Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Surprise me
Let's hope the cure is not worse than the disease. I long to have my worries proved baseless.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
First wildlife report in a long time
I think it was on my third post ever that I talked about the first wild turkeys ever to visit my yard. That was in October 2012. Since then I haven't seen or heard a single one. Pretty disappointing, really. But then about two weeks ago, the flock was back. It was only for one day and I don't know where they hang out the rest of the time, but it just made me so happy to know they were still in the world.
Other news on the wildlife front: the people who used to leave plates of food in their front yard for the skunks have stopped doing so. Spring and summer 2015 I saw as many as 9 skunks all at once in their yard when I drove to work. But not this year. And who could blame them, really? I've only seen a few Mephitidae in that yard this entire year. They were probably having their hopes dashed, just like I was.
The mom deer who has spent so much time in our yard has successfully raised her two fawns from last year into adolescence. The babies are now a two-prong buck and a lovely doe. This is the mom's second set of twins since we've known her.
And that's about as much wildlife as I think I should inflict on anybody.
Other news on the wildlife front: the people who used to leave plates of food in their front yard for the skunks have stopped doing so. Spring and summer 2015 I saw as many as 9 skunks all at once in their yard when I drove to work. But not this year. And who could blame them, really? I've only seen a few Mephitidae in that yard this entire year. They were probably having their hopes dashed, just like I was.
The mom deer who has spent so much time in our yard has successfully raised her two fawns from last year into adolescence. The babies are now a two-prong buck and a lovely doe. This is the mom's second set of twins since we've known her.
And that's about as much wildlife as I think I should inflict on anybody.
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Long-term project
So I have this story I've been working on for oh, probably about 20 years. And by working on I mean feeling guilty about because I'm not really working on it. And while I'm not working on it I can't start any other large story because the idea of abandoning this story is too painful.
My poor characters are stuck, have been stuck, one on the edge of a lake trying to explain why the the life this guy she's talking to dreams about is not at all what he seems to think it would be like, and she should know, while the other main character is stuck on a star cruiser finding out that his life has completely changed because he rescued the wrong person, and oh yeah, a tracer has been installed on his ship so the authorities will know if he doesn't go exactly where they tell him to, so no funny business.
The story and the predicaments are a lot more interesting, to me at least, than these sticking points would suggest. I just can't get past them. My choices: Quit and move on to some new story. Commit literary murder and kill some darlings, as some famous author whose name I can't remember said and quit being pinned down by them. Back up and restart and go off on some other tangent that serves the story better.
The thought of quitting makes my heart hurt. I love my characters and I want them to complete their quest. But oh my darlings! How can I cut them out when I love them so much?
So backing up it is.
I can only be considering this because work happens to be a little slow at this time of year, so I am under the illusion that I will actually have the time to work on my story. Most of the time, I can't really afford to think about this.
Why am I here writing about writing instead of actually working on my story? Well, I have been working on it tonight. But I am done for now.
My poor characters are stuck, have been stuck, one on the edge of a lake trying to explain why the the life this guy she's talking to dreams about is not at all what he seems to think it would be like, and she should know, while the other main character is stuck on a star cruiser finding out that his life has completely changed because he rescued the wrong person, and oh yeah, a tracer has been installed on his ship so the authorities will know if he doesn't go exactly where they tell him to, so no funny business.
The story and the predicaments are a lot more interesting, to me at least, than these sticking points would suggest. I just can't get past them. My choices: Quit and move on to some new story. Commit literary murder and kill some darlings, as some famous author whose name I can't remember said and quit being pinned down by them. Back up and restart and go off on some other tangent that serves the story better.
The thought of quitting makes my heart hurt. I love my characters and I want them to complete their quest. But oh my darlings! How can I cut them out when I love them so much?
So backing up it is.
I can only be considering this because work happens to be a little slow at this time of year, so I am under the illusion that I will actually have the time to work on my story. Most of the time, I can't really afford to think about this.
Why am I here writing about writing instead of actually working on my story? Well, I have been working on it tonight. But I am done for now.
*****************
oh character sweet
more than a dream, less than real
oh wait: you are real!
*****************
Oh my, that was particularly bad, wasn't it! I'm not sure that any further drafting could improve it, so it stands.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Gardener
Ah, the rain is finally here. Not the scary east coast Atlantic storm kind of rain. A gentle gardeners rain. In October. Because that is the best time to start a garden around here. I guess.
