head though luckily, cowboy hats are my favorite, so maybe I’m well prepared.

Being an artist is the center of my life outside of family. It’s the steady, driving force behind most of what I do. But lately, I’ve added a few new titles that surprised even me. I became the social media director for our town’s art group, the representative of our town to the county art group, and a member of the county art council itself. Apparently, when you raise your hand once to volunteer, people remember you forever.

These new roles are short term, 3 years or so, for me. I know I won’t be living in this town, county, or even state forever. But I like the idea of leaving something positive behind. Art communities don’t grow unless someone puts in the time to nurture them, and right now, I get to be one of those people.

Now, let’s be honest: being in a leadership role comes with its quirks. One of the hardest parts is getting others to participate. People love an idea in theory, they’ll nod and smile but then when it’s time to help bring it to life, suddenly everyone’s calendar fills up or they wait for someone else to take the lead. I’ve learned that “I love that idea!” often really means “I’ll drop off my art works but don’t want to be asked to do more!”

But the flip side makes it worthwhile. When artists stop seeing each other as competition and actually start working together, something magical happens. Support replaces comparison. Collaboration replaces isolation. That’s the stuff I love to see, and the reason I keep showing up for these groups.

When I ran a class on art focused social media, We discussed how certain types of videos tend to get more traction, and people were concerned, they would be creating competition if they shared “How to” videos. The answer is no. Most people who see your video will save it with every intention of making their own… and then life gets in the way. They’re too busy, too distracted, or maybe just too lazy. Meanwhile, the person who actually made the video ends up being seen as the authority. It’s not about competition it’s about showing up. That’s a lesson I’m still trying to hammer home.

The funny thing about all of these titles is that they do connect back to my art, even if not directly. I don’t pull inspiration from the groups themselves. I have plenty of inspiration elsewhere but being part of them has opened doors I might not have found otherwise. For example, I’ve started learning more about grants, not just for the groups but for myself as an artist. That’s a big shift, and one I probably wouldn’t have pursued if I hadn’t stepped into these leadership roles.

At the same time, I don’t want to lose sight of the fact that I’m still an artist within these communities, not just someone pushing papers or posting Facebook updates. I still get to participate in the shows and clinics. I still get to share my work alongside everyone else’s. It’s a balancing act amplifying other people’s art while remembering my own has a voice, too.

So yes, I juggle more titles than I ever thought I would. Some days I feel like I should print them all on a business card just to see how many lines I can squeeze in. Other days, I’d rather throw the whole pile of hats in the corner and just paint in peace. But at the end of the day, every role ties back into what matters most: making art, supporting art, and leaving the art world a little brighter than I found it.

Even if I have chicken feathers on my jeans while I do it.

Y’all have a great day,

MERC

Art & Depression

saying goodbye before dropping him off for deployment

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how much harder it is for me to create when I’m sad. People sometimes talk about great art being born out of suffering, but that’s never been true for me. When I’m depressed, the hardest part is simply picking up the brush. Once I do, I can lose myself in painting for hours, sometimes sixteen straight. but getting started feels impossible. And yet I know that if I can just push through that wall, I’ll come out the other side feeling lighter. My creativity doesn’t come from depression; it comes from living, from loving, from noticing the world.

Right now, sadness feels especially heavy. My husband has just deployed, and even though we can text and I’ll get phone calls a few nights a week, the reality is that I won’t see him in person for nine months though last time it ended up being 11 months. On top of that, three of my kids are back with their other parent. Having them leave is always complicated. It’s painful in ways I don’t expect anyone outside of similar situations to really understand. But I do still have one of my daughters at home, and that helps more than I can put into words.

Physical pain has been a part of this story, too. When my trigeminal neuralgia was at its worst, I couldn’t function, let alone paint. Fibromyalgia doesn’t stop me in quite the same way, it mostly weighs on my legs, but it’s still something I have to push through at times. The truth is, both emotional and physical pain can shut down my creativity if I let them.

But here’s the thing, art doesn’t take away the pain. It doesn’t erase the loneliness of deployments or the ache of missing my kids. What it does give me is something to hold onto. A painting I can look at and say, I made that. It reminds me that even when I feel stuck or hurting, there is still a part of me that can create something beautiful. And that matters.

