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I am a published illustrator since 1982 and also an author. I talk about the industry and how what I do affects my life, and also how my crazy life impacts my art.
Statistics for Cats and Jammers Studio
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For those of you who have not heard read about it, this complex of performing arts center and museum is built on the site of the famous music festival held exactly 40 years ago this summer, which was not actually held in Woodstock, NY, but in Bethel, New York.
Forty years ago, I had just finished my junior year in high school in good old Haverstraw, New York. In that year I was still very immature, but I managed to see Hair on Broadway--and survive even tho I thought I would faint at the end of Act I. Here is a clip from the Smothers Brothers and some of the original cast.This song from that show played on WABC for half the year. That summer of 1969 was the summer of my seventeenth year-- a great and worry free time in my life. It was a wonderful summer, full of long hair, lake time, and lifeguards ( I dated an awful lot of lifeguards that summer, because that was when a casual "date" was just that--a date--and nothing more). It was a summer about getting excited thinking of my last year of high school and getting ready to go away to college and wondering and talking about where that college would be. Naturally, it was a summer of great music (actually it was a decade of great music, but that is another long post altogether).
Unfortunately for me, even though I grew up not too far from the location of the event, it was not a summer of great music at the Woodstock festival because I came from an old fashioned family that needed to know where I was at night and with whom. I had curfews, doncha know. Heading off for three days to listen to music and sleep somewhere other than my own bedroom? Ha! Sadly not in the realm of my growing up experience; my mother would have had the state police out looking for me, and I was not a good liar at making up plausible "where I was going" stories. So, even though I know there were plenty of kids there even younger than I who had the ultimate rock and roll experience in the summer of 1969, I
was not one of them.
Fortunately I have had the pleasure of f a) living through that whole time and b) visiting the Museum at Bethel Woods.
If you have not yet done so, you make a point of visiting this museum. This museum is not just about Woodstock, even though that event and this property were the driving force behind the creation of the entire Center for the Arts. This museum is really about the 1960s, a decade that started out like "American Grafiti" and "Back to the Future" and ended up like Gimme Shelter. To use yet another movie reference for those of you not yet alive or too young to know, think--"Hairspray" is set in 1962. That is a heck of a lot different from the whole hippie/love-in/flower children/ ambience of Woodstock just seven years later.
Our dear friend Micahel Egan was the person in charge of bringing this museum into existence and overseeing the project, which was made possible by upstate NY businessman Alan Geary who purchased the land and funded the work with the very idea of creating the magnificent site that is there today.
Heading to Bethel Woods is well worth a trip. The museum does a great job of presenting the picture of 1960-1969 in a way that everyone will understand and will be able to grasp, no matter what point of reference is brought to the table. With a great many interactive displays it is a great hands-on experience for young and old alike, so bring the family.
Needless to say, it was a fun time machine adventure for me. I left wishing I had braved the wrath of my parents and lived life a little more dangerously in that summer of 1969. Ah, well, it would not have been who I really was back then, which was very young in so many ways--maybe even "younger" than the fourteen year olds who did indeed manage to sneak up there for three wonderful days.
Well, back to work for me. Lately, while I work I have been listening to a sixties music feed. My head is stuck somewhere between big giant rollers and Dippity-do. I must be trying to conjure up the summer of '69 once again. Not too hard when one is lost in thought and art and music of the time.
Part of me will be glad when the summer is over. I think it will be a welcome relief when I will return to 2009, which I expect to do with more energy once I step out of this endless summer of time travel.
But, until I do, I'm revving up the jukebox and thinking about Coppertone, Saturday nights, and Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida.
This morning over breakfast, I was immediately drawn to an article in today's NY Times," The Collected Ingredients of a Beijing Life " by Holland Carter. The article is about the Chinese artist Song Dong, and his wonderful installation at MoMa entitled "Waste Not." Mr. Song has taken the entire contents of the house of his mother, Zhao Xiangyuan, and arranged them in the museum's atrium, along with a piece of the house itself. Arranged in sorted piles of like objects, the art is a testament to the idea of a life defined by the possessions one accumulates and hoards.
Photo: Todd Heisler/New York Times
It is no secret from my blog post that I consider love, creativity, art and objects ( both ordinary and exceptional) to be be the stuff that life is made of. Essentially, I think who we are as humans is who and how we love, how we create, and what we collect and surround ourselves with. My grandmother was someone who loved and spoiled and fed me. But she was also the person who collected an enormous quantity of knick knacks and figurines; held on to every piece of clothing she ever owned; saved every plastic shopping bag and Cool Whip container she came across, and who was joined at the hip to her sewing machine. When I remember her, I always remember her in the context of these things. They were as much a part of who she was as the endless hugs and kisses and lasagna she bestowed upon me.
Photo: Todd Heisler/New York Times
So, I completely get the piece by Song Dong. For me, I do not think the installation is as grand a comment on Chinese society as it is a portrait of one person and the person's life. Politics, changing social structures and society may affect who we are and who we become. But, still, we are more a part of the world we create for ourselves than we are apart of the world at large. "Waste Not" is more than anything else a portrait of a son's mother and of her life. Mr. Song included EVERYTHING in this piece down to used tubes of toothpaste and empty plastic bottles. The effect in the photos in the NY Times slide show, is enormously powerful. Make sure to check it out. The artful arrangements of the like objects make little displays within the display. This is an art piece that would make me want to take a lot of time. I would love to study, absorb, and thoroughly enjoy every single bit of it. I hope I can get down to NY to see this exhibit in person as soon as possible. The show runs through September 21.
Of course, I cannot help but wonder what would a similar piece look like if my son were to attempt to do the same? I think it might require a space like Madison Square Garden. And even then, it might not fit.
From a Chronicle Books tweet (and, yes, I am getting addicted to Twitter even more than Facebook) I learned about this great new book coming out by Catherine Ledner:
There is something about the combination of dogs and decor that just makes me smile. Or maybe it is the combination of dogs and so-called-glamour decor that is humorous, because, when you stop to think about it, the entire concept of glamour is a bit ridiculous in a typically human centric sort of way.
What better way to scoff at the pretentiousness of "elegant living" other than to take a pooch and plop him on a satin sofa, with an exotic wallpaper in the background? Add a wind machine and fur and floppy ears flowing in the artificial breeze, and you would be hard pressed NOT to conjure up any film you have ever seen about models and photographers and how self involved they always seem. Can you stop yourself from smirking when you think about how seriously human models take those glamour shots compared to these four-legged ones? Compare the top video with this one.
The notion of "glamour" is absurd, really. Just look at these dogs. Think they're getting paid thousands of dollars to look every bit as beautiful as super models? More likely a biscuit or rawhide chew. And to think they do it all without makeup!
Mind you, they picked the best kind of dog for the cover shot--a French Bull dog, just like my Itty Bitty Busy Body.
I had a hard time deciding which blog to put this post on. Since my other blog is largely about design, I flirted with putting it there.
In the end I decided it had to go here, because, more than anything else the book sends a subtle message about life and silliness and the things we humans do and value.
