Art of the Found Object

Flotsam, Jetsam and Lagan

2009-04-12T23:56:00.001-07:00

The color turquoise reminds me of the ocean which is, of course, a fantasy:
... nereids, Triton, dolphins.... Atlantis....way down below the ocean....

For over twenty years my handmade paper shell assemblages and cards have been given titles such as Melusine's Delight, Undine's Treasure, Nereids Domain, Dancing with Eurynome. In my mind I see visions of underwater archaeology — the search for ancient sunken amphoras and other treasures or

the Bimini Road. No doubt some of this comes from a conglomeration of remembered images of The Incredible Mr. Limpet and Seahunt from childhood, with Jacques Cousteau documentaries and a wee bit of Homer a few years later!

In reality, the ocean I'm most familiar with is less exotic teal blue, or murky gray-blue on cloudy days. But turquoise is also the color of two of the most common found objects on the beach: nylon rope and beach glass. The best quality of nylon rope for my art projects is the oldest, most worn piece I can find. It makes and excellent representation of seaweed on the assemblages with the paper shells and I find other uses for it, as well. Living several hundred miles from the nearest ocean beach, I stocked up on supplies of nylon rope, driftwood, beach stones, and glass on my last summer holiday back home.

Turquoise also means verdigris, whether it's a salt and vinegar treatment on copper sheet metal or natural (I keep the 'good' —i.e. really rotten— pennies for artwork). If I can't have ancient encrusted coins and amphora shards from underwater archaeological sites, I can at least try to create patinas on things
I have at hand.

When bits and pieces of these found treasures are combined with beads, aged copper pieces and other trinkets, I have a collection of my 'comfort colors'. It's a combination I never tire of and I can think of a multitude of items to create with the elements like covers for hand bound books, art dolls and jewelry (although, no jewels are ever involved).

Which brings me to the reason for this blog post: I found a gold anchor charm on the street last week. I suspect some sort of omen or symbolism could be attached to that....

This inspiration for an ocean related project had me sorting through the 'Atlantis' treasures for a couple of things to go with the anchor — a starfish charm, a tiny sand dollar, a henk of worn nylon rope and a bead made of recycled glass. Quite a while ago I ordered some tiny glass bottles from
Papier Valise. They're big enough to fill with special secret 'stuff' but small enough to use as charms. Once filled, I ran a doubled length of silk yarn through the hole in the plastic stopper and tied it around the lip to secure it. To hang it I chose colors of silk yarn to match my favorite art photographs. There was gold, chestnut brown, and blue to represent the landscapes, charcoal and off white for the black and white photographs and of course a lovely sepia color. The strand had to have knots tied at intervals to keep it together and the knotted loose ends made a nice tassel. Lastly, I used a length of worn nylon rope to tie on the glass bead.

The anchor really does it's work just like a real one, it hooks onto everything! It's come unattached twice, 'anchored' to fabric but I found it both times. I finally secured it with double rings.

Replacement

2009-04-11T12:30:00.000-07:00

Do you have a favorite paintbrush that's been around for a long time? Mine is fairly short, not too thin, comfortable to hold. It's a hard-working one that I've had for.... a very long time.... 20 or 25 years. I've looked after it well and it's been good to me but some things don't last forever.

After I moved my studio to a new place and unpacked everything, I didn't get back to artwork for quite a while. The first small projects didn't require paint so I didn't realize that most of my brushes weren't around any more. The longtime, dependable favorite was there, thankfully.

On spending more time creating art, the shortcomings of my only brush became noticeable for the first time. Odd, how when you lose the many, the flaws of the few become more visible. Sadly, I need something better. It's natural hair bristles are nowhere near as long as they used to be and the paint on the handle is cracking and flaking off. I hate the thought of tossing it away.... I've had it for such a long time but truthfully, I don't know how much longer it will last.

I've casually looked at one that might be an adequate replacement but have only been 'considering' so far. Nice natural bristles, it's longer and looks gorgeous! You have to hold it a little differently so it seems strange and would take getting used to. As with all possible new things in my life, whether it's a new ottoman for the living room or a coat in my favorite clothing store, I 'visit' it a few times before I decide. As nice as this new one is, it isn't perfect, so is the cost worth it? What if isn't quite what I want or need? By the time I decide it will probably be gone.

For now, I'll look for replacements for what I lost: a new liner brush (my second 'best friend' in the studio), a 'bright' and a 'filbert'. The name – filbert – sounds like fun, a brush you'd use to create something wonderful – a playful, happy little piece of art. And who wouldn't want anything called 'bright'.

It's difficult, though. The same as buying new shoes; first you have to like them, then they have to fit.

Today's horoscope:
Gemini (May 21 – June 20)
The world works in threes. Stories tell
of three wishes, three magic words or
three tests to attain a major reward. Be
vigilant and don't leap at the first option
that comes your way. Weigh all choices
carefully.

Gems and Treasures

2009-03-12T04:13:00.000-07:00

At one time, I had an art friend who I can only describe as a soul-mate. We didn't see one another other very regularly and only in each others studios, more often mine. Never over a cup of tea or coffee. Just standing. Talking.

Everything peripheral would drift away in an exchange of thought and ideas. The air around us must have been buzzing with electricity or some kind of special energy. If auras do exist, the one surrounding us would have been white or yellow or whatever colour represents creativity, artistry and positive excitement about new ideas.

We would get lost in long discussions of projects and commissions we were working on........ processes, techniques, failures, disappointments and tragedies, past glories, collaboration, the week's successes — always about our art. When we parted, smiling and excited, we knew that for the remainder of the day that buzz would result in something positive and concrete.

I never thought to ask about any of the usual details you might about a friend — age or birthday, middle name, place of birth or family life, how many siblings or if there had been relationships or children. No, it was always about the art.

It breaks my heart that we'll never share moments... hours like those again.

Sometimes I wonder if true friendship is like true love. Does a soul mate like that come to us more than once in a lifetime? Is it a special and rare combination of traits and attributes that both reflect and complete our selves that draws us together?

Over the years I've met many amazing and talented artists. Each time a new one comes into my life I wonder, "Will this one be special — a soul-mate?"
And I wonder if the atmosphere will ever again become supercharged with those sparks of creative energy.

Portable Friends

2008-12-11T01:33:00.001-08:00

A trip back to your home town makes you think about your life and about changes. How you've changed since you left and how the place formerly called home has changed since you've been gone. You find yourself asking, "Could I ever live here again?"

During the first visit back to the beautiful river valley where I spent most of my life, I knew that I belonged there but felt so homeless. Thankfully, each visit hurts a little less as I become more used to a different climate and lifestyle.

An artist who relocated to my current spot on the map approached the subject of finding your place in the community when you move. She asked, "How much should I invest in new friendships when I don't know how long I'll be living here?"
Good question, as I've never been in this position until now. When you've lived in the same place 'forever', friendships are formed gradually over the years. People come and go at intervals. You don't suddenly loose everybody — family and friends — all at once. Perhaps it's easier for people who move around a lot. Maybe they acquire a power friendship mode that kicks in and operates like speed dating — get out, find a bunch of people and sort through them quickly to find the ones you can fall in 'like' with. I wonder if people who make a lot of friends quickly have deep and long lasting relationships with them? Friendship Lite could be the answer.

Someone recently told me, "The reason it takes a long time to 'find your people' is because everybody's so busy with their own lives. They don't have time for new relationships and they already have a network of friends they don't see enough."

Can't argue with that belief. A network though..... I must be a minimalist in that department, never having had more than 4 or 5 good friends who would call me to say "let's go for coffee". There was however, a large cohesive community of artists spread throughout the area, all familiar with each others work and very supportive. I miss that.

During my working summer holiday, I was one of 38 artists who participated in a self-guided tour of 24 art studios. It was a great opportunity for (all too short) visits with family, two close friends and several former customers. I phoned one of them for permission to photograph a piece of artwork that she'd bought about 14 years ago. She so very kindly offered to bring it to the studio where I was showing. While she looked at my recent work, I was taking pictures and re-assessing the older piece. Unwrapping it and preparing for a scathing self-critique, I was quite surprised that I still found it to be a valid work of art and that I still liked it. The buyer concurred, "Yes, it is good, in fact it's my favourite of the pieces I own."

A side trip involved revisiting another work that lives happily in the council chamber of an administration complex. Now that I have it recorded digitally I'll throw away the dark and grainy photographs taken five years ago with a film camera. Those were the days when the results of my poor photographic skills came back too late for retakes.

