Monday, November 1, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Bazaar.
"What a pity she didn't sell that bonnet to you for two dollars, but it is a set you know", the old Polish bird croaked as she leaned in real close and puttered around my spot at the long wooden table heaving with blankets, baby clothes and woolens.
What a pity indeed. I love when I hear that phrase, clipped short and sweet in its own little way. Makes me think of Helen, Helen, Helen.
Nice Saturday today with the low lying dark, clouds heavy and throwing pails of rain onto the fresh wash hanging on the line to dry. Damn, that always happens. We went out anyway, ignoring the laundry and went about the usual Saturday routine that I so look forward to with the close of each work week. Goodbye Leo, hello Saturday afternoons in the city with my guy. Mitch and I wandered and ran into two friends; one old and one new. JJ, host of last night's Halloween pre gate night party at Casa Petshop (she was the best Yummy Mummy I have ever seen [dead baby et al]) and Nick, this charming man with sterling character that I have heard so much about. A quick hello with Nick in the middle of the street in front of Arts Cafe and a quick plan of dinner for four when Jillian comes.
Off to Drawn & Quarterly we went to pick out a new children's book by the beloved M. Kalman (What Pete Ate A-Z) and then we wandered to Monastiraki for some more letter writing supplies, old photographs and a quick look book for my Mitch. So many jewels in there, so hard to choose. Emily at the till tipped us off of a church basement bazaar going on around the corner and off we went again, two heads in the rain.
I love basement bazaars and this one did not disappoint either: two skirts and a sweatshirt of perfect proportion. From there we walked back home. I made sweet oatmeal cookies while drinking a cup of tea. Mitch worked on a new drawing for a print he has cooking. Tiny, elaborate and ornate frames with rolling scrolls, he is very good. Now JJ is on her way over to play a game and watch a horror movie. Halloween at home, costumes optional.
Below is a photo of Leo wearing a pair of swim goggles. He was into them! I have no idea why, but he kept them on his face for ten minutes just chilling, watching the world around them through aquamarine glass. What a weirdo. I love him.
What a pity indeed. I love when I hear that phrase, clipped short and sweet in its own little way. Makes me think of Helen, Helen, Helen.
Nice Saturday today with the low lying dark, clouds heavy and throwing pails of rain onto the fresh wash hanging on the line to dry. Damn, that always happens. We went out anyway, ignoring the laundry and went about the usual Saturday routine that I so look forward to with the close of each work week. Goodbye Leo, hello Saturday afternoons in the city with my guy. Mitch and I wandered and ran into two friends; one old and one new. JJ, host of last night's Halloween pre gate night party at Casa Petshop (she was the best Yummy Mummy I have ever seen [dead baby et al]) and Nick, this charming man with sterling character that I have heard so much about. A quick hello with Nick in the middle of the street in front of Arts Cafe and a quick plan of dinner for four when Jillian comes.
Off to Drawn & Quarterly we went to pick out a new children's book by the beloved M. Kalman (What Pete Ate A-Z) and then we wandered to Monastiraki for some more letter writing supplies, old photographs and a quick look book for my Mitch. So many jewels in there, so hard to choose. Emily at the till tipped us off of a church basement bazaar going on around the corner and off we went again, two heads in the rain.
I love basement bazaars and this one did not disappoint either: two skirts and a sweatshirt of perfect proportion. From there we walked back home. I made sweet oatmeal cookies while drinking a cup of tea. Mitch worked on a new drawing for a print he has cooking. Tiny, elaborate and ornate frames with rolling scrolls, he is very good. Now JJ is on her way over to play a game and watch a horror movie. Halloween at home, costumes optional.
Below is a photo of Leo wearing a pair of swim goggles. He was into them! I have no idea why, but he kept them on his face for ten minutes just chilling, watching the world around them through aquamarine glass. What a weirdo. I love him.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Dearly Beloveds.
Riza and Lags, Liza and Rags.
