Loveday Funck  Fairy Surreal Art

There’s a particular kind of quiet that happens before the first market of the year. Not the calm kind, more like the hush right before something announces itself. Bins get stacked and unstacked. Corners of prints are checked with more tenderness than they probably need. Fabrics are folded, unfolded, refolded. Pieces that have traveled with me for years sit beside pieces that still feel almost too new to touch. This is the moment before the tent goes up. And this year, it fee

There’s a moment right before you do something brave where your brain starts offering very reasonable alternatives. You could wait. You could prepare more. You could decide this isn’t the right season. This week, I didn’t listen to that voice. I took the “Get Your Bit Together” class at the Boomerang Comedy Theater with JQ Palms (amazing experience!). I signed up for open mics. I stood onstage and did my first proper stand-up performance, with my hands shaking and my heart

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been sharing a body of work I call the Unbelongings . They are complete pieces. Finished, named, ready to go where they need to go. They don’t ask for context. They don’t require a backstory. They simply wait to be recognized. But they are not the only things I’ve been working on. The Unbelongings came from a place of drawing and discovery. Each one arrived whole, as if it already knew who it was. I met them one at a time. Gave them names. Let th

I hope the turn of the year has been kind to you. I took a small winter pause to listen, to make, and to gather my thoughts for the months ahead. What returned to me, again and again, was one word: Sovereignty. Not the loud kind.The quiet kind.The kind that means standing inside your own life and saying: This is mine. Out of that listening came a new body of work I’ve been holding close for some time now. I call them The Unbelongings. They are small, strange beings who never

From New Orleans With Magic: A Creator’s Reflection on Winter Work There’s a particular quality to winter light in New Orleans, softened, slanted, almost secretive. It feels like a season that leans in close to whisper, Keep going. There are stories here. I’ve been feeling that a lot lately, moving between my studio table, my microphone, and the chilly outdoor markets where I set up my booth before sunrise. December stretches itself across so many corners of my life that some

This week began with a strange little dream: a small three-headed alligator with mismatched eyes and bright jaws. A creature that wasn’t dangerous, just unusual. Just itself.  In the dream, everyone wanted to destroy it “before it could bite,” while all I wanted was for us to simply walk around it, to coexist with something strange and beautiful rather than fear it. I’ve been thinking about that dream a lot as I prepare for this weekend’s Pop-Up at Perkins Rowe  (Friday, Satu

Three Rivers was radiant. Maybe it was the touch of cool in the morning air. Maybe it was the crowds drifting past like migrating birds, each one carrying a story. Maybe it was the way Covington itself seemed to exhale magic: buildings humming, trees leaning in, the whole place whispering, “Yes, yes, come on then, let’s see what you’ve brought with you.” Or maybe it was simply this: Every time someone stopped at my booth, it felt like a small miracle. There’s something almost

The tents are folded, my Kia is half-unloaded, and there’s still a faint shimmer of salt air in my hair from Ocean Springs. The Peter Anderson Festival is behind me for another year, but the glow of it lingers: the laughter of fellow artists, the hum of live music drifting through the streets, and the kind faces who stopped by my booth to share a story, a smile, or simply to look a little longer. There’s a special kind of magic in those weekends. They’re long and messy and fu

Every so often, a creative challenge arrives at just the right time, that gentle nudge to see the world differently. Last week’s Paris Collage Collective  prompt sparked one of those moments for me. The image we were given, a bright, graphic cactus, made me think about perception, color, and how we interpret the familiar through a new lens. So, I went wandering through my photo archives and found myself returning to my favorite New Orleans trees: the ancient oaks. But this ti

There’s a particular kind of rain that seems to fall only on festival days. The kind that smells of wet canvas and laughter, that slicks the grass into emerald mirrors, and that makes you clutch your skirts and remember that you’re alive, gloriously, inconveniently alive. Yesterday, I stood beneath that sort of rain outside the Livingston Parish Library, watching puddles bloom between the book tents and wondering whether Lady Fairfax, my first character of the day, would appr

For thirteen years, I’ve been trying to push my art up the Fine Art Mountain. You know the one, all white walls and quiet reverence, where everything smells faintly of varnish and ambition. I thought if I just climbed hard enough, refined enough, and framed my digital collages just so, I could make it to the top. Maybe, one day, I’d hang in a gallery where people whispered in front of my work, their hands folded behind their backs as if they were standing in church. But somew

🕯 From Sunlight to Shadow: After Festival Acadiens, Onward to the Gothic Market Festival Acadiens et Créoles was a whirl of color, zydeco, and kind hearts, a celebration of everything bright and sun-drenched about Louisiana. I came home sun-kissed, bone-tired, and grateful beyond words. Thank you to everyone who stopped by, shared a story, or carried a piece of my art home with them. Now, as the season leans toward shadow, I’m packing my world again. This weekend, the compas

🌙 The Storyteller’s Path: From Magic to Meaning at Festival Acadiens Next weekend, I’ll be packing my world into boxes and heading west,...

From Tarot Tables to Casino Royale: How Playing Characters Heals the Artist The velvet is black tonight. Cards glint like moonlit...

Turning Myth Into Visual Art: From Tarot Cats to Fine Art Prints The world was written in pictures long before it learned the alphabet....

As a digital collage artist, I build my worlds from fragments, bits of light, scraps of memory, animals that never quite belonged in this...

Last week, I kept dreaming of a red fox. Not running. Not fleeing. Just... waiting. Curled up beneath cypress limbs, eyes wide with hope...

Balancing Truth and Memory My Lady of Trees This past Saturday, I set up my booth beneath the live oaks of City Park in New Orleans. The...

Some stories feel like they’ve always been with you. Not loud, not urgent, just a quiet presence at the edge of your thoughts. A hallway...

A Candle in the Dark I lost something this week. Not in the way you misplace a set of keys or leave a scarf behind in a café. No, this...