Edging around the Art Fair

You'd think I didn't even go to Art Fairs anymore! Not true. I still hustle through the crowds, in search of enticing new artists and familiar faces, alike. I just don't blog anymore. Unless I have more pressing things to do, naturally. True to form, Michigan saved up some broiling nastiness for three of the four July days during which the annual Art Fair occurs. People trudged and sweated, with glazed over eyes. Wednesday and Thursday were the least crowded I have ever seen them -- good for zipping along, bad for the vendors, and certainly less celebratory/mind numbingly awful, depending on who you ask.

I usually get ramped up and unable to concentrate in the days leading up to the days; and have a low level hum of a lift the Tuesday beforehand, when streets are already barricaded off and the carnivalesque food vendor booths are erected. But lordy, the air was already furnace-like, with a heaviness that you would shift away from, were it in your bed. But. No getting away. I sat on a bench, talking to Javier on the phone. I tried to warn him away from coming to art fair with me, because: I don't know. He'd cramp my style or I'd be annoying, you just don't know. I tried to give him an out. "No. I'M COMING" and it's pretty much done, when he says something like that. A homeless man who I have passed many times sat down beside me and started smoking. Javier and I moved onto logistics. My benchmate startled me by saying "Nice ring!" He sounded much more normal than usual. None of the word garbling, roughed up voice. His eyes looked clear. But in any case, enough of the smoke on a hot day; off I went.

Nearby, AWARD WINNING CRAB CAKES had enough banners to rival a Walt Disney castle, the Custard Hut cheaply appropriated history for its own corn syrupy consumerism, and at the end of the block, delivery men were hating their lot. One guy stood in the open shell of his wine van, grousing to another one truck up.



"Nawww, man it's hard ENOUGH as it IS, it's all back alleys here ANYWAY and now they give us hell if we try to go down Main Street." He shoots a glare at the barricades. Shakes his head, swings his collapsible cart up to his side; mutters,"Hotter 'n HELL."

In the interior, vendors are hauling and placing and erecting. A woman's voice exclaims, "I'm *trying* to stay in the lines but there's THREE sets of lines." Early to be at the exasperation point. Her male partner hefts a driftwood sculpture roughly the size of a garbage can. Placidly: "...Settle down." Doubt that'll work.


Wednesday -- first proper day -- I wandered during lunch and then sunk back into office work. This marks my second office location wherein the fair music invades your work space, amplified into thumping fuzziness. Can you make out lyrics? No. Can you really determine musicality at this remove? No, not really. Bad enough when it's calypso, panfluteyness, or some phish-gone-off. But wouldn't you rather a little post punk, even more distorted through brick walls and closed windows, as you try to concentrate on the task at hand? Well then, you're in luck. Check 'em out! Loudest Art Fair act ever, courtesy the iSpy stage.**  My coworkers who tend not to feel the Ann Arbor love anyway, glowered. Impossible to ignore. SO. LOUD. More than booking *to* the Art Fair demographic, this band seemed to have been booked as an act of defiance. Just because visitors take over your town and develop a craving for elephant ears from the nearby food court, is that really justification to deafen them?

** To be fair, iSpy stage, Thursday night was a lovely surprise with the retro Ypsi Sisters.

They had a rockabilly flair, nice harmonies, good energy from the backing band. Good luck seeing them, though: they said this was only their 4th gig!...in 4 years.

I was already wondering what bars I could catch them at, but alas~~ There's online evidence of at least one of those shows -- if you're the impatient sort, you can ffwd to 3:02 for a rousing snippet (but the whole thing is fun).

The iSpy stage also featured this really cool looking Bichini Bia Congo, which I would have attended, had I been paying attention. Maybe next year! I also missed one of my favorite photographers-who-I-can't-afford Lisa Kristine, and I don't understand how this is possible, as she was in her normal area, apparently. Javier doesn't believe we could have missed her, "She must have been sick. She had to pull out at the last moment."

We did, however, cross through the nonprofit section a surprising amount. Just as one colleague has joked, "Whenever I run in Ann Arbor, it's always up hill," wherever we walked, we eventually passed through the motley double row of worthy causes and crackpot booths. Jews for Jesus favor walking amongst the peopled aisle, in their slogan t shirts, Michigan theater folk are politely contained in their space, hoping you'll become a member. I am told tensions sometime develop, with the groups' varying recruitment approaches. "The guys next to us are *really* aggressive, they kept talking to people in front of our booth, so now people are giving us a wide berth. I had to talk to them, 'Look, don't *make* me oppress you~~'"

Despite the weather, the Eckankar people look happy, as they should, since their spiritual

The Mother of God had already left for the night

leader journeyed to the heart of God and back again. Always ridiculous for me to say, as I am a nonbeliever, but I just can't get with a religion formed in the 1900s. 1965? Just too, too recent. Bury it for a good century or so, see if it ages well.

