wishin bones

divisions

2010-07-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

ranks and rates

2010-07-02T22:47:00.000-07:00

for me, no matter how misguided it may be, or how well i know the truth, the military still holds a romantic attraction. it's a part of my heritage, and has been a formative aspect in my life. in more recent times, my interest has become more aesthetic and historical, as opposed to a possible career option. all i can really say is the navy was exactly what my dad needed and he benefited from his time served. regardless of my political beliefs, i can get behind that. and the navy still has the best looking uniforms in the world.

image

that's just it

2010-06-30T23:45:00.000-07:00

here

century

2010-06-30T23:38:00.000-07:00

here

high on fire

2010-06-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

Allegra Lockstadt

somehow it's appropriate

2010-06-30T10:19:00.000-07:00

here

today we wrote about

2010-06-29T00:15:00.000-07:00

rain

photo is here

conclusion

2010-06-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

here

shoot em up

2010-06-26T13:09:00.000-07:00

here

found some red paper

2010-06-24T21:31:00.000-07:00

folded it right up

day off

2010-06-23T11:27:00.000-07:00

it only took two attempts

Monkey's Fist

recovery

2010-06-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

I've lost hours to this archive.

things

2010-06-21T20:41:00.000-07:00

some things i've been working on.

thanks again for the photos, sean.

fibers

2010-06-21T20:13:00.000-07:00

welsh and navajo textiles

here and here

well this is just silly.

2010-01-29T22:33:00.000-08:00

I'm in such a weird place right now. I got home from work yesterday in the worst of moods. I brushed past my roommates and flopped onto my bed with The Build in my ears, guilt and shame and the last remnants of depressing birthday whiskey swimming around my insides. I threw myself into the cold again, letting my bike take me where it would, but even the bitter wind and the screaming of my muscles could shake me out of it. I fell asleep shivering in bed, with something under my skin and a bad taste in my mouth. I quit my job Wednesday, after only two weeks of working, and calling in sick twice in that time. I feel guilty because I wasn't raised that way. Hard work is a way of life, sucking it up and doing things you hate is just the way it is. It's like spitting in my father's face after he worked 20 years at a job he hates to put me through college so I could get trumped up ideas about being an artists and quit my foodservice jobs when i have to mop too much. But then again, I made a promise to myself a while back - that regardless of the past, the way i was raised, the principles that my parents adhere to, I would do what i wanted, when i wanted, retirement and stability and all those antiquated ideals be damned. I think about where I thought my 20's would find me when I was younger - far far away, taller, thinner, with thicker hair and fewer emotional hangups. that's not to say that i'm in a bad place, though maybe i'm in denial a little. all i know is that i know very well what it means to be depressed, and i had it easier than some, but i'm happy for the first time in years, i just feel a little strange about it. to be honest, i don't even feel that bad about quitting. i really don't know what i feel bad about. maybe i'm just still hung over, which i guarantee is not outside the realm of possibility.

to be fair, i know what (who) has gotten under my skin in recent months, i just don't know what to do about it (him).

passages

2010-01-16T02:54:00.000-08:00

trying to get back in shape to release the next palindromes. a little rusty, but here's a few passages, stuff in my brains.

I like having you around, and not for the reasons everyone thinks. Though I guess that's part of it. I'm not going to get into that though, it makes me a little crazy inside. But I like having you here. I love listening to you tell stories. Sometimes I feel a little awkward because I like to close my eyes and listen, but then I feel like I should respond in some way. I like how earnest you are about all the things you've done. It feels like fiction without all the bullshit. I feel small and young when I talk to you though, which makes my skin itch and my head hurt. \

I'm lying awake still, near four in the morning. The sounds of scarce latenight traffic rumble along the street below. The light filtering through the fire escape and the dingy panes of glass glares orange and cold against my skin. Beyond that, a glimpse of the water flickering in and out of the moonlight. You're asleep in another room, and for the thousandth time I wonder why. \

I can hear their chains spinning faster behind me, their breathing becoming pitched and labored. A raucous and joyous laugh rings out, a tug on the flap of my bag, and they've disappeared into the night, swallowed by the asphalt and gloom. \

Coffee is ritual. We've been here before, we'll return soon. I'm buying, again, but I don't mind. Without two quarters to rub together, I burn the strip off that card, three bitter brews at a time. Our favorite words sloshed around in our cups, our plans, our schemes. Prague, Washington, Denver, London. So many plans, so little money. \

2010-01-07T01:16:00.000-08:00

We've been back for three days. The vulgarity has almost worn off, most of us have showered, and we've more or less returned to our lives. Nevertheless, in spending every day since together in some combination, the inside jokes are still flowing freely. If ever we invite you over for a friendly game of Christian Yahtzee, it's best if you politely decline.

But beneath the crust of disgusting jokes, disgusting jeans, beer sodden asides and inappropriate hypotheticals, there's a new kind of understanding. I feel it when we ride together, we discovered it riding together in the gold-lit desert, under a hot January sun. There's something in the way we interact now, some confirmation, or the final destruction of walls. There are new bonds, tighter ties, closer connections. We speak about ourselves in the collective sense more often than the individual, we've begun to think that way too. It's a connection bred of mutual interest, passion and respect. In seeing what we accomplished over a new year's weekend, and what the last three months have brought us, i cannot begin to guess where we're headed next, but I'm sure we're going together.

the one that reminds me of the color turquoise

2010-01-05T00:42:00.000-08:00

moments of perfect, inescapable, exquisite joy. they've become so much more rare as i've gotten older. credit cards, double shifts, paying rent, term papers, endless questions beginning with "what are you going to do with the rest of your life". there's so much static i can't hear myself think, i can barely hear myself breathe, drowning out the happiness. the new year began for me on a nameless day in october. i don't remember the date, i didn't write it down. for the first time in three years, i felt it again. quiet, inexpressible, but violently exuberant, colorful and vivid. the moment was the catalyst, the impetus. the return of the sun, the crashing of waves you've been watching for hours but only just now can you hear them again, breaking across the shore, glittering. it's not the moment that was so important, though, it was the consequences it carried. i made a decision, a realization, a coming to terms, and the universe opened up once again and i could finally see the stars. the past three months have been groundbreaking for me, personally, socially, spiritually. i've struggled with documenting this change, because it was so abstract, so intangible. it's personal in the most intimate way, yet it makes me want to shout it in the faces of everyone i know.

i just returned from a short road trip, wherein i spent the traditional coming of the new year in a living room full of the most important people to enter my life to date, wrapped up in the fresh, raw feeling of post-fight camaraderie, tinged with letdown, alcohol, and an abiding feeling of content and unexpected symmetry. we sloshed back champagne, and later sipped fine whiskey. questions were posed, answers were not questioned. even then, i couldn't think of what i needed most for the new year, and it seemed even more pressing, since i was three months ahead of everyone else. one sun-drenched bike ride and one resentment-tinged car ride later, all i could stomach was deep sleep and a mind numbing day in front of the the television. tonight, i returned to my trashed duplex, food quietly rotting in the corner of the kitchen, the reek of cigarettes and stale beer still sharp in the air, and made my decision.

this year, and the years that will follow, will not be about resolutions. they won't be about what i won't do anymore, what i'll "give up". it's not about quitting smoking, losing weight, getting my finances under control, stopping procrastinating. it's not about abstaining from anything, but about not abstaining from anything. it's about seeking out and savoring those moments of joy. when you're riding your bike as fast as you can, the night laying on your shoulders like a warm hand, the lights glittering off the water next to you, and a smile breaks your lips without thought. everything falls behind you, you shed your skin and emerge into the cool air naked and breathless, no thoughts, just emotion. these are the moments i will seek, savor and inspire in others. these are the moments i will remember. i will absolve myself from regret, from anything that does not further this goal. and i will live such that each tomorrow finds me farther than today, i will live for and honor progress, both personal and collective. i will forge relationships that are meaningful and joyful and purge myself of those that are not. i will love with abandon, recklessly and wholly.

to those of you who have been by my side through the worst of it, and especially to those who have recently found their way into my life, i look forward to the future.

where will we go, who will we meet, and what will we create next?

The year in beer.

2010-01-03T23:48:00.000-08:00

We had a fair few names for 2009, most of which included phrases like "bad decisions". It seems like only yesterday that I was chugging Andre out of the bottle at Zach and Guido's, and now here I am, sprawled out on my mother's couch, the dog snoring beside me, full of truly foul roadtrip food and reeking of punk rock. Oh the tales I could tell you. And since I'm so languidly positioned and somehow not at all sleepy, I think I will.

To give you some notion of context, I'll start with a brief summary of the highs and lows of the year. In fact, how about a year in photos? For those of you who missed it, this is how it was in 2009.

2009 began as many a New Year has - with a kiss, and some metal hands. I wore the most ridiculous outfit of my life, and drank champagne and whiskey in excess long into the night; it seemed like a good way to start the year.

Shortly thereafter, Paul and Emily had their show. Ms Ranshaw was there, and her reminder of simpler times became even sharper shortly thereafter. You may have heard some refer to 2009 as the year of the scandal. This may or may not be true. At least no one got knifed.

We threw an awesome party. We threw several of these, but this was by far the fanciest. Also, Rob Fucking Motes was at this one. wtfx.

I turned 20 in 2009. There was whiskey.

I got another tattoo. On my ribs.

We had another art show, this time with Dirty Wheels, Yeti Hands and Just Before the War with the Eskimos. But all anyone really remembers about it was Randy's shirt.

Kevin and I released a zine, one of the accomplishments I'm most proud of this year. It also spawned a collaborative relationship that exploded into one of my most valued friendships.

Andrea visited for a weekend, and we threw her a party. It would seven months before I would see my best friend again.

Shit like this happened all year.

The semester ended with a disappointing lack of prints. but high hopes for fall. It became increasingly difficult to focus on school as the year went on, and it seems unremarkable in hindsight.

Summer passed in a debaucherous and sweaty haze, in which many terrible things happened, though some were not terrible at all. For the second time in six or eight months, I proceeded to drive my life off a cliff, wearing a shit-eating grin, grasping a bottle of wine as I went down. The only remedy was to run away. And away I went.

My trip to Seattle was one of the most important things I've ever done for myself, and probably my work as well. This city has always been important to me, before I ever saw it. Little did I know, it would become even more relevant in the months to come. My only regrets are not drinking nearly enough and not bringing my bicycle.

After getting back, I volunteered at the Tamarind Institute. There are no words. I mean, there are, but they're in the archives of this very blog. So no need to repeat myself.

There was a Grand Canyon show at a house on my street. The night started innocently enough, and then the whiskey showed up. I got knocked down in the pit, lost my necklace, and stumbled home covered in glitter and dirt and beer. By far the best show I went to all summer.

Punk Rock Prom. enough said.

So there was a bunch of other shit that went down, but the really important stuff (for me) didn't start until Halloween. There was a bike race. The bike race that started it all... I don't have good photos of the race, but I do have ...

...this motherfucker. who barged into our lives shouting obscenities, smoking all my cigarettes and letting me tattoo the word "fuck" on him after having known me for 45 minutes. needless to say, we get along famously.

after Halloween, possibly because of some time warp, parallel universe wormhole singularity spirit world dimensional rift bullshit, my entire life changed. for the incomparable better.

we started a cult.

