Sunday, May 31, 2009

Upcoming Events: Summer '09

I'm trying so hard to stay off the computer right now because I have a full week of grinding day job ahead of me and today is a painting day! But my focus is all over the place and I left my palette sitting there 2 weeks ago when this work came along (I couldn't afford not to take the project) and now I'm a bit lost trying to get back on track. I promise to post the images as soon as I can get them finished. For a sneak preview of works in progress see below.

So I stepped out into the backyard to soak up some of this gorgeous last day of May and found these, almost ready to pick:


And, in the vegetable garden, from the looks of it, there will be lots of jars of pickles this summer.

OK, so I just had to share. Time to get back in the studio and see if any of it makes sense.

Click on the pix to see the strawberry and the baby cuke up close.



Monday, May 18, 2009

Le Temps des Lilas


Spring has sprung, but it's still cold outside


I am tempted to compose a theme and variations on the Mr. Softee song that has been circulating around the neighborhood for the past few weeks. I played by the rules and waited to put in my tomato plants, but the weather has not been cooperating. Unseasonably cool, so I brought several branches of Miss Kim into the bedroom. The fragrance is almost too much.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Studio Sneak Preview: Works in Progress

Some of the watercolors I've been working on this Spring


Normally, I post new work to my website once a year, when I'm in between painting sessions. But now that I have this blog, I can't resist putting up some snapshots of work that's underway. As I have gotten older, I find, because of the fumes, that I can't paint in oils during the winter months when the heating system is on and the doors and windows are shut. So I began to explore watercolor as an alternative. (I can't just "not paint".) This is my second year and I feel increasingly comfortable with the medium. You have to have nerves of steel to do watercolor and it wears me out much faster than oil painting, but I'm starting to get used to its demands.

All these are 22 x 30". Some are near completion, others not so. I always work in clusters and each piece informs the rest, so I won't consider any one of them done until they all are.

Click on the images to enlarge












Friday, April 3, 2009

How to Make a Carton

for Storing and Transporting Paintings





[I decided to quit bellyaching about anomie & the state of the world and contribute something from my vast fund of experience designing things, in this case packaging. My inspiration came from the incredibly informative blogs I've been reading, among them, Joanne Mattera, Carol Diehl and Molly Stevens. ]

:::

For several decades, I struggled with the logistics of storing and transporting my paintings. I have had mixed success and occasionally have ruined a piece due to clumsiness or ignorance. I have gone nuts trying to accommodate a fruitless & exhausting round of exhibitions at non-profits, juried shows and self-promoted events. Things would get ding-ed and scratched. Curators, photographers, framers and installers (often this was me) did not always take necessary precautions. But worse, after I had stored the stuff, often improperly due to lack of space, funds or experience, I would take it out only to discover the harm done by using wrong methods and materials.

If I were a "blue-chip" artist, I would most likely turn the problem over to professional art handlers who would package everything according to the latest and best practices and store it all in a climate-controlled warehouse, for a nice fee. And I would probably be able to afford to insure my work, as well. But I am not and probably never will be, so I continue to seek better solutions that I can implement myself.

There was a time when I wrapped everything in large sheets of poly, leaned them up against a wall or partition with cardboard dividers and called it a day. This actually works quite well, but there can be problems:

• Corrugated cardboard, as useful as it is, can leave abrasions on painted, gilded and varnished surfaces. If the abrasions were random and scattered, they might have some charm and be considered the patina of age, however, there is no way to disguise the regular stripey pattern which the corrugations impart.



• Little paintings can press into the stretched area of big ones leaving marks and depressions. It is never advisable to lean anything against the stretched area of the canvas as it can be torn, or dented. Small dents may respond to judicious, localized spraying with a mist of plain water on the reverse in an attempt to retighten the spot, but it is better not to create the dent in the first place. It stresses the paint film in ways that may show up in the not-so-distant future.

• In high heat and humidity (such as we have here in New York summers), plastic may trap moisture; it can also adhere to a paint film that is still a little soft. Some oils take many months to dry completely.

