Chinese printmakers leave me ponderous.

"Why'd you think I'd put out your fire? 

Why'd you think I'd put out your fire? 

Don't you know I breathe in fire? 

Breathe out fire?" -- Tuneyards

I'm relatively chill this evening. Come on in, feel free to chillax. I'd offer you a G&T, but the fridge shelves are barren of tonic. Perhaps a cuppa? Too lazy to make proper chai, even though it would smell so nice, but I could certainly heat up the wonderfully speckled orange tea kettle. The cheap boombox has swung away from its heavy rotation of  Soundgarden and Pearl Jam and back to the Tuneyards end of things. The Regret woman is drying on a wooden panel in the basement, under her starry sky.

The gnatty things in the kitchen are still flitting about, despite a ruthless paring down of three different cupboard areas. I discovered some ridiculous things like unopened black bean garlic sauce from 2004, two jars of hoisin sauce that were at their prime before 2005. I have 3 POUNDS of cornstarch. Wanna thicken a sauce? I'm your girl.

So, as you can see, a quiet night. Fall is settling in.

Am contemplating a week's vacation, starting tomorrow late afternoon. It's been a long time since I have taken/given myself this much time. Respite. Would have loved to taken it while it was hot, so I could spend the days basking out in a park, eating ginger scones and melty chocolate, reading and falling asleep on a blanket. But now maybe I'll divide it between artwork in the basement, running in pleasantly chilled air, going on little day trips. I simultaneously want to fill it with tons of plans/outings and to leave it this blank sheet of possibility. So luxurious! Like window shopping, but with time. The pleasure of the holding, without possession.

On a similar note, Maestra & I checked out the UMMA Chinese woodblock print exhibit today. It was her third visit and she idly mused over which pieces she would own, if she could. Simply put, the exhibit is mind-blowing. If you haven't bothered because you thought: "quaint" or "staid," clear off some calendar time before the 23rd. The scale alone of most of the pieces is impressive, but the artistry of the line work, and the variety of line, especially when considering every single line--out of thousands--reflects a cut or a gouge into wood...whew. I can't really say anything adequate.

Tried to locate a good image of Builders by Dai Daguan, though this is all I could come up with. You can see snippets of it behind him. The powerful torso and amazing hands of a workman yielding a shovel. A half-erected skyscraper arcs up behind him, but the energy in the lines is reminiscent of the sea. The woodblock is easily 7'x 4 1/2', if not larger.

If you visit the link at the beginning of the paragraph, you can see one of two reduction cuts by Lin Yanpeng. Her landscapes are rich, lush, quiet. You can almost feel how thick the vegetation is, hear the rustling of tall grasses. I'm not being precious.

Two stunning self-portraits are also on offer from Wen Mujiang -- if you're not in the area, visit the link for a cool slide show.
 

I usually jot things down in art museums, but I kinda fell down on this score. The only quote I snagged was from Fang Limin:

"In the end, human beings are at their most direct and most honest without clothes. That's why I like to draw naked bodies. That is why in my prints people are tangled and piled on top of one another. Even people who look not at all connected are tied together by so many little strings. It doesn't matter how you struggle."  

The sentiment has been expressed myriad times, but it still holds. I like the string imagery, followed by the more fatalistic or ominous sentiment, though obviously the connections are a mixture of freedom and limitation, like anything else...






 
 

Rust Belt Market Day. Novices and Seers.

After a brutal workweek (not dwelling), I returned to sell at the Rust Belt Market yesterday. Using the "sell" term loosely, as it wound up being one of a couple times I did not even break even. I think I have signed up again as much for the experience, exposure and connections as for the sales.

For exchanges like this: a young couple came through toward the end of the (long) day. "Ohhh, here are the prints we liked," the girl-woman said to her guy. I balanced between being attentive and present and unobtrusive. The three of us start talking. They have both just begun doing lino cuts. They have discovered they are not very good. They are chagrined to find they can't draw. "We thought we would be good." They realize the humor in this. They are maybe freshly out of college, clear-skinned and sparkly. Well, I told them. I can't draw. I am confronted with that every time I make a new design. In your head it's so much better. "YES!!!" says the woman. She's demonstrative, as we women often are. I tell them to keep going. I have been doing this for 12 years. Their eyes rake over the table. They nod. Okay, that makes sense. They'll let me know how it goes. They won't. But how refreshing to be on the other end of this exchange. I am so used to seeking out my mentors, looking for encouragement or reassurance, not this other way around. Nice.

