Tiny Desk Art

How does an artist keep making art when the flow of life brings a series of not so fortunate events? That's what's been happening to me lately. From a fractured foot to a persistent virus, not to mention getting rear ended, was life conspiring to keep me from the studio?

With little time and less energy, it seemed that the obvious solution was to make smaller work. "But I don't want to make smaller work!" an inner voice whined. "O.K.,"-- I answered the voice, "but smaller work can add up." It occurred to me that I could use the same journal format that I'd been practicing in my recent work.

I approach my work in an additive way anyway, creating one print or collage and building on that with the next one, and so on; day after day. At the end of a run (determined by season or plant material), I curate them into a composition that adds up to more than the sum of its parts.

This time, although the size would be smaller, I could still use a sequential format. Then, the words "Tiny Desk Concerts" came to mind. I remembered that these were intimate musical events  performed live at the desk of one of NPR's music hosts, Bob Boilen.

Great idea! I figured that I could work the same way. During a break at the hospital or lunch, I could stack the key board on my computer monitor and employ the resulting 13" wide open space for art making. Tiny desk art indeed. But my patch was large enough to fit a cutting board. And where would I keep my materials? I slid open my file drawer, revealing a box of jasmine tea, some almonds and chia seeds, and added a pencil box of collage materials and a folder of colorfully printed papers.

There is a sequence of 3 letters: prn, medical shorthand for the Latin phrase: pro re nata, or, "as the thing is needed."

I love that phrase "as the thing is needed," meaning not always, not every hour or even every day, but when you need it. And that, for the time being, is how I'm making art.

Generosity & Creative Deed 365

An online project, Creative Deed 365,  got me thinking about generosity. What makes someone want to give? The project's creator, Gretchen Miller, decided that she wanted offer a project/challenge that involves "...making small pieces of art (3 x 2.5) to randomly gift to others as acts of kindness and to spread creative goodness to others in the spirit of 6 Degrees of Creativity’s 2014 Creative Deed Project.  I want to dedicate 2015 to sharing this process with others and give all the art away with year long positive messages of hope, inspiration, and possibility."

As I read further, I discovered that Gretchen was leaving the cards in coffee shops, tucked in bookstore shelves, at bus stops, almost any public place you could imagine.  Each of them had the following message on the back:

I was inspired by Gretchen's idea and wondered how I could adapt it for myself. I knew that I couldn't keep up with one card a day (although I tried). Instead, I began to make cards in odd moments in the hospital, using them to process an interaction, or in an art therapy session, and as a means of self-care.

I wondered what to do with them, how could I offer them to others as a means of inspiration? I wanted to provide a place where people could look through the cards, choosing one that felt right to them. But where would that place be?

The idea, when it finally arrived, was simple. As I prepared my studio for our town's open studio tour, I thought about how when I visit artists' studios, I want to to leave with something tangible, something that preserves the beauty I've seen. The problem is that most of the time, I can't afford the art work.

I decided that in my own studio, I would take that obstacle away. Although much of my work would be for sale, I would give away small "365" pieces of art.

And I did. I watched people looking over my work: the prints, the large wall pieces, the gift cards and I could see at certain points, a small moment of longing cross their face. At those moments, I offered them a card. They took the process to heart, leafing through them as if they were tarot cards, searching for just the right one.

After that, I couldn't stop making the miniature offerings--although I don't know where the next drop off will be, that's all part of the surprise element.

If you are interested in joining Gretchen's project: Make a request to join the Creative Deed 365 Group on Facebook and contribute your own art in the spirit of this effort.

It All Adds Up

One week left to the Davis Art Studio Tour! This past weekend I cleared out so much unwanted "stuff" that I'm certain I'll feel psychically lighter for the next 6 months.

I love the spacious white feeling of my studio. Now, like materials are stored with like (easy on the memory). Unlabeled boxes have large black letters stating their contents. Artwork sits stacked, ready to be hung, displayed and sold.