He put aside his paper and pen and went to stand at the window. Under the sopping sky wisps of green poked up through the mat of last year's dead grass. He looked down at his clean, clean hands.
New-made mud called to him.
Shoes and socks barely had time to land before he was out the door.
He put aside his paper and pen and went to stand at the window. Under the sopping sky wisps of green poked up through the mat of last year's dead grass. He looked down at his clean, clean hands.
New-made mud called to him.
Shoes and socks barely had time to land before he was out the door.
Monday, October 24, 2016
Why yes, I am agnostic
the original sin:
to know you are one with god
then to forget...what?
(What's this? No reference to a season, so it can't be a haiku.
And god was the only one-syllable word I can think of at this late hour that would identify the universe and everything. Definitely not referring to a personality.
But if there is a One that we all start out part of, observing it and thinking about it are ways to become separate from it.
Whatever It is.)
Sunday, October 23, 2016
aaahhhh yup
Still here. It's been a complicated few months and I A) haven't had much time for creative work and B) just don't feel like it on the rare occasions when surprised with spare time.
In the movie Words and Music, musician Alex Fletcher, thoroughly exasperated when reluctant lyricist Sophie Fisher claims that she just can't write on demand, cries out: "Inspiration is for amateurs!"
Sometimes I think that inspiration is the enemy of work. Or the enemy of getting work done, anyway. Inspiration comes to me while I'm driving or at work or folding laundry, but evaporates the instant I'm free to follow it. This summer and fall I've mostly just wandered off into chores or a book when the creative urge fades. Predictably, I've barely written a word, barely thought of a single story or line of poetry. No dyeing, no sewing, no drawing.
And meanwhile, I am surrounded by advice to work every day no matter what. Time with a pen fills paper with words. Waiting around for the right feeling (as deeply satisfying as it is when it arrives) doesn't accomplish anything. I know all this. Everybody knows all this.
I really loved it during those months where I was posting a blog almost every day, no matter how short or banal. The point of the exercise was to do anything. I will not have more time for art in the foreseeable future. But maybe I can get back to doing something.
However, though I haven't had time for art, I have been doing other important things, with and for actual humans. I can't really consider that a waste of time.
In the movie Words and Music, musician Alex Fletcher, thoroughly exasperated when reluctant lyricist Sophie Fisher claims that she just can't write on demand, cries out: "Inspiration is for amateurs!"
Sometimes I think that inspiration is the enemy of work. Or the enemy of getting work done, anyway. Inspiration comes to me while I'm driving or at work or folding laundry, but evaporates the instant I'm free to follow it. This summer and fall I've mostly just wandered off into chores or a book when the creative urge fades. Predictably, I've barely written a word, barely thought of a single story or line of poetry. No dyeing, no sewing, no drawing.
And meanwhile, I am surrounded by advice to work every day no matter what. Time with a pen fills paper with words. Waiting around for the right feeling (as deeply satisfying as it is when it arrives) doesn't accomplish anything. I know all this. Everybody knows all this.
I really loved it during those months where I was posting a blog almost every day, no matter how short or banal. The point of the exercise was to do anything. I will not have more time for art in the foreseeable future. But maybe I can get back to doing something.
However, though I haven't had time for art, I have been doing other important things, with and for actual humans. I can't really consider that a waste of time.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
my mind is a blank
stress really is a killer. a killer of creativity for sure. and of time. and of time for creativity. that's all there is to say about today. and yesterday. and most of the summer.
but things are looking up. so i will look up too.
but things are looking up. so i will look up too.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Monday, June 27, 2016
Don't let the stars get in your eyes if you've got water on the brain
I did actually play with thickened dyes about three weeks ago, as I mentioned I would in my last post. I haven't had any free time to do anymore since, but I was very happy with at least some of the prints. I printed on plain printer paper for testing...and learned that water-based dyes just bleed all over on that type of paper unless you thicken them so much that you can hardly press the dye through the screen. I had better results with watercolor paper and with, and this was my main goal, fabric. I've only scanned one paper print so far.
I have a lot to learn about how to squeegee ink/dye evenly through a screen, but it looks promising. Practice, practice, practice.
But not tonight. It is so hot that my brain is percolating. This is my one evening off and I have managed to read a little and have a glass of wine under the stars. Gazing at the sky in wonder, cogitating on the meaning of it all, soaking in star beams, and similar.
