Tulip

For all my skepticism in jumping on the latest technological trends, some friends are surprised I have a blog, including myself.  But for us creative folks blogs are a great way to reach an audience we might not find otherwise.   Like websites and other online venues, blogs free the work of writers and artists from dark drawers and solitary studios, offering it up to unsuspecting surfers, insomniacs and kindred spirits.  I’m continually surprised by ways people use blogs and the inspired by those who write them, but I do wish there were a more poetic name for the activity.

Take, for instance, BlueBicicletta.  I stumbled on her blog as I was creating my own, searching for examples of how bloggers were combining text and images.  An artist living in Davis, California, BlueBicicletta posted photos of her paintings, drawings and personal thoughts in a way that was honest without being confessional — no small thing, mind you.  Art, nature and relationships all make it into her blog, and like me she struggles to blend those passions with her working life.  I was particularly struck by her ink drawings, some reminding me of designs I’d made for my own windows.  I found more examples of art on her Flickr account.  The work is playful and unpretentious, the simple shapes and bold black lines refreshing.  Sometimes words serve as the main content, written in the same unfussy style as her drawings.   As an early birthday gift bought myself a drawing called “Tulip”, from a series of vessels.

 

It was tough choosing which of the series I wanted, but I went with my first instinct.  

 

The image is wholly feminine, but what I love most is the muscular interior that gives body and strength to its delicate shape.  Maybe its the fringed crown, but there’s a regal quality to the piece that became more apparent once it was framed and mounted to the wall.  Even the tulip’s poise – upright and open, filled to the rim – symbolizes those qualities I want to embody in the last half of my life.

So happy birthday to me and thanks BlueBicicletta!

 

Tree of Life ~ pt. 6

If you’ve ever attempted to bake bread you know that the finished loaf rarely ends up the way you imagined, no matter how closely you follow the recipe.  So too with art.  On this project I find myself experimenting with a recipe for a stained glass window . . . with four people in the kitchen.  Sketches, glass samples, and watercolor serve as raw ingredients, but no one can know the results until the window is assembled and set against light. 

When I presented my most recent draft to the committee some interesting comments came my way.  The leaves didn’t have the verdant quality one wanted.  Their colors were muted and dark.  And the sun didn’t seem to be breaking through the canopy.  The tree was lacking, in fact, of leaves.  Maybe more leaves and less sky?  And the earth, it looked like sand, like a desert.  Too reminiscent of death.  

 

Well, at least they were honest!

 

I really didn’t take their criticisms personally.  After all, it was just a watercolor.  Besides, there are so many ways to interpret a work of art, each legitimate in their own way.  But I admit, their concerns were surprising.  

I explained that I’d hoped to mimic the look of sun breaking through leaves by using a range of greens, from citron to olive, to give the appearance of light and shadow.  But where I saw leaves in shadow, others saw dying leaves.  And where I used a warm rosy brown for earth to contrast with green, others saw as desert sand.  As for the quantity of leaves, I simply didn’t want to bombard the viewer with activity.  Already I felt the design was drifting away from my original intention of serenity and simplicity.  Any new changes at this point will have to be subtle, at best, to preserve that intention.   

I’m not a literal artist or a literal viewer.  I prefer suggestion, nuance, and ambiguity in art, things that feed the imagination.  I’d hoped to bring something unexpected into what’s now a straightforward image of a tree by a stream.   And so another challenge presented itself in this collective process – to convince the committee to allow the opportunity for surprise, rather than overwork the design.  This sentiment was articulated by one member and understood by all, but nonetheless it was determined that certain points would need to be addressed.  Working with a committee means the majority rules.  Green ground and more leaves it is.  

So, it’s back to the drawing board for round four.  

Meanwhile, the project manager will be changing the original position of the window, which means the dimensions will likely change.  A entirely new sketch will need to be made.  It’s a hurry-up and wait routine, but I’m glad to have a little breathing room before I begin the new revision.  I’ll need the time to take the in the requests and return to the design with a fresh perspective.

