Making Handmade Paper

Thistles are blooming now, but in a few weeks, the thistle down will be ready for gathering.

Note: The winner of the T-shirt from the Madeline Island School of the Arts is BirdingBesty! Congratulations! Thanks also for leaving a comment on the poetry class blog.

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Up in the hills of Oro Valley, North of Tucson (AZ) in a purple and turquoise studio, we made paper. Handmade paper was my first real art love many years ago. I allowed myself to think like an artist. I became an artist.  Taking a class  all these years later was a wonderful experience. Val Bembenek is the Paper Art Lady, and she was our instructor. Val gathers desert plants–thistledown, yucca, agaves. When she travels up North, she gathers cattails , irises, and grasses. And she saves pineapple, cornhusks, onion skins, and artichoke to make paper.

Val had the vats of beaten fiber ready for us and for two days we made gourmet paper (hops and artichoke was lovely) and wild grass paper. It was pure satisfaction. She let us have the run of the studio. Our places were set up with everything we needed and we could make paper till the fiber ran out. And there was plenty of fiber.

L to R, bottom row: thistledown, iris, corn silk in abaca. Top row, L to R: ocotillo flower in iris, iris with silk ribbon bits, abaca with hibiscus flowers.

I made a whole stack of paper:

And when I got home and spread the papers on the hot patio to dry, one of the cats ignored the art aspect and just used the paper to cool her tummy:

I have some collage plans and maybe a book-making plan for the paper. Too many people never use their handmade paper, and the real beauty for art is to see it in use.

–Quinn McDonald has never stopped loving paper making or making bowls out of handmade paper.

Journal: Lines or No Lines?

These lined ledger journals are available at Staples.

People who keep journals have a strong preference for using a journal with lines or one without lines. There are even journals with alternating lined and unlined pages.

For years, I’ve been a no-line journaler. No matter what the journal was for (and I keep more than one), it had to be unlined. I’m changing my mind. Maybe.

Here are the journals I keep:

1. Client notes, telephone numbers, deadlines, to-do list journal. Unlined. I use Moleskine soft-covers with vibrant cover colors. When they are full, I write the dates started and ended on the cover and keep them. They help me remember where I was and what I did when. Good for taxes and how long a past project took.

2. Sketch journal. Unlined watercolor paper. I use ink and watercolors to do sketches,  small collages and other design work. This unlined journal keeps me from having to fight perspective.

3. Capture journal. This is the one I just switched to a lined journal. I write down brain dumps, ideas, emotions, class ideas, problems with solutions, in this one. I write only on the right side for the first pass. Every now and then I go through the journal and “distill” it. I find insights or ideas and write them on the left page. Sometimes I highlight or add another thought on the left side as well. This distilled material winds up on the free-standing pages.

A selection of my journals.

4. Free-standing pages. These journal pages have art on one side and writing on the other. I’ve been making them for years and they are all the same size. They are the result of a combination of the  distill pages’ lessons and the artwork it inspires.

5. Commonplace Book. I didn’t know this type of book had a name till Kaisa from Vakloinenponi mentioned it. This is the book I use for quotes, well-written sentences, poems, titles and authors of books I want to remember, even articles I’ve cut out of a magazine. The history of Commonplace Books deserves a whole blog post on its own.

6. Nature journal. This is an unlined journal. I am finishing up a big, bulky book with rough pages. I keep notes on the weather, when  my fruit trees bloom or set fruit, or unusual events like this year’s killing freeze. I keep notes about trimming and fertilizing trees, birds I see, and general nature notes. I’d like to switch to a journal I can also sketch in. That’s the next one.

Using a lined journal helps the lines stay even, which helps me write faster and concentrate on the words and meaning-making instead of what the page looks like. The even lines also help me keep my handwriting the same size, which makes it easier to find a word or a specific idea when I hunt through the pages to distill the information.

It’s a new idea for me, but I’m warming to it. I will keep a mix of journals always, and it’s good to switch to a new size or type to see if it changes your journaling habits.

How many journals do you keep and do you prefer lines or no lines?

