Fun Field Trips: the Hospital Edition

The world premiere exhibit of my Cakeasaurus Picture Book Project happened this week, in my happy hometown of Ann Arbor, MI. Sound the trumpets, unroll the red carpets, get ready to sip wine and munch sweet, flaky niblets! Alas, no opening reception, since it's at a hospital, but Rick delayed his cross-country travel by a day to see it, and we had an unlikely restaurant + hospital date. Not the first such date, I recall now -- in general, I do not recommend it.

This, however, was quite satisfying. The photos I took don't really capture the scope of "Cakeasaurus: Scenes from a Picture Book." It's one thing to have half-done sketches taped up on the dining room wall to spur one on; to have prints and sketches occupying a basement wall in order to work through a narrative -- but how different to see the story laid out, in public, across ten display panels, all properly framed, along with extra frippery and signage nonsense! 

Five display panels in back, cleverly paired with Janet Kelman's glass art

The cruelty of non-edible confections

Digital prints and original block prints share the wall

At the penultimate panel, but is it this story's end?

"One Fateful Night" print (L) vs. double page picture book layout

Possibly dingy at night, but wonderfully bright during the day

The gallery, one of several throughout the University of Michigan Hospital, was deserted in the evening. Metal gates were locked to clinic floors. Janitors wheeled carts of cleaning supplies around the perimeter. Medical staff coming off shift bade each other goodbye; an older couple wandered past from the nearest parking structure. The quiet suited our visit.

Special three panel version of "Cakeasaurus Left Happy for Another Day"...

...Which led to failed attempts at recreating Cakeasaurus' triumphal strut. I may have been on a heavy prescription at the time. Still, a fairly accurate depiction of how it felt to see the exhibit up!

Here's hoping that adults and children who must frequent the hospital for any extended time will chance upon the exhibit, dive into the story, and be distracted from the heavier side of life.

We are fortunate to have top-notch hospitals in our community -- and that more hospitals have programs like "Gifts of Art," which connect art with healing and vitality. Check out their Facebook page and  current gallery schedule here.    

This Sunday Brought to You by Winter Hats, Nap Relief, and Relaxing Neighbor Visits

I found the desiccated pea and you took it from me, just as I raised it to my mouth; I found the gravel pellet, showed it to you and you took it from me; I moistened the lint, gummed it and, with a finger hooked into my mouth, you took it from me. I pull myself to standing, rock my hips back and forth, and vigorously point to the table, emitting a low proto-whine and still you do not give me the exact thing that will make things better, the solution to the day, the moment. It is raining outside and cold; there will be no stroller walk and proximity to the crib or changing table makes me cry. The jazz is more spirited than either of us feel.

I found your hat. It was near the red wooden dancing chicken and the blocked off kitchen drawers. I brought it to you, though it impedes my crawling -- I am a three-pronged crawler with a big knit hat sloping down my by torso. You put it on your head and lower it so I can take it off, which I do. Again. I relish it! You can not wear it on your hand. You can not wear it on your hand. Your elbow will not do either: your head! WHAT I can not wear it, I can not see, I wobble and hah! I am free. Again: On your head. On your head. On your head. I give it, you take it, I take it back. I relish it! You set the hat aside: NO. When you stand, I can not reach your head and the hat is on the floor again, this is not the game. You awakened this need in me, you can not abandon it for...what? A cutting board? Must I weep and make myself small, snug myself between your legs and the counter, clutch your pants and sway as if in a gale, staring only at your face? My whole body shakes with the wrongness of you standing, of you robotically opting for food prep over the floor and me and hats. I toss up a volley of B-sounds, I am boiling over with frustration, with protest.

*** There have been 3.5 times the normal crying jags today, making for a somewhat rough Sunday. Happily, the little one tired herself out and is (knock on wood) now napping*. I think she's boiling over with a lot of things just right now -- teething, almost walking, developmental wheels turning.

*She napped for a good long time, huzzah! Woke up a happier, more social baby

Slow progress for the picture book as I can fit it in:

• finished carving "So they measured and mixed..." last night (at left)
• two small-but-good adjustments  based on very useful, recent feedback from. So grateful for the help.  Artists and schoolteachers: good people to know!

   A.)  Carved out the eyes in block (on right)  "His Eyes Shone in the Dark"
  B.) Redrew the outside text border of an    early page and transferred the design onto a new block block yesterday (photo to come).
Current tally: three fully carved blocks lined up, ready for the printing
press!

