The Looking Stool

In my art room, all of the stools are painted by students from years past. When a stool painting starts to fade or get chipped away, it is taken out of rotation and someone from art club usually paints a new design. These stools become well-known icons in the room. Some students race into the room so they can sit on their favorite stool. They are, in effect, putting their bottom on the very image that they adore but they want to "have and to hold" that stool for the 45 minute class period. There are several students that love the Batman stool in particular. The only problem is that the bat logo has completely worn off. There are no signs of Batman anymore. It must have never had a sealant coat put on it. Nevertheless, the stool is still coveted. They race to get close to the Looking Stool, to an invisible image.  I guess it is why we stare at historic plaques and gravestones. It's just enough to recall an image for us that was once there. And it seems we humans want to get close to our images. 

Here is a short talk by the artist Lynda Barry about the power of the image:

His Ink on Brake

"My Teacher Has Corrupted Me"

I had the privilege of accompanying over 30 teen artists to an air-conditioned space. Lucky for us, that space was the Art Institute of Chicago. During our hours wandering the galleries, I made the impromptu decision to record the casual conversations sprouting in front of artwork. There were sassy voices, thoughtful voices, and brave whispered voices barely trickling into the microphone of my iphone. This collage of conversations has been whittled down to 9 minutes from almost 2 hours of chatting. Each conversation in the video is accompanied by the original artwork we were looking at when we were talking. Just like any good teacher, in order to really listen to the students, you have to lean in close and stay there.  So turn up the volume on your computer and lean in.

Art at its laziest.

Here's another good "post-grad school" activity where you don't even have to get out of bed to do it. Draw stuff on your iphone. I made my first painting today and--well--it felt good. I'm ready to tell you that I did it and none of my analog works have fallen off the wall and punched me in my digitally-glazed face...yet. I do believe my oil paintings are staring from across the room, peeling with envy. They smelled an iTunes download. I imagine my paintbrushes and my pencils get together at night (all Toy Story style) and talk about how to win back my love.  I heartlessly downloaded the free app called DrawCast right in front of those fat tubes of paint.
I'm now accepting recommendations for other free painting/drawing applications to download on my phone. But it better be good because in DrawCast you can even mix colors by tapping your finger on two different digital swatches to come up with a new swatch. Who knew you could have so much fun without turpentine?

I'd say the glass is half FULL today. Drink it up, David Hockney!

Liz Becoming

My friend, Liz, who is featured in the portrait, had much to say about the original painting. This seems to be true of anyone who has their portrait painted. It was time for this painting to evolve and I documented its metamorphosis. Hopefully Liz will have new things to say about the painting now.

I also thought moving frames and fancy audio might bring you closer to the painting. Most people probably aren't reading this though and have already hit 'play.'

I used to be a Painter.

Jean goes to Haiti

*Full pics on facebook*

For about 10 days, I traveled through Haiti. My trip was first inspired by the idea that I should visit my old childhood friend, MaryJo, in Port-Au-Prince where she's been working for a while. My motto is to visit people you know in other countries or places whenever possible. I believe travel makes you a better human being. It turns out that my former boss also would be in Haiti while I was visiting. Leading up to the trip, I planned to visit a school and teach. My landlady, Peggy, a high school teacher here in Chicago, heard about this and took up a collection of donated school supplies at her school. (Thank you!) I packed 50 pounds of school supplies (American Airlines limit) to take down with me. Because my old boss, Sue, also would be heading down with her mother, Doris, at the same time, they handed me another army bag of diapers to take down to an orphanage as well. School supplies, diapers, and 5 words in Creole...sounds like a great trip, right?
As I was warned, arriving in Port-Au-Prince airport is, well, something to blog about...several men approached-no, pounced on our carts of baggage as we wheeled ourselves out to our ride. Now I know why some of my first words in creole were "Pa touche"- don't touch!

