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 ...

Missing Artfest ...

As spring gets closer a part of my creative self is remembering this is the time of year (in past years) I'd  be getting ready for Artfest, which was hosted by Teesha and Tracy Moore and a crowd of volunteers. I'd be reading supply lists and gathering materials and thinking about how wonderful it is to gather with hundreds of like-minded artists for 5 intense days of learning and sharing. But (alas) Artfest is no more, so for this part of the process memories will have to do.

Oddly, what I miss most of all is making the trades. Given the population of Artfest (500+ artists), I took real pleasure in making small arty items to share with as many people as possible, and would often make something like 150 of whatever I'd decided to make, usually small books (quelle surprise!). I mean, how often in one's life (unless you're in manufacturing), do you get to sit down and make 150 of anything, particularly a small token of your creative self. Even now I find my fingers twitching to buy some little twiddle I've found in bulk with the idea that it would make an excellent start for trades at Artfest.

Fortunately for me, Artfest has brought some deep and wonderful friendships with other artists and I continue to meet (and retreat!) with them on a regular basis. It also introduced me to some fabulous teachers who I otherwise would only have known through their blogs. Like Roxanne Padgett for instance. It was in her class that I overcame almost all my colour fears. In fact, just looking at her artwork before I went to Artfest led me to Be Brave with Colour while making my Artfest Journal to take with me (as you can see by the front cover above).

And it was in her class more colour fears fell by the wayside as I created the portrait above. It's so completely different from anything I'd done before that I still can't believe I made it myself. I enjoyed her class immensely ~ from the warm up exercises that loosened us up, to the actual techniques of creation (this portrait was developed front to back on a sheet of plexiglass), to seeing the amazing variety of the work by all the other students. I've been eagerly awaiting her book "Acrylic Techniques in Mixed Media: Layer, Scribble, Stencil, Stamp coming out soon, and I'm *so* looking forward to it, although it won't be the same as having her right there encouraging me to *explore*, but it'll have to do.

My experience in her class, and in other Artfest classes have continued to feed and nurture my creative courage even today. So colour me bittersweet - missing Artfest, but loving where it got me.

Gelli Plate Surprise ...

Yesterday I decided to have a little fun with my newly-acquired 8x10 Gelli Printing Plate. This may come as a surprise to some of my creative friends, but I'm a bit of a doofus around new tools. I've watched other people magically creating amazing stuff with ease, then I've rushed out enthusiastically to buy whatever miracle toy they were playing with ... only to find the stuff I create is ... a hopeless muddle.

I'm very happy to report that my experience with the Gelli Plate is *not* one of those times. As near as I can tell it may well be idiot proof (Exhibit A: the collage above). With a minimum of tools, a variety of acrylic paints (some new and luscious, some old and cranky), some leftover divider tab sheets and about an hour, I created a generous stack of deliberate experiments and gorgeous happy accidents.

So ... what did I love? Each print doesn't need much paint, so it's very economical. Think that "clean up" is a drag? Don't clean up till the end! Yes, you can change colours as you go. See that collage above? I only cleaned up at putting away time. Don't like the first print you pull? That's okay, set it aside and print over it a second, third or fourth time till it can't take it anymore and decides to be gorgeous for you. Think you hate the final result? Not so fast. See that mottled green on the bottom row? I really hated it when I pulled it, but looking closely at it later I decided it was very nice indeed. And did I mention the no clean up till the end thing? Oh yeah ...

So ... paints ... I used whatever I had on hand. Mostly random acrylics, although my friend Rose recently gave me some super sparkly Dick Blick Glitter Watercolours, and while their pigment wasn't strong, the sparkle is very cool (and that's from a person who usually shuns glitter). The more liquid your paint the more prints you'll get from each inking and the easier it is to spread it around, but even my less liquid paints were fine, just took a bit more time to brayer them on evenly. Whatever the paint is, the first pull is usually fine, and if the paint seems too dry for a second pull, just lightly mist the plate. The green dots on the middle square in the collage were from a misted pull, and I love how they turned out.