Which is a pretty good use of time, after all.
And here's the link to the source of the title of this post:
Thank you for the memories, Homer and Jethro.
I have a lot to learn about how to squeegee ink/dye evenly through a screen, but it looks promising. Practice, practice, practice.
But not tonight. It is so hot that my brain is percolating. This is my one evening off and I have managed to read a little and have a glass of wine under the stars. Gazing at the sky in wonder, cogitating on the meaning of it all, soaking in star beams, and similar.
Which is a pretty good use of time, after all.
And here's the link to the source of the title of this post:
Thank you for the memories, Homer and Jethro.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
I'm getting ready to experiment with thickening dyes so that they can be used like silk screen paint or paint for block printing. I've gathered all the chemistry and most of the equipment. Where I'm getting hung up, though, is in coming up with a design to print. This type of envisioning is just not my forte. So the day is gone and nothing is printed.
However, on the positive side, getting prepared for when inspiration does grace me with its presence makes today not quite the waste that I was worried it would be.
When I tried to draw tonight, I looked through some old horticulture books for samples. I ended up drawing something that is of no use whatsoever for printing, but it is so nice to have something to show for the day that I will accept this as a gift.
Of course, I had help. If help you call it.
However, on the positive side, getting prepared for when inspiration does grace me with its presence makes today not quite the waste that I was worried it would be.
When I tried to draw tonight, I looked through some old horticulture books for samples. I ended up drawing something that is of no use whatsoever for printing, but it is so nice to have something to show for the day that I will accept this as a gift.
Of course, I had help. If help you call it.
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Waiting
Waiting for inspiration to strike. Strike. What, like lightening? Like sudden electrocution out of a clear blue sky? Like standing under a tree during a birthday party in France?
No thank you.
Like being arrested between one step and the next by a brilliant poppy shining out of the dead grass? That's more like it.
Maybe a strike isn't really the best way to think about it. If inspiration favors the prepared mind, it would be wise to spend more time with my hands on a keyboard. Or with fingers wrapped around a pen.
There is a certain romance, though, to the idea of being carried away by an irresistible idea. But again, it's better to have the tools in hand, just in case.
Blather, blather. It's Saturday night and I just finished work about ten minutes ago. And it's getting really late. Late for a work night. Not necessarily late for a Saturday night. I've been typing on and off for about five hours today, and I guess my mind and fingers have pretty much had enough. But I wanted to post something.
The one thing about having very few readers is that I don't always have to worry too much about coming up with deeply profound art (would that be triply redundant?). I can just ramble on until I either catch scent of a story or fall asleep.
Nope. Nothing. But by gosh, I made the effort anyway. A small something.
No thank you.
Like being arrested between one step and the next by a brilliant poppy shining out of the dead grass? That's more like it.
Maybe a strike isn't really the best way to think about it. If inspiration favors the prepared mind, it would be wise to spend more time with my hands on a keyboard. Or with fingers wrapped around a pen.
There is a certain romance, though, to the idea of being carried away by an irresistible idea. But again, it's better to have the tools in hand, just in case.
Blather, blather. It's Saturday night and I just finished work about ten minutes ago. And it's getting really late. Late for a work night. Not necessarily late for a Saturday night. I've been typing on and off for about five hours today, and I guess my mind and fingers have pretty much had enough. But I wanted to post something.
The one thing about having very few readers is that I don't always have to worry too much about coming up with deeply profound art (would that be triply redundant?). I can just ramble on until I either catch scent of a story or fall asleep.
Nope. Nothing. But by gosh, I made the effort anyway. A small something.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Not poetic justice after all. Thank the ineffable currents of causality and coincedence.
I saw her last on Wednesday morning. She came to the door, but then something caught her attention, and she went slinking low and slow across the deck and down the steps to the yard. I put the can I was just about to open back on the stack.
I walked out the back door to get into the truck to go down the small road to the bigger road to the desk where I spend most of every day with no cat on my lap. She was perched on the edge of the raised garden bed watching a very interesting gopher hill. She looked at me only to say that I'd better not come any closer and scare her preferred breakfast.
And that was that.
No kitty at the door that evening.
No kitty at the door Thursday morning.