 

Ode to the Bookshop

Since I won’t be getting to the Pyramids of Egypt anytime soon, I thought I’d pay tribute to a more local manmade wonder that excites the imagination in equal measure – the good old-fashioned, home-grown, used bookshop.  Yes Books in Portland, Maine is a favorite.  Situated at a busy corner of upper Congress Street, between a neighborhood sandwich shop and Paul’s Food Center, and standing directly across from a Starbucks, its very location speaks of its precarious place in the American story.      

 

Ah, Yes!

 

This time of year its door is propped open, most likely to catch a breeze . . . but I wonder, is there a purer symbol of democracy than this?  Inside is calm and hushed.  The stacks are disheveled.  The lightning is bad.   The aisles are narrow and cramped.  A small shop, I can easily feel lost inside.  Its homey disarray makes me want to plant myself on the floor and start reading from the nearest pile.  Yes Books is my piece of heaven.  The perfect respite from ordinary life. 

 

Where to begin?

 

This is my grandparent’s attic, my mother’s hope chest, the abandoned house we raided as kids.   A place suspended in time.  A place of ghosts, filling my head with voices other than my own.  I want to stay here all day, scaling the shelves for that overlooked gem that will change my life forever.  I want fall asleep here, wake up the next morning and start all over again.  

 

What’s this?

 

I never knew North America had its own arithmetic!

 

 

 

 My math skills might’ve flourished if I’d had this book in school.  

 

I fall in love a hundred times in the bookstore.  

 

What is it like to be a bird?

 

But I’ve learned not to grow too attached to every book I meet.  Some are meant simply to be admired.  Only a few get to travel home with me.  

 

Think I’ll pass on this one.

 

 

This has possibilities.

 

Since 1987 the National Trust of Historic Places has been listing its eleven most endangered places in America each year.  The Lower East Side, Cannery Row, Mesa Verde, even Route 66 Motels are listed.  I vote to put the independent used bookshop on that list.  And while I’m at it, to those noble independent bookstore owners everywhere, keeper of treasures, defenders of intellectual diversity, openers of doors – thank you from the bottom of my heart.

 

 

 

Tree of Life ~ pt. 5

With the composition set down in my previous sketch I felt free to loosen up the lines as I went along with this draft.  I left visible pencil marks to encourage this play when I begin my glass work.  I’ll be using a copper foil technique, which works well with organic shapes.  The less rigid I am following lines while cutting glass, the more interesting the end result.  After so many challenges sort forth by the committee, I’m pleased with how I’ve implement their ideas .

 

I hope this will be the last sketch . . .

 

And the last watercolor!

 

The next big challenge will be my choice and use of glass.  The fun has just begun!

I meet once more with the committee after the July 4 holiday.   Stay tuned.

 

Now, to clean my studio . . .

 

 

Fourth of July in 5 Photos

Never one for crowds and noises sounding like gunfire, I opted out of the typical Fourth of July celebrations and headed up to the farm with my friend PB for the afternoon.  I was happy to see how well the onion patch was doing since my last visit.

Mighty fine!

 

 

We hoed and weeded and planted cucumbers. 

The cukes enjoyed a nap in the sun.

 

 

I thought it fitting we planted the National Pickling Cucumber on the Fourth of July.   It seemed my patriotic duty to set them in the ground.

Who knew this humble vegetable held national status?

 

 

I received the first installment of my share.  

This is something to celebrate!

 

 

I started a new window to include in the “Work of the Hand” show this fall at the Center for Maine Contemporary Art.

The break in the amber piece going up from the left corner was a fortunate accident.  It works.

 

Mr. Baker and I took a walk in the neighborhood then came home in time for Jeopardy.

Strawberries for supper. 

 

Happy Summer!

 

 

 

Ode to the Wristwatch

My beau, Mr. Baker, received a gift from his mother on Saturday, a cool old Swiss Army wristwatch.  The watch was given to her by a friend, now in his fifties, who bought it when he was sixteen.  Fortunately, it didn’t fit Mr. Baker and he passed it on to me.  I liked it immediately.  It had a handsome leather band, a simple design with a bold face and hands to tell time.  And it was forty years old!  Do they still make watches like this?  

