Power to the Peaceful ...

Just a little post today, but a big thank you to Rachel for sending me this heartfelt little bit of embroidery. Maybe it's that she's used my favourite colour combination, or maybe it's that lovely hand-stitching, or maybe that it arrived out of the blue just as I'm planning a prayer/intention flag art party with some friends to celebrate my 2nd birthday party (yes, I'm more than 2 years old, but I had my first one last year, so this really will be my second birthday party ~ honest).

Anyway ~ just made me go all warm and fuzzy when I opened the envelope ~ I wondered why her zine felt a little thicker than usual. Lovely little thing, Rachel, thanks so much for the time you spent making it for me.

Wherein a dog will steal your heart ...

Recently I've been enthralled by my friend Holly's story about finding a stray dog. Her story reminded me of George, a best-loved dog from my own childhood. I don't even know if I own a picture of George, but he looked very much like this ~ right down to the knowing eyes.

George came to our family in a most unusual way. At the time we lived in the back of beyond, a remote house on a remote road, without running water or electricity. My Dad had gone out to buy us a wood-burning cookstove. I was never clear where he bought it ~ he knew a man who knew a man who had a stove for sale, that sort of thing.

When it arrived, it was sadly in need of a cleaning and had probably been stored outdoors. While it was still on the back of the truck, my Dad opened up the oven and out popped a very frightened puppy ~ who skedaddled right off the truck and headed for the hills. What I recall of that day was my family wandering along the road and through the bush calling "Puppy! Puppy!" until it got too dark to see and we were in danger of getting lost ourselves. That night, as we talked and read around the kerosene lamps, we were all pretty solemn, thinking of that little puppy ~ cold, frightened and hungry ~ and knowing there wasn't even the remotest chance that anyone else would find him, and worse: that he might wind up as a bear's dinner.

But - happy day! The next morning on our way out to the woodpile, there he was ~ shivering with cold and hunger, still very frightened but having found his way back to us, willing to give us the very slimmest benefit of a doubt that we were better than the wild wild woods.

The first order of business was a name. My Mom said call him whatever we wanted, as long as it was anything but George. None of us could come up with anything that seemed to suit him, and for the first few days we called him Anything But George. Eventually (of course!) it just got shortened to George (sorry, Mom). Wherever he came from, he'd obviously been treated very badly. He crept along the walls in the house and whenever my Mom picked up the broom to sweep the floor he'd pee in fright. Making Jiffypop popcorn would drive him into a frenzy of fear, and he'd have to be put in a "safe" room. But, being a puppy, and surrounded by four kids who were like *so thrilled* to have a puppy, we gradually won him over.

Nobody really knew what sort of dog he was. From the knees up, he looked very much like a Border Collie, but his legs were so impossibly short that it's hard to imagine him herding anything but mice. With such short legs he couldn't run, so he "bounced". And I don't mean that figuratively ~ he actually moved like a springbok ~ he could bounce at least three times his own height. I remember he used to meet us at the school bus in the winter by bouncing OVER the snowbanks. The other kids would all gather on one side of the bus just to watch this crazy dog come to meet us. He also had an unusually large plume of a tail that cleared off the coffee table if he happened to walk past it while wagging happily.

If anything in my young life taught me how deep devotion can go, it was George. He followed us everywhere and was possibly the sweetest animal I've even known. He did this weird verbalization thing ~ sort of yawning and gurgling and nodding ~ like a baby might before it has words. Late one night after attending a concert, my brother and I were trying to sneak quietly into the house so as not wake anyone ~ but no dice, there was George at the top of the stairs, loudly "saying" how happy he was that we were home, and the more we giggled and told him to stop, the more happy, verbal and loud he got. Since mostly we lived in remote places, he'd grown up without other dogs to show him how to be a dog, so I think he thought he was one of us. He sat on the couch like we did (back straight, feet out), and got pretty miffed if he was left out of a treat that all the *other kids* were getting.

We always thought he was incapable of barking until we moved into a little neighbourhood that had three (count'em THREE houses!) and each house had a dog. One night at dinner we could hear a dog barking. It wasn't the deep voice of the German Shepherd in the house west of us, and it wasn't the soft yap of the little dog east of us ~ it was our very own George, who'd finally found his doggie voice ~ we all ran outside to see if he was okay, and he seemed as surprised as we were to find him barking. I was so darn proud of him in that moment, and even though we'd had him for years and loved away all the memories of how badly his life started, I felt like this was the moment he'd finally become "his own dog".

George was an important part of our family, but eventually I did what all children do ~ left home and started a life of my own. George was always happy to see me when I visited, and the other *kids* too, as they moved on. At the end of his life, he was quite infirm, and eventually in great pain. My parents sadly did the decent thing even though it broke their hearts, I'm sure. He lived a grand old life, adored by all of us, and he was, as far as I'm concerned, irreplaceable.

Science Fiction at the British Library ... ooooh, aaaaah

Anyone who knows me knows I love science fiction. Wait, let me qualify that ... I love "good" science fiction. If I were a librarian (and who hasn't wanted to be a librarian at some point in their life, I ask?), the science fiction section of libraries would be a whole lot smaller. It seems to me there's a whole bunch of stuff (we're being polite here) that very clearly *isn't* SF that's put there because they didn't know what the heck to do with it otherwise. And don't get me started on Fantasy ... um, yeah, like SO not Science Fiction.