Toward the end of the art studio tour, a friend and mentor presented me with a gift. Joseph Cornell: Master of Dreams by Diane Waldman. "I saw this in the book store and thought of you." What a delight! I smiled and maybe a tiny laugh escaped. The minute I saw the book I thought back to an online 'conversation' regarding the lack of scintillating art talk in my adoptive city and my craving for it. I was told that discussions about Duchamp and Schwitters of could be found 'only in the cafe society of Paris' and the best I could hope for was talk of gear ratios or hockey scores!

People said at every turn, "You really have to move back here". Due to limited job opportunities there, it will be several years (I hope, for the sake of current employment) before that decision can be made.

However, like poet Rod McKuen has found:

...along the way I've learned some things.
You have to make the good times yourself
take the little times and make them into big times
and save the times that are all right
for the ones that aren't so good.

That means mail-ordering art supplies from distance sources and pumping up the volume of the Gipsy Kings (they can really fill up a room when you're by yourself). I'll be working in the studio on a body of new abstracts and incorporating the found articles and trinkets that people brought to me during the tour.... "I thought you might like this for your art". I'm going to treat myself to a one person picnic lunch in the city park on top of the hill, then pick up a copy of Cloth, Paper Scissors and a cappuccino from the book store on the way home.

Also have to get that darn website going so I can have an online web launch party. Can you do that online? If so, you're invited!

As always, thank you for your wonderful comments and support. The next time I move house, you my portable friends, are coming with me!

The Ideas Don't Stop Coming.....

2008-12-03T15:03:00.000-08:00

Sort, sort, sort......

Edit, edit, edit......

It's been almost a year, as a friend pointed out to me. Haven't intentionally stopped blogging – it's all here in a pile where it nags at me (where I let it nag at me) every day, as it grows.

Catching Up

2007-12-12T00:26:00.000-08:00

Being three months behind in my art and life in general isn't what I'd planned for this year (see initial post). I'm finally catching up with a few of the art projects. The garden was another matter. There were plants that didn't get moved, edges that didn't get edged and the weeds that welcome me in the spring will be dense due to their healthy state in September.

The season quickly proceeded on ahead of me, so for now, it doesn't matter except in my guilty conscience. Winter has arrived and looking out the window into the indigo light on 'the breast of the new fallen snow' I know those mythical hoofs will be prancing and pawing before long.

Just when I realized that it's best to start enjoying the nice weather early — say the beginning of April — I move to a climate where the growing season lasts only from mid June until early August! 65 frost free days. Fall is over within weeks. As a new arrival to this northern climate, I remember asking our paperboy, “Are you getting excited about Halloween?” To which he replied in a dejected tone, “Yeah, I guess.......but it always snows.”

Oh, well, I have a warm house, a computer, artwork to make......with some hot chocolate and my down slippers I can become a happy hermit for the next 6 months. I now have a SAD light to make up for those 3:30 pm sunsets.
SAD info(pdf)

About every third day through this catching up period, I admonished myself, “I really should post something on my blog!”
Thank you to those of you who have been asking:

1.) Are you OK, (not sick or anything)? Yup, (nope)
2.) Just busy, I hope? Yup
3.) You haven't stopped blogging have you? Nope
4.) Are you ever coming back?? Yup

Oh, the guilt, the guilt.* But it's nice to know when you're missed and I wouldn't trade those comments for all the hit counters in the world. Thank you, dear friends!!

Coincidentally as I was cruisin' around (and not blogging) I came across two blogs in the space of an afternoon that touched on that exact subject. The guilt part.

The first was Tiffini Elektra X's post about blogging without obligation.
I agree with her thought that we should “Just take a step back and enjoy life, not everything you do has to be bloggable”.

But I'm still keeping my pen and yellow pocket-sized tablet in my jeans just in case something comes to mind.

The second entry was Amy Gahran’s post from several years back titled
Three Secrets of No-Pressure Blogging when she explained where she'd been to “those who were worried about her absence over the last few days”.
Only days?? Amy! That's nothing.

*Truth be told, there wasn't THAT much guilt, at least ¾ of it was knowing I was missing all the fun with everyone. Next time I'm buying the MacBook, then I can sit in the garden and blog next to the edger and my favourite weed-getter tool. Talk about a productive life!!

Excuse me now, while I check through the little yellow tablet, as I've jotted down a million ideas and have a lot of catching up to do......

(pssst......if you don't find me here, you'll likely find me over at flickr.)

IMART, Day 4

2007-08-30T01:40:00.000-07:00

Place is meaningful to people and the place called home
is the most meaningful of all.
—J. Douglas Porteous (professor of geography, UVIC)

We were so busy in our own little spheres of creativity during the past day, there hadn't been much opportunity to see the work of others. The morning gallery ritual was one that I looked forward to, especially over the large mug of Grizzly Claw coffee I had time to brew. Review of the articulated rusted tin art dolls: along with Cheryl's knapsack girl, Vi's ballerina and my rusted 'retro mommy' shown in the previous post, there was also a self-portrait of a "finger pointing, toe-tapping litigation lawyer" in her courtroom attire of rusty metal. (In Canada barristers and solicitors wear long black robes, white wing-collared shirts and white tabs.) A corroded princess and an oxidized stewardess rounded out the 'rusty stories' of "Who or what did you want to be when you grew up?"

The day's first quote written on the blackboard, about 'the place called home' is coincidentally, an art theme I've been exploring for a long time. I've been saving up old fence boards and scrappy old wood with character to use for assemblage. I also have a small pile of 2x4's and 2x6's for a series of houses. In preparation for this workshop I sawed ends of several pieces into roof-shaped points and packed them in with my class supplies just in case there was time to do something with them.

Digging in my box I found nails, screws, brass brad nails, hardware cloth, a photograph, mat board scraps, a piece of tin that I ran through my Fiskars paper crimper and a couple of those wavy metal fastener things for wood.
The smaller ones are used in picture framing but I'm not certain about the large ones. They're straight on one end but wavy and pointed on the other and like 2/3 of the supplies begged from my Dad's workshop, I don't know what they're called. A few narrow strips of wood that Ken Flett gave me from his stash and a piece of vintage newspaper proved it was going to be an interesting project.

The day was spent gluing, burnishing, applying secret sepia wash, heating, slopping, torching, burning, waxing, scraping, buffing, sawing, drilling, pounding — with a quick lunch break — then back at it again. Pure heaven!

Lately, I've been making sure to capture my art projects step-by-step not only for my own reference but possibly for tutorials or magazine article submissions. It must have been a busy day because all I have on film, so to speak, is the finished article.

The position of the hardware cloth gave unexpected meaning to the plight of the lady in the photo. It didn't seem as threatening if it was covering only half the window. If the window was covered entirely you could assume she was doomed and was never getting out! I opted to give her a chance of escape if she doesn't mind a one story drop and is strong enough to bend the bars.

Shrubbery for a side garden was created from jute twine and on of those crimped fastener things. Admit it — you never would have guessed that was a shrub if I didn't tell you.

The area around the door was looking a little plain and needed something more.

Some spiky little 'flowers' made from nails of varying thicknesses got a little splosh of colored beeswax and tension was the by product. I didn't plan on it being such a sinister little house.

It would fit in with the ramshackled buildings in Popeye's village of Sweetwater, in Malta. The movie might actually be good inspiration for more.

The piece now has a title, Anchored, thanks to one of my flickr.com contacts. He was looking at the side view, referring to the crimped fastener when he came up with the title. I was looking at the large copper rivet and imagined it holding the delicate printed fabric of her vintage dress to the kitchen floor boards. Maybe she isn't suffering as much as I previously thought — she might just be a SAHM! I don't know the answer but the question will intrigue me for years.

One house down, ninety-nine to go......

Do you remember that feeling of being in the classroom on a sunny Friday afternoon? Did the warm breeze blowing through the open windows give you a squirmy excitement along with knowing you would be held captive for only one more hour? Art was the best subject to have on a Friday afternoon. Trying to concentrate on Science or Math with the birds singing and flying freely out there was impossible. I remembered the feeling so clearly in this classroom it was almost like being 12 years old again. Not that I wanted to escape — I was enjoying every precious and creative minute of the time left.

Each of the three previous days finished with an artist talk at the Island Mountain Art Gallery in the early evening. Later, we'd take in a short play at the Wells Theatre or live music somewhere else. Yesterday an evening get-together at our cabin with artists from various workshops was limited to my two roomies, one other artist and myself because everyone else was so tired. Those IMART instructors really worked everyone hard!

Wells is so quiet at night. The only thing I could hear was the gurgling of the little meandering stream in the meadow and the occasional car or camper coming into town.