From a Chronicle Books tweet (and, yes, I am getting addicted to Twitter even more than Facebook) I learned about this great new book coming out by Catherine Ledner:
There is something about the combination of dogs and decor that just makes me smile. Or maybe it is the combination of dogs and so-called-glamour decor that is humorous, because, when you stop to think about it, the entire concept of glamour is a bit ridiculous in a typically human centric sort of way.
What better way to scoff at the pretentiousness of "elegant living" other than to take a pooch and plop him on a satin sofa, with an exotic wallpaper in the background? Add a wind machine and fur and floppy ears flowing in the artificial breeze, and you would be hard pressed NOT to conjure up any film you have ever seen about models and photographers and how self involved they always seem. Can you stop yourself from smirking when you think about how seriously human models take those glamour shots compared to these four-legged ones?
The notion of "glamour" is absurd, really. Just look at these dogs. Think they're getting paid thousands of dollars to look every bit as beautiful as super models? More likely a biscuit or rawhide chew. And to think they do it all without makeup! Compare the top video with this one.
Mind you, they picked the best kind of dog for the cover shot--a French Bull dog, just like my Itty Bitty Busy Body.
I had a hard time deciding which blog to put this post. Since my other blog is largely about design, I flirted with putting it there.
In the end I decided it had to go here, because, more than anything else the book sends a subtle message about life and silliness and the things we humans do and value.
On one of my recent antique hunts in one of my favorite shops in New Hampshire (the Glass Knob in the Centre Harbour/ Moultonborough area), I found these little books for kids. They are called "LOLLIPOP BOOKS," and they were published in 1949 by "John Martin's House," James and Jonathan Co. out of Wisconsin. I was able to dig up this Time Magazine article from 1932 that gives some information about who John Martin was (at the time of the article, anyway, real name, Morgan Von Roorbach Shepard). According to the information I have so far, John Martin loved children, and published for them, including a magazine, but had no children of his own.
I love the period illustration along with the period ink palette. The "slightly-off-registration" print job adds to the charm.
I have a fondness for books like these. My own home library was what these books were all about for me: inexpensive reads picked up on the fly for pennies-- Golden Books, Miss Francis Ding Dong School Books, and others of that vintage--read over and over again. Most of my books as a child cost all of about twenty-five cents a piece. One can only wonder what each of these little books went for, though I would guess they were sold as a collection.
The size of these books makes them especially charming. They are roughly three by four inches each. I haven't taken the time to actually read them because I am so enamored with the design and feel of the lot of them, that I just want to hold the books and think about ways to design and decorate with them, maybe combined with some vintage fabrics and toys.
They practically fit into the palm of my hand. Perhaps I need a miniature kid's room? It's hard not to wonder who owned these little books as a child. Did he/she love them? Or did they get tossed into a dark place, only to resurface in 2009? I think the latter. There is some staining and surface wear, but the bindings are quite tight. I would venture a guess that these books were not read much.
I design retro fabrics using these bright process colors from the 40s and 50s whenever I can. It would be nice to set up a display using the books, some vintage chotchkas, and fabrics--preferably my own. That will be next. One of the things I love is that items from earlier times go well together because of a much less sophisticated printing process along with fewer colors available. It is easy to set up theme displays using items from the same period. If I do, I will post those on Design Rocket.
Apparently this publisher also published A Big Book For Little Folk, in 1919. I wonder if he billed this small collection as Little Books for Big Folk? Hey--I guess that would be I! In the meantime, I would love some more information about these books and this publisher. Email me if you can add something to this story.
Things have been very quiet on this blog. Life, art and everything else have kept me from posting. Add the muse to that list of distractions or problems. She seems to have taken leave again from the blog world, bopping back from time to time, long enough for me to eek out a post here and there, and then off she flies again. Damn her. That chick is in serious trouble when I get my hands on her. Really though, the thing that has kept me from blogging most is this fact: I feel that the wheels are turning again in my life as an artist and other things have often been clawing their way to front of the line, begging for attention.
I'm still working on my book illustration work. And I am still writing. Got some deadlines to meet this summer and a picture book dummy to rework. There's a YA still cooking on a back burner (well, maybe it is really in another kitchen altogether), I have a chapter book manuscript that I want to turn into a graphic novel for the younger set, and a brand new idea for a book character and story line has popped up that has really got me excited. Just need a few more hours in the day, that's all.
But my experience getting ready for Surtex, as well as enjoying making the shift to my new studio, have provided a distraction of the best kid, and I am following the wind, which has always been my habit.
At Surtex, I had the pleasure of meeting some lovely people from a fabric company who seem to really "get" what it is I love to do. They will be bringing out a collection of my fabric designs, which they hope to debut at Quilt Market in Houston in October, and which will should hit the shelves come the first of the year.
After working in fiber arts years ago, the fact that I am returning to textiles is incredibly exciting for me. I would find it even more strange if somehow I end up making dolls and puppets again. But--I'll wait and see on that front. As the details and designs get closer to reality, I will eventually post more about them. In the meantime, I am branching off onto a new blog that will be fewer words and more pictures:
I'll still be posting here at Cats and Jammer when I want to write more and attempt to wax poetic. Sometime a gal's just got to go on and on about something that speaks to her. This is the "I have something to talk about " blog. But once Design Rocket is going full steam, Ill be looking to share lots of pictures over there. Check that blog for posts about collecting, design, art, collecting, decorating, textiles, collecting, and--did I mention?--collecting. (Don't I sound like someone who went and indulged her thrift shop/antique habit yesterday?)
Which is really what this blog originally started out to be all about years ago, anyway. Now it will have it's own forum.
One thing though: If I am going to write on 2 blogs, I have to do something about that missing muse....
I have been on a whirlwind of doing nonstop artwork for about 6 months now. Not much time to breathe, let alone blog.
It started with my decision to exhibit at Surtex in New York this May. Surtex is a trade show specializing in art and images for surface and textile design, as well as licensing. Some good friends had attended last May 2008, and reported back about the experience. At that time I had absolutely NO interest in licensing my work. None. Nada. Zip.
And then something happened. I think it had to do with the fact that if there is one thing a reviewer will comment on when writing about my book work, it is the "colorful patterns." So, when I stopped to think that I could actually make the patterns independent of the books, and as an end in and of themselves, I thought "Whoop-de-doo! Now I'll be cookin' with gas!"
And that is exactly what has happened. I've been on a pattern roll and I am obsessed with it. Surtex, here I come!
In addition to Surtex prep, I had to complete the illustrations for the latest Bones book: Bones and the Birthday Clown Mystery by David A. Adler. One thing I can say about that, is that I love working on these books. David Adler has a great way of telling a simple story, yet filling it with wonderful hints at character, while adding a touch of dry wit. That art just finished up a couple of weeks ago.
Next came the SCBWI Conference right here in New England up in Nashua. I taught a workshop on illustrating chapter books, featuring those Bones books of course, and there was prep for that as well as attending the conference itself last weekend. Always a pleasure, of course, and let me add that Cynthia Lord and Floyd Cooper were wonderfully inspiring keynote speakers.