On previous trips to England I've relied heavily on buying a copy of Time Out magazine on my way out of Heathrow Airport (oooh, place name dropping!). This year, I chose to do my pre-trip planning from the comfort of my own home, by checking out all the usual museums, etc. online first.

I got *really* excited when I saw that the British Library was hosting an exhibit called: "Out of This World : Science Fiction, But Not As You Know It". As a person who's read quite a lot of SF, particularly the classics, I wasn't expecting to see a bunch of "new" stuff ~ but (of course) I did. I spent some of my precious time writing down titles that needed to be checked out in the future (no pun intended), but at a certain point gave up and decided to buy the exhibit guidebook ~ which contained not only a complete list, but grouped them by theme and is profusely articled and illustrated.

Years ago when I was an obstreperous teenager, I remember arguing with my Dad about the merit of SF ~ he didn't see the point of it. I may have won that argument, he started reading SF after that. For me, SF has almost always been about the "big questions" ~ why are we here, what would the present look like if the past had been different, and what will the future look like if we make different choices now? As I see it, one of the tools of SF is that it lets you isolate one aspect of human existence and spin it out into the grand "what if?". Because in the end, however well the writers write, they are still human writers writing human stories for human readers, and I think the best of the best of the SF I've read over my life has made me a better human. And I continue to read SF ~ apart from the exhibit guidebook, most of the books I bought while in England were SF, and classics to boot ~ including one that's eluded me for years, but the how and when of buying it is an interesting story for another day ...

Meanwhile, on the other side of the pond ...

In case you've been wondering where I've been for the last month ... I was here (see photo at left). And lest you think it's the Capitol Dome of one of the many places that might have a Capitol Dome ~ it's St. Paul's Cathedral in London.

This is one of the first of several hundred photos I took on vacation in England. This is the first year that I've carried my digital camera with me everywhere, and as a result I have pictures of stuff that I swear will be of *no* interest to anybody but me.

But we'll start with this one ~ which at least has the merit of being iconic. It was taken while standing on the Millennium Bridge looking back into The City (or "downtown" as we North Americans might say). I've never actually been into St. Paul's ... and since we were headed away from it and across the bridge to the Tate Modern, I didn't make it there that day either. It occurred to me (as I took this photo) that somebody went to a whole lot of trouble to make sure that people walking north on the bridge (i.e. heading towards the "downtown") would have a great view. This might not seem like it would be difficult to arrange, but if you've ever been to London and seen it's windy, twisty streets, you'll know a clear view of *anything* is tricky.

Since there are (literally) hundreds of photos, I'm going to do a series of short posts with a new picture each time. I may even spin the wheel (metaphorically speaking) and write about whatever photo I happen to land on. Today you were lucky and got St. Paul's.

Next time, who knows? I have a disconcertingly large number of photos of textures, particularly stone walls, walkways, brickwork etc etc. They're for a future art project and the more I noticed them the more I noticed them, if you know what I mean. I'll let the wheel land there once, but there's only so much you can say about rocks ...

So nice to be home ...

Artfest 2011 - Part 4 - Pretty Vial Things

My last class from Artfest this year is Pretty Vial Things with Michael deMeng. Our mission was to alter a bottle into something more interesting, but these words barely convey the extent of alterations these bottles endured.

It's been a few years since I laid my hands on tools as beefy and vigorous as the ones we used in this class. Michael gave us a guided tour of the tools and rules before we set off ... how to (or how not to) drill, burn, scrape, paint, attach, detach and puncture nearly every material imaginable, what sticks to what (and what doesn't). A good refresher for me.

And then we set to working with our amazing variety of shapes and sizes of bottles. Some of us came with something like a clear plan of what we wanted to do to the bottles we'd brought with us. Some of us were busy rifling through our bulging containers of random bits and pieces hoping a juxtaposition of materials would activate a lightbulb over our heads.

My bottle was supposed to be a "practice bottle". I thought I'd tinker with it until I got a clear idea of what to do with a lovely (and rare) tapered squarish bottle I'd brought. But the practice bottle somehow took on a life of its own. Michael's supply list had included some materials I'd never worked with (apoxy clay, primarily), and I set about a little task to test its strengths and weaknesses. My test was to raise up the bottle off the table by creating a "fence" of hairpins around the bottom. I wanted a space underneath to put something (I wasn't sure what at the time). Not only did the apoxy clay work ~ it worked fabulously, although it did take some time to dry. As for what went underneath, well even I didn't see that coming.

The day went by very quickly, each of us hard at work on our own little creation, and Michael flitting about the room answering questions and offering assistance with the more dangerous experiments involving sharp revolving metal things and/or fire. He also gave us a really in-depth session on how to mix those crazy paint colour combinations he comes up with. I have to admit that learning his paint mixes was a huge motivation for me choosing his class and he didn't disappoint. I indulged in one his Shades of Alchemy swatch books - it's just the sort of thing I'd create if I'd come up with paint names like Serial Killer Red and Verdigris Crunch.

Somewhere along in the morning Michael reminded us that he would playing music all day, but at 4:00 (sharp!) he'd be playing the theme music to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly and we'd be expected to bring our creations (at whatever stage of completion) for a group show & tell and critique. I must admit that the first few times he said this I didn't really get the full import of his statement, and didn't even catch the ironic humour of the song title. Bruce and I had just re-watched The Good, The Bad and The Ugly a few weeks before Artfest, and my first thought was how cool the music was. Somewhere after lunch (when he said it again!) I finally got it. Also, my piece was definitely headed for the Ugly category at that point in the afternoon. Okay, maybe not "ugly", but definitely not "done".

