Called "Talentless" by Mt. Rushmore Sculptor/ Awarded Guggenheim to work in Paris: Late Summer Museum Visit

Before Sunday I hadn't heard of Japanese-American sculptor/landscape architect/furniture maker, Isamu Noguchi. Brief Googlage brought images like so:

in Tucherpark, Munchen, by Rufus46 wikimedia

Which honestly didn't do too much for me. While I can appreciate the clean lines, they leave me a bit cold. I imagine these initially appalled and electrified members of the art world, but decades later, elements of each have permeated design to the degree that they merely seem vaguely familiar.

from Dedalo Blog

Noguchi apprenticed under Constantin Bracusi, which to me explained his pared down, abstracted style, though Brancusi would have rejected my impression:

Brancusi sculpture at the Philadelphia Museum of Art*

"There are idiots who define my work as abstract; yet what they call abstract is what is most realistic. What is real is not the appearance, but the idea, the essence of things." (see Wikipedia entry )


Idiocy aside, this didn't help me understand Noguchi's inclusion in a two person painting exhibition at the University of Michigan Art Museum. I had been tempted by the banner I saw during art fair, which featured a Chinese ink painting of monochromatic crabs: they were simultaneously fluid, free, and perfectly precise. So how did he fit into this? The expiration date listed on the banner (September 1st! You still have time! But only a teeny tiny bit) spurred me to mash a visit into an already full weekend.

*****
*Props to Philly Art Museum -- nice anecdotes accompanying photos of their collection. The above sculpture, of one Mademoiselle Pogany, was exhibited at the 1913 Armory Show stirred up attendees -- one outraged critic likened it to a hardboiled egg on a sugar lump. Check out the link, you can read about Princess X, which someone, either Picasso or Matisse (my vote is on Picasso), deemed a phallus; Brancusi said NO it's femininity idealized (wrong angle, you're looking from the wrong angle!). My vote is on: phallus. People who think museums are like mausoleums and art is dusty and irrelevant have no idea how many juicy stories abound in the art world! Passions run high, people! We've got your demanding, idiosyncratic personalities RIGHT HERE!...Ahem.
****

By Qi Baishi

So, anyway: Isamu Noguchi | Qi Baishi*: Beijing 1930

At the age of 23, Noguchi had already won a Guggenheim fellowship to study in Paris (where he worked in Brancusi's studio); in 1930, he is a measly 26 year old. He is briefly passing through China within a larger trip, when a friend of his, Sotokichi Katsuizumi, a Japanese businessman and collector of Chinese paintings, shows him some of his 30 Qi Baishi paintings. Noguchi is blown away. Qi is an elder, renowned master ( both of paintings and seals, an artist's individual signatory mark); he doesn't speak English. Noguchi doesn't speak Chinese. No matter, Katsuizumi introduces them anyway; they become friends and Noguchi extends his stay to paint with him for 6 months!

*a.k.a. Qi Huang, a.k.a. "The Chinese Picasso"

While the traditional master-apprentice role has the youth copying the work of the master as precisely as he possibly can, without deviation; this was entirely different. Noguchi observed Qi's techniques, and then adopted them for his own ends, using broad, heavy swipes of the brush to convey the energy and mass of the nudes that were his focus. The UMMA text theorized that Qi may have been okay with this, due to being largely self taught himself; he came from peasants and learned to paint from a book he came across. As well, Qi's chosen subject matter was "more humble" than those chosen by the reigning artistic community -- (i.e. new born chicks, rakes and brooms, vs. soaring mountain tops). UMMA quoted him as saying:

"To draw what you do not usually see, rather than what you usually see, is to ignore truth and create something grotesque."

Going a bit far for me, but an interesting point of view. Save it for your next cocktail party!

Elsewhere, I loved the words accompanying the images. According to Qi also, no painting is complete without a poem or a seal. And so there were lyrical blocks and ponderous words neighboring Qi's painting scenes. A painting of fish bore the following text {note: the words for "fish" and "remaining" are homonyms}:

"I once painted three fish and inscribed it: painting is what I did in the time remaining after work; poetry in the time remaining after sleep; and calligraphy in the time remaining after carving. This is what I called the three remaining."

Five Water Buffalo contained this funny aside:

"I painted buffalo for my disciples. However, my family asked me to paint another, so I painted this one. This makes me sigh, because one should paint to amuse oneself."

