Sunday, February 9

Yesterday, in a poetry/collage class, we were asked to pick a line at random from a book the class had published.  The line we picked was to be the first line of our timed writing.

This is the line that jumped off the page;

"I hesitate to call myself an artist."  

 I hesitate to call myself an artist. Not only do I have no art degree, but I married a man who had already appropriated that domain for himself. 

 I was 18, new to San Antonio.  He was seven years older with an MFA degree, teaching kids my age at San Antonio College--where I took algebra, English,  creative writing and philosophy.

One day he came home with a stack of colorful artwork from his students, geometric shapes glued onto paper. They blew me away--to borrow a 1967 cliche.

What are those? I asked, curious, intrigued, itching to know more.

"Collages," he said stuffing them into his bag out of view as if he'd been caught red-handed with pornography,

"Collage???" 

I made a mental note to look for books on the subject. As I skimmed through books in the S.A.C. library, I thought, That's what I'd have majored in if I'd known it was a thing.

 "You're a writer," he said.  "Stick to that."

 Throughout our marriage, the lines only got thicker.  Home design and decor were his domain.   "Serious artists"--I came to understand--knew Important Things that I wasn't privy to. They had degrees, credentials, exhibition aspirations.

 Those not in the high society of "real" artists  were Sunday painters, dabblers and dilettantes. 

After decades of staying in my lane, then divorcing and putting a toe in the art world,  I learned that not all artists hold what they know so close to the vest.  My artist friends are generous and share freely what they know. 

 I'm thinking of Joy, Nellie, Lyn, Victoria, and Barbel, all successful artists. They invite novices, like me,  to hop on The Art Train and go for it!

I've learned from them--as well as those who teach collage and book-making online.  The joy of making art is contagious.  

There's plenty  to go around. 

Oh, the Possibilities!

 I dwell in Possibility – (466)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

I dwell in Possibility –

A fairer House than Prose –

More numerous of Windows –

Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –

Impregnable of eye –

And for an everlasting Roof

The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –

For Occupation – This –

The spreading wide my narrow Hands

To gather Paradise –

*******

Today when I was looking at my art supplies, I was reminded of this poem by Emily Dickinson

Oh, how I relate to these words!  

I used to think that I was the odd one, loving to arrange my beautiful art supplies as much as making things with them.  Little bottles of ink, a row of threads for book-binding, gorgeous artisan and handmade papers, colorful stamp pads, an array of pens and brushes--all bespeak Possibilities! 

But no.  I have met many odd souls like me in the past few years. It's its own kind of house with way more windows and doors than we may ever see in actual houses or pictures of houses.  In an actual room, the eye stops at the ceiling, but Imagination is limitless as the sky!

On My Soapbox

In my pursuit of proficiency in the craft of making books, I may have put in more hours studying than I did in graduate school.  The internet is full of good teachers, and I've tracked down more than I can count.  One leads to the other.

The Handmade Book Club has guest artists every month, and of course, I follow the trails.

One video taught me how to make a book out of soap box, a class touted as a way to recycle.  I wasn't fooled by that part--especially after copying the extensive list of supplies--but I was fascinated by it and made a few.  

To make said soap box book, you need book tape or gaffer tape, a Crop-o-Dile for setting eyelets, double-stick tape, buttons for closures, a cutting mat, craft knives, and paper.  I happened to have had almost all that, but did purchase a Crop-O-Dile and eyelet and a six pack of Irish Spring soap. 

When the teacher laid out the tools and supplies, it would have been daunting for those who don't have, as I do, "enough art supplies to last until Jesus comes." (A phrase borrowed from my preacher's-wife-Aunt Audrey in referencing her shoes.)

Making tiny books can be as complicated as making larger ones.  These taught me about paper grain, setting eyelets, button closures, and extending the accordion structure as long as you want it to be by hinging the panels. 

This video showed up on a site called Creative Bug, part of Jo Ann's Fabric stores, along with some excellent videos by different book artists.  I eat them up like popcorn!

If you measure a project's viability by the standards of saving trees, soap box books don't pass muster. 

But if your yardstick is personal satisfaction and learning new techniques, book-making is (for me) a many-faceted pleasure.  We live in a chaotic and frightening time. 

As an old book of the 70s had it, we should "follow our bliss" whatever that looks like.  Music, gardens, good books, building things, making balloon donkeys, remodeling a room--whatever gives pleasure is a good road to follow. 

Weekend in the 70s.

 On Saturday, on a beautiful sunshiny day, I took a walk or two with Luci and grained all the papers in my stash.  Turns out paper has grain, just like fabric, and it has to run parallel with the spine of books.  If not, the folds can be wonky and the book may refuse to close all the way.

I also made two small paper kimonos based on one of Lyn Belisle's online class.  

Today, I went to see A Complete Unknown with Jan and Linda. We talked about how good it was to go out into the world, into an actual theater, with friends--since so many of us tend to spend most of our time alone.

Here's a link to a discussion about being alone vs. being with friends: Fresh Air podcast

The movie about Bob Dylan and the musicians around him (Johnny Cash, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez and others) catapulted us all back to the Sixties.