Daily Measures XII

We've had a beautiful last day of 2016 in Florence, and the studio was full of sunshine this afternoon. I thought I would share an image I posted to Instagram today since it shows where my "Daily Measures" project has ended up.

As the year progressed, I realized that (as simple as my daily practice was) the monthly making/setting up of the booklet had become an impediment; if I began the month without preparing the pages, the strips would accumulate with nowhere to go. By the time summer arrived, with family visiting & traveling, I had gotten off-track. Saving papers to use for each daily "story line" had become second nature, though, so I came up with the idea of weaving them. First in the orderly fashion of some of my past paper weavings, but once the busy summer was over the concept started to reflect the pre-launch period for Studio Milledisegni (which was insanely crazy for me), the weavings became looser/less orderly...

Then, as I was completing my series of paper designs for Studio Milledisegni, I got the idea to use a month's-worth of strips to create a small-scale paper chain for our little lemon balm "tree" (shown in the image above). At the beginning of December it was still covered with fresh leaves, but they began to fall part way through the month, slowly making way for the ever-growing chain.

I love the shadows (and the "chaos" they create on the wall), though this does make it somewhat hard to differentiate between the branches/twigs and the shadows they cast. On the note of chaos, this is probably the word that best defines 2016 for me. Likely for that reason, a sense of "calm" has been my quest as I take a break over the holidays. And this is what inspired our Christmas tree this year. After removing the copper leaves with the words my daughter & I had chosen last Christmas (described partway through this post, and which we will hang on the olive tree at the rose garden), we decorated the LED-lit branches with clear glass balls + crystal chandelier bits & pieces. Its mingling of simplicity & exuberance brings me joy every time I look at it. And I love how the sunshine mixes with the crystals, scattering "rainbows" everywhere during the hours of light...

I wish you a lovely last day of 2016 

...and may your 2017 begin in joy!

The color of frustration (!)

Don't get me wrong...I love a strong, slightly warm charcoal-y gray (sewing an entire wardrobe's-worth of clothes from a bolt of charcoal wool is a dream of mine)...but the gray skies & lack of light lately seem to be conspiring to drive me crazy when it comes to photo-taking. White becomes gray, warm whites come out cool, and the usual gorgeous, rich shadows are nowhere to be found; everything seems dull to me without the sunshine. And just when I finally started instagram-ing!

I could have simply pointed the camera at the sky at any given moment this week and ended up with a vast collection of images for this month's installation of the ROY G BIV photo challenge, but decided instead to take a journey through my photo archive. The first trio shows the light-play/shadows of glass tealight holders on a nicely textured paper...I liked how the resulting marks almost could have been created with a water-soluble pencil or paints.

The next trio features the Venetian lagoon on a sun-less day. The overcast sky created a distinctly gray effect/feeling; yet, compared with a "standard" gray, you can make out shades of blue, green & various neutrals mixed up in there. I suppose it's actually quite rare that a color is indeed pure, i.e. unaffected by the influence of its surroundings. And of course our different computer screens further impact how we interpret colors...

This last trio is of the paving stones in Piazza Pitti, just after a storm. There are few things more glorious (in my opinion) than the moment the sun emerges after a rainstorm, when shadows return and the city is clean & refreshed.

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A few details in case you are not familiar with the
ROY G BIV  photo challenge ~ Artists Jennifer Coyne Qudeen 
& Julie Booth started this project a few years ago; each month
is devoted  to a different color of the rainbow. Since we have
already explored the seven "official" colors, we will spend the
rest of the some bonus colors. Everyone is welcome to join in
the search. Please visit Jennifer & Julie's blogs for links
to each month's participants. Guidelines are here.

Black interspersed

It's the third Thursday of the month: time for September's installment of the ROY G BIV photo challenge. Since we've already gone through the colors of the rainbow, you may recall (after last month's "pink") that we are exploring other colors for the rest of the year. This month it's "black."

Over the past few weeks I've been keeping an eye out for how black shows up in my day-to-day life. A few of these images digress somewhat from black (as does my writing), but that is still the point from which I began.

Black has cropped up in the studio quite a bit lately. Among the hodgepodge of my work space, the first photo (above) shows a recent purchase: a Moleskine address book, which I am using as a way to be more organized in documenting/collecting my ideas & thoughts. Day-to-day, I use a large sketchbook to record my notes & creative process (as well as the usual rescued grocery lists, backs of test prints, receipts, etc.), but since ideas can get lost/buried this way the Moleskine will serve as an index of sorts.

