Costume

Hat and feather boa from my sugar skull costume. Happy Halloween!!

Devil woman

Devil woman has arrived. Let's get this party started, step aside.

Three sugar skulls

I've been using the tubes of paint I've accumulated over the years, throwing some away because they're rock hard. It's been an interesting challenge painting from a random palette, mixing different types of paint and using only what's there. It forces me to mix colors in ways I wouldn't have thought of, a good thing.

Sugar skull sketch

I'm just too exhausted to draw something in time to post tonight, so I'm showing the sketch I did before yesterday's painting. Something wonky happened in the scanner, I think it's become possessed for the holiday. I was going to redo it, but decided that it gave a nice clattering of bones effect.

Sugar skulls

I have a steep learning curve when it comes to painting. Color mixing is baffling, I have no idea which brushes are best, and then there's all the different types of paint and the way they can be layered. While I'm not thrilled with this painting I did have a few of those glimpses of understanding that you can only get by doing. And it was a soothing way to unwind after exam stress.

Green finger monster

For this drawing I returned to my colored pencil comfort zone. Maybe that's why this monster looks less like a threat, and more like he just attained enlightenment.

Yellow finger monster

I'm not sure which is scarier, the monster or the painting. For this one I tried watercolor pastels. I've never used them before and they quickly became unwieldy. When I was done I noticed there was something like a knife with different edges in the box, so I guess you can sharpen them somehow. I wish they'd come with instructions!

Orange finger monster

An orange finger puppet monster has arrived to scare you out of your wits! I wanted to try using watercolors, and while I'm clearly not a master of the medium, I think I caught the spirit of the thing.

Paper maché skull

'Tis the season! A cackle is heard in the darkness...

At this time of year Santa Fe is filled with paper maché skulls in bright colors and ornamental designs. I found this plain decorate-your-own version and thought it would make a nice study in form. My assignment was to paint quickly and with only one large brush.

Longing

I don't know what it is about Japan that inspires such deep longing, even when I'm there. Maybe it's because it's a culture that allows space for longing. Japanese artists are the masters of negative space. That which whirls around forcing your eye to focus in on an object. When a design is well done its object will spur your eye back into negative space.

Is longing like negative space? Courting the object of its desire, each never able to be the other but making the other whole?

Thank you for traveling with me, and if you can, do come for tea.

Wagashi

Wagashi is the confection that is served during a tea ceremony. Its shape and flavor change according to the season being honored. This is a persimmon in honor of fall. In British tea, snacks and tea are consumed at the same time. In Japanese tea, the confection is eaten first, allowing you to fully experience the sweetness that will soon fade into the taste of tea.

Mikan

Mikan is a type of tangerine. When it first comes out in the fall it's pale orange, almost yellowish with a touch of green. Mikan gets sweeter and turns a deeper orange as the season gets colder. It's common to hear "The mikan are getting sweeter, aren't they?" throughout the season.

A kotatsu is a low table with a heater underneath, a comforter over the top, and a table surface on top of that. You sit with your legs underneath it (I seriously could not picture all of this until I saw it in Japan). In the winter everyone gathers around the kotatsu to stay warm, the cold being tempered by the sweetness of mikan.

Kuri

Like I said before, it's chestnut season! While I'm making a collage I never think about the borders. I move shapes, textures, and colors around until they catch the mood of something I'm trying to express. I then move a viewfinder over the area until I feel the composition clicks and feels just right. Finally, I mark it off and cut it out with a straight edge. In the case of these postcards the viewfinder I used was a sheet of paper with a 4x6 rectangle cut out of the middle.

Buying calendars in February for 70% off is a huge boon to the ephemera collection, as are library book sales. I love to brush paint over different textures then cut those pieces up, glue them in different ways, paint them again. I think this takes the piece deeper than the usual magazine collage.

Maneki neko

Maneki neko is found in restaurants and shops in Japan and is meant to bring good luck to its owner. Maneki neko means "Lucky cat" or "Welcome cat". His arm is raised and his hand is beckoning. In Japan, the position of the hand when gesturing "Come here" is opposite the one we use in the US. Won't you come to tea?