—Quinn McDonald may have to take a 12-step program to reduce the number of journals she keeps. If she does, she’ll probably keep notes in a journal. Oh, wait. . .

Evolution of Koi

When artists are juried into a show, one of the standard requirements is that the piece contain “the hand of the aritst,” or sometimes, more directly, “the fingerprints of the artist.” What juries are looking for is evidence that an artist has a personal viewpoint, an original take, a fresh viewpoint. That concept was one of the great lessons I learned in the collage class I took this weekend.

I started with a traditional Japanese koi painting, done by many artists:

From there I did the underpainting, trying to keep to the original shape. But already the chop, the red-square signature block was gone,  the image was rotated to make it horizontal, and the traditional poem was gone. The painting also gave the fish a lot more background.

In class, there were problems to solve. To keep the original background smooth and even, I’d have to apply a single sheet of paper over the board, re-apply the fish, then collage them on. While that’s a choice, it didn’t feel like collage to me. I wanted to show movement, ripples, even waves of active fish swimming.

While in Sedona, I visited a gallery that was having a showing of the instructor’s work, and noticed that in a collage she did of koi, there was a distinct splash of ripples.

After some thought I decided to move away from a monochromatic background, and create the entire setting as a field of ripples, in blues and whites and ivories.

Not only that, but when I was working, the instructor told me that the koi did not have to be orange and black, that a more impressionistic view was fine, even desirable. She suggested several different pieces of paper that worked well, but weren’t orange or black.

In the end, I decided that the original placement of fish–orange on top and the shadowy gray on the bottom, was what worked best. The image isn’t complete, but this is where I am now:

It’s not the traditional koi, it’s the constant movement of koi, creating a push and pull of color and action. As artists, we interpret the world in our own way, and when we talk about it to others, we show them what we see through our eyes via artwork–collage, writing, idea presentation.

This evolution of koi is personal, my vision. Several members of the class didn’t like it,(which is fine with me). That’s the point of art–it’s not really meant to please, or to match the sofa or drapes. It’s meant to show a view of the world through the artist’s eyes, and satisfy the artist in some way. If it pleases others, well, then, that’s a great bonus. Had I decided to create a piece that pleased the majority of the class, I would have pleased no one fully. Least of all myself. In creating a piece that delighted me, I can explain a viewpoint clearly. For me, that’s art.

--Quinn McDonald is a certified creativity coach working on creative projects.

Reaching Out for Connection

On my walk this morning, I noticed a blooming plant at the top of a chain-link fence. I wondered what was holding it up, and since it was blooming, something was allowing it to not just hang on, but flourish. (There is also a tree behind the plant, but they are not connected; you’ll see it better in the second photo).

Closer inspection showed that the plant had crawled to the top of the fence on a slender green stem, and was drawing nourishment through about six and a half feet of stem. There were some other stems, too. Either from a prior year or from a prior attempt.

When I notice something intriguing I always think how it applies to everyday life. I think about people who thrive in unlikely places by building connections that reach what nourishes them, however far away or tenuous. Or how important connections are, that we can’t thrive without them, and they are worth re-building if they fail.

And I walked on, encouraged to keep going in an unlikely place, connected to the things that nourish me.

--Quinn McDonald is in Sedona, surrounded by red rocks and art.

 

The Underpainting

This weekend I’m driving up to Sedona to take a collage class. It’s a type of chine collé in which you create an underpainting, then, following the shades of the colors, collage over the underpainting.

Our homework was to create two underpaintings–one of an apple (so the class will all be working on the same idea) and another underpainting of a different topic.

The chicken in an underpainting.

I wanted to do a koi underwater, but the sketch showed me it would require too much detail work and be too difficult. So I did a chicken, instead. I don’t paint with acrylics, and I have no idea how to do a real underpainting. I work with watercolor pencils, watercolor and inks. But I leaped in and tried it anyway. I hesitated only a bit, and then I thought, “This is a class I am taking to step way out of my comfort zone, so I might as well feel weird about it.

Minimalist koi

I then went back and created a totally minimalist koi drawing. I think the background will be hugely interesting, and I can’t wait to work on it.

