Random acts of leafing

I start my new job in a week - until then, I seem to keep stumbling into people and projects.

This week, goldleafing for the iconographer I worked for years ago.

I forgot how enjoyable (but tiring) goldleafing can be.

And how much fun it is to come home with gold on my forehead.


You swipe the brush across your forehead before you grab the leaf - the oils are just adhesive enough to allow for secure transport of gold from book to canvas (or wood, as the current case requires).

Deaccessioning

From the Wikipedia Entry:

Deaccessioning, the process of disposing, selling or trading objects from a museum collection, is not undertaken lightly in most museums. There are ethical issues to consider since many donors of objects typically expect the museum to care for them in perpetuity. Deaccessioning of an object in a collection may be appropriate if a museum has more than one example of that object and if the object is being transferred to another museum. It may also be appropriate if an object is badly deteriorated or threatening other objects.

Over the years I've collected a lot of Things.
Things that had meaning.
Things I gave meaning.
Things whose meaning changed.

Over the years, especially since the fire and my father's illness, Things have shifted to the extreme ends of the meaning continuum. They either mean everything (Things my father made) or nothing (Things that staged the environment in which I wanted to live.)

So I have been slowly, but regularly, deaccessioning Things.

Today I parted with a clock I purchased at an art auction. I always wanted a piece by this artist; he lives down the street and has a wonderful eye, subtle wit and national reputation.

But I have a small apartment and the neon is overwhelming when its on - and it should be on.

So I donated it to another art auction, and found out a friend wanted it, so I delivered it to him today, and he's writing the check out to the nonprofit I donated to.

So deaccessioning for the good of others - AND this piece has now raised money for two local nonprofits.

This Thing has a new life now.
And that makes me very happy.

New art!!!

Friday night I went to see the live action Oscar shorts at the Cedar Lee.
On my way back to the car, I stopped into HeightsArts where I found THIS...



Love Love Love this.
Love it.

In 2002 I was doing an internship in the conservation lab at the art museum and they were just accessioning this piece by the same artist, Brent Kee Young - from his fossil series.

Now, I've searched a bit and realized I am not currently of the budget to purchase one of those, but my piece... it was a splurge, but I feel I have now checked off each of the local artists I wanted represented in my collection.

Curse of the magpie

I steal things.

A turn of phrase, a scarf knot, a haircut, a color combination for a knitted project.

I put them together in my own way, but I'm simply a thieving, stealing, collecting magpie.

I used to feel bad about it and then a designer I worked for told me this...

"Good artists borrow, but great artists steal."

I learned the strength of visual cues and came to love the stories they could tell.

Switch gears to art-making. When it comes to art, I have very little profundity to share. I have ideas and concepts - I like to find elaborate metaphors for situations - but as for earth-shattering artistic concepts...
nothing.
Zilch.
Nada.

So when I make something, it's often variation on theme - or an outright copy.
And this troubles me.
And it troubles me that it troubles me.

In music, the variation on a theme is it's own legitimate work:
Vaughn William's Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis; or
Brahm's Variation on a Theme by Paganini.

Even in art, there are variations on canonical images.
The Spinario, The Annunciation or the Three Graces (second link is NSFW).

But for some reason, I have difficulty gracefully accepting compliments when I make something that is based on something else. There's this deeply seeded feeling that a copy can be made by anyone and it's only the original that has any worth.

Of course, in the process of creating this post, I see how silly that is - new ideas come from revisiting old ones. One artist posed the Graces based on something he read in a story, and that pose became the anchor of all other works that reference them.
What if a different pose was chosen?

You stand on the shoulders of those who went before - keep the strengths and find opportunities to change the elements where you can: color, medium, size.

It's a struggle for me to accept that even unoriginal is original - but in the meantime, this magpie will keep gathering beautiful, meaningful bits that together create a totally original nest.

Inheritence

I spent the day at my grandmother's and came home with a box of whimsical, charming early twentieth century fabric love.

I always knew there was a seamstress and a quilter in the family, but I never who, when or where.

During the depression, my grandmother and her mother lived with the previous generation - the seamstress and the quilter. My great great grandmother, Ella Armstrong Coon made quilts from the fabric scraps left over from Clara's (her sister) work making clothes.

Clara started this quilt in the 20s, my great grandmother worked on it in the late 40s, my grandmother has worked on it on and off and I'm bound to finish it...










When she gave me the remainder of the fabric, it came from a box filled with other piecework...

