Back from France! Part 1

Entry courtyard, Le Vieux Couvent (LVC), Frayssinet.

Back home from France! Too soon, too quick, too much to write about. It was an amazing trip, even if some days seemed as if there was too much food (impossible to believe, I know), too much to see (all awe-inspiring), and far too many angsty-hours waiting for my suitcase . . . Air Canada managed to misplace my luggage (with many of the required art supplies I listed in my last post) for a whole nine days. However, thanks to the emergency wardrobe my LVC hosts had on hand because "this sort of thing happens all the time," I easily survived, and with an unexpected bonus when I returned to Albuquerque:

The "secret" path from my room to the art studio.

The easiest unpacking of my life: everything went right back into my closet. No laundry!

One of the many LVC gathering areas.

Which then gave me extra time to think and write about all the quirky, unexpected, and quite wonderful things that happened. There are so many of them that I've decided to write two posts: one on my top 12 happy memories, and a second post next week about the art side of the retreat. So here goes: 

The back road to the church and convent buildings.

1. Meeting the rest of the tour group. It was such a pleasure to meet up again with people I had known from an earlier trip to Taiwan, but equally special was meeting so many new friends. Our backgrounds were as varied as the many places we came from, and I absolutely loved listening to the different voices and accompanying accents around the dining table. So much so that I often caught myself saying odd phrases like, "Bonjour, y'alls," or thanking people with "gracias" rather than "merci" whenever we were out and about. Hopefully the French thought I was just one more crazy American and didn't give any of it a second thought.

 

2. Splash Ink Lessons. As I mentioned, next week I'll be posting about the art that came out of the retreat, but before that I want to say a huge thank-you to Ming Franz for making the trip possible. It wasn't easy organizing all of our tickets, rooms, individual requests, or bringing the vast amounts of paint and paper we needed every day. Without Ming, there wouldn't have been a trip and I can't imagine any of it without her.

 

Adventures in splash ink: Thank you, Ming!

 

3. My room. I felt incredibly fortunate (and a bit guilty) to have one of the best rooms in the house. It was so nice we called it "The Princess Room." What no-one realized though is that if you're going to live like a princess, you have to walk like one. If I fell over the ledge dividing my room from the doorway once, I fell one thousand times. I simply couldn't see where the ledge ended and the floor began. Eventually I got the hang of it: there is a drop--think before you fly, and I learned to hold onto the door frame before stepping into space. Awkward but life-saving.

 

Le Ledge of Death.

 

Le Princess Bed Extraordinaire.

4. Furniture Shopping in Collonges-les-Rouges.

One of my most unforgettable days was a morning spent helping one of my travel companions shop for patio furniture in the village of Collonges-les-Rouges--far more interesting than wandering around reading historical plaques: "built in 1564 . . ." Except halfway through sales negotiations, re: shipping details and what color chair cushions to choose, I suddenly DID notice a plaque. And not just one--an entire roomful straight from Albuquerque, NM. In the front of the store every wall was plastered with metal plaques and New Mexico license plates featuring Route 66 and the joys of riding a Harley down the highway. I was speechless until I was able to tell the shop owner that I and several other members of our group were from Albuquerque, leaving him as stunned as I was. He then led us outside to show where he was cooking lunch on one of the Mexican clay stoves he sold--the type of ubiquitous clay fireplace found in almost every backyard here at home. I still feel as if I were in an episode of The Twilight Zone.

 

Everything in this village was made from red sandstone.

Except for the clay stoves from New Mexico.

 

5. Kitty Boy (or at least that's what I called him). Although there were several cats on the premises (with strict instructions they were not allowed into our rooms), I've always been a push-over for gingers. Despite the language barrier (I'm assuming the resident cats only spoke French) this chaton was happy to sit on my lap and be smothered with affection whenever possible. On our last morning I just had to know what his real name was (Pierre? Jean-Luc?) but no one could tell me because it turned out he didn't actually live there--what a little cad! He'd only been visiting for the treats and attention.

 

What's for lunch? I hope it's not foie gras AGAIN . . .

I'm ready for my close-up, Monsieur Rousseau . . .

 

6. The "school bus." Which took me forever to understand was really, really for tiny school children. I'm sure I wasn't alone in thinking when we were first told a school bus would be picking us up from the airport that a school bus meant, well, a big yellow school bus. So when I saw the small white van that was to be our ride for the rest of the trip, I didn't understand. I became even more confused when I took my seat; it was so tight. Surely I hadn't eaten that much on the plane. All I could think was, "Gosh, the French are skinny. What's wrong with them?" Finally one afternoon after sitting in my usual sideways position receiving numerous bruises to my rib cage and kneecaps I saw the yellow triangle on the windshield warning oncoming traffic of les enfants on board. The other drivers must have been astonished to watch us full-grown adults tumble out when we reached our destinations.