Current escapism:
Another late-to-the-party -- The Honorable Woman: grim, but so very, very good. 
   

Monsters and Sloths and Cumming, Oh My!

Just came from the kind of appointment where the specialist smoothly establishes his credentials: treats over 1,200 women, is on board of committee that sets the national standards. He knows I will give things serious thought, that is obvious. An appointment that refrains from uncovering anything new, but which somehow leaves one with renewed foreboding. I think of things I had buried in the background for the past few years. Dig your holes: Still there? Yup, Still there. Eh. As always: could be better, could be worse. Enough. Stop at a cafe, order yourself a precious brown sugar ginger latte, get on with it. And onto the better: Javier's text says the Baby has been asleep for over 70 minutes! Especially good, as she has lately unrolled an early morning wailing session, starting between 2-4 AM.

Also good:

1.) The basement picture book wall*  is bearing fruit in February! I stared at sketch for the design below within the context of its page neighbors, frustrated by how different our young hero looks in this one from his depiction in other pages. Visited this page, among others: sat on the bed by the layout wall, happy to see all my designs and aggravated by them. Drank tea, drank beer, and frowned up at them. I have drawn these characters numerous times, from different angles, but am I a cartoonist? Am I, actually, an illustrator? No. But somehow this recent ruminative period yielded another sketch which brought Quimby's face closer in spirit to himself. Close enough to give the okay to transfer the design on Feb. 8th. Now here we are at the test print stage!

Initial inking showed several letters needed tweaking. Paring down or shoring up with some ennsy wood scraps. Wood glue and tweezers are your friends.

Next up, I reworked an early page. For both, it's the moment in which our monster has found his next cake to snatch. Originally, I decided to show him roaring three times, his silhouette larger as the eyes scanned up the page; the repetition was meant to underscore that his dessert thieving ways have happened and are happening.

...But then I began to wonder whether young readers would be confused -- if there is one monster, why does he appear many times? And his outline looks like an older version of how I feel my monster looks. This page became a thorn in my side. So this week I tried out the sketch at right. I'm liking it -- I think it's cleaner, more effective. But when I mentioned it on Facebook, my (admittedly tiny number of) commenters opted for more monsters! rather than less. Hmm. Either way, it's taped in place on the wall.

And thirdly, next, next up for the carving block.Kind of classic-cartoony-villain-easily-gaining-access-to-the-homes-of-trusting-rubes. I feel happier with something to carve.

*all pages laid out in order, in their various states of completion, on a single wall, to sigh and grimace at.

2. Alan Cumming!

This Scottish jewel should appear on any what-is-good list, right, but by golly, this time he's on mine! Javier won allll the Valentine's Day couple points by capping off the classic chocolates-roses-dinner trio with a shocking text of tickets to Cumming's sold out cabaret evening in Detroit. WHAT. WHAT. WHAAAAAT. I didn't jump on our two-top. I didn't knock over water glasses or wine flights. But neighboring diners shot glances in our general direction; Javier was rightfully pleased with himself.
I ceased to track conversational threads for ohhh, a few minutes, but beamed at Javier to make up for this; the grinning may have looked a bit toothy, wolfish. Mildly unbalanced. New York Times review of the show. Saucy man.




3.Current escapism (sketching, carving): Dexter (season five), Sarah Water's Fingersmith, as narrated by Juanita McMahon <-- never heard of her, but she's great!

Life enhancement: Sloth Slept On, written & illus. by Francine Preston-Gannon -- a good, simple story of an unlikely escapee. I'm entirely taken by the illustrations: clean, bold, sharply defined, but each shape with wonderful texture. The type also a nice choice, as well as the paper -- matte, with a good weight. Altogether satisfying! Recommended for the younger set. Baby also drawn to it, from the first reading. But sadly not as much as the super simple board books from our doctor's office: Park. I am at the park. Flower. I smell a flower. Clouds. I see clouds from my swing. Rain. I feel rain, time to go!

The house is quiet, I am sleepy. Time to go!

February First Post, in Which we go to the Basement and Dress for the Ball

I'm officially going underground! This will be my last post. I am ceasing the Facebook silliness, no longer will I blip onto Instagram. Who cares how many likes, how many views, how many followers? My vague neglect of Flickr, pinterest, etsy will fall under the umbrella of online abstinence. My digital footprint won't gain shoe sizes. I will forsake the new, the current, and live off the grid!

