Monday, March 10, 2014
This past weekend, I met up with some Urban Sketching friends for a morning of sketching. We met in the northern California town of Petaluma (the home of the mythical Daisy Hill Puppy Farm where Snoopy was born). It's a lovely town, full of interesting old buildings, new shops and restaurants, a river and an old railroad station and lovingly kept Victorian homes. We were graced with a perfect sunny day, and there was no shortage of things to draw -- even lots of benches along the street for sitting to sketch, too.
Our Urban Sketchers-North Bay group is pretty new, but we've gotten together often enough now that we're starting to know each other a bit. I'm starting to recognize people's styles, and I learn so much from seeing what everyone does.
We had some first-time attendees this weekend, too. I had a funny conversation with one talented sketcher, Veda, who said that she felt pressured if she thought she was "sketching" but could relax and enjoy herself if she told herself she was "drawing." Funny, I replied, as it's the opposite for me -- if I think I'm "drawing," then I somehow expect it to be tidy and perfect, while "sketching" in a journal feels free and inconsequential and I can just have fun. We giggled at how we have to fool our inner critics to be able to just relax and create something.
Every time I sit down to draw something, I'm struck again at how pleasurable it is to just LOOK at somethings, and looking is really different from seeing. When I look at something to draw it, I see it in a very different way. I suddenly notice architectural details I hadn't really discerned before. I notice shadows, and the graceful way they highlight features. I notice the elegance of the street lamps, and the way the brick at the top of the buildings has weathered to a different color than the rest of the wall. It's a visual meditation of sorts, and I realize every time that it's THAT feeling that keeps me sketching. It's a way of being fully present and absorbed and it feels wonderful.
For anyone in the north bay area of San Francisco Bay, our group tries to get out to sketch on the second saturday of every month (usually around 10am) and the 4th thursday afternoon, usually around 1pm. You can check out future sketch dates on the blog or on the USk-NB facebook page. And you are welcome to come along!
Thursday, February 27, 2014
This afternoon I met a few Urban Sketching friends for a sketch date at a local cafe. We'd arranged to meet there in case it was raining or cold, and we ended up staying inside for the most part because it was windy and looking like it was going to rain any minute. You could just tell that as soon as you got situated somewhere with supplies around you and a good sketch subject in view, it would start to rain and you'd have to run for cover.
I've not been sketching as regularly as I like, and I can really tell when I'm feeling rusty. But I tackled sketching a person which felt like a good challenge for me. (Luckily, she was engrossed in reading on her electronic device and sat pretty still. Moving people are tricky!) She's not great, really, but I was proud of myself for not avoiding her and I was pleased with the result.
But what struck me was how hard all of us our on ourselves. Of the four of us who where there, only one seems confident in his skill. He's a graphic designer by profession, and has taken art classes and drawn and painted all of his adult life. He's even taught drawing classes, he mentioned casually today. Oh. No wonder his people look so good.
All four of us had really different styles, and used different media (straight to pen, or using markers, or shading with water-soluble pens), and approached drawing in really different ways. And -- at least for the three of us relative newbies -- we all liked each other's work better than our own. Pip and I have decided that we are the perfect sketching companions, because we always like each other's work better than our own so we compliment each other lavishly (and mean it) and do wonders for each other's confidence.
But how interesting it is that we see our own work so critically, and can take such delight in someone else's work.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
So after trying my usual tricks to push myself forward, yesterday I sat down with a cup of coffee and clicked over to Design Matters TV, a wonderful online show by the always inspiring Linda and Laura Kemshall. (A side note about DMTV: It's a subscription service, but if you like art, or sketchbook keeping, or art quilting, or painting, you will find something there for you. It's well worth the price, in my opinion. You can check it out here.)
At any rate, I wasn't aiming for any particular subject -- I just wanted to watch Linda or Laura do something creative. I clicked on the oldest video on the current menu, which involved Linda demonstrating how to use the striations in hand-dyed fabrics to create dimension in fussy-cut fusible applique shapes. She was working with irises, which although pretty were of little interest for me. I don't really have any interest at the moment in making a floral quilt. (Actually, there's the problem. I don't have any interest, period.)