Our gaze traveled left and we burst out in a simultaneous, "Awwwwww!" Toddler with a balloon? Puppy? No: skinny young EMO guy, slumped over behind (not) his Socialist Party USA banner. "Poooor sooocialist," Javier murmured. One of us continued, "We don't own our own means of production, do we? No...and these people don't even know how much you're trying to help them..." We say a lot of rubbish, it's a good thing people don't hear us.

After nonprofit row, we encountered this daughter of a vendor, sitting on a stoop:

In case you can't read her sign, it says "50 cents for a joke"

It was a lot of joke for 50 cents! I won't attempt to retell it, but there was a lot of detail. There was a boy, not too believable, who couldn't remember his own name, so he asks each family member for one letter of his name. Mayhem ensues!

The violin monster played daily, scarily patriotic one day:

the Violin monster is not affiliated with DTE. 

Another day, he sported high pink knee socks and wee shorts. The following is more in line with his usual attire:

Compatriot and I saw him in New Orleans! Perambulatory monster!

Who has it worse on a hot day? Wolf head or metallic body paint?

waiting for a tip, the next child to give a candy to

 *** Phone call with Compatriot, Thursday night. I have walked myself out and am woefully far from my car. I have a blister. She was resting in the air conditioning, dog sitting a dog that gets overly anxious if left alone for too long.

"I think my one trip will do, this year. It was like Art Fair Bingo -- I saw three people with broken legs, a didgeridoo player, a sitar player and 3 year old pants-less child dancing to music!"

I didn't set out to write an art fair post without specific attention paid to the artists. The past couple years I took notes upon notes of the various people whose work I loved; and tried to take photos, when permitted. Last year I was on the brink of going to Shanghai for a month, and so collected my scribblings and snaps, but didn't get to most of them. This time I wandered as much, but took fewer notes, fewer photos. Spoke with some favorite artists, longed for their work, but mostly just meandered. Not to be precious, but it feeds my soul to go to the art fair-- the most when I find art that thrills me -- or when I connect with an artist on a personal level -- but even when that comes less into play, it's worth it. Even when it doesn't appeal, you're still looking at hundreds of booths containing work that each person brought into being. At that level alone, it's heartening. And it would seem that a lot of people go, just for the overall experience, as well: music, sidewalk sales, crazy out-of-towners, crazy residents...throw a little art in there, a few gifts, that's fine, too. And is that so out of line, the mixing of high and low, sheer consumerism, impassioned creativity? A momentary step away from your ordinary life...

No Cake is Safe: Platinum Editions, plus Yellow Door Luv

First things first! Yellow Door Art Market made me their Artist of the week, this week.  How fun!

Next up: a few more snaps from recent studio time. I decided to bring back "No Cake is Safe," to be printed with silver ink! This was my first time using a metallic ink. It was a bit tetchy, but I can't really say whether this is due to the age of the ink* or it's the nature of metallic inks themselves. I had to repeatedly play with it, after every other print, coax it back into spreading somewhat smoothly. But! Even so, I now have notions of combining it with other inks, perhaps a nice rich alizarin. See what happens.

*I snapped it up from an online Daniel Smith sale, like a coveted jar of liquor macerated bing cherries; and then it sat, ignored on a basement shelf.

First, I wanted a color combo with a little attitude, so naturally I went to a nice mulberry black.

Then, when I was nosing around Hollander's, one of the staff turned me onto one of his favorite papers to paint on: lokta. It's a handmade paper from the Himalayas and the colors are phenomenally rich. It takes ink from the press very nicely and the texture is just enough to enhance, but not so much to muddy the design. So: attitude on the one side, festive party on the other! 

They are still drying at the studio. Better get my signing hand ready, six small editions to number. More (happily) more to come!

Studio Time, plus Coffee: Better to Drink than to Wear

Life is busy, Summer's whipping past, etc. etc. etc. I am here for I had a running appointment with a neighbor friend, before she texted a rescheduling; and in an odd twist of fate, my body rejected both the solo run AND the more sensible back-to-sleep. Good thing I'm still wearing a sports bra and running shorts, quite needed for a jaunt at the computer! To help myself wake up, I also managed to simultaneously swat my camera from the dining room table to the floor, while spilling a bowlful of coffee over: my clump of house keys, recent sketches, a couple vitamins, a cardigan, the floor. Aces. Let it never be said that my clumsiness is half-assed, oh no: when I'm clumsy, I'm all in.

