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    How painters are finding inspiration, support through Newport Beach’s Cannery Artist Collective
    • March 31, 2026

    The air in Newport Beach’s Cannery Village doesn’t smell like the tourist-heavy piers a few miles south. It smells of saltwater and, if you step into the right alleyway, wet acrylic and linseed oil. Here, the ghosts of the old fish canneries that once occupied this area haven’t yet been erased by gentrification. They’ve been invited in.

    To the uninitiated, this corner of Newport might seem gritty, a term the locals use with a badge of pride. It is a place where architects, antique dealers, and custom furniture makers share the sidewalk with fine artists. I’m standing in a workspace that feels like a collection of small galleries — home of the Cannery Artist Collective, a group of six women who have turned a historic industrial neighborhood into their own creative hub.

    I’ve watched my sister, Linda Wooters, navigate this space for four years now. To the world, she is an emerging artist whose seascapes capture the heavy humidity of a Pacific morning. To me, she has always been the anchor of our family — the woman who could curate a room with an effortless eye or put on a wedding that felt like a work of art in itself.

    Newport Beach artist Linda Wooters with her dog Finn. (Photo by Emily J. Davis)
    Newport Beach artist Linda Wooters with her dog Finn. (Photo by Emily J. Davis)

    But in recent years I have witnessed a profound metamorphosis. The sisterly lens through which I view her has shifted. I am no longer just watching her paint. I am watching a professional claim her territory, in no small part because of the strong support and encouragement from her fellow female artists.

    The power of collaboration

    Linda’s studio-mate, Janet Bludau, brings a structured, almost architectural perspective to the group. Janet’s work breaks down the California landscape into geometric planes inspired by the view from an airplane window.

    “I love shape,” Janet tells me, gesturing toward a canvas of structured rectangles. “You usually see lines rather than flowy, puffy shapes. It’s about how the land looks from above — the long triangles of the rows, the perspective you only get when you’re detached from the ground.”

    Despite their stylistic differences — Janet’s structured planes versus Linda’s atmospheric layers — there is a shared professional DNA. Janet, who describes herself as a business major by trade, notes that the collective is a contrast to an otherwise solitary pursuit. But when I ask her about Linda, Janet’s tone shifts to one of deep peer respect.

    “She’s our most schooled painter here,” Janet says, referring to Linda’s art degree from Cal State Long Beach. “It’s fun to watch her. She can be fearless. She’ll get that brush and just mess something up that I would be too intimidated to touch. She’s a perfectionist, but she’s willing to destroy a painting to make it right.”

    The reincarnation of Secrets 

    Linda confirms this fearlessness with a story about a canvas currently resting on her studio floor. To the casual observer, it is a vast, enigmatic expanse of deep midnight blue. But beneath that blue lies a history.

    “It went from a seascape to a Napa Valley vineyard to completely painting it over in a dark color,” Linda explains. “I’m going to call it Secrets because of the layers underneath. There are lines created from previous paint strokes that are showing up, inspiring me to take it somewhere else. I wanted to destroy it, and in that destruction, I found what I liked.”

    When she first joined the collective, her work was lighter, perhaps more traditional. Today, she describes it as more moody. She speaks of her work in terms of “atmospheric layers,” a meticulous build-up of paint designed to pull the viewer into the weather she has captured — to make them feel the weight of the mist or the cooling press of a coming storm. To me, it is like the difference between a postcard and a poem. It is a sophisticated shift that mirrors her own growth within the collective.

    She has also cultivated the confidence to let the medium lead, describing a loss of control that most artists spend a lifetime trying to master. “Sometimes I water the acrylic down so much that it moves like watercolor,” she says. “It moves, it does things you don’t expect, and then the way it dries tells you what to do next.”

    The mastermind and the mission

    If the collective is a hive, artist Jan McCarthy is its catalyst. A former consultant for women entrepreneurs, Jan moved into the studio four and a half years ago and immediately recognized the need for more than just shared rent. She brought the mastermind concept to the easel.

    “I didn’t have many resources when I started, so I told the others: I know how to put on a dinner, and I know how to talk about what we’re struggling with,” Jan says. At 72, she is a powerhouse of creative energy. She treats the business of art with the same rigor she used to help women launch corporations.

