Buy Art: Sarah C. Nightingale
The Dallas-based oil painter shares her favorite work and a failure story
Hi! Thanks for reading Buy Art, a spinoff of Handpicked, my weekly link list newsletter. I’m Alex, artist, mom, and link queen. Welcome to your anti-doomscroll.
At the request of nearly a dozen readers(!), today we welcome Sarah C. Nightingale to Buy Art. Sarah is a professional artist best known for her award-winning oil paintings, which carefully balance loose impressionism and contemporary realism. Recently returning to her primary focus on traditional portraiture in oil, she is also currently immersed in a passion project of custom charcoal drawings for her ongoing series, “From Childhood.” Sarah is a mother of three young children and lives with her husband Alex in Dallas, TX.
Where is your favorite place in the world?
Sarah says: Every time I think about this question, I have to laugh (or cringe) and try to avoid sounding like that Miss Congeniality quote about April 25th. But if I could close my eyes and be anywhere at any given moment, I’d take my family—my husband, my kids, and my extended family—and we’d spend the day in a quiet, secluded spot I love in Northern California. It’s a place where a lively creek winds through vivid lime-green spring grasses, the water is icy cold but shallow enough to walk in and splash around, and the blackberry bushes are just beginning to shake off their winter stillness. Maybe this is more of an experience than a place, but I’d pack a beautiful picnic—along with a flat of local strawberries—and we’d spend the whole day there, soaking it in. I have memories as a child from this location, and the nostalgic feelings and memories of it shape so much of my artwork now. It is very much a happy place for me.
Show us your current favorite piece of artwork.
Sarah says: I don’t know what this says about me, but I just love the process of creating art—so much so that whatever piece I’ve just finished tends to feel like my favorite at the time! That said, I do have a couple of oil-painted landscapes that continue to inspire me, along with a sketch of my daughter that holds a special place in my heart.
Where do you make your artwork? Describe your space.
Sarah says: My current studio is in the formal dining area of our home—the sunniest corner of the house. Over time, I’ve been slowly transforming it into a space I truly love. We’ve moved my studio around to different parts of the house, some making more sense than others, but I love it here, right in the middle of everything.
When did you first realize you were an artist?
Sarah says: I have photos of myself as a toddler painting, and again around age five, enthusiastically holding up a painting. But what kid doesn’t love making a mess with paint? Around seven, though, something shifted—I started to care more about drawing ‘better.’ I practiced sketching what I saw in front of me, and I loved it. I loved art books. I studied the pictures in them over and over.
I suppose there are a few pivotal moments that shaped me into an artist. My first set of real oil paints at age eight. A random but vivid memory of painting a portrait at nine and loving every moment of it. Winning a children’s art show at eleven. Showing in a professional gallery at fourteen. Art was always with me. More than a single realization, I think I just committed—and recommitted—every year to keep pursuing it, to dive deeper into that passion.
Even now, through all the seasons of life, through college, through new seasons of motherhood with each baby (three!), I continue to recommit to making art. It’s an interesting thing, and maybe a topic for another day, but while I do believe in the notion of ‘talent’ in a God-given sense, I think persistent perseverance makes an artist. It’s not always a rewarding or easy road. Creativity isn’t always a beautiful escape. But the act of showing up, again and again—that’s what makes the difference.
Whose art hangs in your home? Or whose art would you like to own?
Sarah says: The artwork on my walls is an ever-evolving, rotating gallery. I have a personal collection of pieces I’ve held onto over the years, along with a few from living artists I admire. I’d love to collect more in the coming years, and I have a short list of artists I wouldn’t hesitate to purchase from if the opportunity (and budget) aligned. I also have a very cherished collection my kids have made for me. I’d grab that artwork over any I have created in an emergency.
Some of the art I truly long to own, however, is the work created by my family members. There are many artists in my family—great-grandparents, grandparents, aunts, uncles—and likely others I don’t even know about. Sometimes, I find myself deep in an online search, looking for their names and artwork. None of them whose art I really seek out are living anymore, but somewhere, the pieces they created still exist. Hopefully, those artworks are hanging on someone’s wall, cherished and admired.
There’s one in particular—a painting by my late uncle. At one point in his life, he was an incredible and accomplished portrait artist. The piece depicts two girls dressed in what I believe to be German or Russian traditional clothing with dramatic shadows. It was so like a John Singer Sargent piece, but with its own story to tell. I remember seeing a reproduction of it hanging in my grandparents’ office when I was a little girl, and I aspired to paint like that. I wish I could see it in person again—even just the reproduction—but seeing the original would be a dream come true. I would love to own it, but to me that feels like owning the Mona Lisa! I can’t begin to imagine it.
Can you tell us about an artistic failure you've experienced?
Sarah says: I think failures propel us forward in art—there’s always something to learn from them. So while I’ve had my fair share of artistic failures, I always return to a principle I learned as an apprentice to a wonderful artist. I’ve shared this on my Instagram before, so here it goes:
Over a decade ago, while working in the studio of the late William Whitaker, I had spent weeks on a painting, pouring countless hours into it. Feeling confident and proud of my progress, I arrived at the studio one morning, only to be told by Bill that I wouldn’t be painting that day. Instead, I would sit, observe my work, and take notes. My painting was positioned in front of me, a notebook in my lap.
He asked how I felt about the painting, and I expressed my pride in what I had accomplished. He responded, “Excellent! Now keep looking.”
So I sat. Hours passed. He checked in occasionally, asking for my thoughts. Eventually, I admitted, “Well, Bill, I’ve noticed some errors in my drawing… and in the color values in many spots. If I could fix those, I think I’d have a great painting!”
He asked me to point them out, which I did. Then he simply said, “Good. Don’t get your paints out just yet—keep looking.”
This process continued until my initial pride in the work had faded. Finally, Bill sat next to me and, in his wise and gentle manner, explained: “Rejoice and congratulate yourself for recognizing your mistakes. If you hadn’t seen them, you wouldn’t be able to fix them.”
The second part of the lesson came when I hesitated to fix the errors, worried I’d ruin ‘the good parts.’ Bill advised me not to tiptoe around the painting, delicately making tiny adjustments. Instead, he handed me a small razor blade and told me to scratch up the entire surface—to make it ‘less precious.’ Then he said, “If you know it and can do it once, you can do it again—if you really know it.”
And so, with a razor blade in hand, I scratched the surface of that painting. Later, I finished it far better than it would have been before.
It was a fantastic experience and an important lesson: patience, a careful eye, and a little bit of rejoicing are essential for creating a good painting. I try to see my failures in this light—opportunities to recognize, learn, and begin again.
Sarah, thank you so much. You can commission a portrait and buy originals and prints from Sarah’s site; I’m saving up for one of her artist’s proofs!
More art you can buy, right this way:
xo, alex
That last painting (the profile) took my breath away. Thanks so much for sharing this post!
Loved getting to know Sarah! Her work is beautiful. That story about her mentor gave me all the feels, what a gift to have that kind of gentle encouragement to grow and learn. The sentiment of making art less precious reminded me a bit of Lauren Cutts’ art, who was also encouraged to “mess it up” by her teacher in order to find her true artistic expression—and now her signature works are truly incredible. ✨