True Confessions: A Different Kind of Making

I've been creating some sort of "family calendar" every year since 1992. It started when Erin was in preschool. Her teacher had the kids each make a monthly calendar featuring special kid-art (I remember lots of handprints. . . ). I ended up adding a photo of the kids to each month - and I gave the calendar to my parents for Christmas.

Big hit!

So the next year, I made them another calendar. This was back in the days before digital cameras, so I created monthly scrapbook layouts using printed photos and kid-art and pretty paper. It was pretty quick and easy, and again . . . 

Big hit!

And so it continued. Every year I made a calendar for my parents. "Technology" improved each year. Paper companies started creating pre-made calendars you could purchase, with pop-in spots for you to just add your own photos. (Still nothing digital, of course.) Voilà! Instant and easy gift that my parents loved! I just saved a few photos each year for the calendar and made quick work of the whole thing.

And then . . . came the digital camera.
And Shutterfly.

Suddenly, there was a big upgrade in the photo calendar department! With a commenserate upgrade in the time it took to put one together each year. Not just "popping in a photo" anymore. Oh, no! All of a sudden it was a multi-step, time intensive project: culling through the 100s (maybe 1000s) of digital photos I so casually snapped all year long, uploading those photos to Shutterfly, making sure each family member was (kinda) represented equally - and that the photos (kinda) fit the month.

But, boy! Did those printed Shutterfly calendars look great! My parents LOVED them. And because it was all digital, you could get price breaks when you ordered more - so I started ordering one for myself, too.

And Shutterfly calendar technology just kept marching on! Soon you could personalize the dang things with birthdays and holidays -- and add MORE pictures to the little date squares. There were themes and formatting upgrades. It just kept getting more and more "professional" looking -- and . . . more and more time-intensive to actually DO.

But . . . these calendars were my parents' most cherished gift every year. My mom used to say, wistfully, "I wish your sister would make me one, too." Now my sister has many, many talents and gifts. Photography is not her thing, and she's had no desire to create digital calendars. This is not a shortcoming in any way. She just . . . didn't want to go down the create-photo-calendar-for-our-parents path. So I expanded my calendar project to encompass ALL OF US. And our pets, too!

For years, it became my most dreaded holiday task. It became . . .  The Daunting Family Calendar. It took hours and hours every year. (And it made me really grumpy and not much fun to be around while I was doing it.) Gathering photos. Sorting photos. Uploading photos. Creating the calendar pages. So much work! But so worth it every year. My parents loved the calendars, my sister loved the calendar. I loved having it FINISHED. 

Then the kids went to college. They wanted their own copies of the Family Calendar. (Because how else would they know when everybody's birthdays were???) So I was now creating this monster calendar incorporating photos of/from 9 people and a growing number of dogs and cats! 

Big task. Many hours of work. But . . . the calendars turned out beautifully and, really, everybody loved them! So. I continued on. (It was only once a year anyway.)

Then, in 2016, my Mom died. The kids were all grown and scattered to the winds. My dad was downsizing and moving to a small apartment. I was overwhelmed with many things. I decided to . . . let the calendar go. We'd had a great run with it, but I just didn't have the heart for it. (How could I make a Family Calendar without my MOM in it???) Everyone understood. So 2017 became the Year Without a Family Calendar.

And you know what? We all missed it.

So I started making them again for 2018. But I tried to make it more manageable for myself. Fewer photos. Fewer "special dates" on the calendar pages. I stopped including my sister's family (she was okay with it; she had grown weary of my constant nagging for photos she didn't like taking in the first place anyway). It's still a giant task. But. . . still a favorite gift. 

And a huge silver lining:  I have the most wonderful stack of Family Calendars going back to 2004 now (the first year I created a digital calendar).

I am right now, this week, putting the finishing touches on this year's Family Calendar. (I'm late this year. I lost track of the time.) Like always, I'll be so glad and relieved when it's done! But you know what else? I've enjoyed the process this year! Having less on my calendar and to-do list helps. But it's also been such a treat to scroll through my photos and see that . . . we've really made the best of a really crappy year! All of us. Yeah. The photos are different this year . . . we've got masks in some of them, "pandemic hair" in most of them, we're working from home and not-going-anywhere, and - most notably - we're not together. But we're . . . there. And we're smiling. And we look even . . . happy.

