Photo by Oona Copperhill

"What's different this year," she says over the phone from her Alexandria, Virginia home, "is that so much of the narrative of the show focuses on the unique relationship between orchids and their pollinators. They actually have a butterfly room where you can go in and experience tropical butterflies flying all around you."

Larbalestier describes how 40 species of butterflies are kept warm and moist in their own mini-habitat, as they would be if they were hatching in the rainforests of Honduras or Costa Rica where they come from. She is especially enthusiastic about the incubators where butterflies emerge from their chrysalises, that the museum staff have hung on strings with glue. She also notes that children as well as adults can't help but watch with amazement as newly born butterflies open their wet wings for the first time.

"I happened to go around mid-day when the butterflies were really active," she says. "They land on your clothes -- it's just incredible. The staff gives you all these rules in a little anteroom before you walk in. Stay on the path and when you come out the other end, there's a little room with full-length mirrors where you check yourself for butterflies before you're able to leave. The butterflies wouldn't survive if they came out in our winter."

Survival is a common topic of discussion these days, not only regarding butterflies, but also regarding artists. As the country's economy continues in a downward spiral, artists must increasingly draw on their ingenuity in order to maintain altitude in turbulent times. "I am so interested," says Larbalestier, "in how artists are able to make money and do what they love and still have a family and balance all of their responsibilities." Perhaps, Alana Lea, Larbalestier suggests, would be a good person to ask.

I couldn't agree more. 

I am sitting down with Lea at her kitchen table drinking green tea and preparing to ask the question that's been burning on my mind. How does a woman from an itty-bitty border town in Northwest Washington end up with her paintings hanging on the wall at the Smithsonian? With her gypsy-brown eyes and lightly olive complexion, Lea appears to belong in a more cosmopolitan locale than this sleepy, seaside community. She is slight, but substantial, reminding me of a Pueblo Indian wise woman, although she is only 52 years old.

As Lea stokes the wood stove to push back the chill of a particularly dreary morning, a petite beige cat goes up and down the creaky wooden stairs between mother and daughter as if she is the needle pulling an invisible thread that keeps them connected. The decor of their home is charming yet unpretentious, in a style I might call Victorian-Zen. An over-sized basket brims with dried hydrangeas in faded blues and burgundies atop the rectangular wooden table. And shadowy light sneaks through the spaces in the ivory lace that drapes the windows.

The answer to my question, Lea proclaims, now that both we and the house are warming up, all comes down to keywords and metatags.

To understand this curious statement better, you could put yourself, as I have, in the shoes of Mark Hardin, one of the administrators from the Smithsonian responsible for the creation of the exhibit. Naturally, you are always looking for ways to make the show memorable, knowing that you need to impress flower and garden fans like Larbalestier who attend year after year. And, to your credit, the idea of building a butterfly habitat as part of the experience is quite brilliant. But let's not forget that a main platform of the show is biodiversity -- the interdependence between plants and animals, which evolve together to insure their mutual survival. Where in the world are you going to find artwork that represents such a scientific proposition?

Simple. You are going to cast the biggest butterfly net known to mankind, otherwise known as Google. "Orchids and their pollinators," you type into the web's most popular search engine and Voila! Seconds later, your keywords have zeroed in on the reciprocal metatags of Alana Lea's website. Fortunately for you, Lea has spent the last five years getting her website-building chops into shape. When you click on the link, an image of two paintings pops up on your computer screen. You can't believe your luck because they are both watercolors, exquisitely rendered and of museum quality. And they are both of orchids and their pollinators. You could pause to dance a jig, but there's no time for that. Instead you pick up the phone and dial the artist.

Lea becomes quite animated as she tells the story of that fateful phone call.

And he said, "Oh! Do you have more?"

"No, I don't have more on that subject matter, but if you tell me what you want, I'll render them for you. A lot of time and research goes into this, so you tell me what you want."

Thanksgiving 2002: Almost a month later and scarcely two months before the exhibit is to open, Hardin gets back to Lea with his wish list. Lea abandons the steady stream of commercial artwork that has kept her and Rose afloat throughout the previous year in order to devote all her energy to the Smithsonian commission. A more buttoned-up type of personality might consider this choice completely unrealistic, and even the most freewheeling among us would have to acknowledge the risk. What with company coming over the holidays and the cottage in back of her home in mid-renovation with no tenant bringing in much-needed income... but Lea decides to take the leap. She moves her studio space out of the house and into the empty cottage, unwittingly realizing a lifelong dream -- to work in a studio space she can call her own.

