On Art & Editing

As Robb and I walked through the Met last weekend, we started to get into that lovely hour-three rhythm, where you stop reading every placard and accept that you aren't going to see everything. We spent far too long looking at a medieval crossbow and breezed right by the Monets, not really feeling too enthused about all that pastel. Right about the time our legs were starting to ache and we were searching the map for anything that contains the words "wine" or "lounge," we entered a room packed with people on a guided tour, all of them snapping photos of this painting. 

I thought to myself, is that a Vermeer? Is that the Girl with the Pearl Earring? And upon closer inspection, she was painted by Vermeer and she did indeed seem to have a pearl-ish bobble hanging from her lobe. But that face...I felt like I would have remembered such a ghoulish little girl. I snapped a photo on my iPhone so I could do further research (over a glass of wine) and we got the heck out of that crowded room.

As it turns out, it was not, in fact, the celebrated Girl with a Pearl Earring painting (she's down below). But the styling is so similar, the turn of the face, and the streamers hanging from the crown of her head. I almost wonder if she was Vermeer's practice model. Was he just gearing up for the main event? Though no information seems to exist on who these girls are (except the more famous one is clearly Scarlett Johansson), I did find it interesting to learn that Vermeer did not consider these paintings to be portraits—he described them as tronies, which means expression. He wanted to capture the suggestion of a personality and highlight unusual features. The Met website calls her face haunting, and I would have to agree. I also love this: "The essential element in many of Vermeer's pictures—the viewer's curiosity about a young woman's thoughts, feelings, or character—is found here in deceptively simple form."

I like this "essential element" in Vermeer's paintings so much that I've decided to borrow it in my own art form. Last week, I finished writing a very long short story (too skinny for a novella, too fat for short fiction...will she settle on a size in time for prom?). The main character in this story is a very lost woman, though I find her beautiful. And as I read through my sister's edits on my first draft, I'm trying to keep the character's visage in mind. Her unusual features, her perplexing behavior, and ultimately (hopefully) her redemption. I hope to be subtle, yet colorful and full of light. It is my ultimate goal to engage the reader's curiosity about this woman's thoughts, feelings, or character--all in a deceptively simple form. For that reminder, I will go ahead and thank Vermeer. 

Writing Stories

I haven't been doing much crafting lately. It's true! And it's a rather strange thing for me not to give into every creative whim. (I usually begin each weekend by making a list of things I would like to make, practical or not, and making them just because they sound like fun at that very moment.)

Instead, I am using this lovely cool autumn to focus my efforts. I am reading a lot. I am going to finish Robb's sweater if it kills me. And, most importantly, I have been learning how to write again.

I have been reacquainting myself with that odd mix of anticipation and frustration that comes with yearning to sit down and write a story--knowing without a doubt that you have something to say--and then just as your fingertips are about to touch the keyboard, not being sure that you will say it correctly.

I will be in the midst of writing dialogue and think, no no no, this is all wrong. This character would never say it this way. And then I keep going, just doing it wrong.

I have spent too many hours on 500 words, rewriting, rephrasing, cutting, adding.

I have had moments of elation, where I strike clear down to the bone of what happened. And I have had moments where I am sick to my stomach, calling up my own stories--the ones I don't like to tell--and integrating them into the plot line. Sometimes your own stories are the most important ones to tell; to put them into a story is a way of extracting them from yourself. After all, if left to their own devices, these stories will knock against the walls of your stomach in endless circles.

There have been lots of treats. A tall canister of whipped cream sits in the fridge and occasionally gets shook up and applied to the top of extra fancy homemade iced coffee. There have been bowls of salty popcorn and cool slices of cheese that I eat before bed. There might be a sundae in my future tonight. These are my rewards for having sat down and continued the story.

I'm not sure yet if I'm writing a story or a novel. All I know is that it ends with knitted bikinis, and I feel relieved to know the ending. Aren't you intrigued? Me too.

I heard something recently that was said by Deepak Chopra in the back of a van while he was being interviewed by Rainn Wilson (it's really worth a watch if you have a few minutes). He referred to the creative process as "divine discontent." This is how we feel when we aren't sure how the story is going to tell itself, when it's not yet clear how we are going to create what is in our mind's eye. His theory is that this is when we are at our happiest. When we are making art that only we can make, and when we are solving the riddles that are involved in making it.