 

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This spring I reread several of Natalie Goldberg's books, an experience that always offers much inspiration and food for thought. (Several of the books have blue covers, and I had actually meant to photograph/discuss them for ROY G BIV's "blue" month.) In Thunder and Lightening, Natalie recalls how she discovered the writing of Wallace Stenger. She had picked up his Crossing to Safely several times, but could never bring herself to buy it. She writes:

"Penguin had done a good job with the cover, a beautiful photo of golden leaves covering the ground and some still on thick-trunked trees, a stone wall through a field——autumn at its best. And the book had good, clear print inside, made to lure a reader into sinking in. But then I'd turn to the back cover: "A grand, rich, beautifully written novel about a long, not-always-easy friendship between two couples." BORING. I imagined the smug recounting of four upper-class lives. I wasn't interested. I put it back on the shelf. This routine——picking it up, being enticed by the cover and repelled by the back——probably went on for five years."

But, finally, the right person gave her a recommendation she couldn't ignore. I figured if this book had won over Natalie Goldberg after such resistance, it must be good! And it was. I'm not one for "page-turners," and Crossing to Safety is most certainly not one. But it's just the kind of thoughtful, deep, engaging writing that I love, and I am now on my third Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose——which has a (mainly) black cover, seen below left, at the front.

On the right is the little slate I use to make to-do lists; I can prop it up on my desk to remind myself of what I am supposed to be working on (often, not surprisingly, I do digress). The forged, black-handled scissors in the foreground are my favorites, and follow me around the house...

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Another black-covered book that's been keeping me company is Italo Calvino's Le Città Invisibili. I am using it as a punto di riferimento for my latest A Letter a Week (ALaW) project. I photocopied the English version and have arranged the brief, poem-like chapters according to the eleven themes Calvino explores in this sublime book (the themes are interspersed, but I wanted to be able to more easily consider the five stories of each theme at once). Below, on the left are the annotated photocopies; on the right are my copies of both the original Italian and the English translation. I love the cover of the translation. As some of you may know, Invisible Cities is woven around Marco Polo's recounting of his travels to Kublai Khan, but in fact all of the stories are describing Venice (and its many facets)——I love how the title alludes to this Venetian connection.

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And speaking of ALaW, the copper wire words seen on the Moleskine book in the photo at the top of the post have come about, belatedly, as a response to ALaW 2013's "peace"-themed letters. Though I worked on the project intermittently during the course of 2013, I never did commit to a direction for my alphabet. International Peace Day is coming up on 21 September, so I've been preparing a small installation in honor of the day, inspired by the work I did for ALaW. Incidentally, the wire words have turned out to be more of an "exercise" for the final piece, as I took yet another direction in the last few weeks——or more like returned to an earlier idea. But I liked how the words caught the light as they recede, below. (The explanation for the "x...y...z" will be forthcoming in a post dedicated to the project.)

The photo that follows it, though not black-themed, seemed to carry forward the feeling I got from the wire word one. I just love the effect of the early sun when it's beginning to warm up the roof tiles, and yesterday morning I picked up my camera to capture it (not the first September I have been inspired to do so!)...

 

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This is another photo taken upon waking yesterday——such an intense light next to such a strong shadow...

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And this pair came about on different days last month, when the late summer light helped to create such rich contrasts.

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And this final image shows the last light glancing on Borgo La Croce, as the shadows begin to deepen...

 

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The kids went back to school this week and though summer is not officially over, the mood is definitely autumnal. I have been reminded many times lately of how beautifully the month of September frames Florence. There's also the nostalgia factor...my first visit to Florence was eighteen Septembers ago, and it happens to be the month we moved here as well (September 2nd marked ten years). While I sometimes think that ten years is a good, long, time, and that maybe——just maybe——I might "be able" to live somewhere else, I realize that I actually love living here more and more as the years pass. Even after being in Florence for ten years, I don't think a day goes by that I don't feel grateful that this is where I am...
 

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{The ROY G BIV photo challenge was created by artists Jennifer Coyne
Qudeen & Julie Booth. Each month is devoted to a different color,
and all are welcome to join in the search. Guidelines are here.}

Capturing shadows

On sunny days, I'm always happy to see that first sliver of sun light up the studio wall (shown in the upper left image), and it was my inspiration/starting point for January's 'addendum' to the ROY G BIV challenge: classic black & white. The silhouette cast by the Paperwhites I mentioned in my last entry also enticed me, but good old fashioned sunlight has been hard to come by in the last week, and they began to shrivel before I got to fully explore their potential. When I saw that the forecast called for rain every day this week—which would make shadows a scarce commodity indeed—I took along my camera on an errand-session on Monday so I could photograph a few splashes of black & white that my daughter and I had noticed on an outing last week (yes, she is also keeping her eyes open for me each month). Just as Montepulciano obliged for 'VIOLET' in November, black & white was in abundance in the streets of Florence, and it wasn't hard to find a thread to hold together the collection of images.

