Always make two ...

In the last few weeks I've had a few conversations (with other artists) about how we work or (more accurately) what works for each of us. One of the turning points in my creative process was the concept of "always make two". I wish I could say I'd come to this process through logic, but it actually started as a cost-saving measure.

At the time (several years ago) I was involved in a lot of collaborative and round robin altered book projects. I felt I needed to remember what I'd done in each book, and also (rather feebly) I *really* don't like letting my art go. It's not that I'm not generous (I like to think I am) but I grow quite attached to the finished object, and merely holding it takes me back through all the positive emotions I had while creating it. I don't think liking to hang onto my stuff makes me crazy. I'm just saying.

In the beginning I would photocopy what I'd done in other people's altered books before I sent them on their way. Given the volume of stuff I was doing at the time, this was getting to be quite expensive, not to mention that I'd have to drag the books to wherever to have them copied, fiddle with getting copiers to handle thick books with pages that were never ever exactly 8.5x11. One day it occurred to me that  I could easily make two pages in two books at the same time while I had all the materials spread out on the work table.

And it *really* paid off when I created pages with interactive bits to them (cards in pockets, flaps to lift, etc).

The more I did it, the more creating two of everything at the same time paid off. Eventually I figured out why this was so satisfying and beneficial for me ...

Firstly (as mentioned above) it cures the separation anxiety I feel when my art is sent off to someone else.

Secondly, it allows me to experiment more freely in the middle of a project without worrying that I'll have to go back to step one if it all suddenly goes pear-shaped (i.e.: what the heck was I thinking?!). Since I work in a printshop, I'm quite accustomed to making things in multiples and will often make three or four of something even if only one is required ~ just so I'll have a backup, and be able to mess about with a few different directions in the middle of creating. It's probably important to mention here that I tend to work small and with modest materials, so the cost of doing four of something is not going to break the bank.

Thirdly, keeping one of everything I make is like having a bank of prototypes for future projects. I can easily refer back to a previous object to see how I attached this to that, or how that paint looked on that surface, etc. It's like my own handmade reference manual of how I've been successful (and also when things have failed ~ which is almost as useful sometimes!).

Lastly (and not insignificantly) it's been a great help in those times when I feel like I haven't got a creative bone in my body ... faced with a project deadline or an unfamiliar material, a glance at my shelves says in the most positive way possible: "you've done it before, you can do it again."

So that's how it happened ... the two of everything habit, and I really *DO* make two of everything ... I leave you with the following ... two versions of a postcard I made for Ed Varney's Mayworks Postcard Exhibit. As you can see each card has slight variations, and when it came time to send one away, I didn't know which to keep ... I liked the shape on the head on one card better, but the shape of the hands on the other. In the end I closed my eyes, shuffled them for a minute and chose at random. Do I love the one I kept? Of course I do.

Mysterious mail ...

Top (right and left) Envelope and letter from France. Bottom (right and left) my collage card written in return.

As a person who is sometimes in the habit of exchanging mail art with person or persons unknown, it shouldn't really come as a surprise to have something unexpected and beautiful slide through the mail slot in my otherwise mundane front door. Last week I received an elegant white envelope from a mysterious stranger in France. From the arresting image on the front of the envelope to the single sheet of dreamily poetic prose inside, it was truly an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

My long-distant high school French classes came back to me in bits and pieces, but well enough for me to extract the letter's meaning ... once I'd sussed the quirks and delicacies of the writer's beautiful hand. That small pleasures can be a warm hand that reaches out to you ... or a solitary walk in the forest waiting to be reunited with the one you love, or best of all ... to receive a few handwritten words from you in return ...

Seriously swoon-inducing stuff if I were so inclined ... but, alas, so practical am I that all I could think about was the sheer pleasure this little letter had given me and the least I could do was to write those few handwritten words in return ... so I did. And while the half hour or so that I struggled (surely not struggled!) with working out the letter's meaning gave me such exquisite pleasure, it seemed a poor exchange to write my card in something so prosaic as English! No doubt there are poets who, writing in English, can induce a swoon or two (and if pressed I could produce a list of them), but I think there's little chance I'm one of them ... so I decided to reply in French ... knowing full well that M. Jean-Pierre (for whom French is a doddle) will no doubt find my French appalling, and perhaps (hopefully?) amusing and endearing ... oh well, no matter, it's the thought in the gift that counts, they say ...

Postcard Love ...

Just thought I'd post a quickie pic of the postcards I made for a recent International Postcard Swap I participated in ... they're on the way to their various recipients, all of whom are new art contacts for me, so there's very little chance they're reading my blog (yet!), so they won't see what's headed their way ... but I thought you folks might like a look. If you detect a certain "bantockishness" to them you'd be right ... I'm getting in the groove for an upcoming class with Nick Bantock.

Gotta say not only is this one of my favourite colour schemes ~ gold + blue (notice how it matches my blog background?), it's also one of my favourite themes (celestial). Now if only I could have worked a map in there somewhere, my life would be complete. Well, maybe not ... but you know ... some things just make you happy, and even looking at these postcards all spread out on my worktable was deeply satisfying. Now ... off to make more art!

Map of Heaven ...

Over on Jill Berry's Personal Geographies blog, she's talking journal maps and such, and I thought I'd share an early map I made ... it was one of those odd collaboratives I often get invited to.

