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?"

Syrup? Never heard of it.

Brunch or not to brunch?

Asking marks an easy life

French toast in bathrobes.

The baby is about to realize she's really hungry again, and I had better get on that french toast before this happens. But Javier is currently mesmerizing her with classic Sesame Street on the ipad. I heard him saying, "Elll-mo! That's Elmo! Elmo." a little bit ago, and I didn't think we were trying to create an Elmo fan, though you could argue within a given age set, Elmo may be a given. You could also argue that Elmo has no place in classic SS, and I'd agree with you. But it may be somewhat mashed together, I haven't checked it out yet (Right now, it's definitely more classic: "I loooooooove trash!"). I may have enough time to make some bacon, if the little one doesn't see me sneak past on the way to the kitchen. A good way to continue your Sunday #hidingfromthebaby

Drive-Thru Friday

This* may become a new thing for me, what with nap resistant babe! A good week, though I'm glad it's done...Happy Friday, All.

Acorn-plumped squirrel

Cases the joint. Baby plucks

Lint, beams; eats the world.

*****

Don’t breathe – okay – breathe

Hold still in your tie-front gown

Spring blooms on far wall.

*Lacking time and peace

of mind. Ignore artistry:

Try drive-thru haiku.

Because why not?

Lacking time and peace

of mind. Ignore artistry:

Try drive-thru haiku.

You think I’m kidding? Here we go.

February looms

Christmas tree defies the slump

Baby snores at breast.

Freeze Now, inside or out! Shiny Appliances in Mid-January

Helllllllllo, 2016!

My theory of starting a post in stray 15 minute spurts hasn't panned out, nor has the "buck up and get a second wind after baby goes to bed," for lo that does not take into account my usual ughitswinterhidingisbetter exacerbated by the brain-mushifying aspect of babying throughout the day. And so many mundane large and small householdy things pulling at one's sleeve. But really, who hasn't been there? So I haven't settled on a successful plan of attack for bringing creativity reliably back into the picture. Ohhhh, the former wealth of idle musing time~! But, somewhere, there is hope.

And in the kitchen, there is also a hulking, new refrigerator, shinier beneath its protective cling-film than it will ever be again. The 12 degree weather, so unappreciated otherwise, is perfect for storing the entire contents of the prior fridge in my car, though it does make me more likely to type in my study than to retrieve it all again. But! The shiny new fridge is certainly exciting! Bigger! Consistently cold! Makes its own ice!* Shows your food in a better light**! Makes you a more inspired cook***! Desperate for fields of tiny fingerprints!

*once we get a water line hooked up, eh.
**i.e. last light stopped working years ago. silly, what you get used to. lights, so conveeeeeeenient!
***Just agree.

The deliveryman approves: "This is a nice fridge. People pay more for Samsung, they think is better, but no: LG is better. In delivering for many years, I hear a few complaints about LG. But very few." He is removing the fridge doors, which are hinged on the wrong side. The baby has finished her Greek yogurt and apple-pumpkin puree and is alternately peering up at me, eyeing him, and jumping from the automatic drill. I switch to bread and peanut butter. She smacks the high chair tray whenever I pause in bread delivery. I maintain a certain speed, as she currently devolves into chipmunk mode if too much food is immediately available.

"How old is it?"

"She's 10 months old today." SMACK. The baby eyes me. I tear a tiny piece of bread. She frowns at it, stuffs it in her mouth with her entire hand. Gums peanut butter around.

"Oh, 10 months, that's good time. This is a good size fridge, maybe have a little brother or sister. A brother: a boy would be better." LG better, boy, better. I happily buy the first, and don't inquire after the second.

*****

Otherwise, starting to read around for next steps as I progress tortoise-like toward my picture book finish. With all the carving, I have another solid year of work, but at this point, I only have a few pages which completely lack drawings. That said, I'm sad to say I need to revisit storyboarding.  

Interloper detail

But that's ridiculous, you say, that's why you storyboard in the first place, to plot it all out. True. true. And then one gets all focused on individual designs and fully know that some designs make a two page spread, and that others must be facing each other, but somehow a couple individual pages sneak in and throw everything off. The interlopers have pizzazz, they have energy, they can't be eliminated now. How did this happen, who was manning my ship?? WHO IS THE PROJECT MANAGER HERE I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE PROJECT MANAGER. I don't know. May I distract you with a half-gone carton of coconut "ice cream," or a solid brick of orange mystery? No? Well, it's literally back to the drawing board. Last night I scrawled out a large newsprint sheet of picture book thumbnails, to once again confirm that yes, I had indeed
screwed myself up a bit. It's possible that if I divorce myself from the completed woodblock prints, I'll be able to imagine how a particular image could be sliced and diced into a different-but-better Cakeasaurus tale...