On top of everything else, has been the ongoing project of moving into my new studio at Gorse Mill and getting ready for the grand opening this Friday night, May 1st, as well as Needham Open Studios which will be running all weekend long. Check out the home site and you can download a wonderful brochure here. More than 70 artists open their studios up to the public and participate in this event, which is now in its 11th year!
And if you are around on Friday night, please stop by and say hello at Gorse Mill
Gorse Mill Studios
31 Thorpe Road
Needham, MA
Or try to visit all the wonderful Needham artists over the entire weekend. It's worth the trip!
There was an interesting article in today's New
York Times Business section entitled "Well-Orchestrated Accidents," as
told to Patricia R. Olson. It caught my eye because of the word
"accident." That word, being in the business section, seemed a touch
out of sync for me, but it was enticing enough to catch me
because I am a firm believer in the power-magic-inevitability of
"serendipity," a word not usually used in the
same sentence as "business plans."
I assume the column comes under a regular
heading called "The Boss." I wouldn't know if that is a regular
column or not. Nutty artist that I am, I hardly ever read the Sunday Business
section. I had to be lured to read it by the front page piece entitled "Pulling
Art Sales Out of Thinning Air," which was all about art sales in this
crazy economy ( and remember, that read "thinning air," not thinning
hair, which also is a by product of a tough economy).
Anyway, I enjoyed the read which told about
Evan WIlliams, C.E.O. of Twitter, which, until a month or so ago, I was
fairly unfamiliar with. I especially liked reading about Mr. Evans
and his transformation from Nebraska farm boy to web mogul. And I was struck by
the journey that he has taken so far, at the ripe old age of 36. I like life
journeys. The voyeur in me especially loves reading about other people's. I am pretty nosey.
I handed the article to my 22 year old son and
suggested he read about the extent of "going with the flow" in this
man's life, and about how being in the right place at the right time
seemed to work to his advantage. My son dismissed me out of hand after he
read it: "It has nothing to do with serendipity. In fact, it's just
the opposite."
Oy.
So I went back and read the piece again.
Please forgive my metaphor overload, but after a second read, I still maintain that it
is all about allowing the wind to take you places, but knowing enough when to
steer the boat yourself. It made me think back to all the times that I have
followed the wind, even never knowing where I was going, and yet I found myself
ending up in the best place for me to be.
It has happened to me from the time I was a kid
until the present. Yes, I take active steps toward goals that I set
for myself. But many time those goals come about as the result of
something totally unplanned and unanticipated in my life. They are lucky accidents. Directions I never dreamed of. And I follow them. Some examples of pure chance that ended up changing my life for the better:
1) When I was a kid, my family moved to Stony Point, New York
(because it was the only town in which they could afford to buy a house) and in 7th grade, I met
the love of my life, and future husband.
2) Strictly on a lark, at the age of 19, I took
a job at a school where I met Lois Bohevesky, who began to teach at the same
school. She turned me on to puppetry, so I went with her into NY for a summer
to study at the Bil Baird Theatre.
3. Because of that, my husband-to-be and I
became puppeteers.
4. We transferred to SUNY Buffalo to be
together ( and I passed up the chance to attend Parsons in NYC and major in
illustration). At some point we gained a reputation as puppeteers in
Buffalo and we were hired to perform at a Craft Fair. The committee that hired
us was not able to pay our full fee, so they gave me a booth to sell my hand
made puppets.
(that's the very booth above)
5. Because of that, we were hired to perform at
another craft show, and after that I ended up being invited to exhibit my
creations as well at a very reputable craft fair at Kenan Center, in Lockport,
NY.
6. At that craft show, I heard about the American Crafts Council show in Rhinebeck, NY and thought I would give that a try.
7. I did that show and began to sell my
dolls/soft sculptures all over the country, full time.
8. When we moved to Boston, I took a job
teaching soft sculpture at the Boston Center for Adult Ed. Because I taught
there, I got to take a free course, so I tooka course in graphic design. I learned all
about getting things into print and I made a decision to pursue illustration…again.
9. I put together a portfolio and became
an illustrator in 1982. Shortly afterwards we took a trip to Florida. On another
lark, I took my portfolio to the Miami Herald and the Ft. Lauderdale News.
I ended up leaving Tropic Magazine with an assignment that very vacation and I did a number of assignments for both of those publications for several years after
that.
11. In 1987, when our oldest son was a baby, we
took a trip around the country for a month. What the hell. I took my portfolio.
I ended up doing art for the
Chicago Times Magazine, Chicago Magazine, and the Detroit Free Press after
that.
(Chicago Times Magazine above)
Let's fast forward to 1997. Past the "baby
period" and kid chasing period. Past other countless examples of
accidental life (we’ll keep this basically professional). Two more sons arrived (and, believe me, they were REALLY happenstance) and I decided at some point to go back to illustration.
12. One day, completely out of the blue, I got
a call from someone I hadn't spoken to in about 15 years. We started gabbing
and she gave me the name of someone running an SCBWI group in Cambridge. On yet
another lark I went to the meeting and that led to attending my first SCBWI
conference. And from that point on I was bitten by the bug I had put aside many
years before: to pursue illustration, especially for children's books.
For me, the rest is history. Other "on a
larks" and other "simply-by-chance" episodes. They keep
happening to me. Like the on-line writing group I "accidentally' ended up in
around 2000, that is still growing strong. Like the group of artists I
"accidentally" connected with, who, even after my reluctance, have
now turned me on the idea of licensing my art. I value their energy
and ideas and find them inspiring. As a result I will be doing the Surtex
show in May. Yet another ride on the wind, and I have no idea where I will end
up.
Am I preparing for Surtex with a
vengence? You betcha! I don’t leave that much to chance, ya know. But
still, I often wonder: how did I get here? Sometimes the only answer really is
"the wind."
So, that is why I do believe in meaningful accidents and the power of serendipity. Life is much better when you do not try to over-plan. My advice to aspiring artists is to always leave themselves open to good accidents. Go catch some wind. See where you end up. And then know when to
jump off onto your own two feet.
Over the course of the many years I have spent making art, I have always made studios where I've lived. In Buffalo, as a craftsman working in fiber, I took a small bedroom in our apartment. Surrounded by shelves of fabrics culled from the Salvation Army and Goodwill, I sewed away making dolls and soft sculpture, while my dog and cat slept nearby. In other places, I worked in bedrooms, dining rooms, living rooms, and kitchens. Most of the time I took over the main living spaces. That was BK--Before Kids--before having to worry about crawling babies and exploring, wildmen toddlers (one of whom literally tried to swing from a chandelier and who also put French Toast into the VCR to see if it would play).
When we bought our second house I took to the basement. In the basement I first had a roughed out corner, and eventually a new 20 x 20 studio with a light well. I stayed down under for roughly 15 years until we did a second addition which gave me a lovely studio space on the main floor (!) right off the kitchen and in which I have worked since 2002. I love this studio and have illustrated more than 12 books in it.
As much as I have loved the spaces where I have worked, I have often longed for the kind of space where I could throw up several 4 by 5 foot canvases and really let loose. Now I will have one as I prepare to move into a brand new space in the Gorse Mill Studios building. The building is a 120 year old mill building, smack dab in a residential neighborhood here in Needham, MA. My space is a little more than 500 well lit square feet. I should be totally in it next month, keeping my home studios for writing, digital work, and office work.