I adore this theory. I really do.

Which is why tonight I tried to write a scene with an old man and a young woman, and when I discovered that they didn't know what to say to each other, I didn't panic. I just haven't worked it out yet. Who they are to each other, how it would feel to be in their shoes. It will probably come to me while I'm walking, and I'll need to duck onto a stoop and jot down a note. It will be something mysterious that will only barely make sense to me later, like "Egg McMuffin!" or "His wife is dead!" (And yes, these notes usually have exclamation points, because when you figure out why your character is where he is and is behaving in that particular way, it really is quite exciting.)

It's all exciting. Every bit of it. Even the never-ending sweater I'm knitting which I will finish...in the rare moments when I'm not stuffing my face with reward cheese.

Textile Porn

Some weeks have a theme. The theme might be something as trite as "I watched a lot of Friday Night Lights" or "I drank a lot of Syrah." Some weeks I eat almost exclusively Mexican food. Some weeks I play an inconceivable amount of solitaire on my phone. This week, however, the theme has been textiles. Which photographs much better, I must say, than Mexican food or video games.

I have Lena Corwin to thank for this week's theme. We have been shooting the how-to photos for her second book (her first book was the incredibly gorgeous Printing By Hand), and for this book, Lena and her team have camped out at the Textile Arts Center in Brooklyn--a wonderland for weavers, dyers, and screen printers. If it has to do with fabric, they teach classes on how to make it there. The works in progress on the looms scattered about the studio are swoon-worthy.

Also swoon-worthy are the textiles that will appear in the book. Like this screen-printed linen Lena designed. Just look at those crisp lines and that saturated dye!

And these woven place mats, with a solid fabric weft and sweet floral warp.

Even the wash rags at the Textile Arts Center are gorgeous, having mopped up countless ink spills in lovely shades of everything.

Back in my own home, I've had a few less exotic textile moments. Like this vintage dress I recently tried to alter. Check out those horrifying stitches around the armhole, made by the excellent teamwork of myself and the bobbin from hell. Last Sunday I worked up the nerve to take out the rat's nest of stitches, and now the dress is ready to wear. Win!

I also found a use for this funky upholstery fabric I've had kicking around for the last year. I've come to realize that funky fabrics are at their best on the inside of a bag--not all of us want to fly our psychedelic flag so loud and proud.

But on the outside? Why not keep it simple with a coral linen, accented by creamy white cotton straps.

Soon enough, I will start playing with some wintry wool fabrics for my HeyAllday Handmade bags. Not these ones, mind you. These ones are very fancy fabrics that I found at a men's suiting warehouse. Want to know how much they cost? Sixty dollars a yard, my friends. Oh but these cashmeres came in the softest blues and creams. I will dream of these woolens whilst shopping online for their more affordable brethren. (Any hot tips, people, let me know!)

Who Can Resist Green Unicorns??

When the president of our company saw the cover for this book for the first time, he said to me (in all seriousness), "So are green unicorns Heather Ross's thing?"

"Yup," I replied. And really, it's the truth. Though I could have said the same of ugly ducklings or frogs, VW buses or mermaids. 

You see, when you work with Heather Ross's prints, you forget which designs are supposed to be for the adults and which ones are for kids. The answer, in all cases, is both. Her aesthetic speaks to that part of me that will always marvel at Sanrio pencil boxes, with those puffy covers and secret compartments that pop out and the erasers that smell dangerously like candy.

When we originally started talking to Heather about writing Heather Ross Prints, one of the first things we decided was that we wanted it to feel like a giant coloring book--a big pad of paper that was full of potential, with pages you could rip out and stick on the fridge with magnets. This was one of the reasons, in fact, that we decided to print the last 32 pages of the book with full color illustrations and perforate them...so you can rip out the pages and do with them as you please. Make an origami rose, write a note with a Sharpie, wrap a very special gift, fold a very special paper airplane, or, literally, stick the piece of paper on the fridge with magnets. The choice is utterly up to you.