Initial googling connected me with templates, but not so much help with the problem solving. Naturally I ran across a handful of promising sites about high caliber picture books:

• Design of the Picture Book made me want to own Whatever Happened to my Sister?
• Self-described "entertainment channel" around literacy All the Wonders could help me lose track of time (see the entry for last year's big bang "Leo: A Ghost Story," which has a related craft component, video, behind-the-scenes making-of, and podcast with the illustrator) 
• Picture Book Makers boosts a great stable, including Vivian Schwarz {check out the
  
  videos of her reading her books, they're great! More sneak peeks and process shots from the author and illustrator at her blog} and Emily Hughes, author and illustrator of Wild

Ho, ho, ho! Still Time Left to Buy a Tree!

see also: the lovely willingness of my partner.

Ahhh, Day of Wonders!

...Or at least, one of copious sugar, a bubble bath with a damp novel*, and a much appreciated "bang trim."** It has been a surprising day, with the best indicator being my Jewish fiance standing on a curb like so:

He was gamely waving and ho-ho-ho-ing. He spoke with a curious accent: jolly, sure, but originating from where exactly? "Get your Christmas trees HEEyuh!" Cars were honking. The handful of Christmas trees remaining in the Washtenaw AlAnon lot were small in stature, but not overtly Charlie Brownish. 

It was too cold for Santa to not have Santa gloves.

<-- Javier said my smile when I pulled into the parking lot was the biggest he has seen in a while. Gleeful mockery aside, you can probably see the inner child is all "SAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYNTAAAA!" 

My actual child, meanwhile, was inside, being hefted by Javier's dear friend (and snazzy elf, to boot); and sheltered from the cold and her recognizable-but-odd Papa.

they emerged for a photo op.

We are in our early stages of navigating different religions/cultures. Last Fall I had stressed that baby aside, I *definitely* needed to continue having a tree, though I understood that it was not a shared necessity; this season, I got a smaller one that would fit outside of Baby's area, and have been super super happy that Javier has approved its compact twinkliness. It probably helps that it makes me gleeful and more prone to bake things like snappy anise stars / dark chocolate pistachio bark / chocolate peppermint bars. We currently lack a menorah, but this will most certainly be rectified before this time next year.

& babbles at fake greenery that sprung up overnight

She eschews the spoon, wears bibs she can not read

I like to think we'll raise a child who will be savvy at navigating through different cultures, religions, schools of thought, and who will embrace that which appeals, question the questionable, release that which does not resonate; and not interpret confusion as overly alarming, or as a lack. Tall order? And maybe this, too, is self-justifying blather from someone who tends to get sucked in by visual trappings and rituals, but is, by no means, devout. Which is not to say that I'm apologetic for not being a person of faith; I think self knowledge is of the utmost importance and faith in any kind of higher power can never be forced on anyone who doesn't already contain a germ of this within themselves.

As of two days ago, our daughter turned 9 months old. Curious and strange to consider that her life outside my body has now surpassed the one she had within it. Curiouser and curiouser to consider Javier and I have been on this collective journey for over a year and a half now. I blogged about it, three days ago. Imagine a good post here: solid, kinda funny, with a few surprising twists. It was worth your time. I shifted my own perspective through the writing of it, and temporarily felt more settled, as I do after satisfying posts. I was, however, writing in a restaurant with dodgy internet, and the connection must have cut out wayyyyyy early in my writing, because the entire post evaporated. Gone, gone, gone.

So! Suffice it to say that I haven't lost my essential self, the baby is and shall be a crazy handful, the Cakeasaurus picture book is humming along (only 4 pages left that need to be drawn from scratch! lots of carving ahead for 2016), and Tiny Expo was a wonderful re-entry into shows. I'm not sure how many shows I'll want to take on in the coming year, but this one was a great reminder of why I (sometimes) love doing them -- inquisitive and enthusiastic people, bonding over mutual loves; healthy sales and new art discoveries. Why is it so refreshing when strangers find you funny and/or odd? Not a bad way to mark the year's end. In the next few days, we are Pennsylvania- and Florida-bound for our families -- many more plane flights for baby, oodles of Baby love, and hopefully some hours drifting in the Ocean. Happy Holidays, Winter Solstice, New Year's All!

---------------------------------------

*Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behavior -- so good!: "...she was dismayed by the crowd of people who stood close together on her own front lawn, all facing the house as if expecting it to perform. They looked dressed for a camping trip, in boots and backpacks and puffy down parkas. As she drew closer, she saw some white cardboard placards. And heard chanting. A lot of energy directed toward a house where no one was home. Don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes, she thought, a directive that was never meant for nearsighted people." This passage in particular reminds me of Tom Drury's dry wit, though the story's sense of yearning, constraint, is more front-and-center than its humor. 

**The latter comes just in time for our holiday visit home to my family, which will likely bolster my mother's anxiety that our daughter will be "confused," what with two parents having (nice, streamlined!) short hair. As discussed, we are already providing numerous confusion points for her, but this is a favorite for my Mom. But truly, if the babe is foiled by hair length, we're clearly in trouble. I'm more confident about the baby's future ability to navigate gender and sexual norms than I am that I'll escape the current stage without being savaged by her four newly descended teeth. She has bitten me with the lower two, and that was alarming enough for all involved parties. Hopefully my past exclamations are recalled just enough to fend off more experimental momchomping.