But then the grey blanket of clouds began to dissipate for a spell on Tuesday, so I balanced a blank canvas adjacent to the studio window and, between bursts of sunlight, started grabbing random objects to create shadows. The sun played a fast-paced game of hide-and-seek with the clouds, testing my patience, but soon I slowed down and started to enjoy the process itself: as always, there's plenty to capture the imagination in the little street below, and the swiftly moving clouds created some magic moments of their own.

All images below are shadows on canvas—with the exception of the leftover paper cuttings, which are scattered on a piece of Fabriano Ingres. I am quite enamored by 'scraps' from projects, and took quite a few photos of the paper strips, but the shadows weren't very striking compared to the effect of the larger objects projected onto the vertical surface of the canvas.


Waiting for the sun to strengthen the shadow of my pruning shears...

A few items in the studio: drafting brush; paper strips leftover from trimming a project; scissors; T-square & triangle...

Things from around the house: lamp; gingerbread man cookie cutter; hangers...

And the Paperwhites...

 

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The images from Monday's excursion are so different in spirit that I will post them tomorrow (though here's a peek)...

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And, meanwhile, another idea for capturing black & white came to mind; they will make a good introduction to one of the elements of my 12x12 project, so I'll post them in a few days. Here's a sneak peak...

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{I am still collecting names for the one-year-on-Blogger drawing. In case

you didn't see my last entry, anyone who leaves a comment or emails me by

the end of January will be eligible to win the item of their choice from my shop.

At the time, the end of January didn't seem that far away, though now I'm

realizing how long a wait is actually is! Thanks for your patience...}

White & shadow

Few words today, but plenty of images. As research for my BookArtObject edition (Mise en place), I have been wanting to photograph little dishes and bowls and other kitchen-y things, and yesterday's gorgeous sun brought all that these pieces needed to entice & enthrall me. I had such fun! Since many of the things I gathered happened to be white, they also seemed perfect for this month's ROY G BIV challenge. In the brief time that the sun was in the studio, the light changed considerably, so there are cool whites/shadows and warm whites/shadows...and many whites in between.

If you look under my suggestions for "Inspiring places to visit' in the sidebar, you'll note several blogs are featuring 'White' today...I'm just off for a look myself.

A few more white-themed images will follow tomorrow, and maybe a few more words as well...

The beauty of a shadow

I have often claimed that all I have to do in order to be inspired is walk out the front door of the building I live in. But that’s not strictly true; I don’t actually have to even leave my apartment to find inspiration. Four stories up (three if you’re counting all’italiana), among the terracotta rooftops, there’s plenty to engage me. I love being able to hear and to watch the street life below, and lately I’ve been keeping a discreet eye on two pigeons who are building a nest under the eves (rather unpoetically in a gutter, to be precise). At dusk they perch, in profile, on opposing sides of a pair of arched shutters, often tail-to-tail—almost as if they’re ‘going to bed angry’. Sometimes they face inward, toward one other, or they might both strike identical poses, with all eyes trained on the nearby nest.

Even up here, in my own sheltered nest of sorts, I am surrounded by inspiration. From the apartment below us, notes from a grand piano resonate through the building for several hours each day, and I can glance into the studio of the painter who lives across the sdrucciolo as I work in mine. The woman across the hall is also an artist (as well as a mother of four); even her four-year-old’s exclamations of curiosity and general busyness often inspire me. Somehow it’s reassuring to know that those around me are also expressing themselves, in whatever form.

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I have noticed that the new moon often ushers in an upward shift in my creativity level. Whether this theory stems from seemingly corroborated proof or mere coincidence, my creative habits definitely follow a cycle of perceiving/thinking/doing. There will be a period where I can hardly write down the ideas quickly enough—a time with much exploration and experimentation, which leads to more ideas. Next is more of a planning stage, when I tend to focus on working out the logistics involved in executing particular projects; the exploring/experimenting from the initial phase continues, but with more direction. After all of this preparation comes the moment when I feel ready to commit to producing something tangible. Then, once I am feeling confident about being able to successfully complete the current work, my mind once again returns to a state of generating new ideas. The cycle will repeat many times during the course of long-term projects, but I always hope to find myself with something new at the end of each cycle.