Keep in mind my sadness and depression is situational. If you or someone you love has depression seek the advice of a healthcare provider. Mine is form non ideal situations mostly being missing my family.

Lets hope for happier times to come,

MERC

A Peek Into My Sketchbook: Rodeo Studies from Abilene, Kansas

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a Friday night at the Wild Bill Hickok Rodeo in Abilene, Kansas. Rodeos have always been a part of my life, but these days I see them with both a spectator’s excitement and an artist’s eye. Instead of just snapping photos, I came home and filled a few sketchbook pages with quick studies. None of them are polished, but that’s kinda the point. My sketchbook is where the raw ideas land. These rough drawings help me figure out what I want to paint.

sketch of steer wrestling

Sketch of horse used for bareback bronc riding and young child on a sheep for the mutton busting event.

Flipping back through these pages, I can already tell which studies might turn into bigger pieces down the line, and which ones will just live quietly in the sketchbook. Both are valuable sometimes a page is just practice, and sometimes it’s the spark for a whole painting. Either way, sketching after events like the Abilene rodeo helps me stay connected to the Western life I paint. I know I’ve talked about it before but sketchbooks are not supposed to be pretty or perfect.

Do you keep a sketchbook or journal for your own work or hobbies? I’d love to hear how you use yours. And if you enjoyed this peek into mine let me know maybe I’ll share more. Also I fixed the comments… took me long enough to figure that on out.

MERC

“Longhorns”: My First Cattle Painting and Why I’m Selling It

I’ve painted a lot of things over the years from colorful skulls and wild animals to dusty desert landscapes and campfires surrounded by mountains and pine but I’d never painted cattle until the spring of 2020.

This watercolor piece, titled “Longhorns,” was my very first attempt at capturing the curious nature and beautiful coloring of cattle on paper. There’s something that brings me deep joy at their presence reminding me of home. I tried to capture that curious joy in this 11x15” painting.

But this isn’t just another artwork for me. I’m selling “Longhorns” for $300, to helping a dear friend cover the costs of cancer treatment. When someone you care about is hurting, you want to do something, anything, to ease the weight. For me, that something is painting. I know the amount is low to cover something as expensive as cancer treatment but this is to cover a migraine treatment specifically that her insurance won’t cover.

Whether you’re a fellow lover of the American West, a collector, or someone who simply wants to support a meaningful cause, this piece is a chance to own a bit of my story while helping someone else write a new chapter in theirs.

“Longhorns” is painted on archival watercolor paper and ships unframed, ready for you to mat and frame however you choose. It’ll be listed on my shop today, and will ship within five business days.

Thank you for reading and thank you for being here.

With gratitude,

MERC

get Longhorns here

When Your Face Is on Fire: Creating Art Through Trigeminal Neuralgia

Just out of surgery. My husband was on a 48 hour layover to be with me when traveling for work.

Imagine being stabbed in the face with a knife that’s on fire. Not once. Not twice. But over 40 times a day.

That’s how I describe trigeminal neuralgia, a rare nerve disorder that made it nearly impossible to function, let alone live a creative life.

Before the pain took over nine years ago, I was a tattoo artist. I loved the work. From the atmosphere of Calaveras, the connection with clients, making art on living skin to my coworkers making me laugh until I cried. I loved my job. Then one day, in the middle of a session, it happened. My face lit up with a pain I can only describe as violent. I couldn’t hide it. I had to excuse myself and eventually, I had to leave that career entirely.

At its worst, trigeminal neuralgia ruled everything. The smallest things like wind, speaking, eating, brushing my teeth, the vibration of walking across a room could all trigger an episode. I was trapped inside my own skull. Food became a battle. Movement, a gamble. Even my ability to create was gone; I couldn’t paint through the pain.