Of course, good things do not happen n a vacuum. In my case good things usually come about with the help and support of my husband. Here are some shots of the "still in development" space, with the best guy in the world taking charge. He actually got up before I did yesterday and went over to the studio and began painting. THAT was the BEST Valentine's present a gal could ask for!
Phil taping the corners, above and below. he had just painted the corner and walls covered with Homasote.
A view of the sink and looking off to the "thinking corner."
Close-up of the thinking corner. Those are some of my older, editorial pieces on the walls.
Bitty makes her first visit to the studio! It's tiring watching all this activity, so she settles into her new bed.
Phil, doing yet more painting of the homasote on the other end of the room.
What a guy! And with a bad back,to boot! Is it any wonder that the man needs a rest afterwards?
My how times have changed. Back in the dark ages, otherwise known as the years I went to elementary school, holidays honoring historical figures and times were days we studied and learned about and had some respect for. October belonged to Columbus. November was all about the Pilgrims and the Native Americans (we very respectfully called them "Indians"). And then there was February.
February was much more than just wonderful boxes of Valentines and chocolate filled hearts. February was a presidential month, because we always studied Lincoln and Washington, and we had their actual birthdays off--not various days in a random weekend, now mostly used for trips to the ski slopes or to anchor one end of a school vacation week. Hell, we didn't even HAVE February school vacations back then.
With that in mind, I find that I am filled with wonder about the fact that I have heard no buzz and have read no articles in the papers leading up to the fact that today is the 200th anniversary of the birth of one of our greatest presidents. Maybe there have been some articles here and there, and maybe the morning will bring some others (I am writing this just after midnight) but I haven't caught any.
The post card above is one of the many antique post cards that I have collected. It is a piece from the patriotic assortment of ephemera that inhabit a small powder room I like to call "The State Room." One of my son's refers to it as the "America Bathroom." Whatever it's called, it is filled with the images of presidents, flags, embroidered maps of the US and so on and so forth. And, it is not just for show. I am truly very patriotic and I love my country.
This card is one of my favorites. It was printed n 1908 in anticipation of the 100th anniversary of Lincoln's birth. You can see the copyright on the lower right hand corner. And here is it another one hundred years later, looking almost as good as new. The back is not written on, except for the printing which tells us that this card is one of the "Lincoln Birthday Series", and that domestic postage is one cent, and foreign is two cents. I guess one hundred years really do fly by, not to mention the fact that things really do get a lot more expensive. Ask any centarian around today about value and also how fast life seems to have passed. And while you are at it, ask them what Lincoln's birthday meant in their day.
I figured that before the month of January was gone, and before I could actually post about 2009, I would sneak in a last farewell to Holiday Season 2008. I am always loathe to take down my December Christmas/Hanukkah Decorations, and this year was no exception. All this stuff will be packed away this weekend and then taken out again next year, when I will once again drive my family crazy as I look for a real birch tree, then proceed to concoct and build something not really found in nature. Especially lovely is the art of Kevan Attebury, which I proudly show you next to what is really my theme these days of financial uncertainly. Eat, drink and ....
And here is the tree--always on the brink of crashing down.
Sometime around 1965, I was hanging out at my Grandmother's house in Paterson, New Jersey. I think it was during the school Christmas break. It was the late afternoon, and I was channel surfing, to the limited extent one could back in 1965. Actually, since I was in the NY metroplotian area, that did mean a serious number of viewing options for those pre-cable times. I had my choice of channels 2 (CBS), 4 (NBC), 5 (WNEW), 7(ABC), 9 (WOR), 11(WPIX), and 13 (which was the "educational station" but I cannot remember the call letters).
Anyway, I ended up on Channel 5. And there was a movie starting. Might as well watch this, I thought. The movie? Frank Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life."
From the start, something felt different about this movie. The acting seemed less like acting. There was an authenticity to the kids in the very beginning scenes that rang truer than any other movie kids I had seen--'ceptin' maybe those Little Rascals. And that scene with the druggist Mr. Gower. Nowadays I can't even get past that sequence without crying. But even back in my little 13 yr old head, that was powerful stuff.
And so began the tradition of loving one particular movie for a very long time. My husband did not see the film until we were both married for quite a spell. Needless to say, he loved it. And he cried, especially at the end. In fact, no matter how many times we watch the film (and we have seen it a gazillion times) he ALWAYS cries at the end. Such a sentimentalist. Gotta love him.
Because I love this movie so (especially the character of George Bailey who, time after time, thwarts his own dreams for the greater good of Bedford Falls and those he loves), I was saddened to see it fall into disregard for a spell--put down as corny and cliche ridden, and even --aack!--colorized! One extended family member who shall live in infamy, actually went so far as to say that the God-awful "A Christmas Story" was the new holiday classic. BLECH! That overgrown TV movie, poorly acted (does one stupid commercial really qualify a Messy Marvin to be anything other than a Messy Marvin?) and filled to the brim with one glaring anachronism after another, should be relegated to the bargain bins at Walmart, if that. But "Life?" Nothing comes close to it. It rightly deserves permanent placement on the pedestal that many of us have placed it on.
And so, in this morning's NYTimes, there is a great piece by someone who gives "It's a Wonderful Life" the same high regard as my husband and I. Check out Wendell Jamieson's take on the movie, including his very funny analysis of what he thinks it REALLY all means. So--maybe "Pottersville" would have been a lot better an end to BedFord Falls than we thought? Hmmm. I'll have to ponder that notion. In the meantime, I will try to watch the film as before, although, I am not sure I can ever look at Bert and Ernie the same way again after reading his take on those two.
Jamieson adds a few nice details that many of us LIFE junkies already know about the film, like the fact at good old Our Gang Alfalfa was the guy who made the dance floor turn into the swimming pool at Harry's HS graduation. In a recent deluxe DVD version I purchased, there is a section filled with additional details, like how they made all that snow, and the fact that James Stewart did that very romantic scene with Donna Reed and the phone call from Sam Wainwright in ONE take. There are interviews with Frank Capra, and a great many facts and figures to learn. One of the favorite things I learned, (though I do not think it was from the DVD) was that a photographer shot one of those long photos of the cast and crew of the film--the kind with hundreds of people in them--where the camera actually scans from left to right. Stewart and Capra stood at one end, and while the camera scanned the crowd, they ran like Hell to get to the other end, which meant that they were in the photo in two places. That sense of fun is right up my alley. And knowing that sort of tidbit, makes me love them and this movie all the more.
Do yourself a favor. Watch the movie. As long as your heart is not stone cold, you will enjoy it.
Happy Holidays everyone! And, more importantly, "Merry Christmas, you old Building and Loan!"
I'm gonna make this my annual Thanksgiving image. It is the first color illustration assignment I ever got--a piece on Turkey farms for Boston Magazine back in the 80s. Again, thanks to the late Stan McCray, the art director of the magazine when I was doing art for them and when I was just starting out as an illustrator. Stan was sweet, handsome and fun to work with. Because of Stan I have had the pleasure of being able to be a professional illustrator for more than 25 years.