Dearly beloveds, I love you so. Thank you for reading what I have to say and also for the deep care. I feel you, telephone calls are never necessary; to me, written words hold so much. Much more than many things. I am terrible on the phone. Last night's letter was not a crying out to anyone, just a crying out to myself. In actuality, I read a post by Beth Mans just before sitting down to write my own and was so comforted by her security in being unhappy (at the time). She named it loud and proud, splayed on the floor, chipped nails and tears. And that is okay. It is brave to write it down sometimes. I so admire that ability in people.
It is time to be real. Fall is all about peeling off, paring down, stripping bare, shaking loose until there is nothing left but the very core. I am definitely in this place. Knee deep in my own refuse (which is always more hopeful than neck deep. Being neck deep in places is unnerving. Like a swamp! Being neck deep in a swamp should be a sin). It is only in that place, shaken loose, that one can begin to add new layers. So, there in lies the rub. I am going to be real, even when it results in an unpleasant read, a darkened heart, heavy boots. I am dark as night right now. There is an obvious pattern at work here. Like a five year afghan in the works. There are light spots, and racy details, and smooth pearls, and then there are the dark lines that feel never ending, even though there is always a hard right turn somewhere in the pattern and back into the light I burst. Like a fish flying out of water. The only thing that has proven to lift that feeling over the years is to name it with painful honesty, to write about it and to make it real. Thanks for your love you two. You are so dear to me, both of you.
This morning I looked in the mirror and began formulating a new letter. It felt like a string of words swept down around the curve of thought like a string of something fitting around one's neck. 'Oh, that's nice', a quiet murmur of thought. Two letters need to be constructed very carefully for my two new portfolios for art school if I want to have a fighting chance of weaseling my way back in again. It just came, that first whisper of an angle. What a glorious feeling to stare into at eight ten in the morning. Those are some of my favorite moments in life (in terms of writing and being a writer of sorts); standing there in stripes, toothbrush dangling haphazardly from between my teeth, my eyes unseeing as my mind blinked and then began to bind bits of words together in such a way familiar--sort of like Leo and his blocks--so precise and so vague all at once. It felt nice.
And then there was light. The correct wall and the precise swat of a switch. Poof, the re birth of. (Arthur is an excellent name. Side note, duly noted).
I have decided the theme for the new portfolio (two in one style again. Last year it was a giant fabric envelope bearing two paper parcels wrapped up in string): all things soft. Soft faces, soft light, soft eyes, soft hearts, soft design, soft fabric, soft paper, anything and everything wrapped up so prettily and thoughtfully and painfully soft. Choosing 19 photographs to submit from a sea of a cool million might be the death of me, but what doesn't kill one makes one stronger. As for the Studio Arts angle, I am forced to broaden the scope this year as I have slim to no new silk screen material to choose from. But then there was watercolor. And that is soft. Ink and quill, fabric crests, soft dolls for nice people. Margot Polo is going to be all over this thing. If they don't like it, that is okay. I like it, these ideas newborn, soft seedlings of hope. What I am without at the moment is how to tie both the Photo package and the Textile and Print packages together under one big soft umbrella. I need a vehicle (not in the literal sense). Last year's vehicle was a giant envelope. I am thinking a quilt, a ragtag, ratty, hand stitched, thoughtful quilt that folds up like a hitchhiker's. Or someone, something, somewhere on an incredible adventure with an incredible crest swinging from a stick, marking the path.
My crest. Oh my god, my crest. This damn thing has been percolating in thought since the beginning of September. It is not near ready to be attempted yet. I guess that is part of my process. I get an idea and stew, and stew, and stew. And then I stew some more. Like one of Mitch's amazing sauces. He is always telling me how important it is to let the flavors of his sauces stew. So I am stewing some more until the time is right to pick up my shears and race through the softest muslin I can find. So something with a crest, maybe sewn onto a quilt filled with a flat of nineteen of the softest photos I can think of (Old Eyebrows in there for sure, along with the Face Painted Boy, and a picture of Rollin because he was in the mix last year too), and a package overflowing with drawings and one Lady Longbody for good luck.