 

I was in second grade when I learned how to tell time.   I remember sitting at my desk in the front row staring at a big round clock on the wall while the teacher tapped at the face with her rubber-tipped pointer. Within days the confusion of numbers incrementally began to settle into a strange, calculable order.   It was like breaking a code into the grown-up world, the best thing I’d learned since the alphabet.  I thought it remarkable that twelve numbers could represent, at once, sixty minutes and twenty-four hours.  And the multiple ways of translating and expressing time I saw as a game of words and numbers.  Twelve could be midnight or noon.  Two-fifteen was a quarter past two.   A quarter to five was 4:45.   Thirty after the hour was a tidy “half past”.  Even without a watch I came to mentally refer to a watch face and hands marking the hours as I went through my day.  

 

Eulas and Viv, circa 1949

Mom says Eulas was wearing his favorite purple pants and pink shirt in this photo.  What a hep cat!

 

For my fifteenth birthday my mom gave me her sterling wind-up Bulova wristwatch.  It had been a Christmas gift from her boyfriend, Eulas, in 1950.  At that time the watch was nearly thirty years old.  Ancient in my eyes.  The original double strap leather band was still attached but badly worn.  The next day we drove to McRae’s department store in Jackson and bought a silver band to replace it.  That band lasted about ten years.  I bought another one just like it and it’s lasted ever since.  I wore the watch like a fine bracelet, always careful not to snag the little safety chain that hung in a loop.  I put the watch away when I started working with my hands.  That I haven’t lost it after so many cross-country moves is a miracle.  I take it out now for special occasions.  It’s delicate and utlra-feminine, like wearing a strand of pearls on my wrist.

 

This watch is over sixty years old, and still ticking!

 

I smugly attempt not to be ruled by the latest technological gadgetry.  I’m one of those old school hold-outs who prefers knobs to buttons on electronics and glass to plastic for just about anything.  Since I don’t have a cell phone, a wristwatch makes sense for me.  I subject my hands to all sorts of knocking about and toxic chemicals so the new/old Swiss Army brand is perfect.  I figure, if they work for the Swiss Army then I should have no problem.    But wearing one makes me wonder if I don’t peg myself as being from a particular generation.  I started noticing who wore watches as I strolled the sidewalks of my home city.  Lots of people of all generations were without a watch, but it seemed to me that ones who did wear them were well over thirty.  Cell phones and Iphones are coming to replace wristwatches for many people, but let’s not overlook the benefits of consulting a wristwatch to tell time.  First off, you can carry it on your wrist.  How convenient is that?   It doesn’t ring.  (Hallelujia!)  No one asks to borrow it.  It makes a romantic gift.  And I assure you no one will be holding on to their beloved cell phone waiting for the right time to pass it along to their son or daughter or friend.  This makes me even happier to have my watches.  Without even trying, I’m already retro.  There may be a day when people start buying up wristwatches like they do record albums.  There’ll be a whole sub-culture of collectors hoarding their stash in basements and trading online at three in the morning.  Prices will soar on Ebay.  But I’m not selling.

Tree of Life ~ pt. 4

The sun is alive.  It shimmers and burns and imparts a firey magic into glass.  Ideally, a stained glass window should be viewed in natural light, against a sky animated by clouds.  Artificial light can mimic the sun, but face it, even the best Elvis impersonator just isn’t Elvis.  I knew from the start that the window would have a translucent pane of glass behind it to hide the bulbs of a light box.  It wasn’t until I reached this stage of planning, however, that I began to take into consideration the impact on the window.  The translucent pane would flatten the colors and virtually erase the texture of the glass.  But there’s rarely an ideal situation for a stained glass window, so I have to do my best to make it work.   All week I’ve lain awake in bed trying to come up with a way to counter the diminishing effects of the light box.  I realize now I have to completely rethink my glass choice.  And – I hear my father’s voice as I write this – I have to rethink my attitude.  A light box will allow the window to glow even at night, so visitors can find comfort in the meditation room at any hour.  That’s a fine thing.   So even under these circumstances I can still make the best window for the environment. I’d planned to use a solid colored transparent glass called “cathedral”.  Here, you can see the intricate diamond-shaped patterns, the marks of blown glass.  I love the clarity and brilliant color of cathedrals.