Beyond the crazy airport, I saw the sights and sounds of Haiti...some of the first being the iconic tap taps, Haiti's unofficial public transport system.  A country where people like to express themselves through painting their cars??? I liked Haiti already. The ornately painted trucks with inspiring inscriptions such as "Fear my Brother" "Jesus My Mercy" and  "69 69 69." I don't think the translation for the last one is in the Creole/English dictionary. Hmm.
In preparation for my short lesson I was going to give that coming Monday to a school, I visited the school grounds and pastor of the school's church. The school was devastated by the earthquake and since then the 80 students in the school have gathered in a large tent next door with benches and chalkboards. Talk about a small education budget. Having not met the students but at least seen the space, I went about devising a lesson I could bring to the students with the supplies I could carry. As often happens in teaching, it was I who learned most from the lessons.
Another part of my Haitian experience was the ability to surrender control over any given situation. Hired by MaryJo's organization, on Monday morning bright and early, I was escorted by a driver and my interpreter, to an outlying town from Port-Au-Prince called Croix des Bouquets. It is a town known for its artistic metal work. Before even getting there, the driver's car broke down and we stalled on the side of the road. He hailed a moto-taxi to pick up another car. So I waited in the backseat of the disabled car with Erich, my interpreter, and I taught him my lesson as practice. My plan was that we were to make little autobiographical books that morning. Ha. It resembled something like that.

We eventually made it to Croix des Bouquets, mid-morning, and were greeted by far fewer students than expected. This was the Monday before the anniversary of the earthquake, January 12th, and many students stayed home for break until after the anniversary. So, with Improv as my Savior, I began my lesson... those in attendance were about twenty students spanning the ages of 4-16, the 3 teachers there that day, the pastor, a local artist, and even my driver, participated in the lesson...my first art lesson...in Creole. Totally normal. And I believed after that day that I could do anything.

Through meeting MaryJo's co-workers, neighbors, and a school community, I learned that Haiti is full of amazingly hospitable and spirited people...oh, what I would pay to hear Bernard, the house guard, say one more time with his warm smile, "BONJOU!"

With a little Compas dancing and Troubadou music thrown in there, some Creole tutoring from neighbor Samuel, UN troops on every other road,  money changers with rifles strapped against their chest on the street, chaotic drives through "no-rules" streets without a seatbelt to save your life...literally...it was time to move on from Port-Au-Prince to mellow Jacmel. I mean, I had some diapers to deliver. Jacmel is a smaller, way more chilled out town 3 hours away through the mountains. On the way to the Port-Au-Prince bus station, on the anniversary of the earthquake, I saw many people marching through the street. Someone handed a little leaflet through our window reading-roughly- that "the people of the tent camps need homes, work, and loans."

Work by graffiti artist, Jerry, in PAP next to street vendor.

Last night of MUSIK

Bus Passenger

Sue and Zaka buy Jimmy the dog from the lady in the background

Samuel dropped me off at the 'bus station,' a collection of trucks in a chaotic market of vendors and rubble. He helped negotiate my price and I sat up front in between the driver and an old man with my shins pushed against the dashboard. I braced myself for what I thought might be the bus ride of my life. The bus leaves when it's full and in the meantime I had several people reaching their arms inside the bus showing me their 7ups, pastries, cell phone chargers, and chewing gum. We finally took off through the mountains for some breathtaking scenery. There is one guide book out right now by Lonely Planet (one of perhaps the only that attempts guidance through Haiti) that gave the most amusing advice for women and bus travel in Haiti, it reads:"Haitian roads are abysmal and, as public transport is extremely bouncy, consider wearing a sports bra, especially on longer journeys, where you should also wear a skirt to allow for roadside toilet breaks." Noted.
What they did not prepare me for was the 'bus-bug.' I was bitten by something and began wriggling like a crazy person to see, with no success, what had taken a bite out of my stomach. Two days later it became one heck of a welt. I'm still not sure what was hanging out inside my pants.
When we got to Jacmel, Sue was to meet me on a moto, a motorcycle taxi, and take me to the art center. Through some mixture of French, Spanish, Creole, and English, I communicated to the driver that my friend was not there to pick me up yet and  I needed to call her. She finally found me and we piled onto the moto with the driver holding the diaper army bag in front, Sue in the middle, and me with my backpack holding on for dear life on the back. Personal space is a little different in Haiti but I never thought I would be this close to my former boss...on a moto...in Haiti.

