of 2011, and I can't honestly say that I'll miss this year. Usually I have a "year in review" wrap-up post with blogs, but let's use this as a placeholder for now. Cause honestly, even though I really would love to sit and pound out my views of 2011, I have to shower, run errands which include the dreaded DMV where I'll FINALLY update my driver's license to reflect the married name.
Why go today when it has taken me over a year? Cause I hate the DMV, dur, but it has to be today since I start a brand-spanken' new job first thing 2012! No, don't need it For the job, but my time to go to the dreaded DMV is closing to an end.
So, yeah, placeholder til I have a moment to dedicate to one of the best commisions of 2011 and the year in review posts.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Christmas Crafts
I stumbled upon a cute idea on how to upcycled those wonderful holiday cards last year so I carefully saved the cutest/most sentimental in order to make one this year. It's a simply theory:
Gather your tools. Preferably an exacto (or sharp scissors) a pencil (to trace out possible designs on the interior as guides) glue stick, ruler, cutting mat, hole punch, ribbon and coffee (optional)
Take your old cards, cut the front off or a cute holiday themed shape from the design, punch a hole and then viola! Banner.
Takes waayy more time than that, and you should probably take the time to organize the cards and think of what designs/shapes/covers will be next to each other.
I measured a length of ribbon to about 10', just to keep the banner manageable, and estimated to tie the cut cards about every 10". Mine happened to come together from sheer coincidence, but I did end up with 5 extras that didn't fit at all. For now they sit in my tree.
A 10' length drapes nicely when pinned midway, or you can pin a VERY long ribbon every 5'....though folding/storing the banner may prove messy and create knots.
And, of course, for the current cards I simply pin them to a length of ribbon that frames the hall entrance for our enjoyment.
And now I leave you with a very rough, very quickly whipped together holiday greeting in order to work on this year's actual holiday greeting.
Gather your tools. Preferably an exacto (or sharp scissors) a pencil (to trace out possible designs on the interior as guides) glue stick, ruler, cutting mat, hole punch, ribbon and coffee (optional)
Take your old cards, cut the front off or a cute holiday themed shape from the design, punch a hole and then viola! Banner.
Takes waayy more time than that, and you should probably take the time to organize the cards and think of what designs/shapes/covers will be next to each other.
I measured a length of ribbon to about 10', just to keep the banner manageable, and estimated to tie the cut cards about every 10". Mine happened to come together from sheer coincidence, but I did end up with 5 extras that didn't fit at all. For now they sit in my tree.
A 10' length drapes nicely when pinned midway, or you can pin a VERY long ribbon every 5'....though folding/storing the banner may prove messy and create knots.
And, of course, for the current cards I simply pin them to a length of ribbon that frames the hall entrance for our enjoyment.
And now I leave you with a very rough, very quickly whipped together holiday greeting in order to work on this year's actual holiday greeting.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Breaking Boundaries
A Great Close Friend, aka "Brother" even though we share no blood, once told me that in order to make "art" you have to break boundaries. It's not enough to make a pretty picture or something creepy or something pretty in order to really rip into the viewer and unveil the ugly truth of emotion and life. He even says the word "art" in quotes to seperate it from the highly skilled creatives he knows who do make livings from their illustrations, their tattoo skills, their paintings and such. He means fine art. The art that is supposed to bring a subject to the harsh revealing light of scientific disection to reveal the base motivation and emotion.
Break boundaries.
So I thought. And remembered. And sketched. And, of course, had another beer, because most of our mad conversations revolve around strong black coffee or cheap beer (mainly because we are a poor folk of writers and artists....)
I thought about all the random stuff I've been collecting through the years. The broken white plastic horse that either belonged to a little cowboy or little girl's carosel. Of the tiny doll hands, which I'm still not sure where they came from. Of the little tins, screws, nails, broken bits of jewelry. The preserved insects and bones that I've collected from railroad ditches. The pretty eggshells from my friend's mother's farm-raised chicken eggs.
And my creative brain gestated.
At some point, the brain started birthing little images; little solutions for all the random things in my collections which might break the boundary of the third dimension to illustrate some memories held a little too close. Some could fall back on the story of "illustrating old sayings" if I felt too closed to explain my real motivations. You see, the main reason I embrace commercial art more readily is because I don't like defending and explaining myself. I got pretty sick of it between the ages of 11-21. Hard freakin' 10 years, if I don't say so myself. Towards the end of that period I essentially gave up trying to explain myself in words and turned toward actions or radio silence. If I was interrupted in a conversation, if I was mocked, if I was over-shadowed, I just closed up and closed off the communications. There were few people that recieved the full treatment, but even they would sometimes instill a silence.
Jump ahead 5-6 years; I'm explaining how I feel and why...and people are accepting it. I'm explaining my plans, with trouble, but sometimes my point is getting across. I grow a little bolder in announcing myself to the world.
Jump to my brother's unspoken dare to break boundaries and you're met with "Walking on Eggshells,"
the first installation of the series but not the first in the chronological sense of memory. I actually have two pages of rough sketches that I return to and flesh out in order of material availabilty and time.
Tonight I wrapped up the next installation which would actually fall a little further down the timeline "Unspoken, Flayed Open, but Unbroken"
I started this piece a little late due to another commission, but even so, I also mis-calculated the amount of time it would take to build a ribcage from paper. It took twice the time to just glue things, nevermind sculpting the shoulders/head from polymer clay and to securely fasten it all to the backing of purple velvet fabric, a remenant from a skirt I made an eon ago. Everything in this piece (minus the frame...but since it's a little beat-up you can stretch the imagination there, too.) Everything means something, no matter how cliche it is for someone in long black skirt to use. Below is the summation I sent to my Brother, after we had an artists' argument about the usage of pages from 1984.