At first I thought it was dental pain and oh boy I had a lot of unnecessary dental work in that time finally resulting in the extraction of a totally health tooth. At that point the dentist told me it could not be my teeth that were all in great condition that I needed to see a neurologist about the possibility of trigeminal neuralgia. My insurance being what it was I had to go see my primary care provider first. That provider told me to suck on sour candies for a month and come back as she could not believe what me dentist told me… this only made things worse. At that point I booked with another provider and got my referral to neurology. The first neurologist I saw fed my different nerve medication over the next six months ALL of those medications I ended up being allergic to. She also sent me for MRIs but the imaging didn’t really show anything. At some point she moved and my insurance sent me to another neurologist. Bless this second neurologist instead of trying to feed me more medication that was not working or was trying to kill me he actually listened to me and sent me to talk to a neurosurgeon. In steps Dr. Amadio my hero. Dr. Amadio first sent me to get an MRI at an imaging facility that could produce better images than the hospital I had been going to. There they clearly saw my artery was knuckled into that nerve causing all the pain. My neurosurgeon was disappointed in my prior neurologist and primary for not sending me to the correct MRI facility but in the end he saved me. The first step back toward myself was a microvascular decompression surgery. It brought the pain down from over 40 episodes a day to “only” seven. That’s not what most people would call livable but when you’ve lived in a firestorm, even smoke feels like mercy.

My neurosurgeon wasn’t satisfied, and I wasn’t either. That’s when we turned to Gamma Knife radiation. The day of the procedure was brutal I was in pain, vomiting, my vision blurry until I couldn’t open my eyes. But within 24 hours, things began to calm. Over the next three months, the daily stabs faded into the past.

The cost? I don’t feel the left side of my face anymore. I have to be careful when I eat. If I look down, I tend to drool, not the most glamorous side effect, but one of the last lingering reminders of what I’ve survived. Also talking to my neurosurgeon I learned I probably would have suffered from trigeminal neuralgia around the time I hit 60 but the stress of losing primary custody of my kids through a nasty divorce caused the pain to hit 30 years sooner that it should have. That train wreck is a story for another time.

Once the episodes subsided, I slowly returned to painting. In the quiet of recovery, art became not just a way to pass time, but a way to stay sane. It was one of the only things that didn’t trigger the pain. I could sit still, hold a brush, and build something from color and water and memory. I painted the American West. the grit, the struggle, the stubborn beauty of it. It felt like painting myself back into the world. It was also a huge distraction from the depression of not getting to see my kids everyday but again that’s for another time.

Now, years later, I still live with the effects of that time. I’ve built a new artistic life rooted in the things that bring me joy and makeup who I am. My work reflects the landscape of recovery, the scarred but resilient, quiet but fierce. And while I wouldn’t wish trigeminal neuralgia on anyone, it taught me something about survival. About adaptation. About the beauty in what’s left after everything else is stripped away.

If you’re living with chronic pain or illness, especially as a creative, I want you to know you’re not alone. Even when it feels like the world has gone silent around you, your voice still matters. Your art still matters. And you can make something powerful out of the ashes.

The pain is still there but not as bad in the least. Now its a constant cold burn in my numb face and dealing with fibromyalgia in my lower back and legs exacerbated by years of driving 16 hour days to see my kids but I will take this any day over what I was trying to survive.

To the other artist with chronic illness or disability, I see you. Feel free to reach out and share your story. We were not made to go through this life alone.

MERC

After the surgery you can see the scar behind my left ear.

Morning Sketchbook: Blueberries, Coffee, and Family

The morning I painted this started the way I wish more days did. with a strong cup of coffee, a quiet moment, and my sketchbook open to a fresh page. While my youngest was off picking blueberries in my grandfather’s garden, I sat nearby, letting the stillness of the morning guide my pencils and brush.

The result is this loose little sketch, inspired by the shapes and shadows of the berry patch but filtered through something older. The colors and style echo the art of my great grandmother, who painted prolifically in the late ’70s and early ’80s. She’s from the other side of the family, but I like to think she would’ve appreciated the way both sides came together here: her spirit in the paint, and my grandfather’s legacy in the soil.

I didn’t set out to paint something profound just to capture a sliver of what the morning felt like. These are the moments that fuel my work lately where generations overlap and the past doesn’t feel so far away. A few scribbles, a mug of coffee, and a little boy in his great grandfather’s garden. That’s more than enough inspiration for one morning.