That is just an idea. Thank you for reading, for writing your own posts that I eat up on the regular like a fancy dessert. What a treat, this internet thing. It is hump day today, my first one seeing as I have to work on Friday this week (oh no! My beloved Free Friday!), so do something good for someone.
Write a letter today.
Love, Megan.
post script: stay tuned for a Year in Review photo post coming soon (AGAIN, does anyone know how I can change it so that posted photos show up as wide as the written post itself? Aghh, I am inept in so many avenues. Please help. Stay tuned for the Couple of the Year, Baby of the Year (Leo, Rollin, Olive, Izzy, Avery) and so on photos. If anyone knows a scrap about the photo sizing thang, please write. Merci.
Dearly beloveds, I love you so. Thank you for reading what I have to say and also for the deep care. I feel you, telephone calls are never necessary; to me, written words hold so much. Much more than many things. I am terrible on the phone. Last night's letter was not a crying out to anyone, just a crying out to myself. In actuality, I read a post by Beth Mans just before sitting down to write my own and was so comforted by her security in being unhappy (at the time). She named it loud and proud, splayed on the floor, chipped nails and tears. And that is okay. It is brave to write it down sometimes. I so admire that ability in people.
It is time to be real. Fall is all about peeling off, paring down, stripping bare, shaking loose until there is nothing left but the very core. I am definitely in this place. Knee deep in my own refuse (which is always more hopeful than neck deep. Being neck deep in places is unnerving. Like a swamp! Being neck deep in a swamp should be a sin). It is only in that place, shaken loose, that one can begin to add new layers. So, there in lies the rub. I am going to be real, even when it results in an unpleasant read, a darkened heart, heavy boots. I am dark as night right now. There is an obvious pattern at work here. Like a five year afghan in the works. There are light spots, and racy details, and smooth pearls, and then there are the dark lines that feel never ending, even though there is always a hard right turn somewhere in the pattern and back into the light I burst. Like a fish flying out of water. The only thing that has proven to lift that feeling over the years is to name it with painful honesty, to write about it and to make it real. Thanks for your love you two. You are so dear to me, both of you.
This morning I looked in the mirror and began formulating a new letter. It felt like a string of words swept down around the curve of thought like a string of something fitting around one's neck. 'Oh, that's nice', a quiet murmur of thought. Two letters need to be constructed very carefully for my two new portfolios for art school if I want to have a fighting chance of weaseling my way back in again. It just came, that first whisper of an angle. What a glorious feeling to stare into at eight ten in the morning. Those are some of my favorite moments in life (in terms of writing and being a writer of sorts); standing there in stripes, toothbrush dangling haphazardly from between my teeth, my eyes unseeing as my mind blinked and then began to bind bits of words together in such a way familiar--sort of like Leo and his blocks--so precise and so vague all at once. It felt nice.
And then there was light. The correct wall and the precise swat of a switch. Poof, the re birth of. (Arthur is an excellent name. Side note, duly noted).
I have decided the theme for the new portfolio (two in one style again. Last year it was a giant fabric envelope bearing two paper parcels wrapped up in string): all things soft. Soft faces, soft light, soft eyes, soft hearts, soft design, soft fabric, soft paper, anything and everything wrapped up so prettily and thoughtfully and painfully soft. Choosing 19 photographs to submit from a sea of a cool million might be the death of me, but what doesn't kill one makes one stronger. As for the Studio Arts angle, I am forced to broaden the scope this year as I have slim to no new silk screen material to choose from. But then there was watercolor. And that is soft. Ink and quill, fabric crests, soft dolls for nice people. Margot Polo is going to be all over this thing. If they don't like it, that is okay. I like it, these ideas newborn, soft seedlings of hope. What I am without at the moment is how to tie both the Photo package and the Textile and Print packages together under one big soft umbrella. I need a vehicle (not in the literal sense). Last year's vehicle was a giant envelope. I am thinking a quilt, a ragtag, ratty, hand stitched, thoughtful quilt that folds up like a hitchhiker's. Or someone, something, somewhere on an incredible adventure with an incredible crest swinging from a stick, marking the path.