The instructions from the organizer went something like this:  Make a map of Heaven / Nirvana / the Great Beyond. Make it literal, figurative, spiritual, scientific, historic, tragic, comic or from a great height, but take it and run with it. Make a huge map that can't be refolded, make a laminated pocket map for heavenly tourists. Make an X marks the spot map for pirates. Make a bus map for the Always-Standing-in-Line thinking: "Where in Hell is my bus?". Make a map of the stars in another Universe. Make a map of the Galactic Railway. Make a "How Things Work" map with woolly mammoths. Make a map of Atheist's Heaven. The possibilities are endless. After your map is made, make it interesting to handle ... hexagonal, circular, dodecahedronal, make Buckminster Fuller proud! Just think, if only Lucifer had a map, maybe that whole Heaven/Hell divide never would have happened. Send me enough copies of your map to give everybody one. Deadline: All Saints Day (Ahem!).

Wish I could remember who organized this one ... it was years ago through Nervousness.org (which, to this DAY, I still miss, although swapbot is a pretty good replacement).

My "plan" was an aerial view of Heaven as a labyrinth in greenery ... and the basic layout was slightly eccentric concentric ovals with breaks between the hedges ... so it would be fingerprintish in nature. The idea being that Heaven is as individual as You Are (as noted in the lower right corner). I had a lot of fun filling in what you would find as you got closer and closer to the center of the maze.

Meanwhile, over on Jill's blog, she's asking people to post maps on our blogs and link over to hers for a giveaway, and while you're there, be sure to listen to her being interviewed by Rice in the Voodoo Lounge. I love all the questions about research ... I do a WHACK of research for all my art projects as well, even if only 10% of what I discover makes it into my final creation, so I could certainly identify with Jill's process. I finally got a copy of Jill's Personal Geographies book as well ... so I am definitely *steeped* in maps at the moment.

I'm with you, little guy ...

Last night it snowed here. Snow was not forecast on the radio. I mentioned this to Mr B. on our way to dinner.

"Snow wasn't forecast on the radio," I said. "Time for a new radio," said Mr B. in his usual deadpan English way.

In the 15 minutes it took us to find a restaurant, it went from light drizzly rain to huge splatting flakes the size of quarters. In the half hour it took to have dinner (the restaurant was nearly empty), it seemed to have given up and gone back to being cold and dark, but not wet.

After dinner, Mr. B dropped me at the Richmond Art Gallery, where I met up with my friend Catherine for the opening of their mail art exhibit (we both had work in the show). Well worth a look, by the way, if you're in the neighbourhood ~ it'll be on display till January 15th.

Anyway ... we thought we'd better get home sooner rather than later as more people came into the gallery saying (cheerfully!) that it was "snowing out there". Good thing we did ~ it had returned to the huge splatting flakes again ~ and they were starting to pile up. The closer we got to home, the more snow there was, until the sidewalks were white, and the wipers were actually pushing slush out of their way. By the time Catherine dropped me at home, my lawn and sidewalk were not only completely white, but also distressingly crunchy. Ick.

And then, this morning, as Mr. B dropped me off at work, we saw this lovely little snowman hailing a bus outside my building, and I couldn't resist taking a picture. I know it's just a snowman, but I absolutely identified with that hopefully raised twiggy arm ... get me out of here, it seemed to say. Oh yeah, I'm with you, little guy ... I'm not ready for winter, either.

Wrapping up a swapbot series ...

Over the course of 2010, there's been a Swapbot group devoted to making a deck of altered playing cards. The project had everyone in the group making 2 of each card and mailing them out to two other participants. I chose to make 3 of each card - mailing out two, and keeping my *own* set as well. I joined the project after it had begun, so I have a few gaps in my deck, but I thought I'd share a few here.

One of the requirements of the project is that the suit and value of the card should remain visible and/or be obvious. In recent cards I've been creating very lean graphic interpretations of the suit and number. I've also been playing with texture (not so obvious on your screen, I know).

The 4 of Diamonds has textured paper glued on the back after the *real* diamonds on the card were cut out. The paper on the front is also textured (oooh, fuzzy!). The 5 is black paint stamped on brown butcher paper with a file folder label. The 6 was created by cutting out six diamonds and playing around with interesting patterns. The 8 is a simple nod to the eight directions of the compass. These four make a nice set colour-wise as well - although that was completely unintentional. I've been stuck in a red / black / tan / ivory colour scheme lately. Can't explain it and don't know when I'll be out of it. Not yet, obviously.

Anywho ... may post more of my cards in the future - but thought you might like a peek at a few of my favourites so far.

Returning to the Blogosphere

I see it's been awhile since I posted. Well, you know, sometimes these *new* habits don't take the first time around. So here's another go ...

I've decided to Post More Art. Which (considering the amount of time I spend in the "studio") shouldn't be hard to do - or so you'd think. I make art ALOT, but often it's for projects that are in the works, and if I posted it here it would spoil the surprise for someone, so I tend not to post what I've just done, and by the time it would be *okay* to post it, well ... I'm off in another direction, and the last project doesn't get posted.

Maybe you have the same feeling I have - whatever it is I'm working on at this very minute is the Best Thing I've Ever Done. And last week's project? Well, just not the same at all. But I've decided to throw caution to the wind in the future and post pictures of stuff I make on a more regular basis. I mean, posting art should be easy, shouldn't it?

But (having just said all that), this post's artwork is NOT by me, but by Theo Nelson, who (out of the blue) sends me postcards of his artwork a couple of times a year - and I always love his stuff - so full of bright colours ~ crisp and clean and makes me want to go make more art (how much more art can I make, I ask?). Not sure how I got on his mailing list, but thanks, Theo!

So here's Theo's latest offering: The Lions in Winter. If you live in Vancouver, you don't have to ask. I look at the Lions at least once a day - at this time of year to see how far down the snow is, and Theo's got it exactly right. To see more of Theo's work check out his website. And make sure to check out his prairie landscapes - if you've ever been to the prairies you will LOVE those clouds. My personal favourite from his prairie ATC collection? "Disappearing Elevator Blues" - now there's a prairie title for you.