And that's a good segue to the purpose of blogging today. To remind myself and everyone else to be thankful for all the good that we have.
Good health for my husband and children. Family and friends. Being able to spend time writing and making art.
To the powers that be: thank you, thank you, thank you.
It's been quite a while since I last posted anything on this blog. I know that and it has gnawed at me. It's not that I imagine that I have a regular audience or anything. It is just that this blog is my way of reflecting and processing things that seem to speak to me. And I haven't done that here for a spell now. And I haven't wanted to. And it's bothered me, sort of in the same way it does when you have homework to do that you don't feel like doing.
At first, I was just caught up in a few distractions. I actually had something very specific and very wonderful that I wanted to post a big blog about, but things got in the way. In September, I had taken a trip to the Museum at Bethel Woods, which is essentially the upstate NY location for the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, and, more famously, the site of the Woodstock Music Festival which took place in the summer of 1969.
The museum is so much more than a museum about Woodstock. It is really about the entire decade of the 1960s and the incredible changes in society during that time, with the music festival serving as the climax to all of it. If you have not been, you really need to go, no matter what your age or your taste in popular music.
But I could not get to that Bethel Woods post when I should have, which is right away, after I went. And then, the time had passed, and it even got later, with the winter weather rushing down the pike at full speed. So, that is all I want to say about that right now, because the Museum and the site are really worth a serious and lengthy write up and it's better that I push my blogging about my experience there until the spring or perhaps even closer to the 40th anniversary of the music festival itself, when maybe some people will be inspired to go there and have the experience for themselves.
But surely there have been other things that made my wheels turn and made me want to blog? Well, yes to the former, but no to the latter. Yes, I have been doing a ton of planning and thinking and developing projects. I have new manuscripts. I completed a new picture book dummy. I went away on a writing retreat. Lots of good stuff. But, no, I have not wanted to blog. It is very hard for me to say why, except that my blog is strongly muse driven by a need to share. The blog muse has to kick me in the ass and say, "You must blog about this. You must share this." And she hasn't. And I haven't. So that is it in a nutshell.
And knowing that I have not felt like sharing has gnawed at me. Like having a goldfish with a bowl that needs cleaning, so you just put it in an out-of-the-way place so you don't have to look at it. That's my blog. A dirty goldfish bowl. Problem is, pretty soon, you can't even see the damn fish anymore. Is it alive? I was in fear of letting the fish die, 'cause the longer you let it go, the less you want to do it.
Until today! The water is clear, the fish is still swimming, and the muse is back. Why? Because I have been given absolution that it is OK to only write when I feel the need to. In this morning's times there is a nice piece about "slow blogging." Titled "Haste Scorned: Blogging at a Snail's Pace" and written by Sharon Otterman, I am now happy to know that I don't have to blog at a pace that is not who I am. Sometimes I bustle and sometimes I crawl. And sometimes I am in between. And that's how I blog. And guess what--there are others who blog the same way.
In past posts I have confessed to an obsession with the passing of time. I have had this obsession all my life. I am not sure why, but I have. On New Year's Eve, 1958, I wanted my grandparents to get me a jar with a lid.
"Why?" they asked.
"Because I want to save some some 1958 air," I told them. "Then I will have a little bit of 1958 forever."
When I look back on this memory, it makes me smile and shake my head at the way a kid's mind works--or at least the way MY mind worked. But I also still feel more or less the same way: very aware of the passing of time and wanting to preserve the present moment for future reference and for experiencing it once more. I guess you could say my little jar of air was my child's version of a time machine. But even though I am not filling jars with the air of time anymore, I still feel pretty much the same now as I did then. It's why I love antiques. It's why I play jukeboxes. It's why I will watch anything produced by Ken Burns. It is also why I read the obituary from my on line, home town newspaper every day: The Journal News, Rockland County section.
Yeah, I know. That sounds like something your grandmother would enjoy doing. Still, I do it. Everyday. Sometimes I see the names of parents of high school friends. Every now and then, I see the names of the high school friends themselves. Believe me, that is sobering. The strange part is that when I see no names that are familiar to me, I have a macabre sense of disappointment: no news, nothing of interest. And then, when I do, I wish I hadn't, because I would really have enjoyed seeing that person again at some point in the imaginary future, even though I have not spoken to him or her for that past 35 years.
One of the nice parts about reading obits is that I also check up on who else died, as reported by the Associated Press. In their little sidebar I learned that Killer Kowalski died even before I saw it in the Times. I learned that silent film star Anita Page passed away at 98. I read about famous Peanuts animator Bill Melendez. And I learned about the death of Jim Hoyt.
Who is Jim Hoyt? Jim Hoyt was the last surviving veteran of a group of four soldiers who liberated Buchenwald concentration camp. Jim Hoyt was a an extraordinary guy and an ordinary guy at the same time, because Jim Hoyt was part of a generation of countless soldiers who fought bravely and namelessly in a war unlike any other, where there was a clearly defined evil of great magnitude that needed defeating. Jim Hoyt lived a quiet life, was not a person of renown, and we would most likely never know about him except that he participated in The Oxford Project.
The Oxford Project, from an editorial quote on Amazon:
In 1984, photographer Peter Feldstein set out to photograph every single resident of his town, Oxford, Iowa (pop. 676). He converted an abandoned storefront on Main Street into a makeshift studio and posted fliers inviting people to stop by. At first they trickled in slowly, but in the end, nearly all of Oxford stood before Feldstein's lens. Twenty years later, Feldstein decided to do it again. Only this time he invited writer Stephen G. Bloom to join him, and together they went in search of the same Oxford residents Feldstein had originally shot two decades earlier. Some had moved. Most had stayed. Others had passed away. All were marked by the passage of time.
In a place like Oxford, not only does everyone know everyone else, but also everyone else's brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, lovers, secrets, failures, dreams, and favorite pot luck recipes. This intricate web of human connections between neighbors friends, and family, is the mainstay of small town American life, a disappearing culture that is unforgettably captured in Feldstein's candid black-and-white portraiture and Bloom's astonishing rural storytell
ing.
You can visit the Oxford Project website and read some of the stories and see some of the pictures. That is where I went on to read about Jim Hoyt, who's obituary via AP I just happened to catch one day while checking the daily obits at the Journal News. I had never heard of Jim Hoyt, and I had never heard of The Oxford Project, but I am so glad to have discovered both of them. It is incredibly fascinating to see a picture of a person and a picture of the same person 20 years later. That kind of thing has always been my favorite part of the Ken Burns documentaries, and here is an entire book of aging faces, and what makes it even better is that these are ordinary citizens, living ordinary lives that are as meaningful and interesting as any celebrity or historical figure.
This book will be available on the 16th of this month. You can read more on the Amazon link. Needless to say, I have already ordered a copy. If I had thought about it, I would have created this book myself. It is, as they say, "right up my alley."
I do have one question for Stephen Bloom and Peter Feldstein: did you save any 1984 air?