Tools I used: stencils, foam stamps, a little graining tool, the core from a roll of skotch tape, a rubber brayer and a spritzy water bottle. I also taped a length of freezer paper to my table before I started - the Gelli Plate contains mineral oil, so it needs to be on something so you don't mark your table. Some people use a piece of glass or a teflon sheet. This also helps you if you want to rotate the plate while you're using it.

My other essential item (gleaned from watching various gelli vids on the net) is something to roll your brayer on after you've inked the plate. My choice of was an outdated copy of Leonard Maltin's movie guide. Let's face it, there's nothing more out of a date than a 20-year-old book of movie reviews. I suppose I could have torn out the pages and rolled on them, but I decided to just roll and turn the page. I figure I can throw it in my bag and take it to collage parties.

The table (post clean up). Poor Leonard! His reviews were never this colourful.

Well ... that's about it ... I just signed up for Carolyn Dube's Colorful Gelli Printing Workshop. I've been watching all the wonderful videos on her blog and I love her enthusiasm. In her last post she gelli'd her freakin' shoes (!). I'm looking forward to learning a ton more fun stuff to do with my Gelli Plate. I mean, if this is what I can create in an hour with *no real* knowledge, just imagine how far from a hopeless muddle I'll be with a little more practice.

Looking back at our shadow selves ...

Today's post is a page from the Time Traveler book I contributed to the Sketchbook Project back in 2012. I was thinking the other day about how long an idea can stay with you before it finally surfaces in the form of art and/or writing.

The first time I thought about shadow selves was about 30 years ago ... my 22-year-old self was having lunch with a group of friends in a hotel restaurant in the town I grew up in, but where I hadn't lived since I was 12. We'd driven 125 miles, from the town we all currently lived in, to consider renting a house together in this new location, and I hadn't told anyone that I'd once lived here.

Through the restaurant window I could see the elementary school my 8-year-old self had attended. Since it was lunch time, the school field was alive with active, noisy children playing games that probably hadn't changed much since I'd been out on that field myself. It was like looking back in time, and what came to mind was a particular sports day when (not being athletic) my 8-year-old self volunteered to help the teachers organizing and handing out ribbons and water and bandaids. I remembered the day very well, and at lunch time on that day, I'd been sitting at a table putting ribbons in order, facing the very restaurant my 22-year-old self would someday be sitting in.

And if that wasn't odd enough, my 12-year-old self had taken music lessons in one of the hotel meeting rooms, so now there were three of my shadow selves, all within easy reach of each other. Even at 22, my awareness of this overlapping of shadow selves made an impression on me.

The second time I thought about shadow selves was while traveling in New Brunswick in my mid-30's. I'd made a trip back east to meet my parents' families, and at one point was traveling by bus from one small town to another. I was dropped off at the pickup point (a gas station) to wait for a bus that might be along in anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. It was a pleasant sunny day, and the gas station had provided a comfy, sheltered bench outside for waiting passengers. I did what I always do in times like these ~ I took out my journal. I started writing about the people and places I'd seen so far, and a half hour later the bus came and I got on board. If there's one thing I learned 'back east', it's that hurry is not in the vocabulary. The bus was not in a hurry to get on the road ~ we were there for at least another half hour. In that time, other people arrived and boarded, and I continued writing. From my seat in the bus I could see the bench I'd been waiting on, and I saw myself there, on the bench writing, and I was now, on the bus writing. I was thinking how unlikely it was that I was there at all (so far from home in BC) about how insubstantial all these past selves are, and since I was writing, I wrote about it, mentioning not only that current experience, but looking back on my 22-year-old awareness of it as well.

Fast forward another 20 years, and in my journal I'm making page after page of notes for the Time Traveler project, realizing we all travel in time, we just do it one day at a time. And in every second we leave ghost imprints of ourselves wherever we go. I was thinking about this: where are we most solid and what does this tell us about ourselves? What can we learn from where my shadow selves have been? Can we go back there and relive our experiences in other times? Of course we can ...

True dat ...

