Blog
May 7th, 2011
Despite an overabundance of deadlines and studio hubbub lately—well, beautiful spring weather and productivity just don’t mix. Besides, a sunny Friday in the Northwest is basically a license to play hooky. So I took a day off and made my annual pilgrimage up to the Skagit Valley to catch the end of the Tulip Festival.
I’m glad I waited this year; not only did the blooms hit a late peak, but the weather was nearly flawless.
Unfortunately, that also meant I wasn’t alone. Finding a shot that didn’t include minivans, port-a-potties, cyclists in DayGlo jackets or entire families striking goofy poses was quite a challenge, and required a lot of waiting and creative cropping.
This time, however, I was interested in far more than just the tulips alone. So I cast a wider net, and found the magic absolutely everywhere I looked. Whenever I wandered away from the fields of pink and red, I seemed to have whole acres to myself.
Still, come sunset, the tourists had all gone home, and it was just me, the mountains, and a sea of blooms stretching to the horizon.
March 25th, 2011
It might officially be spring out there, but around the house, winter still has us in its grip. Both the Tailor and I have been battling a particularly nasty, über virus for weeks now, so no matter how promising the weather reports might be, my brain is just screaming at me to stay home. I’m finally on the upswing, it seems, but just to give the ol’ system an extra boost, I’m chugging citrus like there’s no tomorrow.
My favorite thing is to squeeze a big splash of lemon and orange juice into piping hot Earl Grey—this time I juiced a couple of last October’s ruby-red pomegranates (yep, they’ll keep that long!) as well, since I haven’t had a chance to pick up any of the blood oranges that are just coming into season now. I toss in a few cloves and cinnamon sticks, stir it with a goodly dollop of honey, and sip away. And suddenly I feel far less poorly … at least until my mug is empty again. Which reminds me—I think I hear the kettle whistling.
March 16th, 2011
Not long ago I stood where the ripple of a far-away tragedy would soon wash ashore—just as we will send the Pacific rippling back westward when—not if—our time comes.
We received the echo of Japan’s catastrophe like the other end of a tin-can walkie-talkie, string pulled taut. This time the waves are faint at our end of the cable, but the distress call is loud and clear.
It’s a one-way game of telephone. Operator? There is no ripple to relay back along the string. No words of comfort to speak into the mouthpiece. So we send out a beacon instead—and hope the message reaches the far shore.
On our coast, and in our hearts, we’re leaving a light on for Japan.
February 17th, 2011
After thirteen days and 2,382 miles on the road, I’m finally home in the real world again. And that’s exactly how it feels—like I’ve been in a land of make-believe for the past two weeks. A place of impossible landscapes and endless shorelines and absolutely no connection to things like phones and computers and deadlines and to-do lists.
Now that I’ve washed back ashore, however, there are photos to edit and sketches to scan before I can tell you about it. In the meantime, Jessica and I have a schedule to keep: as advertised, our next Dead Feminist broadside is back from Codex and ready to share. Look for it here and in the shop tomorrow.
See you then!
February 11th, 2011
Going A.W.O.L. from the studio can be a very good thing—especially when this is the destination.
I’m here to spend some time with these folks,
for the sake of this.
But the “work” part of my trip is done now, so I spent today up here.
And tomorrow I’m leaving for home, but I’ll be taking the long road, by way of this.
The goal is to take as much time as possible for things like these,
and for moments like this.
I promise to share when I get home and have access to a computer again. See you on the other end of the trail.
January 10th, 2011
Despite the time of year, we’ve got brilliant sunshine streaming in the windows. Judging by how well the Christmas roses are still doing, we’re not the only ones happy about it!
January 1st, 2011
This might seem a little strange, coming from me, but the New Year’s resolution at the top of my “art” category is to draw more.
I mean that I’d like to spend more time with my sketchbooks—with everything else that happened last year, there just didn’t seem to be a spare second for observing the moment and jotting it down.
The daily book was about the only thing that received any attention, and even it spent the entire year on the back-back-back burner.
I still have quite a bit of catching up to do there, though—
so that’s where I’m going to start.
It’s a daunting prospect; even just filling in half-finished sketches (maybe I should have shown you those instead!) amounts to a huge time investment, and a mountain of work.
But I’ll get there. And besides, it’s those last two blank slots on every page that interest me the most.
They stand for the future that’s unwritten, and I find I can’t imagine what could possibly complete the picture—nor could I ever have predicted what has ended up here thus far.
When I first started this project, it seemed like a painfully slow undertaking.
But now I’m surprised at how quickly the book is filling up,
and I’m anxious to find out what will fill out this page—and the next, and the next.
Well, today I flip the book back to the beginning, pencil in hand—and so I’ll find out soon enough.
Happy New Year!
