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I started a Creative Journaling workshop at BookWorks a couple of weeks ago. A primary objective of the class is to keep information that you collect easily accessible. That means dedicating specific journals to specific subjects. For example, our instructor (a textile artist with a penchant for organizing her thoughts and images on paper), maintains, among other journals, one for images that inspire her, as a resource for her work, and one on kelp (why kelp, I wonder?). A left-brainer in recovery, welcoming order for as long as I can remember (control issues, no doubt), I’ve taken to the class like a pig to mud.
Last week, we listed (aah, the joy of lists!) the types of journals that we saw in our future. I came up with a dozen (we are not surprised). Our homework over the next two weeks is to think through what they should look like and find sources for them. The journal should both match the purpose — its content — and also “feel right.” “Don’t force it,” says Heather, our teacher. This will be the easy part. As an inveterate collector of notebooks/journals/datebooks, which feeds into my lust for paper and books of any kind, and my partiality to systems, I have quite a selection of potential journals of all shapes, sizes and bindings. Some I’ll make myself, of course.
The more difficult part — and a big motivator for taking the class — will be to help me move away from the word and toward the image. My journals (or “diaries,” as we used to call them before “journaling” became trendy) until now have held only words. As with much of what I’m up to this year, I’m hoping to inch closer to my “discomfort zone:” the visual, the intuitive, the instinctive and the spontaneous (by the way, did Jonathan Franzen make up the term “discomfort zone,” or did he appropriate it from someone else? It doesn’t sound original.). Paradoxically, I guess this means that the more uncomfortable I feel, the closer I’ll be to succeeding. And since that sentence itself makes me uncomfortable, I guess I’m off to a good start.
This was my first workshop of the year at Random Arts in Saluda: an encaustic collage class with Janet Lasher. Janet is a textile and fiber artist primarily, but also works with encaustic medium. She was knowledgeable and a good teacher, and I felt comfortable from the start. Could it be that I’m finally relaxing about making art? Possibly. I know a little more about the process — not necessarily the process of making an encaustic collage — but about the creative process. And/or maybe I’m developing confidence in my abilities (what a concept, eh?). I was really pleased with the results, which I think is the first time I’ve ever experienced that after a first-time effort at any art activity. There are things I’d change if I were doing it over again, but overall, I’m happy with how things turned out.
It’s fairly monochromatic in tone — an aged amber color contrasted with brown and black ink and a bit of gold accent; what little color I used was much softened by layers of wax. I used tissue paper, silk organza fabric and rubber stamps (script stamps along with one of the set of Alice in Wonderland stamps that I’d been looking forward to using — I really do need to start posting images of my work here). I haven’t decided whether this technique lends itself to book covers; perhaps to a book that wasn’t meant to be handled much — more an object than what I usually think of as a book, something to be handled.
The basics of encaustic collage are fairly simple, but as with most simple things in art, the mastery is in refining the basics. To keep things simple, we worked with white encaustic medium, so we didn’t have to deal with incorporating pigments into the wax. We used clayboard as a substrate, but Janet said her favorite substrate is 3/4″ plywood. Since you don’t want flexibility in your substrate, paper is a viable foundation only at a 300-400 lb weight. Some students painted their substrate completely before applying their first coat of wax; others liked the look of the white of the substrate peeking through; and yet others, like me, made a background of papers and fabric.
For me, the most difficult part of the process was maintaining evenness of texture/depth. Since to apply each new layer you have to heat/melt the wax, you can melt through the layers of wax you’ve already laid down, displacing it to other parts of the collage. You don’t want to find that you’ve removed most of the wax from a certain spot, since what keeps the collage material in place is the fusing of each subsequent layer of wax to the layer below. I used a craft iron throughout rather than a heat gun, and I may try the latter next time so that I can compare the two.
A great day learning new things. It’s always fun spending time with the Random Arts folks. Jane Powell, who owns the shop with her husband Paul, is a fount of creative enthusiasm. One of the students is a member of my book club at Malaprop’s, and another student will be in the Secret Belgian Binding workshop I’ll be taking at BookWorks in May. Small (creative) world.
Well, the worktable will indeed be more than I expected — considerably more — but I gave the go-ahead. It’s a long-term purchase and a crucial part of my studio. Having made the decision, this is the most excited I can remember ever feeling about furniture. I spent two days moving things around so that I can use the space to its best advantage with the new addition.
I was at BookWorks yesterday taking a class and met Bill, who’s building the table. It was a happy surprise to find that he was in his shop on a Saturday working on it. And it was lucky that I was at BookWorks, because I realized that I’d set the table too high. It’ll be 36 1/2″ rather than 38.” And the shelves originally planned to have 12″ of storage space each, will now have 8″ and 10″, respectively. Bill said he’s decided to construct it so that it can be taken apart. I think the 30″ doorways the table will have to get through may have made him think twice.
I’ve been looking forward to being an Ashevillian for many years — since the ’80s — and finally managed to get myself here via a combination of wish fulfillment and fortunate circumstance. Two-and-a-half years ago, I took my first book arts class, with Joyce Sievers at the John C. Campbell Folk School, and immediately fell in love with the craft of bookmaking and with the art of artists’ books.
We have a wonderful books arts learning center in Asheville, BookWorks, that offers workshops, artist studio space and artist-group meeting space. This and individual teachers I’ve met in the area have introduced me to a talented community of artists whose interests intersect in the combination of art and the book. It’s becoming impossible to separate what I’m learning formally through organized classes and informally from conversations with others who share this same passion.
I don’t think it’s surprising that someone who loves the written word as much as I do, and the feel of a book in my hand, would gravitate to book arts and to artists’ books as an art form. The more I explore, the more astonished I am by the history and by the phenomenal work of artists in the field. How could I not have been aware of all this?