And for exchanges like this: This happened throughout the day. Sometimes I wearied of it. I never knew when it would happen next, but it happened somewhat frequently, sprinkled across the hours. Remarks mysteriously uttered as if they were part of a conversation that only I knew had interruptions to it. My table neighbor was an older woman who I have spoken with in passing a few times. She once bought a small woodblock card and sent it to her mother in Australia, who loved it. On that occasion she deliberated over it, came back maybe three times, before settling on a small bird card (the bird cards are also my Mom's favorites). She has a quiet voice, with Aussie highlights to it, casually upswept blond hair and flawlessly done--not overdone -- makeup. She is given to pronouncements.

"Oh, your Mother is proud of you." She has never talked to my Mom and we were not speaking about her.  Well, yes she is. She has been saying that lately. Ahh, yes, she nods.

"You moved here for school."
  --- No.

"Your sister is married, with two kids."
-- No.

"Hmm. That's what I saw." I fall short of shrugging.
--Nope.

"But she's younger."
-- No, five years older.

"Your Mom wants grandkids."
-- Well, yeah. There's less chance of that happening at this point... [This is not my favorite line of questioning-through-statement. Seriously? Can we stop this? I return to my letter, where I am ranting about how someone else is vexing the hell out of me. This endeavor is more fun: it has the prospect of release anyway, plus a sympathetic ear. I think of the letter recipient, who is already fully aware of my family's dynamics, will most likely lambast the vexer and will not tell me who I am, because she already knows, very well. And her replies will be witty and lyrical.]  

Midway through the day, she comes across new information.

"You are going on a big trip next year, I feel it very strongly. That is something for you to be excited about."

I choose to let this soak in, because I would like it to be true. I tell her I just got my first passport earlier this year, but haven't used it yet. For the rest of the day, she pops over with trip-focused snippets.

"So where do you think you'll be going?"

--Europe probably. Maybe Sweden, I have friends in Sweden. I have been meaning to visit them.

"Oh, yes and maybe you'll meet someone there. Maybe you'll move there."

-- Well, I don't know.

"You'll save money if you can ship your bags over in advance. Because you have quite enough time before your trip."

--Right, I say. Yes, true.

"You should go home tonight and start looking at flights."

-- Mmm, you know, I just can't plan that right now.

"But at least look. Then you'll know how much money you need to figure on"

**
"Oh, you're going to have SO MUCH fun. This will be great for you."

I try teasing her: You could move it up to this year if you want.

She peers at me. "No, there's too much, you've got too much right now. It's next year: March or April.You're going to have so much fun."

Later on, she is examining my signature on a few hanging rogue prints.

"Oh, you're a bit shy! I didn't realize that. But you are, aren't you?" She says this affectionately. I feel caught out.

--Sometimes. I mean, I CAN be really outgoing. But other times, it seems like too much. I'm kind of a mix.

She looks at another. "Oh, but here's a nicer signature, you're stronger over here." I feel relieved, because the latter is closer to my usual signature. "Yes, you were more settled into it there. You must have been tired when you signed the other one."

Maybe so. On that note, I need to throw on some studio clothes and head over to Maestra's printing press. I have nailed down most of the designs for the hospital show and want to include a Cakeasaurus print that I have yet to edition. Fingers crossed for a productive printmaking day. I see an ink-filled afternoon. I feel it very strongly.

Worse with chocolate almond milk/Better with stars

It's a good thing you're not near me. On my way to the computer, I managed to simultaneously toss my chocolate almond milk upward in its cup so that it splashed down in a sickening coating over my ipod (horror!), muddied my ice water and bubbled up the surface of my opened journal; with my right hand, I tossed my innocent little panasonic across the room, where thank god it landed without breaking on the kitchen floor. I am ambidextrously clumsy. Almost athletically clumsy. Oh, that's right, I *AM* athletically clumsy!--First time running on a wooded path, I tripped going downhill, shot the (already moribund) discman like a discus into the underbrush and then skidded downward on knees and hand palms. Ahh, the embedded gravel/wood chips, oh the silly little streams of blood, clouds of happy mosquitoes and the weeks of slowly healing scabs. Riiiight. Though that was several years ago. So, anyway, impressive that I manage to not get stains on everything.

Where was I? Oh, there was lots of spray paint in my unventilated basement. This could certainly be linked with general discombobulation (don't you LOVE that word?? LOVE it.)
 Do you remember the Reclaimed series? I added stars to the one with the Regret woman.

I may have gone a little overboard with the stars. but she definitely needed some lightness. The color is darker, deeper than the photos would have you believe. I have since affixed two other designs in the series to wooden panels. The bubbling came back, which is aggravating, but will perhaps bother myself more than anyone else. In any case, I'm pleased with what came out of this exercise. But as printmaker, I'm not used to these one-offs -- I think of the satisfaction of selling them, but I would also be sorry to see them go. Not to be precious or anything.