We did (do) dangerous, stupid shit. We drink a lot of beer.

We play bike polo, among the other dangerous and/or stupid shit we've been doing. (Polo isn't stupid, but it is certainly dangerous)

And we go on poorly-planned, ill-fated road trips. But that's another story, for another blog post, because this one here is disturbingly long and self absorbed as it is.

One last thing about 2009 :

I fucking love you,

you dirty punks.

2009-11-27T23:29:00.001-08:00

I think this is exactly what I need right now.

No worries.

the one i can't remember

2009-11-24T00:10:00.000-08:00

I just get all twisted up inside
in a good way
the best way
the romance of better times

the break through
it's about to happen, we're about
to break through, the other side
what's on the other side

can i stomach it, the other?
the other side? greener pastures
blue skies
green waters

we're just sitting here
reading, listening, thinking
talking
i need to get out

back there
stay here, stay with me
take me with you
let's go

fuck your job
fuck my job
let's get lost
in the desert, in the sea

it's true

2009-11-23T21:00:00.000-08:00

thinking

making

riding

drinking

poetry

2009-11-19T12:54:00.000-08:00

Frostbitten

2009-11-19T03:01:00.000-08:00

yep.

an alive instance

2009-11-18T00:51:00.000-08:00

sitting inside yourself
here
drinking beer

i've got all the lights
turned on
here, drowsing
never asleep

sitting outside
yourself, warm body
back to the pavement
here
drinking beer

smoke in rings
hands off, eyes front
wondering
and watching

out of focus, out
out of touch, in
in here
out there
here
drinking beer

meteors

2009-11-18T00:06:00.000-08:00

Flat on our backs
Gazing skyward
I wonder
What to think
Orion

or the dipper?

Take me
to the mountains.

Take me
to the sea.

...

beer me

2009-11-17T09:57:00.000-08:00

I'm blogging from the 125 lecture hall in Dane Smith today, as a testament to the fact that although I'm IN class, I'm clearly not paying attention.

This picture pretty much sums it up.

the beeze neeze

2009-11-16T21:01:00.000-08:00

It's been more than a month since I last posted here, mostly because I've been blogging at The Oh Shit Handle and organizing various events and whatnot. Regardless, I feel the need to spew about some of what has happened, as have others, if for no other reason than I really don't want to forget.

My mind and body both feel like they've been through a meat grinder over the last sixteen days or so. My insides hurt from substance abuse, my outsides hurt from bicycle abuse and my brain can't even begin to reconcile the combination. I've been threatened by bums, left behind on Central, taken shots out of BMX pegs, joined a cult, made a sculpture, failed a test, eaten the best key lime pie, cut the fingers off my gloves, and consumed more beer, whiskey and cigarettes than you can shake a stick at.

It's finally cold again, and the new weather brings with it the same old magic. The dresses get packed away, new jeans are purchased, old sneakers sneak out of closets, fingerless gloves creep out of drawers. I tune up my bicycle, put myself on an intravenous coffee drip and completely and totally ignore all school responsibilities in favor of riding bikes with boys. If the rest of the winter is as epic as its beginning, I'll be in the hospital by January.

QsOTM

"You're totally thinking 'this dude is crazy. i should not be in a restaurant with him right now'" (quite the contrary.)

"IT DOESN'T MATTER, YOU WEREN'T THERE"
"IT'S GIGANTIC! But it's a snail!"
"OMG check out my six-fifty aersospoke." "OMG date me."

I'M SO GOOD AT BIKE.

Talking with Voices

2009-10-10T00:39:00.001-07:00

I don't do it all that often, but I think I could try....

Fermented Female

2009-09-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

Read this blog

This girl will out-beer you and your

nasty lumberjack beard/shirt.

Plus she's my best fucking friend on the

entire fucking planet.

Girls suck.

2009-09-27T22:56:00.000-07:00

I'm tired of the face of women's interactions with one another. I'm not talking about us being catty bitches and cutting others down behind their backs. I'm talking about the even more disturbing habit we have of plastering a soppy smile onto our faces and addressing each other with such empty, shallow greetings as "you look fabulous today" or "hey gorgeous". On the surface, it might seem like we're trying to treat others the way we want to to be treated - but do you really want to be showered in fluffy sugary compliments and then scathingly torn apart ten minutes later behind your back? I'd prefer the burn up front than to be patronized first and roasted after. I'm not saying I've never done it - God, I did it last night - but more and more, I've been sickened by this flimsy veneer of solidarity we put up to people we don't even like in the first place. Particularly as modern women, we've been taught that men are out to get us and we need to stick together. This means smiling foppishly at a woman you might genuinely dislike and asking with more than dubious sincerity "when are we going to hang out?". It's not like you dislike this person because she is a woman - we have the right to associate with whomever we choose, and conversely to not associate with whomever as well, regardless of gender. It's sort of a reversed sexism borne from an increasing feminist hysteria about "solidarity". We're taught to identify so much with the idea of what it means to be a modern woman, we're losing sight of what it means to be a human! Humans don't always get along with each other, it happens. So stop smiling at me, or asking me how my day was if you genuinely don't care. Talk about me behind my back - that's your prerogative and I simply do not care. But don't patronize me, to my face, in front of others. All we have in this life is our integrity, and you can compromise it just as easily by being disingenuous as by being a bitch. So just back off, keep your misguided sense of feminist "decency" and stop telling me I look fabulous.

And people ask why I have no friends...pah.

gluttony in the name of celebration

2009-09-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

I wanted to head this post with a diagram of a formal European place setting, to really put a visual sting on the rant that is to come, but I was so disgusted by the images I found (not only in content, but particularly in execution) that I gave it up as a bad job.

In lieu of that, let me provide you, instead, with a list of the serviceware at the disposal of...say...the University of New Mexico for the purpose of catered meals.

Charger plates with the UNM seal
Dinner plates
Salad Plates
Soup Bowls
Bread Plates
Coffee Saucers
Butter Dishes (affectionately called monkey dishes)
water goblets
wine glasses
coffee cups
carafes
creamer pitchers
hot tea pitchers
water pitchers
coffee pots
bread baskets
gravy boats
dinner forks
salad forks
dessert forks
pie forks
soup spoons
tea spoons
dinner knives
butter knives

When used in service, all of these items must be washed.Now, bear in mind that it is more than conceivable that ever single item on this list might be used for a single event, and that if that were the case, most of these would be in multiples (two wine glasses, two goblets, multiple dinner plates for multiple courses...) Now imagine, if you will, a five hundred person banquet (this is not terribly uncommon at all). That's one thousand salad and dessert forks alone. Consider the amount of water, energy and detergent it takes to wash just the salad and dessert forks. Consider now that it is common practice to run the silverware twice to ensure cleanliness. Add to this the five hundred dinner plates (if it's a single course!) 500 dessert and bread plates, 500 saucers...and so forth...I won't even go into the time, energy and sanity of caterers that is consumed in the prep, service and cleanup of such an event. Allow me instead to leave you with this parting gem: I personally know someone who threw away more than 300 plates, on the orders of supervisors, because some asshat that ordered catering cut their numbers at the last minute. That is three hundred portions of food, three hundred complete meals. In the trash.

And the best part? Health code prohibits anyone to remove food from a served event. So even if the caterers wanted to give the leftovers to someone they would be risking their jobs to do so.

People at catered events are generally all served the same entree, in the same portion. Needless to say, not everyone likes the entree, and a staggering amount of food gets left on the table itself, in addition to the food wasted by poor planning and inability to estimate.

So If ever you feel the need to cater something- your wedding perhaps?- just think about what you're doing, how much waste you are incurring, how utterly and unreasonably excessive you are being. Have a pot luck, get food from a favorite local restaurant, cook it yourself!

I could go on for days about this, but instead experience it for yourself. Poke your head into the SUB ballrooms someday and observe the gluttony and waste firsthand. And next time you find yourself at a catered event, stop to think about what you're participating in.

FYI- The most economical and environmentally friendly option for any event would be hours d'oeuvres, which usually go fast and can be packed up and taken home by the guests, and require no more serviceware than a few trays and some napkins.

2009-09-25T21:45:00.001-07:00

hero.

Published

2009-09-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

I blog here, I blog there.

(don't worry, we're working on the layout.)

FKR

2009-09-23T02:35:00.001-07:00

Real internet people abbreviate.

MTHRFKR.

I'm a scientist, and you're a talking dog.

2009-09-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

I've been in the throes of artistic anxiety lately, and it's annoying me half to death. Even talking about it (nay, blogging about it) seems to just make the problem worse. I'm having what I like to call a crisis of intent, compounded by a seething jealousy, tainted with a sense of competition that is misplaced at best. I've gotten so wrapped up in Art (with a capital A) and what it means to be an Artist (with a capital A) and why I Do what I Do (get the idea?). I just have stuff in my head, and it pleases me to see it embodied in a physical form. I don't have any big ideas that I want to convey to people, and social or political messages, and deep, omniscient concepts that reveal something relevant and original about human nature. I'm a scientist. I observe. I record. For me that means the natural world, obviously, and the creatures and environment of the sea. But also the things in my head, things I observe there, other things, like the way people act, the decisions they make - WAIT STOP- See, I'm doing it again, I'm trying to make this Deep. Trying, desperately, to sound like I know what I'm talking about. All I want to do is draw whales, but even with my feet barely in the surf of the "art world" (insert enormous finger quotes, eyeroll and childish attitude here), I'm still far enough in that even in trying to tell people I'm just a scientist in artists' clothes, I get caught up in saying what I think people want to hear; that I'm tortured by the need to make art, or that my art needs to go out into the world and make people believe a certain thing or think a certain thing. :: Cue frustration, kicking of inanimate objects and chainsmoking:: I can't even complain properly today.

I'mma scientist. All I wanna do is draw whales.

Fantastic!

2009-09-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

I was just thinking about

how fortunate I am

to be surrounded by

some truly extraordinary

people...

...who had better bring me some

extraordinary presents from

Colorado.

No doubt I'm going to get yelled at for furthering the spread

of these pictures into the interwebs, but I just really dig

both of them. Kudos to David and his new camera.

Also, I really dig these folks in real life too.

UPDATE: THEY TOTALLY DID. TALL BOY OF PBR. MY LIFE IS COMPLETE.

Turn yourself around...

2009-09-20T20:29:00.000-07:00

I could feel autumn tingling on my arms today. I traipsed

across the still-wet grass, beneath the still-green trees, but

the smell of their impending decay tinted the breeze amber and gold.

The richness and life of summer is leaving the land, making

way for the restorative sleep of the hard frost

and the winter to follow. If you listen closely, you

can almost hear the trees and plants sighing, as if to lie

down at the end of a very long day, awaiting eagerly

the calm of deep slumber.

It puts me in a mind to take photographs,

and to make shrines. Spring and summer

are ruled by the masculine forces, autumn and

winter are the domain of the feminine. I'm

feeling the change in my mind and my body,

and I feel like something is waiting just over

the horizon, waiting for it to get a little

colder.

