solstice musing

While wandering about some favorite blogs, I was reminded that today is the solstice. For some reason I was then reminded -- and glad to be reminded -- of the Desiderata (attributed to Max Ehrman) that was everywhere in my youth. So I'm sharing these good thoughts on this long, cold, dark, night when the wheel of the year makes its first turn toward spring.

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for there will always be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe; no less than the trees and the stars, you have the right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul. With all its sham drudgery and broken dreams it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

thar she blows II

I seem to have gone public. On page 84.
As always, my photography leaves much to be desired (and my scanner is down for the count), but here's the general idea:

I'd say "at a newsstand near you" but there seems to be some difficulty locating newsstands with copies of this, the second issue of Art Quilting Studio. But the magazine is out, and opportunities to contribute abound, so if you can't track down the magazine, check out Somerset's website.

couldn't be happier

I have noticed recently, whilst driving all these great distances up and down and around the Hudson Valley and environs, crows. Or maybe ravens, but I think crows.

I have always loved crows. There's a park across the street from my house and one of the big old trees there was a roost tree -- until the West Nile epidemic in 2005. Since then, virtually no crows. But recently, and so very happily, I have begun to see them again.

Last year, I noticed one or two or, at most, three at a time. This year, small flocks. This is a very unscientific sampling, but I am so happy about it. Crows.

co-incidence

What a coincidence -- according to to day's post over at The Writer's Almanac , today is the day that Moby Dick was first published -- to no acclaim whatsoever. A "damp drizzly November in my soul" and a case of a prophet being without honor in his own country indeed.

I was thinking a lot about the book today. My friend Denise and I went to the Dia in Beacon -- and it was glorious. But also very, very white. Rooms full of extremely ascetic paintings by Robert Ryman -- white paintings on white walls, which are purely about the paint itself and the painting's relationship to & with the wall (or other supports). Years ago, I saw an exhibition of his paintings in San Francisco and was so baffled I asked the guard if the paintings had been hung. What a difference two decades makes in my willingness to understand. I was very enthusiastic about the paintings but was interested to find that the longer I spent in the room, the more unsettled I was becoming by All That White. And I wondered if the oft-quoted line in MD "It was the whiteness of the whale that appalled me" has as much to do with the epic size of the whale as with its unnatural color.

But the most transcendent thing in the museum, I think, is Richard Serra's Torqued Ellipses -- four huge vessels (as Denise calls them) in a room only just big enough to contain them that have profound mythic, shamanic presence. From the website: " in these works space shifts and moves in wholly unpredictable and unprecedented ways: so destabilizing yet so beguiling is this sensation of movement that the spectator quickly gets caught up in an exploration of extended duration." Walking around and into these works was like walking into the womb of the time-- disorienting, then exalting.

Then there were several -- I don't know what to call them -- pieces? works? by Fred Sandback who is probably at the most extreme edge of minimalism. The works are simply outlines formed by tautly strung acrylic yarn. They create the illusion of glass panels, but there is literally nothing there.

About Sandback, also from the museum's website: "The first sculpture I made with a piece of string and a little wire was the outline of a rectangular solid . . . lying on the floor. It was a casual act, but it seemed to open up a lot of possibilities for me," Fred Sandback wrote in 1986, looking back over twenty years of activity to a seminal sculpture he had executed in 1966. The key implications of that determining impulse remain at the heart of his practice today. In wanting to create sculpture that did not have an inside, he found through this seemingly "casual act" the means to "assert a certain place or volume in its full materiality without occupying and obscuring it."

This experience of looking at something that was simultaneously there and not there was really delightful. I thought pieces were very playful. I used to not like being played with in this way, but I hope that as my understanding and appreciation of the goals of artists that I found and find challenging grows, that I will continue to be less troubled by the feeling that I'm being had in some nefarious and mean-spirited way and be more genuinely engaged.

It was a wonderful day -- lots to think about, much inspiration, and a good time with a good friend.

macro II

hmmmmm. This is a lot more dynamic in my mind. Well, it's still early days. These are some of the things I've been thinking about attaching. Twigs (imported from Massachusetts), twine, shiny metal rounds. The cats knocked over a stack and some photocopies of that hand tumbled out, so I thought I'd put one down and see what I think. And I think . . . maybe. I think it may be -- all together now -- too much color.