EDITED TO ADD: Please take a moment to read the comment left by photographer and Oxford Project creator, Peter Feldstein. He shares a touching bit of information and an update on Jim Hoyt.
When I look around my house and see the enormous amount of stuff I have managed to collect and inflict on my family, I sometimes feel...well..a little guilty. I wonder if they would all somehow live a life of minimal objects with a different mother and wife. I think my husband would clearly live is less clutter. He is very neat and organized by nature. Not anymore. I corrupted him. He sort of "caught" whatever it is that has always ailed me, and he now subscribes to the same sort of busy look in decor that he has come to know and love. In a way, my kids have, as well, though I doubt that they will ever be as far advanced with this malady as I am.
I think I would have found Dr. Lattimer to be a kindred spirit. The article points to the fact that he was an only child of two only children. So was I. It mentions that somehow his collecting was an effort to hold on the the past. I agree. And it is more. Somehow owning a piece or two of the past, helps to grasp the present. I would even go so far as to say that it increases understanding of the future.
My husband and I have often joked about what our poor kids will have to deal with when they need to figure out what to do with over 100 cookie jars, even more pieces of carnival chalkware, tons of cowboy stuff, and a gazillion vintage tablecloths, not to mention everything else in this house.
But this we can guarantee them: they will not have to deal with anything even remotely similar to the type of relics being sort by Lattimer's daughter Evan, as she catalogs his vast collection for sorting for auction, discarding, and keeping.
How do I know this? Read the article. What gives me the right to sound so damned cocky, pun intended? This fact: I do not have in my posession, for example, anything even close to being Napolean's penis.....
Wow. Just when I was feeling kinda low because of the approaching end of summer, I get some heart. Well, that is to say, my blog got "hearted" by my friend the multi-talented artist and author, Carlyn Beccia. And, hey, I didn't even know she had a blog. Don't ask me where she gets the energy and time to blog, write, and draw with a little baby on board.
If you don't know Carlyn's work, ,you should. She has a new book coming out, "The Raucous Royals," and it looks like it will be as wonderful and as darkly enjoyable as "Who Put the B in Ballyhoo."
SO, thanks, Carlyn, for the pick-me-up! I heart you, too!
Aside from experiencing the rainiest summer on record for my whole life, I've been working on a number of projects. I finished the art for Bones book number 7, "Bones and the Roller Coaster Mystery," by Davd A. Adler. That should be out next February. I also had the pleasure of doing a piece of artwork for Theatreworks. What fun! I got to create a piece of art for the production of Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing," by Judy Blume. In order to get myself in the proper frame of mind, I listened to Ms. Blume read her own book thanks to the wonderful audible.com. Peter and Fudge were all over the place in my mind's eye. Made for very fun illustration work. Ya gotta heart Peter and Fudge.
I also just completed the owl I am giving to Dr. David White for the Keen Festival owls collection. My owl ships out today. As soon as I can paste together all the scan pieces, I'll share that image. While I was painting my owl, I first listened to Duma Key, by Stephen King, and then Maniac Magee, by Jerry Spinelli. First, remind me not to pay a visit to the Florida Keys anytime soon, and second, Maniac Magee was a delight. It was warm, funny, touching, and, since I am on this whole Heart jag, it had enormous heart. I "heart" Maniac Magee!
So maybe all the rain was a good thing. I did do a lot of artwork. I listened to some great books. Read some, too. And since the weather was so dreary (which I actually like when I am painting), I didn't feel too badly about not being up in NH swimming. At least now that the weather seems to have turned around, I'll be heading up there to get some Newfound Lake swims in before the chill of autumn settles in for good.
And before you you know it, fall will be here, the kids will be back in school, I'll be moving into a new studio, and starting on brand new projects and tending to others that were waiting in the wings. That's one thing I do love about September. It's a time to nestle in and start fresh. Love that feeling. No--I heart that feeling!
There is a great essay by Margo Rabb in today's NY Times Book Review, called "I'm Y.A. and I'm O.K."
Essentially, Rabb writes about the need for publishers to pigeonhole writing as either adult or Y.A (Young Adult), the need for writers to pigeonhole other writers defined by the market they primarily write for, and the overwhelming desire on the part of many both in and out of the literary world to look down on those who choose to write for young people, period, as though it were something of lesser value. Since I am someone who is only interested in writing for young people, this is such a bizarre thought--that someone actually thinks that writing for the younger set is somehow not as great an endeavor.
I think I can get it with regard to the publishers. I understand the need to categorize something in order to figure out how best to sell it. We see that kind of thinking going on all the time in all walks of life. One need only take a walk through any department store to see how merchandise is presented. Never mind that you might find the identical merchandise in several different departments. Some years back one would say, "I bought this Mr. Tres Chic pocketbook in Filene's Designer section upstairs in the main store." Usually I was the person saying, "I bought this Mr. Tres Chic pocketbook downstairs in Filene's Basement, with 3 mark downs, even." Same bag. Just different audiences.
So, yeah, I’ll yield when it comes to selling the books. Money talks, and nobody walks from one floor to the other, so to speak. And, yeah, yeah, tons of people in my crowd will gladly read YA books as much as they enjoy reading books for adults, but I know damn well that there are people who would rather have root canal work done, than sit and read a book classified as YA. Of course, that group is made up of readers who are victims of their own narrow thinking. They are going to miss out on some wonderful books.
So, I get the ignorance. What I do not get is the bad attitude and need to condescend. That is borne out of stupidity and arrogance.
I don’t get it, but I deal with it and have dealt with it for years. It is the same song and dance I am familiar with after more than 25 years of being an illustrator. Want hear my “stories?” No? Too bad. I am telling them anyway.
1) Years ago, when my husband was a summer clerk at a Philadelphia law firm, we attended a party for the summer associates. One of the partner’s wives asked me what I do. I replied that I was a free lance illustrator. She then turned to a young attorney and said with "a certain tone" in her voice, “And what are you? A free lance lawyer?”
2) I was sitting at a large table at a firm affair and some asked me what I do. I replied that I was an illustrator. Her comment, “But you do you do any creative art?” My “by then seasoned bad attitude” reply was, “NO. I am completely mercenary. Like an attorney.”
3) Finally, here is one that was the worst of them all. Why? Because this was a bad attitude on the part of other artists, like the “averted gazes and unabashed disinterest” that Margo Rabb observed among other writers when they learned she wrote a book classified as “Y.A.”
Not so many years ago, I was at a party. Hey—social event. See a pattern here? Only difference was that this was not a bunch of lawyers, who really don’t know better much of the time, so I tend to forgive them. THIS was a bunch of “creative types.” This was an assortment of people who should have known better.
Anyway, someone introduced me to a couple.
“Barbara, meet so-and-so. They are artists, like you.”
“Hello,” I said. When I asked them about their work I found out that they were husband and wife landscape painters from nearby Cambridge, MA.
“And what do you paint?” they asked.
“I am an
Been a while since I blogged. That is because I was tied up. Tied up with family and work. The family part made me get behind in the work part. And the work part was a very detailed illustration job--the latest Bones book by David Adler. Don't get me wrong. I LOVED doing this book. I love doing all his books. But THIS one was very detailed and full of lots of things and people.