Needless to say, I'm feeling very mysterious today.

2009-09-15T18:09:00.000-07:00

I'm so confused.

"lolwut?"

2009-09-10T22:01:00.000-07:00

On another note - I have no idea what this blog is even about anymore.

I dropped Arabic today, and it tied in nicely with the shitty way my day ended. And by nicely, I mean I am going to put someone's face through a fucking wall.

After a few cigarettes and a candy bar, I was feeling better, but now here I sit, in my kitchen, my roommate awol for days, alone and brooding, listening to Franz Ferdinand. I can't help but feel like I'm on the verge of some catastrophic crisis, but the anticipation and tension is becoming harder to bear than just falling off the cliff already. It's only the third week of classes. Promising.

After a few days of kicking things around at work and at home, and accomplishing nothing more than sore feet and certainly no additional fundage from said shithole job, I've decided to bite the bullet and take out a student loan. Understand, I was raised in a household that threw a party for the day my parents cut up their credit cards. I wouldn't be surprised if my dad has a couple grand buried in a WWII ammunition box somewhere in the back yard. My quips of "don't worry, obama will pay off my loans" were met with less enthusiasm than the death of a close family member. But after presenting budgeting plans to my mother (and leaving my father and his cash-burying attitude out of the loop) I think I can manage this without being disowned. I have big plans for the money, namely taking the burden of my tuition off my parents (my mother was laid off this winter) and being able to afford as many fucking plates as I can handle. It's sad, but if you want to do work, you have to shell out the dough. So I'll be paying off my loan till the day I die, but hopefully it'll be worth it. At the very least, I'll have a shiny new camera and iMac to show for my liberal, loan-taking, wicked, wicked ways.

2009-09-10T21:48:00.001-07:00

I'm so fucking tired

of being fucked with.

Make up your mind.

Glamour, dahling, glamour....

2009-09-07T17:32:00.000-07:00

Typically, I would reserve such social commentary for my roommate,

over a pack of smokes and pot of tea. But this time I simply

couldn't resist.

I want to make a few points regarding Lizzi Miller's photo

for Glamour magazine, which is currently causing a lot

of fuss on the interwebs.

Make no mistake, I think this woman is strikingly beautiful, and not just

because her body so resembles my own, and so does not the body

of our cultural image of "model". It is, however, this juxtaposition

that I want to comment on.

Firstly, I vehemently object to the term "plus sized model" for a number of

reasons. Namely, this is an industry distinction, used to sort models

by size. Within the industry, it makes sense, as most designers

make samples in specific sizes to show on the runway

and in photo shoots. But the fact that this term exists at all points to

a disturbing reality of the fashion world. Designers typically don't make

sample size 12 for a show. If they do, they're usually a "plus size"

specific label. This deeply ingrained practice has so thoroughly delineated

models and labels that it seems inconceivable that a size 12 model

would appear in Dior or Lanvin, but rather normal for

her to appear in the "plus" section of a Sears ad. It's simple to

see where this distinction comes from, and how and why the

industry upholds it so rigidly, but that doesn't make it right. A model

is a profession. Most professions that have distinctions that

indicate what sort of jobs a person does are based

on experience and skill. Not the size of one's waist.

A model is a model, no matter what size he or she may be.

Just because Marc Jacobs doesn't book the size 12 girl doesn't

mean he couldn't! We've created an entirely new subspecies

of this profession and subjected women to the stigma of being

a "plus sized" model based on the idea of beauty held

by a frighteningly small number of select individuals. Are

you going to let the people who book models for

YSL and Chanel (PEOPLE YOU'VE NEVER MET, and

aren't likely to ever meet!) tell you that because they don't

book girls that look like you, you're not beautiful?

We've given these "fashion people" so much control

over our lives. We look at magazines like Vogue and Glamour,

with their twiggy models wearing clothes we can't afford ANYWAY,

and judge ourselves, and tell ourselves that we're not good

enough because our jeans came from Penny's instead of

Bloomingdales. People like Anna Wintour are running

the lives and minds of American women from behind

expensive office furniture in Manhattan, and we're

LETTING THEM GET AWAY WITH IT.

Lizzi Miller's photo for Glamour in interesting, thought provoking,

and definitely makes me feel better about my own thighs, but it is

by no means a giant leap, or even a good-sized stride. The editor

of Glamour says that this shoot will influence her further decisions

regarding the women in her magazine, but I for one, am very

skeptical. It could even be argued that Glamour did this just

for the publicity. God knows they sold a million copies to

women desperately wanting to see a belly and bum like their

own printed on glossy paper. But even this desperation we feel

is in the hands of the editors, and they're in a perfect position

to use it to sell more magazines and exploit our perception of

our own bodies. Next they'll go after the skinny girls, and when

the table is turned, you'll find the bottom is just as dirty and

underhanded as the top, and the same people are sitting

around it, plotting against out bodies and counting their

money.

soopah.

2009-09-04T15:08:00.000-07:00

I sent the whales to Wichita today for the Fresh Squeezed Ink show at Tangent Lab

Very stoked.

Onward, to Kansas!

Many thanks to my good

friend Paul Glover for taking

time out of his day to photograph

my work for me. He's also

a bitchin graphic designer:

tglover@unm.edu

Tusche Test Plates

2009-08-25T23:14:00.000-07:00

Tusche Test Plates

*When using tusche, it's mostly impossible to tell what it will print like until you print it. this is why a test plate is a good idea to familiarize yourself with different types of tusche in different concentrations

*begin by gridding out a plate. one axis should have the types of tusche, the other should have the number of drops of water or solvent added to the concentrate

*use pH neutral water. nothing hotter than 5.0, the acid will negatively affect the wash.

*keep your water and solvent brushes separated.

*for each grid square, paint two overlapping oblong shapes to get an idea of what the reticulation looks like layered.

*process and print the plate.

Waterless

2009-08-25T23:01:00.000-07:00

Waterless plates

*using an old photo plate- wash off any gum arabic and FPC

*counteretch the plate about 1 min to add tooth to the photo plate surface

*use clear, nonpaintable silicone (dap or similar) paintable silicone will hold onto the ink

*mix a little silicone and mineral spirits until it is about the consistency of honey

*if you make it loose, you may need two coats

*apply with a graphics squeegee or some similar DIY thing

*sacrifice a cheesecloth to buff in the silicone

*you can bake it at 275 for one hour, but its better to let it cure overnight

*you can use a ball grained plate too, just draw on it, talc the image and then apply the silicone

*you can only use acetone to wash out, but don't scrub too hard, or you'll rub off the silicone

*wash out until the emulsion is gone (drawing materials if using a ball grained plate)

*roll up in very stiff ink. scumming on the borders can be removed with a kim wipe

*use a smaller roller and fast strokes to cut down on scumming

*store with no ink (wash gently with acetone)

Photo Plate

2009-08-25T22:41:00.000-07:00

Set-Up for 4 color process photo plates

*when doing your layout, it is best to use the black (key) to compose the layout.

*when you punch your films, punch the paper at the same time

*tape the films down one on top of another on a light table to ensure proper registration.

*tape the films in order of MYCB

*when exposing the plates, the plate should be emulsion side up, the films emulsion side down, so that emulsion is touching emulsion.

"you're so emulsional"

*shoot a test plate first. you can expose a strip of plate four different times, moving a mask down the plate at each interval, keeping track of the accumulated time for each exposure, or shoot 4 small plates at different times (which is obviously easier). when using this method, expose only a corner of the plate to the film. you want to be able to see the image, as well as the edge of the film to ensure that the exposure time you pick has the best image quality and the least ghost from the film edge, as well as what the blank film over the plate looks like.

*after shooting, develop with a paper towel for about 30 seconds, wash off with cold water.

((if you can't or won't make a test plate, shoot the cyan first because it's much more forgiving if (when) you fuck up))

*compare test plates to determine an acceptable exposure time for your plates, then shoot them.

((you're going to print it bad anyway, so it doesn't matter))

((give up now))

Smart Plate

2009-08-25T22:34:00.000-07:00

Polyester Plates

*can be printed on a litho press (use an old plate with registration pins to hold the smart plate in place) or on an etching press with a tympan instead of felts.

*most reliable drawing materials are sharpie, lacquer pen, enamel pen, ballpoint pen, or permanent industrial sharpie markers. the most reliable material, what these plates are made for, is toner. you can paint with toner, or put the plate through a copier or laser printer.

*bake the drawing material at 250 for thirty minutes, or set overnight.

*there is brand chemistry for these plates, but toothpaste is more than sufficient for cleaning the plates and making a fountain solution for sponges

*after baking on drawing material, scrub the surface with a little toothpaste to remove any toner scatter. don't scrub the image, as it will come off.

*make a fountain solution by dissolving a little toothpaste in the sponge water. this keeps the plate clean.

*you can ink up with color or black, use a composition roller for both. no further processing is required.

*if the plate is dry, additions can be made to the image at any time

*to store, blot with newsprint, clean off with toothpaste, rinse with water, dry and store flat in newsprint.

"and on the eighth day, god gave us acetone, and it was good"

2009-08-18T20:57:00.000-07:00

new acquisitions

2009-08-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer:

I don't know if that's actually a chicken bone, but it seems the most likely suspect.

It was probably from KFC and has even less scientific significance than the miniscule

amount generated by a chicken bone in the first place. Looks nice though.

drift

2009-08-17T12:35:00.000-07:00

i can wait. i've been waiting.

everything.

2009-08-13T14:54:00.000-07:00

Things have changed.

A lot.

But some things...

... some things never change.

I'll weather this storm, and be

there for daybreak on the

other side.

playing poker with the gods.

2009-08-12T23:29:00.000-07:00

10 Card Spread:

1. Wheel of Fortune, reversed

2. Ace of Rods

3. Eight of Pentacles, reversed

4. Page of Rods, reversed

5. Nine of Pentacles

6. The World, Reversed

7. Six of Cups

8. Four of Cups, Reversed

9. The Fool

10. Knight of Swords, reversed

Get your interpreting on.

sought

2009-08-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

hide and seek

Greater Paper

2009-08-07T17:24:00.000-07:00

I've found some time lately in the lonely evenings

(my roommate is house-sitting) to update the

Etsy store. Above are images of the new

cards. Actually, two sets are quite old

and were only recently discovered

at the bottom of the drawer, but make no mistake,

I've been working. Sort of.

Also, the

Palindromes Zine, for which this blog became

the impetus, is still on sale. It contains

writing and illustration by myself

and my very good friend, the

excellent and witty Kervin Bolts.

It also features stylish round corners,

hand printed covers and each copy

is signed and dated by both of us.

::AHEM::

BUY ONE

Ten

2009-08-04T22:19:00.000-07:00

Summer's seemed short this year, but just as packed with drama and whiskey as I expected. August has finally billowed in, all thunderheads and blazing sunsets. Already, they're roasting green chile and I can almost smell the leaves beginning to die. I'm not sad to see summer go, not with a famed New Mexican Indian Summer on the horizon, but I can't help but look back. No doubt, it's had its exceptional moments, for many of which there are no photos. Here's ten, however, that provide a reasonable, albeit brief, look at summer, as I saw and felt it.