Oh dear, it's getting late. Many other things I'd like to make note of, they'll have to wait another day. Have a good week, Everyone.

Pop Quiz, People. One-Two, Sharpen your Pencils.

There's something rotten in:

A.)Denmark
B.) the economy
C.)my life, generally
D.) something beyond the produce drawer, as those itsy gnats won't go away
E.) all of the above



On my walk I noticed:

A.) a chipmunk, bounding like a squirrel or wee deer
B.) acorns the shade of Granny Smith apples
C.) gnomes of larger stature, across from the house of 20 gnomes (better nutrition)
D.) rankness wafting from the center line
    --> there's something rotten in...
E.) white lilies in the neighbor's yard, that smell like my Mom's
F.) you know. Too much, too little.


I am so tired I could:

A.) cry
B.) impulsively buy a children's book on nifty words with fabulous graphics, from the grocery store, to console myself
C.)  impulsively buy a children's book on Wayne Thiebaud, from the grocery store, to console myself
D.) frown and shake my head at the phone as it rings, thinking: Bad idea.
E.) punch someone, ineffectually. Kicking better? Or flogging.
F.) Woohoo!....meh.


If I were currently a food, I'd be:

A.)bitter chocolate
B.) a marzipan pig, forgotten behind the sofa (shout out!)
C.) a Kraft cheese single, in a tidy cellophane wrapper
D.) that large, unidentifiable packet of tinfoil in the freezer. Does not bode well.
E.) Mustu apple, with a few softish spots
F.) oh noooooo, casserole

Pencils down.

Trees to Dean: We dapple the sunlight, in humble thanks.

When I finally woke up yesterday morning, I woke up angry. The compatriot was calling about going to one of the best book sales you'll run across, which I had also been anticipating. If only I hadn't STILL been sleeping at 11, NOT having done any of the tasks I had envisioned and soon it would be the end of the weekend and I had no time. Words weren't coming well; I was still swimming upward.

"You NEED COFFEE. Look at it this way: you're 6 hours overdue. It's going to take time to switch to this new schedule. Coffee."

Now this actually computed. I lumbered awake, crossly knocking myself against an odd door frame. Scowling at the radio but laughing at Paula Poundstone. I eventually called her back to inform her that no, I really had no time, I *knew* there were things I had to take care of and there were simply too many things going on this weekend. I hung up feeling sensible but dour.  I hunched before the monitor, feeling punished; then called her back within two minutes to come pick me up when she was ready. She agreed, laughing at me.

It was, of course, a fabulous outing, only curtailed by my standing robot store appointment. We encouraged each other to elbow old women out of the way and took our maps of the book sale layout. She made a beeline for cookbooks and I for fiction hardcovers (Hardcovers! Yay!). Two guys to my right had a red wagon of books and were scanning bar codes with beeping machines (like the ones we used to use for inventory nights at Borders, only smaller). The one grudgingly told me they were gathering books to resell. I felt hostile toward them -- narrowing the choices for us booklovers. Hmmmph. "Oh no," said Comp, "They're always here. Same with estate sales. Mostly resellers, snapping things up."

Well. Way of the world, I guess. Way of the world, indeed. I was happy to get  my book bargain-hunting need attended to, since I haven't been able to bring myself to enter the moribund Borders. I worked at the Ann Arbor location for 4 years and all their shared fault in their downfall aside, I worked there almost fresh from college, during (my second stage of) formative years. Depressing, sad. So a used book sale held the triumph, without the sense of picking over a carcass...

 Behold, my haul:

I have already read Gilead, Year of Magical Thinking and the David Sedaris book, but thought they would be nice to have. Gilead, with its wisdom and gorgeous prose, will be lovely to revisit.

The rest of the day passed in a whirl and would take too long to recount in a good fashion. The robot store, the opening for "Actual Size" at Whitdel Arts in Detroit, margaritas at the Side Track and finished off by dancing at Plastic Passion, in the red room of Necto. Bed at 3 AM, which is rather rare for me at this point. This afternoon there was a neighborhood grilling get-together with new couples introduced, multiple desserts consumed, including freshly churned ice cream (the chocolate was SPLENDID), and young children repeatedly gifting the adults with leaves ("Wow, that makes five, THANK you."). I feel like I could use another weekend day to address more necessary tasks, but such is life.  

At the risk of sounding grossly Hallmarky, while it can be overwhelmingly busy, often the things I most love are little encapsulated moments. Often these involve strangers (possibly due to the heightened feeling of randomness?)