Skinny little road just right for our skinny little bus.

Side street in Cahors too skinny even for us.

 

7. Les Picnics. The food was exactly as you would imagine French cuisine to be: first-class. Servings and courses were numerous. Wine in abundance. Presentation, beautiful. I ate every bite, usually while promising myself I would never eat again. And then dessert would arrive and my plans would mysteriously change. But despite all the country charm of the LVC dining room, my favorite meals were the outdoor picnics under the trees and with no mosquitos--ever. (Flies, yes, but they were a pretty gold color and didn't bite.)

 

One of my favorite picnic sites: the Water Gardens, Perigord.

 

8. Chaud Chocolat on a rainy day. Our visit to the mountain-high village of Saint-Cirq Lapopie was one of the days lunch wasn't provided by LVC. It was also a day when we were told families ate out and it might be difficult to get a seat at a restaurant. None of this meant anything to me because this was the day I planned to skip lunch. Instead, I went shopping for new clothes as by now I had given up on ever seeing my suitcase again. The streets were steeper than steep and we had been warned that "if you go down, remember you have to climb up." Things worsened as it began to rain. Yet up and down the cobblestones I went, my shopping bags becoming increasingly soggy with every step until I had nowhere to go but to a cafe. By this time I was also longing for not coffee, but my preferred chaud chocolat. To my dismay, when I entered the only restaurant I could find all the tables had "reserved" signs on them. Within seconds, however, no problem--a waiter took me to the best table overlooking the best view, removed the reserved card, sat me down and insisted I stay as long as I wanted. The chocolat was steaming hot and even came with a package of biscuits. Sitting there watching the rain fall and feeling so peaceful is something I will always remember.

 

Rainy day, Saint-Cirq Lapopie.

One shop wouldn't let me leave until they demonstrated how to style my new dress three ways. Only in France.

9. Before I bought clothes though, I bought a berry bowl.

I've always wanted a berry bowl and this one with a matching plate was obviously waiting for me. Handmade in Toulouse out of glazed terra cotta, I've been using it every day--not just for berries, but cherry tomatoes, rinsing spinach or draining a serving of pasta--it's a keeper!

10. Rocamadour and the Black Madonna. Prior to leaving Albuquerque I didn't pay very much attention to what our daily itinerary would be. Part of me wanted it to be a surprise, another was too busy collecting "12 plastic spoons" etc., etc. Visiting Rocamadour and the Black Madonna was the last thing I ever thought we would be doing, so it came as a genuine gift when we went there for the day. Black Madonnas have always been important to me, with a visit to Montserrat being one of the highlights of my life. As soon as I got home from this last trip I couldn't wait to re-read the memoir written by my friend Elaine Soto, My Journey to the Black Madonna. In her book she includes a chapter describing her own visit to Rocamadour illustrated with her artwork. Reading this section again added an entirely new, and shared, dimension to my feelings about being there.

Somehow I walked from top to bottom.

The main street at last.

11. Les Milandes. Another surprise was going to Josephine Baker's home, Les Milandes. You can't go to Europe and not visit a castle and this one was definitely worth seeing, especially as it had on display a full array of costumes (the banana skirt!), photographs, and furniture. The woman in the gift shop issuing tickets was impressed with the way we said "caaa-stle" as opposed to her British-inflected "cah-stle." "We wanna see the caaa-stle!" "Oh, I do like way you say 'caaa-stle,'" she said. "It's so much more . . ." Here she paused. As I was in a hurry to get inside the caaa-stle--no dilly-dallying for me--I suggested: "Jazzier?" "Voila! That's it! It's much more jazzier! Oh, I do like that too!" Always happy to help.

Les Milandes; Josephine Baker's home.

12. The Caves at Pech Merle. Were cold and drizzly and one of the most interesting--and moving--places I have ever been to. The wall art dates back 29,000 years and from the minute I entered all I could think about was how much I miss working in clay (temporarily on hold until I have a studio again). From early childhood when I was given a book on Neanderthal and Cro-Magnum cultures for Christmas I've been hooked on clay beads, bison and woolly mammoth figurines, and especially wall paintings made on damp earth and rock. Walking underground and seeing these creations was, without exaggeration, a dream come true.

 

No photography allowed so I "borrowed" from the website.