It's almost unfortunate how little of the summer

I spent in parks...

...and how much of it was spent

worrying about this plant and

the consequences of its life and death.

I managed a brief escape. A month was

not long enough, forever won't be long

enough.

As much as I wanted to keep my head

in the clouds...

...and my feet in the sea...

...the desert calls me home, relentlessly,

mercilessly.

Not that there aren't gems in the dunes,

among the cactus...

...and not that there aren't adventures

worth having and moments worth

immortalizing...

...or best of all, unknown things worth learning...

...but the mosh pits are really

dusty in the desert.

Bonita?

2009-08-04T19:17:00.000-07:00

Fringe?

I let Eli cut and color my hair last night around midnight.

Since we used a box of color she already had, I didn't

know it was going to come out quite so dark, and it's

still strange to have bangs again after all these years.

However, I did get a compliment of "Que Bonita!" from

a coworker, so it can't be all bad.

the close.

2009-07-30T11:40:00.000-07:00

Brooke Steiger graining the Jesus stone. Note

that it says Jesus stone on it. She's removing

the image Jim Dine left on it for so long, presumably

in preparation for Kiki Smith's visit next week.

Tomorrow is the last day of the Tamarind workshop, and while

I'll be glad to sleep in a little next

week, I'm quite

sad to see everyone go and the close of such a wonderful

experience. As usual, I wish I had taken more notes, asked

more questions and gotten to know everyone better, but

I'm rarely left without these small regrets so I've come to be

used to it and not beat myself up over it too much. I'm trying to

decide on some sort of little treat to take everyone

tomorrow morning, but it's difficult with my current work schedule.

At any rate, I've had an amazing time, and perhaps

now I've been able to get my foot in the door with this world-class

studio, which is huge for me as a printmaker. The

last of my notes and photos will be going up as

soon as I find some time.

new materials.

2009-07-28T19:10:00.000-07:00

You'll have to forgive the inherent awkwardness of this photobooth picture

(note the stuffed alligator in the background) as I am entirely too lazy to find my

camera.

This odd thing is made of packing foam, the kind that comes in

thin sheets between layers of things in boxes. It looks like a billion

soap bubbles compressed into a sheet. It's quite soft, easy to cut, and

has an interesting ethereal (yet, industrial) feel and look to it.

In an effort to prepare for the coming semester, and in turn, for the show I hope

to be putting together in January, I'm trying to make at least one little

something a day to keep the juices flowing.

One day, I will have a concise vision, and a coherent body of work that reflects my point of view.

not too soon, I hope.

deep dark

2009-07-25T18:56:00.000-07:00

I've tried (and failed), sober, and drunk, to explain my fascination with and affinity for all things concerning the ocean and the living things one might find in and around it. I've been mocked for it, praised for and, and I'm sure thought childish for it (by my own admission as well). In the past, I've tried to forcibly steer my interest in other directions, which has obviously yielded a more well rounded general interest in my world, but still the sea has maintained it's hold on me, and I've finally succumbed to its gravity. I find the word "intoxicating" not only romantic and somewhat poetic when I speak about the sea, but also incredibly apt. I've catalogued a number of significant changes in the way I perceive and relate to the ocean, both physically and emotionally, and I feel I would not be remiss to equate this with the changes one undergoes in any human relationship. I have often felt afraid of the sea, but rarely because of the turmoil of the weather, or the poisonous, venomous and ravenous creatures it contains. In reality, it is the simple unknown, the vastness of its reaches, the depths of its mysteries, that stop my heart, the same way a velvet dark moonless night once did in my childhood (and still, on occasion, gives me cause for great trepidation upon venturing into it.) I'd like to think that there's saltwater in my veins, and I used to daydream about the endless freedom a mermaid might enjoy, but here in the midst of the papery dry air and dusty, dehydrated flora, I feel a longing that cannot be suppressed. And so, as childish as it may seem to cling to my precious few memories of beaches and coasts once visited, I find that whenever I set pencil to paper, nothing comes to mind as quickly or as frequently as the many wonders and, indeed, terrors I discovered there.

Blackberries

2009-07-21T20:49:00.000-07:00

Every so slowly, carefully, meticulously, he peeled the notes off the folded bundle he had taken from his pocket, one by one. Two battered fives, five newer, more crisp singles. He held them out to me, but didn't quite extend his hand. I watched his rough knuckles instead of his face, waiting for some admonishment. Behind his shoulder, drying her pale fingers on a cotton dish towel, she pursed her lips, her brow furrowed slightly. I glanced up quickly, with what I hoped was an endearing smile. He grunted and thrust the money into my palm and turned on his heel. She turned as well, but not before glaring at the notes in my fist. I backed up a few steps, feeling behind me for my coat on the wall hook, and turned myself out the front door as quickly as I could. I buried the bills deep in my pocket, suddenly afraid of losing them. Fifteen dollars was more than my father had ever given me, and certainly more than my stepmother felt I had ever deserved. I strode quickly down the street, turning the collar of my coat up against a sudden breeze. The dress shop was only a few blocks away, and I made my way there quite fast. A bell tinkled somewhere in the depths of the back, and I could hear the even thrum of a sewing machine in the quiet storefront. No one came to the front to see who had come in, which was just as well, as I preferred to look around on my own. All around the walls were racks of richly embroidered evening gowns, sequined cocktail dresses, day dresses with peplum waists and buttons down the front. One rack held a collection of fox and mink stoles, some still with the preserved heads of the animals attached, their glittering glass eyes reflecting my face. Near the back of the store were racks containing skirt suits of every imaginable color and material. There were heavy gray tweed jackets for winter, crisp seersucker blazers in palest blue and white, and closest to the corner, neat little blue suit with a dark skirt and a cornflower-colored jacket. I lifted the back of the collar above the hangar ever so slightly to read the label- Chanel. "Can I help you find anything, miss?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin as a thin, balding man in a sharp three piece suit walked up to me, smiling and fingering the chain of his pocket watch.

"Oh! Oh, no sir. I'm just having a look around"

He looked past me at the suit, my hand was still on the collar.

"That is a lovely suit. It would look charming with your eyes."

I swallowed. "How- how much is it?" I asked, stumbling slightly over my words. The old gentleman had the strangest gray eyes. I didn't want to stare, but I could hardly keep my own off them.

"Fifteen. But we'll make it eight, since the color so becoming on you."

"That's very kind, I-" But he was already taking the garments off the hangars and putting them into a tissue lined box with cream and green stripes.

"Oh." I said, taking the money out of my coat pocket.

He wrote out a receipt in lilting, smooth handwriting and smiled kindly as he handed me the package. I thanked him once more, then hurried out into the street, glancing back just once to see him still behind the counter, watching me.

It was beginning to snow now, but I ducked across the street into a well lit shoe shop and picked out a pair of pumps and a new hat, paying for them with what was left of my father's gift. By the time I reached our driveway, the snowflakes had started to stick to the blackberry brambles in the yard, and I could hear my stepmother shouting from inside the house.

I hope to be starting a new writing project soon, a novel detailing the extraordinary life of my grandmother Bobbi and the amazing things she accomplished. On my last visit, she told me how once when she was sixteen, her father gave her fifteen dollars for clothing, and she bought a Chanel suit, much to the chagrin of her stepmother. The preceding is loosely based on her story.

Quick Stuff

2009-07-21T18:26:00.000-07:00

Wet Wash

(To clean up the plate, remove grease spots and marks)

Sponge off the gum film. Keeping the plate wet, wash out the ink with lithotine (put a tiny bit of asphaltum on the rag to protect the shellac). After all the ink has lifted out, wipe with a wet rag and then with a dry. Clean any remaining debris with the sponge, keep the plate wet and roll up to full. Continue printing or store.

Hot Gum Deletion

(To remove an area of the drawing)

Through a gum mask, remove the ink with lithotine. Remove the shellac with acetone and lacquer thinner until it is completely gone (it will, however, leave a stain of the shellac color). Tape a mylar to the surface, mark what deletions you wish to make. Slip an iron oxide paper under the mylar and trace your deletions onto the plate. Mix a VERY hot etch (something like 1oz tapem plus 10-18 additional drops of phosphoric acid). Note: test the pH of the etch. If it's too hot, it becomes a counteretch (at less than 1.5 pH) and will reverse the chemistry of the plate. Apply the etch to the areas you want to remove (this works well for large flat areas) and let the etch dry on the plate for at least one hour. You can also heat set the etch with a heat gun. After the etch cures, put on a new shellac film (0ver the etch) and bake for 5 min. Process any lacquer and shellac changes through a 50/50 mask to keep the shellac from sticking to the borders. Buff in asphaltum, wash off gum film, roll up with black. Fan dry, dust with talc. Massage in gum mixed with a little scouring powder (0nly on the border). Wash off with water, fan dry, spot clean the borders with acetone. Ready to print or put into storage.

Calendaring Paper

(whaaaat the hell)

Calendaring is the process of putting every sheet of printing paper through the press before editioning to account for the stretching of the paper when placed under pressure. If you calendar first, your registration will be more accurate. Orient the paper the way you will print, with the leading edge entering the press first. At 3/4 printing pressure, run the paper through under a tympan and newsprint 2 or 3 times in the direction of printing. Don't go back and forth, this will disturb the fibers. Calendar before adding any registration marks and especially before punching for registration pins.

Counteretch on Plate

(to add more drawing materials)

Wash off the gum mask at the graining sink, being very very thorough. Pout a little counteretch on the open area you want to add to, rub in the counteretch to physically dislodge the gum particles, about 1.5 min. Rinse with water, repeat. (Never pour counteretch onto a dry plate, it should always be wet first). (White vinegar in a six parts water one part vinegar mixture will work too) Blot with newsprint, fan dry. Add new drawing materials and etch at 1/2 strength. (You'll have to change the shellac)

Ink

2009-07-21T18:00:00.000-07:00

Mixing Ink (Complete with demonstrative hand gestures)

In this picture: One ink knife for each color (4 colors, plus white and transparent base). Sheets of paper for drawdowns, a pen, glass slab. When mixing, you need to take notes so you can recreate the formula you use to create a given color. Start with equal parts base and white. Since white is the most stable ink besides black, this helps to stabilize the color. Add colors into the white/base body in small increments (called toners). If your color seems to be degrading and going in the wrong direction, it is best to start over. (Thus, start in small batches so as not to waste ink)

Once you have achieved a color you might like, do a drawdown to check. Draw a small line of ink across the paper with the corner of the knife. With the blade, scrape the ink into a thin film. Just at the end, lessen the angle of the knife to paper and feather out the edge. This gives you two thicknesses of ink, giving you a more accurate impression of the color in varying concentrations.

Once you have achieved the color you want, write your recipe and any accompanying notes on the drawdown sheet. Wrap the ink in foil for later use.

When you get ready to use the ink, it will need to be modified depending on the project. DO NOT modify all the ink. Only modify what you will use. You will need fresh ink in case you add too much modifier, or you need a different modification for different processes and conditions.
Some random notes on inks and modifiers:

*When printing on plastic or vellum, the ink needs to be stickier

*Varnishes #7,8,9(body gum) add tack to the ink.

