The Lost Mythology of the Moth

The trails we follow as artists: Last summer, I saw a beautiful moth land on our back deck. It was a brilliant burnt orange color (one of my favorite colors) and very fuzzy. Not a large moth, but so eye catching. On doing some research, I learned it was an orange-tipped oak worm moth. They eat oak leaves but are not considered harmful to the tree.

About a month later, I saw another one resting in the driveway. I started to feel like it was following me. I had learned that it wasn't a particularly unusual moth to find, yet it was completely new to me.

Looking back, I can count the times in my life when I’ve encountered a luna moth. Have you ever seen one in person? As big as your hand, and seemingly descended directly from the moon. Last summer, I found one with its soft body mostly gone, probably made prey. Yet, its winged evidence was there for me to find. “I was here,” it said to me, just as I was there subsequently, in a more positive experience that didn’t result in my sacrifice to a predator.

After seeing the moths, my mind turned an idea, like worrying a smooth stone in hand, that the moth was a harbinger for me. I’ve always held onto objects from nature as sort of talismans to make me feel connected to the earth and grounded.

There is also subtext in the name of this blog post, The Lost Mythology of the Moth. I’m no scientist, but my love of nature and ecology is deeply ingrained. Like all insect populations, moth populations are in decline. I’ve read that some scientists are carefully studying moth decline, because there is so much historical data available on moth populations. Butterflies may have more data, but in comparison, moths have a greater diversification and thus, the data may arguably be more valuable. The moth and its future may be a harbinger for all of the earth’s population, including us humans.

Moths have taken on significance in history in a number of cultures. They are sometimes believed to be a messenger of death (have you heard of the fable of the Mothman?). But there are many positive associations as well: The often nocturnal nature of a moth has a special appeal for me. Butterfies are beautiful for sure, but a moth seems particularly of the night. They both undergo an incredible transformation. Yet a moth is darker, more mysterious and enchanted than the butterfly, and inextricably linked to the moon. It’s moodier. In essence, it is more me. I never felt quite like a butterfly, but I do sometimes feel like a moth.

Several years ago, I started my own transformation by returning to an art practice. It’s changed my life, one paint stroke at a time, but it’s not about me bursting with exuberance all of the time. It’s fit and starts, it’s sometimes feeling ragged, like a predator is right around the corner, coming for me while my wings are wet, and I’m shuddering on a leaf. So, I often feel more comfort hidden in the night, keeping my metamorphosis to myself. My little secret. Yet, sometimes I can fully open my wings, allowing a brief glimpse of what the complete transformation might hold.

I’m an abstract painter (by choice and by love of creating a feeling and a sensation, instead of a faithful representation), but there is something to the idea of personal symbolism that has attracted me, and the process of determining how to express express personal symbolism in my work is an evolving one.

So, I started to paint the moths as an exploration of this idea, to create my own talisman to keep near me. This would remind me of the connection and feeling I’ve written about above. Most of the moth art I’ve previously experienced was graphic or twee. Perfectly valid, but not me, and I only make art to which I am personally drawn. I began making this project a deep dive into materials, as well, exploring the magic of color and texture (considering, the composition of these pieces is simple, and somewhat predetermined.

I love luminosity, light, color, depth, texture, and particularly contrasting texture. I had the idea that the moths I created would be best experienced as if one were looking at them through a looking glass. So each of the tiny moth pieces, are finished in many layers of mediums that result in a thick, glasslike sheen and transmit a beautiful depth. This allowed me a a really deep dive into materials as I experimented with just how far I could go with these effects. Here are a few of the finished moths:

I used a combination of soft gel and leveling gel to accomplish most of these effects, as well as layers of paint in different thicknesses, and mixed media in some: tissue paper, glitter, crackle medium. One painting (so far) is a larger piece, featuring many unique moths in a gridlike pattern. I was inspired to do it following a trip to Italy where I was completely absorbed by the ochre and Sienna colors and the ancient ruins, with peeling layers. That piece has a different surface because of the personal expression I was reflecting from my travels. I imagined ancients might be painting symbolic moths in a tribute to a feminine goddess.

I began the moths many months ago, but was adamant that this project would not become a production of sameness. I wanted each piece to be completely unique. Therefore, I took time to let each one unfold on its own. This resulted in work over many months, and I still have several in my studio, which just haven’t informed me how they want their wings to unfold. They will sit, until the muse comes to me, which it eventually will. It always does.

The name of this blog and the Collection, The Lost Mythology of the Moth, is a culmination of my thoughts on this quiet nocturnal beauty that resonates with me in so many ways. I dug deep into this focus to learn and bring light to it, though by its very nature, it shall also remain a bit of a mystery. I have my own moth displayed where I see it frequently. I hope that the rest of them will be a reminder of the beauty of metamorphosis for others.

To document this process and to share my techniques with other artists, I created several resources to describe and demonstrate the techniques. If you are interested in knowing more about my process, they are available to all subscribers.

I’m curious if you like moths or if, like some, you are a little afraid of them. What’s the most memorable one you have encountered?

This was the first moth I painted which I display in my personal workspace, since that is where I am most frequently.