Tales from Studio Mailbox

Quickest Baby Gift in the Midwest

I thought I'd pop in and share the quickest and easiest baby gift I've made in a long time. 

You know those MDF letters they sell in the craft store?  Well with a few stencils and some fast drying alcohol inks, you can whip up something in only a few hours.

And those drips and runs down the edges? Don't worry, they're the best part! 

Once the ink is dry just be sure and go in and detail around the edges of the colors with your favorite permanent pens and it will look so cool...

Something fun for the baby's room that they might never grow out of!

Voila:

Glauben: to Believe

Before I left Germany, I packed a box and marked it "open first"  so when it arrived in Minnesota, I'd at least know where to begin.

Inside this box are my journals, supplies and the boards I've been using for Michelle Ward's Street Team Crusades.  And strangely enough I realized that my boards are very similar to a coveted mail art postcard I have from Michelle Ward herself! (Thanks to a previous iHanna postcard swap)!

So I gingerly punched a hole in Michelle's card to align with mine, and now hers is the official cover of my 'Ward Board Book.'  I love pulling it out and looking at earlier Crusades!

I haven't had a chance to adjust to life back in the US, nor have I had much time to blog or do any creative work.  But when I saw that Crusade 56 revolves around beliefs, I thought it was time to get cracking.

So here's my quick attempt, using a famous German saying and drama: Glaube (believe), Liebe (love) and Hoffnung (hope).

Behind the large words I wrote text in yellow that isn't legible so I'll share it with you here:

I believe in hard work, but not necessarily suffering.  I believe in good fortune, but also generosity.  I believe in kindness and empowerment. I believe we can bring out the best in each other.  I believe being yourself is brave.  I believe what's right for you isn't necessarily what's right for me.  I believe that I don't have to like everybody, and everybody doesn't have to like me.  I believe that the people whose words are moving in the same direction as their actions, are the people who are most respected in life.

*I was going to add that I believe the price of pine nuts and laundry detergent in the United States is unreasonable but I ran out of room!  (Or maybe I believe in random blasts of humor to shake stuff up and keep people on their toes!)

Wondering more about the Crusades?  I'm a huge fan and wrote about it here. 

And isn't it ironic that the one I missed in the middle of my move was called Disappearing Act?

Meaning and Symbols in Art

Fancy pants people study Symbology, or maybe Semiotics.   I'd love to take a course along these lines just to better understand various visual interpretations in different cultural contexts.  I think it's fascinating and I could dork out about it all day.

But until then, I like to toss my own symbols into things the good old fashioned way, on a whim!  For some reason, I like when things "make some kind of sense" or have some kind of clever meaning besides it's function or surface appeal.

Our friends back in Germany were married last weekend.  So before I left, I assembled a collection of vintage German buttons displayed in a board that had holes cut into (but not through) it. 

Call me corny, but buttons seem like a very appropriate wedding gift because their function is simply to take two separate things and hold them together.  So there you go.  TJ's deep thought of the day.

As for my friends Uli and Olaf, I'm wishing you many happy healthy years ahead.

I'm grateful I took some photos of this before I used the Diamond Glaze because it dried rather cloudy and sadly with lots of bubbles.  I'm thinking that as the substrate dried and formed along the back of the buttons that trapped air couldn't quite escape...

Oh well, nothing's perfect - including marriage!  So I'm pretending I planned that cloudy uneven effect too...

Back on American Soil

If all has gone as planned, then Saturday is my first full day back in the United States. 

I wasn't gone a few months or over the summer.  I was gone for more than 9 years.  Things feel exciting and also overwhelming. 

What I look forward to the most is living where I will be fully literate again.  For years I have been unable to read or write fluently in German.  This experience has changed me down to the very core of my being.  

Those of you who have been around long know that a lot of my artwork has been about exploring cultural identity.  Here is the second of two hearts I made as self portraits before leaving Europe.  This one was made from that page in the newspaper that comes out on the 4th of July and was spray painted with a big heart-shaped chocolate box and a metal braided chain.  I threw in a little touch of vintage fabric and then laced it up like a Dirndl.  It will be on exhibit in Nuremburg soon.  More on that later.

Hello America.  I've missed you and I look forward to getting to know you again!

Last Day as a German Resident

Tomorrow is my last day residing in Germany.  Friday is our travel day and Saturday I start back over in the country where I'm from.

The Germans say, "mit einem lachenden und einem weinenden Auge."