13. And one more: Swimming lessons. The two items I most wanted from my missing suitcase were my flip-flops and my bathing suit. Every day I would pass either one of the two pools and wish I could go swimming. On the day my case finally arrived it was late and nearly time for drinks and dinner but when I saw the sun sparkling on the water, I knew if I didn't take the opportunity to swim I would regret it for the rest of my life. Within minutes I was ready to go. What I had completely forgotten, though, was that I hadn't been in a pool for close to ten years. Worse yet, this particular pool was shaped like a soup bowl with rounded walls; no stairs or railings. Regardless, I thought I could just walk in (how hard could it be?) when of course I promptly lost my footing and fell ingloriously into the deep end. At the same time I immediately realized I had forgotten how to swim. Oh, great, I thought. I get my suitcase at last and now I drown. After a few micro-seconds of near-panic instinct suddenly kicked in and I found myself floating on my back, looking into the beautiful sky and thinking how perfect the whole trip had been. Just float, I told myself. Just float. And so I did.

Next post: It's all about the art! See you soon.
 

Art Retreat in France: Packing My Supplies

 

Just a few more days and then I'm off to France! My first holiday in three years: Le Vieux Couvent and a splash ink class with my friend and art teacher, Ming Franz. Along with 15 other splash ink enthusiasts, I will be gone for two weeks, ending with a final day and night in Toulouse before our flight home.

I've wanted to take a workshop at Le Vieux Couvent ever since I first heard about it in a Domestika class during the pandemic. The course instructor posted on his website that if and when the travel restrictions were lifted, he would be teaching his next workshop there. I remember thinking about how much fun a trip like that would be and how much I wanted to go. Unfortunately, I never got there--until now when Ming told me she was teaching a class in that very spot and I couldn't wait to sign up.

And as excited as I am to finally be going to Le Vieux, there remains a certain bittersweet element to the timing. Back during Covid when I was daydreaming about painting mini-masterpieces close to Cathar country (I'm obsessed with Cathar history), my husband was still alive making great plans of his own. He thought it would be an amazing opportunity to accompany me on the trip not as an art student, but to go vintage car hunting. He had heard of a local car rental company hiring out vintage vehicles and couldn't make up his mind whether we would rent a Lamborghini or just a plain old MGB for touring the Dordogne when my workshop finished. The idea was that while we were out driving, we'd be looking for a vintage auto or motorcycle to buy and bring home for restoration. It was a wonderful plan. Except you know what they say about plans.

Obviously, things didn't work out so well. Instead of packing for two and wondering if I'd be needing a headscarf in case we ended up in a convertible, I'm doing my best to prepare for my first solo attempt at "I-can-do-it travel" without having a non-stop panic attack. To keep myself as distracted as possible, I've been concentrating on accumulating travel art supplies--both the required ones for the course and a complement of fun items for my own daily sketching.

Splash ink, or po-mo to use the correct Chinese term, requires some heavy-duty accoutrements: large sheets of mulberry paper, trays to place the paper in, jars and jars of liquid watercolor and sumi ink, and a wide variety of additional bits and pieces not that easy to travel with. Thankfully Ming will be bringing the paper and paints, but to help lighten the load we've all been asked to bring the following items for individual studio use:

• 12 plastic spoons
• 12 plastic cups
• 1 roll of Frog tape
• 1 apron
• 1 pair of rubber gloves
• plastic wrap
• 1 hake brush
• 4 watercolor brushes, flats and rounds
• 1 mixing palette 
• 1 spray bottle
  

Also required is a roll of heavy duty foil. Again, thankfully, another participant has offered to bring a roll to share with me, and I am very grateful!

So now that I have that all done, my next step is choosing the sketching supplies for my personal use outside of the class, and believe me, choosing the "right stuff" has not been easy. I have dithered and re-thought and changed my mind so many times (including the middle of the night when I jumped out of bed to add yet one more perfect pencil to the pile) I am sure one of my conclusions was to "not bring anything at all." However, I think I have finally settled on my will-not-change kit and this is it:

• A tiny tray of Daniel Smith watercolors. The set I have here began life as the DS urban "Sketcher Set" created by artist Liz Steel of only six colors, but since buying it I have added some personal favorites, including Buff Titanium and Undersea Green. 
  
• A Hannemuhle concertina watercolor sketchbook. I bought this particular sketchbook at Christmas to start a series of "Bunny in the Snow" paintings that morphed into "Bunny Goes Wild" drawings in a completely different sketchbook I won't be taking with me. (The story of my life.) The reason I chose to bring the concertina book on this trip was a) it's very lightweight, and b) I thought it would be fun to experiment with a continuous sketch that filled a single book from front to back, cover to cover, and c) it was just sitting there on the shelf, so why not? Use it or lose it.
  
• A pad of high-quality bright white drawing paper made by Peter Pauper Press. This will be for some "Bunny in France" (or any other animals I may encounter) thumbnail sketches.
  
