You Will Not Be Surprised...

...if I tell you that I spent no little time today pulling out all the cards and envelopes from the trash. I just couldn't go through with it, dear and gentle reader. Perfectly good cards, which I shall now add to my stash awaiting the day of Sitting Down To Create Collage.

Moleskine -- and Jane's addiction

Jane's addiction--small 'a', people--is my addiction. I love Moleskines. I can't not fondle them wherever they're displayed. I lust after each and every one of them, and I own three, THREE, three of my very own.
The one on the left is a cunning little accordian file, just the right size for--whatever is 3-ish x 5-ish.
I've used it over the years to carry with me whatever stuff I might need, but don't know when. Like a credit card for Robinsons-May, a department store which no longer exists. And my Express card, a reminder of the days when I could wear those clothes. And my Women's Shoe Club benefits card from Bloomingdale's, last used on 4/29/98. As I said, I've used it over the years...

The one on the top is a vertical lined notebook. See.

And the one on the bottom is a sketchbook, in which I--sketch. Until today, I thought I was alone in this addiction. No one else I know even thinks of Moleskines, and if they do, it's probably only to say--what for? But today I was idly browsing my Google reader and came across this post from Communicatrix on getting stuff done. I believe she put it rather more creatively than that, but suffice to say, I'm a sucker for any kind of organizational information. I firmly believe that all that is standing between me and great success at whatever is the correct organizational mode. So I read her post, and then there at the end, she had a photo of a Moleskine. Eureka! I followed the link and learned there's a whole world of Moleskine-lovers out there. Flickr even has a category for them! And oh what riches following that link produced.

I feel as if I've found My People.

Calling All Tattoo Artists!

I wanna get a tattoo--on my finger. Third finger, left hand: to cover the indentation left by twenty years of wearing a wedding ring. I hate anything cute...no flowers or bugs either. Get creative, get artsy, get weird and wild. Surprise me!

I Think I'm Feeling Better...

I don't know why, but I am. Last night I had a major dream in which many of the greatest disappointments in my life were revisited and revised. My ex-husband Hamish did not marry a woman named Megan, which was the name we were going to give to our first born. My mentor in the PhD program revealed that the reason I wasn't too popular among certain faculty was not that I was mouthy, but that my ideas were so incredibly advanced, they were in awe. I really did dream both these things.

I did not dream, but did realize in my early morning meditation (would Buddha say it counted if said meditation took place lying flat in bed and sometimes resulted in returning to sleep?) that my clothespin magnets, albeit "colorful" as my cousin said, are also emblematic of what ails me. Which is: the urge to keep the products of my creativity neat and controlled. Small. Within the lines. Showing no signs of the fucking chaos that reigns within.

I must somehow break out of myself. I'm just not sure how to effect it.

Clothespins

Remember those clothespins I told you about? They're now magnets. To hold stuff. The top and bottom cleverly say MAIL. The middle one is pure design.

As Promised: The Green

I am a person of my word. When I say I'll do something, I do it. Sometimes. And sometimes not. But in this case, I'm making good on my promise to give you Post, The Second. Subtitled The Green.

No, I'm not going to go off on the greening of American mass culture. Although I certainly could. As you well know. Rather, what I'm referring to are my evolving plans for this business I've been dreaming up, on which I've been spending much mental time doing research and development.

Here, and as they say on Dancing With The Stars, "in no particular order" are my ideas: I'm referring to what I want to sell as Eco Arts & Crafts. That is, all manner of hand-made objects that have as a significant part of their materials stuff that has been around the block before. Repurposed, recycled, found objects. Clothing, jewelry, gifts, and objets d'art. Bags made from old sweaters, necklaces strung of antique findings and watchmakers tools. Collages and collections that use the old and the new to create meaning out of discarded whatevers.

Yes, this is maddenly vague, and sure, I know that whatevers is not a proper noun. When I can articulate what is swirling around in my mind, then I'll be ready to begin. You'll just have to bear with me until then. Or not.