Just back from another creative weekend with some of my favourite people on the planet ~ my art journalling group. We've been meeting a couple of times a year for about 4 years now, and when we began I struggled with the art journal form. Sure I love books, love making them, love writing in them, and can't help arting up the pages, but it seemed to me that everyone else's journals were so much more art journally than mine. I longed to be able to see the colour, pattern and texture of the images I was using without feeling bound to use the image for what it was, a boat as a boat, for instance, instead of upside down and turned into a person's leg. On this trip I edged closer to having that experience, but obviously not on the journal page above.

"Time is the thing you can't get back" has been running through my head for weeks now, and it came together on this page with some nice 1950/60's-ish images from a magazine and a school textbook. This page is from La Musee d'une Vie Inventee (Museum of an Invented Life), a journal I made at another of our retreats, as I posted here. It sat empty for quite a long time until I figured out how to tell the story of an invented life.

It isn't my life exactly, but since my life is the only one I know intimately, then it's probably closer to mine than anybody else I know. Each page reveals something about an unspecified woman ... where she lives, how she sees things, bits and pieces of her memory and the experiences that made her who she is. Like me, but not exactly me, which turns out to be a comfortable balance point somewhere between fact and fiction. At a Q&A after a book interview I heard Margaret Atwood say proclaiming your book to be 'non-fiction' brings out the obsessive fact-checkers. She said every true story contains some fiction, and every made-up story contains some fact, and it's more interesting to have people think you've cleverly hid some truth of yourself in your fiction than having them distracted from the story by the search for false facts.

Time is indeed the thing you can't get back, not only that we can't get back to childhood, but also that wasted time is wasted time, and can't be bought or bargained back at any price, so it's important to use the time we have wisely. True dat fo real.

From deepest darkest space, it's ...

 

Somebody had *way* too much fun designing this SF pulp fiction cover creator over at Thrilling Tales of the Downright Unusual. There are so many eye-popping image and text options that you could spend all day tweaking and and grooving on the grungy goodness, but it's so easy-peasy that it took me a whole two minutes to create this fabulous retro-fun image to celebrate my return to blogging. SF geekiness meets design smarts in the blazingly fast world of the internets. Big props to my brother for pointing me to this addictive little tool ~ it's way cool.

Celestial Navigation ...

This evening I'm finishing up another art project ... this time an international postcard swap I read about at Artists in Blogland. It seemed like a nice quick little swap, and a good exercise between some larger projects I'm working on.

As well as the three people in the swap I'm sending to, I've also done as the instructions suggestions, I've sent one off to FEATURING Magazine for possible inclusion in an article on mail art, so who knows .. maybe it'll surface again.

For those who know my work, the celestial theme will be familiar, as will the colour scheme. I'm tempted to tell you way too much about all the bits and pieces that went into its creation, but I'll keep this post short and  not get carried away ... let's just say mixed media and leave it at that, shall we?

A rose by any other name ...

Today I finished another project I've been working on, helping a friend who is creating some theatrical costumes. She's divided the project up into bits and solicited help from a large group of friends and colleagues, so I've only a rough idea how the bit I've done will fit into the final costumes. My mission was to needle-felt a pair of twining roses onto a linen panel which (theoretically) will become part of an apron over a long folk-art style skirt.

This is the first time I've actually tried to accomplish something with needle-felting and it turned out to be easier than I thought. I think needle felting is one of those activities where you learn the basics in minutes: Step 1: stab felting needle into wool rovings. Step 2: don't stab yourself*. Step 3 to infinity: repeat steps 1 and 2 till the wool is felted into a shape you like. Learning how to manipulate the rovings and where and what angle to do your stabbing is where the mastery comes in. (* Really - don't stab yourself! Those felting needles are *wickedly* sharp. I have proof, but didn't think that would be a picture worth sharing).

For this project I was pleasantly surprised to find that wool yarn can be basted onto a linen background with only a few minimal stabs, essentially drawing on the fabric with yarn. I mixed the yarn colours together for some variety. Once the lines were drawn, a little persistent stabbing has them felted down in practically no time at all. Well, okay, a little time, but not nearly as long as you'd think.