Most were done by Clara, but we think these two were done by Ella, who would see something in a magazine and do it, just to see if she could.

Each piece is hand-stitched and many were done in the evening by kerosene lamp - grandma told she remembered sitting by the radio in the evening with them and working on quilt tops.








Other pieces weren't as well stitched, but the color play is amazing and the fabric itself is beautiful.



In the box were pieces that were almost complete...



and pieces waiting to be put together.



We have about 20 of the above pattern - and I think I'm going to hand-wash each one and mount it on padded muslin that can be framed - with the story about where these pieces came from for each of the descendants of these women.

We number about 20 - so I think there is more than enough of these brilliant pieces to shared.

Start a revolution!

Ok kids, we're going to turn this city around.

It won't be easy.

There's alot of baggage, dead weight and pessimists who tell you it can't be done.
But it can be done and it's up to us to do it.

Yoke up my friends, we have work to do.

A week ago I sent out an invitation to specific group in a specific sector to come see a rehearsal - free.

We reached out because we all want the same thing for the city. Life, vibrancy, things to do, people to see and the energy that's created from shared experiences.

I got, like, 2 replies.

TWO.

So I reached out to the person who gave me the list and said "Help!"

First, a blog post...
Then, a Twitter...
Then, an email to a far larger group.

Today... today my brothers and sisters, I waded through over 100 emails, I fielded 20+ calls.

All because of personal contact from 1 (ONE) well-connected person.

It's time for each of us to look at our rolodexes, reconnect and advocate for the good that's happening all around us.

Are you a fan of modern art? Make your friends go to SPACES next weekend.
Like traditional theater? Organize an outing to the Playhouse.
Opera? Come see Hansel & Gretel at the State Theater.

If we don't start sharing what we love with our personal networks those things are going to GO AWAY.

Thanks to one person opening their rolodex, I now have 110 people coming to an event I thought would yield 25... if I was lucky.

And of those 110, I guess 75 will show, 25 will love it, and 10 will become supporters.

Those other 100... well, they got a personal email, or time on the phone, and they now know of one more fun and fabulous thing happening in Cleveland... and that's enough for me.

Free Hugs on Coventry

Today we went to the Inn on Coventry after UU services.

Outside the restaurant were two people with "Free Hugs" signs.

A while back, someone directed me to a video that showed Juan Mann in 2006.



There wasn't quite the crowd, but as in the video, once one or two people did it, more people took part.

I don't know if they're still out there, but go ahead and get a free hug from whomever is closest right now.

I mean, come one, they're FREE.

Sculpture Garden

One of my favorite things on Kelleys Island is Charles Herndon's sculpture garden.  It's located on the east side of the island, south of the airport - hidden waaaay back there.  

I became acquainted with his work when I was doing a project for the Natural History Museum that featured works created from glacial erratics.



He had a number of female nudes that appeared to be cast in concrete, and the human form is often abstracted in some of his other pieces as well.





A number of other works are large red or black abstract shapes, but I'm particularly fond of this one. I have a weakness for the quattrofoil shape.



This bell is spectacular. I can't imagine what it must weigh... The sound (when you wack the wooden ram against it) is clear and resonant and beautiful.

I like to think that someday, when I have a garden that's my own, I'll fill it with art as well.

Vacation Project (Part I)

So last week was my first week-long vacation in three years.
I stayed at my uncle's cabin on Kelleys Island - three days alone and the rest of the week with my parents since dad starts chemo in a week.

Nineteen years ago, he was into basket-making, and got charmed by Nantucket Lightship Baskets.
He made his first baskets while on vacation at the cabin, and I told him I wanted to learn how (on an island - it only seemed natural).

We started the weekend before I left, ordering supplies, digging out the molds and making the bottoms and ears.

Making the basket bottom


Before you start, you have to whittle down the ribs... he remembered that last time he built a jig and did it on an electric sander... this time all hand done.

Shaping the ribs


So here are the finished ribs, in one of his original baskets, with the mold in the background.



Once the tips are shaped, you soak them and place in a groove in the bottom. We kind of free-handed this, but it turned out well. Then you have to secure the bottom and ribs to the mold... very nitsy work.

Ribs secured to mold


Finally, you have to bend the ribs (while keeping them wet... and evenly spaced... and in the groove) and secure with a band to let them dry to the shape of the mold.

Molding the ribs


More in the next post, Blogger seems to have a photo limit...

Vacation Project (Part II)

So where were we?

Baskets. Yes.

