Perhaps

I woke up this morning to the ding of a rejection email hitting my inbox and felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I submitted a few poems weeks ago and it has been nagging in the back of my mind that my favorite concept of the bunch could have been done so much better if I hadn't tried to play it safe.

When I took my first ever art class in high school I knew eff all about art. I had a pretty solid understanding of color theory and doodled sometimes, but that was it. Halfway through the semester, we were doing landscape paintings, mine was of a castle in Scotland with a meadow and many trees in the foreground. I settled in a nice pastel almost washed out, non offensive color scheme. My art teacher kept coming by and telling me it was too light, too generic, not bold enough. She finally walked up to my desk, dipped a brush in lime green paint and smeared it across my pastel meadow. "You have to push the values." she reiterated and wandered off.

I sat, quietly fuming, for a few moments before adjusting the rest of the painting to match the awful bright green in the foreground. And she was right, the painting looked much better after I was pushed out of my comfort zone and had to be bold. Once the other values were pushed, the green she had smeared across the painting looked perfect.

I can create comfortably. I can write proficiently without shifting around and glaring at the walls and feeling like maybe I need to wash my hands or sit in the bottom of the shower with a stiff drink afterwards. I can paint and draw without someone adding splotches of bright green paint. But my strongest work in anything comes from those "oh fuck" moments. It comes from the "there is no way I can salvage this, I should just give up" moments and working through them or shelfing the project until I am ready to work through them.

Today when I got the generic, "your work is not right for us" notice I was relieved because I knew in the first draft and concept work of that poem I felt the lump in my throat and the discomfort, and that I edited all of that out in favor of something no one would probably love, but no one could really hate either. And now I have it in my head that not only do I get to rework that poem, but that I should definitely write an entire manuscript of uncomfortable poetry. I have a title all picked out and a million other things I should be doing, but who am I to hang up on my muse?

Which brings us to what I spent all morning doing, because it certainly wasn't actually writing these poems. No, I made a book to write them in, inspired by a sort of poetry manifesto I did several years ago in college.

Much like this go around, I was inspired first with a title. "Perhaps". I made a mini book (about 3.5 x 3.5, 18 pages) from one large sheet of watercolor I had mix media'd. The dirt looking stuff on the cover is tea, incidentally. 

I started with the word Perhaps and just went from there. Any time I got stuck, I wrote the word perhaps again. 

I wrote on the bus, I wrote at the pizza joint I would treat myself to any time I went to the bank, I wrote between classes, hunched over on the sidewalk, pretty much anywhere an idea hit me I was writing. 

This was also before I ever heard of zentangling. Call me a hipster but I was doodling like that before it was cool. 

"Perhaps" never was entirely finished, but some of the content was cleaned up and turned into a 3 part mini zine series a few years later. It should have been about 5 or 6 parts, but I naturally ended up distracted by some other project and now it's been several more years and I don't think "Perhaps" will ever be "finished". 

With that project in mind, but wanting a book that was a little bit bigger to fit a full manuscript worth of ideas in, I set out to make a journal.

I started with a mixed media masterboard on bristol board. I wish I had thought to take progress photos because this was one long series of "oh fuck" moments. 

Initially I had thought I would coptic bind the notebook with the pretty cover, but the idea of the inner pages being boring made me sad, and the idea of decorating a million pages made me bored. Thankfully I had one last piece of GIANT drawing paper to jazz up. 

It was unintentional how much the end color schemes resembled "Perhaps". I like what I like, I guess. 

This is the other side of the paper, before I added some watered down white acrylic to subdue the nonsense. I do have to write on it after all. 

Ah, I missed photographing a few steps after this due to tense moments. The paper and the cover were all still very damp with paint so putting the holes in tore chunks instead of neatly piercing. I added a ribbon for structural integrity purposes and kept going.

The cover turned out perfect. I just need to cut some letters out to stencil the title on once it dries. 