I made a happy discovery while attaching the felted leaves. I was stabbing along the leaf center line and - hey presto! - the edges folded up in a very leaflike way, which gave me a clue about how to make roses. My instincts told me to "build" a rose from the outside to the center using separate circular petals to get a more realistic look, and it worked out well I think. I had an "uh-oh what next" moment as I neared the center, then realized that by pinching one quarter of the innermost and smallest felted circle I could create a bud with the rest of the circle forming a petal around it.

There are 2 roses on the apron front, both about 6 inches across (remember: they need to be seen clearly as roses by the audience). But even at such a large size they're not very heavy since wool rovings are quite light and airy, even after felting. I also had a hand in one of the other costumes so I'm looking forward to how all the costumes come together and seeing the finished production.  

I had no idea how easy it was to "draw" with wool on fabric ... now that I know how *not* to stab myself, I've got all sorts of wooly sketchiness ideas going through my mind. Cool. Or is that ... warm?

Sketchbook Project time again ...

So here's what I've created as this year's contribution to the digital library at the Sketchbook Project. Even though I've had my blank journal since the 2012 tour came to Vancouver, it took me *forever* to decide what to do. I suppose there are worse predicaments than having *too* many ideas ...

It came down to two ideas. The first was an abecedarian of sorts, an A to Z where the pages of the journal had been cut and folded to form the letters. I actually got a pretty good start on this one ... until I realized that I needed to tweak the binding in order to keep the pages together so they could survive shipping and multiple people reading it. I haven't abandoned this idea, but I need to (ugh) do more math.

The second idea was to take a very very very short story I'd written in my journal that I thought might be interesting to illustrate using torn paper collages. And in one those weird accidental forethought situations, it turns out that I went through an unexplained photography phase last summer taking pictures of pebbles, stones, rock walls, sand, water and other natural surfaces. So it was a mere matter of printing out my photos, making a bunch of photocopies and tearing them up. Oh yeah ... like illustrating a book is a mere matter of anything!

The only problem is I'm pretty bad at drawing people ... and there is actually a person in the story, and eventually she has to appear in some form or other ... and no amount of torn rocks and water will pass for a person. I thought I might get away with only showing a hand or an arm, so I did a few drawings. They were ... passable ... but instead of helping the story I felt they were more of a distraction and a let-down.

So there I sat .. staring at my own hand in the position I wanted to draw it and wishing I could transfer it just as it was onto the page. Then I remembered I'd recently I read about a young artist, Sara Lando in Italy, who was crowd-sourcing the funding to have her Magpies book published. Her book was made by photographing herself (and other people, objects, etc), then printing out the photos, cutting everything out and placing them in 3D paper diaramas. She'd then re-photograph them and use the photographs as panels in a graphic novel. What I needed to do was simple ... photograph my hand, print out the photo and glue it into the book. Et voila ... !

The gist of the story is that a woman goes every day to the edge of the river and places a stone till she can build a bridge to the other side. Even as I wrote the story years ago it seemed to me that this was an allegory of sorts, that the bridge was more than a literal bridge ... it was a bridge between more than two physical places ... so I decided to represent the stones as torn text rather than just as ordinary stones.

A few other tidbits ... the sleeve in the photo above is actually the wrong side of some black quilted satin I received in a fabric swap about 15 years ago. Another one of those beautiful little things I've hung onto thinking it might come in handy one day ... and again ~ voila! As usual I've made two copies of this journal ... one for myself and another to be permanently added to the digital library at the Sketchbook Project.

Back in the saddle ...

You may (or may not) have noticed I haven't blogged in awhile. Not sure why ... just got busy with life ... and it was sort of a "last thing in, first thing out" kinda deal and blogging was the thing that got neglected. I didn't stop making art or anything ... I just didn't blog about it. But recently I've been feeling the itch to share what I've been up to, so thought I'd start today while it's snowing outside (what? how did *that* happen?).

So I won't talk much and I'll just get on with sharing artwork I've made in the last 6 months. Yep ... it really  was six months ... in the words of Pink Floyd .. is there anybody out there?