The eternal conversation of art vs. craft arose recently over at Karen's place. I was reminded -- several years ago, I worked a needlepoint (kit) of the fairly famous quotation from William Morris: "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." I find the verbs provocative (a reliable function of verbs). I think you can know if something is beautiful, not just believe it. On the other hand, I have a three-story house stuffed to and beyond the gills with a plethora of things that may or may not be useful -- and I find that much harder to gauge with any accuracy.

And so to bed, leaving both twigs and philosophy for another time.

macro progress I

I still don't have a source photo. Nevertheless, I think I'm making excellent progress on interpreting it. Don't you? Thus far, I have a foundation piece approximately 12 inches by 18 inches comprised of a backing fabric (grayish off-white), white low-loft batting, a single layer of cheesecloth, and all-over seed stitching in grey carpet thread. That's a whole World Series, plus a couple of evenings, worth of stitching (minus a little time diverted to exuberance about a happy outcome for the home team). Here's a detail, almost life-size:

I think what comes next is kitchen twine, metallic silver thread, slim-slim-slim twigs, and some of the metal bits I've found in the street and in drawers, and in tins in the closets. Maybe some glass. But if there's glass, there will need to be a reinforcing layer to support the weight. More cheesecloth, definitely more cheesecloth.

Never let it be said that I don't know how to have a good time.

going macro

My fiber art group is working on a challenge: take an extreme close-up of something(s) using the macro setting on the camera, then work up a panel inspired by the image. I have an idea I've started working on, now all I need is a picture to have "inspired" it. Hmmm. This is not the way the process was supposed to go, but I usually fall short on the "supposed to" side of things. I did take some photos, though, some of which may do for something at some point. To wit . . .

I was hoping this would serve as the backfill inspiration for the new piece, but no dice:


This is a beauty shot of a beauty bush. Not a macro shot, but I can rarely resist anything purple. I like the verticality, there may be something in this for another time.
Can you guess this next one?

(Hair elastics with metal clamp, above)
This caladium leaf has possibilities as an abstract -- also for some later day and project.

And now -- going to go watch Game 3 of the World Series.

holiday plates

I have a short list of things that I do when I couldn't possibly feel any worse. Things that are in themselves so dispiriting, that I need to be at some kind of existential nadir even to approach them. The list is:
1. Do some housekeeping.
2. Try to write something
(as in an essay or a story of some kind; maybe fiddle with one of the ideas for a novel. hah).

I told you it was a short list.

So today, fresh from my Very First Colonoscopy ("perfectly healthy" by the way), once the sedation had ebbed sufficiently, I opened one of Mom's closets and looked for the holiday dishes. I had recently begun to think that I should haul out of the closets all the things that were deemed "too good to be used" and/or Set Aside For Special Occasions Only and -- brace yourself for the sacrilege -- use them. On the other hand, I live alone and it's a service for -- if I remember correctly --12 and includes things like a gravy boat and several cunning sets of plates in inscrutable sizes, such as this one, which is about 7 inches across and has itty handles. Some kind of serving dish?

The set was acquired by my grandmother, so the story goes, at the "Dish Nights" that the grocery stores and movie theaters sponsored in the '30s or the '40s to keep people coming in. That is, you came in, spread a little cash around, and were rewarded for your patronage with one or more pieces (or place settings, the details of the story wander) for your set. As I said, it's a fairly large set. The idea of my grandmother doing this, week after week, when there was very little money, when there were five kids at home and a harsh alcoholic husband to dupe or persuade, is impressive. This determined yearning for a bit of gentility -- the pieces are stamped "Made in U.S.A. Limoges Lyric Warranted 22 K Gold" -- should not be hidden away in the closet under the eaves.

On the other hand, do they suit my life? They cannot be popped in the microwave for fear of arcing and of literally popping apart, and they must be hand-washed. Hmmm.... Maybe I need to acquire a staff? Good lord, Gramma, what were you thinking?