One thing I have managed to sneak in is my reading, so I thought I would share some of my thoughts about the wonderful books I have read lately. Click on the thumbnails for easier reading of the book covers.
To start with, the last book I mentioned was American Eve: Evelyn Nesbit, Stanford White: The Birth of the "It" Girl and the Crime of the Century by Paula Uruburu. This was a wonderfully told story of Evelyn Nesbit, her life and times, and her affair with Stanford White. Get it and read it. Not sure? To whet your appetite, check out book related postings over at YouTube. First there is a great podcast of an interview of the author by Bob Edwards, in three parts. Here is the first part. Then there are some nice book trailers to music that will entice you even more, like this one, this one, this one, and this one, my favorite. All of them are a little different with with reagrd to the music chosen. but they will all make you want to read the book. Make sure to watch the videos in high quality.
Here is also another nice interview with Paula Uruburu on the Leonard Lopate Show on WNYC.
For me, the story has also started a bit of an obsession, in that I now search for Evelyn Nesbit ephemera on eBay, and if it's one thing I do NOT need, it is yet another obsession to hunt obsessively for on Ebay.
It also made me want to rewatch the movie Ragtime, based on E.L. Doctorow's novel which I read in the 80's. That movie is an extremely pleasurable experience not only for it's success as a film, but for it's music, which was wonderfully written by Randy Newman. I just bought the soundtrack and it has inspired my husband to learn to play several of the numbers from the film on the piano. Now that wonderfully evocative Randy Newman music is being played over and over again by my other half, Phil Newman. The spirit of Evelyn and the era is taking over the house and our summer in many ways, and the notes are on my mind when I wake up in the morning and the postcards and images of Evelyn from all my eBay purchases arrive regularly in the mail. Here is a link to the movie trailer. And here is a link to some of the wonderful music by Randy Newman, although it is linked with a video about Edward Hopper.
In addition, a good part of that movie is shot in our old home town, Haverstraw, NY, with the back of my husband's family's old 19th century house and garage in plain view throughout most of the Willy Conklin scenes. So what am I buying on eBay now? Yup, you betcha. Old postcards of Haverstraw, NY.
1) a newly discovered Goodwill or Salvation Army Thrift store that has just been stocked with items and that nobody else knows about
2) an old department store, drug store, Five and Ten, etc., that has allowed me to go back in the old rooms to find "new old stock" from years gone by
3) a fully loaded antique store with great items, great prices, and I am the only one who shows up to shop
4) a yard sale at a very old house and I am the first person who shows up to buy the virgin contents of countless treasures
In my dream, I
1) start gathering armloads of of wonderful old items
2) start gathering piles of wonderful old items
3) start bringing armloads and armloads of wonderful old items to a counter
4) start putting armloads and armloads of wonderful old items into the back of my car
In my dream, I always say to myself
1) "Well the other times have only been dreams, but THIS time this is real."
2) "I am so glad I am not dreaming this time."
3) "Finally--my dream comes true."
My dreams usually ends where
1) I can't find the cashier and I wake up.
2) Other people start coming in to shop and I wake up
3) The goods aren't as old as I thought they were and I wake up
4) A truck full of dealers beats me to the stuff and I wake up
Get the gist? I never actually GET the stuff. Reality always comes in the morning.
So imagine my vicarious thrill, not to mention envy, when I read in this article in this morning's New York Times that two women from Indiana came upon an old Zebra striped suitcase at a yard sale, filled with actual photos and papers from one Arthur Felig, AKA Weegee the famous photographer of New York’s darker side. Whoa! Isn’t that kind of discovery the things that dreams are made of? More than antiques, more than great old funk, I dream of finding that lost piece of art or ephemera.
So, this is what I have learned: treasure hunting dreams CAN come true, even if they come true for someone else.
Think I’ll step up my yard sale attendance this weekend.....
I was one of the old fart parents who was so saddened to see the provocative photo of Miley Cyrus in Vanity Fair recently. To me, the picture was clearly sensuous in a way that it should not have been for a 15 year old. It's especially bothersome since I think that she is a quite talented and charismatic little performer, who has great comic timing and the chance to mature in into a comedienne of the first order in films and TV shows. As far as I am concerned she does not need to sell herself as sexy. Funny is sexy in a better way.
So, with that in mind, I found it ironic (or was it some sort of cosmos putting me in my place?) that my pre-ordered copy this book by Paula Uruburu arrived:
AMERCIAN EVE
EVELYN NESBIT, STANFORD WHITE
The Birth of the "It" Girl"
and the
CRIME OF THE CENTURY
For those of you unfamiliar with the story of Evelyn Nesbit, she was the first real American superstar and the first "media created" celebrity. The very abbreviated story goes like this:
The mother--Evelyn Florence Mackenzie Nesbit-- found herself impoverished in Pennsylvania when her lawyer husband died very suddenly, leaving his family penniless. During the next several years the mother and her two children shuffled around the state from relative to boarding house and back again until Florence Evelyn, the younger, who was always a strikingly beautiful little girl , is "discovered" by an elderly female artist in Philadelphia. Before very long, she is posing for painters in the area and is the sole support of her family.
They move to New York City, where she continues to pose for well respected artists such as Beckwith and Church and for those studying in such places as The Art Students' League. In addition, she is photographed. And that face becomes "the face" of the turn of the century on everything you can think of: magazines, newspapers, postcards, chocolates, calendars, soaps, and so forth. She is the inspiration behind the "Gibson girl." To say she epitomized a look of the times, is an understatement. She WAS the look and the face of the times.
Right now, besides my continuing kid work, my work is mostly about drawing. I've created the first round of sketches for the next Bones book by David A. Adler. And I am creating the art for a dummy book that goes with a brand new story, soon-to-be shopped around by my agent. Oh, I've not completely abandoned my writing. I ‘ve also started writing a brand new story called "Most Fickle" based on a true story about my husband and I that took place when we were in the ninth grade. And I have been doing revisions on my latest picture book manuscripts.
Still, mostly I have been drawing. And because I have been drawing I get to use the part of me that exists and draws from somewhere between my conscious and my subconscious brain. It's that same place that many of you go to when you drive to work every day, but you can’t remember how you got there-- you just drive by instinct. That is the place I draw and paint from. I think it's located nearer to my heart and farther away from my head. In this place my mind wanders, while my gut makes art.
But to go there to that place, I need to space out. The way I space out is to think about something else while I draw. Not while I create the initial layout, mind you. For that stage I have to “be there.” At that stage I need to think about the text and I need awareness and focus for that. But once I decide what goes where, where the page breaks are, and once I rough out the art--very roughly-- I space out. That is the time I take those very, very rough quick sketches and refine them, bringing them to a better level. My instinctive subconscious does that for me. My conscious head would get in the way.
How do I get to my Zen state? I think about other stuff. Sometimes it is a phone call with a friend, and sometimes it is TV. But lately, it is audio books. And I am now thoroughly addicted. Bless you, Audible.com.
Not long ago I finished listening to Rules of Survival by Nancy Werlin. That was very good. I got lost in that world and found the reader, Daniel Passer to be a very effective voice in putting me into the action.