But wait, maybe I do. As I watched, I thought about a UFO I'd encountered while sorting through the UFO pile in my closet a few weeks ago. It's probably the oldest thing in the pile, something I started back in 2001 when I was new to art quilting and just bumbling along. I was working with a photo I'd taken years ago on Nantucket, where I was enthralled by the roses climbing over shingled houses and falling gracefully over picket fences all over town.
It was my first time experimenting with fusible applique. I bought a bunch of Seam-a-Seam, having seen someone use it for something on good ol' Simply Quilts, and I set about constructing my fence and making leaves.
I was having a good old time sticking leaves on, and after I pressed it all, I was taken aback at how stiff the whole thing was. I was undaunted and decided to sew some leaf details before I moved on to the roses.
But how to do the roses? I had no idea. And when I say I had no idea, I mean I had ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE how to accomplish what I was picturing. And so time passed, and eventually I folded it all up and put it away. And since then, I've pulled it out every once in a while (say, every 5 years or so) thinking I should just throw it away, but I realize that I like the leaves and they look good on that background, and actually it's better than I remembered, so I fold it up and put it back on the pile.
But today, it occurred to me that Linda's technique might be just the thing for those roses. Before I could think myself out of it, I pulled some pinks out of my stash of hand-dyed fabric, and set about cutting some roses and highlighting them with Inktense Pencils.*
And here is just a test of a few roses pinned on to see how it looks. Promising! i figure I'll keep going until the thing is either finished, or I discover that it's too thick to sew through and I really do have to throw it away.
But so far, so good. I plan to spend the evening cutting out and coloring roses.
*I shall say here once more how VERY happy I am that I bought that wonderful box set of Inktense Pencils when I was at the Derwent Pencil Factory in England, and how very worth it it was to pay for an extra box of stuff to be shipped home to me. I LOVE those pencils. And it's amazing how often they come in handy.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Well, there are a lot of things I don't know as a mother. But I have been thinking lately that there are a lot of things I do know. I know my daughter is healthy, and happy, and safe. I know she has a roof over her head, enough food to nourish her, and access to all of the education and activities she wants. And to know that is no small thing.
I saw the movie "Philomena" last week. Have you seen it? It's based on the true story of a woman who, on the 50th anniversary of her son's birth, decides to look for him. She'd become pregnant as a young girl in the 1950's, and was sent off to a convent in Ireland where she was forced to sign away the rights to her child and required to work at the convent for years to pay off the cost of their keeping her there. It's a very poignant story, with humor and charm, and lovely acting (as always) by Judi Dench.
But I found that I had tears rolling down my face through most of the movie, watching the story of how quietly tormented Philomena was by not knowing what had happened to her son. Was he homeless? A drug addict? In prison? Was he even alive? Had he had a good childhood? And the question that plagued her: Did he ever think of her, and of his homeland?
As the adopted mother of a child from China, I am always aware that the luck and delight I feel at being able to parent my daughter comes at the expense of a woman I'll never know. She is far away on the other side of the world, and I have little idea of what her life was like when she gave birth to my daughter, or what it is now. But I do know that because of China's one-child policy as it was in the early 90's when my daughter was born, so many women had no choice but to give up their babies. Maybe my daughter wasn't ripped out of her arms, but chances are pretty high that she felt utterly hopeless and without any other option when she placed my baby girl in a well-traveled spot on that bridge in Chongqing where someone would find her and take her to an orphanage. I don't know what her circumstances were, or how long she was able to keep the baby with her after she was born, or whether she had her at home or was able to go to a hospital. I don't even know whether the day we celebrate as my daughter's birthday really is her birthday. The orphanages tended to guestimate, and while our daughter's age and development seems pretty on-target, I know others whose daughter's assigned ages were definitely off by a year or more.
