Elizabeth Gunter ART

There’s something beautifully humbling about street painting. Unlike a canvas in the studio, chalk art lives in the open, with people walking by, asking questions, and watching the piece unfold in real time. Kids peek over your shoulder. Someone stops and says they’ve never seen anything like it. The whole process becomes part performance, part conversation.

My piece for the Zion Earth Day Chalk & Earth Fest became two lovebirds nestled in a flowering tree, surrounded by bright, colorful blooms. I was inspired by the idea that looking at art can actually change how we feel. Color and beauty trigger endorphins in the brain, so when we see something filled with love and joy, we feel a little of that too.

One of the most rewarding parts of the weekend was seeing the reactions, the smiles, and people stopping to take photos. Those moments of shared joy are a big part of why we create in such a temporary medium. And another reason is the chalk art family itself, the artists who gather year after year, supporting one another and bringing these streets to life together.

Thank you to Aimee for curating and bringing together such a wonderful group of artists, to the festival volunteers and sponsors who make this event possible, and to the Town of Springdale for supporting art in such a beautiful setting. For a little while, these two lovebirds and their colorful tree got to live on the pavement, sharing a small moment of color and love with everyone who passed by.

Last April, my dear artist friend suggested something unexpected. Instead of me finally buying the original portrait of her in this archetype, a painting that had hung in my gallery for years and been loved by many, she proposed that it should be a portrait of me. I hesitated for weeks... Then I said yes.

The timing of her today was quietly perfect.

The painting is an homage to Rosie the Riveter. Megan came over and turned my space into a temporary studio, setting up lights, wrapping my hair, tying a red scarf I already had tucked away in my closet. We chose my favorite brushes to hold in a close-up, echoing Rosie’s iconic strength, but translated through the language I know best.

My left hand pulls up the sleeve of my right arm, revealing part of a tattoo of art supplies, a steampunk paintbrush, a yellow pencil, and a red rose. The brushes I’m holding mirror the tattoo almost exactly, same arm, same tools, a visual loop between what I make and what I’m made of.

The last five years were full. Running a physical space meant carrying a lot, people, programs, momentum. The gallery doors closed last February, almost exactly a year ago, marking the end of one chapter of creative labor.
provides continues now as a mobile space, which has allowed me to work from home, return to my studio, and set a different intention for the year ahead, to keep creating, while also taking better care of the person doing the creating.

This portrait feels less like a likeness and more like a marker. Of creative endurance, yes, but also of choice. Of standing in the light, not to prove strength, but to sustain it.

Thank you, Meagan. The experience of this portrait alone was everything. They say in order to make real change in your life that you should tie that decision to change with a unforgettable experience, and this is it.

From now on, I choose her, from now, and I am her.

Belief Beyond the Clouds

As a child, I was filled with wonder and a love for the ordinary turned magical. My dad had a way of turning small moments into adventures — bike rides, washing cars, raking leaves, or reading the paper on the steps.

One sunny afternoon, he said, “Let’s fly a kite.” We launched it high, laughing, until a gust of wind snapped the string. Undeterred, he borrowed my mom’s nylon roll, and together we found a way to keep it flying.

The kite soared higher than we ever imagined, past the low-flying clouds until it disappeared completely. Yet I could still feel it — somewhere beyond sight, still connected.
That day, I learned the difference between belief and knowing.

Belief is when the kite vanishes beyond the clouds, and you hope it’s still there.

Knowing is when you feel its pull even when you can’t see it.
Here’s to all the dads who teach us to look up, to find a way, and to believe — even when the kite is out of view.

St. George Plein Air Festival + Pre-Festival Workshop

Registration is open for a week of painting from life in Southern Utah’s red rock country, April 6–11, 2026. Warm-ups start with a small, focused class, “Painting the Desert Light” with Steve Stauffer, April 3–4, where you will dial in value, temperature, and an efficient outdoor workflow before the festival begins.

Ready to join us? Follow the link in bio.

• Sign up for the festival:

www.artprovides.org/pages/st-george-plein-air-festival

• Save your seat in the workshop:

www.artprovides.org/pages/st-george-plein-air-workshop-with-steve-staufer

Bring your pochade, your curiosity, and your love of light. We cannot wait to paint with you.