Do you ever sketch outside with your coffee? Drop a note or photo in the comments I’d love to see what your mornings look like,

MERC

Back Home, Sort of

Back home or at least back in my house in Kansas.

photos from the 2nd day of my trip

After a long haul across the western half of the country, I’ve landed, for now, back in Kansas. Though I live here, “home” is a word I’ve never quite settled into comfortably. Returning to my home state, even briefly, brought a sense of grounding I didn’t know I needed.

These photos were taken on the second day of our trip. Quiet moments captured between the stormfront and the sagebrush. I shot them with future paintings in mind, framing color palettes, textures, and lighting that tugged at something familiar. The red dirt, thistle blooms, wide sky that always feels like it could tip over are all things I would like to incorporate into my works.

The full journey spanned over 2,000 miles in just a few days. We rolled from the middle of Kansas to Oklahoma, looped back, then made a straight push through Colorado to Wyoming and Utah hitting Idaho before Oregon and finally reaching Washington. The drive was a blur of heat, gas station coffee, and changing scenery. It was exhausting but and deeply inspiring.

I’m hoping to eventually build out a system that lets me post more actively while I’m on the road. Right now, I don’t have the setup to do that so editing photos, uploading artwork, and writing posts all have to wait until I’m stationary again. Ideally, I’d invest in a travel ready editing setup (dreaming of a decent laptop here) so I can stay connected and keep creating no matter where I am. The road feeds my work, and the longer I can be on it, the more stories I can tell.

Until then, I’m doing what I can with where I am. More art is on the way with some of it born right out of the dusty shoulders and twilight skies you see in my photos.

Thanks for riding along,

MERC

From Sketch to Sale: How I Sold My First Piece on Reddit

Bull rider 2020 by Merc McDowell

Selling original art online can feel a lot trying to get a stuck calf’s head out of a hay ring (that really happened) there’s effort, frustration, and a whole lot of guessing which direction to go. Over the years, I’ve tried sharing my work across different platforms, from Instagram and TikTok to Reddit. And while some places offer more engagement than others I just wanted people to see and appreciate something I put so much time and love into. I had an Etsy and a Redbubble before as a way to make sales but in the end those were not the right fit for my style or clientele. However, every once in a while I would get a comment or DM with an offer on a piece.

The first piece I ever sold on Reddit wasn’t the biggest piece I’ve done, but it was one I loved. It was only a 9x12 inch watercolor but was the first bull rider I had ever painted. I fell in love with the movement of the painting. I can still feel how proud I was of the piece.

I shared it in a Western art themed subreddit. It was a smaller, niche group compared to the bigger art communities, but one that seemed like a better fit for my subject matter. There is nothing wrong with posting in larger art communities but I wanted a very targeted audience.

I tend to get a decent response with a few comments and a few messages per post. Nothing like the response I get from posting photos in a western lifestyle subreddit but it was still encouraging. Some folks said they loved my work. A couple asked if I sold prints or originals. But here’s what I quickly learned: most people lose interest the second they find out a sale has to happen through direct message. No checkout page ensuring I wasn’t a scam just me and them figuring it out in chat. For a lot of people, that’s understandably a dealbreaker.

But one person didn’t hesitate about this bull rider. They messaged me directly, told me how much they loved the piece, and asked if it was for sale. I gave them the price, we sorted shipping details, and the payment came through without a hitch. Just like that, the bull rider had a new home and I had my first Reddit sale.

I don’t post art on Reddit much anymore. In the broader art subs, I worry my work would get buried. In the Western lifestyle groups, I’ve had better engagement but I share photography there, not paintings though I should change that. That said, I don’t regret posting my art there. That one sale taught me something important: the right buyer can show up anywhere. But you have to make it easy for them to say yes.

If anything, the experience reminded me why having a website matters. People need a clear way to support artists especially when they’re serious about buying. A solid storefront takes the friction out of the sale and makes it feel less like bartering in the DMs and more like investing in something meaningful as art is an investment.

So no, I haven’t sold dozens of pieces through Reddit. But I did sell one that mattered. And sometimes, especially in the early days, that’s all it takes to remind you that your work belongs in the world.