It was in this childlike spirit of excitement that, when the printed book arrived on my desk, I picked it up and (I kid you not) gave the cover a little kiss. It was just so cute! Green unicorns, guys! And orange wildflowers on page one. And newspaper boats, and a DVD in the back that contains all of this art. ALL of it.

You may be wondering, what the hell IS this book? And for you, I will explain.

Heather Ross is an illustrator and fabric designer and the author of the wonderful book Weekend Sewing. For this book, she decided to share 50 of her most popular illustrations and fabric designs in both jpeg and PDF format so that YOU, my friends, can upload the artwork to a place like Spoonflower and print out as many yards of this fabric as you like. Or you can make your own stationery or paper crafts with her designs. Or you can wallpaper with unicorns or decoupage with little cowgirls. And she also gives you twenty awesome step-by-step projects that walk you through how to take that DVD and turn the artwork into impossibly cute and special creations.

(She also wrote a whole chapter showing you how you can create your own really cute designs in Photoshop, but I don't even need to tell you that because I know I already have you excited with the unicorns.)

It's a really special book. And it will be available on September 1.

Also, I'm in it! (Apron model EXTRAORDINAIRE!)

Glaze Changes Everything

Dear Friends,
A lot has happened since we last discussed pottery! Remember how I decided to take a pottery class because I've been editing a pottery book and I needed to discover with my own two hands how the heck you make a pot? Well, somehow or other, my ten week class has come and gone. I seem to recall that there was a period in the beginning when I was making very good pots, and then I was making REALLY BAD pots, and then Aimee re-taught me how to center the clay on the wheel and things started looking good again. On one epic pottery day, I decided to have a mimosa on my way to class after a rotten day at work, and let me tell you, that was the best class of my life (so relaxed!). But even after all the fun I had coming to class and throwing pots each week, nothing really compares to the day you show up and your glazed pots are waiting for you on the "just fired" shelf. 

These were two of the first pots I ever glazed, and I could not get over how cheerful they were! And deliciously imperfect! The little yellow one in back has a chip in its lip, and the blue one is nine kinds of wonky, but just look at how the glaze reflects the light from the window. (Oh, little blue finger bowl, I could totally get lost in your eyes...)

But all blues are not the same, and in the case of this particular little blue finger bowl, I used a matte turquoise glaze. I love how the drips from the glaze create these areas of depth, almost like navy blue asphalt.

 

This little creamer is my absolute pride and joy. It was created on the day of the mimosa in a moment of extreme bravery. (When you throw a lovely little bud vase, it takes a lot of courage to convince yourself it's a good idea to crease the rim and turn it into a spout. Thank God Aimee was there to walk me through it!)

There were, of course, some not-so great pieces. That little cherry-red pot on the bottom left is, well, not exactly the most symmetrical pot I've ever seen in my life. And the cream-colored pot above it is a miserable little receptacle...the stepchild of the bunch. But all of my little pots--even the ugly ones--fall perfectly into my theme of "Mediterranean Finger Foods," which is a dinner party I must now host in celebration of completing my class. I have a few more pots to finish up this weekend--and a few of them I have already declared "the ugliest pottery anyone has ever seen in their life"--but I couldn't resist sharing a selection of my glazed pots with you now.

A Day at Simon's Pottery Barn

  

As is the case with all craft books, the time comes when it must be photographed. In most cases, the process of organizing a photo shoot is the most anxiety-filled part of making a book. I think it has something to do with how quickly it must be done. And how this is your "one shot" to get it right. And there are so many things that can go wrong, like bad weather, or clothes that don't fit, or models that have totally different hair than they had in their head shots (or models that just don't show up). Thankfully, the photo shoot for the pottery book I am editing for STC Craft--Simon Leach's Pottery Handbook--had none of these problems. In fact, it was one of the most serene and lovely photo shoots I have ever attended. And that's really saying something.

Here's why:

1) I hired Jared Flood (aka Brooklyn Tweed) to shoot the book and Karen Schaupeter to style it. Aside from being insanely talented, both of these people are professional when needed, and a total hoot the rest of the time. Plus, they are excellent road trip buddies!