Through the bedroom window upstairs, I could see their headlights from two miles away, growing larger as they silently drove around the curve of the lake. By day the road is barely visible but for the telephone poles marking its path.

Everyone will be gone by tonight, they'll have packed up their supplies and memories and be on their way to homes scattered all over the province and beyond. I have only a two hour drive down a country road then on a slightly busier highway.

The day I was going to spend in Barkerville taking photographs will have to wait. Gathering images for inspiration and for use in future assemblage and collage projects is next years art adventure.

I have to go home.

IMART, Day 3

2007-08-28T04:18:00.000-07:00

Fresh eyes look at yesterday's work: the layered bricolage pieces are lined up on the chalk ledge. Quite fascinating to see the how the final layers and processes have changed the pieces so drastically from their beginnings.

Edie Fredrickson had decided to add one more layer of color before beginning today's project:

A week after the workshop Edie sent me this update on the piece, saying she added a photo transfer and really liked the effect it created.

We were shown a collection of articulated dolls made from rusted tin. Our instructor, Ken, described them as clock dolls in that they had moving parts that went around, and around, and around..... I'm not talking arms and legs here, although the limbs moved so the dolls could assume various poses. (The lady doll had a lovely body form but wasn't nearly as interesting!)

The protective case that Ken made is as intriguing as the dolls. The old discarded canvas is totally in character and what color would be more suitable for a 'floor' accent than deep red? The bone handled awl slips through the ring to secure the dolls in place when the case is wrapped.

Do you think the two on the right are a couple? What's the story of the third person? Brother? Friend? Former lover? Maybe my mind is just wandering through the intricacies of this creation but that's the kind of reaction these dolls receive. I think something special happens with the combination of materials and wisps of the makers soul.

"As a child, who or what did you want to be when you grew up?"

Outside, everyone chose appropriate pieces of rusted sheet metal, drew patterns for limbs and torsos and got to work cutting and assembling .

Before long, articulated metal art dolls were literally dancing around the room! Vi Martens created the ballerina of her childhood dreams.

Her daughter, Cheryl Latimer, made an image of herself with a little schoolgirl haircut sporting a bow.

"All I ever wanted to do was make crafts and sell them to the tourists from my own booth at the Alamo Grill in Grande Prairie. And here I am with my little satchel of crafts."

This sweet little girl exudes happiness and sunshine, doesn't she?
Below, she's tied safely in her cloth booklet:

She proudly shows us her satchel with the shoulder strap....

and then does a little happy dance,

kicking up her heels. A happy crafter! I would have liked this little girl as a childhood friend.

I knew I wouldn't be able to apply enough pressure to use the tin snips. This was quite disappointing because I've wanted to try articulated metal dolls for several years now. OK, how do I get around my not completely functioning hand problem and still make a doll?

In the box of metal pieces there was a strip of aluminum embossed with roses and painted red. I wonder what its history is — what has it seen? Since it had a border along one edge, what could it be but a 1950's era apron? If I could find enough small pieces to attach to each other for the rest of the body, it might work. Ken brought a few small slats of wood that were perfect to fan out for a skirt. He always seemed to know what his students needed.

Handmade wire 'rivets' hold the rusty bodice together and the skirt pieces, as well. A cotter pin keep the apron closed at the back. I was able to use scissors (I'm proud to say) to cut some very thin aluminum for the arm pieces. A generous dollop of modeling compound helps to prevent the rusty skirt frill from moving back and forth. I usually tint the modeling compound, camouflaging it with acrylic paint but the white won't show once everything is in place. The metal that was rusted enough to break apart without cutting was also delicate and too full of holes to fasten with the wire rivets. The metal rod holds the doll upright and eliminates the need for legs. She was looking quite good at this point and I allowed myself the artistic freedom to let her have only one arm. Even without a 'head' she could almost be considered finished but since there was a large spoon, why not use it. Not bad symbolism either, hmm?

She could have used a few more beaded decorations on her skirt frill but the metal was fragile and my hand was starting to cramp slightly so it had to be left at that point.

There was one shard of the broken Bunnykins china left over from the cloth doll so I filed the sharp edges, gave it a brushing of beeswax, buffed it and tucked it in behind her apron string, so to speak.

The spoon needed a small detail that a piece of embossed copper filled without too much cutting. It was stuck on with bees wax.

.

A piece of vintage linoleum, luckily in red tones, covers the wood block holding the metal rod.

She probably figures that by the time they're teenagers (or young adults) the amount fingerprints on the walls and fridge will lessen somewhat. Hate to disappoint this little mother, if she doesn't already know......from mushed up cookie to bike repair grease to dirt from the current job site, it just never ends!

Do you think she's heard the recent statistics on adult children living at home? That 18 year old could be doing another 8-10 with her but she loves them dearly and will cry when hey leave. Oh, well, they're cute when they're young. : ) Guess there's a reason for that.

IMART, Day 2

2007-08-24T23:10:00.000-07:00

A new day begins.... the first look at the group's work from yesterday, as a whole. The small gallery of waxed self-portraits lined up on the chalk ledge for consideration.... introspection, contemplation. On a corner table near the windows, the collection of cloth art dolls are enjoying the morning sunlight. A quiet, leisurely discussion of what worked, what we discovered, problems, how we overcame them and what we might yet do to our art pieces.

Ken showed us the importance of standing back ten feet to evaluate our work. I saw the needlework master, Kaffe Fassett (pronounced as in 'safe asset') use this technique with his students during the knitting workshop featured in his "Glorious Color" video. It does, indeed, give you a different perspective where sometimes the unexpected emerges and helps you to see what needs to be changed or adjusted.

Drawing from things/moments that have made us who we are.....

On the blackboard he writes a quote from the Essays of Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592): "The least strained and most natural movements of our soul are the most beautiful"; [the best occupations the least laborious.]

We are making art.... doing it with feeling, with emotion, not being precious. Creating..... without thinking about it.

I'm remembering a spring night, working steadily on an assemblage over the previous six hours, it's 4:15 a.m. Long past hunger. Night is now day and birds are singing loudly, claiming their morning territory — even if I tried to sleep at this point, I couldn't. But I'm on a roll. Every object I place just seems to work, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle you know by heart. Everything just effortlessly clicks — the white moment. I'm part of the artwork, it's part of me.... not thinking words, not making conscious decisions, just doing it without thinking about it.

At the Bricolage Workshop, it's a day of layering and building up texture on our newest pieces with various types of paper and other materials: newspaper, tissue, printed papers, corrugated cardboard, the written word. Accenting with broken eggshells, rusted tin, stitching.

I couldn't bring myself to use the snake skin. Maybe with tweezers, or tongs or oven mitts. Wonderful, exotic, beautiful snake skin. No, sorry, can't do it.

Last week an artist friend gave me a quick 'emergency' phone call before heading out for a fishing holiday. (It was long distance – we always talk for hours so only phone at Christmas.) "You just have to see this book. It's for people like us. It's called The Art of Layering: Making Connections. Gotta run now, Gord's waiting in the truck. Bye."

According to their website, "The Society of Layerists in Multi Media is composed of individuals who use the experience of art to cultivate their spiritual awareness." "Layered art appeals to the viewer who enjoys searching for those fine details that require thoughtful consideration to reveal hidden meaning. It calls as much upon visual metaphor as technique to bring its subtlety to the surface." "....as creators they recognize the importance of memory as they pursue their studio explorations. Greeks were wise to give mythic importance to the union of Zeus with Mnemosyne (memory) who together produced the Muses. It is the landscape of memory which Layerists draw upon to give form and significance to their artful discoveries."

They explain that their term Layering is not a particular style or medium but a holistic approach to art. "Therefore we say that it is not the technique that distinguishes a Layered work of art so much as the mind of the artist who makes the art. The Layering we speak of is an evanescent, as well as a tangible, metaphor. It grows like moss from living and learning. It imbues the work with meaning."

Afternoon, on the blackboard:
There is nothing ugly in art except that which is without character, that is to say, that which offers no inner or outer truth.
Auguste Rodin

Layering.... art with character, truth. That certainly describes the visual anthologies of Australian mixed media artist Judy Wilkenfeld. Of Elephants and Dreams is a thick handmade book, pages stacked as high as the volume is wide. Handmade book is an understatement. Each page is an individual layering of found treasures flowing with symbolism. It's a phenomenal work of art, as is her sensitive 3-paneled collage Numbers, the story of Holocaust survivors Sam and Esther.

The layering for my bricolage began with a soft, thick brown paper glued flat (like I meant it!) onto an 8" x10" sheet of primed medite. The other eleven pieces I bought from Opus Art Supplies won't go back on the shelf for an additional 8 years, I promise!

