Socks in a Bag

From the age of 6 until about 11, I danced in the Sheila Tully School of Irish Dance.  (Apparently there is a website now.) We had the laced up leather soft shoes, the ornate celtic designs on dresses, and the night before a feis--the name for the dance competitions--we slept with curlers in our hair. Ouch. (Apparently, the girls wear wigs now.) I cannot find any pictures from this time in my life. A true tragedy.

Vintage two-toned Umbro Shorts

I remember all of our "practices" in the basement of my Catholic school. We practiced in our Umbro gym shorts, over-sized t-shirts, athletic white socks, and criss-cross-laced-dance shoes. I remember Sheila Tully--Herself--making that distinctly satisfying 'click-click' of a tape into the cassette player and pressing the play button, the distorted accordion sounds would blare, our promenading and hops in rhythmic unison...Doting mothers would stand in the hall chatting while their daughters worked on jigs, two hand reels, hornpipes, and if you were an older girl, the hard shoe dances, too.

Once, when we were lined up in formation with one toe pointed out, Sheila Tully, herself, walked down the line and stopped in front of my toes, "No socks today?" I shook my head no and my face went flush. My mother was not doting in the background during Irish dance class to see this embarrassment and she was certainly not keeping track of my socks. If I wanted to dance with socks, I would have to be the one putting the socks in my bag.

So here I am now, 20 years later, putting socks in a bag. This time I am not going to an Irish feis. I'm heading to Rio to perform in Carnival! My mother is not here to help me pack my socks either. Instead, I am packing for a trip because of everything she taught me. She taught me to do things for myself and to go after what I want. It's her absence, once again, that has shaped her influence on me. A year before my mom passed away, I remember her telling me that she wanted to go to some community dance event at a summer festival. She always wished she danced more. She didn't care if she was the only one over 60. I never had a chance to take her there. But I am taking her spirit with me on this specific journey to Brazil, with enough sunblock for the both of us.

When I told my Aunt Mary about this amazing trip down to Rio de Janeiro to dance with Samba schools, she told me, "You know, your mother always lived through you and all of your adventures. She would have done all the things you are doing if she could."

Last week, I was volunteering at a concert at the Old Town School of Folk Music, the miraculous organization that is helping send a group of us down to Rio. At that concert, I heard this song and it described the feeling of my mom and leaving on this trip. "My mother, she once told me, you you gotta be as bright as you can...my suitcase, it once told me, you gotta be as light as you can."

How To Dance Chicago Samba

With only 20 days away from our feet on the streets of Rio de Janeiro, we are practicing our little hearts out in the studio. Hopefully our regional styles are, um, not too apparent when we are dancing in Carnival! Sambaaaaaaaaaaaa!

His Ink on Brake

A Chair in the Sky

There is a great clip (or maybe this one) of the comedian Louis CK in an interview with Conan O'Brien where he is describing how ungrateful we are as humans despite everything amazing going on around us. It is true. When times get tough, I still have to thank my lucky stars for all the beautiful, incredible things going on in life. So with that, I'd like to celebrate good things happening all around me despite the rain cloud hovering over me this season.

1. I have the most amazing students who keep me going everyday and bring me joy and purpose. There is so much love in my classroom.

2. I have my health. I walk and talk and breathe miraculously everyday. I like walking so much that I will do it--to a beat--in go-go boots for miles at a time.

3. When I have forgotten to eat, my adopted Greek grandmother/landlady next door who doesn't speak English will offer me sustenance. She speaks the universal language of "tupperware-full of-stew" with a chunk of Feta, and Greek coffee. We sit on the back stairwell and watch the leaves change color. It's a lesson in accepting change and the passing of time. Her legs are not doing so well these days, you guys...pray for Anthoula's knees.

4. When I have forgotten momentarily that I am an artist that makes things, I discover a new cartoonist and laugh heartily for the first time in weeks over the idea of pouring lemonade over children to keep them quiet. This comic is from the Moomins series by the great Tove Jansson who I had to look up. She is such a rebel! Look at her picture! Remember: smoking is bad, comics are good!
5. I also had an open house in my studio recently and shared my own cartoons with the public. And gosh darn it, people like them.

6. When I have no more words though, I can still sing... with Polly, with waves crashing on the cold Chicago beach, with my new ukulele chords I just learned.