fun, fun, fun

Lots to catch up with. I'll start with the classes I took this weekend. (I'll finish with them too. It's getting late and I do have to go to work tomorrow.) Lynne Perella -- author of Alphabetica, True Colors, and Artists' Journals and Sketchbooks -- was doing two classes sponsored by The Ink Pad in Manhattan. So I signed up for both, and even though each class focused on the same technique, I was very glad I did. I am very poky in my art making, slow to get an idea, slow to commit to an idea, slow to work on the idea, slow to finish. So, having taken the Saturday class, I was better prepared for what I needed to do, and how to pace myself for Sunday. I'm pleased to announce: I Finished Something. And I finished it in the time allotted. Holy Mother of God, I hope no one expects this to be any kind of precedent.
But I digress. Lynne teaches her method of making highly textured, multileveled backgrounds/midgrounds, and then incorporating onto these surfaces a top layer of altered images based on photocopies. On Saturday the theme was Asia; on Sunday, Medieval. Lynne is a fabulous teacher -- she teaches her method and then coaches each student to deploy it to express her own way. Every piece produced each day was highly individualistic. I think this is a wonderful thing in a teacher. So Saturday I got my highly textured background done and, because I rarely get further than making a highly textured background in any mixed-media class I have taken, I am getting quite good at these backgrounds. I fell way short, however, on the altered image front, but Lynne suggested making a large drawing of one of the images, using it as a mask, and painting around it. This is the other amazing thing about this generous woman -- overflowing with terrific, achievable, spot-on ideas.

(detail: Cranes)

Still, I was frustrated and disappointed that I didn't get the collage part done. Because the base painting is 30 inches x 30 inches (almost three times bigger than my usual format! yikes!), I decided to make honking-big photocopies to use on Sunday. This was a good decision. I finished just in the nick of time, but I finished.
One option for the finished piece is to fold it to form a book. Most folks decided to do that (me, too) but some left their work open and flat as a painting, and Lynne suggested that my medieval piece might also work as panels. I don't know what a four-unit piece would be called -- a double diptych? -- but I wanted a book. Clumsily photographed, it looks like this.

Flat, folded, and cut (details from the Unicorn tapestries at the Cloisters): Inside pages
(we were encouraged not to be concerned about images appearing upside down, or sideways, or in partial views) Front cover (folded):

I have had in mind a project using the format of currency (banknotes, paper money) to celebrate various women. I think this process will let me start that project. And soon.

Meanwhile, gentle readers, if you EVER have a chance to take a class with Lynne Perella, do whatever is necessary to be there.

update

The quickest of posts to say that IBOL guy is not just up to, but w-a-y over, his eyeballs in bundles. Today's count is 2889.
As in: two thousand, eight hundred, and eighty-nine.
And mail should keep coming at least through the end of the week. (He said "mail by the 8th, it takes about 10 days to arrive." -- Be careful what you wish for.)

woo, as the saying goes, hoo

good help

We. Made. It.

Actually, by following the "Just One Cow" principle
(note benevolent cow totem), we made 30 of it.

I'll post some of the fruits of the exchange on the weekend.

And so to bed.

Shhhhhhh . . .

inquiring minds want to know

Stella, the art cat, asks: You have to make how many?

You cannot be serious.

By Thursday? I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Carry on, then.
I'll be right here if you need me.

Labor Day potlatch

I was determined, determined I tell you, that this weekend would be put to the good use of Cleaning the House. I have determined this before, but cleaning is not my favorite thing, so my so-called determination usually evaporates, and also, this particular cleaning involves sorting through more of Mom's stuff, so I was even less eager, though no less determined. In theory, determined.

But then, on Thursday night, I was scooting around catching up with blogs, and Vivien -- bless her -- had posted about IBOL. Qu'est-ce que IBOL? you ask? Iraqi Bundles of Love, of course. A soldier in Iraq has organized a drive to collect and distribute to the population -- fabric and yarn! The catch is that everything must be in the mail by tomorrow 9/8. So Friday I went to the Post Office asked for ten boxes, was told "Just take all of them" (which turned out to be 19) and was given labels, and off I went. Unable to defer, to procrastinate, to have determination evaporate -- or I would miss the deadline. Ya gotta love a deadline. So motivating.

I was braced for a long, sad time of it this weekend sorting through all the heaps, and I was skeptical about finding a good place to send the culls, and particularly sad that Mom's yarn stash might end up as compost. (The nitrogen is good for the soil, but still...) But this project turned something that might have been profoundly sorrowful -- sorting Mom's stash -- into something uplifting. I can't tell you how much it means to me to know that Mom's legacy of warmth, self-sufficiency, and home-grown beauty will, in this small way, make it around the world.

And 19 large, APO boxes just fit in the trunk of my trusty Focus. Off we go. . .


And now I can move on to the second big project of the weekend -- working up 29 4-inch squares for a swap at the monthly meeting on --eek! -- the 10th. Even with help, it's going to be tight.

on being a redhead

Much as I appreciate the compliments, there's a down side.
For example, does anyone have a good comeback for the many occasions when absolute strangers (usually male strangers) have asked: Is all your hair red? There are some variations, but that's the gist.