Things/moments that have made you who you are.....

Unraveled burlap to represent fields of wheat growing up around the marshy slough. The short pieces of sisal rope and the bright yellow tissue underneath will show through after the surface is darkened. A shape cut from corrugated cardboard. The top layer has been pulled away to reveal horizontal lines for the siding of the clapboard farmhouse. Overly bright tissue for the sky and prairie sunset will be toned down with more layers and a wash.

Did I ever live on a farm? No, but the summer I was 13 my family traveled 2085 miles to the farm near Buchanan, Saskatchewan where my Mother's family homesteaded around 1905. I remember listening to the battery radio on the kitchen table, silent for probably 25 years. Upstairs was Mom's little toy box with the hinged lid. It was blue, the top layer of paint wiped back to show a swirly red design on the textured surface. I thought it was a bit ugly but didn't say so (and never ever told her). The cradle in the hayloft was my mothers, too. Stiff, wiry horsehairs from long dead horses were caught between the slivers of wood in the barn door. I picked a few out. They were dark brown. Several pieces of farm equipment were silently rusting in a shed with no doors. Mom told us how she loved summer rain and how she walked barefoot through the mud it made. "It was warm and would squish up between my toes." she said, lifting her shoulders and scrunching her face with a big smile. We went to Good Spirit Lake, renamed from Devil's Lake where my grandfather drowned at age 39, four short months before his daughter would be born.

Layers and more layers, washes of secret sepia, experimentally slopping stuff on, carefully scraping excess off, burnishing and polishing. An ancient (well, old anyway) piece of wood molding for a final touch — a sort of 'handle' at the top. Bricolage is progressing well. I like this piece.

Island Mountain Arts, Day 1

2007-08-21T15:04:00.000-07:00

The power to make things beautifully lies in each of us already. It is a core so simple and so deep, that we are born with it.

....but we have beset ourselves with rules and concepts and ideas of what must be done that we become afraid of what will happen naturally.
The Timeless Way of Building by Christopher Alexander

So began Day 1 of the Bricolage Workshop with Ken Flett (who will, I hope, correct me if I am wrong on the source of the quote).

I've always fooled myself into thinking or convinced myself, "My art isn't about me". Now, I'm rethinking what my art is about exactly and where it comes from. And thinking about not thinking while doing it. Letting it happen naturally.

Since my art isn't about me, self-portraits are my least favourite subject. Our first exercise was a self-portrait using glue and tissue sewing patterns. A flat one. 'Glue it like you mean it' flat. Great tip but difficult project for a 3-D assemblage artist.....who doesn't do self-portraits!

Using the shapes, lines and arrows from the sewing pattern, I fashioned a face shape with an overly strong jaw line and eyes that were a little bulgy, as I recall. (It's somewhere in the studio but I'm not going to look for it to take a photo.) The uppercase G and number 7 for ears were a nice asymmetric touch. Some students, like Edie in the photo below, added encaustic and beeswax.

The afternoon began with an exercise: nine minutes writing about 'I Remember'. Having read Tricia Scott's Where I'm From blog post only two weeks previous and making mental notes, I was ready for this!

I remember......sitting in a wooden crib, long baby-soft hair, baths in a plastic tub (in a concrete shower painted pink and turquoise), buckets and cake pans collecting drips of water from the kitchen ceiling on rainy west coast afternoons, huddling under icy cold sheets upon late arrival from distant shopping trips....exhaling heavily under the covers to warm up – the sawdust furnace (just stoked) taking forever to warm the house, Christmases laden with all the gifts and toys and candy any child could imagine, Suzie Steps peeking over a red cellophane bow on a gray woolen work sock, finally growing tall enough to see the top of our first fridge.....

"I wonder what this is leading to? I bet we have to read it...."

Writing for that amount of time is quite difficult, physically, after the CT surgery back in my first blog post. I usually take an extraordinary amount of notes during workshops, but not this time. I made up for it by using the digital camera.

When asked, some of us willingly shared our passages with the class. Others hesitant at first, joined in. I remember....my sister borrowing (like 'stealing') my clothes...... the sadness and wonder of death at age 10 and wearing a Brownie uniform to the funeral...... chewing tar for gum....

Then we began creating cloth art dolls to represent and tie into I Remember.

In Ken's stash of found fabric there was a grotty old canvas drop cloth splotched with blue, pale yellow and sand-colored paint. Certainly nothing you would associate with a baby doll but those colors always remind me of the beautiful Canadian dancer and choreographer Anne Ditchburn. She's a hard one to find these days but she twirled her barefooted, enchanting and ethereal self through Slow Dancing in the Big City to Leonard Cohen's singing, in pale blue and sand gypsy fashion, "adorned with her fine lace scarf, more exotic than a headscarf has a right to be".

In my collection of found supplies, I had some doll hair (the real thing from my hairdresser), some rusty items and my trademark silk yarn but nothing for eyes other than beads.

I drew a flat pattern on paper, with slightly wider limbs and body than I wanted the finished doll to have. This extra width would compensate for the 'narrowing' when the stuffing was added. Deciding not to turn the heavy canvas, I would hand-stitch it wrong sides together sandwiching the hair between. The pattern was positioned over the canvas taking advantage of two brown paint splotches for abstract eyes.

Keeping the slippery hair in place between the stitches would be a problem. I glued tissue paper to the back head pattern just inside the stitching line and then glued the hair into position on top, adding another layer of tissue to hold the hair in place. The bangs, of course, would be sticking straight up out of her head! I could stitch them down, later.

If she was to represent my childhood memories, I had to add the Mom and Dad element. Deciding on a hidden charm or talisman that only I would know about, a rusty washer and a china shard tied together with silk yarn would be perfect. Sifting carefully through fellow student Dianna's box of broken plates, I chose a small piece that looked as though it might have come from a 1930's farmhouse on the prairies. The sharp edges would have to be filed. I'd like to think the rusty washer was actually one of those rescued from my late father's welding shop/garage. "What in the world are you going to do with those?" The silk yarn ..........I guess you can figure that one out.

Hand-stitching through canvas was more than I could handle so I opted for stitching with the 1960's era machine in the next room. Although it looked fine from the front the tension was not right and had huge loops on the back. The poor ancient machine did get a repair, in the mean time, I decided turquoise staples were an artistic and suitably incongruous fix-up. Getting over my high school neatness habit of clipping all hanging threads (at least in art projects) I didn't remove the cockeyed machine mess. It added a nice textural detail to the back.
One part of the canvas had a straight, thin blue line – a spine! (She has a strong backbone.)

Talisman in place, stuffing stuffed, opening stapled. She needed a diaper. A tissue sewing pattern (representing years and years of sewing), a piece of soft white cotton or a piece of gauzy fabric? If the pattern tissue had been the lighter kind and less yellow I would have been tempted to use it but instead I chose the filmy gauze, allowing the paint blobs to show through a little.

She needed a little more detail – another found object. A heart like raggedy Anne! I have a whole bag of rainbow hued springy coils from a machine shop. The heat from the lathe turns them deep copper, indigo, purple and violet. I love hardware cloth positioned over anything. That could work with a bit more silk yarn to hold it all in place.

One doll was formed from bits of fabric stuffed into a short mason jar and had large buttons for eyes. Another was a long legged doll of olive green fabric with two fronts, one male and one female. It's shape was lovingly sculpted with tiny darts. The faceless head surrounded parka-style with tan fur. Primary colors of embroidery floss made into loops of hair coiffed a doll with a sweetheart mouth – made from a red heart-shaped enameled charm. Yet another was made from the softest paisley printed flannelette. A doll any child would cuddle and take to bed with them.

A casual viewer of this collection of wonderful art dolls we created might easily pass them by, thinking them plain and even primitive, not realizing the important memories and deep emotion behind them. On looking closer they would know the dolls have stories to tell.

Days 2, 3 and 4......later.

Has anyone noticed a herd of stomping elephants hangin' around my blog? Just wondering. ; )) Thanks for waiting.

Off to Art School

2007-07-12T02:05:00.001-07:00

I'm heading out on Friday for a few days of creativity at Island Mountain School of the Arts for a bricolage workshop with artist Ken Flett. I first saw his work about 20 years ago at The Old Schoolhouse Gallery in Qualicum Beach, BC where he was an artist in residence. He wasn't in at the time, so no chance to ask questions about the artwork. I did, however, spend an awfully long time making note of every jar of paint, glaze and emulsion on the shelf behind his work table. It was arranged in a way that the shelf was inaccessible to visitors (like me). I was just dying to get in there to discover a few of his secrets.