December 25th, 2010
I was afraid I wasn’t going to have any holiday photos to show you—when I was in Portland the other week, my camera took a nosedive after being bumped off my shoulder in a crowded room.
Snippets from my daily journal
So I shipped the lens off to the good folks at Canon for repair, and switched to paper for awhile.
One of Maurice Sendak’s eye-candy stage sets for the Pacific NW Ballet’s Nutcracker
My favorite thing about sketchbooks is that I can take them anywhere—including places where cameras, functioning or not, are strictly verboten.
More Nutcracker scenery, plus Christmas on Pine Street in Seattle
The downside, though, is that it takes me a lot longer to draw a picture than to shoot one—so my output is always smaller than I’d like.
But then the Fedex guy showed up with my lens, good as new and just in time for Christmas.
I managed to refrain from hugging him, and then hopped around the house in manic glee, documenting the holiday the Tailor and I have spent all week creating.
(We finally broke down and bought twinkle lights for the tree; which provided the perfect inspiration for this year’s card!)
Wherever today finds you, have a warm, cozy, abundant, and very merry Christmas.
December 13th, 2010
One of the nerdy things I love most in the world is “collecting” regional nicknames for weather systems. I’ve lived in a lot of different places, and have first-hand experience with such things as the Nor’easter, the Albuquerque Low, the Alberta Clipper, and Blood Rain (which, I’ll admit, is as freaky as the name; watching rust-colored droplets fall from the sky and stain every surface—including you—is a disturbing experience).
Here we get the occasional visit from the Pineapple Express—a holiday guest from the South Pacific that overstays its welcome and eats everything in your fridge. And it thanks you with the gift of a warm bath—a gift that keeps on giving: namely, torrential rains, washed-out roads and rails, snowmelt at all but the very highest elevations, and areas of flooding which include, right at this very moment, our basement. (Not to worry; for us, at least, the rain trickles in, gathers in an interesting map of puddles, and trickles back out again when the storm subsides. And for all the well-meaning people who offer us unsolicited remodeling advice, it serves as an excellent illustration of our resolve never to have a finished basement.)
Anyway, while I concede that it made the drive more … er, interesting, the Pineapple Express served as an oddly fitting companion on my trip to Portland yesterday.
For one thing, it gave sudden and perfect context to one hilarious interpretation of a Christmas tree.
It made the bright spots glow—
and turned even the most nauseating corporate decor into a sea of color.
It got the old mental wheels turning by inviting me indoors, from a dose of crafty goodness,
to an entire museum devoted to another kind of craftiness.
And with nothing but a soggy hike waiting outside, it inspired me to take my time and have a good, long look at what I found.
It encouraged me to visit a favorite bakery—
—and warm up over a well-rounded lunch (sorry).
It gave me an excuse to duck into the best bookstore in the entire universe.
And just as daylight waned, it helped a certain somebody’s nose glow oh-so-bright.
Oh, and then, as I walked back to my car for the drive home, it made this song pop into my head. After all, paddling home in a canoe might have been a little more efficient!
December 1st, 2010
You know what? It’s pretty dark here in the winter.
No, I mean really dark. Not just a sunrise-at-eight-pitch-black-by-five dark, but a kind of silver pall that sets up a permanent residence, even at midday, and makes you forget about the sun. It’s absolutely beautiful when you’re taking a walk in the fog, or curling up with your trusty Rosie mug and a hank of yarn. Not so great when you really need a lot of natural light, though—like, say, for shooting photographs…
…or mixing paint to fill in a huge stack of glorified coloring book pages.
So between the short daylight hours and a desperate need to reserve a little personal time, work on the book has slowed from a breakneck pace to a stately, clip-clopping trot. I still have so much to show you—so much to explain—but my head needs to catch up with my hands first (or is it the other way around?). I’m going, then, to break it up into a series of posts, and take a little extra time to gather my thoughts before I start. I don’t mean to string you along; because the process required working with a kind of tunnel vision for so long, I’m only just now seeing the “finished” product myself. So thanks for your patience—and for being interested enough to stick with me.
Thank you also for the huge outpouring of support you’ve shown since I posted this thing a couple of weeks ago. The comments, links, blog features, Tweets, emails, and amazing reviews are just overwhelming. I simply can’t find the words, except—thank you.
Part of what’s taking me so long is that at the same time, I’m working on a small series (like a baker’s dozen or so) of individual prints of images from the book (exhibit A above). There’s not a whole heap of rhyme or reason as to which illustrations I’ve chosen, except that these are some of my favorites. I’ll be posting them in the shop (believe me, they’ll be a lot more affordable than the book) as I finish them.
In the meantime, it’s time to light a few more lights, and keep the dark at bay so I can see what I’m doing.
Which reminds me—Happy Hanukkah!
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