And this means something like "with a twinkle in one eye and a tear in the other."

This has been a hard move.  And every day my heart has been touched by one of my beloved friends or neighbors showing up with a trailer for us to haul crap away or a wheelbarrow full of toys for our son to play with.

As the moving truck drove away, I realized we no longer had a can opener or sheets.  Out came the neighborhood with pillows, linens, kitchen supplies and dryer racks for our laundry.  It was like the old story about Stone Soup.

I love these people and have come to realize that it's the first time in many years that I've felt that I'm truly a part of a community. 

In the middle of it all I did manage to get quite a bit of work done.  Dang.  I even amaze myself sometimes.  Two of the large boards I worked on are self portraits.  I made my German Heart and my American Heart.  They are mixed media, spray painted and collaged with big holes drilled into them for lacing ribbon.  Here's the German version for you, so take a wild guess as to what's coming up for Saturday's post!  The originals are going to be on exhibit in Nuremburg soon, and I will share more about that later. 

For now, big hugs to my dear host country... Aufwiedersehen.

In real life this board is actually square.  I have no idea why this photo is so warped looking.  While in transition, nothing is perfect.

The Kindergarten Wall

The kindergarten wall has been the project of the week.  I've been coming home with painted hands and knees and wondering how it all happened.

It turns out that Sunday is the 30th Anniversary of my son's school.  And the parent committee is taking it very seriously.  You would think the Pope was coming for a visit the way they've been scheming, scrambling and highlighting notes.  They have worked so hard to prepare for the big festival that I'm kind of wishing I'd been here all 30 years to truly be "in" on this whole thing.

The funny thing about parenting is the different theories that people subscribe to.  There are the moms who are amazing never-ending sources of support for every kid activity out there.  These parents are wonderful and they're clearly needed for these kind of events.

My cousin recently posted something on her Facebook wall about what a wonderful organization the PTA is.  But because I'm "the other kind" of parent, I spontaneously threw up in my mouth a little bit.  Moms like me don't join the Parent-Teacher stuff.  Moms like me don't care about crepe paper or coordinating a charity drive.   
 

Don't get me wrong.  It's not that I don't want to help, or I don't want nice things for the community.  And I most certainly do want to be involved in my child's education. I just want to know how much I need to give for whatever, where I'm supposed to sign, and what time I'm supposed to be where they tell me. 

I don't want to make the decisions, I don't want to fight with other mothers, and I can't take the responsibility of being the one who makes sure there's enough chairs for the grandparents to be seated during the singing program.  Even typing that sentence makes my blood pressure skyrocket.

So every once in awhile, to make up for the horrible slacker that I am, I make a grand sweeping gesture that takes many hours, but leaves the place a little better than how I found it. 

The irony of this project is that as a foreigner, I didn't know which building was the kindergarten when I first came here.  So even though this wall was a lumpy un-even horrible nightmare to try and spray-paint, and even though I had to fend off a couple dozen German children heckling me as I worked, I am proud that the place is now clearly marked as the village kindergarten.

And the cake?  Special delivered by none other than a member of the school's parent committee!  Bless those other kind of mothers!  Did I eat all three pieces?  Damn straight!  Rest assured I'm doing my part to find common ground between the mother camps...

My Dad

This Father's Day weekend had me thinking that somehow I've never really shared my dad with you guys!

Dad's home is the same one I was raised in way up in northern Minnesota.  We are Iron Rangers. He burns wood to heat his house and stays physically fit from all the exercise it takes to chop and pile and constantly manage the fuel supply.  My childhood chores involved "piling wood" and "throwing wood."  Piling wood is the process of neatly stacking it after it's split so that it dries out properly.  This is measured in cords.  Throwing wood is when you take a bunch off the pile and "throw" it into the house to burn.  Our home has a big wood box built around a basement window that's removed and used as a portal to transfer the wood from the outside in. 

Dad doesn't only burn wood, he works with wood.  When he retired he built his own "wood shop" that has an antique cast iron stove that he drove all the way to Canada to get.  In the winter if you pull in to visit dad, he might have soup, stew or chili cooking on his stove while he's building something.  In the summer, he likely has a fire going in a huge iron ring outside that he cooks over.  The shop fridge is likely stocked with tons of drink boxes, beer, soda and sometimes fishing leeches.