If you see me on Reddit say howdy,

MERC

Gathering Grinds: How to find Local Shops to Display Your Art

My 31 Nash park in front of Ralph and Izzy’s

When I first moved to my current town, I didn’t know many people. I’d left behind my old studio, my tattoo equipment, and the art community I had slowly built elsewhere. I found myself drinking a lot of coffee because, well, I always drink a lot of coffee and that led me to a little place called Ralph & Izzy’s Coffee Shop.

I got to talking with Ralph, one of the owners, and casually mentioned that I was a painter. He asked to see my work, so I pulled out my phone and showed him some photos of my paintings. Right then and there, he asked if I’d be interested in hanging some of it in the shop. I said yes, and that simple conversation led to months (now years) of rotating artwork on their walls.

Today the shop is under new ownership and goes by the name Gathering Grinds. When the change happened Jen, the new owner, asked me to keep displaying work and I was more than happy to oblige. We all want our local areas to flourish and to support small business and this arrangement supports small business and lets small business support local artist.

Why Local Spaces Matter for Artists

Not every artist gets gallery representation or an online shop with traffic overnight. But every artist can start local.

Coffee shops, bars, breweries, boutiques, plant shops, yoga studios, and even some restaurants are always looking for ways to liven up their walls and what better way than with local art? These are places where people linger. They sip drinks, wait in lines, talk with friends. It gives your work time to be noticed. And better yet, it tells your town that artists live here.

And yes, I’ve made sales from the coffee shop. Not every month, and not always large pieces, but often enough to know it’s worth doing.

How to Find Places That Display Local Art

Start by exploring your own town. Go into places you already love and look at their walls. Do they already have artwork hanging up? Is it prints or originals? Are they framed? Is there pricing, or is it just decorative?

If you see any signs of rotating artwork, you’ve already got a lead.

If not, ask. It can be as simple as, “Hey, would you ever be interested in featuring local art here?”

You’re not selling them something, they don’t have to buy the art, you’re offering to make their walls more interesting and give their customers something to talk about.

Keep an Album on Your Phone

Most of the time, people won’t go home and look you up. You have a very short window to make an impression. That’s why I recommend keeping an album of your best work on your phone, clean, clear photos of your paintings, drawings, or prints, with no clutter in the background. Think of it as a pocket sized portfolio.

If someone seems interested—show them. Don’t overthink it.

Practice Talking About Your Work

I get it: I’m not a natural extrovert. But you don’t have to be a public speaker to talk about your art. You just need a short way to describe what you do. Think of it like an “elevator call” not quite a pitch, but a way to answer when someone asks, “What kind of art do you make?”

Here’s mine:

“I paint cowboy art and Western life. Lots of cowboys, cattle, rodeo, skulls and cactus. Mostly watercolor and some pop art with ink. It’s a mix of fine art and storytelling.”

That’s it. No need to oversell or sound fancy. Be real, be proud, and be ready.

Don’t Wait to Be Discovered

Local spaces may not be galleries, but they’re a great way to build visibility and momentum. You never know who’s going to walk into that coffee shop and fall in love with your work.

You don’t need a massive following, just the confidence to say, “I’m an artist,” and the willingness to share what you do with the people around you.

That’s how it started for me at a coffee counter, in a small town, over a strong cup of black coffee.

Best of luck,

Merc

Start, Stripes and Small Town Rodeos

Watercolor painting of bull rider from Herington Free Fair and Rodeo July 7, 2023

Happy early 4th of July y’all!

Beyond the fireworks and barbecue, one of my favorite parts of Independence Day is that it lands right in the heart of rodeo season. Across the country, small towns break out the red, white, blue and the rough stock. There’s just something special about rodeos that happen this time of year: the dusty grandstands packed with families, the smell of funnel cake, leather and horses, the cheers for the little cowboy who got thrown from a sheep mutton bustin’ picking himself up off the dirt and dusting off those pint sized blue jeans.

Here in Herington, Kansas, our free fair and rodeo usually happens right around the Fourth. This year, it’ll be rolling through town July 10–12. I’m sad to miss it since I’ll be on the road but plan on hitting a rodeo in my home state and then a couple local events back in Kansas in August and September.

Even when I can’t make it in person, I always make a point to support local rodeos whenever I can. They’re more than entertainment they’re community. They’re also an incredible opportunity for artists like myself to soak up inspiration.