It's been going for 54 years now, but that question still takes me by surprise. I usually turn and walk away. Not the best repsonse to a "teachable moment" perhaps, but someone who thinks that kind of thing is a witty opener is probably unteachable.

nor custom stale her infinite variety

Guest post from the top cat*


awgusst iz Mine's brrthdy month. wich meens therr's brrthdy paprr on a puhjomma string. it duzznt get enny btrr than thiss.
~^:^~

*Ed. note: Despite his fondness for Shakespeare, spelling isn't among Halloween's assets. Some translation must be puzzled out. Perhaps, like Shakespeare, it's easiest understood when spoken aloud.

self promotion

eek. I mean seriously eek!
I'm going to do a one-day writing workshop at the Wallkill River School in Ulster County NY on the 29th. On the one hand -- yay! -- they want to feature the class on the website. On the other hand -- eeeeeek-k-k! -- they want a photo. I hate having my picture took. (yes, I know that should be "taken") But what's a girl to do? I haven't had a picture taken since . . . college? In the mid 1970s?
Happily, I saw my friend Jane the other day and she suggested the very arty "hold the camera at arm's length and snap" method. So I had a go at it. Very arty. I hope it will do because this is pretty much what it looks like when I'm working. Except that actually working is messier. And uses more coffee (which is just offstage in this shot). And usually actual work entices Beau to sleep on the printer (also just offstage in this shot--the printer, not Beau. I'm only pretending to be working for the sake of the picture so there's no reason for the cat to be on the printer "helping" me).
More info later. Stay tuned.

temptation

Is four cats too many cats?

She's been in the yard for a while. Last night, she had the sense to come in out of the rain.

the kindness of strangers

Okay, so here's what happened to send me over the moon. First, some background -- and because all good stories have at least a little suspense. . .

I don't know how I stumbled onto the blog Art Propelled, probably by following the "I also follow" lists on someone's blog, but what a lovely place it is. Back in March, Robyn, proprietress of Art Propelled, did a post about taming procrastination in which she said to herself "just do one cow." She carves things -- in case you haven't skedaddled right over there, which you must do -- and had in mind a fairly large project involving the bas relief carving of many cows. But first -- phone calls. And then -- tidying. And then . . .

We all know how this goes. Back when I was writing, I had the world's cleanest oven because any time I need to write something I was overcome with a compulsion to clean the oven. Which I did. Even if I hadn't used it since the last time I'd cleaned it. This is not, on many levels, a healthy habit.

But enough about me, back to Robyn. So she said quite firmly to herself "Just one cow." Sure enough, one cow led to many cows. And these are very beautiful cows. So then, in my life, much tumult and many false starts. As I began coming around again, I was haunted (in a good way) by this idea of "just one cow." Being an acquisitive American, I thought "I wonder, if I asked, if she would make 'just one cow' for me?" And I was afraid to ask. But Mom always said -- "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." And I often told my students "It's amazing sometimes what you can get just by asking." So I asked.

And Robyn, who doesn't usually do small things and doesn't like to do commissions but who is the very soul of kindness, made a cow for me!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Except, hmmmmm, she lives on the other side of the world and posted it from there. Egad, the wretched hateful Post Office. . .
BUT -- yesterday I remembered to take the USPS's standard-issue "We missed you!" delivery slip to work with me.
And I left work on the dot of five -- which is rarely possible, but somehow yesterday it was possible.
And I zipped down the highway and met no traffic at the exit -- which is usually backed up for at least half a mile.
And got a parking spot right in front of the P.O. (This is not so amazing, I have astounding luck finding parking spaces.)
And went inside -- no line. There's always a line. I've been there at 8 in the morning and joined the long line of folks who were queued up outside and waiting to queue up inside and wait.
Went to the window. Where there was a mildly cranky clerk who became all smiles because, I think, of the South Africa return address.
I signed, and got my package, and was home well before 6.

Where I opened the envelope
and found
Just
One
Cow:

Such a simple, beautiful, and -- to my eyes -- perfect, thing. I am completely delighted and so overwhelmed with happiness that I may cry. Again. In a good way.

And so, a toast: to kindness, to wisdom, to daring, to perseverance, to new beginnings, and to the World Wide Web. Cin, cin! and also L'chaim!