I love how the edges of the pages look. The entire reason I didn't let it dry was to get that damp torn look. I recall now that usually when I make these books I let them dry and then wet the edges again to tear them. Definitely works a little better... 

I need to let this dry about 50 years before I write in it now, but I am very pleased with how it turned out. I can't wait to start drafting my poetry manuscript in the free time I specifically cleared up so I could work on rewriting the two novels I am already working on... I'm pretty sure I don't even like poetry. 

Ghosts of Hobbies Past- Books!

I'm cleaning my office out currently for a myriad of reasons. The biggest one being oh dear god why do I have so much crap, where did it all come from and what sort of lunatic am I to have a box full of pieces for repairing dolls when I have never once repaired a doll in my entire life and haven't even done assemblage art for half a decade. I'm doing my best to goodwill and/or garbage the crap I know I'm not going to use, but it's the ghosts that get me. 

What to do with all the really neat things I made that never found homes? Hitting especially hard today is bookbinding. I love bookbinding but had to cut back on it precisely because little journals and things kept piling up with no one to take them (well, I'm sure someone would take them but I'm not crazy about paying postage to give away things I calloused my fingers making). Here's a few choice bits I found today. 

Tiny stab stitched books! More importantly, a little container of papers cut to the perfect size for this project. As I recall, these were perfect for slipping into outgoing mail as they were thin and light and pretty quick to assemble. I'll probably cut down any other weird papers I find to this size and restart this project. I love that the sample I have made uses a piece cut from blind contour practice I was doing. YES. That's the way to re-art things.

A somewhat close to paperback novel sized arty book journal thing. It's a hard ish cover with wrap around binding and stenciled throughout with a plastic keyboard cover deal. Along with a tiny pink book beneath. 

These tiny pocket notebooks, coptic bound and cute. 

mmmmmm. I am very very happy with my binding on this one. Not to brag but my stitching here is delightful. 

And finally, prototypes from one of my more ambitious binding projects, arty books that are inspired by flowers. They are also coptic bound and pretty dang cool if I say so myself. Some of the later ones I did turned out even better (and actually found homes). 

In all likelihood, these are going back in the closet where I found them because I still have no idea what I want to do with them, except that now I would very much like to pull out my thread and get binding again. I guess it's not really too early to start on Christmas gifts for this year...  

Dragon Mail

A little known fact about me, and a dumb one at that, is that I don't actually like decorating envelopes. I know, I know. I started a mail art blog, I send an absurd amount of mail, I have all the stuff to make great envelopes every time. Hell, I have nearly 40 envelopes hand cut from awesome books made up and ready to go. Yet somehow sending "mail art" envelopes intimidates me. 

Partly it's seeing people complain about "overuse of stickers" (is that even possible?!) or certain themes, or too much or too little white space. Partly it's wondering "what is mail art?!" Can washi tape alone make mail art? Is adding a few rubber stamps mail art? What if I carved those stamps myself?  

Most of all though, when I first started getting into mail I was a lone wolf. I was armed with the book "good mail day" an LWA membership and a lot of free time. I did not get into trading mail art through online forums for a few years. I didn't even realize there was a sect of people trading mail without pen-paling out there! 

These were my wild rogue days of mail art. The stick plenty of postage on and abandon it in a blue drop box sans return address so they "have" to deliver it. Cans of cat food, disassembled cassette tapes with letters tucked inside and tied shut, little theater boxes of candy, wax seals, stencils and dragons. Lots and lots of dragons.

These guys! Circa 2011.

As much as I like having a mail art "tribe" now and the convenience of swapping and all that, sometimes I miss the simplicity and not feeling like I had to do anything a certain way. Everyone I wrote was happy just to hear from me, even with my huge sloppy strips of scotch tape holding everything together and handwriting that was "like trying to read Shakespeare's original manuscripts". Anyone that wasn't didn't keep writing. Simple. 