Unlike big indoor arena events like the PBR, many small-town rodeos will let you bring your camera in. That means you can capture your own reference shots: barrel racers mid-turn, broncs tossing riders skyward, team ropers throwing lassos, bull riders looking for glory. I’ve taken some of my favorite reference photos and gotten the best ideas for future paintings at outdoor rodeos lit by the summers setting sun.

If you’re lucky enough to be near one this week, go. Cheer loud. Clap for the pickup men. Sing along with the clown. And if you’re an artist, take your sketchbook or your camera and see what speaks to you. The soul of the West lives in these little arenas, and there’s no better place to witness it than from the bleachers of a hometown rodeo.

Wherever you’re spending your Fourth of July I hope it’s full of joy and a little bit of dust in your boots.

Sincerely withing you no ER visits this year,

MERC

Studio to Saddlebag: What I Bring on a Road Trip

mix of art supplies for my latest adventure

There’s nothing quite like a backroad at golden hour, dust kicking up behind the truck, and the horizon stretching wide open. Road trips aren’t just escapes for me they’re part of my art practice. The West isn’t something I paint from memory alone. I have to go out and experience it. Whether I’m chasing the light in Monument Valley for a watercolor, photographing curious cattle., or just pulling over to sketch a gnarled mesquite tree, I like to travel light but never unprepared. Keep in mind length of the trip and space available makes the biggest impact on what you can and can’t bring in your saddlebag (or backpack, or glovebox). If all you have room for is a small sketchbook and a mechanical pencil that is ok.

For this entry I’ll be going over what I’m bringing on this ten day trip from Kansas to Washington. Space is very limited we did decide to bring the camper but I will have my husband, kids and dogs all with me.

Art Supplies

I always bring the largest sketchbook I have room for and handful of trusty pencils. A portable watercolor kit is super nice when you’re sitting around a campfire but this trip we’re going with watercolor pencils and a separate small watercolor pad. Even without a watercolor kit I still bring an assortment of brushes to use to paint with coffee some mornings.

• Sketchbook

• Sketching Pencil (4H-6B and woodless)

• Tortillons (blending stumps)

• Erasers (vinyl and kneaded)

• Pencil sharpener

• Charcoal Pencils (including white)

• Micron Pen Set (005-08)

• Watercolor Paper Pad

• Watercolor Pencil Set

• Small selection on paintbrushes (Liner, round, angle, flat and filbert)

Photography Gear

Most of the reference I use in my paintings comes from my own photography. I’ll pack my old and trusty DSLR and my most versatile lens. Since we are taking the camper I’ll actually bring multiple lenses but note if this was just what I could fit in a saddlebag I would only have one lens and make it work.

I always shoot with light, perspective and storytelling in mind: low angles of longhorns, close-ups of boot-worn stirrups, dramatic shadows cast across the landscapes all bring the image to life. If it doesn’t make an interesting and dynamic photo it’s not going to translate to a piece I want to spend days or weeks developing.

• Camera Bag (I use a padded backpack)

• Camera (I use a Canon 6D)

• Battery Charger

• Extra Battery

• Extra SD Card

• 24-105mm Lens (if I have room I will bring a 300mm as well and a fixed 50mm)

Practical Tools

My road kit includes:

• A solid pair of cowboy boots

• A pair of comfy driving shoes

• My favorite hat

• Sunglasses

• A thermos of black coffee

• A gallon of water

• Sunscreen and tallow moisturizer

• A physical map in case there is no service

There’s also a headlamp, a pocketknife, and a pair of worn gloves tucked into my door panel. I’ve learned not to underestimate roadside surprises.

Sentimental Must Haves

Not a necessity on this trip but in past trips a recent polaroid of my family is something that rides with me if they are not along for the journey.

When the Camper Comes Along

If I’m towing the camper like this trip, I pack differently. There’s all the storage I could ask for. But even when it’s just the truck, I make it work. Art doesn’t need much space just purpose, some creativity and a patch of light. This time the camper is going to be full up with the kids and dogs necessities but I can bring more lenses for my camera and my own coffee and coffee press.