Today's collage was something from a little retreat I attended last October. We had a short amount of time, limited materials, and a specific writing exercise which preceded making the collage. Which obviously worked for me since this little gem emerged very intuitively. It's way simpler than my usual collages - funny how putting a limit on time and materials can force you to be creative in new and rewarding ways. This one was made with only 3 items: a sheet of 70's stationery (aqua ovals), a page from a magazine (girl + title) and a postcard of Italian doorknockers. I used the symmetry of the photograph as my cue for the composition, and also balanced the ovals in the stationery on the top with the ovalness of the doorknockers on the bottom. But I think my favourite bit is the single golden doorknocker which forms a halo over her head.

I enjoy writing exercises but lack the self-discipline to make myself do them on my own, which is why I love  art retreats, collaborating with others, taking art classes and joining time-limited projects where I expect myself to produce something worth sharing at the end. Whether it's a brief time of contemplation, writing and collage (as this one was) or multiple months with the Sketchbook Project, give me an external deadline, a direction to head into and I *will* create something I wouldn't have created on my own, and probably surprise myself with some kind of useful insight to boot.

It's Papergirl time again ...

Yes, it's that time again ... time to create something interesting to give away to complete strangers on the street. After mulling over no less than 5 different ideas in my journal, I found myself drawn back (pardon the pun) to these organic plant-type thingies I've been creating lately. They popped up last month just in time to become Artist Trading Cards (see my post on the Vancouver ATC blog if you want the whole story) and I guess I'm not done with them yet. Pictured below are two incarnations they've had lately ... first as ATCs (as mentioned) and since I had some left over after our ATC session, the leftovers are being turned into book covers that I can give away as part of Michael DeMeng's Art Abandonment project.

For the Papergirl project I'm all about quantity (share the love, right?) ... so my plan was to create a simple black and white artwork and then print a 100 or so of them for Papergirl Vancouver to distribute. I love organizing things on a grid, so I made 4 variations of each of the 4 designs, drawn on text pages from an interesting (and damaged) German book I found years ago.

Here's the full grid of drawings ... I'm calling it Botanical Studies, but that might be a bit of leap, since it's more like Botanical Imaginings, what with me not actually looking at anything while I drew them. I'm terribly terribly tempted to paint one panel on each print when they're printed ... but there's something simple and beautiful in the black and white by itself, and what with the time crunch ~ the deadline for Papergirl submissions is July 18 ~ I may leave them as they are ... any thoughts?

The funny thing is that I was completely unable to decide between my 5 other ideas ... all very interesting and they may see the light of day some other day, but when these popped back into my head this morning I knew where I was headed, and I had the whole thing completed before lunch. Oh, and in case you were wondering what I did last year for Papergirl ... here's a little reminder.

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!

Caran d'Ache, Watercolours and Other Stuff ...

In my last post I mentioned that I'd discovered a new way to use Caran d'Ache water-soluble crayons as watercolours, so I thought while I'm at it, I might as well show you my *new* portable art kit that I've put together. As my friends have heard me say (perhaps a little too often?), if I'd known how much I was going to love these crayons I would've bought the big box. I bought a set of 30 while at Artfest a few years back, and even though they were on sale, and the store was giving Artfest attendees a further discount, I still hesitated. It's not that I didn't think they were worth it, but I already have way too many art supplies that "other people love" only to find that I can't make them do interesting things in my hands. My problem, not theirs. Anywho ...

For the first three years of their lives, my Caran d'Ache sat in a neatly spectrumized row in their original tin, and then one day I needed to do a background, and the most efficient way to do it was by breaking a crayon  (gasp!) and using it on its side. I paused, thought about it, and then, ceremoniously, broke my first crayon. And then I broke them all, one after one. And I lived. I know that might sound weird, but I'm funny about keeping things pristine in the package, just in case, oh I don't know, I get audited by the Art Police or something (I didn't say it was logical). Two things happened after that ... every trip to Port Townsend and Akamai Arts led me to buying more Caran d'Ache, and I moved my little half-crayons to a lovely thin little tin (less prone to coming open and spilling and all that sort of un-Virgo stuff). But (and you saw this coming, didn't you?) one day, even broken in half, I'd bought so many new colours that they could no longer fit in the lovely little tin. Uh oh. I graduated to a larger tin, and the new tin had room for Other Stuff. This is the story of the Other Stuff, and how, at our last retreat, I discovered I might actually *like* watercolour painting, something which has mystified (and possibly terrified) me for years. 