• And, in the not-improbable event that you will have to take work out of the studio for photography or to show an interested party, you will be faced with a lot of cumbersome unwrapping and re-wrapping, sometimes necessitating the purchase of new plastic.

I have designed a 2-piece, lidded corrugated carton that solves these problems.

Click on the illustrations to make them larger and clearer.






This design is essentially a bottom panel with fold-up sides, which attaches to the back of the stretcher bars using two screws (or as few as possible; more may be necessary depending on size) and a snug-fitting lid with glued corners.



The depth is a function of the thickness of the canvas plus some adequate amount of airspace/stand-off (again, depending on overall size). Nothing touches the surface of the painting. It is protected by a double layer of cardboard all around its edges and the lid stands off due to the depth of the sidewalls.

Benefits of this design include:

• The painting is completely enclosed without anything touching its surface. It is easy to pick up and carry around, stack vertically or horizontally, toss into a car etc. without worrying about harm.



• Opening the carton is as simple as lifting off the lid. The sides of the bottom panel, because they are just flaps folded up, can be easily folded back for the purpose of photography, without actually dismantling the carton.



• It is lightweight and takes up only a little more space than the work itself.

• It makes a very tidy presentation when you bring it around to the gallery; it makes a very convenient package for your photographer who will be grateful not to have to handle the delicate object itself.

My paintings, these days, are generally what I consider medium-sized. They range from about 30" x 30" to 40" x 60". I use 1-1/2" thick stretcher bars. I paint, somewhat traditionally, in oil on canvas. The surface is thin and delicate, easily scratched and abraded, so careful handling is paramount. I often work in series all of the same dimension or with one common dimension, e.g. 30" x 30" and 30" x 32". However, this carton design can be made for any stretched canvas painting under 42" x 90"; it is easy to adapt.



A group of paintings with a common dimension can be stacked and/or carried more easily than one in which the edges do not line up. While I would never recommend sacrificing aesthetic imperative for the sake of logistics, working all in the same size also presents advantageous economies of scale in terms of time and materials, chief among which are: 1) you only have to design/measure the carton once, and 2) you can minimize the waste of material by bulk purchasing sheets of corrugated in the size you need, and 3) you can pre-make cartons and hold them in reserve for later.


MATERIALS

(for each carton):

• 2-sheets of clean, uncreased corrugated cardboard approximately 6" larger than the painting in each direction. (see below)

• 2 or more short, self-tapping, washer-head screws (#8 x 1/2").



The screw length will depend on the thickness of your stretchers; BE ABSOLUTELY SURE that they are not so long that they could go all the way through the stretcher. If you can't find the kind of screw shown here, you can use a plain wood screw with a separate washer. The washer provides a wide surface to prevent the screw head from tearing through the cardboard.

• Ordinary (Elmer's-type) White Glue

TOOLS

you will need:

• A tape measure

• A good, long straightedge for marking, scoring and cutting

• A T-square or triangle to create squared-up lines

• A utility knife with fresh blades

• Something to score the fold-lines, e.g. a bone folder, a screen repair roller, or even a dull butter knife.




• A 1/4" hollow steel punch (& hammer) for cutting out the corners (not absolutely necessary, but it makes a neat corner and relieves some of the bulk at the fold)



• A drill or awl to make starter holes for the screws

• Screwdriver

• Something to clamp the glued corners with; I use a book press, but a concrete block or litho stone or other square weight could do the job. You might also try C-clamps. With a book press, I can only do one corner at a time, but the pressure is so effective with white glue, that it only takes 30 seconds to get a good bond; then I shift to the next corner and work my way around in this fashion.



METHOD:


Bottom of carton
1) Measure your painting's height & width. Add 3/16" to each of these dimensions. (It helps to jot down these numbers on a small sketch). Following the schematic for the BOTTOM, mark out these dimensions on the cardboard, making sure your drawing is nice & square. Measure and mark the side flaps (they should be the thickness of your canvas plus an inch more or less).



2) If you have a punch, punch out the corners as shown before cutting out the outline. You will be removing a square of material from each of the 4 corners.



3) Using the straightedge, score the fold lines. Scoring with the grain may result in some tearing, go gently, but don't freak out. Scoring across the grain is much easier.