But what this movie has made me remember is that the stuff I don't know is nothing compared to what my daughter's birth mother doesn't know. I think about her every single day, I really do. I wish I could let her know that her daughter is healthy and happy and safe, and how well loved, and cherished she is. I wish I could thank her for the tremendous gift she's given me, and how my whole life has changed in ways I never could have imagined because of her. I'd tell her, too, how I'm aware that some of my daughter's traits -- her creativity, her curiosity, her quick wit, her stubbornness -- tell me something about what her birth parents might be like. I'd tell her that my daughter and I talk about her, and that I remind my daughter that she probably knows a fair amount about her birth mother just from looking at herself in the mirror.
I like to think that she can, somehow, feel the cosmic thoughts I send her way. But I guess I'll never know.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
2. Wait, is that called a house cleaner?
3. I should have rescued a dog with fur that matched the rug. Or planned carpeting that matched the dog.
4. In a household with a black dog, a gray cat and a white cat, I can't win. No matter what color something is, SOME pet hair will end up showing on it.
5. With all the dog hair drifting around, am I inhaling a bit every day? Like pet dander? Do doctors find people with pet hair in their lungs? How is it I'm not coughing up furballs? Ack.
6. Let me pause a moment and appreciate that the dog hair is on the stairs and not in my lungs. Small gratitude moment.
7. Maybe my next dog should be a non-shedding poodle. Or doodle. Or a hairless dog.
8. On second thought, I'd rather have uncarpeted stairs and a big furry dog.
9. I wonder how much it would cost to rip the carpet off of the stairs and put hardwood on them.
10. I wonder how much fabric and art supply stuff I would have to not buy to save the money for replacing the stair carpet with hard wood.
11. Vacuuming the stairs = Life Evaluation + Animal Companion Philosophy + Physical Workout.
So, I'm cleaning today. What are YOU doing?! And what do you think about while you do it?!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
This has been a remarkable for year for me. I've experienced a lot of changes, and I realized as I was thinking about things this morning that much of the change has taken place in my own head. It's been a year of introspection and reflecting on the past, and it has resulted in a lot of new understanding and growth.
In some ways, because it's been a year of internal activity rather than outward processing, I feel like I've not got much to show for what I've accomplished this year. The things that I've accomplished and am in the process of achieving aren't the things that show up in photos. They are in my head and my heart and, I hope, in how I approach every day.
Still, because I've enjoyed putting together a slide show of the year in pictures, when I sat down to see what I had pictures OF, I realized several significant things. One is that I made huge strides in sketching and painting, and making that part of my daily life. In fact, even though I didn't carry my camera around nearly as much as I have done in the past, I carried my sketchbook -- and I discovered in this slideshow process that my sketchbooks really have become a visual journal of what I have been doing. Participating in some online painting classes from Jane LaFazio, Val Webb, Joanne Sharpe have inspired and taught me -- and painting daily for the "Every Day in May" challenge was a big piece of using painting to memorialize bits of daily life.
It's also notable to me that although, for the most part, my family hates to have their pictures taken so I tend not to snap a lot of pictures of them, I do have sketches that remind me of family events that trigger wonderful memories for me. Perhaps that's an incentive to learn to sketch people better during this coming year!
I also revived a long-held love for a looser (and messier) art journalling. That has been a fun way to address some of the personal issues I've been thinking about.
So, all in all, it's been a good year. Quiet, introspective, but really, solidly, good. I didn't finish a lot of quilts, and did less sewing overall than I have in long time. But I did a lot more painting, and a lot of reading, and a lot of time just enjoying being where I am right now. One of my goals for 2013 was to do something creative every day. And I did.
I have faith that the coming year will bring peace and happiness. I hope it does for you, too. Happy New Year to you!
|Make your own free photo slideshow|
Thursday, December 26, 2013
I hope you all are basking in a glow of post-Christmas relaxation. I am spending the day by declaring it Pajama Day and hanging around with my friend Beth and Miss C reading, nibbling, and doing varieties of nothing. It's lovely.
