Quince and Quire

Flying Books

We started a project a few years back: a book, filled with art and letters, that the kids mail back and forth to their grandparents. We call it the Flying Book. We've been through a few of these books now; the photos show our current editions, one for each child. I sewed a piece of their artwork to the paper cover.

 

Each child draws pictures and writes a few thoughts for the grandparents. Sometimes they ask questions, like, "What do you like best about autumn?" Sometimes they tell them about the art they've made. 

 

The kids often have seasonal themes.

 

Everyone enjoyed writing about and drawing birds that they see in their neighborhoods. 

Sometimes we get wonderful memories of a grandparent's childhood--as when my mother recounted a story of the time she was given a kitten as a party favor.

The four-year-old dictates to me. I like that there is simple honesty in his correspondence, and that it always ends with those most important words. I love you.

 

I love you very much. We can never hear it, or read it, too often. 


 

Ink on Paper

Some of you know I used to be a printer. A letterpress printer. A teacher. A director.

I gave these things up with the arrival of my first child, the onset of some health problems, and a husband with a stressful, travel-filled career. And I'm grateful I was able to choose a life at home, at least for now. As Jacqueline Kennedy said, "If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do well matters very much." 

But, once upon a time, I was a printer. I worked with printers. I worked with famous writers. I made beautiful things. And along the way I met other printers. 

One of them stands out as an exceptional printer. His name is Terry Chouinard. Heck, he's printed famous poets and my children's birth announcements. And now he's got an idea, a great idea to make a tool for printers. 

Why might you care about this? Well, if you've ever had anything printed letterpress, you know it's a labor of love, with hours of work and care behind it. If you've ever wanted your wedding invitation or baby announcement printed in a multiple-color design, maybe you know that each color requires a separate pass through the press. And if you've ever thought about making a letterpress book, you might know that printers need to mix lots of ink, of a consistent color, to use for an entire project. Kind of like buying your yarn from the same dye lot so you don't have an unexpected shift in color in that sweater you are knitting. 

So Terry has designed a tool, called the Ink Dial, to measure ink precisely, so that you get consistent results each time. As someone who used to mix endless puddles of ink, in colors that just weren't quite right, I know how useful such a tool would be! Precision is the key!

In order to take this tool from the idea stage to the manufacturing phase, he's looking for support. If you are interested in backing this project, the details are on his site at Kickstarter. In return, Terry is offering some beautiful pieces of art, like the Alan Blackman piece pictured below. It's one of 15 signed, limited edition, poster-size letterpress prints by 15 nationally-known artists that will be available if the project gets funded.

The Lord's Prayer. Calligraphy by Alan Blackman. It will be letterpress printed in 16 colors. 

And you know why else I'm supporting the project? Look for the two adorable children working on the presses in this video. I want them to know I believe in their dad's great idea. Part of raising children well is to share your dreams and follow through on making them happen.

Flurry

We've got a flurry of flowers and paper and glue and tape happening here, as we make special surprises for mothers and daughters. I'll let you decide who made what for whom!

Shape of the moment

I was playing around with watercolors again, foolishly ignoring my lack of skills. But they are such fun.

When in doubt about life, paint circles: what else offers a vision of harmony, unity, stability, motion, new life, water, air, levity, and the dream of perfection? Not bad for one shape.

Transformation

I've been working with watercolors and feeling my lack of art school training. I had poetry training, and book arts training, but never basic mix-colors-and-materials training. So there were some creative failures this week with ideas about diagrams and plots and colors, which I will share with you when my ego is less challenged.

 

Instead, let's think about leaves. My daughter painted the leaves, not me, using watercolors and a few sprinkles of salt. We cut the leaves out together, quietly, sometimes quickly. As we worked I thought about why people are compelled to make things, to put paint on paper, to assemble, to create order. Do we actually create? Or are we arranging the things already given in this world? 

 

My daughter is deeply interested in the idea of Lent this year. We are not Catholic, but we are, shall we say, guests in a Catholic community. And it's a good place to be, with strong women, thoughtful children, and people deeply concerned about serving others: all things we like. Not every belief in this community fits our views, nor must it be so: we see it as an opportunity to talk about different ideas as we wrestle with our own sense of the divine. We are, after all, a family made up of a scientist and a writer and curious children: there are bound to be ontological debates.