4) Fold up the side flaps and set the painting inside. Be sure it fits well.



5) From the backside of the carton bottom, make pilot holes and insert the screws on opposite sides of the piece. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. DO NOT penetrate the stretcher bars more than is necessary. I find that 2 screws are adequate to hold a 30" x 30" canvas. I would add more for larger work. Use your own best judgement.

Lid of Carton
6) Measure the height & width of the bottom you just made (with the sides folded up). Add 3/16" to each of these dimensions. Following the schematic for the LID, mark out these dimensions on the other sheet of cardboard. Measure and mark the side flaps (they should be the same as the side flaps for the bottom or slightly deeper).




7) If you have a punch, punch out the corners as shown before cutting out the outline. You will be removing a thin strip of material from each of the 4 corners (see schematic).



8) Using the straightedge, score the fold lines.

9) Fold up the side flaps, and fold over the corner glue flaps. Glue each corner and clamp it until the glue has set. Let it dry to assure a good bond. The lid should fit snugly over the bottom.



If you are having trouble with this design, the problem is either in the measuring or you've got the thing out of square. Aim for accuracy. You may have to tweak things a bit to get the fit you want, as I did when I was developing it. But I hope you will get satisfactory results after one or two tries.

This carton was designed primarily for storage and for personally transporting work. I would not trust it as a shipping carton on any of the usual common carriers without providing a doublewall outer carton (yet another project).


Return to materials list

A few words about corrugated cardboard. Seemingly ubiquitous, this stuff is notoriously hard to get a hold of when you need it. We are not talking about raiding the liquor store recycle on moving day, or scouring the neighborhood for discarded refrigerator cartons. Purchasing large sheets (full size is 4' x 8', smaller stock cuts are available) isn't as easy as it seems.

Corrugated is remarkable material comprising a fluted inner "medium"—which is just a layer of paper specially scrunched up on a corrugator—to which are glued an outer and an inner "liner". It is shock-absorbent, strong, insulating, and myriad other beneficial properties. It is most often seen in plain brown kraft. Often the outer liner is of a slightly higher "basis weight" providing a tougher outer surface which, not only adds strength to the skin, but also, masks the stripey ridges of the fluted medium, giving a smoother surface for printing (I sometimes place the "out" side of the pad against sensitive materials to lessen the risk of abrasion.) The paper used in making ordinary corrugated is NOT acid-free, but for this application that is hardly necessary. Archival packaging materials are quite costly and are especially important when dealing with works on paper, but that is also a topic for another post.

Most corrugated cardboard is manufactured for a specific wholesale customer's order, although there are many retailers of packaging materials (e.g. Uline) who provide a limited assortment of plain sheets (or pads, as they are often called).

There are several standard thicknesses of board. The thickness is partly a function of the spacing of the flutes.



Above is a comparison chart with a rough approximation (the idea for this chart originally came from an excellent packaging design manual, which name I have long forgotten; if anyone recognizes it, please let me know. I'd love to get another copy. ) For a thorough but concise description of the various weights and thicknesses, go here. As an example, E-flute and F-flute (not shown) are very thin & fine (think cosmetic packaging), C-flute is pretty standard for general purpose cartons. B & C can be laminated into a "doublewall" for extra strength shipping cartons for heavy or fragile items.

As a "general public" retail consumer, you will not have a lot of choice about the materials offered. But it is good to be aware that corrugated cardboard is rated by two different standards: ECT (Edge Crush Test, usually a 2-digit number, like 32) and Burst Strength (usually a 3-digit number, like 275#) representing pounds of pressure.




Here is an unusually well-written and intelligent discussion about the differences. Most likely, you will be buying off-the-shelf, single-weight 200# C-flute. Heavier weights and thicknesses are available, if you look, but a custom specification requires an enormous minimum order, well beyond the means of the average solo artist.