2) There were no models, no make-up or hair stylists, no assistants, no wardrobe, no props, nothing. Just simple, guerrilla shooting at its finest.

3) Simon lives way out in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania (on what I cannot stop referring to as a Pottery Barn). There were green growing things and old stone houses, handmade bridges and abandoned refineries, wildflowers and rain. It was lush and lovely.

4) There were pots....lots and lots of pots...strewn about, sitting in rows, stacked one atop the other, some glazed, some freshly thrown, some bisqued. All of them, absolutely gorgeous. Even after two days, I was still finding new treasures on the shelves.

When we first arrived, Jared had barely parked the car before he leapt out and started snapping pictures. It was all so picturesque that I think we all worried it was going to evaporate into the mist like Brigadoon. After Jared snapped some environmental pics and got it out of his system, Simon brewed us a pot of coffee (served in his homemade mugs, of course) and we turned our attention to the shoot list.

 

Karen got to work creating still-life arrangements.

 

And when Simon wasn't busy throwing pots for us to photograph (very much like a short-order cook), and when Bruce wasn't busy answering my many questions about what we actually included in the manuscript, they busied themselves with bocci on the front lawn.  

 

Jared, I would say, had the roughest job of all. Not only did he have to hold up that camera for two days straight (no tripods here!), he also had to get in real close when we were removing pots from the raku kiln, nearly choking to death on the smoke. Luckily, he found a respirator right fast. Safety first! 

As for me? Once everything was rolling, I mostly played with this cat. After the first few shots, Jared and Karen got into a groove, so it was just a matter of approving shots and crossing items off a list, all of which can be done from a grassy spot on the lawn with a cat on your lap.

And of course, I also tried to pick up tips for my own pottery making where I could. Like studying these tutorials of the various phases of making a cylinder.

 

And admiring the perfect thinness of this porcelain bowl, wondering if my walls will ever look so peacefully uniform. As Simon would recommend, I shall "keep practicing."

(If you, too, need to keep practicing, you should really check out Simon's YouTube videos, which are mesmerizing.)

Me and My Mud

Because I don't have enough crafts going on, I have decided to take up pottery.

Okay, okay...that's not true. I have pa-ha-lenty of crafts in my life and an ongoing list of unfinished projects. (It amazes me, in fact, when I actually finish something and get to write about it here.) But there were some very sound reasons for me to take up pottery: 1)  In my opinion, there is always room to learn something new. 2) I love any excuse to put on old gross clothes and get my hands really dirty. 3) I have long held a sneaking suspicion that I have a natural, great talent for ceramics. 4) I acquired a big 'ol pottery book for STC Craft (written by the amazing potter Simon Leach!) and have been attempting to edit the manuscript for the last year and a half having never so much as touched any clay in my life.

It was that last reason, mostly, that caused me to enroll myself in an 8-week course.

Actually, it was perfect kismet! I had just returned from Spain and was face to face, once again, with the unruly pottery manuscript, when I learned that my friend Aimee teaches a pottery class as a "recreational activity" at a local apartment complex just ten blocks away. I signed up immediately and showed up for the first class along with eight other women my mom's age.

Here's the thing: none of us are all that good. We are learning!! Oh, but we have such aspirations. What exactly it is we want to make, I am not sure--do any of us have a shortage of bowls at home? How many uses are there for an unadorned cylinder? Will I actually be able to make a functional mug in just 8 weeks?--these questions are beside the point. All I know is that for three hours every Tuesday, me and these lovely ladies strive for perfection! We also eat quite a bit of chocolate.

Aimee is our inspirational pottery hero. She often reminds us--not in a braggy way, but in a "guys, don't get down on yourself" kind of way--that she has been throwing pots for over half of her life. But still, when we watch her do a demo, it is honest to God like voodoo. How does she get the clay to cone up so fast? Oh, but the sweeping curves on her bowls! And then when she gets out her wood tool and starts trimming away the bottom! It's sort of like an OCD dream-come-true; you could just marvel at the pleasing shape for hours. Just look at her pretty bowl above!

Or...you could marvel at some of my pleasing shapes. Check out this lovely little cylinder! Sure, the wobbly lip may keep it from becoming a future favorite...sake vessel, but it could certainly hold...jelly beans? Yes, this cylinder would be a great jelly bean holder.