And lest you assume, as I did, that the Smithsonian is footing the bill for all this, let me assure you that it is not.

"This was me refinancing my house and trusting that somehow it would all work out," Lea explains. "The Smithsonian paid me a fairly nominal fee to license the use of the existing artwork that they have reproduced on some of their signage, but that's the best they could do. So I put out a call looking for patrons to support the venture in any way, shape or form. A woman who had bought some of my paintings in the past said, 'Okay, I'll put up $1,000 for one of the paintings, sight-unseen. Do what you can.'

"In the meantime, I was putting out proposals to corporations and companies to see if I could get a patron who would want to see their name on the wall at the Smithsonian. No takers.

"To make matters more challenging, my refinancing was delayed by the series of holidays. When my mortgage broker became aware of my circumstances, he assured me to stay focused on the work and let him worry about the house. As things progressed, he stepped up to the level of patron by lending me personal funds, equivalent to his commission, so I could keep going."

I ask Lea where she gets faith that radical. "You pull it from inside. You pull it from as deep down as you can possibly go. You see what's in there."

I also want to know how she feels after hanging up the phone with Mark Hardin. "The first thing I do is cry. I am in such deep gratitude. I feel like the creator not only knows that I exist, but is using me. 'Thank you,' I say. 'Oh thank you, thank you, thank you for using me.' "

Field Notes: Lepidoptera Lea

Habitat I: Home office, computer with large monitor, electronic drawing tablet, desk decorated with icons such as Buddha, Lakshme, Corn Woman, even Yoda.

Unlike moths, butterflies are active by day. Lea is no exception. She spends all her waking hours until New Year's Day on the commission except for half-days on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Using her Internet connection, Lea can virtually migrate anywhere in the world, anytime. In this way, she connects with resources, who hold key information and images that she needs to construct the many layers of her digital collage "Red Disa with Mountain Beauty butterfly":

• a Disa orchid enthusiast in South Africa has a photograph of the habitat of the orchid/butterfly, with a few alterations, Lea uses it for the background
• a grumpy botanic expert -- one of the foremost authorities on orchids in the country -- turns up unexpectedly in Lea's neck of the woods. When she tracks him down he quizzes her in botany. Lea is startled, but passes (!) gaining access to a blissful day with him in his library. Lea finds a beautiful old book in the public domain and recreates it in her collage using sophisticated scanning and software techniques
• another Disa enthusiast has a picture of a butterfly in the act of pollination, says Lea may work her drawings closely from it
• Lea composes caption: "Caught in the act on the cliffs of Greyton Grotto, the Mountain Beauty -- Aeropetes tulbaghia -- finds fulfillment within the petals of Disa uniflora."

Habitat II: Charismatic, two-story cottage with wide drawing table, large magnifying glass, books scattered across the floor and a rolling table laden with watercolor paints & brushes.

Once the collage elements are in place, Lea can scale and sketch the orchid and butterfly without ever holding either in her hand. She drafts drawings on many layers of tracing paper that allow her to finesse changes without having to start from scratch.

When the drawing meets her satisfaction, Lea paints original watercolors, which are then scanned into the computer and added as elements to the collage.

Photo by Jack Kintner

Upon completion of collages, Lea is suddenly overcome by self-doubt. She worries the commission may end up in a Smithsonian closet. She sends her work anyway. She waits and waits and waits.

Except in those species that winter in the pupa stage, the adult usually emerges from the chrysalis in two or three weeks. (Approx. length Lea worked on her commission.)

Hardin's response over the phone to Lea: "Oh, it's so beautiful. We're so happy. It's up -- we're just so busy. I'll send you pictures. How much are the prints? Click and he's gone."

Photo by Mark Hardin

Larbalestier's detective work pays off later that day when she discovers she can order prints online through Lea's website.

When she receives the email from Larbalestier saying  "I just saw your exhibit at the Smithsonian this morning," Lea can't resist the temptation to pick up the phone and call her.

"You saw the exhibit? Did you like it? What was it like?" a child-like Lea asks.

Larbalestier tells Lea everything she can and by the time the two hang up, a friendship between kindred spirits has taken root.

"She bought four prints," Lea says. "She wants to come out here and take workshops with me in my little cottage. This is what it's all for. This is what it's about. It's about the connection with people. She told me her feelings about my work and what it was like in the context and that fed me. That paid me. I got my paycheck."

In 2004 the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History Gift Shop first ordered a full inventory of my prints as well as featuring my botancial art on a tee shirt. For the record, I would like to express my gratitude for the many doors that have opened in my life, due to this remarkable opportunity.