It's a New Year

There are so many ways that we can slide on that delicate bridge of seconds from one year into the next. Like a newborn child, we can burst out suddenly, or, perhaps, be dragged by our head or legs, reluctantly surrendering the comfort of a warm, familiar home.

In turn, we have created many rituals to ease the transition from one year to the next: celebrations, recounting stories of the old year, hopes and goals for the new. All of these rituals help us to make it over the bridge of years

One of the rituals I enjoy the most is looking back over the year.

I began the year with a challenge to myself: to make 30 collages in a period of 30 days. I started in San Francisco, transitioned to Kauai, and completed the 30 days in my studio in Davis, Ca. Not one to rest easily with only one challenge, I posed another to myself; this one physical, emotional and spiritual: yoga teacher training. I was the second oldest in the class, but determined that my age would not exclude or daunt me.

I loved it and I hated it; it tested my intellect, my body and perhaps most of all my patience. To stand, sit and move in one space for the period of 6 hours at a time, drew on my inner resources. I made it through.

Artistic challenges also filled the year including one with the improbable title: "99 Problems, But a Print Ain't One of Them." The exhibit required a series of 13" x 19" prints. I hadn't printed on that scale before, instead, composing larger pieces by putting together smaller ones. As a result, I spent a lot of time at Blick Arts in their paper section! Thank god that Panera Bread was right next door for refreshments!

Inspiration also found me in the teaching realm. I had wonderful students; eager, excited and indefatigable. I was amazed by their ability to create vibrant monoprints that radiated the stamp of their makers.

I can't get enough of learning. From the Master Class with Lisa Call to my classes with Sara Post on abstraction, I found that each contact with either group or teacher gave me a tiny burst of inspiration and enthusiasm; a nudge, a push, or invisible fuel that allowed me to take the next step or steps in my work.

They help me to catch hold of slender threads within that often elude me due to voices of inner bosses, outer cultural snobs and transient winds of change. With support, I can reach beyond them and catch those threads that have been dangling, just waiting for me to grasp hold of them.

And that's what I want for this year, to pay more attention to the threads that dangle, sometimes just beyond my reach. because when I can catch them, and pull gently, I'm taken on roads that I cannot imagine.

Traces: A New Series

Right from the get go, this summer presented its challenges. I say challenges because I like to think that I can rise to them, rather than being overcome by them.

So, when my 85 year old mother experienced a series of unfortunate events (think Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day), it was time to put my thinking cap on. She was beset by one malady after another and while helping her through, I knew that I needed to re-craft my art practice. This is because art is both a vocation and something that’s hard to go without. I had to create a series that was a marriage of necessity and curiosity.

Right away, I decided to reduce the size of the prints. I’d been working in sheets of 9″ x 12″ that arranged in 3 rows of 3, created a piece. “O.k.,” I thought, “I’ll jump back to the 30 x 30 challenge. 6″ x 8″ it is!”

And my topic? Over the last few years, I’d noticed that the recycled copy papers I use to mop up extra paint produced some extraordinary layers. The effect is something like a stucco wall with many layers of paint; an inadvertent fresco.

Sample of Traces

But how to create that effect on the thicker art paper?  I began by simply putting pieces of paper down on the painted plate and leaving them there for a time. In this hot, dry valley, I didn’t need to wait overnight. Several hours could produce a paper with a thick layer of acrylic, very satisfying to pull off the gelli plate. I also added one or two layers of gel medium, tinted to bring out the color I was working with.

It’s been tremendous fun and the smaller sheets of paper provided a journal format; a way that I could record the mood of the day, the season and my own internal drive to leave traces of these days.

Bridging the Gap

I've been tucked into my studio for the last couple months, drawing jade plants, diverse succulents, taking notes and obsessively printing gelli prints. I’ve filled a notebook, and in the process, found a rhythm and perhaps some answers to a problem I've been trying to solve.

For the past couple of years, I've worked on a series called Shift, in which I explored my ecological niche of Davis. As the series progressed, I became more interested in the unusual shapes of plants I found visiting various botanical gardens. I began another series of collage works I called Botanical Dreams, inspired by the 30 paintings in 30 days  challenge presented by Leslie Saeta.

I’ve wanted to continue this series and I wanted to wed the monoprints of Shift with the collage, but after several months of trials and lots of recycled prints, I think I’m trying to make an arranged marriage. Shift needs to be one series and Botanical Dreams another.

As I write this, I realize that actually, I'm the bridge. I think that it's hard to leave the safety of a known series and decamp to another largely unknown territory, but the connection lies simply in my own two hands.

Poppies, Lupines and Printmaking Too!

Many years ago in graduate school, I was introduced to a form of printmaking called monoprinting, or sometimes, monotype. I'm a person not well suited to the long and meticulous craft of printmaking. But I did so love the notion of placing paper onto plate, applying pressure and seeing the creation of a whole new piece. It appeals to the alchemist in me.

Through the years I've experimented with different kinds of plates: glass, plexiglass, even the plastic surfaces of cutting boards, but I couldn't find a decent, printable surface that worked without the aid of a press. Then, one day several years ago, I visited an open studio event of a friend. She gave me a tour, and there, in one of the other artist's spaces, it's colorful package glinting in the sun, was a gelli plate.

As I touched its soft yielding surface (much like a batch of jello), I considered the possibilities. My friend offered to show me how it worked and we had several weekend workshops including other interested artists. I was hooked. Now several years and a number of plates later, I'm still experimenting, trying to push the limits of what the plate can do.

Next month, I'll be teaching a gelli printing workshop at our local Pence Gallery: Saturday, May 14 from 10- 3. There are still a few spots left, so whether you're new to gelli printing, or you'd like to stretch your printmaking  boundaries, I'd love to have you. I'm super excited about the planning--and look forward to sharing what I've learned about the simple beauty of this process.