 

And so we are keeping a form of Lent at our house. In our family, that means having more time for reflection; working on our ability to serve and help others; developing our spiritual knowledge by reading a variety of texts, from scripture to poetry to commentary; and being kind and patient with one another.

 

We made a calendar to mark the journey through Lent. It's not our idea. We found it through the Parenting Passageway, and it was an idea from this site. Each day we move our oh-so-elegant pipe-cleaner caterpillar to another leaf on the calendar, Eric Carle style. (I used the beloved push drill to make a hole in each leaf). At the end of the forty days we'll hang watercolor butterflies: a lovely metaphor from the natural world about what we are trying to do in our own life. 

 

This week, as I watch the stunning events unfold in Japan--a catastrophic example from the natural world that offers no room for metaphor, only empathy--our little leafy calendar feels like an exercise in fantasy. Yet I hope and, yes, pray that the terrible situation will get better, that there will be survival and renewal. It will not be a forty days' journey, but it will happen. There are many ways to help make that a reality. 

Starry drafts

My daughter and I spent part of our snow day (you heard about the snow, right?) working on constellation books. We began with a simple accordion-fold structure, which made each page approximately 2 x 3 inches: a tiny book. She used blue crayon for her sky; I choose a greeny watercolor, and then we punched holes with the push drill to represent constellations.

Though these are just first drafts, we were both delighted with our little books. I'm planning to paint a darker sky for the next one, and to use ink for the lettering, and maybe a cursive hand. I think I'll also change the size of the punched holes to more accurately represent each star.

This was one of those projects that I had planned for January: you know, cold frosty nights with lots of stars get you thinking about such things. Now everyone is thinking about shamrocks and bunnies. But two feet of new snow gets one back in that January mood, and I am so glad we finally explored this idea.

Artful things around the house

My daughter and I are obsessed with this puzzle. Do you see the fun we have with color and design? Available here.

Grandpa sent these chalkboard for the kids. You are seeing them in a clean moment; usually they are covered in cake recipes & names for imaginary dogs. 

 

I found this book at my local independent used & rare bookseller. So great! Lots of photos, good synopses, great for non-homeschoolers who still do lots of teaching and exploration at home (that would be most of us, yes?) 

 

My daughter made this ceramic hand for us at school. I am in love with it. It sits next to all my little tiny hand-bound books: reminders of where I've been and what I've got now. And its beauty makes me think of all the not-beautiful ceramics I made as a child, which my parents always displayed and used. 

 

I don't know where I got this book: I think it arrived by osmosis: I really like it. (You can find it here, though.) Author Heather Smith Jones provides a nice overview of tools, materials and techniques for the non-art school person who wants to make art. Many inspiring photos, interesting projects, guest artists, and so forth. I have so many ideas now! I just need a little time alone.

 

Time: look at my beautiful calendar from Pat. I am really enjoying this one, and it is a lovely way to keep track of the days. I am so pleased to report that two months into the new year I am holding steady to my resolution to rise before the rest of the family, all seven days of the week, to be starting my work before they are awake. Sometimes that means I am reading at 5 in the morning; sometimes I am doing dishes and laundry; sometimes I am sitting at the computer (like now), though I am trying to limit my own screen time. 

 
If you remember this project you will enjoy seeing what Mona has done with hers. So lovely! My February is in the middle. 

Happy news from a local friend: see Maya's blog! Here's to more art and words in the world!

 

Using and storing children's art

The New York Times had an article about displaying children's art, and it got me thinking about what we do here. Each child has an art table in a dedicated art space, with lots of materials out and many more available with supervision. This means we end up with daily works of art. What to do with it all?

 

The most basic approach for the most basic art, such as these index card portraits, is to simply put them up on the bulletin board. I use a pin with a clip so that we don't poke a hole in the drawing.

 

For monthly favorites and seasonal themes, we have this very large frame from Michael Olaf. It has a birch frame and a long sheet of plexiglass that lifts out easily. I should have included a person in this photo to give you a sense of scale. You can figure it out by knowing that the two pictures on the bottom left are 9 x 12 inches. This frame hangs at a child's eye level, about three feet off the floor, so that the kids can see things easily and add art as they wish. 

 

Sometimes we use this little wood easel frame for tabletop display. 