Crafting 365 - Day1

I joined this group on Flickr a couple of weeks ago. The mere act of joining caused me to hyperventilate. A craft a day? Even a bit of a craft a day! Holy moly--that's scary.

Now, here's me doing that Hollywood actress thing and saying--I must do what scares me. (Don't you just love when someone beautiful and famous says that about taking a role where she has to be ugly.) Actually I would say--I must do that which scares me, because the other construction is a bit like chalk on a blackboard to me. So--have I talked long enough that you forget what I'm doing here? No?

Then allow me to present my first entry in Crafting 365--oh, jesus, I'm gasping again............


This is a notebook cover that I needle-felted. The base is gray craft felt and the design (?) is done with three different shades of roving, plus bits of yarn from my stash. You're looking at it sideways because I didn't turn the photo around. Because...because...

Can I please go and breathe now??????

My New Life, by Jane

So I'm cogitating, planning, and cooking up my new life. Eureka! At last I have an ambition. I have been without same for ages and this, my friends, is what has made me such a woeful little lump. But now, now I know what I want to do, what I was meant to do, what I'm going to do.

It came to me in a flash yesterday afternoon and by bedtime, the whole thing was mapped out in my head. Like it was just waiting in there, ready to come out when the gates opened. Of course, it is something I've been wanting to do since, oh, the early 80s. Something I planned to do if we moved to Central California. Something I intended to do someday when....

I first got the idea (nb: do you think I don't know you don't know what I'm talking about? Ha! Patience, kiddies; it's a virtue, you know) when I walked into a yarn shop in Brentwood. I don't even remember the name of it, but it was a house with three rooms, one of which at least had a fire going in the fireplace. As I recall, but this may be my imagination (or future planning), each room was devoted to a different yarn-related craft: knitting, needlepoint, crewel and crossstitch. I think there was a dog in there somewhere, and the whole place just struck me as the most wonderful way to spend my life. I've held that vision for some 25 years.

When we were looking to move to Visalia in the Central Valley, my plan was to take that concept and open a gift/craft shop. I even looked at real estate there, but we decided not to move then, so I put the shop back in my dreams where it had lived for so long before.

Segue to current moment...yesterday, in fact, after a conversation with D in which he mentioned that he had seen a nice little shop somewhere in that state in which he is still wandering. We used to have a shop ourselves, in Pine Grove, a melange of antiques and collectibles that we took over from his brother and his wife. We called it The Junkman, and it was moderately successful --for two people living on social security. Which we weren't, so we took our junk and went on the road, and that was the end of the shop. But I remember it with great fondness. It wasn't my fantasy, but the lifestyle suited me. So when D told me about the shop he had seen, I said, truthfully, "that sounds appealing." And when I got off the phone, I felt so sad that I would not be a part of this shop. Bereft, you might say. And thinking, why does he get all the fun...

And then I thought, why, indeed? The answer came to me instantly: because he's doing it. He's doing the research and making the plans and acting. So, what's to stop me from doing that, was my very next thought. And again the instant answer: nothing. Nothing's stopping me. So I pulled that dream shop out of the back of my mind, where it's obviously been sitting and growing, and started making plans.

It's evolved somewhat from my original vision, but the gestalt of it has not: a place where people who love things that are original works of art, be they knitted or paper or glass or bead, can come to buy them and/or learn to make them and/or just drink cofffee, eat homebaked cookies, and hang out. I think I'm going to call it Jane's Place. Or maybe I (or you) will think of something more catchy.

I am, as the kids would say, so stoked. Do they still say that????

How I am and am not laboring...

First, a photo: This is Molly and her niece*, K. K is not riding her aunt; she is guiding her gently down the street via her leash. K does this incredibly well, especially considering she is only 4. But then she does most things very well, including--are you ready for this!--flossing her teeth. I couldn't believe it. My niece and nephew barely brush and K flosses! Wow! This is a testimony to her daddy who is a bit of a tooth care warden.
[*Quiz: what is my relation to K?]