Oh, and this is my 100th post. Seems appropriate, somehow.

something wonderful

Something wonderful happened today. It involved a trip to the post office -- which is not always, or often, prelude to something wonderful. But this is wonderful. I'm not being mysterious in that tiresome "I know something you don't know" (at least, I hope I'm not). I just need my camera battery to charge up so I can share the Wonderful Thing that came in the post. And find some words for it, because I am uncharacteristically speechless in reaction the wonderfulness (< is so a word).

Stay tuned.

easing back into it

I went up to Montgomery, NY, this weekend to see my ether buddy Denise and to take a class in abstract painting with Nuala Clarke at the Wallkill River School. I can't say enough nice things about both experiences.

-For a long time, I was one of "those people" who believed that abstract painting was a kind of fraud. But recently (like, in the last decade or so) I've had a change of heart and mind. In particular, Anne Truitt's published journals changed my thinking. So when the opportunity of Nuala's class came up, I thought I'd try it.

-Nuala started the class with "blind drawing." We got out our pads and pencils, she put on some music, and we drew for the duration of the music with our eyes closed. This was not as unsettling -- or as difficult -- as I expected it to be. Then we drew to the same music with our eyes open, and compared the two pieces. Most of the people in the class preferred the blind drawing. I liked my "seeing" one better -- not enough to brandish it, but better.

-Then we took a big piece of paper and cut it in quarters and did some small painted pieces. I painted this vertically:

But I like it better horizontal:I think that this one (below), is more a background than a painting. I'll take a look at it again in couple of days and see if an idea for it has coalesced. There are some tentative orange slashes in the middle section that might grow into something.Next, we used half sheets of paper and did "collaborative" paintings. Each of us started a painting, worked on it for a bit, then shifted around to the next person's painting, worked on that for a bit as though it were our own, then moved on again until we arrived back at our original stations and finished "our" paintings. Each person in the class had a distinct style of brush work and wildly different color preferences so this grew more challenging as each piece grew more complete. I'm not sure how I feel about the result, but I liked the exercise a lot.

Next we took another half-sheet and did a collaboration with one other person. Then -- da-da-dum -- we took a full sheet of 18 x 24 paper and did a painting all on our own. In the materials list, Nuala had said we should bring "one item not usually used to put on paint." By now, I've taken so many surface design, "print with anything" classes that I had a hard time coming up with something that would be provocative without being difficult to use -- or simply ridiculous. I decided on something I have a good and ready supply of: two sizes of cat food cans. Again, I think this is more background than painting, but it's closer to being a painting, I think.

el alma es eterna

On the day of the service the weather was beautiful, the family appropriate (we once had a fist fight between two female relatives at the wedding of one of my aunts, so I have reason for concern), and the service was . . . unsettling in the moment, but in retrospect, just right. I had sent the minister a longish email about my Mom for background, which he read (after asking permission) as the sermon/eulogy. I was a little freaked out. I'm always uneasy about my writing -- and now here it was being read out loud and in front of people -- but I think the anxiety about the reading took some of the edge off the sadness. On Monday, my aunt and I went into the woods by the house and scattered some of the ashes. I'll scatter some more in the park across the street from this house, and inter the rest in the family plot in the cemetery near Valhalla (yes, really). And then settle in for the long adjustment.

I have come to appreciate the wisdom in what I once thought was ridiculous and self-indulgent -- the formality and protraction of Victorian mourning customs. The whole first year after a death really isn't the time to make big decisions about the present or the future. It's a time to muddle through with all the "first time withouts." There is more clarity after a year has passed. I'm not keen on the fetishizing of small and large memorabilia, but I understand the impulse. I also understand the impulse to throw everything out and start over. Neither is a wholly good idea. Patience is a good idea. Waiting and seeing. Picking up threads here and there and seeing what holds. Observing the formalities. Letting the sadness settle. Getting out more.

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and for you
And I think to myself -- what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue, clouds of white
Bright blessed days, dark sacred nights
And I think to myself -- what a wonderful world.

The colors of a rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands, saying "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you."

I hear babies cry. I watch them grow.
They'll learn much more than Ill never know.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

I think Satchmo was right, don't you?

ceremony

Off to Delaware this weekend to do the memorial service for Mom. She was especially irreligious in a family not at all pious. As a consequence, whenever these events that require ceremony arise, I'm somewhat at a loss as to what to do. Fortunately, this time there's a minister in the family who has volunteered to take the lead and, having married into this family, understands our -- let's call it "informal" -- tendencies.