It was the dark moodiness of his canvasses, along with his rich and mysterious layering process that had a great influence on my own direction in art. All from that 15 minute visit, sans artiste, long long before collage meant pointy hats!

A friend asked me if I was going to the bricolage workshop and when she mentioned the name Ken Flett the first thought was "You're kidding!", second thought was "What do we need to bring?"

Gotta go finish packing.....for painting, gluing, artists talks, exhibitions, opening reception, barbecue.....did I mention Barkerville?

If you've ever seen Robert Altman's great, gritty, muddy McCabe and Mrs. Miller, you will have seen Barkerville.

I think I'll need at least a 2Gig ScanDisk!

Implementing HIGBAST

2007-07-06T22:20:00.000-07:00

Besides being a flickr junkie, now after only 3 months, I'm addicted to blogging too!

I know you understand: first check the e-mail to see who's commented,
check your counter to see all the details. [Hmmm, from Starbuck's in Seattle —I'm honoured, somebody's paying for public Internet use and reading my blog!
....I should know who that is from Reston, Virginia.... Hello, Reykjavík!
An acute care hospital in San Mateo — he-he, I hope you're on a break 'cause
I'll feel guilty if I'm taking you away from your work!]

Then you have to see what's new on your favourite blogs — that's worth an hour. [Anybody added me to their links this week? There's one...thank you!] Take a look at ideas that have popped up for new posts and crop some photos to go with them. Still know nothing about RSS feeds. Gee, soon it will be time to think about what's for dinner.

This has got to STOP! A little better time management is necessary. If I assign one job or activity to each day of the week, starting with Mondays.....
and stick to it.

House – general cleaning, odd jobs, finish filling those old holes in the stairwell from when the handrail was replaced and re-paint the wall, paint the sewing room and move those stupid corbels up, clean the studio

Garden – 4 new hostas must go in, clean the birdbath, re-wire the up-light for the rusty shot-full-of-holes found object 'garden sculpture' (it was moved last year), the usual weeding, etc, etc

'Tea' – the day to do all the downtown things: bills, banking, library, recycling, and tea with Ute (she'll be phoning , "We should go for tea this week.") Thank goodness for Ute.

Sewing – piles of fabric, some with patterns pinned on, some cut out (last year!) to fill the empty hangers in the closet. Ute must be getting tired of my wardrobe, too.

Internet – no real website yet after hanging on to 2 names for the past couple of years, no Etsy stuff up for sale on the account I created....get ON with it!

Art – the Land of a Million Projects. Will start after studio clean-up day under 'House', above. (This gives me an extra day here, doesn't?)

Blog – hah! that must be today.

Now, in which order?

HIGBAST
HAGBIST
HIGSTAB
HASTGIB
BITHAGS
TASHBIG
SHABGIT
THISBAG
SHIBTAG
BISHGAT
BAGTHIS
BAGSH...... oh, nevermind.

Tag! I guess I'm 'it'......

2007-07-03T15:11:00.000-07:00

Beate caught me. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

1) I like even numbers better than odd ones (must be a Grade 2 arithmetic thing, subtraction no doubt)

2) Bake scones more than anything else. Best combo: sage and apricot

3) Have allergies to oregano and raw broccoli

4) Can and have sewn a man's 3-piece tailored suit

5) Can't swim (or float)

6) Hate washing lettuce. Would rather scrub 2 toilets than wash a head of lettuce.

7) Former jobs: newspaper ad production (for a weekly); professional cake decorator

[I don't know 7 people who haven't been tagged. If you haven't — 'fess up & consider yourself 'tagged'!]

Frivolous Frittering

2007-07-02T16:43:00.001-07:00

It's all Flickr's fault. If I wasn't a member of the flickr.com photo-sharing website, I wouldn't be out with my camera everywhere, maniacally snapping pictures. Before I got a digital camera the 35mm would languish away in the cupboard for endless months. Now, I take my camera everywhere with me. Except last Thursday when I went to a big sidewalk sale at the mall.

A dark-haired woman dressed in a flippy black gored skirt, black cardigan, shockingly hot pink top underneath with shockingly matching high heels and silver jewelry was looking at a display of dishes at Stokes. (A kitchen and home accessories shop that always has something nice on sale.) She was critically eyeing a display of three white plates standing up on the rims in front of — wait for it — shockingly hot pink placemats, also displayed vertically with — you've already guessed — black napkins, folded long and hanging down the left side of the hot pink placemats. The whole display was a glorious vertical wall of white circles, hot pink squares and tall black rectangles complete with glasses and cutlery.

Was this planned?? Was she staff & it was Pink and Black Day? Was she just lucky enough to find dinner wear to match her wardrobe? I couldn't take my eyes off the woman, so with questions circling, I casually glanced around the display ...mmmm hmm, very nice... and other displays nearby — behind her, of course. It wasn't until I saw a small envelope purse under her arm that I realized: she ISN'T part of the display!

I was feeling a bit dowdy, by comparison, even though I had on a decent enough outfit of sandy-beige twill pants, a dusty plum sweater and a really great arty necklace. And new sandals. Maybe it was all that color contrast; maybe it's because I used to have hair that color and looked good in hot pink, too. Shocking hot pink is a color you can only wear on days you feel 'on top of the world' and are brimming with confidence. It's a color to get noticed in, especially when you team it with black.

Anyway, next time I go to the mall, the camera comes with me!

Getting back to the camera.....a few days later, I was driving past a bridal shop with a rainbow of dreamy dresses in the window. The reason I took the photo below was specifically for the Things Pink photography pool on flickr.com. I even went back at night to re-shoot because the daylight photos had too may reflections in the window. Maybe I should add this one to Flickr's OCFD group pool as well (Obsessive Compulsive Flickr Disorder).

In the middle of my 'fashion shoot' I could see using these images in more ways than just photo-sharing. Maybe the mannequins needed heads — or something. The idea has been sitting somewhere in my brain for weeks. Yesterday, after posting the photo, one of my viewers left the comment,
"OO you could hide a whole scrapyard under there."

THAT's IT!! A skirt with a hiding place under it.

A 3-D dress was the starting point. Easy, I had the photo. A shape for the torso, a big pouffy skirt, bead and sparkles, two layers of tulle, a blank ATC and an hour-and-a-half.

Then a search through my junk jars for something from a 'scrapyard'.
(Thank you, Arlee.)

Do you know how difficult it is to find a couple of quintessential scrapyard pieces that are under two inches square? Lots of rusty things, but I needed something car. In the jar of found objects that are silver was an old lock cover, alas, its swiveling days long since passed. See? This is why I don't throw things out.

The hardest part was trying to find a carpet image that was the proper scale. But I did: and it was pink! Now what can I stuff under the next one???

Assemblage – stickin' it to 'em

2007-06-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

After the background of the support for my assemblage is finished, the details can be added. Flat images such as handwritten letters or photographs are glued in place with an archival pvc glue, covered with a sheet of waste paper and burnished. On smooth surfaces a bone folder does a good job but on dimensional surfaces a soft cloth or just fingers work better to push out air pockets. The only other items I would adhere with a liquid glue would be pressed leaves that are thick and rigid enough that the glue won't show through. Skeletonized leaves are tricky because they are brittle so I either dab the surface sparingly or use a mix of 1 part wheat paste to 3 parts white glue (rather than the 50/50 as in the recipe below from my bookbinding workshop). Wheat paste takes away the shiny look that dried white glue tends to have.

WHEAT PASTE GLUE (BOOKBINDING PASTE)

1 heaping TBSP flour to 7 TBSP water:
Mix flour in two parts cold water until smooth.
Add remaining water & stir until smooth.
Microwave 1 minute then stir; repeat 5 times.
Strain lumps with a nylon stocking.
When cool, mix 50/50 with white PVA glue.
Store in a jar in the refrigerator.

Do yourself a favour and buy a 3/4” mini-whisk and a Pyrex 1-cup measure for cooking. This is a slow drying paste but it virtually disappears if it accidentally oozes out. Straight PVA will look shiny. Label this stuff so nobody eats it for yogurt or something! You can also use wheat starch and I’ve heard cornstarch gives a clearer paste.

I rarely use a glue gun for assemblage as I find the glue eventually peels from some surfaces. I 'art' like I sew: when I put it together, it stays together and anyone who has the desire to take it apart is in for a battle – even if it's me. One of my favourite glues is Zap-a-Gap. It's one of those dangerous-if-you're-careless super glues but this one fills gaps and it's the only one I've found that will stick rusty metal to most other surfaces. Mind you, I have a tube of E-6000 I haven't tried yet. Or liquid nails (sorry Michael).

