Kissed by Fae: An Artist’s Heart Finds the Muse of Life | Nuala Reilly
“I want my life to be the art itself.”
It’s what I say when someone asks me to talk about being an artist. I’ve always had what my mother called “flights of fancy” and what my Irish father called “being kissed by the faery folk” in that I don’t see the world the way others seem to. I see the pantomime, the production, longing for the pageantry of a Broadway musical to just break out in real life, in real time, complete with tear-away costumes, a fully choreographed cast, and a full orchestra all at the drop of a hat. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? I know, but I was truly disappointed as I grew older to realize that this doesn’t happen.
My first foray into the art world was actually through the medium of writing. Starting young, I devoured books, and I would imagine myself as the protagonist (or the antagonist), and as a result, imagination stirred, words poured out of me and onto the page in the form of poetry and short stories. In my twenties, living in Cambridge, Ontario, I started writing for the local newspaper, which is when I ventured into novel writing. When we moved to New Brunswick, I thought the stories in me had run a little stale, so I turned my attention to painting.
Everything about this province captivates me: the people, the smells in the air, the proximity to the ocean, and the natural landscapes. As an Algonquin Park lover back in Ontario, I have often described our entire province as the Algonquin Park of Canada—still so wild and so breathtakingly beautiful. The stories still need to come out from my head and heart through my fingers, only now it’s done with a paintbrush instead of a keyboard or a pen.
I’m particularly enamoured by the rocks and feature them often in my work. Displayed in a place of pride in my dining room is a large oil painting I did of the inside of a cave in St. Martins. The Hopewell Rocks, Lepreau Falls, and the Irving Nature Park are among some of the scenes I’ve painted, and they’ve inspired me on more than one occasion. When my middle daughter moved out, my youngest daughter took over her larger bedroom, so I acquired the newly abandoned one to create myself a studio at home.
The lavender walls are covered in my early artwork and a vision board. I have three desks, or workstations, in that room: one for sewing, one for writing, and one for painting. What has resulted is a cozy and welcoming place that is truly mine, one where you can find me amidst my organized chaos, usually barefooted, singing along with whatever music I have on as I work.
I like to paint from photographs captured either by friends or myself, and I work on everything from small 9x9” boards to large canvases like the 48 by 56” currently hanging in my kitchen—there’s no rhyme or reason other than what I have on hand and what inspires me. The freedom to literally create anything I want in that room makes it one of my favourite places in the house.
New Brunswick, as a subject, is fascinating to me. To live in New Brunswick is to be a little in love with it, and I can certainly understand why artists often paint the same landmarks. It’s the same way a photographer becomes enamoured by a muse; in this case, the entire province is my muse. In my seven and a half years here, I have only scratched the surface of discovering all she has to offer. Perhaps it will continue to be painting, or maybe it will be writing again, but whatever it is, this young-at-heart faery girl is eternally grateful for the blessing that brought her here.