Over in doll world, where my daughter keeps all the doll clothes and supplies that her grandmother and I have made for her, we have an informal display on the wall above the doll bureau. She chose a few of her favorite drawings of dancers and fairies and we arranged them spontaneously. 

One thing you will notice is that nothing is permanently framed. I have set aside a stack of things I particularly love, but because they are so often odd sizes, I need to take them to a frame shop to have them framed. I just haven't gotten around to it. In the meantime, this assortment of rotating display options seems to suit the children's prolific output. When they are tired of one drawing and ready to hang another, the older pieces get added to a giant bin, which I will sort through someday when I have time! At the very least, I do label each piece with names and dates.

 

Finally, we often like to give the art as gifts. Here my daughter made a picture for a good friend on her birthday. I sewed the drawing to the cover of a blank Moleskine sketchbook. Perfect to encourage more art!

What do you do with kids' art in your house?

Photographing snow crystals

With our most recent snowstorm abating, but flakes still falling, I wanted to capture images of snow crystals. (Snowflakes are clusters of individual snow crystals.) I really needed my tripod but couldn't find it, and so these photos are the best an amateur like me could do with a macro lens and no tripod. I am no Snowflake Bentley, and that's okay.

I put a few sheets of dark blue and black paper outside for about 20 minutes (the crystals will melt otherwise) before I attempted to take photographs. The fibers in the paper look huge under the macro lens, almost like I was taking pictures of snowflakes on a shag rug. Next time, I would try taking photographs using a piece of plexiglass as a substrate.

I learned many things doing this, and I'll list them for you in no particular order in case you want to try taking similar photos.

1. Choose a smooth-grained dark piece of paper (or clear plexi) on which to capture the snow crystals. Let it sit outside awhile so that the crystals don't melt on it. 

2. Use a tripod and a macro lens.

3. Consider using manual focus over auto focus. My husband looked at my photos and said they would have turned out better with manual focus. However, I have poor eyesight and could hardly see the nearly-microscopic bits of snow, let alone determine whether I had them in focus, so I continued with the auto focus option.

4. Watch out for wind. Be patient, but act quickly when you spot a beautiful crystal. They often melt upon landing, or get an arm broken when another crystal lands on top.

5. Try taking photographs at intervals throughout the day. I noticed that the size and quality of the snow crystals changed as the day went on. Larger snowflakes were obviously easier to see and photograph.

My results are not spectacular; clearly I am no professional. (I increased the contrast in the photographs to make it easier to see the crystals.) The kids and I were thrilled nonetheless. It was magical to see these gorgeous bits of nature up close. 

This is one time where I would urge you to click on each photo to see it larger. 

Tomorrow I'll share some books we've enjoyed about snowflakes, including those that inspired me to attempt to photograph the crystals.

Simple snowflakes: 3

Thank you so very much for your comments and emails. Hearing from readers old and new gave me renewed confidence that what I am trying to do--in life, in art, in this blog--does matter. It's a difficult world, isn't it? We mourn our fellow citizens in Arizona (see Pat's blog for a beautiful post on this); our friends in Australia suffer through devastating floods; our friends in Haiti mark one year since the terrible earthquake, and still they suffer--and so it goes, all around the world. Sometimes I can hardly bear to think of it all. My scientist husband remarked to me that trying to make beauty will always be important in a world of hardship. So yes--we must help others, in every way we can, and we must also pursue Beauty, and have faith in its purpose. 

And so from those thoughts, onward to snowflakes, ephemeral and yet, en masse, powerful, as we have been experiencing in the past few days. They cover our land in a frigid blanket. They fall like feathers; they glitter. They sit dull and quiet; they whisper. They pull down power and leave us cold and dark, surrounded by white. And then, crystal by crystal, they vanish.

Last year I made sun prints of snowflake shapes, and I liked them so well I thought I'd share them now. I embellished the prints with white ink.  

For the complete post and how-to, see here. 

Color book of the seasons

Everything I do begins with color. My very thoughts are infused with them. My clothes reveal color fixations; my garden endures color experiments. In my mind each day of the week has a color. My memory is less about what I did than what color I remember: the pale blue staircase to my great-grandmother's attic. The red rock cliffs of Mauritania. That puce green cardigan I wore to the coffee shop in college.

All my projects begin with a color that indicates emotion and purpose to me.