No kitty Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
The neighbors had not seen her. But the guy up the hill told a story about how one day last week he was talking to a friend on the street. "In broad daylight! The middle of the day! A coyote comes trotting up the street with one of those chickens from down at the corner hanging out of its mouth."
That was after we found the dismembered raccoon hidden in the high grass next to the oak trees in the far back.
It seemed pretty clear.
It would be a sort of awful poetic justice, wouldn't it. A beastly equation. Predator becomes prey. Live by the tooth, die by the tooth.
Holding grief at bay with: Maybe not, maybe not. But I put away her food bowls.
My downhill neighbor called Sunday evening. "I opened the shed door and she shot right out!"
I walked out the back door to get into the truck to go down the small road to the bigger road to the desk where I spend most of every day with no cat on my lap. She was perched on the edge of the raised garden bed watching a very interesting gopher hill. She looked at me only to say that I'd better not come any closer and scare her preferred breakfast.
And that was that.
No kitty at the door that evening.
No kitty at the door Thursday morning.
No kitty Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
The neighbors had not seen her. But the guy up the hill told a story about how one day last week he was talking to a friend on the street. "In broad daylight! The middle of the day! A coyote comes trotting up the street with one of those chickens from down at the corner hanging out of its mouth."
That was after we found the dismembered raccoon hidden in the high grass next to the oak trees in the far back.
It seemed pretty clear.
It would be a sort of awful poetic justice, wouldn't it. A beastly equation. Predator becomes prey. Live by the tooth, die by the tooth.
Holding grief at bay with: Maybe not, maybe not. But I put away her food bowls.
My downhill neighbor called Sunday evening. "I opened the shed door and she shot right out!"
 |
| Thinner but apparently not traumatized. Sitting on my lap so close to my face that I could hardly take the picture. |
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Pareidolia
Everywhere I look
Faces look back at me
Kittens in the water droplets
The smiling waif in the fold of the curtain
Elves from the vines embracing the corner of
the house
The naiad among the pebbles on the bed of the
creek watches the sky
There
is a name for this, I am told.
We
are creatures who see patterns where there are none.
We
see hunters in the stars and sleeping ladies in the hills.
When
we look harder, the angry Wookie staring out of the edge of the wall
dissolves
into
cracked
plaster and two vacant nail holes.
I feel their eyes on me
I wait for them to speak
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Books
I really can't get over how busy work has been. I dream of creation, and know that when I have a spare hour I'm going to be gasping like a drowned fish unable to so much as touch a pen. Words, words, words, all day and half of every night.
And still the one thing I love to do almost more than anything else (Almost.) is to read. I read like other people meditate. I always feel better afterwards. And during. Lucky me. This is the only pastime I can really partake of, though not as much as I would like. I have a couple of nonfiction books going now--Coyote America, a book on Jung, The Forest Unseen...I dip in and out of whatever I have the energy for at the moment, and depending on how many moments I have. The Forest Unseen is great because it has short chapters and I feel like I've completed a thought when I finish one. For fiction I've started The Lord of the Rings again because A) I love it, and B) I know what's going to happen so if I get sleepy I can put it down without worrying about leaving characters in the lurch. It's my comfort book. And I get something new out of it every time I read it, even after all these years.
Ack. It's late. Better get back to it.
And still the one thing I love to do almost more than anything else (Almost.) is to read. I read like other people meditate. I always feel better afterwards. And during. Lucky me. This is the only pastime I can really partake of, though not as much as I would like. I have a couple of nonfiction books going now--Coyote America, a book on Jung, The Forest Unseen...I dip in and out of whatever I have the energy for at the moment, and depending on how many moments I have. The Forest Unseen is great because it has short chapters and I feel like I've completed a thought when I finish one. For fiction I've started The Lord of the Rings again because A) I love it, and B) I know what's going to happen so if I get sleepy I can put it down without worrying about leaving characters in the lurch. It's my comfort book. And I get something new out of it every time I read it, even after all these years.
Ack. It's late. Better get back to it.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Enough
This has been a month of extremely long hours of repetitious work. Over the weekend I just had to get away from my keyboard and out into the fresh air, but I didn't want to take precious time to drive to the local state park for a walk, as luscious as that would have been. So I wandered around my neighborhood with a camera for a few minutes and felt a lot better.
It's enough, sometimes, just to get outdoors. It doesn't always have to be a big undertaking involving gas and travel time and a change into halfway respectable clothes. The breeze is just as refreshing on my own street as it is in the park.
