One of the greatest things I have learned in this near year of my own happiness project is remembering my priorities. That maybe it really isn’t all that important to go to that meeting this week, or answering all my email, or whatever it is. Two of those priorities are sleep and “rest” even if my rest is mowing a labyrinth into our meadow or running a 15k trail race–rest for me often means somehow pushing my body physically to a particular limit. (Maybe that’s why I am such a champion sleeper.)

I will forever be grateful to Hew in New Brunswick, Canada for posting how he mowed a labyrinth into his lawn. I followed his directions and pretty much had a Chartes pattern labyrinth mowed in my meadow in less than five hours.

So what is a labyrinth? In this context, it is like a maze, but with one way in and out only. There are no dead ends, or wrong turns, but a single path that turns and twists back and forth within a circle eventually ending in the center. The only way out is back the way you came. Over the past couple hundred years or so, labyrinths have been incorporated into many different religious denomination’s practices, as well as secular practices as well. The first labyrinths appear in churches earlier than that, but documented practice of walking the labyrinth as a form of meditation is a more recent development.

The labyrinth that I mowed is quite large, it easily takes 15 minutes to walk it one way. I enjoy the path in and the path out listening to morning sounds as the meadow awakens, as I awaken. I often walk with a particular intention, although sometimes I walk with the goal of being as utterly and completely present as I possibly can be. This walking meditation slows down my heart, connects my body to the earth and quiets my mind.

One of my goals for June is to walk the labyrinth everyday. Maybe you would like to come and join me?

Why owl, why? Four-color reduction linoleum print.

Twice, within a span of ten days, in the exact same spot, a barn owl or a barred owl nearly flew into the windscreen of my car on my drive home from work. Both times I swear I could see its eyes, it was that close. I keep replaying the moments in my mind, along with folklore about owls, trying to find the meaning in this encounter.

Some cultures fear the owl. It is silent. It deceives its prey. When its razor sharp beak and talons strike, its victim knows.

Other cultures see the owl as a symbol of wisdom. It can see what others cannot not. It knows truth, knows when others are deceived, and is not easily deceived itself.

Silence. Wisdom. Deception. What owl do you want me to learn from this meeting of ours? Am I missing something in my silent observation of my life? What message do you bring me?

I have no answer. But I continue to listen to all you and the earth offers me.

See this print as part of the 500 prints created for the Art House Co-op’s Print Exchange. It will be on view July 26-28 at the Graphic Arts Workshop, 2565 3rd Street in San Francisco and in September in New York City at the Robert Blackburn Printshop, 323 39th Street, 2nd Floor. Maybe you’ll get to see it in person.

We posed a number of questions and comments for those who might consider using this structure to house their prints.

Why use this structure?

When choosing a book structure to house prints it’s important to think about how the content informs the structure. What are your prints trying to communicate? What medium have you chosen? What is your color palette? You probably asked these questions and others as you crafted the images. The same intention must be given to the book structure as well. An Asian book structure comes loaded with intention and meaning that may or may not be appropriate to your content. You see the structure of the book first, you don’t see the prints. So already, you have set your viewer up for some sort of experience that you may or may not want to offer them. Some images work best in accordion-style books, others are better in drum-leaf or pamphlet style books. Ask yourself, why a stab-binding? How does your content relate to this structure?

This binding typically opens from right to left, the reverse of western style books.

How best is it used? This style of binding was originally used as a cheap and easy way to bind pages of text, novels—not images. Keep this in mind. There’s a heft to these books of multi-pages in their original form. Consider this when choosing this structure. They also have a movement to them which western styles books don’t have. The dimensions of these books enhance this movement, which is why they have a particular proportional ratio. How does this complement the content of your prints?

Patience is Everything, Japanese Stab Binding book, 2010

I made an example to go along with the workshop. It is found on the right, and opens from the back, at least for a western reader. Here are the images–very sparse, very quiet. OR, click on this link for the PDF experience of the book. Rilke_Asian_Binding

And while I never learned to really surf, I did learn to boogie board on the same waves as the handful of surfers who lived on the island. Later, in grad school (2005), I used my experience of waiting for a wave for a writing assignment. I played around with possible ways of taking that writing into a book structure. Nothing seemed to work.

So I put it aside, letting the ideas percolate in my brain. For six. long. years.

The book partially extended flowing out of the inset box.

Then, completely unrelated in 2011 I made a flag book from scrap paste papers, fused plastic and other scrap materials. As I played with it, the movement reminded me of the ocean, waves, swimming and then light bulb, surfing and the writing from 2005.

Happiness is housed in this lovely case bound inset box.

Case opened. Book is 4.5x6x1.5 inches. (H,W, TH)

The text printed on inside of case.

Here’s the text.

Happiness comes in waves, like corduroy lined up ready to hit the shore.

Sitting on my board, I watch sets of waves lumber towards me. I wait for one with the right drop and a ride across the bay.

Learning the difference between adrenaline pumping, gleeful waves and coral reef dumping, nightmare waves takes practice, courage and faith. The best waves often loom menacingly above as they come off their line in the set.