My crest. Oh my god, my crest. This damn thing has been percolating in thought since the beginning of September. It is not near ready to be attempted yet. I guess that is part of my process. I get an idea and stew, and stew, and stew. And then I stew some more. Like one of Mitch's amazing sauces. He is always telling me how important it is to let the flavors of his sauces stew. So I am stewing some more until the time is right to pick up my shears and race through the softest muslin I can find. So something with a crest, maybe sewn onto a quilt filled with a flat of nineteen of the softest photos I can think of (Old Eyebrows in there for sure, along with the Face Painted Boy, and a picture of Rollin because he was in the mix last year too), and a package overflowing with drawings and one Lady Longbody for good luck.
That is just an idea. Thank you for reading, for writing your own posts that I eat up on the regular like a fancy dessert. What a treat, this internet thing. It is hump day today, my first one seeing as I have to work on Friday this week (oh no! My beloved Free Friday!), so do something good for someone.
Write a letter today.
Love, Megan.
post script: stay tuned for a Year in Review photo post coming soon (AGAIN, does anyone know how I can change it so that posted photos show up as wide as the written post itself? Aghh, I am inept in so many avenues. Please help. Stay tuned for the Couple of the Year, Baby of the Year (Leo, Rollin, Olive, Izzy, Avery) and so on photos. If anyone knows a scrap about the photo sizing thang, please write. Merci.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Dry fountain.
I can hear bells from my spot on the hardwood in the little entrance nook. From where? Je ne sais pas. All I know is that I love the sound of bells. They always remind me of Thun, this little ski village situated on a mountainside in Switzerland where they rang as clear as day when I was there three years ago, and again today in my memory.
Today was one of those days where I said "I am not happy" out loud while Leo slept behind a closed door. Oh no, not again. Too much Julie Doiron in the morning on my walk to work through the fog. It's okay. I finished a letter to Lisa and then began a long and skinny letter to Maude. After that I painted a river and a creek on heavy paper and felt much better.
The sound of bells always helps.
Today after Leo's lunch (messiest mealtime to date [squash hair and a veal beard and raspberry lips] as he has recently learned to projectile spit), we cruised on down to Parc Outremont. It was empty, which I prefer. I was so preoccupied with the idea of opening my latest parcel to arrive in the post a la my mother, that I nearly failed to notice the pond had been drained. And then the great awareness of such a stillness and silence came, like a preview for winter played in a fancy gold and red movie theater of dreams. It rolled right in like a carpet of fog. It made me sad in one way and calm in another. Leo seemed to pick up on the change as well because he looked and looked at the silent fountain and finally screamed in horror. "I hear you pal. I miss it too". I have never lived close enough to a park with a pond and a fountain to notice when it is readied for winter. It was a strange feeling.
Readied for winter. What a thought. It is coming, it is rolling in. Every night, the light clips itself off shrinking faster and faster into the dark of night. We wake in the dark and move around each other haggardly searching the wrong wall for the light switch. I don't mind the rain either. The winter season is inevitable and this year I am surprisingly ready for it. I even have boots.
Time to eat something warm. What? Je ne sais pas. We have no food. But we have spices (thanks Ma). I wish I was just about to sit down to a family meal of overdone beef stew. Oh well. Soon enough. Soon enough! To close, a photo of a trainyard in Vienna taken from a balcony high above. I miss Europe, let's go back.
