Behind the scenes, I'm working on a Monday deadline for the new book. Not the BIG deadline — my draft manuscript and final photos aren't due until April — but just one of the many little deadlines that keep you staying the course. I'll tell you about the book next week, when I can get my mind around the big picture better; right now it's drawings and draft photos and fourteen stitches per inch combined with all the small details that you try — oh how you try! — to get right the first time, so that when the technical editor goes to do her part (and so far, in my life, it's always a her), you feel like you've given her the best that you have, so that her effort isn't wasted, energy sent off to that weird limbo-like place where we'll fix that later. . . .
There are a lot of drawings in this new book, which has meant that for most of my snowbound December I was happily ensconced under my full-spectrum lightbulb, merrily tracing templates and coloring them by hand, using new colored pencils (that supposedly don't "shed" dust all over the place, and I would say that's been true — I love them) and my faithful Berol Prismacolor markers. For so many years, I looked at those markers with intimidation. My father was a commercial artist; he worked from home and had a big set of markers that we were warned never to touch. I know why now — they're hella expensive, and very, very saturated: No Crayola washable markers, these ones. I rarely asked my dad to buy things for me, but I remember going to the art-supply store, it must have been in Maywood, off of First Avenue near the DesPlaines River, an unlikely place, its seems to me now, tucked on the side of the woods like that, but that was probably why he liked that one. I picked out some art supplies and he bought them for me. I don't know what they were; I would've been in high school, and able to buy my own, so this was an unusual gift, but he loved to give gifts. It was winter in Chicago, I remember, late one snowy, pewter-gray Friday afternoon, and we went there together in his big truck, and drove home a different way than usual, northwest instead of southeast, back to the house. I didn't get my own fancy markers until several years ago. Andy bought them for me as a birthday present, maybe five years ago, and they sat, mostly unused, until now, when I've used them so much I can almost recite the names of their many colors by heart. Poppy Red. Goldenrod. Scarlet Lake. Lime Green, which is, strangely, a pale olive-y gray.
It's funny, the things you remember. It was nothing, really, when so much else of importance is gone. Writing this reminds me of the day I did the drawings for Stitched in Time, just a couple of weeks after Audrey died, remembering that raw and jagged ache, the Durer rabbit, the incredible stillness of the house, that glass of orange juice. It feels so good to draw things, somehow. I can't really explain it. It just feels so good, watching that beautiful color hit the page.
I know...sometimes I just really enjoy spending time with the little ones, coloring in their books, although now, its harder to color with those big fat color crayons.
the thought of you and your dad dampened my lashes alicia. it is odd what memories we hold. you must have felt his love that day. somewhere in a drawer are my drawing tools. they haven't been touched in many years...leftovers from art college. i just feel like getting them out and looking at them....xo
I love the phrase "watching that beautiful color hit the page." So true. Thanks for sharing this memory.
I'd love to be able to draw, no matter how hard I try it seems my brain or hands just don't work that way. I was the only person in the history of my school to have ever failed art exams every single year!
Such a beautifully told story...and such a gorgeous description. It really is the simple, meaningful things that we remember, a tender moment, a different route home, a store chosen for its location....
You are remembering and thanks for sharing with us!
Do you mind giving a little more information on the colored pencils? I'm really curious about trying them.
I am like you, the drawing, the act of creating has a wonderful calming affect. Enjoy! Can't wait to see the final results!
No way, Alicia - I have a mini book deadline on Monday, too! I, also, am spending the day drawing. I just got Stitched in Time and am totally smitten. As soon as I have a free minute I'm planning on making the memory game project! Can't wait for book 2!
You make me long to dig my own art supplies out. I started out college as an art major, and over the next two years, gained a collection of a myriad of supplies, ranging from bottom of the line this-is-all-I-can-afford to some really nice watercolors, pens and other things. I loved on to other things in my life, but the really nice art supplies stay in my possession. In some ways I miss the way all the quiet moments in my life got filled up with doing art. But at the same time, I was quite lonely then. I haven't yet re-integrated art into my now busy, happy and social life. Perhaps when my children are more grown. Thanks for sharing your story!
It all sounds wonderful- the new book, the art supplies. I love to draw. I wouldn't say I was very good at it but with art that's all subjective, right?
Have a great weekend.
What a wonderful memory of your Dad wrapped up in exciting newness. I love how life does that for us, makes everything one joyful, happy, sad, and colorful experience.
This is a lovely post. I, too, love Prismacolor markers and look forward to seeing your new drawings.
Mmm... colour.
Can't wait for the next book! Your dad sounds like a great guy. I'm sure he'd be very proud of you and your work.
It's a bitterly cold winter day in Chicago right now!
Thanks for sharing your memories about the markers and of working on your first book. Great imagery of drawing with those fabulous markers for the next book!
I, too, have many memories of drawing with my grandmother, who is a very accomplished artist. And drawing is so cathartic for me. If I'm having a rough day at work, I'll sketch on my lunch hour.
Excited to hear about the new book! I love Stitched in Time - even though I'm a terrible seamstress!
I bought myself "Stitched In Time," for my birthday and I have been relishing every page, every stitch. Your gift for making your blog, and your book like a warm and hospitable home is magnificent. You share concepts and nearly tangible elements that are at once refreshing and familiar.
And now you are making a new book. What wonderful news. I will be so happy to learn more, and then to finally read it too.
Your book is for me like your pens are for you, something I should bring out and enjoy often.
Coloring is very therapeutic. I like to get geometric design coloring books to color. I have actually found some online sites that provide free optical illusions and geometric patterns to color.
I am glad that it feels, once again, good.
Short sentence for so much.
i think it is
~*wonderful*~
to be a grown ~up
and still be coloring...
:-)
i love it.
and to be Paid
to do it!
my, my, my..............
oh.. I just posted about this over on the Year of Color blog.. my dad too was an artist and had a full set of markers all lined up like soldiers .. rank and file in these great marker stands. 100's of them and I was NEVER to touch them.. Even the smell of those markers can take me back to that time and place!.. I totally get what you mean. and I just realised that i left those marker stands at my father's home when he died this past Summer.. i shall go write to my sister and see if they are still in his studio.. Thank you!
Maddie @ www.domesticanarchy.blogspot.com
Oh my I know exactly where you mean, I grew up in Maywood off of First Ave ( on 3rd!)and know the store by the river. My brother went to art school downtown but lived in Oak Park so he sometimes stopped there for supplies. I must have been with him once because I have such a strong sense of place from your description. Looking forward to the new book...and gosh I need to get my SASE off to you for a bookplate!
i am a fine artist.
it is what i do as my career.
i work with color pencil (and occasionally graphite) in a photo-realistic-style.
i know what you mean.
i understand how you feel.
i am a child with a new sketchbook and fresh pencils every day.
it is love.
ya. i get it. :)
What a beautiful memory of you and your dad. And I love the pictures of your pencil cups.
I share the love of
art supplies with you
nothing else has
so much wonder
or promise
for the creation
of something
beautiful
I love the way you write. This is such a wonderful post.
Thank you, as always, for sharing.