At the appointed hour (4:00, as I mentioned) we all gingerly placed our ex-bottles (which were now sculptural to the nth degree) on a long table and gathered our chairs to see what Michael might make of our efforts. It's been awhile since I've been in on a critique session. Okay, there was a writing workshop with Lynda Barry, but her critique (as promised before the writing exercises) was simply to say: "Good! Good!" with genuine enthusiasm and move on to the next reader. So what would Michael say, I wondered. Firstly, I give him full marks for asking each person "Is your piece pickupable?" before gently holding it up for us to see. I can honestly say he never once said anything negative, even when the creator in question (including me) was not so confident about how exactly to finish off. I thought my piece was a little "light and frothy", especially compared to some of the darker pieces in the class, and Michael said not to worry, to finish it the way it wanted to be finished. I'm glad I listened, I kept it light, tending towards a kind of weathered Victorian ornamentation rather than the aforementioned Serial Killer Red.

If the variety of bottles before we started was exotic, the variety of things we'd done to them was astounding. The question I asked several times of the artist whose work was being held up was "HOW did you do THAT?!". There's something about the layering of paint and texture that can completely obscure the methods and materials, and that's pretty darn exciting when you're an artist ~ that you can make masking tape look like worn linen, that you can make glass look like rusted steel, that you can make plastic netting look like metal mesh (which is what is wrapped around my bottle).

I hadn't finished my piece by the end of the day, and I spent a few hours after class getting it ready for the Big Show & Tell at the end of Artfest (where all the students are encouraged to show the results of their 3-day adventure). When I bumped in Michael doing the rounds at the Show & Tell, he asked me if I'd finished. "Of course," I said. He asked me to show him what I'd done, and I have to say that even though I was pretty happy with what I'd done it was icing on the cake to have him *really* look at it and appreciate the final result. He looked almost as pleased as me, and then he high-fived me, which I think is quite possibly the first time in my life I've ever been high-fived and even thinking of it now makes me grin.

I'm not sure what to call this piece, although the name that sprang to mind while I was working on it was "Where Sweet the Late Bird Sang" in honour of a Kate Wilhelm SF story. It's been awhile since I read Kate's story, but in some ways this piece reminds me of her writing. You think you're reading about one thing, and then you find yourself aware of some darker undercurrent that's actually been present all along. At the Artfest Show & Tell, just as I was about to pack away my things, a young woman came along with a friend and said: "This is the one I was telling you about. You think it's all pretty, and then you see the hands underneath and you get a little chill ...". I smiled to myself and thought of Kate ... ah, *just* the affect I was going for.

Artfest 2011 - Part 3 - Encaustics!

More about Artfest ... yes, I know it was in April, but I've been, well ... bizzy.

Today's image is from my encaustics class with Patricia Seggebruch. I'd tinkered with encaustics before ... even bought one of those little encaustic irons after 2 days of classes last year.

The classes I took last year were definitely a more painterly approach to encaustic wax. I struggled mightily to create things that looked like real trees and flowers with a medium that seemed spitefully determined to look like crashing sea waves, nebulae and psychedelic dream sequences in 1970's movies. I felt a certain urgency to get things right, even while the hot iron was sliding dreamily about on a cushion of hot wax which looked deliciously edible and exotic. At the end of two days I could see that if I stayed at it, I would eventually be able to do landscapes, floral arrangements and other non-psychedelic representations of reality.

The trouble was that I wanted something *deeper* ~ I wanted the wax to be absorbed into stuff, be embedded with stuff, be scratched into with tools and have pigment rubbed into it. I wanted encaustics that even the hard of seeing could enjoy ~ by running their fingers over edges and bumps. I wanted to look at the surface of the wax and feel like I was looking *through* something into something else ~ like fog, or water ~ getting hints and glimpses of what lay beneath. A kind of archaeologically sculptural experience, rather than a painterly one.

Luckily, that's exactly the kind of encaustics that Patricia was teaching at Artfest. What I've shown you here is my "warm-up" exercise ~ we were given three small boards, and then shown a whole bunch of possible ways to alter them. I decided immediately that I would make a tryptich showcasing as many techniques as I could ... the red panel has embedded pattern tissue, and surface incising with oil paint added. The center blue panel has image transfer, and scattered gold leaf crumbs embedded. The last yellow panel has texture built up by stencilling through punchinella, text made by impressing with metal letters and dotted lines made with a pattern tracing tool with red oil paint added. All three had underpainting with pigmented wax and their edges tinted with pan pastels, and then overpainted with medium again.

Our main project for the class was a book with wooden covers that we altered with encaustics, and although I tried a few more techniques, the end result was a little boring after the freedom of playing with the triptych. I think (having made more than a few books in my time) that I stayed to the tried and true in the book construction and really didn't let loose the way I had with the warm-up exercise. A shame that ... there were some really amazing books that came out of the class, mine just wasn't one of them.

