INGRID FINNAN

2019 ASBA Diane Bouchier Artist Award for Excellence in Botanical Art 

by Scott O. Stapleton

When it comes down to it, there are really only two criteria for winning the Diane Bouchier award. The work must be outstandng, and the artist must have “a history of achievements through exhibitions, awards and publications of work.” It is a winning combination, to be sure. But it is striking, even so, that the outstanding criterion must speak for itself while the history part gets spelled out. The artist’s body of work must exemplify pleasing compositions, scientific accuracy, artistic merit, actual portraiture as opposed to a decorative representation, and accurate interpretation of color, all of which do define a botanical artwork. By themselves, however, and even with the addition of a great track record, they do not guarantee the ultimate prize will be yours. The work must be outstanding. But what that is, is left unsaid.

The reluctance to define it defines our age. It is the postmodern temperament, not to mention its bane. There are simply no agreed-upon criteria with which to make universal judgments. In botanical Lake Wobegon, however, this is all irrelevant, for everyone is above average. It’s not true, of course, but we act as if it were. We believe in the power of education to make it happen. With sufficient training, hard work, and persistence, you too can win a Diane Bouchier award.

ASBA’s most recent recipient, Ingrid Finnan, is firmly in this camp. She believes in the necessities, the necessity of a grounding in the basics, of wide exposure to art of all kinds, of an extended apprenticeship with knowledgeable teachers, and of the necessity of necessity itself, the sense of urgency that makes you go to your room and paint.

She was born in Leczyca, Poland, in 1944, in the turmoil attending the last days of World War II. When she was two years old, her family fled to Germany. For the next six years, they moved from requisitioned rooms to requisitioned rooms. Ingrid remembers her mother saving letter envelopes and ironing them so she and her sister would have paper to draw on. To this day, a crumpled up, wasted sheet of paper makes her cringe.

When she was eight years old, the family immigrated to the US aboard the USNS General M. L. Hersey, a decommissioned transport ship. For five years, they lived in rural Pennsylvania, and then, in 1958, moved to Milwaukee for better work opportunities and to join relatives. Ingrid, now in the ninth school she had attended, finally found a home. An enthusiastic high school art teacher recognized her talent and encouraged her and others to continue their work after hours in the school’s art room. 

She graduated in 1962 and entered what became Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin, on a scholarship. Thinking art education was her future, she immersed herself in its requirements—the basics, plus silversmithing, pen and ink drawing, figure drawing, calligraphy, and silkscreen, to name a few. However, by the time she graduated with a BS in art education in 1966, her practice-teaching experience convinced her she was not cut out for the work. What to do? 

A year abroad on a grant to study French and art in Paris helped. She made daily visits to a studio to sketch live models. These were followed by French classes and visits to museums and gardens—an invigorating time. Her artistic abilities improved even as her artistic interests broadened. 

She moved to New York City in 1968, married, and then began working at the Museum of the City of New York as exhibitions director. But the marriage did not last and the job became too demanding, and once again, the question What to do? was urgent. A friend recommended she meet with a counselor at the Fashion Institute of Technology for advice. They recommended textile design as the one field that, although commercial, was closest to the fine arts. The idea hadn’t occurred to her, but she was intrigued, and she began taking night classes at the Institute in layout and gouache, the standard medium for painting a textile design in those pre-CAD (Computer-Aided Design) days. After a few years working in a design studio on commission, and now, after a divorce, with a daughter to support, she was hired as a full-time designer for the firm P. Kaufmann Fabrics in midtown Manhattan. It was a productive period lasting over 18 years. One of her designs, “Queensland,” a “big, splashy floral,” was a bestseller and industry leader. However, no longer content to be tied down, she struck out on her own to design for others on a commission sales basis. Now she had time to paint actual paintings.

In 2005, a designer friend who just happened to be an accomplished botanical artist, Jeannetta vanRaalte, invited Ingrid to join her and another friend to view ASBA’s Eighth Annual International botanical art exhibition at the Horticultural Society of New York. The experience was transform-ative. Ingrid was aware of botanical art, having consulted publications of Shirley Sherwood’s collections. But she had not known it was actively pursued in the US. Her own paintings, oil on wood panels, had other aims. The exhibition took her by surprise. “I can do this!” she said. And straightaway she went to her room to paint. 

Her first submission was a painting of a cauliflower head she purchased at the Union Square Greenmarket in New York City. It went to ASBA’s ninth juried show in 2006 where it was accepted. Ditto, another painting at Filoli’s Eighth Annual Botanical Art Exhibition in Woodside, California, the same year. She’s been in every ASBA show since; Filoli, too. Plus all the Triennials. And the Worldwide exhibition. Three paintings in the Shirley Sherwood Collection. And yet more in numerous smaller galleries and museums, as well.

Her history testifies to the advantages thorough training, hard work, persistence, and discipline can bring. Still, there are questions. Why oil, for example?

She is remarkably candid about this matter. The English botanical artist Raymond Booth paved the way. But she’s quick to add, “I’m just not a careful painter. I try to be. I go through different stages, and it might have been different had I begun earlier. But with painting in oils, I can scrape off a leaf if I have to, or change the direction of a petal to suit my composition. Four layers of gesso on each side of the paper make that possible. I can overpaint, too, just as with gouache. I don’t have to be that careful.” Oils may have greater luminosity, “but a good watercolorist can make that happen.” Indeed, Ingrid has no end of admiration for the many excellent watercolor artists in ASBA.

But she’ll stick with her oils even so, thank you. They are who she is. 

Then what inspires her? What drives her to make all those wonderful paintings?

Here is yet more breathtaking candor. Ingrid aspires to a pleasing composition in her work, period. Yes, she enjoys a challenge. And she has no trouble finding them. But not for her the burden of creating a masterpiece. The point is to keep the viewer engaged, to keep the eyes from wandering about, making them rest instead on the ever-pleasing dynamics occurring within the composition. The point is to give pleasure. A comparison between one of her pre-botanical oil on wood panel paintings that she made for herself in 2004, her Dutch Masters painting, and her 2011 panicled hydrangea is instructive. The former invites inquiry. You’re drawn to the imagery, but you’re also led away from it. Who are these men represented by such ornate calligraphy? And what is the reason for the darkness enclosing the ripe fruit? Her hydrangea, on the other hand, you want to explore for its own sake. It reaches out, and then pulls you back into its captivating architecture. You’re trapped, quite willingly.

It could be said that a botanical artist by nature is seductive. 

In the late 18th century in England, an argument played out between Sir Joshua Reynolds, the keeper of the Academy, and William Blake, the prophet of the imagination, that’s relevant to The Way to Outstanding. The two men never met, but on paper, they were complete opposites. Reynolds believed genius—that which makes a work outstanding—could be taught. Blake insisted its origin was divine. Reynolds said that with sufficient training, exposure to the tradition, hard work and discipline, you could attain that state wherein exceptional creativity was inevitable. Blake did not despise training, etc., but he would not yield on the imagination. It could not be taught; it was a gift.

Ingrid Finnan does believe in Reynolds’s program for aspiring artists, in principle if not in fact. And yet her work clearly is inspired, remarkably so. How does she do it?

You will not get an answer from her, only the pleasure of her work.