Since I have a little pile of penpal letters to reply to, and a big box of security envelopes, I decided to go back to my roots and draw some dragons. 

Ignoring the disgustingly mixed media backdrop that is my desk, I decided to go with ballpoint pen and watercolor pencils. Even though I don't have a picture of the original dragon envelopes colored, I know they got that same treatment. 

Besides, watching water magically transform my scribbles will never not feel magical. 

I love that my dragon style has changed so much. The original ones were influenced greatly by medieval style dragons while the newer ones take after the beardie I had for a few years. 

For good measure I did a few snakes as well.

And this inquisitive little beardie. 

This spazzy guy is my favorite. 

Finally I did a little throwback to my old dragon. Trying to mimic my old style and design was not super successful but I like his smug little face anyway. 

 I also happily remembered that I had some dragon faux postage leftover that will look nice glued on.

and the stamp I carved of the late Pancake monster should add a nice finishing touch to the envelopes. I might even have some of the lizard postage stamps leftover to use on these. 

This is my finished pile for today. I'm pretty pleased with them and it was nice to take a step back and do some unobligated mail art. or whatever. I still don't actually understand what even constitutes mail art and probably never will. But these are kinder to my postage budget than cans of catfood are, so I'll call it a win. 

Wisdom Pending

Before I had my wisdom teeth removed on Monday, a few people told me I should write down any good ideas I had during recovery. I, myself, had high hopes of creating some mind blowing art or brilliant piece of writing while I was out of it, because hope springs eternal and my many attempts at drunk art have taught me nothing. 

I colored a lot of postcards the first two days, and sent out a good dozen or more postcards and notes (god knows what I decided to write on them...) I also filled a tablet with notes, concerns, requests and small talk to my husband. I expressed some valid concerns about why I was still bleeding and if I would ever be able to eat donuts again. And I drew my favorite self portrait ever. 

"me, tomorrow"

It's probably not going to end up in a museum, but I can't stop laughing at my Seussian little face and the desperation with which "don't laugh. [it] hurts." is written. Somehow, I just can't be disappointed that this is the fruit of my painkillers. 

Mini Mail

I'm in no real condition for proper blogging today, so here's a look back at a preblog project I really love (and hope to revisit soon).

For April Fool's day 2016, I sent out a batch of "shrunk" mail to a handful of my correspondents. I packed each teeny tiny envelope against a bit of cardboard from a previous stamp order, wrapped in a plastic bag with an "apology" from the USPS.

All the little letters I sent made it to their recipients without any issues. Half of them arrived (in perfect condition) in a USPS "body bag". Presumably some postman along the way had a good laugh before adding to the joke. 

Each envelope contained proper letter, ultra mini minizine, scaled down atc, and teeny tiny stickers. The envelopes had itty bitty stamps and postmarks. 

Ultra mini mini zine interior. 

I considered adding tiny shrunk fortune cookie fortunes, itty bitty squares of origami paper and a few other things, but decided to go with "less is more" since I don't generally include a lot of extras in my letters anyway. 

Still amused by the concept, I made my sister a mini care package.

I free handed the box out of card stock and surprisingly it went together ok. No mini care package is complete without mini goodies though.

I included a tiny letter, the smallest roll of washi tape, a tiny sheet of jamberry nail wraps, stickers, a small pink box of incense and a blank notebook I had lying around. If only I had included a tiny bag of tea it would have been perfect. 

Reduce, Reuse, Remail

When I first seriously got into pen-paling and mail art about 8 years ago, I kept every single piece of mail nearly pristine in a little basket. Then a small drawer. Then a giant clear tub in the top of the closet.

Those were the dark ages. Now I have a flawless system that still results in piles of mail all over my office, but somewhat reduces them.

Pen pal letters are punched and filed in binders, chronologically by sender.

Stamps are torn off, sorted by USA or not and put in a bag for Stamps for the Wounded.

Interesting bits of envelopes or non penpal notecards go in a ziptop bag for later use.