Nice facets!

Seen against my light table, which is also transluscent, the glass lost its brilliance.   One obvious solution would be to use an opalescent, but I don’t want to.  Opalescents are saturated with white.  They work well in reflected light and are good for privacy, but it’s a dense, heavy-looking glass that makes the the window feel dated.   

 

I’ve decided to include a selection of transparent streakies.  This should help make up for the loss of movement and texture.  Mouthblown streakies are some of the most expensive glass made, for a reason. Their swirls of color are seductive: 

 Streakies show the appearance of glass in its molten form.

 

The bold movement can be overwhelming, so I’ll have to use this glass thoughtfully.   I’ll intersperse these pieces with solid cathedrals to help mellow out the activity.  

When I last met the committee at the hospital with my revised sketch, they liked the progress but there were still concerns.   The project manager thought the stream looked too much like a waterfall and needed to be smoothed out.  Also, the art director pointed out the way the tree roots butt up against the stream.   I was unhappy with myself for not rethinking this before I offered the sketch.  She suggested I taper them off somehow.  It does look pretty bad.

 

Ouch!  She’s right too!

 

So much of the creative process is about problem-solving.  Working with a committee means others take a stab at solving those problems.  I don’t always think my ideas are the best, but I want the satisfaction of finding solutions on my own.  This may not happen when you work with a committe.   My parents called me stubborn when I was younger, and I was.  I was driven to make my own mistakes, even if it meant living for a time in the ruins of the outcome.  Mistakes, problems, detours, they all fuel creativity.  And creativity is, in part, a practice of faith.  I love being in the thick of it, working my way through, with no one showing me how, and emerging days or weeks later having birthed a thing of beauty.  While the oversight in my design wasn’t a big problem, it humbled me to the collaborative process where rough ideas are exposed to such scrutiny by others.  

 

 

Tree of Life ~ pt. 3

I admit, my head was swimming when the art committee left.  My first design was raw, I knew, but given the chance to develop it and with the addition of glass I was certain it could stand on its own.  None of that mattered, however.  The chaplain wanted water, less yellow and no chalice; the project manager wanted sun through the leaves and a palpable sense of hope; both thought the symbolism needed to be strengthened. The art consultant, hired as a mediator between the hospital and the artists, only asked that I keep the process going, balancing my style with the others’ requests.

The biggest challenge for me as an artist working in stained glass is that of over-design, of the piece feeling contrived, or worse, kitchy.  Too often I encounter stained glass windows that have the subtlety of a brick to the head.   If my design lacked symbolic impact, it meant the viewer would be given the opportunity to fill in the blanks with color, line, and best, with imagination.  But to satisfy the committee, I had to give up at least a little of that.  The design couldn’t just suggest a botanical form; it had to represent a tree in all its glorious symbolism.  And more than that, the design had to accommodate the addition of water.  I had no choice but to take this as a new challenge: to blend my aesthetic with a more direct representation.  I tried not to fret over it.  I know how my state of mind can seep into the finished product.  While I may not always feel relaxed and balanced when I work, at the very least I want the work to reflect my desired state of mind.  

So, pencil in hand, I approached the blank paper for round two with a sense of curiosity and play. 

I’m most pleased with the canopy.  No chalice here! 

To create a sense of “verdant abundance” the builder spoke of, rather than complicate things by adding more leaves, I made them full and voluptuous, almost like fruit or buds.  I also varied their sizes, which I think inspires the eye to roam the flow of lines.  It’s that roaming along shapes and color I hope will serve as meditation, even more than the symbolism.