So ... I have this *problem* when I make art ... I just get so *danged* attached to it that I can barely let it go. Whenever I make something, I always (yes, ALWAYS!) make two ~ so I can keep one. It makes the letting go a little easier. But I have to say ... encaustics might be the thing I can finally do where I'm not compelled to keep one of everything. I can see myself actually parting with my creations happily ... not because I don't love them just as much, but because they're so much fun to make that the sheer volume of keeping one of everything could easily overwhelm any storage space I might have. Of course, in reality, the supplies cost a fair whack, so that should help keep the volume down as well.

Since Artfest I haven't yet invested in all the accoutrements of encaustics (apart from buying the iron last year), but I know I will because it was just way too much fun. Now if I could just find a wholesale supplier of wax medium, I'd be a very happy camper ...

Bookish and loving it ...

I've always loved books. I can't remember when I learned to read ~ certainly it was before I went to school ~ probably at age four or so. I know this because I have vivid memories of being bored out of my mind tracing 8" high fuzzy ABC's with my index finger in Grade One, and being seriously annoyed when I realized we weren't going to be given any *real* books until after lunch, or maybe even later.

I claim no particular genius in reading so early, it was most likely due to the fact that in my early years I lived in what we called "the bush", i.e. smallish dwellings in deep forests far from town, and without the benefit of television or (that I can recall), even radio. There were only limited options for self-amusement: go outside and play (which at some times in the year might result in freezing to death), make art (still doing that ~ plus ca change!), help with housework (um ... ick), and reading. Reading seemed the most reasonable of these, since constant art-making was not on the cards due to the shocking absence of craft stores in the deep forest. Reading had the added advantage that I could learn about the Great World Beyond, where I would (and eventually did) go. Even in the smallest of our dwellings, there was always a corner designated: The Library. It might only be a bookcase, but to us it was a Library. I didn't actually get my own public library card till I was 13 or 14 I think. But that's another story and completely unrelated to my reading habits.

Anyone who's been to my house can attest to my ongoing love of books. I *do* have a library card now, but I seldom borrow books. But only because I can't bear to give them back. It's like I form a bond with them ... a contract ... that having read them once, I will read them again, and again, and how can I do that if someone else has them? No ... better to buy them outright. Well, at least until you run into the problem we currently have - no more wall space for more bookcases. Sigh.

Meanwhile, back to the book that inspired this ramble ... or, why have I put a picture of Jonathan Safran Foer's book Tree of Codes here for you to see? I can't claim to have read it. I'm not sure if it's good. But it's definitely interesting. A book after my own heart. In order to find out why, I offer the following videos: public reactions, how it was made and Jonathan says.

In "how it was made" I was particularly touched by a scene midway (2:42) showing pages being hand-collated, a process I've been intimately involved with since I was 18 and continuing up to the present day. Oh, and the cutter shown at 2:33? I know my way around that, too. Granted, I spend much more time nowadays at a desk interacting with a computer (who doesn't?), but if push comes to shove (which it sometimes does), I can cut, collate and bind if needed. Maybe not on as grand a scale as the video, but hey - we can't all be big publishing houses, can we?

The video portrays my very familiar world in an almost romantic way ... the snow of little diecuts falling from the sky ... the tenderness of little suction cups feeding sheets into the press ... the lush musical score. And for all the times that I really really really do not want to go to work (constant art-making is much more fun), there is an ordered beauty to the printing process that makes me really happy too. And I wanted to share it with you.

Artfest 2011 - Part 2

More on my adventures at Artfest ... this episode: too much fun with paint!

My first day's class was Roxanne Padgett's Lush Layered Canvas. I'd taken a class with Roxanne at Journalfest, so I had an inkling (paintling?) of what was coming, but I knew I had SO much more to learn from her. Like how not to be so timid with colours. Okay, I'm still timid, but it's not her fault ~ it's just going to take a few more whacks on the brain to make me more adventurous.

The first thing she had us do was paint a colour wheel, and you know in all the exposure I've had to art, art classes, art teachers and art supplies, I've never actually sat down and made a colour wheel before, and I gotta say - it was a treat. Yes, yes, of *course* I know the primaries, and the secondaries and even the tertiaries, and how it only takes a little bit of dark to significantly alter a whole bunch of light, but doing it was very instructive all the same. Roxanne's advice ("How *not* to make mud") was perhaps the most useful of all, since making mud is the thing that usually scares me away from playing with paint in the first place. We also learned about tints, shades and complements - the stuff that we all think we know about ~ and then you sit down and do it and you see it in a fresh way.

We worked on four pieces at once ... canvas, linen, bottom weight (no snickering out there!) and just your average pre-printed cotton. I eschewed the pre-printed cotton (which was too beautiful to paint on ~ sorry, Roxanne!), and opted to make my fourth piece on paper. Funnily enough, I think I like the paper one best of all. Probably because I chose colours near and dear to me (the colour coward wins again!). Anyway, that's the one I've shown you above. Our basic modus operandi was to start with broad strokes on the bottom layer, and work our way up to more and more detailed layers as we went. We moved from piece to piece, letting each successive layer dry as we did so ... by the time I finished layer one on the last piece, the paint on the first piece had dried enough to move on to layer two, etc etc.