 

Jacmel turned out to be a beautiful place. It was a very charged experience in that I was arriving on the day of many processions and ceremonies marking the earthquake's anniversary. My former boss, Sue, was helping plan an event for their new art center in town. Amid a sculpture exhibition by local artists, a vodou priest commemorated the loss of Sue's best friend, Flo, in the earthquake through a sand painting on the sidewalk. The evening included beautiful traditional Haitian dancing and live music in the street in front of the art center.

I had the privilige of staying with some great new friends and helping get those diapers to its final destination. Despite the statistically challenging atmosphere I had put my immune system in, I'm happy to report that I never got sick during my travels...well until the second bus ride of my life...

On the bus ride back to Port-Au-Prince to catch our plane home, I was stuck in the back seat of the bus this time and with little food in my stomach to keep me from feeling nauseous when we hit the first bump. Sure enough, practically sitting on my former boss's mother's lap, I leaned across and puked out the window going through the mountains...in Haiti! I was quickly given a bag to vomit into inside the bus so that I didn't puke onto the outside of the car. I managed to throw up and laugh at the same time at the ridiculousness of it all. Part way through the ride, I had to get out of the bus to let another woman out. To my surprise she was holding 4 chickens, 2 in each hand, upside down by the legs, as she exited. So not only was I puking on a bus in the mountainside of Haiti, I was doing it while sitting over 4 chickens without even noticing.
Mwen renmen Ayiti! I will be back someday. Because after all, I left my heart-and my breakfast-in the mountains of Haiti.

Jacmel Sunrise

Where is your light source?

I had the privilege of meeting the inspiring, insightful, "illuminating", and hilarious cartoonist Lynda Barry this week in a roundtable discussion at SAIC. I even mustered the courage to show her some of my own drawings from my very prolific period called: 1st through 3rd grade. She inspired me to go back to my own childhood drawings and remember what I was thinking then.

This pencil drawing is from the pad of paper that was always kept by the phone to take messages. I was 6 years old and my mom had the wisdom to hold onto it. I'm guessing I was thinking about the sewer system underneath the streets. I'm not sure if the lady's careful disposal of trash despite her unruly elbow was an early comment on environmental action. Lynda Barry did mention that I had a keen sense of light sources in my drawings. Sure enough, the drawing above includes the car's headlights in the background. Lynda included a light source above my name when she signed my copy of her book, One!Hundred!Demons!. She just plain rocks and has become my newest light source.

I'll let my Books do the Talking

I'll be the first to admit that my blog posts have been underwhelming these days...so maybe this will win you back.
I have two of my book works (those strange sculptural book-like art pieces that I do) exhibiting (outside of my house) this coming month.Yes, I still paint, but painting is so provincial these days. Not dead, just provincial. Book Arts is where it's at, my friends! My pieces will be at the Williamsburg Art and Historical Society in Brooklyn, October 12-November 27, 2010. The show is called Tri-Fold: New Perspectives on Book Arts .

If you haven't had the privilege of being over at my place watching me drink wine and show you my books for hours at a time, then you can skip over to Brooklyn and see some of them without my awkward commentary and cheap booze I would be pushing on you. Well, I have no guarantee on what caliber of refreshments the Williamsburg folks have to offer, but I'm guessing it's nicer than my 2-buck-chuck and off-brand cheese. The last time I was in this part of Brooklyn was 2005 and I was eating organic lunches and buying overpriced vintage dresses. But I'm about to class up the joint with my artwork! (Seriously, it is an honor to be showing my work at this great venue with so many fantastic  artists!)
If you are part of most of my readership that is probably going to spend the opening night reception watching Susan Boyle youtube videos (Here's a good one to get you started:
, don't fret. Here is my work that will be on display:

In the Changing Road Map Book, journal writing and found pages from books are embedded in winding and sometimes circular paths. The reader can reconfigure the multiple layers of folds so that the paths link with other paths, creating a new network. These pathways reference rivers, veins, maps, the Internet, literacy, and the changing systems of thinking and communicating information.