We went to the beach--Molly got her feet wet. She is not a water dog, despite being half poodle. We sat in the sun. We collected shells. We did not get burnt because we were careful with sunscreen. Except for the tops of our feet. However, the Sacramento sunshine has already done it's job on this aging person. I have never been this brown before. I am freckled and age-spotted and--what the hell--my boobs have dropped too. Ah youth--would I have you back? Nope. No way.

Today I am laboring: varnishing clothespins. Yes, you read that right. I am creating, dollinks, and when done shall show all of you, not to mention the world of Etsy, the fruit of my labors..

If You're Lucky, You May Get This For Christmas...

...or even if you're not. It's my latest foray into felting, this time Dry-Felting, nay, Needle-Felting. Bet you didn't know there are so many different kinds of felting. Bet some of you don't even know what felting is...poor schmucks.

When I was a kid, my older cousin Ernest (who fit his name quite well) was given a kit for making enameled jewelry. There were various pieces of copper onto which Ernie placed--I don't know, what would it be, glass shards? powdered glass? He then fired it up in his little kiln. And toute suite, out came a piece of jewelry. Which he gave as gifts to everyone in the family, cousins, aunts, uncles, you name it. The first time, it was quite a treat. Ooooh Ernie, so beautiful, thank you so much. By the third and fourth and fifth and sixth holiday season, we were groaning when we saw him lumbering up the front walk, hauling a bulky bag of oddly-wrapped gifts, like some moon-faced, Jewish Santa visiting the shetl. Oooo Ernie, you shouldn't have.....

I will try not to be an Ernie with my felting, but I am sooooooo in love with the process. And you know how few are my pleasures these days....

Camp Knitque for Girl Crafters....

This is what I did on my summer vacation. Well, on Saturday, actually. Under the pine trees in Elk Grove, I learned to dry felt (or was it wet felt?), which sounds like something I might have done in junior high, but certainly not now that I'm a lady all growed up.

It's a scarf, in case you can't tell. It's roving on silk chiffon with strands of a novelty yarn sandwiched in. I'm not sure whether I'd wear it, but I sure loved making it.

Dream Interpretation 101

For the past several nights, I've had dreams in which food was an issue. Not the main issue, not the star of the A story line, but a B or C story line. The general scene is that I am whereever I am in the dream--last night I was in a line at a cafeteria, another night I was at a party--and there's a lot of food to be had. Food that I like, food that I've long wanted to try, food that looks tantalizingly, appetitizingly scrumptious. Mashed potatoes, real ones with butter and cream. Lobster claws and cassaroles of cassoulet. Devil's food cake with piles of marshmallowy icing. And those were just the dishes that I recognized.

When I woke up this morning, I started to wonder what was the meaning of all this food in my dreams. I didn't have to go very far to get an answer.

A table full of dishes that I like and want to try. A life full of activities that I like and want to try. Photography, drawing, knitting, collage, jewelry-making, blogging, fiction-writing...and that's just the arts end of my list.

Is this a problem?

Dreams are little whispers from our subconscious. When they repeat themselves, they become shouts. What should I be paying attention to?

Maybe the slight sense of being overwhelmed I feel at that dream table. If I'm to pick one thing to eat, what should it be?

I get that I need to pick something now. But does that mean I can't eventually eat it all?

Chicken-shit Crafter

I don't know why that title seems appropriate to this post. Maybe you can tell me.

Recently Leahpeah talked on her blog about trading crafts with others on-line. She thought it would be a cool idea: not a place to sell stuff, but to trade items of similar value. Being the Get-It-Done person that she is (as opposed to the Merely-Talk-About-It person that I am), she created the site of her imagination on Ning and invited one and all to participate. I am very good at signing on the dotted line, so I jumped right in.

And, man, is that water cold. Freezing, actually. I'm waking up in the middle of the night, agonizing over my inclusion of myself in the group. What have I made that anyone would want?

I know that sounds pathetic, but I don't mean it to be. The things I make that someone might want are, probably, knitted things. But unless someone is interested in one of the several half-finished sweaters and such that I've got going, my stock of goods is non-existent.

