Another entry in the Meadow Book.

And the basket makers of Tasmania gathered again…so I had to keep up in the Gathering Book.

Then several more illustrations for the Burke and Wills book.

Burke’s mother keeping an eye on him.

Finding a bigger house that Wills can fit into.

The new kitchen.

And a bit more work on the place they end up…the nursing home.

I now have eighteen illustrations for the book. I need to get down to writing the story in rhyme.

And then a friend emailed me to ask my input on making a book to hold samples of weavings. I liked this idea so well that I wish I had samples of my own to house in a book. It would be good for basket weave swatches, loom weavings, collage and hand pulled prints….and anything else one could think of.

So, what it involves is the making of a double concertina book…or double accordion. The small concertina fits through slits in the valley folds of the larger one and are kept from slipping out by putting a piece through its extended fold that is the width of the protruding fold and the height of the book. These slits need to be in the center and if using a thick handmade paper, may require cutting a bit more away than just a slit. Keep things snug but do not tear the slit.

This book that can be added onto by simply making more concertina folds in both sizes to extend it. And the best part is the smaller concertina and its stop piece of paper gives lots of extra thickness at the spine edge where it will be needed to make up for the added on folios with windows to hold the samples.

The windows have been cut through the folio on both sides.  Keeping in mind that the samples need to be kept clear of the smaller extended concertina with its stop sheet. The folio only  glues on by 1/4 inch to the concertina that is extended further out.

You can see above how the short concertina folds coming out in the center help give space where needed. And here is another fun part about this concertina with the stop sheet fitted in. Years ago I cut a hole in the small concertina so I could slide a hidden image or message up into view. This can also be a thicker card stock to add needed thickness. For weaving samples I am seeing both concertinas made from a nice thick handmade paper. For hand pulled prints maybe a nice thick card stock…

To keep the sample or print from dropping through, a simple fold of paper glued to the front and back insides of the folio just below the window out of sight. Additionally printed information about the weaving/print can be added in the window on the back side.

When the book has all the pages it is going to get, lay it flat on the table and measure the thickness to cut a spine piece of book board and front and back covers a smidge bigger than the height and width of the book. Make a separate cover with these three pieces and then attach it to the book using extensions off the front and back to hold it in place. These will be covered with the end papers.

I hope this has not been too boring, but I needed to share this idea somewhere.

Til later….

I no longer walk over to the gym in the early hours. Too dark to cross through the field. But driving back after the workout, it seems most inviting starting down the road to home.

This week I had a check up with my eye doctor after the zapping spots surgery last week. And then a trip to the dermatologist who struck me as having a bit more humor in him than the last time I saw him. Not so prickly. He took bits off my face and I have to go back in ten days to get the results and maybe more holes on the other side.

I asked some Australian friends to recommend books for me to read. Here is the first I will get stuck into. Takes place in Tasmania.

Another one that several were reading is this one on Orwell’s wife. Should be interesting.

This morning after the workout at the gym, I had coffee with the guys in town. Then back home for a little while before walking back to the gym for the weekly tai chi class. I am getting better but the knees complain with the weight shifting. I seem to get the aches worked out by the time I walk back home.

Then a quick lunch and up to the library for the monthly poetry meeting. There were fifteen of us there and some very good bits of writing. I am beginning to understand it all a bit better. I read this one about an old man in my town before here who inspired artwork and writing.

 

The Repairman

He arrives daily with his hair slicked back and his shoes shined.

Even his work clothes look clean and pressed

as they hang comfortably on his body.

 

With an agility that belies his advancing years,

he seems capable and ready

for any task at hand.

 

His sense of order carries over into his shop.

There is a place for everything

and everything is in its place.

 

Name or initials painted on the tools clarify his ownership

and he expects each to be returned,

not only to him, but to its place.

 

Assorted hand tools, blades, brushes and belts

hang from every available hook and nail.

All of it labeled.

 

Drawers and boxes are marked as to their contents.

Jars of nails line the shelves.

It is all here. And it is easy to find.

 

Each day his shop fills with the smells

of wood, motor oil, dust, tobacco,

and the sound of men’s voices accented with low laughs and silences.