To get a good ride, I must kick hard at just the right moment, committing to the wave, ready for whatever it offers.

One wave dumps me hard; tossing me between rises. I gasp for air, choking on salt and sea, clawing to the surface scared and suffering, only to be knocked under again, trusting the water torture would end: a set contains a finite number of waves.

But it’s easy to forget this in the midst of the whirling water.

Eventually, the pounding ceases, I breathe deeply and kick back out to the break point to wait for the next round, hoping for a ride to the bay, alive with bumps, thrills, and ecstasy.

Green = Easy.

Black = Difficult.

It was fun, scary, challenging and required complete focus on the task, whether crossing a horizontal rope ladder 40 feet in the air, or flying down a zip line. The first part of the adventure requires trusting the harness, knowing and believing that if you couldn’t quite do something and you let go, the harness would protect you from crashing to the ground.

All fine and good, but I had a really hard time believing this.

This became super apparent when I reached a 15 foot rope ladder that I had to climb. The bottom of the ladder was about four feet off the platform, and the platform was at least 20 feet off the ground. And the ladder? It wasn’t anchored in place and the rungs weren’t easily spaced. The ladder moved around and the reach from rung to rung was a herculean effort, especially since this was one of the later challenges. I tried, got frustrated. Rested on the platform, then tried again. I repeated this loop a number of times, growing more and more frustrated and angry. Angry at my fear, angry at my inability to trust, angry at being weak. So I pouted. And pouted. And then totally spent, gave up and took the zip line down off the platform to the solid ground. Had I been able to trust the harness, I could have leaned into it and made it up the ladder, but I couldn’t. I wanted to do it on my own. (Read the many life analogies and metaphors in this example.)

The subtle pouting remained in ways that I did not even realize until a few months later when looking at some of the artwork created shortly after that.

For example, the semester after that I created this little one page book and the accompanying envelope. The text reads:

This little book was a “simplified version” of another book,  a structure I learned during a class with Julie Chen, the magic tablet. The workshop description read like this:

Part book, part optical paper toy, this structure presents the opportunity to create mesmerizing illusions!

This structure presents 12 pages that are cut into horizontal strips and assembled so that each page appears to dissolve into the next when the handles on either side of the mechanism are manipulated. This allows for multiple readings of each page as it slides in ever-changing combinations with both the previous and the following pages. 

Using easily accessible mark-making techniques, students will create 12 pages for their tablet. Then, after careful preparation of the pages and all the tablet’s various visible and invisible parts, the secrets of the mechanism’s inner workings will be revealed. 

My twelve pages alternated between black and white tree images–some my tree rubbings, some my tree photographs and watercolored images of ladders.

Both books address my literal fear of the ladder and heights, and also get into how facing these fears on the playground help when facing parallel ones in the work place or in personal relationships. This first book has this text, you can see where the second, little one gets its inspiration:

And the next year? I returned to Jiminy Peak and not only made it through the ladder, but through every single one of the challenges from the green to the black levels.

It was only when I returned to living in the woods did I realize that much of what that work was about, was NOT having access to the woods and nature. As I was realizing this, I was reading Emerson’s Nature essay. I played around with the text and simplified it down to 30 words, few enough to memorize. I could carry the sentiment with me wherever I went. When I am in the woods I often repeat this as my mantra.

I decided to create a small little book of this mantra, paired down from the essay. The words are printed on a blue French paper from a polymer plate of my handwriting. The pages, including the covers, are relief printed images–the same image repeated over and over and transformed by the different lines of text. The original one-of-a-kind mock-up was from stone lithograph prints made in grad school. The structure is derived from Hedi Kyle’s Storage Book Structure: folded pages mounted on a very thin tyvek accordion with a non-adhesive folded cover.

The book was originally conceived in 2008. I just finished putting together the entire edition (40) recently with the help of Hayley Parker and Carrie Converse. It was truly a five-year effort. I’m really delighted to be done with that part of it!

In the Woods
Linoleum prints, polymer plates
Variation of the storage book structure
Closed 6×4 inches, open 6×8 inches
2008

Country mouse in the big city, I had to make time to check out two amazing art exhibitions. Ruth Laxson–one of my favorite contemporary artists– at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA), and Frida and Diego at the High. I knew about the Laxson exhibit, Hip Young Owl, and learned about Frida and Diego from the billboards lining the highway as we drove into the city.

And not only was it a glorious day of art, when we arrived at MOCA, Ruth Laxson was leaving, so I got to meet and talk with her a bit before viewing the exhibit.

Meeting Ruth Laxson

Laxson is a well-known book artist and printmaker in certain circles. I discovered her work in grad school. She came into her own in her 60′s. She’s now 89 and shows no sign of stopping!

Pasted into one of Laxson’s sketchbooks.

Text, texture, image, thread, mail, dots, paper and commentary on the human condition define her work. Her newest series, drawings entitled God Doll’s, drew me into her visual language. Her use of repetition, automatic writing as texture yet also an important part of her composition–a framing device, a ground, a form–the figure, not as we know it, but as it forms from the shapes, textures and marks she creates. There’s a freeness and openness to these figures that brings me to her world. When looking at her work, those who know my work understand immediately why I love this artist’s creations.