I *did* try to coax the colour coward out of the box, but the results were (to my mind) so atrocious it's one of the few times I wished I could turn back time so I could *undo* my work and go back to the step before when I'd really, really, really liked the piece. Oddly enough, this is the piece (other) people seem to respond most positively to, so obviously I am *no* judge of anything. And no, I'm *not* going to show you that one. Well, not right now ... maybe after I stop sulking and trying to turn back time. This negative turn of events made me chicken out of finishing one of the other pieces, since I knew I was on the verge of Doing Something Undoable That I Might Regret to it and I wanted to think about it a bit before I did that. So that's why I'm not showing you that one either.

I blame *none* of this on Roxanne, who is an amazing and generous teacher. When I'd taken her class at Journalfest I spent most of my time muttering things like: brilliant!, why didn't I think of that? and OMG (in a good way). This time I resolved to a) take better notes, and b) take lots of photos, both of which I'm happy to say I did. I came home fired up to cut my own stencils! use paper plate palettes that become art in themselves! and never waste paint!

So far, I cut two stencils in class: an anatomical heart (loosely based on one of Roxanne's own stencils) and a rowboat, and since I got home I've been experimenting with a woodburning knife to *cut* my own stencils in acetate ~ hey, it works! Instead of paper plates, I've opted to use file folders for palettes (I have like 200 of them and they lay flat, and I can use their random painty goodness in future zines!). And I've been smudging, stenciling and stamping my about-to-be-leftover paint onto already-leftover bits of canvas lying about the studio. Cool ~ looks like I actually learned something.

The dress stencil I used on the piece above is one of Roxanne's own multi-step designs, and she has a *wealth* of ideas about stencils ~ commercially-available, cut-your-own, stuff that was never intended to be used as stencils, you name it ... she's made me aware that I should keep my eyes open at *all* times for hidden pattern and texture opportunities. I'd highly recommend anyone interested in this sort of stuff take a class with Roxanne - she's the bomb.

Artfest 2011 - Part 1

I must be getting old ... coming home from Artfest feels like jetlag {artlag? festlag? surely there's a German word to describe this, they have a word for everything}. It might be sleep deprivation ~ I stay awake far into the nights {did I mention the military beds?}, or I'm too wired to sleep ~ my head brimming with ideas, and then it's back up at 7:00 to get breakfast before class each day. Thank heavens all I had to do was wander sleepily across to the commons building and into the buffet line, where some very nice {morning} people put lovely edible things on my plate.

I kept bumping into people I knew ~ either from other retreats, or from classes at previous Artfests, or from swapping through other websites {hey, beenebag!}. And this year something odd seemed to be going on ... I'm not sure why, but I felt more "settled". I've yet put my finger on the why of it, but I just felt more present and confident and at peace. I didn't do my usual "sit-at-an-empty-table-and-see-who-will-sit-with-me" shy thing I used to do in the dining room. With 500 or so people milling about with food trays {okay, maybe not ALL 500 at once!} there was always someone to sit with ~ so I did. I traveled down this year with my friend Rose {hey, Rose!} and we always looked for each other at meals, and even had our first day's class together, but then it was off in different directions.

There was the usual trading frenzy at the first dinner, and as I'd posted a link to this blog on the Artfest yahoo group, it was heart-warming indeed to have people actually recognize what I'd made from seeing my blog post beforehand. Apparently I'm still getting used to be out there blogwise. I made 120 trades and only came home with about 20 {never fear ~ they will find a home!}, and I received very creative stuff in return. Lots of people handed out collage packs, which came in VERY handy in class on day three. The trading pretty much continues throughout Artfest, and Rose very kindly kept pointing me in the direction of people who had cool stuff I hadn't seen yet {Have you traded with the pea lady yet? She's sitting over there ...}.

And now a word to my gentlemen readers {if indeed there are any}, here's something you might want to remember when faced with an audience of 500 or so artists {primarily women} who've come to take three days worth of classes with roly carts bursting with art supplies ... after dinner on the first night, Teesha and Tracy, our most excellent hosts, had the teachers and the Artfest crew come to the mic and introduce themselves ... and one of the volunteers nearly got a standing ovation for this: "Hello, my name is Richard, and I also know Tracy from an unnamed online game, and my passion is ... lifting heavy objects for women." Of course, your circumstances may vary, but I'm just saying, you might want to have this line in your repertoire.

More on Artfest in the next few days ... after I've recovered a little more from Festlag!

Prepping for Artfest ...

It's that time of the year again, time to go off for a *massive* creative get together with 500+ like-minded folks ~ AKA: Artfest!

For those who've been to Artfest no explanation is necessary, for those who haven't been, it's hard to know where to start ... imagine summer camp for grown-ups, completely dedicated to the creative experience, hosted by people who are dedicated to creativity in their own lives.

The teachers are fabulous, the food is wonderful (I think *any * food I don't have to cook is wonderful, but seriously, it's a miracle we all don't gain 5 lbs in the 5 days we're there!), and the accommodation is ... um, barracks? Yep, that's right, the venue of this artful party was previously a military fort.

I'm scheduled to take three intriguing classes (more on this later), but there's so much beyond the classes at Artfest ... one of the traditions is that lots of people bring some small thing they've created. This year I've made three things to trade: a very traditional ATC (artist trading card), some artful little buttons and a rather clever (if I do say so myself) bobbin made by adding a whole whack of colour to a quite ordinary clothespin.

There's still a bunch of stuff I've got to do before I go, but I think I'm narrowing it down to the last few fragments and oddments ~ it's tempting to take a whole studio's worth of art supplies, but over the years I've learned to travel lighter each time. More about Artfest when I get back!