*Setswell compound (relaxes the ink) is usually interchangeable with Vaseline

*Laketine= transparent base and white (holds your ink together, obviously you can make your own)

*Tamarind usually adds some white to their ink because it adds brightness.

Yuck.

2009-07-18T17:03:00.000-07:00

I had a little downtime, so I did a little exploring.

Tamarind = 14 different kinds of awesome.

2009-07-13T18:48:00.000-07:00

I counteretched a plate for myself today, at the behest of our instructor, and dug up my litho pencils. That's right, I'm making impressions at Tamarind this summer, for free! I'll post pictures of the stages of that project at a later date.

A few cool things to note:

Friday July 17th: Closing Reception for the Small Prints show at UNM. 5-7pm in the John Sommers Gallery (2nd floor of the art building, across from the art office). I have one print hanging, but come to see all the talented people working in UNM printmaking!

Kiki Smith will be in town the last week of July, collaborating on prints with Bill. Look for her around! (I hope I'm not too much of a sissy to introduce myself)

Tamarind celebrates its 50th anniversary this year. The festivities will take place the weekend of September 10-12, and Marjorie tells us Ed Ruscha is slated to be the guest of honor. (someone's going to shit a chicken)

Shellac Flats etc.

2009-07-13T16:51:00.000-07:00

I spent Friday resting and working at the golf course, but as the class elected to have a lecture-free work day, no crucial notes were missed. Today I finally brought my camera, so my posts will be supplemented with photos, which I think make for better notes anyway.

Lacquer/Shellac Flats

Begin with a clean plate. Mark out the image area in pencil. It is best not to draw the actual line in pencil, as the gum tends to follow the graphite. Instead, mark the end points. Elevate your straightedge, either by cantilevering it on top of another ruler or by taping coins to the bottom. A straightedge which is flush with the plate will cause a smeared line as the gum will ooze under it.

Fill a ruling pen with gum arabic (you can use tapem or 50/50 if you're careful during washout. the advantage of this is a hot border cuts down on marks and spots, as it burns them out, leaving a cleaner border). Use an eyedropper, and make sure the ruling pen is free of debris before beginning.
Test out the line on the border of the plate, adjusting the line width and flow. Too thick of a line and you may run out of gum before reaching the end, creating an uneven line.
Using only the weight of the pen, draw along the straightedge, ending a little past your mark. Repeat this for all four edges. The goal is a razor straight edge and sharp corners. (obviously, this would be easier, and probably more accurate, with a photo plate, but as photo plates are becoming scarce, it is best to know the hand method as well.)
Widen the border carefully with a small brush. Starting immediately with a large brush can be dangerous for the line edge. Pour gum directly on the plate to create a little pool to work from.

Widening again with a larger brush.
Finish with a sponge. Let the gum border cure for about an hour.
When border is dry, pour on a little shellac, buff in tight with a cloth. A slightly heavier shellac film is good for a flat, as it needs more ink. Bake the shellac in at 250 degrees for 5.5 minutes. Test with a white cloth and a little lithotine. If a slight color comes up, this is acceptable, and even makes cleaning easier. Too much color means the shellac isn't cured, and you should put it back in the oven for up to a minute.

After the shellac is cured, buff in a layer of asphaltum.
Wash out the gum border. If you used tapem, be every careful not to get any of the gum on the image area, as it will leave a faded mark in the flat. It's best to stop while you're a little ways from the image edge and use the roller to get the rest.
Roll up with a medium bodied ink (shop mix) until full and velvety.
Apply an even layer of talc.
Buff in a thin layer of straight tapem. this acts as an etch and is a shortcut to etching through a mask, which isn't really necessary for a flat. Let the etch set for at least an hour before further processing.

We also had a couple of mini-demos/lectures. The first was about breaking in sponges.

Sponges

The nicest (and of course, most difficult to procure) sponges are photographic fine pore sponges. The finer the pore, the more evenly the sponge distributes water across the surface.

Remove the sponge from the wrapper and round the edges. The more care you take in rounding the edges, the longer lifespan the sponge will have. Remove the sizing by soaking and squeezing out the sponge, never wringing it. The twisting motion breaks down the sponge faster, makes it more susceptible to shedding. If you don't remove all the sizing, it will break down your etch when you use the sponge. Dirty sponges can be cleaned by dissolving a little magnesium carbonate into a bowl of water and soaking an squeezing the sponge as before. Clean sponges = clean prints.

I'll save the little chemistry lesson on gum arabic for a slower day, my fingers are hurting. For now, I'll leave you with my two favorite rodney quotes of the day-

"i'm only human. sometimes i fuck up"

"basically, it's a bitchin acrylic matte medium"

Day 3: Newsprint proofs/deadproofs

2009-07-08T15:34:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to take on my duties as a press assistant. Today I sponged for a demo and for one of the students as they worked on their own projects. As my hands were full most of the day, my notes are somewhat limited. Hopefully I'll be able to supplement with some photographs soon.

Press Setup

Choose a scraper bar the width of the plate or just a little less. Tamarind sometimes uses the plastic beveled bars without a strap, but students should use a strap to minimize damage to the bevel edge of the bar.

After centering the plate (on some kind of backing, like a slate or aluminum slab to elevate it off the press bed and ensure proper pressure) mark the travel with tape for a hand press and magnets for an electric press. A start and end mark should be placed on the press bed, with a base mark affixed to the press frame. The scraper bar should hit within the plate borders but not on the image. Set the pressure with two newsprints and a tympan on the plate to be accurate. Lower pressure bar, tighten to kiss empression (first contact with the plate surface). Raise pressure bar, turn an additional 1/4-1/3 turn. Place a magnet on the press bed to keep the tympan from sliding down when you rest it against the pressure head. Gather your materials:

gum arabic

asphaltum

lithotine

shop mix

crayon black

leather roller

ink knife

cheesecloth

newsprints for proofing

one bowl of cold water, one empty bowl for wringing

gum sponge

water sponge(s)

fan

Newsprint proofs

Replace the gum film, buffing in a new film tightly with cheesecloth. Wash out the image with lithotine. Buff in aspaltum, wash out the gum. Roll up until black, pull one newsprint proof. Continue pulling proofs until you have the ink film quality the way you want it. Be sure to record your printing order.

Printing order goes something like this at Tamarind, although you can certainly develop your own style.

Snap+ - a snap is the first pass of ink. after pulling an impression, the snap should be done immediately to protect the image from the sponge water. after a snap is done, you can inspect your prints or preform other tasks. make sure you or your sponger keeps the plate wet.

passes- depending on the image quality and desired ink film, you may make several passes in addition to the snap.

charge- for each pass, charge fresh ink with eight rolls on the slab, charge the plate with eight rolls as well.

Thus:

Snap + (1,2,3,4,5....)

Charge slab (8 rolls)

Charge plate (8 rolls)

Repeat the charge for ever pass in addition to the snap, then pull the impression.

a small to medium bead of ink (the amount you take up on your knife before spreading on the slab) can only cover a certain amount of sheets, depending on the paper and image. determine this limit, then replace the bead every time you reach the sheet capacity for the bead. (if the capacity is 2, replace the bead ever 2 prints. roll onto the slab with eight rolls)

Deadproofing

After pulling newsprint proofs, you can begin deadproofing. this means printing on the backs of reject prints and proofs. this process helps to further develop the image and the printer's rhythm and process, and also allows the printer to consider different paper types and make a selection that fits the image and printing concerns of each plate.

(deadproofs generally have a corner torn off to indicate that the print is not viable for sale. in an industry where you're basically printing money, making exact reproductions of fine art, every impression has value unless marked in this way. without marking the rejects, the value of the final edition is decreased by these other impression floating around. it's very serious business in the world of fine art printing)

At Tamarind, they stress standardization and consistency in every aspect of the process. keeping count of your rolls and passes is extremely important. also, this facilitates a more efficient and faster process. time is money.

Sponging

I sponged today for the first time, and the horror stories are true. they're just as picky about their spongers as everyone says they are. i was shown several almost imperceptible sponge streaks in prints that were pulled, and was cheerfully informed that in the world of contract printing, sponge streaks are rejects. this costs everyone a lot of money, so the sponger must be extremely meticulous and consistent as well. every aspect of the process is dissected and examined in the most minute detail. being meticulous, methodical and anal will get you far in the industry.

a few cool tricks

*when editioning, every 20 impressions or so, cover the plate with gum and massage it in. Wash it off before it dries, taking care to remove it all. this cleans the plate, removes impurities and further stabilizes the plate.

*before you start proofing, pull some newsprint proofs, then close the plate and reopen it to start proofing on good paper. the more times you open and close the plate, the more stable the image becomes.

*to take a break, either for lunch, overnight, or even over the weekend, without having to close the plate (this requires another washout and roll up, which is time consuming) you can put the plate into a loose gum holding film. Roll the plate up 2/3 of the way to full, sponge wet, apply gum arabic and massage in with a sponge. smooth the film down, do not buff, and with a barely damp sponge, smooth out any ridges or lines. dry immediately with a fan.

*when sponging between passes, a little wetter is good. right before dropping the paper, sponge the plate rather dry. flex the sponge outward in your hand to minimize contact with the edges of the sponge, which can drag water in streaks, lightly float the sponge across the surface with quick sweeps, pulling up and the end to minimize an end mark. the goal is a very slight, very smooth water film, streaks WILL show up in the print, i've seen them myself!

Day 2: 1st Etch, Second Etch

2009-07-07T17:58:00.000-07:00

Etching: Materials

2 bowls, clean cold water

etching brushes

sponges

pH papers

rosin and talc

phosphoric acid

tapem

50/50 tapem (tannic acid phosphoric etch mixture) mixture

gum arabic

cheesecloths

beakers

Quick notes:

*Volume of etch (actual amount of solution applied to an area) affects strength of etch (more volume, stronger etch)

*Talc reduces the surface tension of gum arabic, allowing it to bond more closely with the drawing.

1st Etch

Apply talc carefully and evenly with a brush, polish in with a cotton pad. An uneven coat of talc affects how the etch adheres to the drawing and can cause stray marks in the final image. Rosin is not needed for plate, as it is used mostly as an acid resist for nitric in stone lithography. Plate uses phosphoric acid, rendering the rosin useless.

The pH of gum arabic, straight from the barrel, is about 4.3. The pH of the tapem mixed in the Tamarind recipe is about 2.4/2.3.

The purpose of the etch is to separate the grease from the pigment of the drawing material and bind the grease to the surface.

Figure the grease content of the image and mix your solution(s) accordingly (every etch is different, and it takes training and practice to identify the proper solution for a drawing, so I won't go into that here) For reference, an etch with a pH lower than 1.5 is technically a counteretch, and will burn off your drawing and reverse the chemistry you are trying to use.

Apply a mask of gum arabic with a sponge. While the gum is still wet, apply the etch(es) with a brush or sponge, keeping the etch moving but not scrubbing it into the surface of the plate. 2 minutes is a standard baseline for etching, this can be increased if a stronger etch is needed. Exceeding 8 minutes is not a good idea.