In most images depicting the Tree of Life the roots are a vital part of the overall design.  Not true in this draft.  With a more detailed root system the drawing became too busy.  After rubbing my eraser to a nub, I finally left three visible roots.  I’m not real happy about how it looks.  This area still needs some thought — or needs to be redrawn quickly, without too much thought.  I’ll experiment when I begin to cut the glass.  That should help determine what kind of shapes I want to use here.

I’m quite satisfied with how the bend in the stream works off the trunk’s curve to make a figure 8, the symbol of infinity.  I didn’t plan this, it just came about as I drew it.  Once I realized it, I worked the lines to enhance it.  The trunk could be bulked up.  You can just see a pencil line where I tried to do this. I’m a little concerned about the stream.  I think it looks too darn cliche.   But face it, it’s a tree by a stream in stained glass!  Cliches abound!  I remind myself that I’m helping create an important refuge in the hospital — no one will be as critical of the end results as I will.  I’m also working under some very specific parameters, including the unfortunate display in a light box.   But more on that later.  

 

Quick Bread Recipe – step by step especially for Mom

What’s not to love?

Never mind all the hoo-ha over carbohydrates, I’ve been baking quick breads for years, and unless you spend your day at the T.V. or in front of computer (ahem) there should be no problem incorporating my delicious carbo-rich loaf into your diet.  

A fresh homemade loaf of sweet bread is perfect as a thank you token for a favor received, a last minute holiday or birthday treat, a house warming gift, great for pot-lucks or a get-well-soon happy.  When I’m traveling I freeze slices in ziploc bags and remove them just as I’m out the door.  That helps with the squish factor on the bus or plane.

This recipe is forgiving and easily adaptable.  You can substitute flours, add various fruits and nuts, and basically tweak the recipe to your tastes.  The only thing I haven’t experimented with are the amounts of baking soda and powder.  The quantities work even as I vary the other ingredients, so I stick with them.

Here’s the basic recipe:

1 1/2 C all purpose flour  You may also use 3/4 c all purpose plus 3/4 c whole wheat.  

If you’re avoiding wheat, spelt flour can be substituted in the same ratio.  In some speciality stores you can find whole grain spelt, which I prefer for its higher protein content and wonderful nutty flavor.  Keep in mind that whole grain flours absorb moisture.  If you use them, you will likely need to add about a 1/4 c of a wet ingredient – extra egg, milk or fruit will usually do the trick.  Experiment with ratios of these to find your preferred tastes.

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. salt

dash of nutmeg or cinnamon or both

___________________________

2 large eggs

1 heaping C fruit (mashed bananas, canned squash or pumpkin, grated zuchinni — or a mix of any of these.  Banana and squash together is sublime.  In the fall I use fresh Delicata squash.  Just slice it down the center and bake in the oven.  One medium-sized Delicata will usually suffice.  The flavor lives up to its name.)

1/2 C honey 

1/2 C canola or other mild-flavored oil

Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes.

Fresh ingredients make for a healthier, tastier bread.  Buy local!

Mix the dry ingredients separately from the wet.  Fold them together just until the batter is formed.  

A gentle hand when mixing makes for a tender loaf.

If you’re like Blue Bicicletta and are harvesting your first zucchini, this would be a perfect way to use up some of your pickings.  Keep in mind that zucchini’s already subtle flavor pretty much disappears when baked, so you may want to bump up the spices in the recipe.  

Try using a portion of whole wheat flour or wheat germ in the mix.  You’ll need to add an extra egg, a little yogurt or more fruit, as those hearty grains soak up liquid. 

For this pumpkin bread I used 1C whole wheat flour + 1/2C white + 1/4C wheat germ.  I added one extra egg and a dollop of homemade yogurt to give the loaf more moisture to balance the whole grains.  Experiment!

The batter is thick but should pour easily.

Use a standard 9″ baking pan or muffin tin.

Time for breakfast!

 

Tree of Life ~ pt. 2

“It looks like a chalice,” the chaplain said. 

Tree?  Chalice?

We studied the drawing tacked to the wall.  A chalice?  It hadn’t occurred to me.  ”Not surprising you would find that,” I said, “considering your profession.”