...Or at least descend into the basement. Which, uh, still has wifi access, so I can lose myself in most recent newfound escapism (Dexter, season three*). I've never been an all-or-nothing gal. More of a "more -- and then probably a little more." Sanity bonus: intermittent crying arrives, as if through layers of cotton, as if it holds less relevance than it does on the main floor...** 

More importantly, I shifted my picture book project wall downstairs. For the past couple

earlier versions of "Cake Stealer"

Quimbies: all scared, all "off"

years, it resided on the dining room wall in a hodge podge fashion -- sketches that were proving most troublesome, sketches I wanted to think about, newly pulled prints to remind myself of progress. But just a handful, masking taped underneath, or between, properly framed artwork hanging on the walls. Occasionally one would peel off to float behind the radio shelves; last week La Bebe lunged for a low-lying sketch with her grabby hand -- to rip, perchance to suck. The wall used to have spurring power; but in the past six months, it has offered remonstrance more than anything else: this is what you won't finish/solve/get to.

Idea for first page (2011)

Will a more complete wall actually turn my project around? Not just on its own, surely. But! Now, when you walk downstairs to the basement, you see the spare bed before you. A lamp to its left gives off a friendly glow from atop its repurposed, mirrored, sewing trestle table, itself relegated from the the living room (safety concerns). On the wall, every page of the Cakeasaurus picture book is laid out, in order, in three rows of double page spreads. The number of finished prints is heartening. Looking at it I feel a sense of accomplishment not felt for a long time, despite a few out-of-favor designs, page order snafus and uninspired pages begging for replacement. I can see it better now. The issues remain, but it has gained a new order, and with it, a renewed confidence that it will ultimately come together. Plus, it feels den-like, in the basement, in Winter. A coziness, and a remove.

***...And Now a Message from the Ladies' International Glove Council ***

An in-house workspace and get-away is nothing without distractions, though, right? Or, rather, if you are looking for distractions, you will find them anywhere, no matter how streamlined your space. Opposite the Project Wall lay stuff. Lots and lots of stuff, most of which, gladly doesn't lure me in (other than with the urge to pare down). But those two bags down there in shadow, what's inside? Better have a look.

Inside each are bags within bags, so old the plastic is brittle; clear pieces flake off and catch the light. My Grandmother's gloves. I know I didn't claim all of them, but over 30 pairs are here, carefully partnered, nestled, the paler shades nevertheless yellowed with age. The variety is impressive: wrist length to opera length, sweet embroidered details, silk to cotton to leather, pearlescent buttons at the inner wrist, neutrals to deep plum and Easter parade pastels. And why should it be otherwise, for a shrewd businesswoman and gifted seamstress, who drew up her own patterns tailored to her measurements, turning out dresses and jackets with matching linings, from the most cutting edge synthetics of the day?

But the gloves, even more than the dresses -- most of which are long gone -- illustrate how different was the time within which she lived. Such dainty, feminine restraint! Notions of purity met by snobby classicism. There must be fashion parallels to today, though they escape me now. They hold a weird power, even as they are now.*** They beg to be tried on, after all this time without use.

opera glove, called "mousquetaire" due to button opening

peekaboo wrist detail. I forgot about these plum ones

barely visible, but ruched along the sides

a small selection

the palest moss green

these were crazy, almost bridal

this leather was so soft, so thin, each finger slightly thicker than an envelope

these felt especially intimate somehow

My favorite glove bag: crown and crossed gloves~!

followed by this one -- look closely: a glove draped over the earth

Not glove-related, but an added bonus.

Van Raalte apprently also made hosiery and lingerie as well, natural pairings. See below for billboard (Atlantic City) and great vintage ads:

Detailed like precious jewelry!

And this one, not Van Raalte, but found among the Google flowers:

Gallingly wonderful! 

*But I don't think I watched all of season two? It reminds me that I still have a taste for (conveniently justified) glossy violence, even with the more recent, more finely honed maternal sensitivities. I suppose if he was a serial killer of children I would be unable to deal. Another reminder: opening credits can be so phenomenal! One of the best! Up there with Six Feet Under. And what else? Movies more than tv, certainly.   
**Disclaimer: noooooo, I don't leave my child crying for hours on end, stop it. I speak of nap protesting and the odd hour or two when she is not under my care.  
***Ohoooo! Here we go! the start of a less-than-successful possession story! "The gloves did indeed hold power...power beyond what she ever imagined. But as Clarissa changed and a new world unfolded, the question remained: would she be able to control this power, or would it control her?"