The name Skinny Laminx was already taken by this incredible woman who prints her own fabric (dream life), but that is okay. Margot Polo suits me. Skinny Laminx's work is pretty incredible and makes me long for art school and for the looms and silk screen shops that are just beyond my reach. Soon enough. This year was clearly set out for preparation and practice. I have been practicing some ink drawings and will begin sewing like a wild animal very soon, but for now I am challenging myself to set my quill and ink aside (steady hands eventually find their way) for now, and to practice painting what I see with gouauche and watercolor. Right now my watercolor set is pretty laughable. When I bought it for 4.99 at the Jean Coutu (comparable to Shoppers Drugmart) by my house, a French woman in line behind me asked if they were for the baby. I laughed and said no. She said, "I didn't think so" with a gorgeous lilt.
Anyway, it is quite obvious by now that drawing things from my head is not something that comes easily, and chances are it never will. Practice practice practice. These days I am trying to sit down in front of different spots in my home and draw what I see. First I will draw them with a quill, freehand, and then I want to move into painting them only. There is such incredible safety in lines, dripping black, scratched into heavy cardstock grudgingly bound to a coil. I need to let go of this if I want to improve as an illustrator. No more just black for me. Boo hoo. There will always be black ink lines to begin, but it is the layers I need to expand my horizon upon. This is going to be a hell of a challenge, considering I always draw like this.
Like this. The line drawing below is something I did last night after a delicious dinner with Mitch. We rearranged the house over the weekend (it is still confused, but much better) and there is now a work room. I sat on the floor of the new bedroom facing my favorite piece of furniture and my trusty bulletin board. Both pieces were rescued from the street. The giant board is home to the million flying scraps of my life: things I find on the street, color, fabric, drawings, love notes, old letters, things from Liza, Rob's prints, remnants of the bush, leaves, dried things, string, you name it; it has been up there, it is up there now, or it will be eventually. I like to look at it when I wake. Currently, there is a long tape measure for fabric in the perfect chartreuse that separates my side from my guy's. I like seeing the sides build on their own accord. The long and lean piece of furniture that the board sits atop was found while on a walk with JJ, my second week living in Montreal. It was just there on St. Joseph, three blocks from my home. Stout little french legs, two pretty doors. It is actually in a sad state a la moment and I am trying to figure out what it once was. Desk or hutch? It is clear that it has been hacked into a desk, but I am not convinced. (So, add furniture restoration to my growing list of Things to Learn this year) Yikes. Anyway, Mitch and I stripped it clean of the hideous parquet number that covered all of the best bevel work! People who destroy antiques... don't get me started. Pardon the crooked scan, my drawing book is too large for the scanner.
Leo is singing in his bed, work calls.
|Drawing of my buffet table and bulletin board; Ink on cardstock. October, 2010.|
Here are some samples of fabric work by Skinny Laminx.