• 3 waterbrushes: 2 flats, 1 round. Tip for traveling with waterbrushes: do not fill with water until you arrive at your destination, and keep the brush section very loosely attached to the barrel while you travel. If you tighten the sections together too strongly, the compression in the plane can lock everything up and prevent you from taking the brush apart to fill with water when you're ready to do so. Which means you will break it, like I did on a previous flight.
  
• 1 woodless pencil made in Italy that is the most expensive pencil I have ever bought in my life (and it was even at a discounted price). But it is beautiful, doesn't roll off the table, and is the best bunny drawing pencil money can buy. 
• 1 Bic #7 mechanical pencil for detail drawing.
  
• 1 thick lead sketching pencil for shading and because I bought it on a trip to the Metropolitan Museum in New York years ago it carries happy memories. (I bought a few of them in case you were wondering how one pencil could last so long.)
  
• 1 Koh-i-noor Magic pencil. These pencils are indeed magic. Several shades of color all combined into one lead, they are super fun to use whenever you want to quickly add some color to any kind of sketch.
  
• 1 gray shading flexible fiber tip pen. (Confession: I don't really like this pen, but it seemed a good opportunity to use it up and toss it before I go home. My hope is that I will actually grow to like it and discover all kinds of interesting uses for it. Maybe.)
  
• 2 #8 black Gelly pens. I love these pens in all their colors, but black seemed the most sensible for this trip. I am bringing two so that I have one for writing as well as drawing.
  
• 1 double-hole pencil sharpener so that I can sharpen both my large and regular-size pencils.
  
• 1 black eraser. I try not to use an eraser but sometimes they are a life-saver. Black erasers are my favorites.
  
• 1 glue stick. Besides being handy for pasting ticket stubs, fortune cookie wisdom, and any other strange little bits of ephemera inside my sketchbook, the ability to collage or simply paste a clean piece of paper over a failed sketch is one of life's great creative miracles.
  
•  2 binder clips to hold my sketchbook flat.
  
• 1 six-inch plastic ruler to help with my terrible sense of perspective as well as possibly helping me to draw straight lines. (Or that's the hope at any rate.)
  
• 1 zippered pouch (made from recycled soda bottles) declaring my eternal love for cats. The pouch is small but big enough to hold absolutely everything other than the sketchbook and pad.

Because I will also be writing as well as painting, I'll have this cute Moleskine cachet journal handy featuring a Van Gogh sunflower study on the cover. A friend recently brought it home from Europe for me and it's a great reminder to stay loose, stay happy, and stay creative every day! (Thank you, Sue!)

 

Tip of the Day: Seize the day. Go for it. Just do it. Yes--and all the other clichés you can think of. They're true. They're real. They're the best advice ever. So what are you waiting for? Whether it's starting your novel, buying your first sketchbook, or wanting to travel to Siberia--take the leap, because . . . if not now, when?

Freewriting on a Sunday (or Any Day You Can!)

Albuquerque Morning; watercolor crayons and indigo ink

It's Sunday morning and I'm doing my best to recreate an earlier life: walk to the museum, buy coffee, write to a prompt.

Once I sit down, the background noise holds a familiarity that is good to write to: the coffee machine hisses, children run around the lobby, people stand in line and can't make up their minds what to order: quiche or a chocolate croissant? The cafe tables, as always, are unbalanced, their legs too short on one side and the floor is tiled. The only difference between then and now is I am alone; my writer's group disbanded long ago. And that's okay--writing is a solitary activity and I've learned to be comfortable with solitude.

And just like in the past, I've got a handful of prompts: magazine photos and snippets of text. What to choose? I place everything face-down on the table and pick a few at random before turning them over and surprising myself with the myriad of possibilities. I set the time (how about forty minutes?) and I begin . . . flash fiction, essay, poetry, new chapter for a work-in-progress . . . ?

Whatever I end up writing, though, isn't half as important as the fact I showed up. I did what I set out to do. And that's the beauty of freewriting: taking the time, making the effort, and being perpetually surprised at how much I can write even when I don't really want to.

I can't say enough about freewriting. Ever since I first read (and re-read) Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones and followed her advice on the topic I've been hooked. Here's why:

1. Freewriting is good for absolutely everything: short stories; novels; memoir; screenplays; poetry, even business correspondence. You can't go wrong with a "don't think, just write" first draft.

2. Breaking freewriting sessions (or anything else for that matter) into timed segments makes me far more productive than when I force myself into hours and hours of non-stop work--which never really works. Note: If you don't like the pressure of a time frame, going for several word- or page-count sessions is equally effective; 500 words per session or 3-5 pages are doable goals.