Closing Thoughts

It’s not the gear that makes the artist. Pack what you need and what you can, but don’t let the lack of supplies stop you. If all you have is a hand sized sketch book and a single pencil wrapped in your bedroll, that’s enough. Use what you have, make it count.

What do you bring on your own creative road trips? Drop it in the comments. I’m always curious what rides shotgun with other wanderers.

Keep your boots dusty and your coffee strong,

MERC

6 Things that Inspire Me

As a full time artist it’s easy to start to feel uninspired when you feel like you have to create instead of doing it solely for the passion and joy. The short answer to fixing this is to stop, go out and do the things that bring you inspiration. It’s significantly more helpful to already have a list of the things that bring you inspiration than to try to come up with them in the moment so I challenge you to make your own list. It’s rarely going to be found scrolling online but maybe some of my list will bring you inspiration as well. My inspiration comes from visiting real places, meeting real people, and getting my own hands dirty in that red dirt and dust .

Here are six things that keep my creative fire burning:

1. Early Morning Photography

Before the sun fully rises, there’s this soft golden light that drapes across a land like a worn blanket. That’s the hour I’m often out with my camera, catching the cattle as the morning fog burns off. These photos become my references, not just for anatomy, for the mood. The way light bends around a horn or silhouettes the animal is more important to me than the paintbrush I choose.

Two bulls knocking horns

2. The Smell of Leather and Old Wood

I know it sounds strange, but scent is tied directly to memory — and memory feeds everything I paint. The smell of saddle leather, barn dust, sun-warmed rope, even old pickup dashboards. That’s the Western life. Those smells are a kind of mental sketchbook. When I walk into a tack room or an antique barn, ideas come rushing in. Yeah, sometimes it’s for leather work and not paintings but still counts.

3. Stories My Grandpa Told Me

I love listening to Grandpas stories. He’s not one of those old men who sit on a porch all day talking. He’s as hardworking as ever and does not repeat himself. If you’re smart enough to listen when he speaks you will learn a thing or two. His stories are short and to the point but still paint the best pictures. My favorites are of him and his horse Nugget and their adventures and riding around the Nevada desert. Some are as short as, “Yep, we were seven miles from home and something spooked him, he threw me and took off for home. I had to walk the seven miles back. I didn’t get in trouble for being late.” Some are a bit longer and like how he met my Grandma but that’s for another time.

Steve Doran and the infamous Nugget sometime in the 1940’s

4. Vintage Country & Dark Folk Music

Sometimes, inspiration comes through the record player. I work to Marty Robbins, Waylon Jennings, and Loretta Lynn in the background mixed with modern voices like Corb Lund or Colter Wall. There’s something in outlaw country and alternative folk that feels like it takes you to another place. I can’t listen to The Brothers Comatose without getting goosebumps and watching a movie in my head as all of it becomes inspiration for paintings. The one that inspires me the most is my husband writing new music or refining the stories he tells through his country americana style. Getting to listen to a small idea blossom into an entire world is amazing. Music sets the tone for my brushwork and creativity breeds creativity.

5. Old Western Comics & Dime Store Cowboy Novels

The Pulpy over the top drama of old Western comics and Cowboy short stories is a gold mine of inspiration. I love the art in the comics from the 40’s and 50’s and although it has defiantly inspired some of my pieces it’s the stories they tell that are the best inspiration. I like stories where the good guy wins or have a well crafted redemption arch. I love finding tattered copies of forgotten dime store novels and gently flipping through during quite times.

Forewarning if you are going to read vintage works remember what was acceptable in the world the years they were published.

Merc in her camper reading Dime Western Magazine

6. Exploring Forgotten Towns

There’s something magnetic about a small town with old architecture and if you're lucky working vintage sighs. I will prefer taking backroads instead of the freeway any day. As my Grandpa once said, “You can drive across this whole country and never see any of it.” Old neon signs, ghosted lettering on brick, half-collapsed barns and that feeling you get in limital spaces that once held so much life. These places carry a mood that I can bring back to the paper. So sit down and sketch a while.

The Takeaway?

If you feel uninspired get out and do something you enjoy.

Got something unexpected that inspires you? I’d love to hear it.

Follow me on Instagram for behind the scenes sketches and the songs that shape each piece.