So ... left to right in the photo ... elastic hairband (more about that later), Mini Mister, scribbles of Caran d'Ache on label backing sheet, bit of old t-shirt (don't tell Mr. B.), dollar store paintbrush (cut to fit in tin), pop bottle cap, the Caran d'Ache I scribbled with, and the traveling tin. Oh, and the artwork? More on that later. It's taken about a year to perfect this little traveling kit. All packed up it measures 6.5" x 4.5" by 1", and is in fact, an old Maya Road tin I got years ago, its contents long gone. I've never been one of those people who likes BIG containers of water when I paint ~ too many opportunities for tragedy to my mind (hmmm ... must be the Virgo thing again). I prefer pouring a little water from the Mini Mister into a pop bottle cap, and cleaning my brush on the t-shirt scrap, or (truth be told) on the back of my hand (I know, I know, I'm a symphony of contradictions). But then I've never been the kind of person who slathers on acres of acrylic paint either, which would require the large pot of water and the Big Brushes.

Finding out that certain label backing sheets make excellent palettes was another bonus. Oh yes, I know, it *sounds* logical, but I discovered that not all label backing sheets are equal. Some are so slick that you can't scribble the crayons on them and that's no good either. Also (and quite coincidentally), a standard label backing sheet folded (or cut) in quarters, neatly fits in the Maya tin, too. Double bonus. The elastic headband holds the whole tin together because heaven knows it was *no good* at keeping my hair in place when I wore it. I think I must have a spherical head. But that's a discussion for another day.

Here's everything packed up to go ... the bit of damp T-shirt is rolled and tucked away so the wet is well away from the water-soluble crayons and the now dry bottle cap and the mini mister make sure it stays that way. The label backing sheet has been wiped clean of any residue and is folded in quarters ready to lay on top of the crayons and the little brushes, and the elastic headband waits to wrap it all up. The headband goes around the tin twice by the way, which is perfect when I want to elastic the tin to my journal for traveling.
Well, that's about it ... unless you were hanging around to see the artwork, in which case ...

These are my first attempts at illustrating somebody else's words ... in this case, the song "Parkette" by Bob Snider. I could rave on here about Bob Snider for awhile, and you'd probably understand him better by listening to him, but he's amazingly elusive online, which fits somehow with his persona. My first encounter with him was years ago when I was volunteering on the Admin Committee at the Vancouver Folk Music Festival. A couple of us spent some time trying to track him down for a scheduled performance only to discover later that he'd been busking in the downtown eastside. I'm no musical expert, but I don't think I would describe his playing as dazzling or virtuoso. In fact, his style of playing and his banter are so warm and casual and understated that it's only about halfway through the song you realize your heart has been sucker-punched (in the best way possible) by his lyrics. "Parkette" is one of my favourite little nuggets of his work, a brief 1 minute and 40 seconds. The pages are not in order in my painting, in case you're wondering why it doesn't make sense ~ and I'm only show you half, since the final project will be printed back-to-back. When I say "printed" I'm being optimistic. I thought when I got inspired to paint his lyrics that it'd be an easy thing to contact him and get permission to create and print my little book, but as I say, he's darned elusive online, and I've yet to get through to someone who can ask him if it's cool with him that I've created this. But when I do get through, and if he gives the okay, there may be a minizine in the making. But, in the meantime, I've definitely gotten over my irrational fear of watercolours.

Home from another wonderful retreat ...