It's enough, sometimes, just to get outdoors. It doesn't always have to be a big undertaking involving gas and travel time and a change into halfway respectable clothes. The breeze is just as refreshing on my own street as it is in the park.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Mushrooms!
What a crazy few weeks this has been. But enough of that.
Since I last posted, I have learned one new printing technique (two weeks ago) and gone on one hike (today).
Here is my first reduction print ever. I just wanted to whip something out in a spare 15 minutes, and was amazed at my success. I was just going for a proof of concept project. If I'd known it could look so good I would have been a lot more thoughtful about what I carved and about registration. But then I wouldn't have had the time to do it at all.
I carved a very bad mushroom and a little bit of detail into Speedball's soft pink rubber block stuff and stamped it in teal. I stamped again next to the original to clean the block. Then I carved some more and stamped over the first prints in purple. (These being the only functioning ink pads I have on hand.)
A huge pay-off for such simple labor! I am imagining what I might be able to accomplish with some actual planning.
Today I went out to find real mushrooms with someone who knows about mushrooms. She knew all the names. I don't remember any of them.
Except for the morel. Which we left in place.
Packed the cameras
and made it back to the car
before the clouds burst
Thursday, March 10, 2016
So I tell myself
I keep thinking that if I just organized my time better, if I stopped watching a few minute's-worth of funny videos before settling down to work, only read books in that last nearly asleep twenty minutes before bed, and skipped facebook entirely, I would have a lot more time to write and work on art projects. So I tried it. Dropping extraneous entertainment, that is. (Except for the reading...books are friends! So not extraneous at all.)
It didn't really make much difference. Sometimes, I really do work that many hours, and as it turns out, I'm only spending 15-30 minutes/day with Studio C and movie previews and catching up with other people. I could post a bad haiku with that time, and it would be a worthy use of time. But so is taking a break.
It didn't really make much difference. Sometimes, I really do work that many hours, and as it turns out, I'm only spending 15-30 minutes/day with Studio C and movie previews and catching up with other people. I could post a bad haiku with that time, and it would be a worthy use of time. But so is taking a break.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
scary politics:
rude potential presidents
no one to vote for
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Final parting
she asks:
when will he find rest?
whenever you can come
I say
the sun is blind
the clay won't mind
whenever you can come
she asks:
will tomorrow do?
tomorrow or the next
I say
one night or three
the same to me
tomorrow or the next
she asks:
what shall we wear
the colors of your heart
I say
love and tears
and tattered years
the colors of your heart
when will he find rest?
whenever you can come
I say
the sun is blind
the clay won't mind
whenever you can come
she asks:
will tomorrow do?
tomorrow or the next
I say
one night or three
the same to me
tomorrow or the next
she asks:
what shall we wear
the colors of your heart
I say
love and tears
and tattered years
the colors of your heart
Friday, March 4, 2016
Monday, February 29, 2016
What a month...still, we perservere
Work...beyond crazy. So I do what I can when I can.
First, here is my first print with real block printing ink from my first linoleum block:
Pretty much a mess. The next prints were worse; the ink got really thick and nasty. Impossible to use. I've since learned that there is an extender that thins and rehydrates the ink, but it also makes it somewhat transparent. I'd better get some and see how it works. But I was wondering...if this is water-based ink, why can't I just add some water? It's worth a try, but I think if it were that easy I would have seen someone suggesting it. No one has.
Tonight I cleaned the block up a bit and printed with stamp ink, since that's what I have. The one on the left was printed by putting the block on the paper and pressing down with my hand. The one on the right was printed by putting the block down face up, laying the paper over it, and rubbing the paper with a wooden spoon.
The spoon print transferred more ink, but less evenly. I can see that this is going to take a lot of practice. Also, now that I look closer, I see that I need to keep in mind that it takes longer than expected for the ink to dry. The smears on the purple images are actually ink left on the glass pane of the scanner when I repositioned my sketchbook.
I'm really loving carving the blocks, though! I didn't expect to. What a great surprise. I'm inspired to make more. Lots more.
First, here is my first print with real block printing ink from my first linoleum block:
Tonight I cleaned the block up a bit and printed with stamp ink, since that's what I have. The one on the left was printed by putting the block on the paper and pressing down with my hand. The one on the right was printed by putting the block down face up, laying the paper over it, and rubbing the paper with a wooden spoon.
