Still, Life with Corrina Ulrich

On northern Michigan as inspiration and the dichotomy of being a working artist

By Kierstin Gunsberg | Nov. 14, 2026

Few things can halt the pace of life like the sight of Lake Michigan crashing against the shore or taking in a piece of art. For northern Michigan artist Corrina Ulrich, the former influences the latter. One of her latest series, Sun on Water—which she started in 2024 and which will be part of an exhibition at the Delamar in Traverse City this month—is an ongoing collection of nearly 50 analog collages: images of puffy clouds contrasting tangerine and sunshine hued watercolor strokes inspired by the springs and summers of her childhood.

“Just spending time outside observing and taking things in is something I’ve done my whole life and something I have a really simple need for,” says Ulrich. “I think in my art I’m often trying to share that sense of idle, contented observation.”

All Things Analog

Growing up in Leelanau during the 1990s and early aughts, Ulrich was a member of that last cohort of millennials who can remember long days spent in the type of idle, contented observation that faded when wifi became commonplace in rural northern Michigan.

Between her dad, who was known for “cobbling something together out of found materials, like a garden fence made of pallets or a mailbox stand from black locust logs that were too curvy for anyone else to use,” and her mom, “a knitter, a mender, and an excellent cook,” Ulrich was surrounded by creativity and the act of making.

She was also surrounded by books, with access to whatever piqued her interest within the Suttons Bay-Bingham District Library where her mom was director for seven years. Most of the time, that was art related. Titles about the work of nineteenth-century Art Nouveau painter Gustav Klimt and English sculptor and photographer Andy Goldsworthy were frequent checkouts for the Ulrich household, along with books by cartoonist Lynda Barry.

Children’s books were pretty formative too, recalls Ulrich. “I’ve recently looked back at some of my childhood favorites like Owl Moon and the books of Eric Carle and thought, ‘wow, I’ve been drawing on that and I didn’t even realize it.’”

And, like the breadth of styles and mediums she enjoys consuming, Ulrich isn’t resigned to a singular lane in her own pieces, the number of which she says would be impossible to really guess. “You’d have to start with the old ‘what is art’ debate,” she says. But, counting all of the drawings, crafts, and margin-doodles, “the answer would be in the hundreds of thousands.”

Her fine art portfolio includes elaborate masks crafted from old textiles, found feathers, and shed birch bark, while her Lorn series is a repertoire of film photos taken with an Olympus she came across at her parent’s house over 15 years ago. Those stills, shot walking along railroad ties in winter or focused on the shiny, sunlit corner of a kitchen sink hold a dreamy saturation that’s been lost to the precision of smartphone camera features.

This spontaneous style of film photography, called lomography, is a way for Ulrich to add to Lorn while simultaneously sourcing images for her collages. “When I shoot film, it’s always photos of things or moments of light or weather that I just happen to see and appreciate,” she says. “I can’t go out planning to take those photos, I have to stumble into them.”

Connections and Opportunities

Something Ulrich isn’t stumbling into these days is opportunity. Over the last few years she’s been more intentional about getting her work out to the masses.

As any creative person will tell you though, the business of art is fraught with paradoxes, not the least of which is the entire idea of creating for income, especially when adding up all of the hours—sometimes measured in years—that go into each piece.

“The ‘is this worth my time, talent, energy’ question is a constant struggle,” says Ulrich, who attended Grand Rapids’ Kendall College of Art and Design for three years before concluding that a degree and racking up student loan debt wasn’t going to solidify her as an artist.

Of course there’s an “everpresent dream of ‘making it pay’,” she explains, but so far, art hasn’t subsidized an exit from her day job. “I’ve always had an Etsy…I’ve done art markets, online sales, wholesale, commissions and galleries.” Each with its own pros and cons, says Ulrich. “But just getting out there and trying things has opened so many doors in a pretty short period of time,” she says, adding that even things that don’t work out end up leading to a different connection or opportunity.

Her Delamar exhibition, which includes original pieces priced from $80-$365, is one of those connections that became an opportunity. When KP Cultural—a Traverse City based arts advisory that connects artists with their northern Michigan communities—put out the call for artists to feature at Delamar, Ulrich says she jumped. “I’ve had a great experience working with them [KP Cultural] in the past and loved the idea of having my work right on the water that’s been such an inspiration for my art.”

Art for Art’s Sake

The work she loves most, she says, is made with no end goal.

“I’m making it with a love for the materials and what they are on their own, playing with them and seeing how they interact, seeing what happens,” Ulrich explains. “I’ve found that process is essential for me both in creating work I like and as a way of stepping out of my own concerns about how things ‘should be’ or what ‘people want.’”

And with twin girls due before the end of the year and building excitement for the things she’ll make and share with her daughters, staying true to herself in the convergence of art and business is more important than ever.

“The realities of making a living as an artist are really harsh,” she says. “You have to put as much time and energy into admin as you do into your art and you have to find a way to keep those things from disrupting one another. I’m still learning that balance, but I know that showing up to the practice of making art and keeping that practice a place I want to show up to always has to come first.”

To learn more about Ulrich’s work, visit CorrinaUlrich.com