Make time for youself,

MERC

Why I Paint the American West

My grandpa on Nugget and great grandpa, name of horse unknown, in the 1940’s

I was on horseback before I could walk.

My grandfather put me there. He’s the real cowboy in the family. A Navy submariner, a carpenter who built his own homes and barns, and a horseman through and through. Whether it was on Decatur Island when I was little watching him shine his boots, or on his small ranch later seeing my favorite mares hour old baby, being around him was where the West took root in me.

He is a man who worked with his hands and loves his horses. His father before him was a cowboy too. That legacy doesn’t live in a museum for me but in memory, in the smell of hay, in the creak of saddle leather, in the cattle running towed me from the other end of the pasture because they think I have cubes.

I grew up around Herefords in the Pacific Northwest. Not exactly the postcard version of the West, but no less authentic. That’s part of why I paint it: because it’s not always what you think it is. Cowboys don’t only live in deserts. They live in Montana and Kansas and in the wet green valleys of western Washington.

My work leans Southwestern, sure. Partly because I’ve spent most my adult life in Texas. I’m drawn to prickly pear, Texas prickly poppies, and the dry golden tones of wide open country. But I paint the American West because it makes me happy. It’s not always solemn. Sometimes it’s funny like an armadillo wearing a cowboy hat or one stuck in a boot. I like the unloved things such as opossums, rough coats, things that make people wrinkle their noses. I see beauty in them.

My favorite flower is tough enough to bloom in heat and thorns. That feels honest to me. So does coffee and blackberries. I may be a little Texas but western Washington will always be part of who I am. Kansas can suck it… I’m kidding. Kansas is beautiful and if you don’t believe me go for a day hike in Kanopolis state park.

My first cowboy hat was an ugly painted purple and white Resistol with a feather in it. I was maybe three but I loved it. My first boots were rubber boots to trudge through wet pastures as a kid but my first cowboy boots were pink, worn for my mom’s wedding around age eight. The rodeo was the first sport I ever cared about. I loved watching the bull riding. Now as an adult I cuddle my best friends Holstein named Daisy. Help her brother with his Hungarian gray steppe cattle. Well my husband helps more I always think I’ll be more help than I am but taking photos of each animal is really my job when working cattle. I also assign myself as calf cuddler. Y’all calf cuddler is an important job.

Someday I want my own herd. Not just for the art references out my back door but because it’s part of who I am. The dust, the animals, the way the sun hits worn wood and old leather. Painting the West is how I stay close to my roots. It’s how I carry on a story that started long before I picked up a brush.

And at the end of the day, that’s really it.

I paint the American West because it brings me joy.

Keep riding, keep painting

MERC

Boots, Brushes and the Open Road

cowhide and satin self portrait

There’s a certain kind of quiet that lives out here between the lowing of cattle and the wind through dry grass. That’s where my art starts. Not in the studio, not with a sketch, but out in the world. Boots on the ground, camera in hand, soaking in the places most people don’t get the pleasure of experiencing.

I paint the American West not because it’s fashionable or nostalgic, but because it feels true. There is beauty in it. There is shadow. There is strength. It’s in the posture of the tired ranch hand, the curve of the steer’s horn and the dust that sticks to everything.

I used to be a tattoo artist until chronic nerve pain ended that chapter. But my time there reinvigorated my love and drive to make art. Now I paint full time, working mostly in watercolor, though I stray into oil, acrylic and ink when the piece call for it.

Right now I’m living in a small Kansas town with a basement studio. However, we are fixing up a vintage 1953 Spartan camper to be part mobile studio part home for when my children eventually fly form the nest. The absolute dream of vintage small space living with my husband and dogs on our own ranch with the ability to hit the road. The best of both worlds with the choice to travel and let the changing sky and shifting terrain shape what I paint next as well as a place to call home that my children can always come back to.

This journal, Boots to Brushes, is where I’ll be sharing behind the scenes glimpses, studio days, stories form the road and what it really looks like the build a life around art. If you’ve ever felt pulled toward wide open spaces or wanted to see how a painting comes to life from sketch to finished piece, you’re in the right place.

Keep chasing those dreams,

MERC