“Everyone on the committee thought so,” he added.  

The chaplain and I were in my studio waiting for the other committee members to arrive.  I was thrilled at the news that my proposal had been chosen, but the real work was just beginning.  This would be my first public art piece, my first experience working with a committee, each member with their own ideas and interpretations of my design.  Like the chalice.  I would’ve never seen it had the chaplain not brought it up.  

“We can’t have a symbol so religious.  This design has to be as inclusive as possible.”

The project manager and art consultant arrived and together we discussed the chaplain’s concern.  I didn’t think the reference to a chalice was a bad thing, but I told them it could be easily fixed.   “I could add a few extra lines in the canopy or change the shape of the trunk.”

“In the watercolor there was yellow in the background,” the chaplain continued.  ”A lot of yellow. And nothing else.”

Ouch!  He was right!

“I hadn’t really had a chance to consider how I might develop the background, and I want to do that.”

“There’s a stained glass window in the hospital chapel, you should see it.   It has a circle representing the moon and sun together.  A very powerful, ancient symbol.  There’s a bridge over a stream.  A rainbow too, something that speaks to many viewers as symbols of hope.”

Rainbows?  I thought.  Please, no rainbows!

“The chaplain has a point,” the project manager said.  ”We really need to have the sense of hope.  I think of the sun pouring through the leaves.  It doesn’t have to be a literal sun, but a feeling.”

I led them to my light table where I’d lined glass samples in the palette I’d hoped to use.   The way glass comes alive in light is a marvel.  Colored glass, particularly mouthblown glass, has a purity and brilliance of color unmatched by paint or photography.  Its impact goes beyond any literal context or symbolism.  I’d kept my lines simple precisely because I wanted to draw attention to glass through my design, and not the opposite.  It was hard to express that at the time.  I’d hoped the glass would be allowed to do its magic on the psyche without the need for so many literal references.  They agreed the colors would work but that the design needed more symbolic relevance.  This seemed especially vital to the chaplain, which was understandable.  Of all those committee members present, he would be most involved with those who used the room where the window would be displayed.  

“Water is an important symbol,” he said.  ”I’d like to see water.”

Water? I thought.  That means blue.  

The art consultant scribbled notes.  ”I’ll need to document this.”

True collaboration means it’s no longer my single vision, it’s our vision.  They wanted water, and I would have to find a way to include it so that it fit with the rest of my design.   I rifled through old photographs of earlier windows I’d done depicting water.

“This looks more like the ocean,” the project manager said, sorting through the photographs.  ”If I’m a parent whose child is in the neo-natal care unit, it might make me feel like I’m drowning.  It should be calmer.  ’He leadeth me beside still waters.’  That’s what I think of.”

 ”The twenty-third psalm,” the chaplain nodded.  ”A cleansing water.”   

“Right,” I said, wondering how I might render cleansing lines.

“And leaves,” the project manager said, “I like the use of green.  Bright green, like this,” he said, pointing to a citron piece of glass used in a piece that hung in my studio window.  ”This color gives the feeling of a verdant abundance.   Of growth and renewal.”  

Sexy lines. . .

“These lines,” he said, “I could look at them all day.  They feel meditative.  That’s why we chose you.  We just want you to put that same treatment into more symbols.” 

“Right.  I can do that.”  I tried to sound confident.  Actually, I wondered how I might do that without the result looking about as original as a paint-by-numbers landscape.  But this was a good reference.  My Tree of Life didn’t have the same flow of lines.  In this windows, the full leaves and movement added to the verdant quality.  That seemed a significant detail.  I would need to remember it for my second draft.   

We ended the meeting with pleasantries.  I reassured them of my willingness incorporate the ideas we discussed into the design.  We shook hands and they filed out.  The art consultant lingered a moment at the door.  ”It’s a lot of information, but we like your aesthetic.  Just stay with that.”

“Thanks.  I’m sure I can come up with something that everyone will approve of.”  I wasn’t lying exactly, just wishfully thinking out loud.