"1984 exemplifies the bindings and restrictions I felt for a very long time. During this time I was also drilled, tortured and questioned about every action, reaction and response I had with life. I felt the Eye of Big Brother every day under two prominent men for a majority of my developmental phases. It's taken less time to regrow my skin, but the scars of such flaying, the social quirks and the lock on my heart still remain to this day.
Like a moth to the flame, I never strayed, always circling and getting singed. Until the flame was extinguished.
Once that wind came, I flew away as quickly as my wings could take me."
I don't share this in the hunt for pity, as you don't know the full details of what went on. I don't share this to make those parties who ARE privey to the details feel guilty, or sadness, or anything negative. I share this information, this inspration, because I kindof made the decision to share my words along with my images.
Yes, I thrive with commercial illustration and design. But I also embrace words and the more abstract meanings that fine art lends itself to.
I didn't have an easy time executing this piece. The elements came together just fine. The idea, the sketch, the feather and moth, the key and ribbon. But the figure, the doll which represents myself, was difficult. That's why it was pretty awesome when I picked up a scrap of 1984 to sign my name and date and realized the words printed on it were "...and with some difficulty, ..."
Yes, with some difficulty I persue this action of exposing my innermost feelings, memeories, growth and thoughts.
But, here they are.
I hope you enjoy them. And I hope you're able to come to Marathon Village, 1305 Clinton Street, this Friday, December 9, 2011 and see what my little crappy phone camera hasn't captured. The event is free, the booze, wine and refreshments are free, and the other 70+ artists hanging alongside are so remarkable that even if you hate mine, you'll find something to love.
Break boundaries.
So I thought. And remembered. And sketched. And, of course, had another beer, because most of our mad conversations revolve around strong black coffee or cheap beer (mainly because we are a poor folk of writers and artists....)
I thought about all the random stuff I've been collecting through the years. The broken white plastic horse that either belonged to a little cowboy or little girl's carosel. Of the tiny doll hands, which I'm still not sure where they came from. Of the little tins, screws, nails, broken bits of jewelry. The preserved insects and bones that I've collected from railroad ditches. The pretty eggshells from my friend's mother's farm-raised chicken eggs.
And my creative brain gestated.
At some point, the brain started birthing little images; little solutions for all the random things in my collections which might break the boundary of the third dimension to illustrate some memories held a little too close. Some could fall back on the story of "illustrating old sayings" if I felt too closed to explain my real motivations. You see, the main reason I embrace commercial art more readily is because I don't like defending and explaining myself. I got pretty sick of it between the ages of 11-21. Hard freakin' 10 years, if I don't say so myself. Towards the end of that period I essentially gave up trying to explain myself in words and turned toward actions or radio silence. If I was interrupted in a conversation, if I was mocked, if I was over-shadowed, I just closed up and closed off the communications. There were few people that recieved the full treatment, but even they would sometimes instill a silence.
Jump ahead 5-6 years; I'm explaining how I feel and why...and people are accepting it. I'm explaining my plans, with trouble, but sometimes my point is getting across. I grow a little bolder in announcing myself to the world.
Jump to my brother's unspoken dare to break boundaries and you're met with "Walking on Eggshells,"
the first installation of the series but not the first in the chronological sense of memory. I actually have two pages of rough sketches that I return to and flesh out in order of material availabilty and time.
Tonight I wrapped up the next installation which would actually fall a little further down the timeline "Unspoken, Flayed Open, but Unbroken"
I started this piece a little late due to another commission, but even so, I also mis-calculated the amount of time it would take to build a ribcage from paper. It took twice the time to just glue things, nevermind sculpting the shoulders/head from polymer clay and to securely fasten it all to the backing of purple velvet fabric, a remenant from a skirt I made an eon ago. Everything in this piece (minus the frame...but since it's a little beat-up you can stretch the imagination there, too.) Everything means something, no matter how cliche it is for someone in long black skirt to use. Below is the summation I sent to my Brother, after we had an artists' argument about the usage of pages from 1984.
"1984 exemplifies the bindings and restrictions I felt for a very long time. During this time I was also drilled, tortured and questioned about every action, reaction and response I had with life. I felt the Eye of Big Brother every day under two prominent men for a majority of my developmental phases. It's taken less time to regrow my skin, but the scars of such flaying, the social quirks and the lock on my heart still remain to this day.
Like a moth to the flame, I never strayed, always circling and getting singed. Until the flame was extinguished.
Once that wind came, I flew away as quickly as my wings could take me."
I don't share this in the hunt for pity, as you don't know the full details of what went on. I don't share this to make those parties who ARE privey to the details feel guilty, or sadness, or anything negative. I share this information, this inspration, because I kindof made the decision to share my words along with my images.
Yes, I thrive with commercial illustration and design. But I also embrace words and the more abstract meanings that fine art lends itself to.
I didn't have an easy time executing this piece. The elements came together just fine. The idea, the sketch, the feather and moth, the key and ribbon. But the figure, the doll which represents myself, was difficult. That's why it was pretty awesome when I picked up a scrap of 1984 to sign my name and date and realized the words printed on it were "...and with some difficulty, ..."
Yes, with some difficulty I persue this action of exposing my innermost feelings, memeories, growth and thoughts.
But, here they are.
I hope you enjoy them. And I hope you're able to come to Marathon Village, 1305 Clinton Street, this Friday, December 9, 2011 and see what my little crappy phone camera hasn't captured. The event is free, the booze, wine and refreshments are free, and the other 70+ artists hanging alongside are so remarkable that even if you hate mine, you'll find something to love.
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