My favorite of the the favorite quotes listed in Where Women Create. This one from an artist who wears a construction tool belt while she works, Jill Schwartz.

“The barn’s burnt down. Now I can see the moon.”
-Masahide

“I am complete mistress of my domain. I walk into my studio sometimes just to take a deep breath, and I feel anchored to my earth.”-Anna Corba
mixed media/collage artist

I’ve been slowly making my way through Where Women Create: Inspiring Work Spaces of Extraordinary Women, a beautiful and helpful book about women artists.

The photographs are average, but interesting. I always like peeking into someone’s creative space. But it’s the words of the artists that make it such a helpful and encouraging read. Some of the women are still doing all their work in the kitchen and putting away their art each night in order to make dinner! And many of them, who now have lovely studios, reflect back to the times where they found their creative voice while working out of a tiny plastic box that they moved from place to place. One even keeps her art supplies in the dishwasher of her and her husbands tiny city apartment!

In honor of places women create — and in deep thanksgiving for the privlidge and a dedicated work space — I’ve added some pictures of my studio on my flicker page. If you watch it as a slide show, it looks nicer but you miss the handy quotes.
If you click on each one you’ll find some quotes from the artists in the book as well as some quips from me about why I love the room I call my own.

This Fall I heard Judith Levine when she was interviewed on National Public Radio about her latest book, Not Buying It: My Year Without ShoppingNot Buying It: My Year Without Shopping. In both the book and the interview she detailed her year in which she and her partner bought nothing but heat, water, garbage service, and the ingredients for home cooked meals. No magazines. No movies. No Gifts. No clothes. Nothing.

Ironically, I rushed out and immediately purchased a copy of Not Buying It. (In my defense I did try to get it from the library, but there were 163 people ahead of me on the library hold list.)

The book is spare and simply written, a piece of non-fiction describing a project. (Now fully worth-it in paperback!) I had to laugh a little that Levine’s “buy nothing” year did not extend to anything she needed for work, or to the remodel that they were doing on their second home in upstate New York. (Something Levine giggles at about herself as well.) Still, the woman isn’t angling for sainthood here – just some personal growth—and maybe a nice sustaining book contract.

In the end I was inspired by Levine, and by what stepping off the hamster wheel of consumerism revealed to her about herself, and by extraction what the experiment reveals to us about ourselves. I recognized myself when she quipped, “what if I discover my authentic self and my authentic self is shopper?” I agreed with her about marketing when she asserted, “almost nothing that is advertised is actually necessary.” (Except for the Swiffer. I mean, have you tried that thing?!) Most of all, I was struck when Levine observed this danger in our consumer society:

“…just as it promises to buy us love, the marketplace also frees us from relationship, releases us from needing other people. As long as you’ve got a credit card in your pocket, you can go it alone.”

(Hmmm. Methinks we’ll need to unpack that quote in a later post, n’cest pas?)

After discovering Judith, I had big plans to go the no consumer route — for 30 days. I thought I could take November as a sort of a mini-attempt, like running a 5K before training for a marathon. But Christmas loomed ever-so-near, and right about that time I moved into my studio so I could justify buying just about anything “for work.” (Bookshelves? Hand printed wrapping paper for drawer liners? Beads, buttons, bangles, a goldfish, a bag of crystallized ginger? Definitely all work related.) But it did get me thinking heady things about transformational theology; and whether we find ourselves or create ourselves; and what it means to make New Year’s resolutions or Lenten promises. And I thought, wouldn’t it be interesting to try one good deed a month (or most months) of the year? Thirty days seems imminently doable, and I might pick up a few much needed good habits. Not to mention, the generation of good writing material and possible worldwide fame. (Look what happened to the gal from the Brown Dress Project – she ended up hanging with Good Morning America!) And maybe, just maybe, I could work up to 30 days without buying anything.

So, much to my husband’s chagrin (“What have you signed me up for now?!), Habitude – The 30 Days Project was born. Here is my proposition my friends. You and I, and maybe a couple of others, we’ll take on one mildly transforming life habit a month. None of them will be too challenging, and it’s totally fine if you flub up. We’ll moan and groan to each it to each other on this website (my comments es su comments) or on your websites. And maybe, just maybe we’ll get a little more Zen in the process. (After we briefly act all bitchy and complain-y.)

Curious? Confused? Mildly intrigued? Stay tuned for the announcement of the February Habitute!

Yesterday Paul, Rebbecca, the kids and I drove an hour to the Tacoma Art Musuem to see a special exhibit of collages by Eric Carle, children’s illustrator and author. Carle’s most well known book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, came out the year I was born. I remember being exceedingly charmed by the different sized, layered pages and by the tiny worm hole that the caterpillar “chewed” through each consequtive page. (Concieved of by Carle when he was mucking about punching holes out of some paper.)

Carle, now 78 years old, comes across as being the Mr. Rodgers of the world of children’s illustrations. His gentle manner of speaking and streamlined, basic explainations of his artistic process belies many years of paitently interacting with children. Though he could easily have walked a filmaker through his cabniet of awards, a video at the exhibits shows Carle holding up page after page of paintings done by the pre-K to K set of child artist. At one point he says, “Oh! Look at this one! This one really taught me something!”

I took a lot way from the simple, colorful images and the kind words of their creators. In honor of the Creator of the Caterpillar, here’s my list of

Everything I Need to Know About Art I Learned From Eric Carle

Simple materials and techniques can go a long way. Cut, Color, and paste. It’s so easy Carle can explain the whole process with a few powerpoint-style slides. Paul encouraged me greatly when he walked me across the gallery to show me a few line drawings Carle had used as the template for one of his newest books, 10 Little Rubber Ducks. They were no more accomplished than my own new attempts at drawing, yet they were the first step for some lovely art.

Gimmicks can be wonder-full. Many of Carle’s books have a gimmick — the hole in Caterpillar, flashing lights in The Very Lonely Firefly, the creeking sound of The Very Clumsy Click Beetle. As Carle recounts the hisotry of his works, he blantanly and joyfully talks about searching for the next gimmick. He asserts that often there is nothing wrong with being gimmicky, provided that the gimmick is not a selling ‘hook’ but a means of inducing wonder.

Share your techniques. Carle gives his ‘trade secrets’ away gleefully, in You Can Make a Collage“>collage kit for kids, in his inclusive The Art of Eric Carle“>catalog of works, and through videos.

Follow your Bliss. Carle was a trained fine artist from the prestigous Akademie der bildenden Künste, in Stuttgartthe but what really “made” his career was his love of paste and colors.

Ideas may take a long time to come together. Carle once had an idea that he chewed on for 15 years before it made it into a book. (I think it was for Draw Me a Star.) Be Patient.