 Fall seven times, get up eight. -Japanese Proverb

How to Bury a Fly Named Chester

During my 8th grade advisory period (sometimes called homeroom at other schools), I was leading my students through an extremely important team-building activity...clearly. While this was happening, one of my students was chasing a fly around the room. After repeated attempts from me to get him to stop, I finally said, "Joe, that fly is the reincarnated spirit of my childhood pet dog named Chester. Do not hurt Chester the Fly. Join us at the table!" What did he proceed to do? He pointed his rubberband at the fly and WHAM! He got Chester! The poor fly's guts exploded on the ceiling.
Students swormed around the scene of the crime, swaddled Chester in tissues, and claimed tupperware as his temporary coffin. Then, students set up signs and made a little alter in the corner where Chester had died. Funeral arrangements began immediately. It just all happened so quickly.
The next day, I asked each student to write on a sticky note what they had learned from Chester the Fly. Even Joe. Some replies: "To not be annoying or else you'll get rubberbanded." "I learned that even a fly can be entertaining during Ms. Fitz's boring activity." "Even flies can have funerals."

Then, I brought my whole advisory group behind the school with the remains of Chester the Fly. We found a good tree and began digging with spoons. Our beloved swaddled Chester was laid to rest with the lessons he taught us entombed with him.

Chester taught me a lot, too. Life is short. Celebrate it.

Two Hands, One Mind

As I was giving instruction at the front of class the other day, an 8th grade boy sitting right in front of me began to crash around the contents of the pencil bin. While continuing to make noise, he put up his other hand, looked regretfully at me, and apologized for the other side of his body. Who can't relate to those opposing actions that jumble inside of us simultaneously? Who hasn't had opposing forces battle within us? Who hasn't wanted to do one thing, but still did the other thing?
 It reminds me of that psychology study where a man whose corpus callosum (the connecting tissue between the two brains) had malfunctioned and he watched as one hand buttoned his shirt while the other hand worked to unbutton his shirt at the same time.

So, what I want to know is, which hand wins?

Caravaggio is Calling

Iphone Blogging from the airport, confirming a bed to sleep in on the other side of the ocean through a series of tubes and screens, and coffee, always coffee.
The original plan was to go to South America but as some of you have heard, South America came to me this summer. South America trip will come later.
I meant to do a couple of things before I flew to Rome: Write a blog post about the samba parade costume I made, see friends in Michigan, find an air conditioning unit, submit myself to Pilates workouts, finish a book, a painting, a comic.
But I'm learning that there is exactly enough time for everything if I accept that it doesn't always happen in the order I expected.
Oops, sorry, Caravaggio is calling. I gotta answer this. Ciao.

The Middle School Sword Collection

So this isn't a sword, but it's cool.

You never walk the same path twice.

 It is an enormous privilege to spend extended periods of time with middle school students who are growing almost as fast as an infant's brain.  I can literally see them growing, both in height and intellect. I care so deeply about these students, it physically pulls at my heart. While I was on a run the other day, one of the eerily warm 60 degree January days, I felt light opening out of what some people call my heart chakra. It was an orange light. I painted a quick sketch of it (below.) I think the weather and a hardy run helped, but I attribute it to thinking about the enormous responsibility of being someone's teacher. I was not on drugs, everyone, just warm weather endorphins and sensing a real connection with my students! After the awful obligatory task of reducing a student's learning in art class to a letter grade, I set to reading my mini-surveys they filled out at the end of the semester. I realize more deeply how the smallest and biggest choices I make in the classroom can impact a student. No letter grade or scoring rubric will show that. I love these young people and I'm learning how to show that.

Another part of teaching art to middle school students is emphasizing the importance of respecting your space and the materials you use. Sometimes the emotional maturity needed to perform these tasks (i.e., participate in clean-up time) can only be described through theatrical interpretation by Paul Rudd:

Turning the Corner

Walking on Frozen Lake Huron

7th Grade Student Superhero Bedroom.

Studio work in Progress

Gendered Shapes

In 2012, I was able to spend time at 3 great lakes in Michigan state park cabins. I don't even want to write about them because I want it to be my little secret. I realize the lack of electricity, no indoor plumbing, and wood fired stoves have kept it mostly that way. I was in a yurt in the Porkies along Lake Superior last May, a cabin on Lake Michigan in Leelanau State Park this past Thanksgiving, and one on Lake Huron in Cheboygan State Park over New Years with friends. It's been one of the more constant things in a year of a lot of shifting and changing: a new teaching job, a new apartment, and most recently a new studio space. I am ecstatic that the saws no longer live next to my couch. Over the holidays I became very sick and had to practice hibernating...even from this blog. It was long and hard but we've made it to 2013. I haven't been able to make sense of what 2012 was really about but I feel I've turned a corner. Cheers!