It's good perspective for me right now.
A nice reality check.
I'm really GLAD I'm creating the Family Calendar this year!
(But I'll still be really glad to get it off my list today. . . )

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(The photos in this post are of the 2020 version of the Family Calendar, now hanging in my mudroom.)

A Pandemic Silver Lining Story

Today's post is in the Doing Things Differently Because Pandemic (And Finding That's a Good Thing) camp.

As I've mentioned over the years here, I regularly take art classes at our local KIA art school. I actually started taking photography classes right after I finished my chemo treatments (12 years ago now!!!) as a way to "move forward" after cancer treatment. But then, I switched over to drawing . . . and then colored pencil drawing . . . and, finally, about 5 years ago, to watercolor.

Watercolor . . . was what I really wanted all along. 

But watercolor is hard. And intimidating. It's one of the least forgiving of the painting "media" to work with. Because once you've got that paint on the page, there is no erasing, no turning back! (Although there are tricks. . . ) And that water. Oh, so much water sometimes. . . 

Anyway. Watercolor was especially challenging for me. I've taken lots of art classes in the past, but never watercolor. There is so much to learn, and it takes a lot of practice to get things looking even kinda-sorta like you imagine they might, or want them to. It is hard not to judge yourself harshly - with any art form, but I think especially with watercolor - because watercolor looks so easy, so simple, so . . . flowing and gentle and natural.

HA!
(It's not.)

I have learned many, many lessons as a beginner watercolorist. My most important lessons, though, have had nothing to do with materials or technique or (the ever-elusive) "water management." No. My most important lessons have been all about myself.  Just allowing myself to be . . . Not Good; that it's okay to BE a beginner; to manage my expectations and learn from experience. 

These are hard lessons. (Or, at least, they are for me.)  My watercolor classes are a mix of students -- some who are just starting out (me) thrown right in with experienced students who didn't really need a "class" as much as they needed the weekly discipline and support of a "painting group." Oh, man. The intimidation at first was overwhelming! But, ultimately I found this kind of class structure to be a powerful learning environment. The experienced students were welcoming and encouraging and supportive. They helped me improve -- and, more importantly, they gradually became MY support group, too!

Our pre-pandemic, 3-hour, in-person class sessions always kicked off with what our instructor called "show-and-tell" . . . when each of us shared what we'd been working on - at any stage in the process - for critique. (This is where the "support" part of all this really came in to play -- because the critique was always matched up with what the student needed. Newer, beginning students got encouraging words and helpful feedback, while more experienced students got the serious feedback they needed.) Then, our instructor would move on to the "demo" part of class. She'd select some piece for us to paint together -- always different styles, always different source material. She'd demo. She'd teach. We could either paint along with her . . . or just watch.

Me?
I always, always . . . just watched.
I almost never painted in class!

I would go home after class, and sometimes try the demo on my own. But often, I didn't. (I did paint other things. I was big on the practicing; just not with the demos.) I had plenty of excuses for not doing the demos, but - if I'm honest with myself -  I was afraid to fail. I didn't want to paint in front of other people and have them see my attempt go right off the rails right off the bat. (Even though they wouldn't have cared and most of them went off the rails right off the bat, too.) I practiced my painting at home, privately . . . in my own little "studio" . . . and never really got the very freeing benefit of just . . . letting loose and trying new things on the fly!

Enter the pandemic.

Last May, my watercolor instructor moved her classes to a Zoom-based format (which was super awkward at first, but it really works now). It's been so wonderful to be with my watercolor group again! And we follow the same format as always . . . first the "show-and-tell"/critique, followed by the "demo." The big difference?

I paint along with the demos now!

Part of it is that I do the Zoom class right in my "studio," where all my painting stuff is already set up and it's very convenient to just . . . paint. But I know that the bigger part is that . . . I'm not worried about having a "bad start" in front of people. Because, of course, no one can see what you're doing on Zoom unless you show them!

Over the past several months, I can tell that my painting is improving. I'm gaining more confidence about just . . . diving in and beginning. I'm (kinda-sorta) developing my own style. It's liberating to feel like I don't have to try to make my piece look just like the instructor's demo lesson. And . . .  I don't hesitate anymore to hold up my in-progress demo when our instructor asks at the end of class if anyone would like to show what they've been working on.