Cool the etch with straight gum and mop up to ensure no etch enters undesired drawing areas. Buff with a cheesecloth. (when you replace the gum film prior to processing, it should be very thin, buffed in very tight. at this stage, a smooth buff with no streaks is adequate. Tamarind processes their plates as early as 30 min. after the first etch, as they tend to use hotter solutions that cause the bulk of the reaction in the first fifteen minutes. There is, however, no harm in letting a plate sit overnight before processing)

Wash out/ Roll Up

A good etch will enable you to wash out the drawing very easily, as it has properly separated the grease from the pigment. To begin, prepare an ink slab and leather roller. The roller should be scraped to remove impurities and old ink. Brace one handle against a solid corner or the roller chock at waist level, brace the other end against your hip. beginning to either side of the seam, but never on the seam itself, flex the knife toward you and start at the bottom pulling upward with minimal pressure. the leather can be bruised or even permanently damaged by this process, so have someone show you before attempting it, as they cost upwards of $300 and you do not want to be responsible for destroying this tool. another note, it takes about 5 months to properly condition a leather roller. don't screw it up. mix up some shop mix and crayon black to get a medium stiff ink. you should work the ink with a knife on the slab for about 5 or 10 minutes, to ensure that all the components are mixed and the ink is workable. use the smallest amount possible.

Apply a new gum film and buff it down tight. wash out the image with lithotine. it should come right off if the etch was effective. degrease the plate with acetone and a rag. use a cotton pad to check for dirt and oxidation. if further cleaning is needed, lacquer thinner may be applied in the same fashion. do not let solvents dry on the plate- fan to speed evaporation. an interesting note- rag containers that are left open can spontaneously combust- the pressure of the chemical soaked rags stuffed into a can creates heat and can ignite the very flammable rags. always close the containers to prevent oxygen from entering and allowing ignition.

apply a printing base. tamarind uses a shellac mixture they make themselves that consists on one third shellac, one third alcohol or mineral spirits, one third enamel paint (to tint the mixture and make it easier to see). Pour on a small amount, buff in with a rag. Bake the plate in a plate oven (they use a janky old pizza oven at Tamarind. you can also use a hot plate, heat gun, or hairdryer) at 275 degrees for 5.5 minutes. we were told also that you can use straight shellac, but it must be buffed in immediately before it hardens, and it is difficult to work with in an arid climate like ours. however, it eliminates the need for baking, and once it dries you can proceed directly to the next step. also, it is clear and difficult to see on the plate.

test the shellac with a rag with a little lithotine on it. if no pink color come up on the rag, the plate is ready. apply the asphaltum. less is more, buff it in tight with a rag. let dry. when you are prepared to roll up, wash out the borders, removing the gum arabic with a rag. keep debris out of your sponges. move to the image area and take off as much as you can without scrubbing too much. with one charge of ink on the roller, snap the rest of the asphaltum and shellac off with the roller. keep the stone wet and roll up the image until it is as black as the original drawing. maintain a very fine film of water on the plate, it should look darkened and have a matte finish.

This is all the notes I took because we got into some very project-specific troubleshooting that has little relevance if you weren't present. However, below are some of the tips I learned.

If an area has come up lighter than you wanted, there are a couple things you can do, before the second etch, to bring it up.

Put a little soft rubbing crayon on a chamois and lightly brush across the light areas. The ink should pick up the rubbing crayon adding a little tone to the area.

You can also dry out the area, keeping other areas wet, then go over the whole plate with a damp sponge and feather in more ink with the roller, concentrating just on the light areas. the lower water content of these areas will attract more ink.

have fun, you people that are lucky enough to be lithographers.

These are my original notes from the 2009 Tamarind Aluminum Plate Summer Class, where I'm volunteering as a press assistant. If you have a need, feel free to use these notes. I won't vouch for their accuracy since I wouldn't presume to know nearly anything about lithography compared to the people at Tamarind, though I do take pretty detailed notes. You should obviously only be doing this is a properly equipped studio with ventilation and adequate tools and supplies. For some serious notes, instructions and formulas, get the book.

Day 1: Plate prep and some extras.

2009-07-06T16:11:00.000-07:00

Plate Prep: Ball-Grained Aluminum

-Plates should be handled carefully to prevent kinks or ripples, and care should be taken not to touch the drawing surface, as oil from your fingertips can affect the image.

Cutting:

Unless you have a plate shear, you'll need to cut the plate with a utility knife. Place grained side down on newsprint, mark the line along which you wish to cut, clamp a straightedge to the plate and table to keep everything

secure. Score along straight edge several times, before snapping across ruler or table edge. Be sure to score enough, or plate can pinch and kink along the edge. Round the corners ever so slightly with scissors to protect your hands during printing. Shave or file off any burr to protect the slate, tympan and your hands.

Cleaning:

Hot Water- for most purposes, cleaning with hot water is sufficient. Cover plate with hot water and rub down very gently with a shop towel or cotton pad until towel comes up nearly clean. Be sure to overlap strokes to prevent streaking, and dry immediately. If you want to be absolutely sure the plate is cleaned, wet plate again (not too much, or it will dilute the acid), pour a little plate counter etch (water, hydrochloric acid and phosphoric acid) and wipe down in the same manner as hot water. Dry immediately. Don't let any spots of water sit on the plate. This can be done as many times as you like, although some people think doing it multiple times will wear out the grain of the plate. In any case, your plate should be plenty clean by now, and processing solvents will take care of anything you missed. Store your clean plate in newsprint to minimize oxidation.

Preparing the plate for drawing: Layout and format considerations

Paper size is very important. You should leave a small space between the edge of the plate and the edge of the paper. It's a good idea to choose your paper ahead of time, and run it through the press so you can see exactly how much it will stretch under the pressure. This assures you that you have an exact measurement for the final print. A mylar or paper jig can be made to finalize the layout before any marks are made on the plate. After a jig is made, mark the plate the way you would like (image edge, paper edge, center points and any other guidelines you need) in conte' crayon or very hard pencil. (use of any material containing grease WILL print, so for sketching, stick to conte')

A little digression: Tusche

Tusche is a greasy material that behaves a bit like watercolor. It is either water or solvent soluble and is painted on with a brush or applied with quill pen or other instruments. It is a popular drawing material for the ethereal quality of the mark when the water evaporates from the mixture. A test sheet for tusche can be made by first creating a concentrate (this example uses Charbonnel stick tusche). Rub a stick of tusche all around a small old plate until it's black. Pour about 20ml of distilled water and mix with a medium bristle brush until a slightly syrupy consistency is reached and all the tusche is dissolved in the water. Pour about 15ml of distilled water (make sure the pH is between 5.0 and 7.0) into each of three beakers. Visually with the brush, or more methodically with an eyedropper, mix three solutions, light, medium, and dark, one in each beaker. Test by painting onto a sheet of white paper until the solutions look right (that is they have the proper variance between light medium and dark- use a grayscale if you are unsure). These solutions can now be used for drawing on an aluminum plate, and can be stored by putting a piece of packing tape over the mouth of the beaker when not in use.

Disclaimer:

Tamarind

2009-07-06T16:03:00.000-07:00

I started my first day of volunteering at the Tamarind Institute today and I can tell it's going to be a really informative and educational experience for me. I can't wait to really start absorbing new techniques. After all, I'll be learning from the very best in the industry. During the last week of my "internship" Bill Lagutta will be returning to collaborate with Kiki Smith, so I'll get to meet her and hopefully observe her and Bill at work- I'm so excited!

While you can of course (and should) buy the new book, I'm going to be posting my notes from each day I attend the lectures. Hopefully someone will find them as useful as I do.

Sneak Peak

2009-06-29T20:16:00.000-07:00

My room is so spectacularly clean and organized

that I couldn't help but brag a little. It's like my

own personal sanctuary, something much

needed at the moment.

The decorated eggs are by my stupendously

talented and clever grandmother, Sandra.

A little collection of effects and ephemera on my

dresser. The flying fixie is by the amazing Bertsey Titus,

The little porcelain bucket was a gift from my other

grandmother for my 13th birthday, the silver jewelry box from my

aunt, and the photos in the back are my mother

on her wedding day and me and

my best friend in high school. The painting behind

all that is by Andrea Wilson, and she'll

forever loathe me for mentioning it.

The prints hanging over my bed are by me and

my very talented colleagues in printmaking, left to right

Liz McDonald, Me, Me, Nathan Everett and the

incomparable Gaia Faust.

My dresser is an antique, and I'm sad to say I had less

than the right amount of respect for it in my youth.

It is, however, holding up alright, and now contains

much of my art supplies and tools. The painting is by me,

and the mask was a gift from my aunt.

No one in living memory has seen this drafting table, also

a family antique, with so little stuff on it. The snippet

on the wall is part of a gift wrap pattern I made.

A reading/studying corner, with a handmedown

chair and a wal mart tv table. The print on the left

is by the lovely Shanta D.M.F. Ryan. The piece on

the right is mine, a plexiglas matrix from a long

lost project.

The "coral" is a juniper branch, painted and lacquered

by me. I adore that thing. On the bed is Marzipan,

the crocogator, and the pink quilt was made by another

aunt.

2009-06-28T11:49:00.000-07:00

As we mature and prepare to take our places in society, we come under ever-increasing pressure to abandon our sense of wonder in favor of a logical, disconnected view of our world. As children, our fascination with and connection to nature is replaced with a falsified urgency in making more and more tenuous human relationships, and maintaining cultural responsibilities, both of which contain little meaning and serve to widen the gap between the mind and its basest roots. At the very least, we are expected to contain and disguise our curiosity and wonder and replace it with a facade of mild interest, tempered by a healthy, "normal" distance from nature. We are conditioned to believe that the sterile domain of our bank accounts, our jobs, our contrived responsibilities to our culture and one another, are significantly more vital than a present and sensual relationship with the natural world. This is by no means a call to abandon culture, or a demonization thereof. The issue becomes one of balance, rather than exclusivity. As children, we see the perfection in the world. As adults, we often see nothing but its flaws. Our cultural commitment to science offers some measure of equilibrium, but the wonder of discovery has become limited to a narrow group, and rendered unappealing to many that do not belong to the group. Any expression of joy we might feel at such a thing has long since been conditioned out of us, or suppressed and disguised as cursory acknowledgment.

This is my expression of joy, of wonder, devoted in its concept of scientific discovery and documentation, in the tradition of the great naturalists, and liberated in its sense of imagination, aesthetic and interpretation.

Writing artist's statements is for ninnies.

customs and immigration

2009-06-12T23:17:00.000-07:00

So long, Canada.

salty

2009-06-11T22:17:00.000-07:00

baby

swan and baby

washing bear

felted wool floppy hat, american apparel

barnacles

pacific sea nettle

sloth nose

insomnia

2009-06-10T22:06:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I don't feel like I can sleep before I write a few things down. First of all, this city makes me strangely anxious. It's a mild sensation, like someone is pressing gently on my sternum, or a very vague tightness that won't seem to go away. I find this place intimidating, and oddly humbling. Perhaps the place is a coincidence, and the anxiety is something I brought with me. The latter seems significantly more likely.