3. I love prompts. I've written about this before, my last post for National Poetry Month being one example. Prompts save time--no more thinking about what to write--and they don't have to be snipped from magazines or other printed materials. How about choosing an item from your handbag, or writing about a person, animal, object, or piece of artwork right in the area you're sitting?

4. Freewriting gives me a great sense of daily accomplishment. My favorite quote from Dorothy Parker is: "I hate writing, I love having written." While I'd never say I hate writing (because I don't), there are, of course days, I'm not particularly motivated, or I'm too preoccupied with some kind of boring energy drain (e.g., taxes) to sit down and write. Which are the very times that I need to sit down and write. So I do--even if it's only for fifteen minutes.

5. Freewriting has given me what I can only describe as an attitude of "joyful discipline." It's something I've learned to extend into a wide variety of creative pursuits, from gesture drawing and watercolor play to making memory-wire bracelets. Working with a dedicated focus inside a set time frame really boosts my energy and desire to create, and without making me feel the time spent is some kind of horrible homework assignment.

6. I get to use supplies, supplies, supplies! Freewriting by hand is essentially about mark-making, expressing how you feel or think at any given moment in the most honest way possible. To really get those feelings out, try using: giant sketchpads, glitter gel pens, exquisite fountain pens, fancy leather-bound journals, purple ink!

 7. Freewriting gets me out of the house. Writing in cafes, the park, and of course the art museum is more than inspiring, it's fun. Conversely, if you have to go somewhere, e.g., some dull appointment where you have to wait for hours before you're seen, freewriting can make the time go more quickly and enjoyably.

Tip of the Day: No prompt? No problem! Whenever you're stuck, tired, or can't lay your hands on a single magazine, you can always fall back on Natalie Goldberg's elegant go-to: I remember. Fifteen minutes, people--no excuses--keep those pens moving!

April is Poetry Month 2025

Seeds From a Birch Tree. Gouache on black paper.

Inspired by the haiku how-to book of the same name by Clark Strand.

April is once again Poetry Month (yay, April!) and this year I'm prepared with not only a new notebook, but a list of prompts culled from my standard go-to: cutting words from old magazines and pasting them in my notebook.

I wanted to share my list with you so here we go: 30 prompts, 30 days, let the fun begin!

1. Singular vision
2. We never disagree
3. She knew her history
4. She made me think of things I hadn't thought of
5. Too many old houses
6. A mix of items
   
7. Other fascinating personalities
8. I have my daughter
9. I was looking for a . . . 
10. I don't know what . . .
11. Wisdom old and new
12. Stop and stair (sic)
13. Root and branch
14. The future of cool
15. Into a white box
16. Dares to be different
    
17. The bedroom walls
18. Seeing stars
19. Aesthetes of all orders
20. The unrivaled
21. Unlock
22. A sinuous house
23. The end of hospitality
24. It snowballed from there
    
25. Out of town
26. Stone scraps
27. Skin is a scent
28. Convert
29. Until I see . . .
30. Each room feels . . .
    

Prompts can be used in any way you like: as titles, themes, a line to be used just once, or repetitively as part of a ghazal or pantoum. One of my favorite techniques is to choose one prompt as a unifying overall title for a chapbook and then write each daily poem as part of a connected whole. 

Whatever your method, keep in mind that just as there are no right or wrong ways to use prompts, there's no "correct" way to write a poem either. Even the rules to create a sonnet or villanelle can be bent or outright broken if that's what's calling you. And don't just limit yourself to what you think "looks like" a poem on the page. Some of the best poetry I've ever read has been in the form of "prose poems," little paragraphs that look--and sound--like some of the best flash fiction you'll ever read. The whole point is to not worry about results but to sit down and . . . write. Wishing you a wonderfully word-filled month ahead!

Tip of the Day: Poetry prompts--or those used for any form of writing--don't always have to be text. Some of my favorite prompts have been visual, especially when I've used established, or famous works of art as starting points. Writing based on a painting or sculpture is known as ekphrasis. If you'd like to learn more, here are two posts from the past I wrote on the subject that I hope you'll find helpful in your April Poetry Journey: The Art of Letting Go and Ekphrasis, Anyone? Stay inspired!

My Top 7 + 1 Sketching Must-Haves for Spring '25

 

Kit Carson Park; watercolor/ink on stone paper

 

Spring is in the air and all I want to do is go outside and paint! But bringing along too many art supplies has always made me feel burdened and unfocused once I get there. 