So, that said, what's new? The Chelsea Sounds & Sights Festival is coming up fast; as is the Ann Arbor Art Fair, which will compel me to rove about for hours...I spent some time in the studio over the past two weekends, pulling 200+ prints...

Within the larger Cakeasaurus picture book project, I have come to a curious spot: the new designs will not necessarily stand on their own, for a viewer. They advance the narrative, sure. But would a newcomer, surfing the waves of Etsy, stop and exclaim: What? I must have! Less likely, I suspect. Which is not to say that sales drive me. Cakeasaurus has been in my head for many years now, and I wish to bring the monster and his tale to light, most definitely. But...being a larger project, it can overshadow the possibility of other designs...and having the happy sale here and there is a nice boost to keep one going. Penguins and mice are less likely to show themselves when monsters lurk about. So! It'll be interesting to see how the next chapters play out.

Onward! I pulled two different Cakeasaurus designs the weekend before last.

After we left off with password girl, I carved a line around her to make her stand out more

When I got to the studio, a chrysalis was suspended above the printing press

intriguing! Complete, with the gap in ts center, or in process?

Lots of nothing. An absence of cake.

I like how the backside of the paper has an embossed feel to it.

Laying out to dry.

Bonus jaw, with teeth! Always more curiosities in a fellow artist's studio.

...And back to the password design.

Will she get into her party? Highly unlikely.

Prints and more prints!

Such studio prettiness, to look upon...

And such activity! If there's a surface, put a print on it.

...More to come. Happy Tuesday, All.

...But if I leave now, I'll miss overhearing the tarot readings.

... And a fine Saturday to You! The Michigan Theater audience at the morning showing of "Dear Mr. Watterson" was suitably fannish, short of anyone carrying stuffed tigers or dressing like Calvin. I always loved the comic strip* and it happily reentered my life with a daily strip courtesy a Facebook group, so I was keen to see this morning's Cinetopia offering.

*According to comic historians interviewed, the person who has been exposed to Calvin and Hobbes and dislikes it does not exist.
While embodying both, the film is definitely more of an appreciation than a documentary in the strictest sense. It reminded me of a college course I took (at Smith? Or Mount Holyoke?) It was a survey of shorter American fiction by women, and the primary text was one of those 4 inch thick paperback tomes with barely a spine, with nearly transparent onion skin paper. The professor spent her time lauding the merits of each short story or poem assigned. The students grew restless after a few classes. Young women groused to each other, "Wow, this is so great, that's so great...I could do this on my own~~" It was implied that the professor was lacking in intellectual rigor, or was daft/pollyanaish. This wasn't entirely fair. Explication was involved, but the analysis unfailingly had greater appreciation as its end-goal. I have thought about this periodically ever since, as my more puritan strain echoed their sentiments and chaffed at so much niceness: how could that be making us think better, stronger, or potentially improve what we would put out into the world? Too soft, too soft. But perhaps not?  Can thought-out appreciation be as valid as ferreting out the inner workings and weaknesses?  A more enjoyable mental place to inhabit...In any case, Dear Mr. Watterson falls in the former camp, and this approach seems to suit a comic strip which was all about a boy's imagination and the joyful flouting of authority...

Regrettably, the quite private Bill Watterson himself never makes an appearance; before going today, I knew nothing about the cartoonist himself -- which was always Watterson's intention -- so, some point of me held on for awhile, thinking that we would hear him speak *a little bit*, you know, as long as we were patient. No dice!  Excerpts from a graduation speech Bill Watterson made at Kenyon College is a nice chaser if the movie left you curious to hear more words (slightly more directly) from the cartoonist's mouth. He talks about not selling out, the importance of quality versus mind-numbing relaxation, following your own happiness/interest instead of answering societal expectations:

"If you indulge your natural curiosity and retain a sense of fun in new experience, I think you’ll find it functions as a sort of shock absorber for the bumpy road ahead."

Meanwhile, it's a quiet afternoon at Crazy Wisdom Tearoom. The incense from downstairs makes my eyes a bit achey, but the black coconut tea is lovely. The main counter person wants to talk about polyamory with coworkers and friends who happen through. "Is it just societal conditioning that you're supposed to be with one person that explains my discomfort? ...I don't know. But then, a couple days after he brought it up, he said *he* was doubting it." Some offer anecdotes, other theorize. Barring the nice smokeless atmosphere, better sound system and lower angst level, I could be sitting in the Bridge Lounge of ole Hampshire College...