And this is big.

Maybe . . . by the time we all get to meet together for class in person again . . . I'll paint right there in real time!
And that is a Pandemic Silver Lining!

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(The photos in this post are from my class sketch book, each showing a "demo" I painted during my Zoom classes.) (Including this one. In progress. From yesterday.)

 

 

Inspiration You Can Eat

You never know when inspiration will strike.

It could be . . . a pattern of leaves. Or the light falling across the landscape. Maybe it's a shadow. Or the way colors work together. A particular texture, even.

Or . . . it could be a simple colander full of fresh blueberries that gets the inspiration flowing!

That happened to me yesterday. I didn't wake up planning to go on a bit of a baking binge, but it happened all the same . . . as soon as I saw those blueberries. (And smelled the fresh nectarines on my counter.) (And maybe it could even be the latest season of The Great British Baking Show. Who knows?)

But, suddenly, I was all in!

First up, pie crust. Then, while that cooled in the fridge, I was on to blueberry muffins. (Which were quite fine, warm from the oven with a glass of Chardonnay out on the patio, I might add.)

But then. . . the pièce de résistance! 

A blueberry nectarine galette. (Kinda like a pie, but more rustic and a little less fussy.)

And that, folks? 
That was dinner!

Inspiration . . . you can eat!

In Progress

We're having "work days" here at our cottage this week. Deep cleaning. Household tasks. Putting in the docks. "Lumberjacking." (Taking care of felled trees and clearning out some space at our "beach" -- now non-existent due to rising lake levels.)

Not much time for fun and games. 

Or knitting.

But my watercolor class still meets via Zoom on Tuesday nights! We're working on still life compositions right now. Mine . . . has a definite up north feel . . . 

In progress. . . coming along.
(Bonus points if you can tell what it is.)

What are you working on these days?

 

 

My New (ab)Normal

I haven't picked up my paintbrushes since the pandemic canceled my watercolor classes in early March.

I've wanted to.
I think about painting quite a lot.
I even organized all my painting stuff.

I just . . . haven't.

So I was really excited when my watercolor instructor contacted me two weeks ago and explained she was going to do a "pilot" watercolor class on Zoom . . . and she asked me if I'd like to participate. 

Hell YES!  

Last night was our first class. (Bonus about Zoom classes: I can even do this from our cabin up north . . . where we are this week.)  It wasn't without its technical glitches, that's for sure.  But I think she'll work things out as we go.  (After all, this is a "pilot" class.)  I don't know that this format would work for a beginning class, but for this group . . . well, we all know each other because we've been painting together for years, and we've got the watercolor basics down already.  So that helps in this new format.

It felt really good to get everything set up before class.

And to just work through lesson elements in my little sketchbook.

It felt nice.
Almost (but not quite) . . . normal.
I guess you could say it was my new (ab)normal.

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Reminder:  If you haven't already joined the discussion of I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, please do check out the discussion questions posted yesterday here (Bonny's blog), here (Carole's blog), and here (my post yesterday).

Counterbalance

Knitting on my gray cardigan continues.  
(I'm deep into the second sleeve.) (Knitting flat.)  
(It is a big gray blob.)  
(Nothing to see here.)  
(Move along.)

So I'll show you something else.

When I had the flu a couple of weeks ago, my brain was in a deep fog.  I couldn't manage much.  I couldn't knit.  I couldn't read. My eyes hurt too much to watch tv.  But I could sit on the couch and doodle!  I grabbed a piece of illustration board and a black pen and I started drawing . . . grid shapes.  Then I got out my watercolor pencils and a paintbrush.  And I started doing this. . . 

It got me through those long, sick days.

There was not much to it.  Just grids.  Color.  And some shading.

I had so much fun with it, I kept going.  Even after I was feeling better.  Now it looks like this.

I think it's finished.  (Although I keep messing with it.)

Adding little details here and there.

Messing with the color.

It's a good . . . counterbalance . . . to knitting a big blob of gray cardigan!

How about YOU?  What are you making today?