The spoon print transferred more ink, but less evenly. I can see that this is going to take a lot of practice. Also, now that I look closer, I see that I need to keep in mind that it takes longer than expected for the ink to dry. The smears on the purple images are actually ink left on the glass pane of the scanner when I repositioned my sketchbook.
I'm really loving carving the blocks, though! I didn't expect to. What a great surprise. I'm inspired to make more. Lots more.
~ ~ ------------ ~ ~
Is there more to say?
Already the half moon sinks
You know what to do.
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Every day is Valentine's Day
I was still working
you fell asleep on the couch
Goodnight I kissed you
you fell asleep on the couch
Goodnight I kissed you
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Silk screening: Days of research, hesitation, sketches, research all for 15 minutes of actual process
After hours (days, really) of decision paralysis and years of terror, I finally introduced myself to a silk screen today. Since I have almost no graphic arts-style imagination, it took almost half the day to draw a design of my own. I know that there are millions of patterns on the web and many many stencils for sale, but I feel like it just isn't mine if I don't make all the parts myself. (I did not, however, mix my own ink or build my own screen. There are limits.) There was also the gathering of tools and the solving of problems like: what to put under the T-shirt to raise it off the table enough to prevent the clips from bending the cardboard inside the shirt.
Art is a struggle for some of us.
Craft is...just plain work. But you can practice and get better, more skillful. And just maybe you gain enough skill to produce a window into a deeper world that other people can access and see with you.
And that is pure joy.
But art just won't come out right if you ignore the physics of the bendy board when trying to push paint through a rigid-framed flat screen.
Things should go faster next time, since I now have a bucket of materials and tools gathered together.
I cut a stencil out of freezer paper. I have a lot to learn about handling a knife, but I consider this a good start. I spooned in some black fabric ink from a Speedball kit--and let me say this to people who write instruction manuals: instructions like "Make sure you put in enough ink" don't mean anything to someone who buys an introductory kit. If I knew what enough was, I would not have bought a beginner's set.
I didn't put in enough ink.
But once I put in too much ink, everything went along smoothly. I made practice prints on newspaper first.
Then I made a couple on watercolor paper.
Then I got brave and made a print on a shirt.
I had to stop after that, not because of the smudges, but because freezer paper starts to deteriorate after ten or twelve prints, and the edges of the leaves were getting a little fuzzy in places.
Conclusions:
1. I need a rack or something to support the edges of the screen when I put it down between prints. I unthinkingly put the screen down on a piece of newspaper on which I'd already set it down before and picked up some smudges, which were then transferred to the shirt. EXPLETIVES!!!!!
2. The shapes that get printed always look smaller than the shapes that were cut. I cut some little leaves to litter the forest floor, one or two of which look like more mistakes than like leaves.
3. Seriously, it is not worth all the agony of making decisions what to draw or attempting to draw terribly. I have friends who can draw. I will be calling them soon. You know who you are.
4. Even a non-graphic arts person like me can see about a million and a half possibilities for silk screen art, and they don't all involve T-shirts.
So, I'm going to spend another hour or so attempting to draw and maybe cut out another stencil.
Art is a struggle for some of us.
Craft is...just plain work. But you can practice and get better, more skillful. And just maybe you gain enough skill to produce a window into a deeper world that other people can access and see with you.
And that is pure joy.
But art just won't come out right if you ignore the physics of the bendy board when trying to push paint through a rigid-framed flat screen.
Things should go faster next time, since I now have a bucket of materials and tools gathered together.
I cut a stencil out of freezer paper. I have a lot to learn about handling a knife, but I consider this a good start. I spooned in some black fabric ink from a Speedball kit--and let me say this to people who write instruction manuals: instructions like "Make sure you put in enough ink" don't mean anything to someone who buys an introductory kit. If I knew what enough was, I would not have bought a beginner's set.
I didn't put in enough ink.
But once I put in too much ink, everything went along smoothly. I made practice prints on newspaper first.
Then I got brave and made a print on a shirt.
I had to stop after that, not because of the smudges, but because freezer paper starts to deteriorate after ten or twelve prints, and the edges of the leaves were getting a little fuzzy in places.