Probably time for me to head home and finally determine why my lawnmower won't work: this is my bargain -- try new gas, attempt a new spark plug and THEN I can transfer another design. That's the deal.

Initial inking, from Wednesday night:

Inked block, with paper layered on top.

Needs Minor Adjustment

There was much mooning about and lollygagging to be had during the three-day weekend at Casa M. And while we're *happily* into the next weekend, I'm still pondering some of the same themes that resurfaced over the last one, foremost among them being the ongoing need for balance. And also, to that end, our efforts to re-route things: our bodies, our thinking, ourselves or others. Ahhh, the corrections~~! Are they pointless? Silly? Or tiny necessary nudges to help you get somewhere better?

1. Minor Redirect: It Has What You Want

                        -->See also: negotiating/selling it

Javier and I were pleased with the brunch fare of Juicy Kitchen, a great -- and tiny -- new healthy neighborhood eatery. The scotch eggs were nestled in zesty turkey sausage and on top of sweet potato hashbrowns, with pineapple chutney on the side. Delectable. "More! Eggs!" said the sprite one table over. She had been avoiding food for most of the meal, but was now suddenly focused. Her hand shot into the air as if she had the answers. Her mother fished from sibling plates: "Eat french toast. French toast has eggs IN it." Gambit successful: child seated on her feet for added height, quietly nibbling on bready triangles.

After the brunch rush

2. Spiritual Redirect: Come Hell or High Clutter

"We need to walk this way so we can get the sign." Javier was bemused, but humored me. Javier's friend remembered a pithier version of the sign's flip side: "Let Jesus do your Spring cleaning." When we got there, it read thusly:

Were I Christian, I could get with that, Spring is a time of renewal, why not extend it to all levels? But it was the other side that was the true lure:

Bring out the fire and brimstone! When I drove past this a couple weeks ago, I was caught between delight and pure alienation. Love the juxtaposition of modern phrasing with the more medieval sense of living better [more Godly] through fear. It wants to jolt you out of the everyday, to make you recognize your ungodly ways and repent. Straighten up and fly right! Heathen firefighters beware! I like to imagine the sign maker's relish over this one. His (maybe her?) step a little spicier, for the sign's cleverness.

But really, how well does fear work as a motivator? If we resist immorality only through threat, really, that doesn't say much about the state or growth of one's soul, does it? Though I guess some of our most pivotal changes come with a jolt: a flipped over car that one emerges from, unscathed; the realization of truly low point, of one's own doing, etc. But rarely, I think, do jolts come from signs. Or bumper stickers. Since I don't believe in a physical (metaphysical?) Lake of Fire or an avenging deity, it doesn't really have the desired effect. The jolt is more along the lines of, "Oh, right. There are branches of Faith that try to marshal people with these kinds of messages."  The idea of someone having a belief so strong that they feel compelled to save people from themselves is fascinating, not that I wish to be the object of such attention. And not only the compulsion, but the belief that they could bring faith into being for other people. Curiouser and curiouser.

Plus, let's be honest, I mostly associate Salvation Army with the local thrift store near Eisenhower which is ONE OF THE BEST YOU COULD EVER HOPE FOR, can I get an AMEN?? Amen. And they certainly have a long history of charitable works. And homophobia. All you have to do is look at their logo, or give a moment to the actual name, to be reminded of their more militaristic side of faith.

In any case, we strolled past just in time. The new sign continues the theme-- "Eternity: Smoking or Non?" Hahaha, points. To balance things out a bit, here we have a lovely, moody print from a Massachusetts-based printmaker, contending that "Hell is Not Hot."  




3. Keyword Search Redirect: We Don't Have What You Want and You Also Won't Want These

Netflix is already confounded by Javier's account-sharing with his daughter: indie movies, Arrested Development PLUS slasher movies. What's a bot to do? Perhaps you'd care for Hostel: Part 3, this evening? No? Keyword search, however, has no problems mixing it up. Why yes, hours of conversation ARE made better by Twilight Sparkle and no-ties sex. Not pictured:  Dinner with an Assassin, Interview with a Hitman, Walking with Dinosaurs.


 ****
Of course, we have gotten this far without actually talking about internal direction, the will to focus on what's most important. Another blog bait and switch! Still mulling it over. At its most mundane, it translates into: exercise more, be more in the moment, more creative endeavors within the week. Trust life more. I think this next year of life will be a good one and an important one.

Updates from the basement, near my ever-less firey furnace:

 

Oversized polka dots new addition.