While I was working on the underpainting, I thought of what a good idea it was. You put down the shapes and colors you want, and it makes the detail work easier–less filled with instant decisions.

It’s not that different from an outline for writers. A guide that helps you see the big picture. And of course, it’s the same thing as envisioning the future, or a success in life. Once you’ve seen where you are going, it’s easier to take the steps to get there.

So, tomorrow, off to Sedona for a get-away class! And yes, I’m taking the computer because I have work to do at night. No rest for the wicked!

–Quinn McDonald seems to have something about chickens. The one above made her laugh.

What’s Art For?

It can be a subtle thing–the dismissive attitude toward art. At a recent eye exam, the optometrist, noticing that I needed stronger glasses, asked what I did. There are several correct answers the the question; this time I said, “I’m an artist.” The doctor looked at me cooley, said, “Oh,” and then said, “So your husband supports you.”

It’s not an uncommon answer. I once had a dentist plead with me to “get a real job,” so he could finish all the work my teeth needed much faster. My answer is usually “when we dig up ancient civilizations, we don’t judge them by their paperwork, but by their arts.”

As a creativity coach, I often help artists struggle with identity, purpose in life, and self-worth. In a word that measures efficiency by ROI (return on investment), most of my clients’ concern is focused on social and natural-world capital. That makes them the “other” and feel alienated.

A few days ago, a Wise Woman sent me this video of artist Peter Donelly, who draws in the sand between tides. The incoming tides erases his art. He knows, as any artist does, that art is ephemeral, but that doesn’t make it less vital.

Spend the 10 minutes with this video and breathe more easily, knowing that Peter is doing art and that he doesn’t question if it is important. He knows it is.

Every artist knows, often deeply buried, that the act of creation is what makes us Divine. And it is that knowledge that can be threatening to those who question the purpose of creation. Who wouldn’t want to hold that knowledge, live that responsibility, treasure and nurture such a gift?

–Quinn McDonald is an artist who writes.

Underground Connections

Not my house–From greengardenaz.com

During our hard freeze a few weeks ago, a lot of irrigation pipes burst. During my walk today, I saw a lot of repairs happening. Many of our front yards in Phoenix are xeriscaped–no lawn, just a mix of gravel, plants, and rocks. The effect can be lovely, but even those desert plants have to get water. We don’t flood them (flood irrigation is common in older parts of towns), we drip water at the base of each plant. This happen early in the morning, so no water is wasted in evaporation.

To bring the drip line to each plant, the yard is first dug up, a grid of pipes put down, small hose connectors attached, and then the gravel is placed over the pipes, hiding them. The system runs on a timer, and it works well. Until, of course, a freeze hits, and the pipes burst.

Simple pipe diagram for xeriscaped yard.

When a yard is dug up, it’s like seeing an X-ray of the yard. Most people forget about the complex system of pipes that run about three inches under the ground.

When I walked past a house in the middle of pipe repair, I thought of how home owners have to plan their yards to fit into a pipe system–you can’t just put plants anywhere, they have to be close to the water source.

And, of course, my next thought was that creativity works the same way. We can’t just jump from project to project. There needs to be a flow. And we can’t put thirsty, energy-needing ideas at the end of the supply source. Creativity, too, requires planning. And a lot of creativity is hidden, but planned and organized. Of course, connections are everything. If a connection breaks, you have to start digging to fix the project.  The timer has to be set to create a flow over time. It’s great to water your ideas once a week, but when things heat up, you’ll be upping the flow to make it last longer and more days a week.

It made me smile for the next half mile, coming up with how creativity is like the pipes in my yard. Of course, I’m easily amused.

--Quinn McDonald just came up with a great idea for a cover for the loose-leaf pages used in the inner hero book. She can’t share it, but it made her do the happy dance.

Frozen, then Alive

The freeze we had last week turned the tops of trees black, froze plants where the stood. This week, the roar of chain saws is as loud as after a Connecticut ice storm.

And it’s the wrong move. The leaves have died, but most trees are not dead. They are dormant, and while the top two feet are dead, cutting them off now, while it’s still January, will encourage them to start growing while it’s still too cold. Then the tree will suffer the damage, maybe die.