Nothing irks me more in a piece of my artwork than a bit of shiny glue, Zap-a-Gap or any other kind. A little watered down matte gel medium brushed over the offending bits take down the glare.

For really heavy-duty sticking I bring out the construction adhesive and the modeling paste. I'm talking horseshoes and chunks of slate – heavy things. Construction adhesive is smelly but it does the trick. Grumbacher Modeling Paste is more versatile so it's my first choice of the two. For those of you who aren't familiar with modeling paste, it's an acrylic medium that's somewhat grainy and about the consistency of......Jello pudding. You can apply it to anything from canvas to concrete. It can be thinned, colored with acrylic, shaped or textured wet, carved, or sanded dry. You can even mix things like short strands of sisal rope into it for texture. It's a wonder product! I usually color it to match my background, apply some with a palette knife, push the item gently onto the surface and use a paintbrush to remove the excess. Unless I want the excess to show:

Any items that can have holes drilled in them can be attached with wire, screws, nails, rivets, ribbon, sisal, butcher twine. Depending on the weight, after drilling I may add some modeling paste and let it dry, then use the screws or whatever.

A caution when you are using found objects, particularly rusty ones: use work gloves and safety goggles! I was breaking a small, thin piece of rusty sheet metal and a piece managed fling off into my eye, even though I was wearing glasses. It was safety goggles from then on. Luckily, no damage was done.

There was a time I tried to hide the method of attachment but it's so much easier and more interesting to make it a part of the story or mood you're creating.

This assemblage tells the story of my father's family and their pioneer lifestyle in the 1920's. A few of the 'artifacts' are bits and pieces of junk I found in his welding shop that he was happy to part with. He's the baby at the far right in the rusty washer that I found in one of his toolboxes. Although he saw some of my earlier work, this assemblage was created 8 years after his death. It was created for an art gallery show called 'Found'. To my surprise, I found that on relocating from the west coast of British Columbia to the center of the province, we bought a house less than 2 miles away from where his second oldest sister homesteaded in the 1920's.

Assemblage — the beginning

2007-06-10T23:11:00.000-07:00

The mental art muscles are forging ahead a mile a minute. The physical art muscles are still a bit reluctant but it's time to try creating on a slightly larger scale (than an ATC) and get back to the intended subject of this blog — using found objects in artwork.

I dedicate this post to all the artists who are healing and on their way back to creativity.

When I start an assemblage, the subject isn't usually the impetus. An idea with a heaping spoonful of inspiration comes along when I begin playing with my selection of art materials, a.k.a. junk. The large pieces are generally discards, castoffs, street junk and other found objects in boxes in the workshop. The tiny bits are in mason jars standing in a row on my studio shelves: washers, springs, nails, bearings, keys and the unidentifiable, sorted by color: gold, black, rust, silver, and brass.

These objects combined with handmade paper, collage images, fibers and acrylic paint will surely lead to something. Color is a great starting point.

A touch of verdigris on a penny or chunk of copper pipe suggests a theme of shade of green and orange. A piece of welding splatter (anything is fair game) from a work yard had an incredibly beautiful maroon and carmine blush that accented the dull silver-gray metal.

The miscellaneous car part (?) below has yummy rainbow hues of violet, teal gold and more.

Once a generous selection of colored items is strewn about it's time to start thinking of a support for the piece. Before a final decision is made I have to think about how heavy the found materials are and have some idea of how to attach them. In the case of very large items like the old garden hoe I once used, a shallow box will be required. The inside of the box will hide the wires, nuts for the screws and the ends of nails as the items will be mounted on the outside.

The box gets a coat of primer and several coats of gesso. When it's dry I arrange and rearrange the found items and other materials until I have something that looks pleasing and has a flow. The trick is to get mixture of apparently disparate items to relate to each other. This is probably the most time consuming part of the art making — adding and subtracting until it looks right and knowing when to stop. Then all the items must be removed and placed in the same way on another board until the background is finished.

Some areas of the box get a bit more gesso if I want to work it into tissue paper for a crinkly look. Layers of torn (unprinted) newsprint give a smoother look and the edges will be easy to highlight with dry-brushing later. I don't normally use paper towel, so in this assemblage it was a first. I'd forgotten my newsprint in the studio when I packed up for a demo at a local art group's monthly meeting and had to improvise. My preference is for background materials that show texture but aren't too obvious and paper towel is so......paper towelish!

More visual texture is applied with paint. It's fun to play around and see what happens. I used a lot of painting techniques in this one: washes, splattering, stenciling, scumbling, glazing and dry brushing.

I keep things. When I die they're gonna wrinkle their eyebrows and wonder Why?
This item is something very useful to me so I feel justified in hanging on to it. As I was making an assemblage called Firenze I kept a 'recipe' of the paint techniques. The piece was a mirror with two side panels that I had to match for color over a period of several weeks. I couldn't pre-mix enough paint so a swatch card with amounts and step sequence helped. Not an exact science in the measuring department, but it worked. And I like the swatch card. When a piece leaves the studio I like to keep a sample. Just a memory of it. Like baby pictures. When it's a commissioned piece I make a small story board to illustrate the colors and items that will be used. It gives my client a better idea of what they will be getting than a description of peachy-pink scumble with coppery splatter and greenish-teal silk yarn.

There are assemblages that don't require a box. Sometimes, old pieces of wood are all that's needed for a support, as in a series of small works featuring family members I've been working on, and in the farm themed piece titled A Flink of Cows.

Paint and stains were applied directly to the wood before (and after) the Xerox transfers and collage papers were adhered.

Another time I'll tell you about the trials and methods of attaching that piece of gloriously rusty exhaust pipe to your artwork. You might want to run out and get that tetanus shot first so you'll be ready!

Sorry Ma’am, That Pattern [Style/Piece/Design] is Discontinued

2007-06-07T20:31:00.000-07:00

If you care to follow me when I shop for a set of anything, take notes and don’t buy — it won’t be available for long.

I have the distinct knack of choosing things that are almost at the end of production. It started with the set of Langley and Denby ironstone I saved my babysitting money for as a teen. (I was very practical.) There were several patterns worth considering but I liked my aunt’s Canterbury pattern best at the time — cream, brown, a touch of olive green with a carmel colored rim.

It was the 70’s, OK? They went with the appliances! But it, of course had already been discontinued, so I went for the next on my list of faves: Shamrock with teal and olive hand painted leaves. Every time I had 20 dollars saved up, off to Westwell’s China and Gifts I would march to buy four plates or cereal bowls. The Denby company was actually polite enough to let me complete my set, or as much as I wanted of it, before axing it. I broke a mug a few years ago, the only casualty ever, with none lost in a 500-mile move. The pattern still looks quite contemporary and has enough wonderful colors to pull from it to make it look fresh with every new color of napkins. My gosh, I just looked at the current prices of the plates on e-bay — $39.00! I could mortgage them for a world cruise!

Next was the china pattern that was my mom’s. Royal Albert’s American Beauty. Same story, same status. My everyday Oneida stainless cutlery, ditto. Lovely set of mat black Pfaltzgraff dinnerware in 2002 — any guess as to what happened? Same luck with the Ikea Princip office furniture years ago and the little Plugg** cabinets more recently. I give up!

In an office revamp effort I have to do a big rearrangement and need a place to put my printer. I had this old night table from about six years before the Denby episode took a foothold. That would make it about 40 years old.

The salesman took a coin from his pocket and ground and scraped it all over the top of the matching desk. Very impressive! Not a mark! Dad thinking, “It should last a few years.” Me thinking, “I won’t get in trouble for being careless.” SOLD!

I think I can make an ‘Ikea match-up’ from it that will do. Living nearer everyone’s favourite supplier of affordable Swedish furniture would make things easier but traveling there would more than double the price.

I’m too ~~cheap~~ smart to do that, so it’s a can of sticky primer, off-white satin Varathane, a set of found casters and three $3.99 library pulls.

First, off came the old 6-inch-high tapered furniture legs which were replaced with casters. There happened to be four matching ones in a bag of 12 in the workshop. Next, I needed to fix the drawer slides which were so badly worn the drawers wouldn't close properly. After trimming one of the T-shaped pieces to an I shape, an old paint stirring stick came in handy to replace it and was screwed onto the remaining part of the slide. Good thing it was the right thickness as I don't happen to have a wood plane lying around. Wood filler went into the old holes from the handles. I squashed it in with my palette knife that I use for acrylics, let it dry overnight, refilled, then sanded with 120-grit.

A light all-over sanding with hefty-duty 80-grit aluminum oxide sandpaper followed by two coats of hefty-duty primer was a great improvement already. Three coats of Varathane (the nice water-soluble kind) applied with a small roller made it look even better. (Good work, Lefty!)