So we started weaving the basket.
Again, nitsy work.
You have to whittle down the end and get it secured in the groove with the ribs... lots of detailed, swear-inducing work (at least for my dad).

The first couple of rows are tense, trying to get them woven tightly, making sure the ribs stay in the groove, keeping the damn thing damp and working with a 36" piece of cane that tends to twist and break.

Starting to weave


Weaving went fairly quickly, he'd weave while I went swimming or for a bike ride, I'd weave while he read or took a nap. It was done before we knew it!

Almost done


We got it off the mold and attached the rim to keep its shape. And then...

TRAGEDY!

The next morning my father picked up the dry basket and POP - the bottom fell out!



My theory is that the ribs got loose around the mold, so we were weaving the whole thing 1/4" larger, which was fine when the basket was wet and the wood was expanded (I'm really stifling the urge to make a shrinkage joke here - come on! WET WOOD GETS LARGER??? Who can resist!)

Anyway, when the wood dried, the rim, approximately 1/4" larger than the mold, pulled the ribs out of the groove.

My solution (after rending my clothes and gnashing my teeth) was to create a new bottom, about 1/4" LARGER and instead of a groove, split that thing in two, put it in place and glue it together.

I'll let you know how it turns out.

Obviously an obsession

I can't put this goddamned yarn down.
It's completely charmed me.

I decided on a cowl, so I could wear it inside and out come fall and winter.
Then I tried a rib, and loved how it striped.
So I frogged it.
And tried a chevron pattern that would highlight it even more.
(I'm aestheically greedy)

It deserves better lighting, but here's where I left it tonight.



Totally, completely addicted to handspun...


I even splurged on another skein.

Order up!

I got my yarn! I got my yarn! I got my yarn!
And its BEAUTIFUL.

A heaping helping of handspun yarny goodness from Nessie Knits.



Close up (because you can't help but want to bury your face in it).



And she sent a sample for playing, too!



I feel so much better now.

Yarn makes it all better

I had kind of a crap ass morning.
I won't go into details, but it involved tears and hiccups.
To recover, I went to Ravelry to peruse the joys of handmade and found myself staring straight into the most delicious window of yummy yarny goodness.

I never understood the propensity of knitters to call yarn "yummy," but when I saw her colors and names (she had one called Disco Barbie!) "yummy" was the only word that sufficed.

It's like when I describe Lush stores... "it's like a cheese shop - except the cheese is candy and candy is soap."

It's like that - only yarnier.

Weekend Bounty: What I found at Cain Park

After the Market, I met up with a friend to go to the Cain Park Arts Festival.

I haven't been in a couple of years, and I was glad to return.
There were over a 120 artists this year, most with something beautiful I could see finding a home with me.
Because I'm on a budget, I limited myself to the cash on hand for purchases.

Feeling frugal, I stuck to practical art - ceramics especially.

I love a good bowl, even more so, a good kitchen implement.

Three lovely bowls.


I love the purple color, and the green speckling reminds me of Araucana eggs.

These two pieces include a small colander with a handle (perfect for berries... or radishes). And something that I call "isn't-quite-a-creamer."

It's got a pouring spout, and is tall - perfect for whisking scrambled eggs or making salad dressing.
I adore the glaze - lavender pink and tealy-blue.

P the C

Parade the Circle was this weekend -
Here are some pix, click to enlarge...

Last minute building...



Bee Guy...



Recycled Fairy Princesses...



As always - kids on Steggie...



The Ghostly Freighter....



check out bakaitis.com for a more comprehensive display of images...

Here's a bit of video of the Finale...



To bed! I'm exhausted and sun-burned and a little drunk...

Enjoy!

Parade the Circle

Ok, so every year on the weekend that coincides with my birthday, there's this big celebration at University Circle that DRIVES ME CRAZY and I usually avoid like the plague.

So why does this weekend celebration of creativity, love, music and art make me want to rip my hair out?

One word.

Hippies.

Goddamned artist hippies.

If you do anything - anywhere - remotely creative, you'll find them.

I didn't begin to register them as a problem until I spent two years in Phoenix in the late 1990s. Arizona is like the final rest stop on the hippie highway that leads straight to California; quite a few stop to pee and realize they're out of gas and that the yurt would look good there in the shadow of the mighty saguaro and simply never moved on. It's the desert, and there's the draw of Native American spirituality, and drugs are plentiful and cheap.