When I was a letterpress printer I used the Pantone color book to mix ink for the press. Now I'm a mother, and no longer a printer. But I still need to work with color, in whatever form I have time for. 

I was thinking about the coming year and the things I want to create, and the first thing I decided to make was my own version of a color book. Mine follows the logic of how I see the seasons in my part of the world (and in my own brain), with each leaf representing one month. In this photo above you see January, February and March.

January for me is a month of blue and white, grey and black, sparkle and dullness. For my January color strip, I painted two shades of blue and one of charcoal. My projects for the month, both with the kids and for myself, will involve things related to the winter sky. I'll be sharing them with you in the coming weeks.

If you want to make your own version of this little experiment--call it a color book, color wheel, or paint chip collection, as you like--just find some scrap paper and color. I used handmade paper and watercolors, and I painted my little squares without much concern for exactitude. My leaves are approximately 6 inches by 1 and 3/4 inches, and the size was dictated in part by the scraps I had available. 

I hope everyone is enjoying the new year, with new projects and new beginnings.

Light-filled leaves, this year

Do you remember this post? I had such fun making those designs. I haven't had much time or energy this fall to make things, but I managed a few push-drill leaf compositions, as seen below. One has to do something with all of the leaves that the small folk collect . . . .

Pattern play (Or, fun ways to procrastinate)

I like to look at patterns. I like color and rainbows, as you ought to know by now. I also like to procrastinate on things I ought to be doing. Here are a few favorite things to play with instead of working . . . . 

My son received the puzzle at the top of this photo for his first birthday. I liked it so much that I got the puzzle at bottom for me! These are made by Grimm's toys, available here. By the way, both puzzles are quite small; the larger one is approximately 16 centimeters across. Those nice beads are also by Grimm's--I love all of their things, which are carefully made and have beautiful luminous colors. (No shady sponsorship is happening here--I just like their stuff!)

I also like the patterns my two-year-old makes with watercolors.

I like coloring books. Yes, I admit it! When I was more, you know, professional, and taught at a liberal arts college, the nice lunch lady there used to work on her coloring books when not collecting meal tickets. This seemed so liberating and wonderful to me. I have now taken up the hobby in my old age. The two pages pictured above are from the Rosie Flo's Garden book.

This amazing book came from a sweet friend of mine who is from Israel. She tells me the cover of this simply says "My Coloring Book." 

This is a compact book, eight inches high, so each of those little spaces is darn small. I have not even filled in one page yet, but it has been a lot of fun. You can get your own copy of this coloring book at the artist's Etsy shop, found here.
 

Since I am thinking about childish things, I have a nice collection of new and new-to-me artful books (to borrow Jean's phrase) for children, which I will post in the next day or two.

Make believe March

You just have to look at my last post to know that the first day of March does not look much different here than the final days of February did. It's still winter, of course. Spring won't be officially on the books for another three weeks. But I need to create an imaginary spring garden, now. So far, this is what I've got . . .

. . . a card from my mother, with a watercolor by Antoine Berjon.

. . . a tiny piece of jade, carved with flowers, from my grandmother's collection. I suppose it was meant to be a brooch.

. . . a few experiments in paper.

. . . reproductions of vintage bird images, from Cavallini & Co. (And we did see a real chickadee in our barn this weekend! So exciting!)

. . . this wonderful volume sent from friends in Alabama, filled with detailed botanical illustrations and delightful, encyclopedic and campy tales of three children's adventures in nature. 
 
Here are some lovely links for more glimpses of spring:

• Spring cleaning in the Atlas mountains
• Seeds and sprouts 
• Rain drops for your room

Family art afternoon, No. 2

The supplies:

• tempera paints
• paint brushes
• paper
• 2 child painters
• 2 adults to refill, replenish, mop up, and wipe down 

Our kids are enthusiastic painters. They embrace the medium. They lavish paint onto the pristine sheet, thrilled with the texture, the smell, the intense colors. The two-year-old, in particular, felt strongly that each sheet needed a thick application of paint followed by a thorough twirling, swirling, and thumping of the brush in the puddles of pigment. No, indeed, Mama--the painting is never done! (Oh, his grandfather, also a painter, knows exactly what he means.)

So while this was not a particularly original project--we used ordinary materials in the ordinary way--the focus and enthusiasm that the kids showed made it a satisfying and successful family art afternoon.