The best thing to do, according to the arborist I spoke to, is to simply let it go till early March. The leaves will turn black, fall off, and it will look ugly, but when trimmed in March, the tree will recover. Maybe not as lush, but it will take a cycle of a year for the damage to heal. Heal. Yes, even trees.

Waiting. Healing. We don’t like to look at damage, so we cut, remove, throw out. And cause more damage.

I’ve done that with my work. Hating to look at a piece I didn’t get right, I will tear it out of the journal and threw it out. Fast, so no one could notice. So fast, that I couldn’t sit with the discomfort of figuring out what I’d done that didn’t work and learn from it. So fast that the fault line would grow and I’d make more mistakes.

Had I left it, learned from it, accepted that I’d messed up (again!), I could have accepted it slowly, become OK with it slowly, and then covered it with paint or gesso and remembered and grown around it.

-–Quinn McDonald is a writer and art journaler.

After the Freeze in Phoenix

Here in Phoenix, we had four consecutive days of below-freezing temperatures in Phoenix. The nighttime temperature went down to 24 degrees F, and the daytime hovered about the high 40s. If you live in the Midwest or East, this doesn’t sound bad at all, but our normal temperatures this time of year are in the low 60s during the day and between 35 and 40 at night.

Our plants are not built for this kind of deep-freeze. Freezing air settles differently in different places–it drifts, it kills the tops of plants more than the bottoms.

Here is some of the freeze damage I saw on my morning walk:

This tree is  a ficus. You know, the fussy plant you have in a decorative planter in your house. We have them as yard trees. In this photo, every leaf that looks brown is dead and will have to be trimmed off. that’s about a third of the tree.

Here’s a close up:

The totem pole cactus stands straight, looking like green candle wax in a chianti bottle. It takes about 20 years to grow one this size. Once it freezes, it can’t hold itself upright. In the background (top, left of the photo), you can see a grasstree with white portions. Those portions are frozen.

Prickly pear and paddle cactus didn’t fare much better:

This cactus will brown over the next few weeks. A more immediate browning happened on this blooming shrub. The white trumpet flowers cover the shrubs all winter. These were caught in mid-blossom:

For a naturalist (like me), seeing these plants dead or injured is painful. Some will come back, some won’t.

I remember New England winter days, after an ice storm, when you could hear the whine of chainsaws up and down the street for days, as they chewed up trees that had fallen or knocked down power lines. In a few weeks, you’ll hear them here, too, as we trim back what froze and wait for new growth.

–Quinn McDonald is a writer who is glad that the days of freeze are over. For now.

Weed Barrier Art Journal Background

When the temperature drops in the winter, “cold” is a relative term. In the Sonoran desert, if it drops to freezing, our vegetation starts to die. Some succulents suffer below 40 degrees F, but when it gets below freezing, things get serious. Tonight will dip into the low- to mid-20s, and if that happens, I will lose most of the cactus, succulents, natal plums, Red Honeysuckle, desert bird of paradise, blue agave and aloes. The citrus trees and fig may survive. Last time it was 29 degrees, I lost chunks of cactus and shrubs.

In search of freeze cloth, I went to several places but no luck. Stores don’t stock a lot of it, so it sells out quickly when it gets cold. Since I couldn’t find any, I settled for weed barrier. It was a non-woven fiber, allows some sun to penetrate (great since I have to leave it up for the next four days), and I spent most of the afternoon wrapping cactus and shrubs.

After I was done, I brought the end of the 50-ft roll of weed barrier inside. I cut off a piece and took a look at it. Light cool-gray, light weight, hmmm. it would make a good background for a journal page. Glue will glop it up, so I decided to use fusible webbing to attach it to a free-standing journal page of 140-lb watercolor paper.

Tomorrow, I’m getting some black Misty-Fuse for decoration, but for tonight, I was happy with the result. I’ll also check to see what it takes to write on it. It’s pretty smooth, but it will need a brush or heavy pen to deal with the fibers.

Stay tuned for step two!

–Quinn McDonald has completed the first five chapters of the inner hero book. Three more to go!