What Makes an Artist?

Excerpted with permission from If Only We Could See by Jennifer Trafton. Copyright 2026, B&H Publishing.

What makes an artist an artist?

The mere fact that she draws, or paints, or otherwise creates something beautiful? The genetic inheritance of a certain kind of talent? The path she takes or the product she makes? These are the questions that lie at the heart of this book, for I believe that Lily’s story invites us to dig deep into what being an artist means at its core.

But first: what makes an artist? What goes into the formation of her artistic soul; however, that soul might express itself outwardly in the world?

To answer that question, I must introduce you to another of my kindred spirits from the past, and one of Lily’s as well: the Scottish poet, pastor, literature teacher, popular novelist, humanitarian, and creator of faërie realms—George MacDonald.

MacDonald was one of the most widely read Christian authors of the 19th‑century English‑speaking world, and his writings have had an enormous impact on modern Christian views of the imagination. In fact, if you have ever thought or read about the relationship between imagination and faith—if you love fairy tales and fantasy—if you’ve been influenced by writers like C. S. Lewis, G. K. Chesterton, Oswald Chambers, J. R. R. Tolkien, or Madeleine L’Engle—then, whether you know it or not, you’ve already encountered George MacDonald’s long‑reaching legacy. To fully unpack that legacy would take another book (many books), but it’s worth taking a closer look at how he defined “imagination,” its role, and its development in us, because we’ll continue to see echoes of these ideas as we follow Lily’s journey.

What is imagination?

According to MacDonald, it’s the power in us that gives form to thought—it imagines—and therefore it is the part of us that reflects the creative power of the One who made us. God created us to be His hands, the pigments in His palette, the actors on His stage, His musical instruments in the great symphony of creation, and we are invited into that ongoing work of creation with Him. And we all have this gift. Imagination isn’t just the special property of those we call artists, but an essential part of what it means to be a human being made in the image of God. We build cities, start families, play games, prepare feasts, invent, explore, discover, nurture, and love. We live our lives with vision, perseverance, and hope, because of this deep‑down impulse to look beyond what is toward what could be.

And the very thing in us that imagines and creates beauty is also the thing that helps us see and love the beauty all around us. The main duty of the imagination, MacDonald says, is “to inquire into what God has made,” following closely behind the One in whose image it was created—and not only in a scientific way, though imagination is essential to science too. Nature isn’t just a vast collection of facts to be uncovered; it also means something. Beauty means something.

Imagination is therefore a kind of spiritual sight, and this is an essential power for every person to develop, not just those who will become artists.

In very truth, a wise imagination, which is the presence of the spirit of God, is the best guide that man or woman can have; for it is not the things we see the most clearly that influence us the most powerfully; undefined, yet vivid visions of something beyond, something which eye has not seen nor ear heard, have far more influence than any logical sequences whereby the same things may be demonstrated to the intellect. It is the nature of the thing, not the clearness of its outline, that determines its operation. We live by faith, and not by sight.

MacDonald is saying that on the “joyful adventure” of faith imagination is our internal tourist guide, our sense of direction, the part of us attuned to the Holy Spirit—leading us toward an end that is beyond anything we can even dream of now.

So how can someone nurture this “wise imagination” in themselves, or in their children? Just like our bodies, MacDonald said, our imaginations need food and exercise in order to grow. And when we look at Lily’s story, we can watch this very process of imaginative growth happening, this muscle getting stronger because of the nourishment it received.

One of the few remnants of Lily’s childhood, the earliest glimpse we have of her imagination, is a small sketchbook from 1858, given to her by her mother. There are the settings of a little girl’s summer—a coastal scene with steamships and sailboats in the background, a hill covered in trees like lollipops, a house with many windows and a tree-lined lane. She’d clearly been people-watching, too, and though childishly drawn, there are no identical stick figures here. Every person she portrays is unique—from the tartan kilts of the dancing bagpipers to the patterns on the girl’s dresses and the expressions on their faces. Already, at five years old, Lily is looking, noticing the fringe on the lace, the feather in the hat.

And the cats—the cats—so many cats!—some wearing eyeglasses and smoking pipes. No wonder Lily’s family nickname “Tiger Lily” came from an incident of fiercely defending her kitten from a brother’s teasing. Her artistic eye had clearly grasped such creatures’ inherent dignity from a very early age!

These are the tiny seeds from which would grow and flourish into the artist she would become—an artist who drew endless inspiration from the landscape, who dreamed impossible things, who noticed and loved the individuality of the people she met, who saw, claimed, and fought for the ones God had given her.