Judith ZimmerJournalist | Author | Fiction Writer

Painting Danielle’s mural

Why do I write? Why does she paint? In my study, I’m surrounded by artwork—by my daughter-in-law, my mother, grandmother, and my best friend. Their pieces inspire me, but they also make me wonder why one person becomes an artist and another a writer.

Is it because the world calls to us in different ways? My mother was an art teacher and a painter, my father, a writer and historian. I wish I could say I was drawn to both. But it’s only recently that I began to wonder what it would be like if I had turned out to be an artist, instead of pursuing my life-long desire to be a writer. More than ever, I’m fascinated by the artistic process, the why and how behind a particular work.

Last year, I got a glimpse into it. My friend, Danielle Mailer, is a painter best known in Connecticut for her large mural installations. When she was commissioned by the Litchfield Arts Council to paint a mural for the Bantam Arts Factory, she asked for help from the community. Of course, I signed up.

The Bantam Arts Factory mural installed June 2025.

The 9- by 30-foot mural, installed last June, celebrates the culture of the region. There are thematic references to the arts—a woman making pottery, the famous Bantam rooster, and nearby cinema, chefs, and music. The design was painted off-site on 14 aluminum panels and then mounted on the building’s elevator tower.

Danielle grew up with tremendous creative influences. Her father is Norman Mailer and her mother, Adele Mailer, an artist. So what compelled her to pursue art and not writing?

“I had trouble reading when I was young, so art was less stressful for me,” she told me. “I gravitated to it. Art allowed me to express myself, while writing was like climbing uphill. There was never competition with anything else. Art was like breathing to me, my lifeline.”

I had my chance to experience her “lifeline” last spring. I wasn’t creating anything from scratch, I’ll admit. But with brush in hand, it was relaxing and freeing to paint the images and patterns she’d sketched on the panels. First the potter’s leggings—interweaving circles and flowers in dark and light green. And then the multicolored stripes that ran through the mural—blues, greens, and gold. And finally the center of the sunflower—tiny dots of brown and beige with flecks of green and white.

It was a welcome break from writing—and liberating to be in someone else’s world, to be inside the colors. The stories Danielle tells come into being through images, patterns, shapes, and colors—while mine evolve through words. There are images in my words. Patterns and shapes, descriptions of color. But they are always words.

Danielle and her mural

Although our techniques differ, we struggle with many of the same issues—namely, the right way to tell a story. We have good days and bad. But we have no choice—we must find a way to make it work.

In the end, we have what is most important in common—when the world called to us, we responded. And we do it every day, again and again.