As much as I love office and art supply stores, I've never been comfortable owning too much of anything: dozens of colored pencils, hundreds of paint tubes and brushes, shelves and shelves of jars, papers, and stuff is, to me, a nightmare. Not only do I lack the room to store those things, I don't have the mental space to hold it either--all those decisions: which pencil, what color . . .  Instead, I prefer to keep my supplies simple: a few brushes, several pencils, a small collection of watercolors, things that fit easily into my tote bag.

At the end of 2024, however, I decided it was time to treat myself to some new sketching supplies, especially as I planned to meet more frequently with Urban Sketchers. And so I bought (and now can't live without):

 1. A Sailor Fude Fountain Pen

For years I'd read various reviews about how super-fun these pens were: perfect for urban sketching and perfect for self-expression. Now that I own one, I know why everyone is so fude-crazy: they are indeed, amazing. 

Fude pens are a type of fountain pen with a bent tip originally designed for calligraphy, allowing for a thick or thin line from the same pen. As a writer I'm naturally a pen person so the fude has been a delight for both writing and drawing. My only very minor complaint is that the pen is substantially longer than most other pens and it doesn't fit in my pencil case. But who needs a pencil case? With this pen all I need is a sketchbook and brush (Sailor brand ink blends beautifully when wet) and I'm ready to go anywhere in town.

2. Acrylic Bottled Ink

 In the same way that I love pens, I love bottled ink. Although I prefer using pre-filled cartridges with my fude pen, I'm a big fan of using twigs, feathers, bamboo pens, and watercolor brushes for general ink drawing. Despite the availability of ink in every color you can think of, black, sepia, Prussian blue, and indigo are the best for me, along with gold and white for highlighting (with a twig, of course). (Note: the best thing about using twigs for sketching is they're free and you can throw them away when you're finished! Minimalism at its best.)

3. Black Stabilo Woody Pencil (Crayon? Or both?)

Is it a pencil, a pen, a crayon, or even a watercolor?? Whatever it is, it's designed for three-year-olds and that suits me fine. Beyond their versatility, what first drew my attention was how similar Woodys are to china markers. I love drawing with china markers but find them impossible to sharpen due to the outdated way they are wrapped in a coil of paper that requires a dexterity I don't have to unwrap. I've ruined so many markers while trying to remove that stupid paper I can't even count how many I've wasted. But now I have Stabilo Woodys with that same creamy, slightly waxy texture I enjoyed so much from the china markers. 

Woodys, again like china markers, aren't limited to black; there are many more colors on the market that I might investigate one day but for now black is it. Bold, expressive, and water soluble--what's not to love?

4. Stone Paper

Ink experiment on stone paper.

Wow, this stuff is weird, and it's really made from stone! I bought a sketchbook of it from the Albuquerque Museum gift store, but because it was wrapped and sealed in a plastic covering I never got a chance to actually see what it was I was buying.

When I removed the plastic cover at home was when I learned the truth: each piece of "paper" (which I later learned from YouTube IS made from crushed stone) was more like a piece of floppy vinyl than paper. The upside is that it's impossible to fold, tear, or destroy, meaning you can work and rework it without fear of it tearing. While this is certainly a plus, the same smooth, indestructible quality means it has absolutely zero control for what I wanted to use it for: watercolor. Which then turned out to be so much fun. "No control" lets the ink and/or pigment do its own thing; a constant surprise that lets me do what I like best: explore. It's also great for taking out of doors because you cannot ruin stone paper no matter how hard you try. It's even washable if you don't like your first attempts or colors.

5. Graphite Watercolors

I found these while watching yet another YouTube video. What intrigued me most was their similarity to one of my longtime favorite supplies: Derwent Graphitint pencils: water soluble graphite pencils with a muted undertone of color. 

Kuretake graphite watercolors have that same moody, semi-gothic, melancholy quality that appeals to me in Graphitints. One aspect I like is the limited palette of colors. All six work well together whether you choose to use two colors or six in the same sketch. As you can see from the photo above, I've already used them a lot!

6. Blackwing Pencils

"Half the pressure, twice the speed." Or at least that's what it says in the ads. 

I'm always on the lookout for a pencil that works alone and I think I've found it with Blackwings. Originally designed for musicians, Blackwing pencils have a long history of literary and artistic use. I particularly like the rectangular, extendable eraser. The three barrel colors I've shown here: black, white, and gray, are not the colors of the lead, but rather signify three different degrees of hard and softness. Currently, I can't decide which one I like the best, but I'll let you know when I do!

7. Escoda Synthetic Watercolor Brushes

I've wanted Escoda brushes ever since the pandemic and my first Domestika class when they were recommended by watercolor artist, Alex Hillkurtz. For a long time I delayed buying them because they were a) expensive, and b) I already had plenty of brushes.