 

 

Fiber-y Goodness

Many years ago (thanks to the "search" feature here on the blog, I see it was 2013), I went to a workshop and learned needle felting.  I made a sorta-cute-but-also-sorta-creepy ornament thing.  And then I put away my newly-acquired needle felting tools, intending to try it again sometime, but . . . well . . . not trying it again.

Fast forward to the Michigan Fiber Festival last August.  I was shopping the vendors with my friend Karen, and we stumbled into one of the most lovely, inviting, and charming booth set-ups I have ever seen . . . for an Ann Arbor company called Felted Sky.  It was ALL needle felting stuff:  kits, supplies, wool.  And the kits were super cute!

Before I knew it, I had a couple of kits in my hand (this one and this one) . . . and I was checking out!  Totally ready to go home and retrieve my plastic bin of needle felting supplies from the depths of my "craft closet."

Yesterday afternoon, I fiber-sculpted some pumpkins!  Beginning with wool . . . 

and moving on to shaping and felting with a needle.

Needle felting is really fun -- and very forgiving.  There are always chances to add a bit more shape, whittle it down here and there, poke it to get just what you're looking for.

And adding the roving makes it kind of magical!

After a couple of hours, I had one finished pumpkin, one ready-for-the-details pumpkin, and one shaped blob that will become a pumpkin.

Very satisfying.  Kind of addictive.  (Like any craft in the fiber "line!") (And I only stabbed myself once.)  Plus . . . charming little nuggets of fiber-y goodness when you're done!

Have you ever tried needle felting?  If you've got any little niggling desire to give it a try, I highly recommend the kits from Felted Sky.  They include everything you need to get started (except the foam mat; you'd need to buy one of those separately) - including needles.  The kits come with complete and detailed step-by-step written instructions including color photos --- and links to video demonstrations, should you need them.

I'm hooked!  (Maybe this time I won't just shove my needle felting bin to the depths of the "craft closet" . . . )

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I thank you all for your thoughtful and insightful comments so far for our first Read With Us book discussion!  I truly wish we could all be together, talking about this book in my living room!  I can see that . . . there are true limitations to replying to comments IN the comments section, at least when it comes to my Typepad blog, so my apologies for the cumbersome nature of this discussion.  Please continue to comment and discuss the book on yesterday's post --- while I figure out the settings to make replying to comments IN the comments work.  (Because I've run into an issue.  But I'm working on it!)

 

Abundant Inspiration . . . Up North

I pack along my sketching "tools" whenever I head up north.  But I don't always use them.  Sometimes the materials at hand . . . inspire a different kind of sketching.

I hope your week is full of inspiration.

(I may post tomorrow, but I may not.  It depends on whether - or when - I need to report for jury duty.)  (Send good juju.)

Something Different

Big news here.

Each spring, one of our local art galleries sponsors a show for students of the Kalamazoo Institute of Arts, where I take my art classes.  The instructors get to pick student work to put in the show, and this year . . . my instructor chose two of my watercolor paintings.

So, that's my cow on top (the final version, sans eye patch).  And the one on the bottom is my egret.

It really is a thrill . . . to walk into a gallery and know your pieces are in there somewhere.  (Also unnerving.  Because what if everyone else's work is so much better than yours and you just look stupid by comparison.)  (Inner critic = super loud and obnoxious.)

Whatever.  At some point, I just have to get over it!
There it is.  My work on the wall.

Definitely something different!

(And if you're in the area and you want to see the show, it'll be up through the end of May at Life Story Network/Ignertia Gallery on North Street - near Bells! - in Kalamazoo.)

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Want to see the pieces closer up?

 

 

So Many Ways To . . . Unravel

I have plenty of hobbies in my life.

(PLENTY)

I read.  I knit.  I sew.  I paint.  I draw.  I garden.  I stitch.  I yoga.

I DO NOT NEED another hobby.

I DO NOT.

NOT.

But there I was, sitting in an all-day workshop last Saturday.  
Learning about Shibori dyeing.

Gleefully painting a gradient.  
Joyously wrapping and scrunching.

Totally amazed.

And, well. . .
completely charmed.

So much mess.  
So much fun.  

I think I might have a new hobby.

(Oops.)

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Be sure to visit Kat today to see more Unraveled posts!

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And be sure to come back here on Friday . . . when I'll be ASKING QUESTIONS!