At the April meeting of a writer’s group that recently formed in Florence, we discussed our sources of inspiration. I find it’s something that usually begins inside me—a thought, a memory, an experience—which means I don’t suffer from the proverbial ‘writer’s block’. (It’s more a case of having more ideas and possibilities than I can find time to execute; having a variety of simultaneous projects seems to keep the creative energy flowing.) Inspiration often comes to me in the form of ‘possibility’—a train of thought that begins with the title of a book, the curve of a line drawn in ink, a color I notice. Even though it might not have anything to do with the original, the interpretation of the thoughts and feelings that are provoked provides an never-ending supply of inspiration.

There’s no doubt that living in a place that is filled with so much beauty also inspires me; I feel as if a basic, integral need has been met, which in turn frees me to be more creative. Instead of being distracted by the depressing sight of ill-proportioned and bizarrely-scaled strip malls and a plethora of pre-fab chain stores, fast food joints, Neo-this and Neo-that, architectural styles cobbled together with no regard for context—and other built forms that offend my architectural sensibilities—my surroundings give me a sense of contentment that I am grateful for literally every day.

Another source of inspiration is my daughter. At the writer’s meeting I used the example of how, if she wants to draw a horse, she simply sits down and starts doing it—whereas the thought of drawing such a complex creature with which I have little familiarity intimidates me no end. I admire her ability to express herself without inhibition and judgement, to not over-think things, and to trust her instincts. She is also great company; I love to look across the long studio table and see her working on her own creative projects as I work on mine. Like me, she has managed to grow up without knowing the concept of ‘bored’.

I am also lucky that my daughter is so supportive of the intense periods I spend working toward deadlines. She cheerfully puts up with having the floors and other surfaces strewn with piles of books and large sheets of art paper, as well as things like the dwindling stacks of clean clothes and clean plates (what habits she is learning!)—not to mention an utterly absorbed and rather exhausted mother. While she is a child who generally appreciates order, she seems to recognize the benefits of having what is essentially an in-house art store, and I think she quite enjoys the spontaneity that characterizes these periods.

With la festa della mamma (Mother’s Day) just around the corner, it’s the perfect time to acknowledge my mother as a creative inspiration. I grew up thinking she could make anything, and I continue to be in awe of all that has come from her two hands: porcelain dolls, Washi paper angels, oil and watercolor paintings, necklaces made from beads collected on her wide travels—and countless other creations. When we lived in Brazil she cultivated a passion for dollhouses. Teaching herself to upholster, sculpt and carve in miniature, she crafted much of the furniture herself. Her masterpiece was a fireplace that she carved from soapstone and faced with individually-made miniature bricks, then finished off with a carved wooden mantle and hinging doors for tiny cupboards. If I’m ever struggling with a project, I remember the realm of possibility represented by this fireplace, and the ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’ attitude that my mother lives by...

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With the renewed light of this season, I have become more aware of the return of the shade and shadow that the grayness of winter tends to suppress. Through notes and photos, I have been recording shadows I observe from my window. I think the beauty of a shadow lies in its deliberateness; while the form of the object itself may sometimes be hard to read, on a sun-filled day the shadow is always certain, direct and clear. What a contrast is created, for example, by the shadow of one of those small brackets that holds an open shutter in place—by the strength of its line against the warmth of the yellow plaster. Compared to the compactness of the bracket, it’s surprising how far the shadow’s length stretches.

One recent morning, an elderly man pausing to read his newspaper in a patch of sunlight drew my attention when I looked down onto the sdrucciolo (the narrow street below the studio window). As I thought about how glorious it feels to be able to stand in the warmth of the spring sun, I noticed more of these little ‘rooms’ (or pockets) of light all along the edge of the sdrucciolo; the profile of the roof outlines had projected a pattern of tooth-like shadows that created several sunny spots.

To these and other shadows I owe the title of this Arzigogolare entry, ‘The beauty of a shadow’. The image at the top of the page derives from a photo I digitally altered to emphasize the distinct swathes of shade, shadow and light that I observed on the plaster wall of the palazzo across from me. The top third indicates the shade that results from the building’s roof overhang, while the lower section comes from the shadow cast by the roof of the building our apartment is in (with the serrated pattern mimicking the roof tiles); the space in between portrays the sliver of sunlight that falls between the shade and shadow. After my experiments with the photo, I was especially interested to see what happened within the area representing the sunlight; it ended up being bounded by a distinct, dark line along the top, and fuzzy white & pink undulating lines below.

In summing up this rather organic exploration of inspiration and creativity, I can only conclude that you never know where these complementary concepts may find their origins—anywhere and everywhere, it seems.