A painting done and mild protest registered, in one fell swoop~~

At the end of their time together, Noguchi had completed over 100 Chinese ink brush paintings (referred to as the "Peking Drawings").  Several of the exhibited nudes were of mother and child or men and boy wrestlers; most were quite large in scale (~9 feet; he laid the sheets of paper across tables or on the floor). The gestural lines were elegant and full of life; those on the livelier end reminded me of the freedom and joie de vivre of Matisse figures. Sometimes, they were imbued with a sense of calm and dignity.

The Baby Kakemono scroll above was one of the smaller ones (maybe 18"?). The handwriting reads:

This is to Sotokichi Katsuizumi my best friend in Peking for whom I have great affection. -- Isamu

At some point later in life, Katsuizumi called Noguchi "the most lonely fellow I ever had known."

Want more Noguchi? The ArtStory.org has a fascinating overview of his life, work and influences here -- though his short-though-meaningful experience with Qi Basihi is sadly absent from the entry.

If you read further, you'll see that Isamu Noguchi's primary emphasis was on creating art and art spaces for public use. To bring him back to home ground, he created the Horace E. Dodge and Son Memorial Fountain in Detroit's Hart Plaza, which will be teaming with people this Labor Day weekend, for the annual Detroit Jazz Festival.

My favorite artist quote from ArtStory:

"[The visible world] enters our consciousness as emotion as well as knowledge; trees grow in vigor, flowers hang evanescent, and mountains lie somnolent -- with meaning. The promise of sculpture is to project these inner presences into forms that can be recognized as important and meaningful in themselves."

[The visible world] enters our consciousness as emotion as well as knowledge; trees grow in vigor, flowers hang evanescent, and mountains lie somnolent -- with meaning. The promise of sculpture is to project these inner presences into forms that can be recognized as important and meaningful in themselves. - See more at: http://www.theartstory.org/artist-noguchi-isamu.htm#sthash.yUDrNJQx.dpuf

It's About That Time

Every clock in the house tells a different time. The retro brick red clock above the sink is just hard enough to reach that I didn't drag a stool over promptly when it stopped; initially it provided a point for internal criticism, and then, minor shame when people happened through and remarked upon it. Somehow none of it penetrated enough for me to actually change it; and now, when I come in the kitchen side door, I still glance up, only to confirm the reading through its bubble face: Oh yes, twelve minutes to eleven. Right. The other ones are cagier; I know that they run slow, for their own mysterious reasons; and I tend to them periodically, when the slippage grows too glaring. But still: why? And why bother, when you have your cellphone, right? The cause of myriad tanned wrists and cast aside watchmakers everywhere. The cellphone which briefly glows bright around 2 or 3 AM, as it disconcertingly connects with its Mothership. Unfortunate when you forget to turn it face down and are sleeping fitfully.

If my house is a time warp zone, my internal clockworks -- and by extension my calendar time -- is likewise experiencing disconnects. To wit: some part of my brain has kicked into the Reckoning Overdrive that normally bombards one during New Year's Eve/Birthday times. WHAT is the import of your life? WHAT, the measure of your years? WHY fritter away time on imaginary TV characters and every other silly filler item, when there are things you could grasp, things to be made, achievements to check off? But really, if all you wish to do is check the box for a task done, was that a worthy marker in the first place? And to cap it off, if all one does is bat the ideas back and forth, that amounts to less than nothing, as one is aware of unused potential, but has not GONE FORTH. The armchair traveler will remain ever safer than the actual traveler. I'm sure the murkiness of this paragraph has already clued you into the fact that I clearly don't have a plan. 

Right now -- today -- Saturday -- I'm opting for the "big changes happen in small steps" school of thought. Maybe I'm letting myself off easy. But today's phrase is: more organization, in service of freer creativity. Incongruous? I sat down to blog a few hours ago. It has been a long time, and so I thought, well maybe a photo based post: not too much, just Short and Sweet.*

*HAH! you say, if you know me. AS IF. I know, I know, but this is frequently my intention, believe it not. 