Just back from another art retreat and thought I'd share a few photos ... clockwise, from top left: a freshly-minted muslin Gypsy King enjoys the "reading" table ... a fun little stamped banner was hung over a vintage photo by the front door... a *very* cool set of thin alphabet stamps ... an aerial view of my caran d'ache crayons and my washi tape collection ... the "paint table" was in full swing ... even the "freebie" table looks beautiful without trying ... and in the center, someone's well-loved and well-used palette.

At midnight the day before we left, I was literally sitting in my studio without a clue what I would take with me to work on. Having just finished two sketchbooks for the Sketchbook Project, and a few other big projects, my head was unusually empty of inspiration and ideas. I've learned in times like those to go lay down on the bed with a notebook nearby and breathe deep for a few minutes - imagining the future stretching out like a prairie road in front of me and see what looks like it might be coming over the horizon. A half hour later I had near-enough to a brainwave to start packing ... and things went much faster after that.

And (of course) what happens is that when I get there and start seeing what everyone else is up to, the creative gears start turning. I spent the first evening bringing the Gypsy King to life. I discovered him on the "freebie" table with just enough paint in just enough places that he wasn't a blank slate, so to speak. His hair was already half orange/half blue, his eyes were drawn on and he had a heart. Somehow the presence of these merest of markings were enough to set me going. Throw in my recent readings on the history of Gypsies and Travelers, and I soon enough found his character taking shape and colour. I wish I'd had the smarts to take a before picture, but you'll just have to take my word for it that he was nothing like he is now.

In lieu of paints, I used sharpies and caran d'ache crayons to add all the colour and pattern. That's the funny thing about *not* having a plan ... if you don't have a plan, you can't not be following it, if you catch my drift. But I quickly discovered that drawing on a soft muslin doll with hard crayons is not so easy, and this led me serendipitously to a new way to use caran d'ache crayons like watercolours by scribbling a "puddle" of colour on glossy card and using a wet paintbrush to soak up the pigment and paint the muslin. Not only did I get the full range of colours I already had, but by scribbling two colours together, I could really control the palette. I went on to use this technique to do some "real watercolours" later during the weekend (which I'll share in another post) and I have the unplanned Gypsy King to thank for it.

After having spent a few good hours bringing him to life, he looked a little bored when I perched him on the windowsill behind me ~ yes, I know, he's not real ~ but I still felt compelled to give him something to keep him occupied while I continued on with my creative weekend, so I tore out some pages from an old stamp catalog and made him a book filled with postage stamps of places he can dream of visiting. And once he had a book, the reading table was the logical place to be. Happily, he also joins a growing list of "interesting things I didn't know I was going to make when I got there". I love these retreats. I wish everyone in the world could go off and do what we go off and do ~ be creative, supportive and spontaneous. It's really amazing what comes out of it.

And here's a little more from the Science of Story ...

 Here are two more spreads from The Science of Story. As you can imagine, I had quite a bit of fun combining scientific charts, graphs and diagrams with text about writing. I've always been fascinated with "infographics". Not sure why that is, although I've heard that women are strong visual learners, and we very much like to see the relationships between things rather than just absorbing masses of information. I'm no expert, but I do know I often feel a bit at sea learning something new till I have a visual framework to hang all the info on, so it makes sense to me.

The Science of Story is part of the Sketchbook Project - Limited Edition, which means that at least one of my pages will be chosen for publication in a series of books the Brooklyn Art Library plans to publish. When I signed up I saw that the range of topics for the Limited Edition was quite a bit shorter than  previous projects they've launched. I'm hoping this means they'll be publishing a book for each topic and someday I can look forward to seeing an entire book on The Science of Story through many different artists' eyes. And wouldn't that be fun? Oh yes ...

The Story of Science of Story continues ...

Just popping in to post two more page spreads from my current project on deadline for Monday (eek!). Okay, not eek, because I'm *nearly* done ... just looking for an old photo of me in a lab coat for the About the Author page at the back. Did I mention I'm trying to make it look like an old textbook? Okay, not a *real* textbook, but you know, an artist's interpretation of a textbook on the science of stories as if stories were a science. Okay ... I'm gonna stop talking now ...

Working on a new set of twins ...