I'm beginning to realize that you actually can escape your life; that is, the trappings we call our lives. Work, School, Bills, Parties, Drama. You can, with just a little pocket money, so fully remove yourself from the familiar that you're too busy taking in all the new to remember your life at all. But what really defines your life, outside of the worldly exterior of being an adult, is something from which you cannot escape. Your doubts, insecurities, big hips and shitty attitude are not subject to international borders, customs agents, bag claim. In a way, you can escape, but just be prepared to turn around and find yourself staring back, free of the murkiness of "life" through which you've been viewing yourself all this time.

I came here to get away, to gain some perspective and clear my head. I figured there would be some pain, but I'm starting to realize the worst is yet to come.

I can't let myself believe that I was only good enough because you loved me, but my greatest fear is that I already have.

mini bar

2009-06-10T21:00:00.000-07:00

The briefest of glances at Vancouver, BC.

Dinner at CinCin: halibut with porcini mushroom, fava bean

and spinach gnocchi. Pino Gris, beignets with Nutella gelato

for dessert, cappuccino.

Staying at Hotel LeSoleil downtown. Lovely.

Spraypaint

More tomorrow.

matcha chacha

2009-06-09T21:01:00.000-07:00

The city was all spakling glass and long shadows at noon today when I arrrived at Pier 55. But the office towers and high-rises, with their first floor delicatessans and modern furniture retail spaces were not my destination. I made a pit stop for a pack of smokes, and proceeded up the hill, towards home. Capitol Hill is essentially the equivalent of where I live, and you know you've arrived when you note the sudden upswing in the number of nobody coffe houses and skinny pants. I traipsed through the streets with a cigarette in my fingers, the sun burning a fake-rayban tan onto my cheeks as I sought sustenance and caffeine. I passed Oddfellows once before I resigned to eating there, and looped back down to the dingey looking street and tottered up the steps. High ceilings and exposed brick walls. Bordered on one side by the espresso machines and cash rigister, the bar cadicorner along the back wall. Long tables like a caffeteria replaced the obligatory bistro tables, and only four tables stood outside on the sidewalk. The bearded barista took my drink order while I was still in line, giving me a cup for my self serve coffee and offering me the option of paying for it when the line went down. I smiled and stayed in line to order food. Outside, coffee and moleskine on the table, I eavedropped on a bike-riding, graphic-designing beard wearing hipster in a v-neck t shirt and very nearly lost track of what I was writing. After finishing my strata and coffee, and having made some mental notes about the design of the shop, I set off once more, cigarettes at the ready.

What sounds like a picturesque day was briefly and violently despoiled by a kamikaze crow, hell bent on snagging one of my bobby pins for its collection. I've since been too scared to inspect the top of my head for battle scars.

After picking up symphony tickets at the will call window at Benaroya hall and making a quick purchase at the SAM gift shop, I meandered through the market, ending at Tully's with a matcha latte and sat in the park to address some post cards. I caught the water taxi back to Alki and walked to the beach, only to discover my feet hurt to much for walking on the beach. I came home to eggplant parmesan and began packing for Vancouver.

And if that's not an art student hipster bitch's vacation diary, I've truly no idea who I am.

Gravelly, seaweedy, driftwoody Alki beach.

Obligatory skyline photo.

The back side of the market.

Nod to Betty. <3

Luch at Oddfellows in Capitol Hill. The Strata is

sublime.

If I ever have to live in an apartment, it

better have a fire escape.

When I spend the day alone, this is what I

photograph. Can you really blame me though?

aqua vida

2009-06-06T21:07:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I used to feel differently about the sea. Then, it

was a kind of uncontrolled hunger, a recklessness that would

take hold of me at the sight of the first gull. A longing that I couldn't

suppress, but that was fufilled so infrequently that it seemed to

leave a void in me. Today, it is quiet and internal, but for that, somehow

even more desperate. Instead of wading thigh-deep into the surf

and soaking the sea into my skin, it seems it is all I can do to look at it,

to try to take it in. It's too much, too surreal. The wonder is still there, but

my childhood indifference to logic is not. To see, to touch my toes

to the edge of the swell as it fans across the sand, to stand under the

burden of the lead gray sky, I feel as though I might burst, something

inside might break, just at this tiny taste of that vastness.

What was once intellectual quarry now spans to

emotional sustenance.

Even as the waves disappear from sight behind the trees, and the ocean gives way to the shelter

of the Sound, I find inexpressable comfort in the knowledge that I am near the water.

Many profess that they were born in the wrong time or place, and

I've come to understand that for me, it's both.

low tide

2009-06-05T21:41:00.001-07:00

I guess you can't really expect every day to be so filled with wonder that all else is forgotten, but when the day's adventure is slightly less than adventurous, the melancholy can sometimes creep up the back of your neck, steal along your spine and infect your mind. I'm constantly having to remind myself to slow down, pace myself. I have another fifteen days, and they can't all be packed to the brim with enough excitement to make me forget. It's not really healthy to push it down and away either, I suppose. I kept saying I was coming here to run away, but I really came to recover. And you have to face what happened to get over it. I conceived of this trip in January, the last time I drove my life off a cliff with a bottle of wine in my grasp and a shiteating grin on my face. Two weeks before I left, I reached for that bottle again and let go of the wheel. And now I find myself hundreds of miles away, with my toes in the Sound, and the only thing I can think is

fuck all.

Bush Medicine

2009-06-04T21:34:00.000-07:00

In leiu of having something insightful or poetic to write about

my day, I'll leave you instead with Gloria Petyarre, whom

I discovered today at the Seattle Art Museum.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gloria_Petyarre

wearing clothes

2009-06-04T21:28:00.000-07:00

Deatails: Jeans: best Levi's ever. Top: F21-me-and-Megan-matcheymatchey-top

Earrings: courtesy of Megin Taylor, aka hoodrat earrings.

Belt: Secondhand. Cardigan, stolen.

Seattle Art AMuseum today, so naturally no pictures

of that. This outfit is funny because

I thought up a ridiculous description for each

item this morning when I got dressed.

Brambles

2009-06-03T21:16:00.000-07:00

I am opportunistic through the lens of my

camera. It teaches me to open myself to the

unfamiliar and unfathomable.

When you learn how to stop imposing your

expectations and romantic ideas upon

your situation, good things are sure to

follow.

Let your folly lead you, and with a

little luck and a good attitude, things

will go your way.

And if things don't go quite as you'd hoped,

be content in the knowledge that

they went the way you let them. Every

experience has merit, no matter

how small or seemingly insignifigant.

Learn to be open and amenable, and

the rest will come.

Brambles

June 3

Three floors, just like home. Dingey stairwells adorned with paint spills and marker signatures. Inside, it's more like an elementary school from the fifties. Light colored wood panelling along the hallway, linoleum floors. The windows are the old-fashioned tall kind that tilt inward instead of opening outright. Some seem to have been in this position for years, lending an air of timelessness to the building. Classes are still in session, tinted by the quiet kind of desperation of finals week that I know so well. A door stands ajar to my right, and I approach with soft steps. No doubt I would be taken for just another student, but loathe as I am to explain myself to strangers, I verified the vacancy of the room before tiptoeing in. Two Takach etching presses take up the majority of the middle floor. Glass-topped cabinets are ranged around the room and under the bank of tall windows opposite me. One antiquated drying rack holds proofs, collagraph and woodcut prints. Soaking tubs are balanced precariously on a countertop, rag papers swimming around, waiting for someone to return for them. A clothesline of stiff inky tarlatans hangs in front of the windows, the most important sort of laundry in a place like this. All over the walls, photos and snippets of paper depict the small community of printmakers that frequent this studio. I take one last look, a last breath of that inky, chemistry scent and duck out before I am discovered.

The only open door on that floor was
this one. Sometimes, if you stop looking
the universe will provide you with
just the thing you seek.

Very coastal.

2009-06-02T21:17:00.001-07:00

June 2
You can never fully escape news from home, as much as you may want or need to, but thankfully the distance tempers the bitterness a bit. It seems that some things really never do change, and others are changing minute by minute, so that I can't even keep up. As for masochism, I think she knows better than me now, and from here on out, she gets what she deserves. It may be one off my shoulders, but somehow I still get shafted in the end. Not that it matters, right? But one does tire of being used as the whipping boy so often and so callously. Your concern for me is less than touching, I have to admit. Here I am, nine hundred miles away, enveloped in my favorite city, and you think your petty concern can even reach me through the evergreens? You give yourself too much credit. You're obviously never going to learn from her, so I guess you can learn from me. What I “carried here from the desert” was a ruse, just like the last two years of my life. I'm tired of burdening myself with your smoke and mirrors. You can't get to me here, I'm too far away, even for you.

The city was cheerful today, the people taking advantage of the rare sunshine. Even with my cousin's somewhat narrow-minded commentary, I was able to love the streets and cafes, the dogwood and poppies. The flowers stayed with me even after we departed the city. Wrapped in brown paper, miles and miles of flowers, the best and brightest the region and season have to offer. Cheap too, and on my list of reasons to get an apartment here as soon as possible. The imminence of possibility is tickling my curiosity. I'm eager to walk the streets alone, pluck up some courage and find a friend to spend an afternoon with, pop into a tattoo studio and make something permanent.

Tonight, make me unstoppable.

2009-06-02T21:14:00.000-07:00

June 1
It wasn't raining today when the plane touched the runway. I wasn't expecting it as much as I was hoping for it, but the disappointment is mild at worst. The city sparkled in the sunlight, all glass and stone and culture I've never known. It's too picturesque from across the bay, the Sound pulling it away from reality and setting it atop rolling Pacific waters, waters I only seem to traverse in my mind. The beach was full of flesh, dotted with sunburned bodies and the trappings of life by the sea. Across that dreamy stretch of water, the city winked back, the piers shrugging affably to allow the ferries port at their shoulders. It's true that none of this occurs to me at the moment, but I do recall winking back. I'm absorbed in a kind of hazy contentment, tinged with the anxiety of new surroundings, flavored by weariness I've carried from the desert. My family doesn't know truly why I'm here, only that I'm on vacation. They don't know, for instance, what I left in my wake in that dusty town, and why it has driven me north as far as I can get. Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore, and for that I'm grateful. Surrounded by a pressing and enveloping green, with the smell of the sea on the air and the looming shadow of a full fledged city to guard me, my problems seem far away tonight. Which I suppose was the point all along.

Lighthearted...

2009-06-02T20:56:00.000-07:00

Richard Serra at the Olympic Sculpture Park

For some reason I've been quite concerned with my
attire for this trip. I packed all my nicest clothes,
though hardly any are appropriate for the
weather. So, outfit post, in the tradtion
of the too-young-for-internet fashion blogger.

Black skinnies from target, navy top from walmart,
vintage blouse, vintage dreamcatcher necklace, secondhand purse.

Pins on my bag.

Apparently there are a lot of same-sex

trysts happening in this park. I was warned to

watch out. :)

Roses.

2009-05-24T17:43:00.000-07:00

I held out my hand, realizing that I was shaking like a leaf. She set the potted roses in my palm and offered me a tentative smile.