Several weeks ago I caved and bought a set of three. Made in Barcelona, the hype is true: they are worth every penny and I have nothing more to say. The big brush is REALLY big and not exactly portable, but the smaller brush is just right for local travel. My only question: Why did I wait so long??

8. Bonus "Must-Have" Tip of the Day:

Now that my new supplies are in place, I wanted somewhere other than my apartment and neighborhood cafes to sketch, and with that in mind I recently bought memberships to Albuquerque's Natural History Museum, art museum, zoo, aquarium, and botanical gardens. The memberships help the venues and the venues help me. Whether I'm indoors or out, spending time with dinosaurs and sculpture or sharks and tourists--there's always something fresh to draw and paint, no excuses!

Happy 2025; My Year to Go Forward

© Creative Commons Zero / Dreamstime.com

 

Happy 2025! Happy-to-be-back-blogging-again! Happy just to be here at all! 

2024 wasn't exactly a stellar year for this blog; three whole posts for an entire twelve months due to lengthy eye surgery and subsequent recuperation. I couldn't see, so I couldn't write. (Or read very much, for that matter, either.)

But that didn't mean the year was lost, or solely centered on measuring out eye drops. Before I was totally out of action, I did get a lot done, including:

• Upgrading my website to now sell my jewelry and artwork.
• Completing the 100-Day Project. Some of the pieces from the project can now be purchased at my site.
  
• Going on numerous local adventures with my wonderful friends. Favorite trips were visiting Albuquerque's Turquoise Museum and afternoon tea at The St. James Tea Room.
  
• Finding some great books, the best being The Riders and Dirt Music, both by Australian author, Tim Winton.
• Discovered graphite watercolors--an amazing product I can't imagine how I ever lived without. Prior to finding them by chance on a YouTube channel, I had used water-soluble graphite pencils, but watercolors mixed with graphite in pans? Never. I'll be writing more about why I'm such a fan in my next post.
  
• Finished, edited, and polished both the final draft of my novel, Writing a Ghazal by Moonlight and my novella The Seaweed Collector. (At last. The End.)
• Created a series of illustrations for The Seaweed Collector.
• Walked (almost) every day as best I could.
  
• And finally the big one: I signed up for a 2025 art trip to France. Yes, I did. I will be staying in a former sixteenth-century convent-turned-art-retreat just outside of Toulouse for a new splash ink class taught by my friend and art teacher, Ming Franz.
  

While the trip to France might sound like the most exciting thing I have to look forward to, I do have some other equally important plans, starting with:

• Spend more time on market research and manuscript submission. Whether it's seeking out agents and editors for my yet-to-be-published manuscripts, or increasing exposure for my existing books, artwork, and jewelry, I want to up my marketing by assigning a daily time slot dedicated to business.
  
• Organize and polish my many short stories into a series of three anthologies.
• Finish my dystopian novella work-in-progress.
• Draft out and sketch two new picture book ideas: (Hint: they involve furry little animals wearing clothes.)
  
• Revive this blog and get back to a better posting schedule.
• Re-arrange and streamline my apartment to become a more functional art studio. For a long time I've been looking for an art studio to rent when it hit me: I have walls, I have space, I have good light--and far too much furniture. As soon as I return from France I'll be changing, well, everything.
  

In the same way that I like to list my past highlights and future goals, I also like to choose a word for the year, and this year the word is: Courage. And I must say, I can't think of anything scarier.

However, given that 2025 is the Year of the Snake (I HATE SNAKES!) I'm going to try my best to look 'em in the face, even pick one or two up by the tails, and hey, you never know. I might just make friends with a couple. So here I go: new year, new me, new vision. I hope you will find an equally inspiring, if not challenging, word for your own great year ahead.

Tip of the Day: Pick one thing that frightens you the most about creativity (and we all have at least one). Write it down, and then ask yourself why you're so afraid. It could be as simple as "fear of failure," or, "There's too much to learn. I'll never manage it all." Or, "Editors are so mean. Rejection makes me feel worthless."

One of the reasons I have always feared snakes is that my father was from New Zealand where there are no snakes. I was raised with terrible phobias because any kind of snake was considered a potentially deadly foe; no thought was ever given to non-venomous varieties or how helpful snakes can be maintaining their environment. 

Creativity can be just as frightening when we don't know what we're doing, or why we want to do it. This year, make a commitment to conquer that fear by learning as much as you can about whatever is calling you. You'll be surprised at how harmless it can be! 

The 100 Day Project

India ink on gouache mono-print background.

Hello! It's been a while (months!) since my last post, but I've had a good excuse: starting mid-February and finishing on Memorial Day, I went for:

#The100DayProject

Watercolor on pre-washed ink background.