I just now finished listening to The book Thief by Marcus Zusak. Literally, JUST NOW. The tears are barely dry in my eyes. The words of the story narrator, DEATH, will stay with me forever, as will the story itself and the characters and the setting that now is very real in my mind's eye. This book is the kind of poetic, literary substance that does not come along very often for me. The images and story took me away and rattled in my head, even after the drawing was done for the day and I was back to chauffeur mom and homework taskmaster. I found myself thinking about Liesel and Rudy and Papa and Rosa. I found myself calling people "auslach" (please pardon my spelling if I am off) which is German for "asshole."
This book went so far as to make me think about why I have come to enjoy writing as much as I haved always enjoyed drawing. It is THAT good.
I have to say, that after listening to the American accented Daniel Passer read “Rules” so nicely, I experienced some minor difficulty transitioning to the British accented Allan Corduner as he read The Book Thief. But once I got on board, I was carried away completely, and his ability to adopt German accents for the main characters and inhabit their voices and their world was just superb. Listening to him read this
Author/Illustrator Janie Bynum over at her "Sketchy Words" blog tagged me for a fun game that I am happy to play. Here is what I was told to do:
1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.*
3. Find the fifth sentence.**
4. Post the next three sentences, so if my math is correct that’d be sentences six, seven and eight.
5. Tag five people and post a comment to the blogger who tagged you.
Now, Janie, being an author and an illustrator of picture books also gave us the PB version, which is to go to page 23 and just put down the text.
SO--I mozied over to my studio book shelf, and quite "randomly" chose one of my favorite PB books--which just happens to have one of my favorite PB texts---"Raising Sweetness" by Diane Stanley and illustrated by G. Brian Karas, which is the sequel to "Saving Sweetness" by the same duo. Page 23 read like this:
"Ma!" cried the young 'uns, and they fell on her like a duck on a June bug.
"I got myself a family since you been gone," I explained.
"So I see," said Miss Lucy, pattin' their little heads. "But let me finish. I will move back to Possum Trot and be your wife on one condition. I plan to go on working at my chosen profession."
"What's that?" cried the little tykes.
"Im a teacher," says she.
I LOVE the Sweetness books, and if you haven't read them, make sure to.
So now I tag a few others. Feel free to play the PB version or the regular version:
EDITED TO ADD: Thanks to all of my "taggees" for taking the time in busy schedules to play along!! Readers--make sure to check out their responses. Also --Vivian over at HipWriterMama put a special twist on hers.......
This evening I was enjoying my weekly indulgence: the Sunday New York Times Book Review, the Sunday Magazine, Arts and Leisure, and the Sunday Styles section. I would be lying if I said I read the Sunday Times cover to cover every week. Sometimes I will read a little something in almost every section, but more often than not, I only glance while I manage to read the Book Review, Arts and Leisure, Sunday Styles, and the magazine (in that order).
So tonight I got to the paper late.
It was a good thing. Had I read the Styles section earlier my whole day would have been ruined.
On page 14 was a full page advertisement by the NY Times Store: "Introducing Callaway Classics. Fine Art prints from your favorite children's books." The page had art by Jeffry Fulvimari and Loren Long from the first two children's book of "she who will not be named," (hereto referred to as "The M Word") It also had some art by David Kirk for two of his books, including Miss Spider's Tea Party: Miss Spider's Web of Friends. At the bottom of the page was art by art by Fred Marcellino for two Puss in Boots books by Charles Perrault. Here is a link to the store section to learn more. It seems I cannot link to an actual page in the paper if it is just an ad.
(BTW, the art pictured here is a piece by Loren Long for that book by the M Word. I like to think that the man and boy are looking into the wind which is blowing away all the money Loren Long SHOULD have made on that book.)
First of all: I CHALLENGE YOU TO FIND ME ONE PERSON ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH, ASIDE FROM HER OWN KIDS, HER HUSBAND, AND HERSELF, WHOSE FAVORITE CHILDREN'S BOOK IS ONE BY THE "M WORD".
Second: selling high quality prints of original art is certainly not a bad thing. And it is especially nice to sell prints from children's books. I sell prints myself from Tex and Sugar. But why is it that only Fred Marcellino seems to own the copyright to his own art? And why is there a head shot of ONLY of the M Word, and not the artists, and why is "M" written on the prints, as though she had a single, damn thing to do with the talent that went into creating the art!?! And who does the money go to , anyway? Are Loren Long or Jeffrey Fulvimari seeing a good portion of the proceeds from their own artwork made into prints? I want to know the answer to this. Or is this going into the coffers of the M Word again and her so-called charity?
One reason for the artists NOT owning their own art copyrights is clear on the celebrity books side: When it comes to celebrity books, it is often the case that artists get stuck with a "WORK FOR HIRE" contract. WFH means that they will do the illustration for a one time fee, relinquish all rights, and never receive another penny, ever again. Furthermore, their art can be used for anything on the face of the earth, i.e. lunch boxes, pocketbooks, boxer shorts and sippy cups, and they will not profit from that. Period.
Every single illustrator I know has, at some point in his or her career, done work for hire for one client or another. We all frown upon it, and many of us have reached a point where we say "NO MAS" (myself included), but some of us still have to do it because it is one of the evils of being an illustrator and making a living at it. To those who decry the practice altogether, mock the artists who do work this way, and adopt
I am currently at work illustrating the next Jeffrey Bones mystery book, written by David A. Adler.
I like doing these books. Davd Adler has a wonderful, dry sense of humor that still comes through very nicely even though these are simpler texts for younger readers. This humor is especially enjoyable when the story has Jeffrey and his grandfather together.
Right now I am working on Bones book number 7 which takes the pair to an amusement park with a very scary rollercoaster.
SO what am I doing? I am looking at every picture of old roller coasters that I can find so I can to get myself into the amusement park mood and so I can create my own version of a traditional wild ride.
This is pure pleasure for me. I am finding great images online that really bring me back. My happiest memories as a child are those that I have from days spent at amusement parks of yesteryear, many of which are no longer in existence.
Like Olympic Park in New Jersey. I can still see that park and those rides in my mind's eye as though it were yesterday. That was my first roller coaster ride, my first Caterpillar, Wild Mouse, penny arcade, and so on. I also went to Asbury Park, Seaside Heights, Coney Island (though I NEVER, EVER got to go into Steeplechase Park before it closed!), Point Pleasant and several others.
But there is even more fun I am having. I am safely riding coasters again! Here is a great site I came upon, where you can actually take a ride on a roller coaster, courtesy of the magic of video and one brave soul who sat in the front and held a camera. Here is the wild ride I "took" this morning:
After I rode on few more coasters, I looked for nice Merry Go Round videos. This is the prettiest one I found, that also had the wonderful old band organ music:
Then, you can actually ride it:
Of course, I HAD to go on the WHIP (the Whip was right near the roller coaster at Olympic Park). Here is a nice video that starts out with a few historical shots, then turns in to a modern ride on an old attraction:
Then a ride on the Cyclone! There were lots of Cyclone videos, but this one most made me feel like I was really riding on it:
