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I received gifts this week. I sent some as well. The egg tempera painting of the shearer’s kitchen went back to Australia to the woman who had a childhood there. I gave some of these sticks that I bought from an artist in Australia to members of my art group. There are more in my collection that she had given me many years earlier and are tucked into a corner on a shelf with even more gifts of extraordinarily woven forms that were simply given to me by a student in Australia.

One of the members of the art group brought this amazing clay bottle he had formed and wanted me to have. I love this bottle. It is large enough to hold a full bottle of wine and it feels wonderful in my hand as I tip it toward the glass. It sits well on the counter where we serve guests.

Also this week a package came from another student in Australia. It is a book she made from her own handmade papers. That alone is very generous of her. I don’t think I could part with paper I made after all the work to get it to even look like paper. But she did and then called the book she made for me “Sandy’s Bible” because of a binding I taught her that hides how it was done and leaves a nice flapped edge like the old Gideon Bibles given out in school parking lots by somewhat misguided elderly believers.

It is a generous gift, like the bottle above is.

I gave a book away recently simply because I was so excited about how it felt when I was working on it. The pages felt like cloth and fit perfectly with my idea of doing a book about mending. The spine had a darning pattern over the long stitches and you needed to hold it in both hands because it just felt so good. So I took it with me and invited people to just hold it and asked, “What do you think? Isn’t it lovely?” And someone said, “Oh, yes.” and smiled just so. I told her she could have it as soon as I finished it. Just give me her address so I could send it to someone who responded with all the enthusiasm that I felt for the book. She owns it and I made myself another.

On the subject of students and books, below are images of what I call my Evidence of Learning book. It was made from papers tossed out in workshops at John C Campbell Folk School. The pages are the table cover papers that the students saw no value in once they drew and made notes on. I turned them into folios and made lines and copied images from the catalog on them. Some I gessoed and tea stained. All were bound together and wrapped with a cord and a small wood carving bought in the craft shop. It is filled with class descriptions, notes and evaluations from every class I have taken or taught since at the folk school. I opened it to teach last week’s class and it now has haiku poetry in it for the first time. One student wrote a poem a day on the board. His gift to all of us.

 

I am home from Australia and well into planning another trip next February. My New Zealand flax basket is now hung with the others and in time like them will turn a pale straw color. When I am with the basket makers of Australia I sit and quietly weave these pieces. It only takes two long flax leaves and a needle to strip them into course hair-like strands. Then cross several at right angles over several more near their centers. And with one folded strand begin the twining action that will hold them all in place. Flair and separate the bundles until there is only one to twine around each time. Add more if you want the basket bigger, Keep the open spacing as even as possible and enjoy the rhythm of the weave.

I am making watercolors from these beautiful colors of Australia. After this trip there will likely be close to two hundred recorded memories via color. These are near Bacchus Marsh in Victoria and when I use them later in my studio I will think of the basketmakers who shared this area with me.

I have noticed that in all the sketchbooks made for documenting my experiences and impressions of being here in Australia, almost every single one begins with a drawing of an Eucalyptus leaf.  To me it is the quintessential embodiment of the land down under. And they are so accessible. They are everywhere in all sizes and shapes. Those graceful lines that curve gently downward from such delicate stems that seem too thin to support them. Their colors range from the most dusty of grey greens to the palest of rose through all the shades of yellow ochres.

Some like these will have tiny dark spots ad some have perfect little round holes that pierce through the tough waxen leaf along either side of its center vein or on an edge looking like some small creature took a bite and said, “No, not this one.”

I would be happy doing nothing but spending my five weeks here just trying to capture their grace on the page. But there are students to meet and stories to hear and wine to drink. I will show you more drawings as I turn the pages and record the special things with pencil, brush and watercolors made from the land of here.