 

Small stools of scrap wood and old milk crates

are scattered around the shop as resting places between jobs,

offered, as is his coffee, to visitors.

 

What he enjoys most is the company of men who come by with some repair work.

So he can pride himself in having all that’s needed

to get the job done.

 

There is a casualness in the shared trust between him and the others around him.

And because of this it seems that each becomes a better man

when in his company.

 

I come here often to fill a longing in myself

and to remember others like him

who I have lost along the way.

 

Here in this shop, I watch and wait for him to select

The parts needed to fix the broken.

Here I am whole.

 

When I finished they asked where or what publication would publish this piece. And before they could get very far, I told them I was not interested in that. The poem was in one of the S. Webster books and that was enough. I think they hunger for being published in papers, poetry books, anthologies, etc. None of that matters to me. Chasing after notoriety at 79 years of age seems to have little meaning for me. I can only hope they understand. They all know where my work is available and I think only one has bought one of the four books. She is the one helping me to understand how children’s books are written.

Speaking of which, I did more drawings for Burke and Wills. One of them shows more of their midlife time together….before heading off to the nursing home where the story will end.

I enjoy the illustrating more than the writing. But I will get the hang of it.

In the meantime, Dilly and Sadie are the best company.

After the brief lunch with three other artists, we have decided to meet here at my place in October to show work and talk art. I look forward to that.

Not much else new. It has been an exhausting day. I have had an early dinner and will likely fall into bed in the next two hours.

More later…

The Blue Moon through the North Carolina fog at 5 a.m. the other morning And then same time the following morning.

And following this palette of color, I took this picture of my vodka tonic with lime the other afternoon.

My drinking glasses are often these that Lee made from empty wine bottles. We found the best were Pinot Grigio from the Cupcake Wine Co. They are a thick glass and the look of melting glaciers. We would design a resist pattern to use on them after Lee slowly turned them on his wood lathe to cut at the right height we wanted. Then he had devised a way to sand the sharp edges. After cleaning them up, we put our resist patterns on them (cut out from Contact paper) and into the sand blaster they went to be sprayed with a very fine sand. Here we used a simple cube look (small squares). They are nice heavy glasses and Lee used to sell them at craft shows. And we gave several away. I love using them for tonic drinks.

This morning after laundry, shower scrubbing, sweeping and dusting….it was time for lunch. But before the sandwich, I pulled out my broccoli, cauliflower, green onions and spinach, to make this soup that is delicious cold. I cook the chopped bits in chicken broth until sort of soft. Add some crushed garlic, cumin, cayenne pepper and summer savory (I only use this in soup because I have no idea what else to do with it). Then I use my wand mixer to cream it all down with a nice portion of half and half. Add a bit of salt after tasting and put it in the fridge to get cold for dinner and a few more meals after that. Color is similar….

Walking into town in the morning for coffee, I pass this lichen-laden tree.

And because I knew my basket making friends in Australia were having a gathering, I brought out my Gathering Book which sort of represents what they all do while together. It makes me feel like I am there. Soon they will all be waking up in their own beds back home, so I want them to see my time with them in absentia.

I usually draw baskets in my studio and other bits of things I know they will be using. Then the stitching of patches with some drawing of basket materials.

Some details of those…

I often think these close ups would make great advance sketches for large paintings.

And then drawing the small feathers, buttons, pins and needles that I know are scattered about their work tables.

The second Tana French audio CD finished on the buttons page.

I also wanted to do a bit of a follow-up on the last post about the exhibit I went to see.

Back in undergraduate school my advisor made it abundantly clear that we were to stay out of galleries with prices attached to the works. He considered works with a price next to the piece was likely just “showing to sell”. He called this work, “slick”. Better to have a catalogue with artist statement and concealed price list for those pieces that were available for purchase. I like this thinking because the work can be taken at its visual value and not the monetary worth. And I think that bothered me about the work on exhibit…the pricing. That and the big issue of really thinking because of the age of the look in the photos used, I was seeing a contemporary’s work of reflections on her family history, and how she was connected to all of what I saw.  Without an artist statement of her intentions for the work and the prices prominent, I think this was maybe, just maybe, a look at what was likely done for show and sale.