Sometimes retreating can be a good thing ...

Just back from another of my quarterly art retreats with a group of friends in a little red farmhouse on an island not so very far away.

We started doing these retreats in August 2009, and I love how we've grown together as a group. As a person who plans overmuch, it is a real joy (especially the last few times) to turn up with the rolly cart full of supplies and my head empty of plans ~ letting whatever ideas come to me in that time and in that place be the thing I do.

Along with our mountains of art supplies, and an equally healthy supply of food (or is that supply of healthy food?), we also bring our favourite books to provide inspiration, and this time I let Sabrina Ward Harrison's Messy Thrilling Life give me the visual courage to create a series of 16 collages about the complications of growing up in a dysfunctional family. What I create at these retreats is often a surprise, even to myself. Immediately after I get home I am struck by the fact that something *interesting* that didn't exist before has been created, either by me learning a new technique ~ there is plenty of sharing around the table as we all work on our various projects, or by exploring some heretofore unknown nook of my heart and brain in the process of creating.

Those of you familiar with Sabrina Ward Harrison's work will see at once that I am nowhere *near* as loose and spontaneous as she is (planning overmuch rears it's ugly head again!), but you'll just have to accept that this *is* a step in that direction for me. The 16 collages tell a little story, and I relied on a very limited supply of materials to work from ~ no access to computers or the internet ~ mostly a few magazines, some washi tape, gesso and caran d'ache crayons. I *tried* to write as loosely as she does and make it look good, but I don't think I even got close. But am I happy with my series? You betcha.

A bazillion thanks to the women who make this experience possible ~ for their organizing skills, for their openness and generosity and creativity and even the cooking. Even? Surely I mean *especially* the cooking ~ I may learn a thing or two in the kitchen if I'm not careful. As a person who has stood on the outside looking in for a lot of my younger life, to be inside the circle is amazing ~ it just took me awhile to find you.

Wherever you go, my heart will follow ...

Yet another of the heart-themed projects I created recently. This one was a page in a collaborative book hosted by Jeneen Weekes of the Courtenay, BC Artist Trading Card Group.

In some ways, this little piece (4.5" x 7") is a bit of a departure from my previous work. For one thing (and my friends will spot this right away), it uses a ton of colour. I've recently discovered the joys of digital paper, whereby you purchase a digital image that you can reprint as many times as you wish. This piece uses several layers of digital papers, and since the image is digital, you can layer things on top of it before you print, which is what I did here. I stamped the girl (I love Teesha Moore's quirky zettiology stamps!), then I removed her hat and drew in a suitcase. Then I scanned the new image, and laid it on top of the digital paper, which is a page of vibrantly coloured strips and printed it out. Then I cut out the girl and coloured her coat and stockings with pencil crayons. Torn strips of the digital paper become both the ground she stands on and the wall behind the El Corazon wall poster.

Various other things were done to the piece (obviously!) including sanding, a light gesso wash over a stack of admission tickets along the right-hand edge and overstamping with a flourish behind her head. I created nine separate pages, and on each one of them, the colour from the digital paper fell in a slightly different place (I moved my image around on the page before printing to make sure that happened!).

More Hearts, More Words ...

I thought I'd post another of the hearts I monoprinted at the Richmond Art Gallery a few weeks ago. This one was based on the same basic drawing as the previous one, but I wanted it to look very different ... well, as different as one could expect being exactly the same size and shape and colour palette. The amount of watercolour paint I used for this one was so dense that I was actually able to make three increasingly faint prints from a single base painting.

I always had in mind that I would add text, although I wasn't quite sure what text and how I would add it. In the end I chose the very simple method of writing a poem in white ink over the whole piece. Yes, I know that some of the text disappears and is therefore unreadable, but I like it all the same. I created the monoprinted hearts for a project initiated by Melissa McCobb Hubbell, and she set not only the size and the theme but also the colour scheme ~ reds, pinks, browns, white, ivory, etc. This heart (okay, its twin) has been trimmed to 6"x6" and is one its way to Melissa, but abiding by my always make two rule, this one remains untrimmed and I've kept for myself. I might even frame it. I think.

The poem was written for the project. One of the things I *can* do (apparently) is produce a little verse on a particular topic fairly quickly. A few quiet moments concentrating deeply on something usually gives me a satisfactory result. My mother-in-law claims that I can do this because I am Welsh, and the Welsh are (according to her) able to knock out an ode without any undue effort. For many years now I've been trying to tell her that I'm no more Welsh than the next person, but she insists I am, based on my last name (19th most common last name in Wales). By this logic, my partner (her son) would be Canadian based solely on the fact that his last name is the 10th most common in Canada, although he's actually English (as were his parents, etc etc ad infinitum).

What I'm up to ...

Yeah, I know, two posts in one day, what am I thinking?

I was updating the long column of stuff to the left of my posts, and suddenly realized that probably not many people read that far down, so I thought I'd post it here as well ...

READING: Arcadian Adventures with the Idle Rich by Stephen Leacock. Written in 1914, a very funny satire of the upper crust of the American nouveau riche at the turn of the previous century in an unnamed but very New York-ish metropolis. At one time considered to be a better read than his classic Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town, and I can see why. But then I grew up in small towns, so I already knew their foibles. The foibles of the rich are infinitely more exotic.