There's a lot of equipment around the farm, many vehicles and tractors having names like "Old Brown."  Kids always get rides if they stop by when the tractors are out.  Dad used to move snow with a little red tractor when we were kids.  Now that he's older he has a plow for a "work" truck so that he gets to sit in a heated cab while he gets his work done. 

There's a big field behind his house where on special occasions he would get out an old wooden baseball bat and tirelessly hit us pop flies until every kid had a turn at catching one.  He'd never quit until we actually caught one, we never ended on a dropped ball.

My greatest dad memory is when one winter our school bus got stuck. The weather was so horrible that the driver slipped off the side of the road.  It wasn't unusual for a bus to get stuck in the winter on the rural routes, but this time it went into the ditch so badly that it was nearly laying on it's side.  The kids were scared and knew it was going to take a serious rescue to get us out. 

Within a half an hour of the accident, as we were all hunkered together in the cold, crooked bus, out of the blizzard comes none other than my dad! 

He climbs right in and looks at the driver and says, "I figured there was a problem."  Then he looked over the seats and said, "Don't worry kids.  Another bus is on the way!"  Then he gave a military-like roll-call, "Tari! Chuck! Jessica and Maija!" 

My brother, my cousin, the neighbor girl and myself all got out and climbed into dad's pickup.  "Sorry I don't have room for more kids!" he called out to everybody else.  And away he navigated over the snow drifts, shifting carefully to avoid hitting our knees since four kids were piled on the bench seat next to him. 

Dad is a terrific grandfather.  He planted apple trees when each of his three grandsons were born.  We fly kites in his field and my son is convinced that his motor home is not for camping, but instead a way for grandpa to drive around with a freezer and all the fixings for ice cream sundaes.  Dad is a great sport about playing games with the kids, a particular favorite of the family is Old Maid.  He's a terrific story teller.  He'll also get the boys out of our hair by suddenly getting up and asking who wants to "fly" to the end of the driveway while he outstretches his arms and takes them on an imaginary plane ride. 

In three days I'm flying home to spend a long weekend with childhood girlfriends.  Dad is coming to pick me up at Duluth airport, and already planning what to cook for the two evenings I'm home and shaking off my jet lag.  Dad's been a widower for nearly 20 years now, so it was hard when I married a German and moved so far away from home.  The times we do get to see each other are really special and always packed with laughs.  This year, my real father's day comes a few days late... and I can't wait!

Paper Bag Books

I did it!  I went in and worked with the kids in the group home.  Yes, the very same ones I was contemplating the pros and cons of using carving tools.  I was completely wiped out afterwards, but more from just trying to communicate for a few hours in German than from actual fear.

The weekend before, there was a fair or "Killianis" as it's known here.  And in a really stupid and spontaneous attempt to earn these kids' affection I had a tattoo air brushed on my neck.  You'd think I'd be embarrassed to type that sentence, but at this point in my blog who even cares anymore?  Why hold back now...? 

I chose a big chinese graphic that "looked tough" although according to the carney's translation poster it supposedly meant "LOVE." 

And yes, that is a pretzel necklace I'm wearing!

The day I was scheduled to go in the tattoo was already flaking off and looking sadly fake and even more pathetic than the fresh version.  So I forced the hubby to scrub it off while wondering inside how the heck I was going to get through the morning.

Parking in this particular area is a nightmare.  One of my friends used to live in the neighborhood and she lovingly referred to is as "Scrotsville" which is apparently a derivative of "scrotum" and "village."  It cracked me up as I was trying to figure out how to get my car parallel parked backwards up a hill, as well as staggering the curb (the streets are so narrow there the signs tell you to park with two of your tires actually up onto the sidewalk so that only half of your car remains on the road).  I actually took a few deep breaths and had to remind myself that I used to live in London for cripes sake and that I should really pull myself together.

My feelings of triumph after my impossible park job evaporated as I climbed up the hill and noticed the fence next to the building had actual barbed wire.  I wasn't certain that it was the fence that belonged to the juvenile home and convinced myself it was probably just some super freaky-ass paranoid neighbors.  I mean really.  Who knows?  The world is nuts.

So I got in and had a tour.  The place is really nice.  I mean I suppose it beats the hell out of jail.  And I only lost it for a few seconds when I saw where the kids actually have to sleep at night.  I just gritted my teeth and pretended to have sand in my eye.