So what was I thinking of when Leahpeah proposed the swap? My collages. You know, the ones in my head. And the pen and ink drawings I've done, some in fact, some also in my head. The books I've planned to alter--never with cutesy angels and the like, but meaningful ones with pith and grit to them. That paper doll collage I got started on; at least her head and hair are done. And those photos I took over the weekend, the ones that I'll learn Photoshop on. Oh, also, there are two pieces of needlefelting that I've got going. I'm not sure what they are or what they should be. They seem like they could be finished, but maybe not.

Nothing I have is finished, and if it is, I wouldn't know it. I've spent years developing my writer's sensibility. I can tell you what works, writing-wise, and what doesn't and what needs to be done or not to make it work. But I have little similar experience with my so-called artistic sensibility. Consequently, I am woefully insecure when it comes to my art. If it doesn't jump off the page and say fucking fantastic, then I assume it's fucking awful.

I know the only way around this is to do stuff and put it "out there." To learn what works and what doesn't. To have a dialogue with other artists. Maybe that's what I'm actually looking for: not to trade works, but to trade critiques. Today I was reading Heather Champ's blog and came across this, where she's talking about the Meaning of Art.

To be honest, I'm not sure what it means. Even while at University working on my Studio Fine Arts degree, I was never all that concerned with what it all meant. Art is much more about process, the choices that an indiviual makes in getting from point a to b.

I have to remember that--that it's all about the process, not the product. Sounds like something to be needlepointed on a pillow...or carved on a potato...or tattooed on my arm.

Photo Shop Light

The thing about being a dilettante is that one must try out all sorts of activities, previously (and one might say better) left to the experts. The fact that I know nothing about a particular art form means little to me. I have that supreme parent-engendered confidence that I can do anything I want to and be really, miraculously good at it. This means that I try every and anything that catches my attention. It also means that inevitably I crash and burn and abandon said effort when--whoa! how did that happen?--the results don't look like I expected them to. Still, I have fun while I'm at it...

Currently I'm working away at photography. I bought the license for Arcsoft Photo Studio and I'm having fun playing. I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm more than willing to share with you.

Did I Not Promise You Mediocre Art?

I give you (in an order that is obvious only to me and Blogger) Exhibits A, B, & C. On the left is A, a tile on which I have done a freehand ink and colored oil pencil drawing of a row of houses. I like this just as it is. But then I think--what's the point?

So to make a point, I laid down a green wash on the small canvas board and using the same media, did a field by a stream. I kinda liked this, but it still looked unfinished. As in, again, what's the point? Clearly something was missing that would pull it all together.

The tile is a three dimensional object and stuck out on the canvas, so I decided something was needed to balance it. That's when I got the idea to do a kind of mosaic using seed beads. I had a hank of multicolored green/brown beads that seemed to me to be perfect for simulating grass. So I attempted to artfully scatter said beads on the canvas.

But not before I truly fucked up the whole thing by drawing a big yellow sun. Why did I do this? I am so not a big yellow sun type person. I think I felt for a moment that as the houses were stylized, the sun would be stylized. But it wasn't. It was just big. And yellow. And it had rays, for christ's sake. Something had to be done.

So I glued gold E-beads to the sun. I hoped this would miraculously pull the entire thing together. It did not. I still had a tile with a freehand drawing of houses stuck on a small canvas board on which were now patches of glued on beads. I fiddled with some green wire, thinking perhaps some simulated grass would do the trick, but even I knew it wouldn't.

Then I spied some fancy pale blue very thin paper in my stash. And I decided, for ill or not, that I would cover the whole canvas with this. But because I wanted the tile, which I still like, to show through, I would wet the paper in the hopes that it would go translucent on the tile and give only a glimmer of the rest of the shit I had wrought beneath. On top of it all, I stuck some of the green wire I had been playing with

My hopes, as you can see by Exhibit C, to the upper right of this post, were dashed. And here's where the analysis begins: how long should one continue working on a project that obviously isn't working? I wrestled with this for a while, before deciding that I would let the Internet decide.

When do you say, enough is enough?