But then I found myself wading through the pictures folder. Hundreds of jpegs, very very few ever posted; and more on my camera. Tons of folders with somewhat helpful descriptions. I started to organize. I continued to organize. I could still be doing this. I could still be doing this, come twelve minutes to 11 tonight. Or tomorrow morning. And so many of these images were also meant to fuel or buttress blogging, up to a year ago. I know that many have spurred googly research (what's this muralist doing now? are there videos of this jeweler's unique approach?), the links to which sit waiting in other files. And in this way the vestiges of experience become a weight rather than enrichment/curiosities to share. Who wants it to be this way? Could it really be so easy that building more organizing into the snippet gathering could allow me to focus on what I want to? In past months, it has been suggested that structure is not my strong suit. Especially for those of us who do not naturally lock into grid formation, it is essential to better develop habits to counteract our meandering natures, without quashing them.

And now it is twelve to 11, or 2:57/2:59/3:00/3:01. I had intended to be at the DIA by now, not for any specific exhibit but because I have NOT BEEN THERE ALL SUMMER, which is a most unfortunate first. And lordy, lordy, lordy, the prospect of the emergency manager's potential shortsightedness of AUCTIONING OFF Detroit's art museum is too much for me to wrap my head around (Unfamiliar with the peril facing the Detroit Art Museum? Check out Rachel Maddow's take on it, and on emergency managers in general here). So, off to sneak in a brief visit (along with more picture taking most likely, but they will be folded into useful folders!). And then. all going well, I'll also get to meet Javier there and we'll have a great night out in Detroit, (possibly Shangri-La?? Maybe movies...)

Tomorrow I hope to pay a visit closer to home, at the Univ. of Michigan Art Musuem, for a cool exhibit that's closing Sept. 1st. Last chance, local folks, sounds great!  A paired exhibit of the works of a Japanese American artist and landscape architect, plus Chinese painter, Qi Baishi. I'm almost certain I got to see some of his scrolls at the Shanghai art museum last year. UMMA is open from noon-5 on Sundays.
  
And awayyyyyyy we go!

Noncable Also Nap Inducing

Why does it feel like October? Rain is pattering across my roof and I have mostly forgotten the need to call a repairman for the air conditioning, which proved begrudging and mediocre during the Art Fair heatwave. And now I have just exchanged a crocheted sweater for a bulkier polar fleecy thing... feels like the leaves are readying to fall and it's time to stock up on the hot chocolate. Javier is huddled over the dining room table, watching the Daily show on his computer, after a long day of meetings and interviews; iphone is safely nearby. Mainly it seems it is to protect against moments when the video needs to buffer. Complaints have been lodged about a lack of cable at Casa M. Management does not tend to be responsive.

We spent Friday and Saturday at the Chelsea Art Market. One of the few outdoor festivals I have taken part in -- quite fun! Aside from the weather worry -- Saturday it rained, torrented, cleared up, hung heavily, was mild, was steamy, was cold, blustered, rained during bright sun, and then acted like, Rain? What Rain? Even so, enough people walked through that we got to see people react to my prints, have some cool conversations, and make enough sales for it to be worthwhile on that score. Quite a lovely event! Added bonus: wandering through the gorgeous River Gallery. You really need to see the work of the young and talented Jessica Joy London in person to appreciate its startling beauty -- there until August 17th.

The first woman to buy a print bought this one. She told me that she had just decided she wanted something for a wall in her kitchen: "But it had to be art and it had to be funny!" Serendipity! Funnier still: she hates cake. "...Yeah, it's like a weird bread on its own, but the icing is awful, too. I was grounded one time when I was younger because I refused to eat my birthday cake." Getting those glimpses into purchase decisions (/or reactions) never gets old. Such a perk of sharing creativity with one's community. And finding more community through it.

A couple told us about a printmaker they love, who opens his studio to the public in Stratford Ontario -- and a fine bed and breakfast is even nearby. Trip potential! Interesting interview with Gerard Brender a Brandis here.

Lots more to be told from the day, but the cold night advanced without my noticing. A complaint has been lodged about the buffering and one is forced to watch the small amount of channels in the living room. Hope he comes back!

This time around I made a couple signs to give people a quick sense of what the Cakeasaurus picture book project is about. I hung them above the relevant prints. Hopefully this intrigues people enough that they may want to explore the woodblock prints that may be more mysterious on their own. We shall see...

The No Cake is Safe silver ink editions are now also live over at my etsy shop, take a gander. And now to bed, to bed! Maybe it will be 80 and sunny for the first day of August...

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.