Fukusa

The fukusa is a red silk cloth used to purify each of the tea utensils before they're used. This image is an impression of the fukusa as it falls unfolding from the tea host's hand.

Tea house

The entry way into a tea house is very small and you have to crawl in. Because of this you enter in a humbled posture. Its size also forces samurai to leave their swords behind because they won't fit through. In the tea house we are all equal.

There's a saying used in tea ceremony, "Icho go, ichi e", that translates to "One time, one meeting" or "This moment will never be repeated". It was especially potent for samurai who, gathering for a bowl of tea before departing for war, knew they may never see each other again. It's important for us today because it reminds us that every moment is sacred. You could gather for tea with the same people in the same place at the same time the next day but subtle changes will have occured, maybe in nature or your own perspective. This moment will never be repeated.

The background in this collage came from a booklet by Walter Foster on how to paint clouds.

Matcha

In just a few hours fall break begins. I'll be spending the first part catching up on school work and the second part, well, taking a break. I'll be posting some collaged post cards for the next week. I made them two years ago to invite my friends to a fall tea ceremony.

Matcha is the type of green tea used in Japanese tea ceremony. It is bright green because it's made from the tiniest new tea leaves and is not allowed to ferment. I'll never forget when my friend Non from Japan, who in looking at the brown liquid in her cup of what we in the US call green tea, simply said "Not green".

In tea ceremony, matcha is served in a bowl not a cup. This image shows a hand holding a fresh bowl of matcha.

Red chair

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What is style? Is it intrinsic motor programming that emerges no matter what the media? Is it the conclusion that comes from the limitations and experience of both yourself and your tools? Or is the result of finding one thing that works and doing it over and over again? Is it all of the above? Sometimes I feel like Goldilocks trying to find what feels "just right". But what would Goldilocks have done with infinite bowls of porridge?

Piñon

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On Saturday, Louie and I drove to the top of the Sangre de Cristo mountains to see the aspens that had turned bright yellow. It was raining and there was some snow at the top so our hike didn't last long. Half way down we stopped to pick piñon (pine nuts). Louie roasted them in salt when we got home and spent the rest of the afternoon munching away like a squirrel.

The Tipping Point

For sale! I've been getting a few inquiries about sales, and have been meaning to get things on ebay for a while now. Part of the hesitation has been that I haven't had the time to take care of all the details of listing, packaging, and promoting, but most of the hesitation has been that I haven't been ready yet to let go of all of my friends. The time has come where I have more drawings than I have space to store, and they've gathered the momentum to head out the door.

I've listed four drawings on ebay, the three of the Japanese sweets, and the Ganesha bag. I thought I should start with just a few to see how it goes. Please let me know if you see anything wrong, missing, or something I should know in the ebay listings. This is all very new to me.

Everyone gathered together today for a group graduation picture. If there's a piece that you're interested in, feel free to email me before it goes up on ebay. All work is priced at one tenth of what it would cost at a gallery on Canyon Road in Santa Fe!

Aloe

I wanted to do something fast and loose today, so I sketched my aloe plant in oil pastels.

Listen

Over the last few days of drawing the sweets, I used up the incense I got in Kyoto. I decided to draw the last stick as it burned down. In Japanese incense ceremony, they say that you listen to incense instead of smelling it. I don't know exactly why they say that, but I've found that just hearing the word listen when I smell the incense causes a greater expansion of the senses. And that's what the character on the side of this incense holder says, listen.

Pink twist

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This one isn't autumnal, but I couldn't resist drawing its shape.

Kurashiki sweets

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I wanted to try painting the sweets in gouache, but couldn't quite catch the sugary quality, so I added colored pencil. The sugar on these sweets reminds me of the sparkling Inland Sea. The ocean on that side of Japan is so calm and glittery compared to the choppy intensity of the Sea of Japan, where I lived on Oki.

When I stayed in Kurashiki I took the ferry across the Inland Sea to Naoshima to see the Benesse house and Chichu art museum. I wanted to see Yayoi Kusama's famous pumpkin on the dock. "Pumpkin, in front of, stop, please?" I told the bus driver in broken Japanese.