Today was one of those days where I said "I am not happy" out loud while Leo slept behind a closed door. Oh no, not again. Too much Julie Doiron in the morning on my walk to work through the fog. It's okay. I finished a letter to Lisa and then began a long and skinny letter to Maude. After that I painted a river and a creek on heavy paper and felt much better.
The sound of bells always helps.
Today after Leo's lunch (messiest mealtime to date [squash hair and a veal beard and raspberry lips] as he has recently learned to projectile spit), we cruised on down to Parc Outremont. It was empty, which I prefer. I was so preoccupied with the idea of opening my latest parcel to arrive in the post a la my mother, that I nearly failed to notice the pond had been drained. And then the great awareness of such a stillness and silence came, like a preview for winter played in a fancy gold and red movie theater of dreams. It rolled right in like a carpet of fog. It made me sad in one way and calm in another. Leo seemed to pick up on the change as well because he looked and looked at the silent fountain and finally screamed in horror. "I hear you pal. I miss it too". I have never lived close enough to a park with a pond and a fountain to notice when it is readied for winter. It was a strange feeling.
Readied for winter. What a thought. It is coming, it is rolling in. Every night, the light clips itself off shrinking faster and faster into the dark of night. We wake in the dark and move around each other haggardly searching the wrong wall for the light switch. I don't mind the rain either. The winter season is inevitable and this year I am surprisingly ready for it. I even have boots.
Time to eat something warm. What? Je ne sais pas. We have no food. But we have spices (thanks Ma). I wish I was just about to sit down to a family meal of overdone beef stew. Oh well. Soon enough. Soon enough! To close, a photo of a trainyard in Vienna taken from a balcony high above. I miss Europe, let's go back.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
You splice up my life.
Rebecca, hello out there.
Rebecca, I miss you.
Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca.
Rebecca, I found these two photos today while on a wild cupboard cull and promptly taped them together and scanned the shit out of them as fast as I could. I also found a lost roll (sans digital files) of photos of you and Grant in Kawaii Crepe and one GREAT shot (split between two frames) of you and your man leaning against those classic grey-blue slats of Papa Georges. I miss you two.
Now there is a great chain of Grant and Rab moments frozen in time taped to the wall above our work table in the sewing room. Wish you could see it, you would laugh aloud. Damn, what I would give to hear that laugh ring out in my long home. Dinner is on, vinyl is about to be selected: Townes Van Zandt in honor of you and Grant and Sir Iaan.
Missing you like only a French woman on a motorbike can miss a heavy-earringed woman dancing in alone in a Factory.
Ex oh, ex oh,
Francoise forever.
Rebecca, I miss you.
Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca.
Rebecca, I found these two photos today while on a wild cupboard cull and promptly taped them together and scanned the shit out of them as fast as I could. I also found a lost roll (sans digital files) of photos of you and Grant in Kawaii Crepe and one GREAT shot (split between two frames) of you and your man leaning against those classic grey-blue slats of Papa Georges. I miss you two.
Now there is a great chain of Grant and Rab moments frozen in time taped to the wall above our work table in the sewing room. Wish you could see it, you would laugh aloud. Damn, what I would give to hear that laugh ring out in my long home. Dinner is on, vinyl is about to be selected: Townes Van Zandt in honor of you and Grant and Sir Iaan.
Missing you like only a French woman on a motorbike can miss a heavy-earringed woman dancing in alone in a Factory.
Ex oh, ex oh,
Francoise forever.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Diptych Emporium.
The last frozen mother-made Gingersnap down my gullet followed by tap water the same temperature as the weather outside (almost cold enough to hold snow) shlooked noisily from a Tante Daryl bottle (check the mail) all the way from Thailand. This bottle has been lost and found again more times than I can count. It doesn't have a stopper and it never will. Last February, I lost it at an upstairs Ragpicker's party dead across from my old home on McDermot (the one with the never ending golden wall) and days later when Mitch presented it to me at my doorstep at the start of our very first afternoon Scrabble and vinyl date, I knew he was good for me. And he was. And he is!