I worked with hippies, I even lived with one and her daughter. She was an artist, living in the house she grew up in that was given to her when she became a mother.

Her daughter's father was a half Apache/half Navajo guitarist who also happened to be a heroin addict - with an inoperable brain tumor. He was a ward of the state when I met her and lived there, kicked out years ago when she learned he had spent the $10,000 they saved for after the baby in a short time on drugs... and guitars.

I moved in when The Little was almost three - it was fun. We had a pool and made art and generally enjoyed life. Because she had been there all her life, she was an anchor in the artist community - meaning that there were always weird sculptures in the backyard or bands practicing in the garage.

I liked her structure (thanks mostly to the needs of The Little) and we worked together, so we kept a similar schedule and had mutual friends.

But I learned quickly that hippies don't like schedules... or checking accounts... or logic. Which is why they are HIPPIES.

She kept her money in a black cat shaped candle holder called "Cat Head" because years prior she had late fees on a bank account and refused to pay, so she couldn't get another account. Cat Head worked for her because Cat Head never said no - whereas an ATM wouldn't give her $5 if she had $14 in the bank. She often kept her daughter out late so she could hang out with her after a gig - but I don't think 3 am banana cream pie at Stucky's was the best thing for a 4 year old. And I could NEVER get her to understand that it was more wasteful to turn off the AC when it was 110 degrees than to leave it at 80 during the day.

It was a good run, my time in Phoenix, but I had to get out and return the highly-strung puritan work ethic of my people in the Eastern part of the nation.

So what does this have to do with Parade the Circle....?
Hippies.

I am an artist, but was always a highly strung, get-it-done, technique-driven artist. Which served me well when I worked in museum installation or profit-driven scenic studios. It does not, however, serve me well in an environment where we all need to feel the energy, hear the paint, taste the colors and smell the universal human experience.

I tried to do Parade once before with an artist - she would tell me what time to be there - and I would show up. To an empty tent.

After a week of not getting anything done and her telling me to come back at 10 pm because that's when the spirits toast her inner joy sandwich and spreads it with create-o-butter made from the love of art beasts, I decided to JUST GIVE UP.

So ever since I have had this tremendous chip on my shoulder about Parade - except I am prying it off and giving it a whirl with some friends from the UU.

Artists, both of them, but both professional and "into" responsibility.

So I'm trying this again - but I REFUSE to taste the colors.

Tremont evening

Two weeks ago I came home from visiting my parents and just needed a beer.
Lucky for me, I live in the perfect neighborhood for an impromptu dinner with a neighbor on a cool spring evening.

This is why I love Tremont. I didn't need to schedule anything, move my car or get one of those buzzing pucks you get when you wait for a table at Olive-Lobster-Apple-TGIFrozenFood-igans.

St. John Cantius from a porch.



Radke Mural at on SouthSide patio (actually on Fairfield Market)



I used to work with a local iconographer - Eikona Studios - I saw the light was on and we stopped in to say hello.



Works in progress (I really miss the work - trying to see if I can come back to do some gold leafing...)



Overall a good night - a quiet night.
Sometimes it's hard to live in a neighborhood that's a destination, but that Sunday night, I remembered exactly why I've been here for almost a decade.

Ick factor: HIGH

An exhibit at MoMA is exploring the intersections of art and science - one of the exhibits - a "living" and growing collection of mouse stem cells fashioned into a teeny coat - was growing too quickly and had begun clogging the incubator.

The curator decided to pull the plug - NYT article here.

I don't know how I feel about this, but if art is meant to provoke thought and reaction - they have certainly succeeded.

What's uncomfortable for me regarding this and with other similar projects (Alba the glow in the dark bunny) is the intent.
And I wonder if that's really a logical thought process.
Because my mind immediately did this when I read the article:

Experimental processes + life forms ------> Scientific breakthrough = Good
Experimental process + life forms --------> Artistic statement = Questionable

Does that mean that I think a negative outcome caused by experimental processes is less heinous if it was in the name of science than in the name of art - because I think that's what creating the high ick factor for me - the potential negative outcome.

So do I think that scientific innovation is more worthwhile than artistic innovation...? Do I think artistic innovation is for sport as opposed to true learning...?

Hmmm....

Another doodle

I don't remember if I've posted this or not - but I always loved this map of life given to me about 10 years ago.

National Doodle Day

According to the good ladies at Go Fug Yourself last Thursday was USA National Doodle Day.

That said, a doodle from my notebook...



I guess I was feeling Matisse-y that day.