Experiencing 7th Grade Through Jello

A new friend of a friend had recently mentioned this cool process of printmaking on gelatine. I was intrigued and invited her over to my place to do whatever it is you do with gelatine.

Deanna brought over a cookie sheet of jello that we broke into pieces on trays. Then we got out paint and ink to brush and roll over the surface of squishy gelatine. We pressed different kinds of paper on top to make simple monoprints and marveled at our happy accidents.

My own Jazz Map from years ago

Then, I immediately put all of my mental energy into how I would take this process to my most difficult class: 6th period 7th grade art. There are 34 of them, 25 boys, 2 who require teacher's aides, and have boundless energy. Did I mention they are in 7th grade? I looked at "map projects" online and started scanning images of cool maps in fantasy novels from the school library. There just was something not quite "gelling" about this fantasy map idea...but my worrying weekend was running out of time and I had to come up with something that connected to my arbitrary constraint (jello) before our class met again...all project runway-style. I decided to just make the prints with them and see what they should turn into...CRINGE! I know, a lesson without a clear outcome. How risky and irresponsible.

To get jello production underway, I made friends with the the Food and Consumer Sciences teacher in the school (Read: Home Ec). She had lots of pans and trays and refrigerator space for the jello. So one dark and stormy Tuesday, I stayed late in the Home Ec kitchen boiling water and Knox Gelatin (found in the baking aisle for $10.) I poured 2 packets of gelatine into each 9x9 inch pan, with about an inch high of water. (There were 16 pans in total that I split into two trays later for two classes of over 30.) I sloppily stirred the jello mixture with boiling water, let it sit for a few minutes, and then I stacked them into a fridge next to the school custodian's dinner. I had no idea if my slapdash recipe would turn out. I was imagining sub-par jello the next morning and emergency plan B lessons for my already disengaged 7th grade class.

Student work

The next morning at 6:45am, as the sun rose, so did the trays of extra firm beautiful clear gelatine up to the art room on a squeaky cart. The tactile qualities of jello are amazing, everyone. Touch your jello. I did the project with two different 7th grade classes and I only had one student eat a piece of jello. Despite my clear rules not to put it in your mouth since it had been touched by several hands and would be covered in paint, one student still did it on a dare. Thankfully, he returned to my next class alive and well.
So just like my own experimenting, I asked the students to experiment with multiple prints off of their jello tray.

Student Work

At this point, I was in the eye of the lesson storm. So they made some weird abstract shapes on paper. Big whoop. I went home and literally saw the writing on the wall...thanks to my friend, Jasmine, who was over at my house brainstorming with me on what to do with these prints. The scribbles/writings on my walls were old "map-like" drawings I had done years ago that I called my jazz drawings. They were supposed to represent energies like I believe improvisational jazz does. Great, now I should teach this. But HOW? I realized they had already been doing warm up drawing exercises in the beginning of class --some teachers call them bellringers, I call them Vitamin A of the Day (A is for art)---The warm ups were tonal drawings in their sketchbooks using cross-hatching, stippling, shading, and tonal scribbling. I took this skill they had just learned and gave them the option to create tonal drawings between and among the continents/islands of their printed maps...whatever mood that had surfaced for them that day. To my relief, the results were beautiful. As often happens at the end of a lesson when I take a long look at the work made, I fear I fetishize the students' pieces and see beauty and value that they don't notice or appreciate. Were they just following instructions in order to fulfill my own dictated aesthetic pleasures? After they finished their tonal ranges using the various drawing techniques, I asked them to serve their artwork on an attractive platter, i.e., a frame made out of colored paper. Then they were asked to title their abstract pieces with a mood. I noticed my own insecurities with making these subjective connections as many of their own titles were tentative and perhaps a bit forced. Showing mood through ink lines and jello prints is no small feat though. If I plan on cooking heaps of jello and doing tonal drawings again, I will push this mood connection a bit more.
A lesson from this lesson might be that ideas and solutions do not come from locking yourself in a room alone picking lint and crying. It came from processing out loud with other creatives, namely  my great artist and art teacher friends. This is what we do for a living: problem-solve and create together--sometimes through j-e-l-l-o.

Student work

Moving Memories in Comics

To enlarge images, hold "command" key and "+" key.

  I moved myself and my objects  across town last month. Amidst new jobs, new spaces, and a new allergy season, I have moved slowly to get this comic up. But with a little bit of sweat and might, it will go up, it will go up... just like my huge desk went to the third floor.