Finally, some brushed stainless library pulls to replace the old handles. This is getting exciting! They match reasonably well with the aluminum trim on the Ikea Princip desk but I don't think I'd want them in a kitchen or anywhere that would require a lot of repetitive use. They're a VERY un-ergonomic strain on the wrist.

Done — printer in it's new place ready to churn out homemade moo mini-cards, art doll faces and whatever else.

Lots of storage space for paper. too.

Only thing left to do is purge and rearrange the digital spaghetti under the desk.

** If anyone has a door for a 30-inch Ikea Plugg cabinet they aren't using.....never did get the 3rd one that was 'out of stock'!

Art Tip #37

2007-06-01T00:32:00.000-07:00

This has mostly to do with paintbrushes. Washing them. Well....
not so much the washing part as the where you put them after you wash them part.

Don't put them on top of your dryer. That wouldn't seem like a problem, would it? Ha – the problem comes when the completely innocent paintbrush takes a flying suicidal leap into the hole you created as you removed the lint filter.

Have you ever wondered how deep a top loading lint filter is? Very. And do you know how to get to the bottom of it to retrieve your errant art item? I thought not. Neither did we.

Unfasten about 15 screws from the back panel, then the two screws from near the top of the lint filter hole, try to pull the chute that holds the filter out from around the dryer drum. Curse just a little, 'cause it won't cooperate. Eventually, if it gives in before you give up, remove it.

While you've got it all apart you may as well vacuum the lint from the inside of the duct and the fluff balls from the floor. Keep the nickel from the duct as payment for doing such a good cleaning job. Remember to take the picture hangers out of your pocket before you dry your jeans.

Me: "Looks like it really needed a good vacuuming anyway, huh?"
Nice Mr. repair man: ".................."

Several minutes of silence. "Here, take this."
It was my long lost green sock with (only a tiny) hole in it. I thought they disappeared in the washing machine. Good thing I kept it's mate over the past 18 months!

Making Paper

2007-05-26T00:26:00.000-07:00

In 1986 I saw a very innovative type of art made from sheets of unusual paper, sewn together with thread and decorated with antique ceramic shards, feathers, leaves and other objects of uncertain identity and mysterious origins. These beautiful and sensitive abstract compositions were called assemblages and were encased in shadowbox frames made of Plexiglass.

René, the woman who constructed them, became a friend and mentor. On a visit to her studio, while I was admiring an assemblage with a sculpted paper fish, she presented me with a few handfuls of pulp balls and instructed me on how to use them. “Just reconstitute them in water and push them into a mold.”

Her mold was a rusty fish-shaped jelly mold. The wet paper picked up the rust color adding just a touch of antiquity that blended into the tail area. I took the pulp balls home and followed her directions but I didn’t have any kind of mold. The only thing around, with an interesting texture, was a pair of pink swimming scallop shells.

The shells were purloined from my dinner plate a few months prior, on an overnight stay at the Sooke Harbour House, a seaside restaurant/ bed & breakfast. It was a ‘young’ restaurant then and has since become a world-class destination, winning many awards.

I would have taken more than two shells from the plate of twelve but I was worried what they’d think about the weird lady staying in the Blue Heron Room who didn’t return any of the shells on her plate. “Maybe she ate them!”

When I came home I tried casting recycled paper. The wet paper pulp dried and literally snapped off from the shell. Every minute detail was transferred.

After a little research I found several products to use for mold making and started my new career: paper shell maker.

I made mauve shells, pink shells, green shells and blue shells. Then pink & mauve shells, green shells with a touch of blue, and so on. Happy, happy, shells! Now what?

Greeting cards! Each one an original signed work of art with it’s own title. Over the next four years I turned out hundreds upon hundreds, maybe thousands of shell cards and sold them. Little shell cards alone financed my first computer. Another friend asked me during a Christmas open house (where I was selling shell cards), “Have you ever thought of using a larger format?” No. It never occurred to me. I was having too much fun pumping out cards.

Frame the shells, add a few embellishments….quite arty! They were as popular as the cards. Over time other themes and objects were tried in the framed format and people I knew stopped referring to me as a crafter and began calling me an artist. I remember feeling uncomfortable with this metamorphosis and it took me a long time to accept the new title.

One of my recent workshop students asked, “How do you really know when you’re an artist?” I suppose my answer is, “When people tell you that you are.”

Road Trip

2007-05-20T01:52:00.000-07:00

A short road trip was scheduled at the beginning of the month, only for a two-night stay but far enough away for a change of scenery.

British Columbia, Canada is a huge province, most heavily populated in the south-western corner, just north of the 49th parallel which borders the USA. The central part of the province’s cities and towns are much smaller and farther apart. The closest city that’s larger is 521km (about 324 miles) to the south. Opted instead for an eastern direction, into the province of Alberta: totally different landscape, booming economy with lots of shopping opportunities (not to mention a lower sales tax rate) and a somewhat better weekend weather forecast.

So, it's off to Grande Prairie….530km (332 miles) one way - 6½ hours of driving, at a speed of 90-100 kilometers for a good part of it.

For comparison, approximately the same travel distance as:
Los Angeles to San Jose, CA
Dortmund to Dresden, Germany
Miami to Jacksonville, FL
Madrid to Barcelona, Spain
from Swansea, Wales to London & back to Cardiff
farther than Paris to Lyon, France
farther than Wellington to Gisborne, NZ

Northern roads take a real beating in the extreme weather conditions. I knew the winters would be cold when I moved here but didn’t know the summers could be scorchingly hot. Repairs to the asphalt make a thwacketta-thwacketta sound as you drive over them. With all the bumping along, it's surprising these pictures aren't all a blur!

Within 100-200 km in any direction from home, BC's scenery and landscape changes dramatically. Rain forest to the west, desert-like areas to the south, mountains and prairie to the east.

The twisty highway through the Pine Pass winds over the Hart Ranges

…..taking you though valleys past meandering streams

…..then over the Rockies.

The highway straightens out over the rolling foothills and the speed limit increases to 100 km/hr.

Those farmers and oilfield workers are really in a rush to get everywhere, judging from the whoosh as so many passed us and disappeared into the horizon.

Maybe they know where the good sales are in Grande Prairie, just over the next hill.

I usually bring a book to read when traveling but this time I brought a ‘traveling art kit’. Basic supplies to make a few ATCs for recent trades.

Who cares what the city nightlife has to offer if you can make ATC’s in your hotel room?

A new technique: the original intention was to fasten brads into each corner of the pile of found papers. In my studio I like to be able to see all my supplies at a glance. This was no different – if I secured everything, I wouldn’t be able to see each individual page, so one brad and a giant paperclip was the solution.

This post is getting long, so I’ll upload a ‘shopping spree’ set to flickr.com later.

On the way back home, a stop at the museum in a small town called Pouce Coupe (rhymes with ‘loose toupee’), which is about a 13-minute drive from Dawson Creek, BC and ‘Mile 0’ of the Alaska Highway. Besides the wealth of local history, including WWII uniforms of a dozen men and women from the town, a shelf in one of the back rooms had stacks of books, catalogues and magazines from the 1930’s to the 1950’s. The next trip will be an overnighter at the nearby B&B to do a full day of ATC ‘research’!

After a roadside lunch stop miles from anywhere, I found a shale outcrop and begged some help to scoop up enough pieces to build an inuksuk or, plural, inuksuit if there’s enough stone. A couple of prize rusty car parts came home, too, for an assemblage at a later date. The ordeals the families of artists must suffer through!

Four hours later.... home.

With the one major purchase.

As I hurried ahead to open the door and snap this photo, I heard, “It just gets worse, doesn’t it?”
That was a smirk on his face, not a grimace, right?

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

2007-05-14T15:55:00.000-07:00

After the ATC excitement of the previous post tapered off and we came back home from our trip (more about that later), I finished the little project I was working on, that grew and morphed from an ATC idea to an art doll. The construction of the doll's body was going well with one major problem to solve.

In case you don't know, using other artist’s or photographer’s work or pieces of it in your own creation is, both morally and legally, absolutely verboten. The dolly, however, needed a head, and the head in question was residing on the flickr.com website.

I was apprehensive about making a derivative work from it (from her?) and even tried a few other options but sometimes you can’t work against the muse. However, if you steal somebody’s photo to use, you’d better pray like crazy they don’t sue ya and that they like the object you’re making for them.

As I was working on the doll my mind was trying to figure out how to explain the 'photo theft' to its owner. It would have to be something like a letter of apology with a couple of please forgive me's in it. Anyway, on with the struggle of using a needle when I can't see how to thread it because the new prescription for lenses for my glasses is still sitting on the dresser. (Mostly, because I don't know how I can cope without seeing for a week, while they're being replaced.) This was supposed to be an easy project! Good thing the fun factor is way up there.

The whole idea was so much fun that it had to be posted on flickr even before it was finished. Nobody would know exactly what it was if I cropped the shot closely, so the surprise wouldn't be spoiled. I didn't expect to get the reaction it caused. People were saying things like sexual energy and hot, which meant I had even more 'splainin to do.

Protected between two sheets of blue x-ray film (no longer available - it's now digital) and some goodies, the package was off to California. Seven days of agony while I waited.....would she like it or was I in big trouble? Couldn't bear it if she blocked me as a flickr contact, yikes!

Good news came on Friday when I checked all my contacts new photos. Yay, Ruth liked it and Sarah looked happy too!

Some Days You Get a Nice Surprise

2007-05-11T00:19:00.000-07:00

Most mornings I’m woken up by the thump of the mail dropping into the mailbox. I should (a) buy a new one and install it somewhere other than in the entry outside the bedroom wall, (b) put something in the bottom to silence the thump, (c) throw something at the mailman or (d) go to bed earlier and not be such a flickr.com addict. Last Tuesday, the day before we left for a short road trip, the mail was late. I know it was, no 9:30am wake-up thump and I checked around noon to make sure.…nothing. Around five o’clock I heard a voice from the vicinity of the front door, “I see nobody remembered to check the mail this morning.” The mailman must have been awfully late (again) or they changed the routes. In any case, there were two bills, a pizza flyer, a “currant occupant” envelope and a gray envelope stamped AIR MAIL from Claremont California. I went for the Air Mail first, of course.

In the envelope was cellophane bag with a bundle of ancient looking sheet music tied up with a red string. Inside the bundle was sparkly, sheer ocean-colored fabric, matching dyed cotton fabric, several kinds of turquoise water-colored paper with sparkles, ribbon, buttons and a little bird stamped on cotton muslin. In the middle of the goodies was a lovely fiber art ATC and a business card printed with RUTH RAE Jewelry and Mixed Media.

The minute I saw those colors, I knew where the ATC would live. In the guest room, (my “Summer Room”) I put it on the drawn threadwork pillowcase on the bed and snapped a photo.

I tried it on the dresser next to my mom’s earrings and turquoise vanity set,

.......then in the silver dish of “decorator candies” wrapped in turquoise foil,

and finally behind the band of my new sun hat, sitting on a beach glass blue cushion, waiting for summer. If Miss Judith can wear ATCs on her pretty ballet slippers, I can wear one on my hat!

While I was plotting, planning and playing my traveling companion/driver/all-round-good-guy asked from around the corner, “Aren’t you finished packing yet?” (No, just busy with my ATC.) Like a kid who wants to take his newest toy to bed with him, I didn’t want to leave my new ATC behind! (Thank you, Ruth!)

Out of Context

2007-05-09T01:54:00.000-07:00

As I’m searching secondhand books back to front & reading the pages bottom to top for useable phrases, I can never decide whether to cut them out or just mark them. If I cut them out I’ll loose the good ones for sure – throw them out, vacuum them up, whatever. If I don’t, I’ll never again find that perfect phrase about swimsuits for the old picture of my aunties when they were bathing beauties.

There may be a solution at hand. Clear report covers, without holes, which open at three sides. When a piece of letter size paper is inserted the static holds the cutout pieces in place quite nicely. Now, to find them quickly should they be arranged by theme or what? Time spent on art would be far more productive than this nonsense!

Subjects on the left, verbs in the middle and predicates on the right. There! Sort of a variation on a flip-book for mix & match sentences. It should work.

They shook their heads / oyster pies were / an act of inexcusable barbarity.
He believed / sizing up the situation / a beribbonned bonnet had been unwise. “I am an Englishman!”

Sometimes sentences taken out of context can be downright hilarious when you have images of a future collage prancing through your brain:

Well, I really think that’s about all the clothes you’re really going to need.
She could jitterbug like the dickens and had money to burn.
It looked so much better in the shop.
She just walked right over on her uprights and whispered into his flippers with her bone box.
She blabbed to the kids during lunch, she blabbed to the kids during recess, and if that wasn't enough, she blabbed to the bus driver on the way home.

And my current favorite was about a couple of kids in the Edwardian days being read to by their nanny:
Up in the bedroom things were happy.

Who Done It?

2007-05-07T23:41:00.000-07:00

There were two used book sales last month and I came back with a big box from each of them. When I started collecting books for re-use they were made into bases for table lamps. That was years before the term “altered book” was thrown around but they were books and definitely altered. Some were painted to match the client’s décor, sometimes the titles on the spines were changed to suit the theme, holes were drilled and the librarians who donated many of them would have been horrified if they knew.

Several years ago I was searching the libraries and book stores for anything by author Majory Allingham. The only result I ever got was information that they were out of print so I gave up looking. Marjory Allingham wrote during the Golden Age of detective fiction (1920-1939) and was a contemporary of women writers Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, Josephine Tey and Ngaio Marsh. Allingham’s fictional Inspector Albert Campion was played by Peter Davidson (also the youngest Dr. Who) in two series of BBC adaptations of her stories, shown in North America on PBS. Great fun to watch.

As I was rummaging through my boxes of books, choosing for my next lamp base, I noticed many had black covers. I’d been looking for something black like a piece of pottery or…..something….. to put on my fireplace mantle. Why not a pile of decorator books? They looked so good and for variety the brass candle holder & snuffer sitting on top would trade places with a few white shells or a fresh red apple. I figured “I should at least leaf through them” as I was dusting one afternoon. No money, no love notes, nothing. I read the titles. The second from the bottom in the pile was: “Tiger in the Smoke” and below that, in small faded letters “by Marjory Allingham”. Well, I’ll be darned! I’d had it all that time & had never known! It’s supposed to be one of her best and it was a pretty good read, although I can’t remember many details about it now.

I haven’t made any lamps for ages but I teach altered book workshops and use the pages for assemblage and collage. When I cut phrases from novels for collage I have to read from the back of the book to the front & from the bottom of the page up so I can see them without getting involved in the story. Same thing, more or less with certain movies or TV shows. Poirot, the PBS Mystery series with David Suchet must be watched at least twice – once for the story and again, without the distraction of sound, just for the costumes and sets. No matter how many times I watch a mystery I can never remember “who done it” by the next time it’s broadcast! I’m almost certain I’ve slept through a couple of endings but for the most part it’s goldfish memory. A general idea of what happened on a previous occasion, just not sure what, so the next time everything is new again.

Scissory Causes Misery

2007-04-29T00:46:00.000-07:00

The right hand is progressing well since the carpal tunnel has been fixed. I can now write six words in a row. Thank goodness by the time I get to the last one the Old-timer’s Disease kicks in so I can’t remember what I was writing anyway!

Made a gallant effort at creativity and paid for it. Started cutting out some shapes for a little project and now it hurts right up to my ow-bone. I should force myself to go do some other activity, like read a book. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy reading, because once I get into a good book, it’s pretty much a marathon until it’s finished. Right now, I have to urge to create and reading is more to do with someone else’s creativity, not my own. Writing (even a blog) is creative, so you’re stuck with me complaining, for the moment. The people I live with thank you for giving them a break!

I’m a pretty good patient – never cry or even whimper, just grit my teeth and say “OK, I’m ready”. The hanging around doing nothing afterward is what’s driving me bananas. You’d think they’d send me on a holiday to get rid of me for awhile. There was the two-hour respite when they sent me for a manicure and pedicure, the result of me complaining that I soon wouldn’t be able to get my shoes on. “Get me the clippers, I’ll do them for you.” “NO, you won’t!” The manicure was very enjoyable (I didn’t complain to her) and should last for a considerable time, since I’m not into the acrylic paint yet. Being an artist and a gardener – OK, a person who does gardening – rough, ink-stained and painty is more my style.

When I was a kid, my Dad would decide to drive home from a day in the city “down the Old Road”, the bumpy two lane highway full of potholes, that meandered through the wooded countryside. We didn’t go that way often, so everyone considered it a treat. He never failed to point out “The Fence Made Without Nails, Screws or Wire”. And there it was, again, in all its wondrous mystery as we whooshed by. Dad was a fast driver. Mom said we could put our arms out the windows and we’d attain liftoff like an airplane. No wire or nails or screws.

As we were driving past a split rail fence this week, undoubtedly made with nails, a light bulb went on: an ATC without scissors or knives or paintbrushes! I think I can do that!