WATCHING: Documentaries on TV. Have also recently re-watched Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, The Time Traveler's Wife and Frequently Asked Questions About Time Travel, all while working in the studio, so not *really* watching, more like listening while I work.

LISTENING TO: NPR online archives, especially Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me! I think they should do a show featuring the answering machine messages that Carl Kassell makes for the people who win their phone quizzes. Also digging the latest Radio Lab releases.

DOING: Mini-zines, Collaboratives & Tidying Up: I'm still making mini-zines once a month for a swapbot series. I recently launched a fabric collaborative book on the theme of Winter Trees (not due till May). I'm 2/3 of the way through 3 heart-themed exchanges hosted by other people. Prepping for Artfest (what oh what to make for trades!?), and I'm trying the take advantage of the slowdown at work to make some sense of the piles of stuff I call my studio.

ENJOYING: Links my brother sends me: What can I say? He knows my quirky tastes and sends me fun stuff to look at, here are a few that I've really enjoyed lately ...

- Animation of the human body as a machine
- Carl Sagan versus Astronomy
- How birds might use quantum entanglement to sense Earth's magnetic fields - okay, I see you out there doubting that this might be something I was already interested in, but I was just listening the other day to TWO documentaries about this ... one on how carrier pigeons find their way, even when they're blindfolded and driven hundreds of miles from "home", and another on magnetic pole reversal (did you know that the magnetic north pole wanders all over the north?) and how a reversal of the magnetic poles might affect bird migration.

And (since I was posting anyway) the pic is another of the hearts I monoprinted yesterday. This one will probably get stitching and mica buttons added to it.

Okay that's probably enough for today .... now it's back to tidying for me!

The Heart of the Matter

I don't usually work with hearts as a rule, but in the last month I've done three projects using hearts as a theme. What can I say? When you get an invite to a project that looks intriguing, you give in and go with it.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon at a new adult art program at the Richmond Art Gallery called "Let's Make Stuff!". The idea is to bring something you're already working on and play in a creative environment with other artists.

Kathy invited us to try using their monoprint press, and since I'd come with no fixed idea on how to proceed except to make something heart-shaped, it seemed a good time to experiment.

I drew a basic heart shape, then overlaid it with a stiff acetate plate painted with gum arabic. Using watercolours I outlined the heart in black, and then loosely painted in the heart in red, and filled the background with a nice woody brown. After everything is completely dry, the acetate plate is put paint-side up onto the bed of the press and covered with a high-rag content print paper that has been soaking in water for about an hour (I squeegeed the paper between two sheets of blotter paper to remove the excess water first).

Sheets of heavy felt are laid over the paper/plate sandwich and then the whole press bed is crank-fed through the rollers. Then the print is gently pulled off the acetate plate, and you get what you hope is a decent print. Kathy told us this kind of printmaking has so many variables (roller pressure, moisture levels, paper quality, how you apply your initial paint to the plate, etc. etc.) that it takes years to predict accurately what's going to come out the other end.

Yesterday all of us seemed pretty pleased with what we got - and we all did wildly different things. Including pulling second and third (increasingly faint) prints off our painted plates (the term monoprint does rather imply ONE print per plate). Some people even ran the same paper through with the plate rotated to get a ghosted image interacting with the initial strong image. Ah, the joy of being a newbie! Wish I'd had the presence of mind to take pictures while we were doing this - it would have been infinitely more informative.

This heart will be the base of what I'm making for one of the projects. I intend to add something to it - probably handwritten text. I might even add some small collage elements if I can find the right touches. And, following my usual "always make two" rule, I have two to play with, so I've got at least a 50/50 chance of getting something I'll be happy to send off, and a 100% chance of having something to help me remember the process for our next Let's Make Stuff! session at the RAG.

PS - Yes, I'll post the other two heart projects (both using anatomical hearts) when the intended recipients have received them. Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day!

What fairy tale characters *really* carry in their pockets ...

Perhaps I've been working in printing too long. Perhaps my access to fun clipart is too easy. Perhaps my brain has too much time on its hands (wait ~ brains have hands?). Whatever the reason, here are a few quirky little business cards I designed for a fairy tale themed project over at swapbot.

The project actually only called for 4 cards, but the mercurial bot at swapbot assigned me two people who live at the same address, and I thought: well, how much fun would it be to get *exactly* the same thing as the other person you live with, so my brain went into overtime and designed 10 different business cards for fairy tale characters. The first six cards came easy peasy. The next two ideas required a little coaxing. The last two were extracted painfully from the dim recesses of logic (who *hadn't* I thought of in fairy tale land that really needed their own business card?). I'm only showing four of the ten here (so as not to spoil the surprise for those on the receiving end), but I assure you there are ten in all.

My favourite is SHOD ~ Our Shoes are Magic. I love it's simplicity. And anyone who knows me knows that I *so* need some magic shoes. My feet and off the shelf shoes have never agreed. And when I do find a comfy pair, they never last. Sigh.

Cloak & Dagger was a fun card to make. Modeled slightly after Mr. Big & Tall, only my version is more like Mr. Big & Tall & Mean with a Very Pointy Stick. I agonized over how to describe their specialization ~ not wanting to be politically incorrect and assign any real-life people to stereotypical henchman status. I quavered over hunchbacks. I still wonder if I chose right. My apologies to any hunchbacks I may have offended.

