My fascination with old signs has been well documented here at PRINT. From my studio visit of printmaker Dave Lefner at his live-in artist loft in Downtown LA, to my coverage of traditional sign painters like John King and Bryan Yonki, I simply can’t help myself. Now, we’ve got another artist who’s dedicated their practice to honoring and preserving old signs to add to the list: Katy V. Meehan.
Meehan has mastered the art of revealing the beauty in the old, rusted, and decaying. Through a meticulous process she’s developed that manually replicates the CMYK inkjet printing process, Meehan reimagines old signs with layer after layer of water color ink and care. “There’s something entrancing about directing the flow of ink as it settles on textured paper,” she writes on her process. “It allows me to capture intricate details and maintain a hint of wild spontaneity.”
When I came upon Meehan’s work, I leapt at the opportunity to learn more about her and her practice— for obvious reasons. Her work is like catnip to me, and I needed to dig deeper into the artist behind these watercolor layers. Meehan’s thoughtful responses to my questions about her background and process are below.
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Where are you from and where are you currently based?
I’m a tumbleweed. I spent my childhood in Santa Fe, NM. My formative teens and twenties were used up kicking around North Carolina. Then I had a small stint working for a design firm in Seattle. After a series of untimely family tragedies, I’ve found myself in the small midwestern town of Urbana, IL where I’ve been for the last few years.
What’s your art background? Can you give a bit of insight into your creative journey that’s led you to where you are today?
Keeping with the tumbleweed theme, my creative journey has been anything but linear. I dropped out of art school twice. A couple of years were spent as a tattoo apprentice. Then I went to fine woodworking school and got a job as a furniture prototype shop manager. But there was no creative freedom, so I went back to school (again) and ended up with a BFA in Scenic Design for Theatre and Film. Then I realized I really didn’t like working in the theatre or in film. So I talked my way into the graphic design field. After absolutely bombing out trying to work in-house for corporate businesses, I started a freelance design, branding, and illustration business in 2013, which I still operate today. All along I’ve maintained an ongoing practice of making my own drawings, paintings, sculptures, paper models, etc.
How would you describe your personal artistic aesthetic in your own words?
It’s funny, a lot of my freelance work involves working with companies to help them establish their visual brand aesthetic and develop the language to clearly talk about it. But I have a hard time doing that with my own projects. The body of work I’ve focused on for the last three and a half years does have a clear aesthetic through-line, though. If pressed, I suppose I’d maybe say it’s something like: “Pop Impressionist Architecturally Drafted Semi-Realistic Kinda Comic Found Object Portraits.” Something concise and catchy like that.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the look and feel of mid-20th century design. Its bold color palettes, sharp compositions, and visual optimism have always lured me in
Where did your fascination with old neon signs originate? Is there a particular sign you remember that started you off on this path?
I don’t know where exactly the fascination began; maybe it was growing up in close proximity to Route 66. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the look and feel of mid-20th century design. Its bold color palettes, sharp compositions, and visual optimism have always lured me in. Though I know better, a part of me is a sucker for its false promise that everything will be ok. Nothing tells that lie better than mid-century product packaging and signage design.
What is it about old neon signs that you find compelling enough to want to replicate with what is clearly a lot of love and care?
While I love mid-century design for all the reasons above, I also love to see it in decay. It says, “This sign was built to last. It survived globalization. It’s outlasted whoever might have originally bothered to keep it maintained. It may be rusted and busted, but it’s still here.” I find that longevity comforting, and I feel compelled to pay homage to it.
One reason I studied Scenic Design is because I love the story behind the story. When the actors are removed from the stage, the set can still be its own character, whispering hints of its own life. The same is true with old signs. Wear and tear can tell their own story. I love the mystery of that. I get lost in imagining the lifespan of an old sign and the locale it marks. Broken bulbs, bullet holes, patches, and water stains all send my imagination spinning to wonder, “What happened here?”
Wear and tear can tell their own story. I love the mystery of that. I get lost in imagining the lifespan of an old sign and the locale it marks.
So many old signs started out as expertly designed and engineered objects of mass communication. As a chosen subject matter, they give me a head start to create something visually engaging and relatable. It’s honestly a bit lazy on my part. The original designers and builders did the hard work. The sign itself is an object of beauty and intrigue. I’m just shining a light on it with my ink portraits.
Though I don’t only paint neon signs, they are a focus. By calling attention to some of these relics, I hope to also raise awareness that neon bending is a rare art and skill that needs to be cherished and protected from extinction. Cheap ugly LEDs are quickly replacing the few remaining neon signs that are left, and the skilled neon benders who are still working are getting cut out of the unique and amazing work they should be doing. It’s a disheartening result of late-stage capitalism that really gets me down. In my branding work, I’ve had the opportunity to advocate for using real neon on several restaurant buildout projects, and was even able to participate in the design of a couple of large scale neon signs for clients, which is gratifying.
By calling attention to some of these relics, I hope to also raise awareness that neon bending is a rare art and skill that needs to be cherished and protected from extinction.
What’s your typical process for recreating a sign? What materials do you use? About how long does one reproduction take?
I work from photo references, either those I’ve taken, or those borrowed from friends. Each sign portrait starts by laying down a detailed pencil outline. Then I build up the image in four layers of transparent ink: cyan, magenta, yellow which are mixed with water and brushed on like a typical watercolor, and then black outlines, applied with a dip pen. My process is a riff on the typical CMYK inkjet printing process.
I usually make a high resolution scan of each color layer as I finish it, so I can later create animations of the colors building up. I try to show my process from different perspectives on my Instagram feed. I post timelapse reels, and short form stories showing each piece coming together. Each piece takes me ~20-30 hours (including all the post production reel-making).
This forces me to embrace imperfection, and to try to be highly present at all times. It’s become a kind of meditation for me, even more than something I consider “art.” It’s a practice; a habit I don’t want to break.
In my job as a designer, I spend a lot of time in the digital world, with my finger on the delete button, doing and undoing. What drew me to working with inks is that there is no ‘undo’. Every choice is permanent. Not only are the inks indelible, they are semi-transparent. Unlike acrylics or oils, there is nowhere to hide if I fumble. This forces me to embrace imperfection, and to try to be highly present at all times. It’s become a kind of meditation for me, even more than something I consider “art.” It’s a practice; a habit I don’t want to break.
What message are you trying to convey with your work? What experience do you hope viewers of your pieces have when looking at them?
A day spent roaming the aisles of a junk shop or cruising the deserted main street of a small town is a day well spent to me. There’s value in taking time out to observe and imagine. I hope my work encourages people to slow down and ponder the details of their surroundings; to consider the hidden history of the ordinary places and objects they pass everyday.
I hope my work encourages people to slow down and ponder the details of their surroundings; to consider the hidden history of the ordinary places and objects they pass everyday.
Additionally, I’d like to be an example to younger artists (and those who are just out of practice) to not dismiss the importance of working with real materials. Pick up that brush, that pencil, that clay, that needle and thread, and go for it. It’s so easy to talk yourself out of spending time on creative pursuits, or to just dive into the world of digital creation, never getting your hands dirty. If you are fortunate to have access to them, working with real tangible materials is a priceless experience.
Do you have a favorite old sign that you’ve recreated?
On my work table right now, I’m chipping away at my 50th sign portrait. Looking back on all 50, I truly love them all equally. But, the very first sign portrait I did has to be my favorite. It was of an old Sealtest Ice Cream sign, completed in April 2021. It’s the one where I first proved out my 4 color layer process. When I was working on it, something clicked that said, “Do this. Keep going. Do more.” And, almost 4 years later, I’m still following those orders.
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