Today has been wonderful. Eggs and avocado and a day old sesame bagel, coffee and blankets on Balcony Brick for one, hot laundry in freezing hands hung to dry and a BIKE RIDE up and around town. I ended up at Drawn & Quarterly (which I think is safe to say is both mine and Mitch's favorite discovery since moving--it's a book paradise to say the VERY least) and bought The Elements of Style by M. Kalman, a favorite of mine. Her work is so dainty and brash at the same time. I like it. Her grasp on color is tight tight tight. Her reds and oranges, oh! Coral me wild. I also bought one her her children's books, Fireboat, which is beautiful. Andddd I also bought a plant and flower illustrated directory. I like directories, this will be of good use I think. Then I cycled home with my awkward bags of things and wrote a few letters (James, I am having a heck of a time attempting to scrawl in Mandarin; wish you were here to laugh and guide--but I suppose that would defeat the purpose of correspondence altogether) and scanned bits of things. See below.
Liza, you inspire me in innumerable ways. Today it is the Diptych (thanks to your introduction to such a thing in my life). Therefore, this post is dedicated to you. After a squirrel chase of a customer service encounter at Astral Photo downtown, I took my fat stack of freshly printed photographs sans cd and just scanned them instead. Juxtapositions are nice. Included in this batch are shots from my neighborhood, a slice of sunny Vietnam on my favorite street Bernard, early morning shots from Leo's front steps, mauve things, Old Eyebrows (she arrived! I cruised through the stack so hungrily just to hold her tender face in my hands), floral things in my life, Autumn guests, Mitch's handsome face, prairie fields barely captured through Milky's car window, the faces of some of the women in my family whom I love and admire. I especially the first one of Manitoba crop paraphernalia and my Grandmother's face captured at the height of surprise. She loves surprises, so do I.
Enjoy.
Today has been wonderful. Eggs and avocado and a day old sesame bagel, coffee and blankets on Balcony Brick for one, hot laundry in freezing hands hung to dry and a BIKE RIDE up and around town. I ended up at Drawn & Quarterly (which I think is safe to say is both mine and Mitch's favorite discovery since moving--it's a book paradise to say the VERY least) and bought The Elements of Style by M. Kalman, a favorite of mine. Her work is so dainty and brash at the same time. I like it. Her grasp on color is tight tight tight. Her reds and oranges, oh! Coral me wild. I also bought one her her children's books, Fireboat, which is beautiful. Andddd I also bought a plant and flower illustrated directory. I like directories, this will be of good use I think. Then I cycled home with my awkward bags of things and wrote a few letters (James, I am having a heck of a time attempting to scrawl in Mandarin; wish you were here to laugh and guide--but I suppose that would defeat the purpose of correspondence altogether) and scanned bits of things. See below.
Liza, you inspire me in innumerable ways. Today it is the Diptych (thanks to your introduction to such a thing in my life). Therefore, this post is dedicated to you. After a squirrel chase of a customer service encounter at Astral Photo downtown, I took my fat stack of freshly printed photographs sans cd and just scanned them instead. Juxtapositions are nice. Included in this batch are shots from my neighborhood, a slice of sunny Vietnam on my favorite street Bernard, early morning shots from Leo's front steps, mauve things, Old Eyebrows (she arrived! I cruised through the stack so hungrily just to hold her tender face in my hands), floral things in my life, Autumn guests, Mitch's handsome face, prairie fields barely captured through Milky's car window, the faces of some of the women in my family whom I love and admire. I especially the first one of Manitoba crop paraphernalia and my Grandmother's face captured at the height of surprise. She loves surprises, so do I.
Enjoy.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Board to death.
Bored to death (with my own work) is my favorite television show.
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.
Here are some samples of fabric work by Skinny Laminx.
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.
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| Drawing of my buffet table and bulletin board; Ink on cardstock. October, 2010. |
Here are some samples of fabric work by Skinny Laminx.
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