"I wanted to bring you something. You know, like something that would last. Yellow, for friendship and growth."

Of all the things I expected when she called and asked to come by, this was the last. I set the plant down before I dropped it and lowered myself into a chair opposite her. She dug a cigarette out of her bag and lit it.

"Like, as women, we're supposed to hate each other now. But I don't want to do what we're supposed to. I don't hate you. I wish you the best, truly."

I took off my sunglasses and peered at her small face, pink lipstick lips curled just a bit at the edges. Her fingers, curved around the filter of her cigarette, were trembling. I couldn't imagine what it must have taken for her to come here.

"I don't know what to say. Thank you."

We spent a moment trading the hurt back and forth, before we just cast it aside altogether. She hugged me goodbye and strode back up the street, her head high. I watched her go, and then went to buy potting soil for my roses.

I want you to know how grateful I am to have had the pleasure of knowing a woman as graceful and dignified as you. In the short time I've known you, you have taught me a great deal about integrity and empathy. You are truly exquisite, and I wish for you nothing but the best always and I hope we meet again.

PS- I'm sorry about the rosebush.

2009-05-17T13:21:00.000-07:00

labor.

2009-05-13T21:33:00.000-07:00

"detritus"

abandoned works

a finished work of unfinished thoughts.

the covers are PETG etched with a nail and filled with ink, sandwiched

between two sheets of paper, one of which is cut out.

the text was achieved with a gum arabic xerox transfer.

an accordion fold is a manageable way to bind

books without many materials.

The book is read in one direction until it flips itself over and one

is allowed to view the opposite side. the viewer can start

at either end. one side contains 4x5 fragments of

failed experiments, printed disasters and

disappointments. the opposing

side contains text

describing

"detritus".

paper is found scraps, bright white. bound with a length of bleached blue broadcloth. size is approximately eight inches square

mishmosh

2009-05-08T11:08:00.000-07:00

Psyche explosions morph into patently obvious observations.

Click on images for full size.

wishwash

2009-05-07T23:29:00.000-07:00

If you have any idea what I'm trying to say here....

....be a doll and let me in on the joke.

namesake

2009-05-06T09:28:00.000-07:00

Wishin on wishin bones
Fishin for whistlin stones
She's got those dulcet tones
Talkin on telephones.

The worst part is, I have no idea how to fix it.

2009-05-05T21:34:00.000-07:00

Kervin calls this a "psyche explosion".

I call it a big ol' pile of self loathing.

Try to ignore the shitty photo quality.

Lost and found and lost again

2009-04-30T23:10:00.000-07:00

There's nothing here but an assortment of beers. Test the tepid waters with the tip of your size six vintage sude peep toe pumps, then flee to the porch for a cigarette and a reality check. You're proficient in nothing, nothing but getting loaded and wasting time. Your life is a circus, a bad joke, an unplanned pregnancy. Pump yourself full of nicotine and cocaine and pretend these things don't happen to you. You're the girl that hates blowing lines, but does it because she loves hating herself more than she hates the white lady. It's not because you're fucked up inside from a ruined childhood. It's not because your creepy uncle played grabass at family reunions when you were thirteen. You didn't even need that much motivation to ease yourself into the wreck of a human being you have become. It's not that you're sad either, or suicidal, or insecure. You love your life, love watching your death from bloodshot eyes, as it approaches ever faster on the wings of hallucinogens and unprotected sex. You love every last soul devouring, black-eyed, cum-splattered moment of it, and death and dishonor are coming for you as surely as anyone. But you spit at them, take another shot, blow another line, waste another semester, fuck another stranger. If death is coming, you say, make it quick, make it worth it.

Asunder

2009-04-30T21:57:00.000-07:00

Together we shall know our frailties.

The way the light plays on the countenance of your papery flesh
The way the thick smudges of dark grease your fingertips, fill the wrinkles in your knuckles

Together we shall know our naivete.

The way you love me, restlessly, heedlessly.
The way you mourn me, choking, faltering.

Together we shall know our chemistry.

The way you smolder, burn and chafe.
The way you boil, blunder and brood.

Together, we shall know.

It's a terrible pity.

2009-04-21T20:46:00.000-07:00

Tannin is a natural component of tea. It's believed to be a homeopathic cure for foot odor because it is a natural astringent. That means it dries out your skin. If you soak your feet in strong black tea twice a day for two weeks you'll be odor free. As it is, I soak my tongue in strong black tea two or three times a day, and my tongue knows what my feet would feel like if I soaked them. Like rubber bands. But I soak my tongue in nicotine just as often so maybe that's part of it. Usually these two activities take place at the same time.

It's a pity that my tea and cigarette encounters never take place in the company of others. And when they do, it's not the other I want around. Usually. It's a pity, I think, as I slide my tongue over my teeth, back and forth, feeling the rubber-band-foot feeling of my mouth, staring across the little table at him. He's talking about something, and I'm just trying to figure out what he's really saying. Why we're really here. I don't trust him, and it's pitiful.

I'm distracted by this foot-in-mouth feeling I have.

It's better than spending the perfect weather and clear sky alone on my porch, but it would be even better if it were someone else. I'm never fucking satisfied. What a pity.

This is my fifth cup of tea, and the feeling is getting worse. It's resentful, and itchy. My tea is bitter because I don't get up to put more milk in it. It's also cold. I still don't really know what he's talking about, or why. I smile in a vague sort of way. Vague is a good word for the way in which I go about my day. Be someone else, I'm begging you. Be someone I haven't known from high school that grew up in that same shitty, orange and blue town, someone who doesn't know every single fucking one of my friends. I'm begging you.

I let him drive me home, even though it's only four blocks and I walk home at night every day of my life. The same four blocks, they look the same from inside his car. I try to feel awkward, but it doesn't fit. We know each other too well, even though we really don't know each other at all. Sometime soon, we'll do this again he tells me.

Please, I'm pleading with you. Be someone else.

Lurking other people's polaroids: Episode 1: This shit is getting old.

2009-04-18T21:12:00.000-07:00

I don't pay for airport parking, not since I used to work there. It's been a while since they shredded my TSA security badge, but I still refuse to pay. But when you have a small number of friends with an even smaller number of passenger vehicles, you get creative. So I parked at my house, and walked to the Ramada three blocks away, all my luggage banging around my hips, dangling from straps and buckles. Even though I'm wearing a knee length skirt, I was honked at seven times. In three blocks. Maybe it was the lipstick.

At the Ramada, I shuffle into the lobby, straight up to the desk, and ask when the next shuttle is leaving. Did you check out? the ugly girl at the desk asks me. She's not ugly, I guess, but she's got a snaggle tooth and a weird cluster of pimples huddled around her nose. She's not Bette Davis. I already did, I say. Pointedly, I suppose. At least, I gave her what could be called a withering glance, and she didn't ask questions. I guessed, snottily enough, that her intellect, more than my look, prevented this. Ten minutes she says. I stump out the curb, my bags jangling around like a burlesque dancer's titty tassels. Or some other obscure simile for dangly luggage. Plopped down on the curb under the overhanging porch, I light a cigarette and toss the now-empty pack at the No Smoking sign pasted to the far column.

The ride to the airport was expectedly awkward: I was the only passenger in the shitty van, the letters R A M A D A A I R P O R T S H U T T L E affixed to its side in peeling red vinyl. I pressed my forehead to the glass and steadfastly ignored the questions of the kid driving it. His face was pitted and pockmarked from years of acne. We called that pizza-face in high school. I gag a little in my mouth and cross my arms.

After being ignored for the whole journey, the pockmarked kid dumps my luggage on the curb under the Delta sign, rather unceremoniously I think. I don't tip him, but instead bum a smoke off him and check my watch. He drives away, short one cigarette, and (i'd like to think) a few ounces of dignity.

Ten minutes until I can even check in. Airports make me nervous these days, which I think is odd. I used to love coming to the airport, even just to pick people up. I always felt like I was on the precipice of some exotic adventure. Today I just feel like shit.

Track 4. Again. Again. Again.

2009-04-09T20:05:00.000-07:00

With three hundred dollars worth of airline tickets on my shiny new credit card, the knot in my stomach tightens up in a disapproving sort of way. If this isn't the panacea for my troubles, I'm in even deeper shit. My dad's voice keeps echoing in my head, warning me of the dangers of that glossy bit of blue plastic.

"CASH IS KING!"

Fuck you, Dave Ramsey.

It's not like I haven't thought through the risks, weighed my options. The nursing student from North Carolina, the one who say's ya'll, all but promised she could take the room. Joey says she can't wait to see me.

Bring green chile, she says.

Duh.

The shock is wearing off now, rolling off my shoulders like rain.
Rain. That's why I'm doing this. Rain. And solitude. And anger. And bitterness.

My motivations were always clear, no matter how destitute they are.

Do it, Andrea says. Book it. If worse comes to worse, I'll drive you back the next day. Besides, we should have the house by then.

Everything is resting on a knife edge, but isn't always? We're always seeking the tiny island of balance. The restorative powers of the escape. The transformative power of running away.

The sheer bliss when you give the world the finger.

The reason Andrea might not have a house is that she has four roommates, and the City of Tempe municipal code states that five or more women living together constitutes a brothel. They rufie girls at frat houses, she complains to me over her free night and weekend minutes, but we can't live together because we're running a whorehouse.

Sublets, roommates, credit cards, rufies.

That knife is getting sharper. And my itch is getting stronger.

So fuck you, Tempe, fuck you Dave Ramsey. Me and my credit card are going.

If I forget the chile, Joey will kill me.

Leaving notes in strange places: Part II: The Reply.

2009-03-30T21:35:00.000-07:00

I wrote the top part. But who wrote the bottom? In my handwriting?

these are just some of the things

2009-03-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

No delusions, of grandeur or otherwise. Our moments are our own, everything we have left and everything to which we aspire.

GetUp.

2009-03-15T09:29:00.000-07:00

The clouds are still asleep at sunrise, resting in the folds of the valley, intertwined with the dewy tree trunks, lying across the still water. As dawn is breaking, the last fibers patience are ripped from my head and I swing myself out of bed and into the day. The car is cold, the windshield covered in a thick, glittering frost. It takes half an hour to warm up. I scald the back of my throat with coffee that hasn't even finished brewing and put the car into gear. Above me, the throaty gasping of the balloons' flames is the only sound in the stillness. No one should be going anywhere at six thirty on a Sunday. I pause at the stoplight to dig out a matchbook and a dented pack of Camels. No one should be smoking at six thirty on a Sunday. For one wild moment, i contemplate Our Lady of Guadalupe, toying with the notion of going to Mass. Intriguing, but the smoldering dawn is too alluring to pass up for the cloister of the adobe. Down on the river, the clouds are still lazing about in the newly made sunshine, sleeping in on Sunday, like everyone else. The birds are just waking, swooping sleepily in and out of the clingy fog, trying in vain to rouse the day. "Get up get up get up!", they chirp and hum.

Get up Get up Get up.

Shirt spider, couch spider.

2009-03-03T20:41:00.000-08:00

Hey, a spider.

OH FUCK A SPIDER!

On my couch, a spider!

In my couch, a spider!

Oh fuck, where's that spider?