The Infinity Book was originally a book about God that was hallowed out and embedded with personal journal writing. A prayer is woven through its center in the shape of the symbol for infinity. Its text can be pulled around and around as an infinite prayer with no beginning and no end.

Of course, if you are in the New York area, I hope you can stop by and see the show and report back to me!

No-Fail Kale

I know, I know, I'm more likely to make pigment for a painting with kale than actually eat it. But I keep hearing the nutritional wonders of this bitter leafy plant. Notice how I placed a complimentary color (my half-eaten carrot) in the picture above. Carrots are certainly not required to cook kale here but aesthetics count in my world. I would consider kale to probably be my most likely scapegoat vegetable. It needs all the compliments it can get. I actually think my worst nightmare might be being strapped to a chair for days being fed kale.
My friend, Natasha, has done amazing things with kale in the oven so I thought I'd try it out myself. While I think anything smothered in olive oil will usually improve, I was doubtful with even this vegetable. Thanks for some "no-fail kale", Natasha! Here it is:

Crisped Kale:

1. Wash kale and pat COMPLETELY dry.It's important to dry it or else it ends up steaming in the oven.
2. Toss with a little bit of olive oil, salt, and pepper. Over-salting will cause shrinking. Hold back!
   
3. Broil until crisp. About 5 minutes. Watch it as it turns black quickly.
4. Eat your vegetables!
   

I'm also happy to report that I actually used the broil option on the oven dial. As for how much nutrition I just cooked out of it, that's another story.

I run 35 miles and my car dies.

This blog post is a two-fer. I have two pieces of incredible news. As my title suggests, the first is that I ran 35 miles in 72 hours. The second is that my polka-dot car bit the dust.
Item #1: The reason I ran so much is because I had the privilege of running on an all-woman team, called Jungle Rot, at the Great Lakes Relay last weekend.It is a 10 person team but we only added up to 8 this year. Yikes! That meant we had to split the approximately 270 miles of the course between ourselves over 3 days. It started in Rogers City, MI Friday Morning near Lake Huron and ended in Empire at Lake Michigan on Sunday. Add to that lots of mosquitos, an average of 4 hours of sleep per night, the chance of getting lost in the woods... and hitchhiking your way back (which happened to someone this year), shampooing your hair in Lake Huron, and spending lots of time with other crazy runner types who put sea salt under their tongues to re-hydrate (delicious!), ...and you have the making for an unforgettable weekend. I think my official mileage may have been 34.9 miles but I'm tacking on .1 miles for running (or should I say hobbling) out of the way of a bee attracted to my neon shirt. On day 3 with no sleep, there is nothing funnier than trying to run (on locked up quads) away from a bee. I also thought I was truly crazy when I saw this hill I was voluntarily running up on my 34th mile:

Certifiably Crazy!
I later realized I was following runners who had taken a wrong turn on the course, making my 5.6 leg into 6.3 miles. Ouch. But, I can't wait til next year!

So onto my second item of the blog: THE POLKA DOT CAR (aka Polkie) has died. Her final resting place is in Orland Park, Illinois. I was on a lunch break from painting at the Orland Park Library and heard massive amounts of squealing (more than I've heard in the past year-which is saying a lot) and pulled over into a parking spot right in front of --very appropriately-- Michaels Crafts Store. I even called Michaels to tell them not to tow away my craft project stuck in their lot. On that fated Friday, only one week after a cross-state trip to Kalamazoo, my wheel stopped moving apparently and was skidding along the lot making a beautiful final arc on the asphalt, leaving its last mark on this world. Contrary to family members who think it might just be something easy to fix...IT IS DEAD! I'm taking it off my life support.


A full memorial in the form of a short film will fully commemorate the car this summer. Stay tuned for that.
In the meantime, I'd like to dunk my head in one of the Great Lakes again: