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Wow! I'm in the Daily Monster! Mine is the yellow and orange Demented Road Runner (his title). If you haven't been to his site - check it out. Stephan G. Bucher's Daily Monster. He's seriously cool.
344design.typepad.com/344_loves_you
Scroll down and watch the video to see how he creates the inkblots that become the monsters. Then, scroll down to read the instructions on how to submit your own monster.
ps. Kids can play too!
So we're driving across 84 on Tuesday afternoon on our way to Newburyport, MA for my lecuture at the Essex County Needlework Guild on Wednesday and we see this on the car in front of us. I laughed so hard I choked on my coffee.
But then - questions and suppositions arose immediately. Why did this person hate Vermont enough to put it on his license plate? Vermont is a rather benign state, the sort of state that doesn't really have it out for you. Did it do something bad to him? Maybe charge him too much tax, or deny a permit? Or was it more amorphous - perhaps a business gone south, or a wife gone north? Did he lose a dream there? I like Vermont and couldn't imagine what caused the poor guy to parade his crabbiness by permanently pasting it to his car like that. Yikes.
Anyway, I made the image with the license plate generator. When I Googled "license plate generator" I came across the coolest blog: The Generator and yup, you guessed it, it's a compilation of links to every generator you're ever thought of creating a statement with and many you probably haven't or don't want to. But I thought it was really neat so go ahead... play!
And on a fiber note, I DO have photo's to show you and stuff to tell you about the trip, which was wonderful, but more on that later after I set some orders out. I just wanted to give you a quick giggle with The Generator.
I just read something very interesting by mixed media artist Kelly Kilmer. Her post is about being yourself - and creating art that is OF yourself. I like it.
When I first started freeforming - I had no idea where the wacky stuff that grew from my hook and needles came from. It certainly didn't look anything like me - the buttoned up LL Bean Me with the Goretex rain gear. Or the Me that wore Anne Klein suits to an office in Manhattan. Or even the Me that had flannel poodle pants (more on this later). My freeform was complex and slightly dark - even in the bright colors. Now after over a year of working at "the work", as I prefer to call it, I can see Myself in it. It's the side of me that I kept out of sight for fear of - what - I don't know.
It's the chaotic, emotional side that I had been taught was inappropriate for polite company. It's the wild side that is VERY far from the middle of the road. It's PINK - when black is in and it's the butter I slather on my croissants (yes, I do that). But it's definitely me. It took me a while to figure this out - I denied the truth about that part of me for a long time - most of my life in fact. But now it's out of the closet and i couldn't be more excited. This uncovered part of me allows for a lot more leeway - a lot fewer rules.
My point? Well, there wasn't one when I started - but I've come around to thinking I should say that it's been good for me and I think it can be good for you. So go ahead - don't be afraid of who you'll find - the uncovered you is still you all. And you had a sneaking suspicion she was in there in the first place. Thanks Kelly - for making me think about this and for stating it so succinctly. Be you - be all of you.
Where on earth have I been? Don't answer - that's a rhetorical question. I've been under a rock. A new movement's afoot and I've been blissfully unaware of it. Paper - it's paper. Now I know scrap booking has become hot because I always have to move those magazines aside to get to the beading and fiber magazines at the bookstore. But what I seem to have missed out on until very recently is the move towards paper as an art form in and of itself. Yes, I know about Cloth, Paper, Scissors, but believe it or not I never even opened a copy until a couple of months ago.
Yes, you can accuse me of being a fiber snob, because that's what I was. Paper - who me? I'm into fiber! So anyway, strolling around the web one day, I stumbled upon the blog of a very talented paper artist (don't ask me who she is because I lost her blog URL in the great computer crash of last week). I was absolutely amazed as only someone who had very recently sniffed at the idea of "paper as art" can be. And I was smitten. A bit more strolling took me to a new Yahoo list called Belle Papier.
I asked to join knowing full well that I didn't know the first thing about paper as art, much less the multitude of techniques used in the art. And that should be your first clue. There were techniques to glean here that I'd never come across anywhere else. And the women were REALLY nice. And they didn't mind that I hadn't a clue. And there was even a 'zine! Belle Papier
Now for those of you who, like me, have been living under a rock, a 'zine is an independent publication that can go places that magazines can NEVER go. Lynne, the publisher of Belle Papier magazine asked me to contribute a project for the fall issue and I readily agreed. "But", I said to myself. "I should see this 'zine first so I know what I'm expected to do". I ordered a copy and HOLEY MOLEY. I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT! First of all, It's CHOCK FULL OF COOL STUFF! Threads, and stickers and stamps and tin charms and beads and printed bits and projects and poems and artwork. And best of all - it's all lovingly made by Lynne's talented hands.
So I had to share this, because I'm just amazed by it - it's gorgeous. I can't wait to check out other 'zines. It's a movement I'm telling you - and I absolutely hate feeling left out.
If you want more info about Zines: http://www.zinebook.com
There's been some chat lately on the freeform list about inspiration. Someone suggested checking out www.jigzone.com for their good selection of images. I love Jigzone but not for the images. When I had the link up on my toolbar, I went there every darn day to do puzzles. Finally I smartened up and took the link off. Now I have time to do other things like fret about my projects.
But we were talking about inspiration. I get mine from all sorts of places. Stomping grapes, all purples and greens, came about because of a spool of thread I saw while searching for another color. I bought it because it set me on fore. I know, it sounds nuts to go crazy over a spool of thread, but there it is. I HAD TO MAKE SOMETHING IN PURPLE AND GREEN. Then I learned how to bead grapes and the rest is history. My current work, Jungle Love, actually first started while I was working on scrumbles for the Freeform Garment Challenge. The colorway for the challenge is jewel tones and I had selected quite a few hot reds, pinks and oranges.
I started the scrumbles while sitting in on a freeform knitting class up at Circles in Boston. While talking about the project to the group and discussing colors, one of the women commented that I had selected a lot of pinks for the project. I suddenly realized that Prudence had said no pink! Yikes. So I separated the yarns and had all the pinks and oranges and reds on one side. Holey Moley - I was in love. So I finished the scrumbles for the challenge and the pink basket became the basis for Jungle Love.
Sometimes it's a garden, sometimes a scene, like the amazing reef tank I saw in a tropical fish shop in Pearl River that became the basis for sink or swim. Sometimes it's art, the kind that hangs in a museum. A while ago I attended an exhibit of the works of Artemisia Gentileschi at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. While I was already completely taken with Artemisia's story, I fell in love with her work. This is Judith and her maidservant. The colors on the canvases figured in my dreams for months. I had not yet discovered freeform and so had no way to translate what I was into fiber. But I do now. And eventually, I'll try and capture her spirit in fiber. So much inspiration - so little time.
I have been crazy busy lately - and not having control over uploading my photo's makes the quick post mearly impossible, so that's why you haven't heard form me lately. That said, I have been working away diligently on Chan's bag, having finished Holly's bag. And WHOPPEE... you can see Holly's Bag online at Prudence Mapstone's Knot Just Knitting - 5th Handbag Exhibition. Just click on the bottom link for the 5th Exhibition. Aside from the fact that my bag is there and it's my FIRST FF project and it got accepted for the gallery and I'm so thrilled I could just faint, the other bags are truly breathtaking! You must go and see. The exhibit showcases bags by Prudence Mapstone, Renee Kirkpatrick, Ivy Strauss, Lang Anh Pham and so many talented people you don't know where to look first. Someone pinch me.
I know there are conflicting opinions about tattoos, and I lean towards the "are you nuts" school of thought when it comes to permanently making one's skin (More bout this later). But I have absolutely nothing against the temporary painted kind. Which is a really good thing, because Holly, my youngest daughter has taken up face painting as a sideline. Normally, she paints children's faces at parties. But occasionally, the adults, and I include myself in this category though there are those who would argue with my cavalier categorization of my maturity, want to get a little skin action of their own.
Holly painted this gal on her sister's leg.
Holly painted this on me at her company's picnic in between painting adorable things on children's faces. Yes, it says Anthony.
A few years ago, I worked for a real estate firm listing and selling houses. The owner told us a story about the delivery of her oldest son, who would be about 60 today. She said that while she was in labor, there was quite a commotion regarding the patient in labor in the next room. Nurses were scurrying in and out of the room and whispering and giggling in the hall. Finally, when she couldn't stand the suspense any longer, she asked one of the nurses what the heck was going on.
The nurse blushed and said "I really shouldn't be telling you this, but it's just too much. That woman next door has a tattoo". "Really" My boss exclaimed as this was about 1945 and tattooed women were pretty much confined to the circus. "But that's not the worst part", the nurse cried. "Her tattoo is a mouse!". My boss apparently still did not grasp the significance of the tattoo, because the nurse practically shouted at her incomprehension "THE MOUSE IS ON THE INSIDE OF HER THIGH AND IS RUNNING....UP!"
We like to think that here in the 21st century, we have cornered the market on sex.
I did a show this past weekend, very extemporaneously, I might add. I found out about it on Thursday, the same day as our guild sale which was the day before the show. One of the members was hosting an art/pottery/craft show at her home and sent a post asking if anyone was interested in participating last minute. I called and she accepted me!
It was great fun and I was the only non-art vendor, although one woman did say that my packaging was very artistic. I was tickled. The two women who hosted the event had beautiful pottery. One is an incredible sculptor and had her sculpture was on display as well. She also knits and weaves and had some breathtaking knitting for sale. There was wine and cheese and a fashion show. Upstairs, where my little table was, there were hand dyed garments, and naturally dyed and hand constructed garments, jewelry, yarn and other lovely things. Even with the haste of getting it all together, I had a wonderful time on Friday night and Saturday.
I stayed home today to celebrate Ukrainian Easter with my family. My father, who went to church at six this morning to take a basket of food to be blessed, lost his basket amongst the sea of other baskets awaiting blessings. Distraught - he went around the table lifting the elaborately embroidered covers from all the baskets saying in his sometimes sketchy Ukrainian "these look like my eggs" over and over. Unfortunately, in Ukrainian, The same word is used for chicken eggs and a certain part of a man's private anatomy.
The congregation - upon hearing my father's worried murmurings over the baskets, broke into howls of laughter, which only served to upset him even more as he couldn't figure out why everyone was laughing at him.
When there was only one basket left - My step sister got into a tug of war over it with an elderly woman who was determined to protect it for my father, neither of them realizing they were fighting to get the basket to the same man. The elderly lady kept repeating "He's lost it once, he's not going to lose it again"! While My Stepsister, in broken English, kept saying "but it's mine"! meaning, or course, his. Neither would let go. Meanwhile, my father sat, ignoring the whole uproar over his basket, muttering about how wet his feet got while the priest made him walk around the church three times for no darn reason he could see.