    Jan’s art is a storyteller’s medium, often literally. She is known for her “collaborative commissions,” where families or individuals are invited to draw directly onto the canvas before she finishes the piece. This collaboration results in paintings that house hidden symbols — a lifeguard tower for a daughter, a map of Texas for a husband — weaving the client’s life into a professional abstract work. “It becomes a very personal painting,” Jan notes. “But I want it to be a sophisticated one, not just something you stick on the refrigerator.”

    Her most poignant work, however, is her “Art for the Heart” initiative. Each February, Jan pivots from her preferred neutrals to a palette of vibrant color. Having survived a 95% closed artery that went entirely undetected by standard check-ups and that resulted in a diagnosis of heart disease, she uses her artwork to advocate for women’s heart health.

    Jan donates a portion of sales proceeds to organizations dedicated to supporting women with heart disease, and incorporates a heart into each painting. “They carry intentions,” she says. “I want people to feel love, but I also want them to recognize the hidden symptoms that nearly took me.”

    Dinner and the business of art

    The professional ballast of the collective is maintained during their occasional but essential studio dinners. Not only social gatherings, these dinners are strategic sessions where the women discuss everything from promotion to potential events.

    “We spend our dinners productively,” Linda tells me. “What are we doing next month? When is the next Open Studio? How do we reach the right designers?”

    But the conversations frequently veer into the personal. The women talk about fitness and health, occasionally finding themselves on the studio floor together, testing their balance and mobility — a literal manifestation of the support they provide one another.

    “We’re at a stage where we’re talking about staying stretched out and healthy so we can keep doing this,” Janet adds. “It’s about having a tribe where you belong.”

    This shared life experience creates a level of trust that allows for honest critique. Because they are so different, there is no room for competition. Instead, there is a celebration of differences. If someone sells a major piece, the others aren’t envious; they are excited and motivated. They share resources on everything from the best packing materials for international shipping to how to handle a creative block.

    “We’re so different,” Linda says. “But we encourage each other to explore things differently. When you’re down about your work, they motivate you to just laugh and keep going.”

    From solitude to open studios

    Several times throughout the year, the collective holds open studio events, inviting the public to visit. These events serve as the bridge between the private creative process and the public’s perception.

    “The open studios are the best part, even better than selling,” Linda says. “You hear from the public’s voice what your art is saying, and it makes you want to show up the next day and paint again.” These events are a welcome energy shift. A quiet Tuesday might be spent with the nemesis of a difficult canvas, but an open studio brings a surge of inspiration from the very people who may eventually live with her work.

    Janet echoes this sentiment, though she often fights her own perfectionist urges when the public arrives. “I have to fight my tendency to come in and get everything hanging just so,” Janet admits. “I’ve realized people actually like seeing the mess. They want to see the big piles of paint, the books scattered about for ideas, and the shipping materials in the corner. It makes the art feel real, not precious.”

    These events have evolved into neighborhood destinations, occasionally featuring guest artisans — jewelers, leather workers, or even antique flea market set-ups in front of the studio. As Jan notes, “We want people to walk away inspired. They see real people doing the work.”

    A legacy in layers

    As we wrap up our conversation, the dialogue becomes more candid. Linda admits that her drive to paint was fueled, in part, by a desire to be seen clearly by those who know her best.

    “My kids always thought of me as just ‘mom,’” she says softly. “They knew I had talent — I could decorate a house or throw a party. But they never saw me as an artist who could be recognized.”

    That recognition has arrived. Recently selected as one of 15 top emerging artists in a global competition and published in Artists Magazine, Linda’s work is now being collected by designers and art lovers from Napa to Newport.

    “I feel like I’m leaving a part of me when I’m gone,” she says. “They’ll remember I did this.”

    Departing the studio, I realize that the “secrets” under some of Linda’s paintings aren’t just old brushstrokes. They are the layers of a life — motherhood, sisterhood, and the persistent courage it takes to start over.

    In this collective, my sister hasn’t just found a place to paint. She has formed a community with other like-minded women who provide the steadying hand necessary for creative risk.

    Connect with the Cannery Artist Collective on Instagram

    ​ Orange County Register 

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