Last night I played with my zig .05 black pen and Derwent Watercolor pencils. I watched TV and just doodled. This morning I played with the image in Photoshop. I'm not done with it, but this is the first go-round. I find that if I try to do too much to the image, I end up in some Photoshop limbo where I can't get anything to work. This weekend I'm buying Photoshop for Dummies.
I'm a stiff and sore this morning. I tripped on the way out of work yesterday and screwed up my left arm and right knee. Second time I've tripped in this area that has pavers that have lifted and resettled over the winter. Could really have done without hitting the bad knee. Again. And without my boss and three colleagues witnessing the graceful event and running to help me. My boss reminded me that it was the second time I'd fallen in this area. Yes. I. Know. So I am justifiably grumpy this morning, but going in like the good trooper I am because we have a big meeting to attend.
But enough about behind the scenes mutterings and pity. Your Journal Slut heard from many people who said "I have loads of beautiful journals but nothing to say." Oh, tres contraire, dear readers. We ALL have something to say. But how to develop the habit of journaling? I have to tell that I am not a diarist; I don't record the minutaie of my days and cannot tell you what I had for dinner two years ago on 3/3/04. Sitting down to write the chronicles of your life will block anyone but the most verbose - I'm thinking of Anais Nin, for example.
Concentrate instead of picking out "the vivid particulars" of your life. I do not take attribution for this phrase, but alas, I cannot remember who penned it. (Let me know - someone will.) But how do you start to fill those big, blank, scary pages?
First off, I paint the backgrounds. Color them, stamp them, collage a border, and do a whole bunch at a time. Carry it around with you. Stuff in your receipts from the post office, the candy wrapper you've snarfed down when no one was around, and the ticket stub from the weekend movie that you and your significant other went to on the spur of the moment. Make a list of ten things you saw today that surprised you. Or ten things you saw today that bored you. Record the weather, the wind, the size of the buds on the trees. Recount the conversation you had with your daughter when she asked you what "gay" meant. Write a haiku about your marriage. (now that's a good one - I'm doing that tonight.) Dip into the many writing books you have, or visit a library and borrow some, and do one prompt a day.
Even your Journal Slut has the days when there's no time or energy to write, draw, paint, nada. That's when you need to pull out your flashcards. No, not the multiplication tables (tho I could use a refresher), but blank flashcards available at any large office supply store. Then take that basket of scraps you have sitting on shelf from your collages or other detritus of art projects, and just sift through them. Make some piles: pretty, ugly, cool, dorky, funky, neat. And just start collaging. I make up a bunch of these at a time, then write on the back , recording my mood, events, or anything that comes to mine. They're addictive to make because they are free form and there are no rules.
Soon you'll have this nice, chunky deck of cards. Use them as your own tarot cards, soul cards, spirit cards. I call them my Spirit of the Day Cards. Lots of people do them and they are a great way to shake yourself out of your journal doldrums. If you want, you can even paste them into your big old beautiful journal that you are afraid to ruin so you never start it.
I go through my deck and choose four at a time and read them when I am in a funk. Today the four above appealed to me. I need armour to protect my knee and I'm ready and waiting for some good fortune to come my way.
So while you are watching West Wing and wondering "how DO they learn to talk so fast?", have a playdate with yourself and feel smug that you are creating ART, journaling, and getting rid of all your art clutter in one activity.
Not my bag. No, literally, the other day I told him, that's not my bag. Someone at the party had the same bag as I did, which I was surprised at since mine was about ten years old. If I like a bag, I keep it, use it over and over, interspersed with other favorites. If I don't like the way a bag handles, then no matter how cute it is, I just won't use it. Nothing is worse to me than being out and about, lugging an uncomfortable, stiff, falling off my arm bag.
Journal bags are an art unto themselves. Selection is tricky. Too small and you can't cram everything in; too large and you'll never find the pen at the bottom. If they're flimsy, they'll rip after one or two uses, spilling my pens, pencils, and paints all over a sidewalk. Too sturdy and my shoulder and arm will be numb from lugging the weight by the time I get home.
So to meet these challenges, I have a variety of journal bags. Starting with the largest, a black, messenger bag from The Gap, this is the one I use for classes. It's capacious, filled with zippers and pockets and able to accomodate the journal, watercolor pad, brushes, heavy scissor, small scissor, PVA, Goldens gel, paints tubes, stamps, pads, ruler, watercolor palette, water bottle and snacks. It hands from the back of my chair and if perfectly packed (yeah, right!) will stand up by itself.
My everyday journal bag, the one I keep packed and hanging on the doorknob of my studio, is a red, soft vinyl bag with a fold over flap, two zip pockets, and an adjustable black shoulder strap. A large Rag and Bone journal fits in it, plus a plastic zippered clear vinyl bag that holds my Derwent watercolor pencils, Zig pens, Pitt pens, scissor, sketching pencils, tiny scissor, 6" ruler, and Coccoina glue stick.
The bag pictured above is my beach/summer journal bag. It's another Gap bag - a fabric drawstring backpack, just the size for the journal, a bunch of pens, a small watercolor travel kit, and a small bottle of water. This is the bag I fling down on the sand at Cape Cod, throw in the towel bag when we got to Jones Beach, take with me when we drive down to the pier for fried clams for supper, or throw in the back seat of the car when I drive to Maria's to sit on her porch on a summer evening.
None of them are perfect. I'm always on the hunt for the perfect journal bag, to accompany the perfect journal. After all, I am the Journal Slut. Let me know about your perfect Journal Bag.
Our sketching trip to City Island was a bust. Most of the tiny seaside village was still under wraps for winter. The rest was, unfortunately, the result of urban decay and modernization. Ugly concrete row houses and too many convenience stores. We'll go back in late spring and eat fried oysters at the tip of the pier and sketch the families sharing their seafood with the hundreds of gulls that hover above.
It was the perfect afternoon to drop in on my Mom. I don't often get to visit her at her apartment, especially without all the kids in tow. Although she moved to the apartment after my father died 13 years ago, the apartment is still like "home" because it is filled with out childhood furniture and photos, the dishes we ate from, the objets d'art we dusted every Saturday.
Mom's gotten into beading. I went home with a copy of Bead & Button featuring a beaded wire goddess. I feel a new pursuit coming on...Where are my wire pliers??