For all this, I owe kudos to my sister, Amelia, who helped me to carry heavy objects down the studio stairs, cast away unused collage fodder and grab pictures of my leaf collection. Her openhearted support helped me to keep a stiff upper lip as I carted numerous armloads to the recycling bins.

The act of clearing a space is of course both a physical and mental task and requires me to take a stand; I'll let go of this and hold onto that. And, when it's all done, I can focus on "closing the circle," returning to where it all began; the artwork itself.

I'm happy and excited to share the prints that have come off the Gelli plate in the last year. There are many of them and some wonderful cards that they've inspired. I'll have two of my good friends serving as wing persons so that I can show you just how how the magic happens.

If you're in the Davis area, I'd love to see you this Saturday or Sunday!

Bookends

I was lying in bed the other night, almost asleep, when very softly, these words began to play in my head:

Time it was/And what a time it was, it was/A time of innocence, A time of confidences/Long ago it must be/ I have a photograph/Preserve your memories/They're all that's left you.*

In just a handful of syllables, the song, Bookends, captures the fleeting nature of time; the ever changing landscape of a life. When I first heard the song many years ago, I thought that the words referred to adolescence. Now, I know they refer to any collection of moments in life.

Up in my studio, I've been trying to capture, as in a photograph, this same transience. I gather the plant materials and know that the tender, tiny leaves of the Nandina will be gone in several days, replaced by tougher more mature leaves. The sprigs of jasmine buds that I'm printing will yield to the fragrant white blossoms.

Earlier in my series of prints, which I call "Shift," I was celebrating the plant forms of the Sacramento Valley. In any series, the more you explore, the more nuances are revealed and this spring is no exception. I am enchanted by the way plants pile new life onto old. New green stems push their way out of seemingly dead branches. A flirting shoot of jasmine twirls around a twiggy, yellowing stem.

I look forward to witnessing how this element of surprise plays out as the season continues to unwind. I'll be preserving them in prints.

* Bookends, Simon & Garfunkle, 1968

A Clean Break

Several weeks ago when I was coming down my studio stairs, I tripped on the second to last step and went flying, my hands holding a mug and several brayers and my feet imbedded in unwieldy Dansko clogs. I was barely able to twist myself around so I'd land on my foot rather than my shoulder.

I discovered the next day that it was a clean break of the 5th metatarsal. Bumping around the house in my new Bledsoe boot, I earned the name "Mama Pegleg Pirate."

Two days later, I came down with a virus that has taken my voice hostage for two weeks. Since that time, I've spent rather more time looking out our upstairs window at my studio, rather than in it.

I've often thought that nothing occurs in a vacuum, and that for most things there is a good reason; this accident being no exception. And there's something definite about a break. It insists that you pause, that you look at the world in an unaccustomed way.

I began to dream. Ideas that previously floated beyond me felt within reach. I created a retention plan to capture "waiting for warm" water from showers, bath and the kitchen faucet. With the help of my husband and daughter, we installed a family of buckets in strategic locations. Despite no winter rainfall for the past month, we've been able to water the plants with what we've collected.

I also decided to take a more proactive stance toward the studio. I wrote out a plan for the Davis Art Studio Tour, printed  some calendar pages and scheduled tasks  and events, so that I could see them clearly in front of me (rather than having them creep up from behind). I made a list of posts for social media, searched for frames for my monoprints and in an inspired moment, asked for help.

We often think we have to do everything ourselves, but in the last several days, I've asked both my husband and sister to be shopping ambassadors. Monty headed off to Dick Blick's in Sacramento and when they came up short there, Amelia, my sister drove me into Berkeley so that I could visit the well stocked DB's on University Ave.

While I'm still frustrated that I can't stand up for very long and that I haven't been able to get in a good block of time in the studio, things are moving along for the Davis Art Studio Tour coming up April 11th and 12. Most of all, I'm grateful for the love of family and friends and my long suffering husband who amiably smiles when I say once again, "I'm so tired of being sick and tired," and simply says: "I know, Sweetie."