So we'll play k.d. lang and Tony Bennett singing "What a Wonderful World" rather than having an organ drone "Amazing Grace" and I made copies of a bookmark that Mom had on the refrigerator for as long as I can remember to give the attendees instead of those creepy memorial cards. What else is in store, I don't know. Maybe my aunt will say something. Maybe I will. Maybe not. Then there will be "family barbecue on the lawn" with my cousins and their young children who enliven everything.

Then home again to continue to wonder if it makes sense to keep this big, old, creaky house that my grandfather built, to wonder what to do with all this new found freedom I'm alleged to have, and to wonder if there are still dreams to be coaxed into the light so that I can believe in the magic of them. Good thing it's a long drive.

still good questions

Whilst clearing off my cutting/ironing table in preparation for working (see below), I again encountered the source for a post I did on March 9. It felt like a post from a long time ago, so I was surprised to see it was a few short months, just a quarter of a year, ago. These were good questions then, they're even better questions now:
-How do we find renewed meaning and how does this express itself in our life's work?
-How do we discover new maps, provisions, and travel partners?
-What is calling us and how do we discern our calling?
The workshop for which these questions are the foundation is in August. Hmmmm . . .

Digging back, I realized that, also in March, I overlooked the one-year (March 5, 2008) anniversary for the blog. I'll have to light some candles so I can blow them out. All together now --deeeeeeeeeeep breath.

Here's the cutting table -- a 2' x 4' "table top" from Home Depot, half cutting mat, half ironing pad, with "custom" storage below.

The board is raised up on flannel-wrapped bricks, set on a computer desk, with a filing cabinet under all. The not-at-all-attractive cat food boxes are actually the perfect size for bins o' stuff that I use all the time (fusible, precut batts, fabric scraps, cutting tools). The boxes can be made made more attractive; meanwhile, I can feel smug about "going green."

This arrangement is a rehearsal to see if the configuration would work in something more permanent. The jury's mostly out on that one, but it's been a while since I've done any work so I'll see how it goes as I work on the monthly-meeting-group swap. I remember liking having the shelves above.

And here's one of my characteristically vibrant palettes, under consideration as background for the swap pieces.

Excelsior, my friends. Ever upward.

Last Sunday, I went a little north to the Katonah Art Museum to see the exhibition “Lichtenstein in Process.” (That's the cover for the catalog, left.) I’ve never been a fan of Lichtenstein (hereafter “RL”), but the KAM always has something a little off-beat and interesting so I trust that if they’re presenting something, it’s more than worth 45 minutes of driving and the modest admission. And, well, “wow” is about all I have to say.

True to the title, the exhibition features the process the artist used to create his paintings. There are sequences of sketch-drawing-collage for paintings (and one finished painting) and some of the pieces have clippings of the source material as well. The walls have interesting quotations from RL – one that particularly struck me is: “All abstract artists try to tell you that what they do comes from nature, and I’m always trying to tell you that what I do is completely abstract.”

It’s an interesting insight into the mechanics of his work, and into the thought process of a very thoughtful artist. I don't know much about art -- and oftentimes don't know what I like, especially with contemporary art -- but the more I look into the 20th-century folks, the more I understand that it really does help to know what they were thinking about and what they were after in the work. RL's Benday dots, for example, "refer" to chiaroscuro without being chiaroscuro, they're kind of a painting of chiaroscuro rather than a use of it in support of another element in the image. And the minimalist in me is very intrigued with how stripped-down the images are.

If you’re in the neighborhood, go. The show is up until June 28. If you’re not in the neighborhood, the Roy Lichtenstein Foundation web site has posted an interesting interview with RL by Michael Kimmelman, excerpted from his book, PORTRAITS, Talking with Artists at the Met, The Modern, The Louvre and Elsewhere.

coming back

My SAQA group is doing an exchange in which we each create a set of small pieces (4"x4") to swap. I was fooling with the idea of mandala a little while ago and thought it might make a good foundation for this exchange. In one of my art books, there is the suggestion that, when sketching mandala, you could draw in one area, then turn the page a quarter turn and draw in the next area. This is proving fruitful -- sometimes the smallest thing gives the best result.

I've been carrying around one of those top-spiral bound steno books with grid paper. I like symmetry, so I like having the grid underlaying the sketching. My Blogger "skills" -- which were minimal to begin with -- are rusty, but here are some of what I have so far, rendered in smudgy pencil. I think they may be stitched on a white ground, with shades of white and extremely pastel colors and some silver. I may have mentioned before that white is my favorite color. . .