 I can't believe it's been almost a month since Artfest. I keep hoping I'll get time to post some Artfest stuff ... but time marches on, and art deadlines march right along with it.

Just at the moment I have two big projects in the works .. both with April 30th deadlines, which goes a long way to explaining my recent absence from blog-world.

Here are two little teasers on one of the projects: The Sketchbook Project (Limited Edition). The first thing I did when I got my blank sketchbook was take out *their* pages and replace them with some blueprints I've gathered from various sources. I knew from the beginning that I'd be working with my theme (The Science of Story,  cover as shown) by diagramming the writing process as it might be portrayed in a science textbook.

As usual I started with a massive amount of notes, ideas and scribblings that I hoped would turn into coherent pages when the time came. Well, the time has come and yep - all those notes are coming in *very* handy, and by the end of the week I should have all 16 (!) spreads finished. Here's one I finished this evening ... first I drew the circle's edge and lightly gessoed the circle. Then I divvied up the circle as a pie chart and wrote out some of the places where story ideas come from. By the way, I'm not claiming ANY scientific accuracy in any of the diagrams in the book ... I'm just having a little fun thinking about the Science of Story and what that textbook might look like.

As usual, I'm making two books at once so I'll have one to keep. I'll post more page spreads over the next little while ... and when the Science of Story is on it's way, maybe then I'll have time to show you what I did at Artfest ... till then, this'll have to do  ...

Oooooo .... pretty ...

Sorry ... couldn't resist showing you the rainbow of painted buttons I finished today to trade at Artfest. Is it just me or do they look like giant, shiny, tasty smarties? They look so pretty all spread out together, I've been running them through my fingers like a colour-demented Scrooge McDuck, enjoying how they feel and sound ... oh, and trying to figure out how to keep them all for myself. Mwah-hah-hah.

Whoosh! Say ... wasn't that a deadline?

This year's trades: Books, Mini-Zines, Buttons & Tags

Time tends to speed up as Artfest approaches, and this is especially true when it's time to make all those items to trade with other attending artists. I decided to make a variety of items since this'll be the last Artfest (insert moment of silence here).

The largest (and most collaborative!) trade item is the Book of Faces (top left). I posted an invite on the Artfest Yahoo group for people to send black and white line drawings of faces to add to my ongoing collection ~ an attempt to encourage myself to draw more faces. I'm pleased to say the finished book contains more than 150 drawings, as well as additional sections on tracing and clipart, as well as blank pages so people can continue to add their own faces.

Also included (by kind permission of Kathy Barbro) is a section I'm calling "Art Projects for (Big) Kids", which features some of the face-themed projects over on her Art Projects for Kids website. Her site  has *way* more than face-related art projects, and I highly encourage you to surf over and have a look, particularly if you have children or, what the heck, if you've ever been a child. The full-size version of my Book of Faces will be traded with people who submitted drawings, and I've made four mini-zine excerpts of the book (the blue covers along the right-hand side of the photo) to trade with other attendees. I'm so pleased with how they all turned out ~ and relieved to have them all done in time!

I'm also making some laminated luggage tags with some cool thread "dribbles" on the back. Mr B. wanted to know how exactly you "dribble" thread ...he insisted it's not really possible ... of course, when I showed him what I was doing, he agreed that dribbling was as good a word as any he could think of.

Artfest-wise, I'm also making some fun 1" buttons, as well as participating in the Artfest ATC book AND the 4x4 chunky book, but thank heavens all those bits and pieces were sent to their respective organizers long ago. I might even manage to get a few more ATCs made when all is said and done. Whoosh, indeed!

For any of you who've been to Artfest, I don't need to tell you how wonderful and rare an experience it is. So, here's a shout out to Lelainia for taking me to my first Artfest years ago, and bunches and bunches of appreciation for all the fabulous teachers and like-minded friends who've grown out of my Artfest connection. I know this last Artfest will be amazing and bittersweet and I plan to soak up every little bit of it ~ hence the overkill in my participation this year. I wish Teesha and Tracy and their whole gang all the best as they set their sails for other projects and artistic horizons.