Conclusions:
1. I need a rack or something to support the edges of the screen when I put it down between prints. I unthinkingly put the screen down on a piece of newspaper on which I'd already set it down before and picked up some smudges, which were then transferred to the shirt. EXPLETIVES!!!!!
2. The shapes that get printed always look smaller than the shapes that were cut. I cut some little leaves to litter the forest floor, one or two of which look like more mistakes than like leaves.
3. Seriously, it is not worth all the agony of making decisions what to draw or attempting to draw terribly. I have friends who can draw. I will be calling them soon. You know who you are.
4. Even a non-graphic arts person like me can see about a million and a half possibilities for silk screen art, and they don't all involve T-shirts.
So, I'm going to spend another hour or so attempting to draw and maybe cut out another stencil.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Pay attention
Hi ho, she thought, locking the door behind her. Another day, another...something. She knew there was more to life than...something. If only she could remember what it was. But work had still to be gotten to. There was no time left for yearning.
Behind her, the flowers nodded.
Behind her, the flowers nodded.
Last saturday morning
So here is a bit of the writing I did before work the other day.
One hundred words in green ink
before I go to work
before they are trodden into the gray chaos
of demands and obligations
Rain rolls off the roof
drops disintegrate against the window
yet promise green
suggest a summer less scorched
whisper moss in hidden pockets
The trail up the mountain is now slippery
as sand-wrapped bubbles of clay
ooze and catch at my boots
my path ends abruptly against
great roots raking the sky
and I am looking at two hundred feet of redwood
from underneath
For years now
I have written in circles
to explain that holy terror
And I understand
how hard it is to corral wonder in words
how easy it is to mistake the words for the moment
how hard it is to see through the words
to the light they struggle to reveal
the roots are still there
One hundred words in green ink
before I go to work
before they are trodden into the gray chaos
of demands and obligations
Rain rolls off the roof
drops disintegrate against the window
yet promise green
suggest a summer less scorched
whisper moss in hidden pockets
The trail up the mountain is now slippery
as sand-wrapped bubbles of clay
ooze and catch at my boots
my path ends abruptly against
great roots raking the sky
and I am looking at two hundred feet of redwood
from underneath
For years now
I have written in circles
to explain that holy terror
And I understand
how hard it is to corral wonder in words
how easy it is to mistake the words for the moment
how hard it is to see through the words
to the light they struggle to reveal
the roots are still there
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Coffee break
I did the best/smartest thing ever last Saturday: I wrote BEFORE settling down to work at my paid employment. I filled about 6 pages of notebook and had a great time. I haven't set pen to paper since--it's Tuesday evening now--but it's amazing what a good frame of mind just that little outflowing has given me.
It's the new year now. Holidays are over, and clients are eager to get back into the swing, which means that we must also. Much less time for drawing and writing and reading instructions for new techniques.
I'm taking a little break now. We just watched episode 6 of the BBC adaptation of Susannah Clarke's Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell during dinner. The word wow does not begin to do justice to this production or to the story itself. The book is so elaborate, like layers and layers of embroidery, each layer hiding then revealing the next. The movie manages to portray the layers--the light, the shadows...the magic--in all their texture and hue.
Quite inspiring. Though I never hope to achieve such complexity in my own writing.
And now--back to work.
It's the new year now. Holidays are over, and clients are eager to get back into the swing, which means that we must also. Much less time for drawing and writing and reading instructions for new techniques.
I'm taking a little break now. We just watched episode 6 of the BBC adaptation of Susannah Clarke's Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell during dinner. The word wow does not begin to do justice to this production or to the story itself. The book is so elaborate, like layers and layers of embroidery, each layer hiding then revealing the next. The movie manages to portray the layers--the light, the shadows...the magic--in all their texture and hue.
Quite inspiring. Though I never hope to achieve such complexity in my own writing.
And now--back to work.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Falling slowly
Current favorite not-current song: "Falling Slowly" by
Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová which I first heard in the movie, Once. It’s running through my mind tonight—it just popped up for no
reason from my mental record collection. So while I’m thinking about it, here
is a link to the clip from the movie containing the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6slEoCqDD8.
There are more elaborate versions of the song available, but
I like this one—the scene is simple and well acted. It reminds me of a few Real
Life Experiences of learning songs from and teaching songs to friends (ok, mostly boys) in music stores or
on the beach or next to the lockers in high school. Coming up with harmonies on the spot. So much fun.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)