And this bowl would be fantastic for...um...salsa! Yes, it's a salsa bowl! Do you see all of my natural talent?

OK, clearly I have a ways to go.

I hate to tell you this, but sadly, neither my jelly bean bowl nor my salsa bowl exist anymore. This is the terrible, wonderful truth about learning pottery: we cut many of our creations in half! It's actually part of the learning process when you're just starting out. When you cut a cross-section down the middle, you learn all sorts of things, like how the floor is really thin or how the walls are super uneven. And then you learn from that and you make better bowls. It also teaches you not to be too precious about your creations. You do not, apparently, need to keep, glaze, and fire every single effed up cylinder that you ever make. (Even though that would be a SUPER fun present for my sister's birthday...hey Erin, here's 90 crappy cylinders!). Aimee, our fearless instructor, is not above cutting any of her perfect bowls in half either, an act which causes a collective cringe amongst me and my classmates.

I think you will all be relieved to know that this last week, however, I got to KEEP one of my crappy cylinders. (We're going to learn how to glaze this week, so I had to keep something to practice with.) Glazing, I suspect, is where the magic happens! Just look at that seafoam green. And that "not very bloody" oxblood. I think I want to do polka dots. I don't even know if that's possible. I just want it.

But if I'm being honest, one of the most thrilling things about the class so far is how filthy you get. If you have ever wanted to dip your arms elbow deep into a trashcan filled with something called "slurry," then you should totally take a pottery class. (Even though Aimee hasn't let me dip my arms into the slurry trashcan yet, I bet she would if I asked.) 

Totes Tie-Dyeing

 

For reasons that are far beyond my understanding, there is one photo in the Bust DIY Guide to Life that calls out to me like a beacon: the tie-dyed tights. Every time I was asked to pick an image--whether it was for the catalog, promotions, or even the back cover of the book--I always turned to this photo. Why do I love this photo so much? Is it the pink and black against the blue? Is it the toes that point in? The inoffensive flats? No, I realized, it's the actual tie-dyed tights. I really really like them.

It took me awhile to come to this conclusion. You see, 99% of the time, tie-dyeing is pretty icky. It is typically presented on baggy t-shirts (which I hate) and in a bunch of primary colors (which I'm not that crazy about). I can't in good conscience make fun of the type of people who are famous for wearing tie-dye, since I was, after all, a person who briefly yet decidedly did not shave her legs just one decade ago (I referred to my hairy calves as my "man socks"). But even in my hairy leg days, I just wasn't into the tie-dye thing.

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For the record, some technological glitch occurred several months ago, and the entirety of this blog post following the previous paragraph was deleted. (So yes, until today--September 23, 2012--if you went to look at this post, you would read about my hairy hippie legs and think the post ended there.) To rectify that problem, I will attempt to (briefly) re-create what the original post said. Or what I "think" it said. It went something like this:

When my friend Stacie got married, she bought all her bridesmaids a cream-colored cashmere scarf. I wore it a whole bunch and it got dirty (coffee drips on the subway, I believe?). So I decided to tie-dye it to hide my filth. 

First I folded the scarf accordion style from short end to short end. Then I tied rubber bands around it, equally spaced.

I put a bunch of RIT dye in a pot (pearl gray, maybe?) and I think I boiled it. And then I put the scarf in the pot.

When it came out of the dye pot and I clipped the rubber bands off, it looked like this! I was VERY excited.

Then I wore the scarf. The end!

Note, I think I mentioned in my original post that I was considering tie-dyeing my wedding dress, and I wanted to let you all know that I did not.

THE END. (Again.) 

DIY Candy Corn

When I first started vetting projects to include in the Bust DIY Guide to Life, there was one project that truly intrigued me. Possibly more than any of the other projects in the book. The DIY Candy Corn! (Or, as it is called in the book, "Confection Perfection"). You see, this is my kind of craft project. It's one of those things that had never even occurred to me I could make at home. As in, this candy seems so inhumanly manufactured that I'm shocked it contains ingredients that one might find in a grocery store. But alas, it can be made! By human hands, in fact. And so, since it's Halloween and all and on Saturday it snowed and we couldn't conceive of actually going anywhere for the first twelve hours of the day, we decided to make candy corn.

