By Hillary Asbury

I love libraries and bookstores.

I love the smell of books, the texture of their paper, and the elegance with which each book stands in its place. I love the organized chaos of full bookshelves. There is something humbling, and yet exhilarating, about being surrounded by so many books, so much knowledge and art. I step into a library and immediately think about how many words are housed under that one roof. I walk into a bookstore and am struck by the millions of stories just waiting to be discovered. There is so much out there, so much information that even if I were to dedicate the rest of my life to reading, I would never be able to read it all, not even a fraction.

By Hillary Asbury

I had a friend in college who was an abstract artist.

She was a phenomenal figurative painter and could handle realism with great sensitivity and finesse, but her pursuit of her abstract work was passionate and tenacious. She took it quite seriously. There were days when her creativity flowed easily, and days when she struggled to paint at all. In critiques, however, some of our classmates often questioned the validity of her work. They would say it was too easy, that you cannot pour a couple of cups of paint over a canvas and call it a painting. What they were really asking, though, was “is this good art, is it even art at all?”, and this would eventually lead us to the same question that artists and critics have been asking for ages.

By Hillary Asbury

Domenikos Theotokopulos, born in the 16th century and commonly known as El Greco, is a European artist with one of the most distinctive styles of his time. Originally from Crete, he studied in Venice, worked in Italy for some time, and went on to heavily influence not only the Spanish Renaissance and generations of artists thereafter (Picasso and Cezanne among them), but his work was a major factor in the development of the Expressionist and Mannerist movements.

By Hillary Asbury

I’ve always been pretty sensitive to violence. There are plenty of films and TV shows that I simply cannot get through without covering my eyes, and sometimes my ears. In fact, just the other night, I was watching a show, opened my eyes a little too soon during a particularly graphic scene, and almost wretched. I’m an artist; I’m very visual, and sometimes I think I can’t watch something like that without experiencing it in my mind. I see it happen (or read it), and I automatically go to that place with the character. I know it’s not real, but I react to it as if it is. I wish I were better at handling it, but I find violence, even if very fake, upsetting.

By Hillary Asbury

Lately I have been reflecting on the unique challenges one faces when maintaining a creative career.

It’s a little odd, building a business by manufacturing products based on one’s private thoughts and feelings. My thoughts are inspired by many things—by experiences and certainly by Scripture. Those thoughts coalesce into a vision, and that vision eventually becomes a piece of artwork, which I will likely sell. Sometimes it feels as though I am selling my heart, my mind, my soul. It’s why, as a young artist, I found it difficult to let go of my work or sell it. It’s why many artists struggle to price their paintings.

By Hillary Asbury

My favorite thing about studying in Italy was getting the chance to travel and see religious art and architecture around the country.

The history was so rich, and I absolutely relished being surrounded by it. Everywhere I traveled there was a main cathedral, usually at the city center, always referred to as the “Duomo,” not for the often domed architecture but for the Latin word for “house.” As the city’s main dwelling place of God, it was often built imposingly large, made to be visible (and the campanile, or bell tower, heard) from any point in the city. It was a beacon, the center of daily life.

By Hillary Asbury

I have yet to encounter a single church body that does not utilize a logo or image of some kind to represent them. It may be a simple cross or dove, perhaps just a square of color overlaid with the church’s name. But there it is, a symbol of the church’s identity; it communicates their heart and mission, who they are as a congregation, how they want to be seen by the world. It’s a big task for a small piece of art, but its value is unmistakable.

By Hillary Asbury

The triumphant cross has long been one of my favorite representations of the cross.

There is something so elegant about what is says about our Savior. The cross sits atop an orb which represents the Earth—that’s all it is. It is so simple, but it says so much. It represents Christ as Savior. Christ as King over all. Christ victorious. Christ arisen. It tells of a God, a Creator, whose creation has rebelled over and over again, bringing death upon themselves and the world they were given. It speaks of a Creator who purchases and creates new life for a sinful planet.

By Hillary Asbury

At the end of next month, I will be exhibiting at my church’s district convention in Irvine, CA.

This means that for the next few weeks I will be gearing up: getting my booth materials ready and organized, counting inventory, sending files out for print, and matting prints. I don’t enjoy this part particularly, but traveling with my work is always a little nerve-racking, and I insist on everything being done the right way before I go. As much as I get anxious about everything being just so, I love going to these conferences.

By Hillary Asbury

Michelangelo Buonnarotti’s “Holy Family” is also referred to as the “Doni Tondo” in reference to its round shape (“tondo”) and the family that commissioned it (the Doni family).

It is perhaps one of my very favorite oil paintings in history. It resides at the Uffizzi in Florence, Italy, and the first time I saw it in person, I was enchanted, though I couldn’t say why at the time. I remember being pulled in by the rich colors and smooth brush strokes first, and then being carried away by the sweeping composition.

By Hillary Asbury

The visual arts are an important part of the life of the Church, even if it is sometimes difficult to see it.

 In some churches, the use of art is bold and seamlessly intertwined with worship and liturgy. Paintings, mosaics, carved marble, and stained-glass windows adorn ancient and modern sanctuaries alike. In some of these churches the artwork takes over the entire building, manifesting in an overwhelming display of God’s word, reminding us that there is something bigger than us, something outside of ourselves that bursts into our lives and claims us. Many times, the imagery sprawled across the architecture of these churches endeavors to tell the entire epoch of law and gospel, of sin and salvation, from the fall of Adam to the resurrection of Christ.

By Hillary Asbury

Every month I will be featuring an “Illustration of the Month,” a digital image that can be downloaded at www.hillaryasbury.com, for free, for use in church or home. My hope is that this simple offering will aid in the edification of our families and communities.

This month’s image (available for the month of May only) is an illustration inspired by Ezekiel 37: 1-14, The Valley of Dry Bones:

By Hillary Asbury

Whoever said “Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life” was full of baloney.

I love what I do, and I still do all kinds of things that feel like work! I love painting, and I love serving people and churches with my art. But I work all the time. I maintain websites, professional profiles, and subscriptions. I’m self-employed, so I maintain the business side of everything I do. I draw up and negotiate contracts. I make drives out miles away for conferences and meetings about commissions. I edit my work digitally and send files out for print. I network, exchange business cards, and shake hands.

By Hillary Asbury

The catacombs of Rome are a vast, labyrinthine network of passageways. They are cavernous: dark, cold, bleak, and eerie. Death lingers there. In the stillness and quiet of the depths, you can feel it. Long after the tombs fell into disuse, forgotten for centuries, they still whisper of finality… as though you can hear the last breaths of those ancient bones echo in the distance.