Some good recent sightings:

• I am at a chichi grocery store. A tiny blond boy wearing a jacket adorned with numerous badges and POLICE written in white block letters across his shoulders is volleying questions at his Mom. Mom, meanwhile is trying to disconnect the concepts of age from height. She looks at him, "For example, *I* am *FIVE* years OLDER than Daddy." He frowns at her dubiously. He will not be easily won over.
• Art student curled around a small metal cafe table. She is dressed in black, as rebels also like to be identifiable. The white lettering on the back of her t-shirt reads "SHUT UP AND DRAW."
• Sign at veteran's park: "Trees made possible by the Elizabeth Dean Fund." I know what they mean, obviously, but the wording also strikes me as odd. Kittens made possible by Susan Whittaker. Mosquitoes made possible by Joe Schemmler, that jackass.
• The other night I was making gujarati green paste and flouncing happily around the kitchen; through the screen door came a cyclical grating sound. Too soft to be a muffler, too loud (and too early) to be rake tines on cement. I glanced out and saw a tween girl, riding her ten-speed. Tied to her back seat was a winter sled, full of stuffed animals and dolls. Her bike tires traced lazy arcs on the pavement, while the sled skittered in her wake. Soon she's going to be too old and too cool to acknowledge any such thing took place.
• After weird bruises kept appearing on my legs, I decided to start a short, brisk walk every morning after initial reports were delivered, to wake my body up a bit more. The nice thing is this brings me back to noticing tiny neighborhood bits. Current favorite landmark: the house of twenty gnomes. If this is the outside decoration, what can we hope for from the interior?
• Also on walk: a little boy, maybe 8 years old, is about to step onto the sidewalk on his way to school (a few blacks away). When he sees me walking in his direction, he retreats, standing just inside his parents' garage. As I pass by, he keeps watch, frowning at me. Points for the well-trained child!

And points to you, in the coming week.

Next Up: Wood Panel Addiction.

A better photo of the piece I finished yesterday. The color is a bit more green-y than this, but it still conveys it better than the last shots in yesterday's post. I poked the bubbles with a needled yesterday evening -- and this morning, everything had settled nicely, barring one edge. More wooden panels are on order.

That is all. Back to re-watching Jude Law and Scarlett Johansson in Matchpoint.

Reclaimed, part two!

Surprisingly, listening to Soundgarden hasn't lightened my mood. Nor does the prospect of being cold for the next six months or so. But there we are: Happy Fall. On a happier note, I wound up making some good progress on the Reclaimed piece over the weekend and aside from some unfortunate bubbling issues, I'm pretty excited. So, let's take a gander, shall we?

So, we left off with a bunch of charcoally images, right. This continued along, but was joined by the demon/spirit figures, re-purposed from "The Demon You Feared Has Already Found You." 

There was liberal fixative spraying. I was aghast to run out on Saturday -- which means I blasted through an entire can on this project. Oi.  If the backyard raccoons are still hanging about, there could be three-eyed raccoons in the near future.

So I was initially geeked about the long demons and the nice dark red color pop, but this gave way to a frustrated sense that things were not hanging together and compositions were suffering a bit. That'd bring us up to the despondent post on Friday.

However! On the next day, it occurred to me to try out the old woman from Regret and the border from an ancient garden print and this got me going again.

 Of course, a lot of the border would be cut off when I fit it onto the wooden panel.

So! Back with the excitement and hands blackened with conte crayon.

Sunday was more colorful.

The woman came out entirely too dark. Am thinking of stencilling gold stars around the top of that one. 

After they were all hanging about, I was torn between five of them. I only had one wood panel to place it onto and they only want one piece from me. I kept wandering down to the basement, thinking that this time would settle it. No dice. Luckily, Maestra was about, refinishing her dining room table in her family's driveway. Any time I mention studio time, or talk about a printing press, it's her studio and her press. Aside from being a talented artist, a way cooler Mom than her adolescent and teen children realize, she's a spectacular high-energy blend of insight, nurturing, wicked humor, zen calm (hee! sometimes) and the ability to kick your ass (really. she has a black belt.) So, with that lead in, really all I want to say was that she helped me out. I laid them all around her studio and she walked from one to the other, pointing out merits and detractors. She thinks the gold stars would help the woman. She underscored my fear that a couple lacked focus and picked out which ones struck her as the strongest. Bolstering! I wound up opting for one of two with the garden border. 

So the exercise is, for all intents and purposes, done. If I can rectify the bubbling issues, I will probably go through a wood panel phase, in which I'll slap all manner of prints onto them before slapping myself on the back. Huzzah!