But I thought I would share a very fun Christmassy experience from earlier in the week. In the town of Windsor- the next town south of mine-- they do an annual Charlie Brown Christmas Tree grove on the town green where various local group and individuals sponsor and decorate a tree which remains on display through New Year's Eve.
It really is beautiful. They even have a machine that spews out fake snow every night, with a big sign than says "Snow at 5:30 and 7:30 pm nightly!" (Which I figure would amuse the heck out of my friends in New England whose snow is not so conveniently scheduled.). Turns out the snow is made up or teeny soap bubbles but it looks very snowy and amuses the little kids and those of us grown-ups who are easily entertained.
I was with my good friend Beth and we had a good time strolling around looking at each tree. But one tree in particular had us doubled over with laughter.
Can you read this "ornament"? It says "what your doctor won't tell you about menopause." Hey, I want one of those for MY tree! We saw that the tree was sponsored by an OB/GYN who apparently specializes in hormonal issues. I don't know if you can tell in this shot, but there were also little (empty) tubes of progesterone decorating the tree. Because nothing says Christmas like hormonal ointments.
Goodness... I just realized that you can see another "ornament" that says "Breast Cancer." How... Ahem .... Nice. There were also laminated photos of the good doctor himself. Yep, a man. I'd like to think that this tree was an indication of a highly ironic sense of humor, but I wonder. In any event, it gave me and Beth a good burst of tears-rolling-down-our-faces laughter, which is more than you can hope for from a well-decorated Christmas tree.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Yep, a lingering cold. But at least they are Christmasy!
(Our chorus closed our holiday concerts with this very arrangement and I'm still singing it around the house. Beautiful!)
A whole lot of Hallmark holiday movies. They're sappy but I love them.
Lots to think about in this book. I love her writing, as well as her approach to spirituality.
I am loving the Instrumental Holiday music channel for quiet evenings in front of the fire.
I made a big pot of vegetable soup the other day -- with lots of red pepper flakes so the spiciness will clear up this cold! Delicious!
Having the tree and holiday decorations up. So cheery and festive. I love the holiday glow.
I hope you're "currently" enjoying the wonders of the season!
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
So I'm love, love, loving our choral singing and am somewhat sad that this weekend will mark the last of the season's concerts. A new choral director, with totally new energy and happiness and a fun approach to choral singing, has cheered and enlivened and inspired all of us. I have started to feel like his arrival at chorus this season was a spiritual gift to me -- and I know others in the chorus are feeling the same way. It has been lovely, a truly joyous experience.
And at home, I've been decorating with new pleasure -- yep, Bing and Rosemary and Danny in their White Christmas finery are out again -- and making things with happy exploration, and just enjoying evenings in front of the fireplace with Christmas music playing softly in the background. I"m not sure why, but this year I'm loving having instrumental holiday music going. And I thought I'd share some of my favorites:
Vince Guaraldi's "A Charlie Brown Christmas." Is there any better instrumental holiday music?
This cd, "Holiday," is hammer dulcimer music by Mark Davis. I heard it playing in a store long, long ago and loved the gentle sound. It's festive and peaceful at the same time.
Monday, December 02, 2013
Hello, blog friends! Here it is December already and it seems that everyone around me is swinging into Christmas preparation in high gear. Me, I'm puttering along but I'm enjoying this slide into the holiday season.
But look -- there's a quilt up there! Miss C's beloved horseback riding teacher had a baby recently, so I made this for Baby Monica. It's from a pattern called "My Song" and I can recommend it as a good project for large-ish scraps. (You can get the pattern here, in case you fall in love with it as I did.)
This was my first experience using Minkee on the back of a quilt and it went smoothly. There was a lot of drag during the quilting process -- I've read one of those Slider things on the quilt bed surface works well, or silicone spray. But, having neither of those handy, I muscled my way through. And gosh, it's soft. I took it as a compliment when Baby Monica immediately tried to suck on it.
I swear I smell baby powder when I look at this quilt. Is it just me?