Autumn sweets

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I discovered these sweets at a shop in Kurashiki, Japan. Kurashiki is famous for Bizen-ware, a type of earthy, unglazed pottery in many shades of deep brown. It was three years ago that I was there, but I saved these sweets and now they look like little jewels. Persimmons, chesnuts, and maple leaves....autumn in Japan.

Kuri-chan

It's chestnut season! This is the best time of year in Japan, with chestnuts in rice, sweets, and ice cream. I don't know if this little guy is really called Kuri-chan but kuri is the word for chestnut, and chan is used like san, but for young and endearing things, so that's what I call him. I love the way the Japanese can make a character out of a block of tofu, a soybean, or a toasted bun.

I bought this stuffed chestnut from a vendor on the long winding walk up to Ginkaku-ji temple. How could I resist a chestnut with cheeks?

Para limpia

I can't remember what this is called, but I bought it in Oaxaca last summer. It's painted ceramic, and is used in limpia, which is a spiritual cleansing ritual. Copal, a tree resin, is put in the basin and burned like an incense. The curandero (healer) holds this dish with legs and waves the smoke all around you for purification. Looking at this drawing, I can almost smell burning copal and hear the crashing of the waves during the limpia I experienced on a Mexican beach.

The healers of Mexico consider sadness, called triste, an illness, as well as susto, extreme fright that causes the spirit to leave the body. In the US we call susto post traumatic stress disorder. I drew this because, in talking to a few people, I realized I wasn't alone in my sadness and overwhelm last week, and thought it might help to start out the new one with some purification.

Ganesha bag

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I bought this bag at an Indian grocery store on the lower east side in Manhattan. I bought a jar of mango chutney there too, but that got confiscated at the airport. This is the best bag! It's made of burlap, but is lined, and it only cost six dollars.

Spine, in color

I brought this topic up because, lately, I've really had to reflect on the spine of my blog. I've been feeling more and more frustrated by exams and papers competing with the small amount of drawing time I have allotted. It feels like I'm trying to protect my little igloo in the middle of an avalanche.

When I started this blog I wondered what might come from drawing and painting as a daily practice. What I've discovered is that it's where I want to spend the majority of my time, not the minority. But that can't happen right now. Each drawing I do, I learn from, and I want to apply that learning right away. The two spines I drew felt like a warm up, it wasn't until after doing them that I began to really see. But as soon as I began to see, I had to stop.

So, in order not to throw my hands up in a fit of frustration, I've had to remind myself to return to the spine. That spine, as stated in my very first post, is to make art despite the obstacles. That doesn't mean doing the best drawing I could possibly do, it means doing the best drawing I can do in 20 minutes while exhausted and stressed. It is not to spend hours drawing, choosing to post the best piece of the day (Oh, how I wish it were), it is drawing something and posting it right away, whether I like it or not.

Returning to the spine can help you breathe again. It can guide you back home when you find yourself hanging too far off the infinite possibilities of creativity's many branches.

Spine

One of the best books I've ever read about the creative process is "The Creative Habit" by Twyla Tharp. She is a professional dancer, yet the information she shares applies to all disciplines, and is truly inspiring. An element she says is essential to a creative work is its spine. Driven by the idea, the spine is both the starting point of a piece, as well as the North Star that guides it along its journey. Creative works branch out as they unfold, taking unexpected twists and turns. If those shifts, changes, and infinite possibilities cause the piece to fall entirely off course, getting back to the spine allows the work to become cohesive again. And it is a relief to the viewer, who wants to be taken to unexpected places, but by a guide who has not lost her own way.

I've had my eye on this model of the spine at the medical library for a few weeks now, and finally had a chance to sketch it.

Famous artist, starving artist

In elementary school, if you love to draw, you'll probably hear that you're going to become a famous artist. In high school, if you still love to draw, you'll probably hear that you're going to become a starving artist. If you go to art school, you'll be surrounded by people haunted by that same question, "Will I be a famous artist, or will I be a starving artist?" I know few artists that don't still carry that dichotomy somewhere deep within their veins.

Why, in a world filled with so many colors in so many shades, do those black and white stereotypes still remain?