The first step to DIY candy corn is to make a boiling mess of granulated sugar, corn syrup, and butter. Nine out of ten dentists agree that just thinking about this combination of ingredients will make your teeth lose enamel. Once this combination reaches a kind of voluptuous sinister boil, you add some powdered sugar and powdered milk, a little salt and vanilla, and your "dough" is done. Are you horrified yet? 

Once it's cooled down a bit, you separate the "dough" into three parts and dye one group yellow and one group orange, and you leave that last group au naturel. 

Around this time, Robb walked into the kitchen and I could tell by the fascinated-yet-disturbed look on his face that he wanted to be a part of the candy corn making. And thank goodness he did! Because someone had to keep their hands un-sticky to take photos. Robb got to rolling that dough out into thin little snakes. (The orange ones, when photographed alone, look disturbingly like long hot dogs.) He laid them out side be side and squished them together with his hands.

Then he smoothed them across the top with the flat end of a wooden spoon, which really seals the gap between the layers.

Then, the fun part! We grabbed a knife and started cutting out the strips into "corn" shapes. (Also, I'm sorry, but  candy corn is not shaped anything like corn. Just FYI.)

We were super stoked when we cut out our first strip of candy corn, but then we quickly grew a little tired of the process. You see, the candy hardens up as it cools, so you have to work fast. And there were so many candy corns to make! It was seemingly never ending! (In reality, however, the whole production probably took about 45 minutes. We just have short attention spans.) We also got tired of the classic Halloween colors and did one batch with a green stripe. Hilarious true story: a guy at the bar last night, who happened to be dressed as Salieri from Amadeus, ate a piece of the regular candy corn and then ate a piece of the green candy corn. While chewing the green candy corn, he actually said, "mmm...I like the fruit flavored kind!" There was no fruit flavoring. They are all the same. (Of course, we did not tell him this.) The power of suggestion is strong, my friends!

Ultimately, I can't decide if these taste anything like the storebought ones do. People say that they do, but Robb and I both think they taste like butter. Which is not exactly a bad thing. They definitely don't look like the storebought ones, which pleases me. Final verdict? I like these weird little candies.

Finally, because it's Halloween, I have to share with you a story of great coincidence!  See these two pugs above? Well, when I asked all of you to vote on which dinosaur I should knit a couple weeks ago, a friend of mine was dogsitting these pugs. And when I opened up the voting to include kids and pets, these two dogs voted! But what's spoooooky is that my friend did not tell the pet's owners about the dinosaur votes (I mean, why would she?), but then just this week, she sees these photos on Facebook: Wonton and Mu-Shu dressed up as dinosaurs for Halloween! And look at those tiny forearms on Mu-Shu!! Anyway, I can't help but see this as a cosmic coincidence of the dinosaur variety.

And I'm sure that the pugs, along with any other interested parties, will be happy to know that my T-Rex is nearly stuffed! I will do a great reveal soon! Promise!

Dino Help!

Hi, I'm Ankylosaurus. I like plants, crawling, and hitting things with my big spiky tail.

Friends, I have to admit something. I have not been able to stop thinking about these Knitted Dinosaurs! Every time I see a photo of one I start thinking about how I want to make one. They're pretty small...how long could it take? Four hours? Five? That's just one big knitting evening really. Or...one train ride up to Rhinebeck for the Sheep and Wool Festival, which I happen to be going to this weekend. Hmm...knitting a dinosaur on the Amtrak train at 7am on a Sunday going to a knitting festival? Why that sounds great!

The problem is this. Which one do I knit!!!??? I need help. I love them all too too much. Here are a few of the ones that I can't stop thinking about. Will you please leave a comment and tell me which one to make? Thank you very much. 

Hey there, I'm T-Rex! I have a reputation for being pretty violent, but I actually have a heart of gold. I also have 60 teeth.

Hi guys, I'm Diplodocus. I like hugs.

I'm Plesiosaur! Just wanted to poke my head up out of the water to say hello. I'm really into seafood, and I love to dance. Just kidding, I swim.