Goodies, extra special swap notes and mail art are filed in their own collections or displayed. Everything else is tossed in the recycle bin.

I'll save in depth sorting babbling for another post, today let's dive into some reusing and remailing in action. That pretty pile of mail art at the top of the post wasn't click bait, swearsies. 

I dug through the envelope stash and sorted out a few piles. On the left, an "accent" pile or things that would make good focal points and then three piles of colors that looked good together. 

I glued the paper bits to a piece of 11 x 14 mixed media paper trying to keep things that looked good close together. (I ended up not using the red pile this time.)

A little bit of spray ink, some gloss medium to seal and my very favorite large glitter flakes to add some sparkle and tie everything together. After I felt good about the base and gave it time to dry, I positioned a few focal pieces and cut down the end products.

I got four nice small postcards (about 3.5 by 5)

One really really dumb postcard. I cut it too small and had to add a border later. I spent most of the time working on this project giggling about that damn dicksquid.

Two bookmarks 

One atc

eight word tile things and three inchies.

Now all the little bits that made me so happy to see when I opened my mailbox can go out into the world and cheer someone else up. At least a few of them will be sent in swaps, which will net more interesting envelopes in my mailbox so the cycle may continue. 

InCoWriMo Plan of Attack

It's InCoWriMo again, or lettermo, if you prefer. Either way, it's that time of year where you're encouraged to send at least one piece of mail everyday for the entire month.  

    

Personally, I easily send an average of 30+ pieces of mail a month anyway, so I like to use February to send as much mail as humanly possible.

February generally goes something like this for me.

Week one:
Reply to all the pen pal letters that piled up while I had the January blehs.

Week two:
Get out all the stuff to send Valentine's day cards to everyone I know. Send three Valentines before realizing I waited too long and they aren't going to get there in time. Put all the Valentine's day crud back in its box and shove it in the closet for next year. (Why yes, I have been sending out from the same set of Valentines for the last 5 years.)

Week three:
Send out mail desperately to anyone I can think of, possibly hosting a r.a.k. or joining a few swaps I don't actually want to do to have mail to send out. This is the week where I wonder if I'm obligated to send my orthodontist a postcard back since I am supposed to reply to every letter that crosses my inbox, or if that would just be weird.

Week four:
An easy week, I reply to all the people that wrote me back after I wrote them in weeks one and two. Usually I manage to finish the month out completely void of all mail obligations.

This generally leads to a prosperously full mail box for most of March, before I manage to slip into the April blahs. And it has worked the last few years, so it's a good enough plan of attack for 2017.

I started this morning with a healthy 6 letters, 1 postcard and 1 tax return mailed out. I'm counting it as 8 pieces of mail. I am not all the way through my reply pile yet and have a handful of swaps and things to work on in the next few days, so I am set for week one.

My desk is an absolute wreck, incidentally. I don't think I will be doing many paintings at my desk this month. So let's play eye spy.

In this photo you will notice the Chinese New Year mail I thought would be so neat to send January 1st, but absolutely could not be bothered to send January 20th. I guess that's going in the closet for next year next to the Valentine's box.

For unknown reasons I also dug out my alphabet stamps that I almost never use as well as some stickers and labels, just in case.

My inaugural letter for the month was a reply to my most important and tiniest correspondent. No matter how far behind I am on pen pal letters, nieces get top of the pile priority.

I pulled out my Valentine's box ahead of schedule this year (and used at least 3 things from it) and have a big old pile of fauxpostage to play with as well.  

On the far side of my desk things are the craziest, more things to reply to, pens, more pens, a lot of pens... I have heard people say that you are never more than 10 feet from a spider. In my house you are never more than 10 feet from a pen, and an artistic representation of a spider. But that's probably best saved for a different post.  

Happy February, everyone! If you're doing InCoWriMo or LetterMo keep track of how many bits of mail you send, I'd love to hear how everyone did at the end of the month.