What I did not know was the role of mail art in Laxson’s career. In the 1980s she participated in numerous mail art exchanges and did so for many years. She even has a series of mail art post boxes that were included in the exhibit. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be like her when I’m 89. I got my press at 41, she got hers at 63. So maybe there’s hope for me!

Here are some of my favorite images from the exhibit:

After a couple of hours of soaking in all that is Hip, we headed over to the High to see the Frida and Diego exhibit. Many of the paintings on view were ones that I had never seen. It focused a bit more on Diego than Frida, including many of his earliest paintings, paintings when he hadn’t found his own visual language and was still copying that of Picasso, Cezanne and other artists at the start of the 20th century. Many of the pieces in the exhibit were not only new to me but also zeroed in on Frida and Diego’s tumultuous relationship. In spite of their many ups and downs, she made this wonderful little piece for him in honor of their 15th wedding anniversary. It was one of my favorite images in the entire exhibit.

Frida’s gift to Diego in honor of their 15th wedding anniversary.

Of course Doug and I had to take part in the camp that often surround Frida and Diego.

But regardless, this day of art, then time with my little brother and his family, followed by an incredible week of mountain biking keeps me thinking about this Rilke writing from March 14th in A Year with Rilke.

Still, at least I can vicariously see some of them through catalogs and websites. And I can’t wait.

Ruth Laxson’s Hip Young Owl

Ruth Laxson, Hip Young Owl, Museum of Contemporary Art, Atlanta (I just saw this over the weekend. More about it in a future post!)
 
Life’s Work, MASS MoCA, North Adams, MA
 
Gravity and Grace: Monumental Works by El Anatsui at the Brooklyn Museum, Closing August 4
 
James Turrell at the Guggenheim, New York, June 21-September 25
 
Balthus: Cats and Girls at the Met, New York, September 2013-January 2014
 
Janet Cardiff: The Forty Part Motet, Cloisters, New York, September 10-December 8 (The link here takes you to a review of the installation documentation on the artist’s website.)
 
Paul Klee at the Tate Modern, London, October 15, 2013- March 9, 2014
 

I teach students how-to:

• Write an artist statement and an artist bio
• Create an artist resume
• Establish an online presence through websites and social media
• Talk about one’s art in formal and informal settings
• Document the work
• Plan/Prepare/Create/Install an exhibit—including making your own shows in unusual places
• Look for residencies, exhibitions, jobs and then how to apply (And the importance of reading the directions!)

I require students to purchase and read the following books–listed in the order that the students rank their usability and relevance:

• I’d Rather be in the Studio
• Art/Work
• How to Survive and Prosper as an Artist without Selling your Soul

These nuts and bolts things prepare the student for some aspects of the life of the artist. But the greater thing I try to do is to get students to answer the question Do I feel the need to be an artist deep in my soul? I truly believe that the path of the artist must be a calling or a vocation. The path is laced with many challenges and obstacles. One must really want it to be even remotely successful. And one must be willing to do the hardwork necessary to succeed, even when that hardwork doesn’t seem to relate.

Rilke speaks to this in Letters to a Young Poet, asking the young poet questions to help him clarify if he is ready for the commitment. But there are three questions that can also be asked that can help too. These questions can be used for any soon-to-graduate college student, or anyone looking to make a change in their life.

1. What am I good at?
2. What do I LOVE to do?
3. What does the world need?

Answering these questions may be easy or hard for a student, and listening to the real answers may be even harder. But as the questions are being pondered and answered, it’s super important to go out and try stuff. To get internships, to do stuff for friends, to volunteer, to try as much as possible, and to ask everyone you know about opportunities. You never know who might just know someone who knows someone who gets you that killer opportunity.

Some students are really good at this. They are persistent. They use their creative problem solving skills developed as an artist to find opportunities. And they find stuff. And then when they find something and do it, they are more likely to be chosen for the next opportunity because they have at least a little experience. I try to instill into my students that they must take an opportunity when it comes. They cannot wait for the next one, because the next one might not come. We each create our own luck by the hard work we put into our lives. Some students get this. Some don’t.

Going deep into the forest of the mind.

These three questions come from Theologian Michael Himes of Boston College, (This is a really good link, it’s a transcript of a lecture he gave about the three questions–if you are wanting to make changes in your life, click the link.) He adds this in regards to discernment:

One vocation embraces all our other vocations: to be a human being. We are called to be as intelligent, as responsible, as free, as courageous, as imaginative, and as loving as we possibly can be. All of my other vocations, all of the many ways in which I live my life, must contribute to that one all-embracing demand, that one constant vocation to be fully, totally, absolutely as human as I can possibly be.

And this leads us back to the questions, sitting with the answers, ready to act—

I invite you to ask the questions of yourself, to see if the work you are doing right now is what you are good at, what you love and what the world needs. If not, what would happen if you changed something to get just a little bit closer to what those answers reveal?