100 days of super-fun, super-disciplined, and very consistent art practice which then, well, exhausted me. Because 100 days is a lot of days. But I had fun--I did!

Watercolor and ink diptych.

Anyone who has followed my blog or Twitter (X) account knows how much I enjoy themed challenges: NaNoWriMo, Inktober, even small 5-day personal project sprints, I have done them all. Usually these challenges have been built around an established goal such as writing 50K words in a month, or 31 days of ink drawing. The 100 Day Project was different in that it allowed room for participants to choose their own projects. For me this was the perfect time to work on the dozens of pre-painted backgrounds I had on the ready and stored away to finish "one day."

Something I do when I can't think of what to paint, or I don't feel particularly motivated, is to experiment with color. Whether I paint on individual sheets of watercolor paper or inside my sketchbook, I like to take bottled ink, watercolor, water-soluble graphite and/or watercolor crayons and just go for it, washing-in loose swaths of color, the looser the better. Not only is it restful to swish paint around without a goal in mind, but when the paint dries I then have a potential background for a more complete painting.

Watercolor on, um, watercolor!

The only drawback to this method is the backgrounds can easily add up to an unmanageable amount. Eventually I'm faced with the day when I have to realize: "One day" is NOW.

Mixed-media using so many things I don't remember them all.

And for the 100 Day Project, NOW brought with it much more than 100 days of using up pre-toned paper, including:

1. Just like when I first painted the backgrounds, I never really knew how I would finish each one on the different days of the challenge. I didn't know what the subject matter would be, or what colors I would use, or if the results would even be any good. In other words, I didn't have a plan other than the plan to show up every day. And that turned out to be the very best plan of all.

2. By not having a set plan I was completely open to surprise: spilled ink became rain; dark blobs became mountains; accidentally putting the wrong color on my brush became my favorite color and I couldn't imagine using anything else.

3. Having to paint something new every day forced me out of my comfort zone. To break what could have been a monotonous chore, I tried colors I tend to avoid (red in particular) or I painted on unusual paper sizes, scraps from larger pieces that then became, for instance, a series of diptychs. An added bonus was some unexpected de-cluttering, putting those scraps to good use.

4. Adhering to a daily schedule of "paint, scan, post to social media" meant I had to work to a deadline and that meant I had to let whatever happened happen. I didn't have the luxury or time to fuss, rework, or start over. I just had to accept what was on the page and look forward to tomorrow.

5. Which also meant that some days my work was really, really bad. Again, if a piece didn't work, I had to let it go. But then I noticed something strange: no matter how bad a piece was, there was always one, if not more, parts about it I liked. Which then meant: not one minute of the challenge was a waste. Every day held valuable lessons and growth.

6. Limited time left little time to think. Often the only thing I could think of painting was trees: trees on a hill, trees by themselves, trees leading into a forest of yet more trees. At the same time, though, I was worried the repetition would be boring for my viewers. A major element of the project was the injunction that you had to post and show your work in public and I worried people would soon get sick of seeing so many trees. However, I then remembered what my wonderful art teacher, the late Gary Sanchez always said: "Don't just paint a sunflower. Paint a hundred sunflowers. A thousand sunflowers! Become a sunflower expert!" I still might not be an expert, having at least 876 more trees to go to reach one thousand, but I'm on the way!

7. Expert or not, the thought of showing my work every day was scary. I soon discovered there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. The people who saw my work were so kind, supportive, complimentary, funny, and appreciative of my efforts and willingness to tackle the project that this alone made every minute worth it. I am so grateful for their encouragement as well as the many times they let me know how inspired they had become to embark upon their own creative paths. It was beyond amazing to think my little trees were actually making a difference to people. Because at the end of the day, isn't that what the arts are about: making a difference?

Water-soluble graphite, ink, and watercolor crayons.

Now that the project is over and I've sorted through my sketchbooks and papers and cleared my work space in preparation for the next challenge (!) and finally written this post, I've matted and readied a few of my favorite 100-Day pieces for sale. You can find them on my website under "Artwork." Enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Tip of the Day: The best challenges are never about the finished work. Instead, regard of them as a framework to use as a focusing tool, asking yourself:

• What would I like to learn from a challenge? A new skill; an improved skill; how to use my materials; or simply a chance meet other creatives?
  
• What can I give up in my daily schedule to make time for a challenge? What activity isn't serving me as much as taking time for my creative work could do?
• What is the one thing I've wanted to try but never have--could I do it now, or is there a later date I can set aside this year and give it my full attention?

I hope the answer to the last question is "Yes!" Happy Creating!