Blythe Woolston

Blood Water Paint 

 Dutton Books for Young Readers
ISBN 0735232113
Cover image and description from publisher 

Welcome to this year's Morris Interview series! Joy McCullough shares a little about her debut, the William C. Morris Finalist: 

Her mother died when she was twelve, and suddenly Artemisia Gentileschi had a stark choice: a life as a nun in a convent or a life grinding pigment for her father's paint.

She chose paint.

By the time she was seventeen, Artemisia did more than grind pigment. She was one of Rome's most talented painters, even if no one knew her name. But Rome in 1610 was a city where men took what they wanted from women, and in the aftermath of rape Artemisia faced another terrible choice: a life of silence or a life of truth, no matter the cost. 

"He will not consume
my every thought.
I am a painter.
I will paint."

Joy McCullough's bold novel in verse is a portrait of an artist as a young woman, filled with the soaring highs of creative inspiration and the devastating setbacks of a system built to break her. McCullough weaves Artemisia's heartbreaking story with the stories of the ancient heroines, Susanna and Judith, who become not only the subjects of two of Artemisia's most famous paintings but sources of strength as she battles to paint a woman's timeless truth in the face of unspeakable and all-too-familiar violence. 

"I will show you

what a woman can do."

How did you hear that Blood Water Paint was nominated for the Morris? Did you know about the award before your book was nominated?

Yes, I did know about the Morris, and I had a general idea what time of year the finalists were announced. Honestly, it was on my radar in a way I would have preferred it not be, if given the choice. It was something people had mentioned to me as a possibility. (Which: it seems like a compliment, but I recommend not suggesting to authors that their books may win awards. It does a number on the author's mental health.) 

My editor, Andrew, called me. He has only ever called out of the blue for very exciting things —my first starred review, and my National Book Award nomination. So I figured something good was up when I saw his name, and sure enough!

Every debut novel has a unique journey to publication, but BWP underwent some unusual metamorphoses on the way. Can you talk a little about genre and exploration? The fit between story and form? How did Artemisia's mother's stories evolve?

I first wrote Blood Water Paint as a play. It had a long development as a play and eventual production in 2015. It was only once the play was produced that I started to contemplate writing it as a YA novel. I wanted a form that would bring Artemisia's story to young readers. But I didn't want to write a prose historical, and I knew that Judith and Susanna had to be included, not only as side stories, but as characters who interacted with Artemisia. Verse allowed me a sort of heightened reality where that was possible.

The principal difference between the play version of Blood Water Paint and the book version is that in the play, we see Artemisia as a mother, teaching her own daughter to paint. Artemisia's own mother is not a part of the play. In the book, we do not see Artemisia past age 17, but the character of her mother has been introduced. It was a way to preserve that dynamic in a way that worked for the book.

The stories Artemisia's mother tells, of Judith and Susanna, are a part of the play. They are just not told by a mother figure; instead, they simply unfold on the stage. But I loved the idea of her mother being the one to pass these stories down to her daughter as a sort of guide to being a woman in this world.

Do you have a favorite among Artemisia's paintings?

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One of my favorites that I didn't get to feature in the book because she painted it in later years is her Self Portrait as the Allegory of Painting. Painters of Artemisia’s time followed a text called Iconologia by Cesare Ripa, which prescribed specific symbolism for painting the muses, the virtues, the arts—these were referred to as allegories. All of these figures were women, and for example, the allegory of painting was supposed to have unruly hair, a color-shifting dress, a pendant of a mask on a gold chain, etc.  Many painters painted their version of the allegory of painting, putting their own spin on these requirements. But since all of these allegorical figures were women, Artemisia could do something incredible - identify herself with the art form in a way no man ever could. In painting her self-portrait as the allegory of painting, Artemisia essentially proclaimed, “I am painting.” And not only that: she very intentionally left out one required element from her allegory of painting. Traditionally, it also should include a gag over the mouth. But Artemisia was speaking loudly through her art and would not be silenced. 

Do you have a favorite living, working artist "in the spirit" of Artemisia? 

Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama is a wonder. Like Artemisia, she faced many barriers to becoming an artist. Her parents didn’t want her to make art and would go as far as to destroy her art when she was young. When she had no art supplies, she used mud and old sacks. Nothing was going to stop her. She encountered Georgia O’Keefe’s work and tracked down an address, writing to her with questions about how to make a life in art as a woman. She moved to New York and became a real pioneer in pop art and performance art. She was hugely influential, and then, both inexplicably and predictably, written out of art history, her ideas appropriated and profited on by white male artists like Andy Warhol and Claes Oldenberg. And, like Artemisia, in recent years Kusama’s work has received renewed interest, partly because of how well-suited her installations are to sharing on social media. She’s 89 years old and has lived voluntarily in a psychiatric hospital for the last forty years, but she continues to go to the art studio six days a week.

Would you be comfortable sharing some of your conversation with your editor, Andrew Karre? Is there a scene or aspect that owes something to the collaboration?

One of Andrew's early thoughts for me was about how so much of the book was about female bodies - Artemisia painting female bodies, acts of violence against female bodies - but how Artemisia seemed completely unaware of her own body. That led overtly to scenes like the one where she's bathing, but also to me paying more attention to Artemisia's physicality throughout. 

Flash questions:

Do you write to music? If so, what was your playlist while you wrote Blood Water Paint? (I think this is an especially interesting question re: poetry. You may disagree. Feel free to substitute your most comforting writing ritual/routine/reward.)'

I don't! I often wish I did, because I love reading these sorts of answers. But I need to write in silence. Preferably in a house that's empty except for me and my dog. I'm a mom and don't really have the luxury of much in the way or writing rituals. I write when and where I can scrape together the peace and time.  

Writing advice in five words or less: 

Eyes on your own paper.

Finally, how much do you love librarians? 

SO SO MUCH!  

(When I have links to the other interviews for this year, they will be included here.)