The art project itself went smoothly.  I had them cut up paper bags and use one side to fold into a mini journal.  (An old trick from my art homies)!  Then we painted them up using credit cards and other recycled garbage.  They were totally into it, and they didn't give me any greif let alone initiate an attempt to harvest my organs.  We're going forward with this, once a week.  I'm pretty psyched they accept me even without my bad-ass tat!  

*Note to dad: if you are reading this post, the tattoo is not real.  It was air brushed.  I know I'm pushing 40 and you would still throw me over your knee and spank me for this.  It was fun while it lasted but I promise not to get a permanent one!  Anywhere.  Ever.  Luv, tj

Creality Guest Post

I was talking to my coach about her work with her new sewing machine when I suspected she was dealing with creality. 

When I told her about this phenomenon, she invited me to write a guest post about it! 

So if you have a moment and want to see what I got up to, head on over to Quinn Creative and read the post for yourself right here!

The whole thing has me thinking about my own machine and the stories it would tell if it could talk. 

Here's a little artwork from my Kreativ Lebenslauf, a portrait of my sawdust spilling tomato pin cushion that's literally falling apart more and more each time I use it. 

Carving Tools and Delinquents: Pros and Cons

This image is from a punker I met when I first came to Germany.  His name was Toby and he explained the process of self-tattooing to me.  Apparently while incarcerated, he and his inmates melted their cafeteria trays with their lighters and then very patiently and carefully pushed the substance into cuts they made in their skin with sharpened straws. 

Well alrighty then Toby. 

I was horrified and equally fascinated.  I bought him and his wife kebabs and they agreed to let me photograph them.  A week or so later I gave them a framed photo. The girl accepted it with tears in her eyes telling me in perfect English that she never had a wedding picture.

So last night while I was out with my friend Uli we got to talking about her work with troubled kids.  My intrigue-o-meter started blinking while we discussed the possibility of a volunteer gig where I'd present an art project to her group.  The conversation went something like this:

Uli:  "You realize you'd be locked in with them?"

Me:  "NO way!  How these kids so bad can be?"

Uli: "Well they're too young for jail and they still need to be educated."

Me: "How old they are?"

Uli: "Between 11 and 14."

Me: "They be dangerous?"

Uli: "Sometimes it's dangerous."

(Pause for dramatic effect).  

Me: "Think you they can carving tools using?"

What the hell is wrong with me?  *Slaps head.*

Or then again, maybe I'm onto something.  I mean, do I go into this doing what I'm actually good at and trust that if I treat these kids with respect and let them do their thing that it will be successful?  Carving leads to printing.  And printing is what I do!

Or do I bring them balls of spun wool and expect them to weave pot holders?  (Talk about lame).  And if you think about it, you quickly come to the conclusion that they could choke me to death with a skein of yarn anyway. 

Like new parents with an active baby, suddenly danger seems eminent with every idea I conjure up.  Embossing gun = arson.  Graffiti painting = huffing aerosol fumes. (And I mean me, not the kids.  What else should I do when I'm scared shit-less and hunkered down in the corner while they laugh at my bad German and rejoice in the smell of my fear).

Uli seemed to think a sewing machine would be a huge hit.  I'm wondering how hard it would be to get the boys to sew.  She warned me that no matter what project I prepare, I'd be up against a few who won't want to cooperate because everything is "stupid" to them. 

And I'd like to mention just how incredible Uli is.  She is the kindest, gentlest creature on earth.  When the great creator in the sky was making the Germans, Uli got dipped in the goodness vat several times.  She's that wonderful.  If she can take these kids, I'll probably be OK too.  Then again, she's a trained professional.  And you just never know, maybe she's a skilled master at close quarters combat for all I know.

The whole thing had me thinking back to my friends the punkers who still greet me to this day when I see them around town. They're such smart kids just living by their own alternative rules. 

I'm sort of leaning towards my original carving idea. If for no other reason, merely for the sake of having an excellent party story.  What a great response to the old, "What do you do for a living?" question.  I can cleverly answer,  "Yeah I didn't work a lot while I was in Europe but I got this gig demonstrating art to a bunch of German delinquents in a lock-down situation and I actually brought in a box of carving knives."  That totally trumps the whole, "well I'm a blogger and I do mixed media artwork in my basement."

Let's do this thing!  But I need your help.  What other projects do you think would be appealing to a small group of juvies?  What do you think about the carving tools?  It's not like they could actually harvest one of my organs with an exacto knife can they?  Maybe just an eye...?

Thoughts?  Ideas?  Let's discuss...bring on your arty love!