Anyway, going through old artist statements of my own for various exhibits of my work, I found this from a show twenty years ago. Even then I was thinking about age coloring how I work as an artist.

ARTIST STATEMENT 

Sandy Webster

This latest body of work relates to perceptions of aging. Are we ever truly prepared for the adjustments that have to be made in our bodies and minds? How much has experience and memory clouded our ability to focus and assess with clarity our present condition? What do we hold dear …… and how do we ever learn to release ourselves with trust toward whatever lies ahead.

Most of the work relies heavily on found objects that evoke thoughts of other place and purpose, a history and age of their own. Text is used throughout as a documentation and record of the attempts to capture the small glimpses of strong feelings ….. illusive passion… re-remembered with a sense of urgency.

I am twenty years older now and really do feel this sense of urgency. I don’t collect the pieces from junk and salvage yards that helped me get the ideas across to the viewer. Most of those things were used up in earlier works. And several were buried with works that mattered in the making and exhibiting…then were over. That is one of the best things I ever did with my art….wrap in cotton, tie with raffia, shellac the bundle, and then lay it to rest. There was so much that needed that final thoughtful closure.

In moving house, I have pared down quite a bit. I have pulled back to less strenuous ways of working. I draw more. And I write. I write myself onto the page and into the imaginary lives of others who will sometimes speak for me.  It is an okay place to be.

Til later….

 

This morning I went by myself to see an exhibition at the Young Harris College art gallery not far from here. It had been recommended by friends that I see it. I had the place to myself. No one else was there. As soon as I walked in the door, I was swept up in the work. I looked all over for an artist’s statement about what I was looking at…there was none. So, left with my own imagination, I thought this was an exhibition of recollections of familial connections throughout an older woman’s life. As soon as I soaked it all up, I looked the artist up online. No, she looked to be in her thirties at most, in love with collecting materials, and an extraordinary talent with selecting and placing those materials.

So here is a fraction of the work on exhibit:

And then at the end there was this.

And behind the curtain…

I sat down in the chair and typed my secret….then took a feather.

It now is hung in my studio to remind me not only of my secret but as a reminder that I need to get busy. I need to be the old woman I took this young artist for. There seems to be a sense of urgency when I see the materials that surround me….the materials that have yet to be put into place on something that says, “Here I am as I see myself today.” I have been writing autobiographical works on paper. But I have not “built” myself in awhile.

I thought, at first, this artist was me. I saw so much in the use of stitch, found object, parts of things that had other purpose before they were collected as elements of design. Several things in common through the look of her work and remembering mine. I will say she used several old photographs, all of which I assumed were from her family’s history. I am not so sure of that now. Why would almost everything there be for sale if it was her family?

Personally, I have strong views on using old photographs of people we don’t have personal connections with. They (the photographs) are quick private glances of a moment in their lives that we should not feel free to exploit as simply another bit of material to make our work more intriguing. They never posed for that purpose, never could have guessed that their picture would be used by total strangers years later as just another interesting material placed among other old things.

Aside from all that, the exhibit is beautifully done and I am so glad friends recommended I go see it. The design and craftsmanship is near perfection. The amount of work to peer into is most plentiful and rewarding. It will be on exhibit until late September.

My heart ached when I saw this exhibit and it ached a bit more when I realized the artist was not an old woman putting her life’s connection to her own history on display. I so wanted her to be an old lady gripping needle and thread, cloth, paper and what was left of a lifetime of saving bits and pieces for a final display of a life connected to those who came before her.

And a year ago today I had just moved in…

All those boxes unpacked and their contents put where they belong. The best parts are on the walls and in here, the studio, where the most amazing thoughts occur to me. I could finish writing about a man leaving. I could plug in the second story on a disk by Tana French, I could draw and paint another image of Burke and Wills growing old together, I could go for a walk to step away from myself….But I won’t. I am going to pour a glass of wine and think about how much it matters to me that the artist was not an old lady.

Thank you for listening to this post. There really is no one else who would not have preferred I was talking about the weather.

Wine is waiting…

til later….