I blame the plethora of eHarmony commercials for eMagicMatch (tm). Let's hope their legal department has a sense of humour and knows when they're being *homaged*. But how could I resist communication fortnights and personality inquisitions? They were ideas simply begging to be used.

Stepmother Counseling was one of the last two (that were painfully extracted from the dim recesses of logic). They really have got the short straw in fairy tales, I think. Not *all* stepmothers can be bad, can they?

A few hints at what you didn't see ... Cauldrons 'R' Us has a Boil & Bubble special discount ("Now you're cooking!"), Wand-a-Riffic is located (of course) on Waverly Place, and you simply must use Mercury Messengers for when it absolutely, positively has to be there in a FLASH!

There's also an enchanted food detection service called How About Them Apples? specializing in rooting out tainted teas, poisoned potions and fiddled fruit. Crown Cleaners will handle your messes like magic (you can reach them at 555-PAY-DIRT), and Merlin the Mapmaker promises to be precise in scribing a route for your quest, but lists his own location as "next to the tavern, knock twice", which seems oddly vague.

As you might imagine I had quite a lot of fun making these. When the ideas start to arrive I describe the experience as a kind of "free-fall" through my brain. One of the many things I've learned over the years is not to let a good idea get away. You think you will remember ~ but you won't. Which is why I have a shelf full of journals that take me back to moments when I was on a roll idea-wise.

More altered playing cards ...

Over the next little while I plan to post almost the entire deck I created for the series of altered playing cards I worked on last year through swapbot. I'd like to think I eventually got the hang of it, so some of the early ones will be, well let's say "less good", while the later ones will be brilliant. Of course, I jest. There may be some "less good" ones later on as well. I'll let you be the judge.

One of the quirky things about working on a series is that I sometimes get a kind of affection for the parts of the series completely out of proportion with the *actual* quality of the work. One of the set will have a lovely composition, but alas the colours are less than perfect. Another will exactly be the colour I wanted, but oh my, how badly assembled! C'est la vie. Now ... on to the twos!

The two of diamonds is very tactile. Not merely *striped* paper, but quite strongly corrugated and painted a nice deep red. The background paper is *bubble paper*, created (as I recall) at nearly midnight in a tiny hotel bathroom during an art conference with my friend L. We were up well past bedtime, blowing bubbles and giggling, and thinking that the hotel management would be at the door any moment to chuck us out for being too noisy.

The two of spades has nothing to do with fish, except that it gave me an opportunity to use one of my favourite lines of poetry: "And in the heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish." It was finding this single line in another work of art that spurred me on to find the entire poem (pre-wikipedia, I might add!). The poem (Heaven by Rupert Brooke) has several other lines that while deliciously vivid are much harder to work into conversation. When (for instance) would be the right time for these lines: "But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime"?. I'd like to think that you are (at this very moment) opening a second window on the internet, googling the whole poem and loving it as much as I do.

The two of hearts has two of my favourite things in it. Firstly, the rubber stamp with the pointing finger. I simply can't tell you how things that finger has pointed at in my art over the years. As you see here, I particularly love stamping it on text, to give it that extra je ne sais quoi. And secondly, the line: Always make two, so you can share. I have a terrible affection for everything I make. Really. I *hate* to give stuff away. Not that I'm stingy, but it feels like giving away one of my children. The solution I've developed over the years is to: Always Make Two. At least. Then I can keep one, and give the others away with a happy heart.

The two of clubs is fairly straighforward. It was obviously created during my red / black / white / ivory / tan colour phase. I finally seem to moving on from this limited palette, and other colours are gradually returning. The background paper was made while I was in mad spray-painting mode. During the summer I got *very* excited about spray paint, particularly after I found some great artist spray paint that comes in about 80 colours and dries so quickly that I could spray and stack the pages as I went. I only have 5 colours so far, but I'm looking forward to when the weather warms up so I can *go get more*.

More number sets coming soon!

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.

Exhausted and well worth it ...

Who knew sitting still all day and talking to people could be so exhausting? Had a wonderful time at Canzine West - sold enough zines to make it all worthwhile financially - but that's never really been the point for me. I love talking to people - finding out what fires their creativity - what artist inspires them (maybe one I've never heard of - hey, it happens!). And when it comes to selling I'm almost more pleased to get trades from other zine makers than cash (I know - how *uncapitalistic* of me!).

Maybe because Canzine West followed so closely on the heels of WOTS (AKA Word on the Street) it seemed like there were a lot of familiar faces today - both behind the tables selling (or trading!)and in front of the tables buying. The fact that the space was large enough to accommodate plenty of both was great. And the diversity was fabulous - it really did have the feel of a *cultural fair* about it. I'm so glad I went - even if my face does hurt from smiling (and laughing, and talking).

One of these days I will *actually* post pics of the zines in question (really, I will!), and maybe (gasp!) even start selling them online, I mean I can't keep waiting for zine events to come around, can I?

Had some really great interactions today ... people who were new to zining and therefore eager to start their first one, and people whose work is not only familiar to me, but I already own most of their body of work (I really am a *collect the whole set* kinda gal).

I know, you were probably hoping for a pic here - any pic, but sorry ... need to go finish making some Artist Trading Cards for our monthly ATC swap tomorrow. Ah, the life of an artist ... never dull, I'll say that much. Photos at 11, or whatever blog phrase is equivalent to that.