Your biggest cost may, in fact, be the shipping. So buy local, if you can. A pick-up truck is a big help here. Small sheets are UPS-able; check the charts. Large sheets have to go by truck. The shipping costs may have to be ferreted out of the supplier; they vary by carrier. The freight companies do not like to ship to residential addresses, so if you have connections with a facility that has a loading dock and some storage space, try to arrange to have it shipped there (think: school, small local factory where you know somebody, industrial building next door). A single large sheet is quite fragile, but if you buy in bundles (as it is usually offered) the bulk protects the individual sheets. Get together with other artists and place a big order if you want to save money. When it gets delivered, don't freak out if the corners are mushed. Just be sure you buy sheets big enough to cut off the bad edges. However, you will need space to store this stuff. Flat is best but, if it is snugly strapped together, you can store it vertically. Basements are not good unless you have the dampness factor under control (at the very least, raise the sheets up on a pallet or some crosswise 2x4s.) And another thing: do the math and figure out exactly how much space it will occupy. For example, C-flute measures 3/16" thickness, so if you buy 25 sheets, you're talking (.1875 x 25 =) a little over 4-1/2". If these sheets are 48" x 96", you're going to need a chunk of space. If you already have a shop where you store sheet stock, great. You can lean it up with the plywood and it will stay unbent.


There used to be a place on 6th Ave around 22nd Street called Wolf Paper & Twine. They had a great assortment of packaging supplies right out on the street, the loading dock was always open and you could just walk in there and walk out with just about anything. It was possible to buy a single sheet if that's all you wanted, and, it being Manhattan, you could walk the thing home. This sort of neighborhood business is really a thing of the past. If anyone knows a supplier like that, please share. I sometimes order from Cornell Box in Brooklyn. There are converters (companies which manufacture cartons) in Newark who will sometimes let me have a few sheets for prototyping, if they think it will result in a big box order. It’s never a good idea to harass your suppliers for favors without offering something in return. But, I am no longer in the business of package design, so my contacts have fallen away. I have to buy my supplies from the retailers just like everybody else.

This carton design is the result of years of trial & error. It works really well for me as I hope it will for you. I like that is simple, elegant and minimal and allows for easy access to the work. Please let me know if my instructions are unclear or if you need further information.

Friday, March 6, 2009

String Too Short To Be Saved—The Great Depression



What's so great about it?

:::

There was, in the basement of my grandmother's house, gathering dust on a dark shelf with other small receptacles containing collections of bits and bobs, a little box labelled "String Too Short To Be Saved", carefully printed out in the firm and elegant capital letters of my aunt's hand (she was an artist, and the house became hers as she never married and then took care of my grandmother in her old age).

We found the box after my aunt's death whilst emptying the house so that it could be sold. "String Too Short To Be Saved" had been humorously applied to the domestic character of my great aunt, Tante Mox (Marguerite Orban de Xivry). I had always believed the phrase to be private family language, an invention of my grandmother, until I started to run across it in old Depression-era magazines. My family had managed to isolate itself from mainstream America; I grew up on a dirt road far from the reach of whatever was going on in the rest of the world; this had something to do with my parents' lofty principles. We walked half a mile to our mailbox. We did not watch television or read comic books. Once a week, we went to town with my Dad who gave us a dime apiece so we could buy penny candy. Eventually, there were ten children, of whom I was the second. My family professed strenuously to eschew the popular culture. My grandmother was an immigrant who had taken a very large step down the social ladder in moving to this country. I grew up snobbishly deprived and feeling exclusively entitled to my narrow point of view and limited experience. It was a lightbulb moment for me when I realized that we belonged to something larger than our own little institution.

So are we ready to start hoarding useless stuff again? I am not an optimist, never have been. Some of this is hard-wired, the result of genetic and cultural mishap: my father being autistic and my mother bi-polar (this is not hyperbole). They grew up in NYC during the Great Depression and preached the Gospel of Hard Times according to The Catholic Worker. My tendency is to predict the direst consequence for any forward motion in my experience: the world is always on the brink of final catastrophic dissolution. My husband is of an entirely different mind (as he is in all things, sort of a knee-jerk contrarian). For better and for worse, we have stuck it out in this weird unbalance for over 30 years now. His view is: we (personally) have survived (that is, lived through and came out the other end of) two of the Four Bad Bear Markets since 1900. Of course, we weren't around for the "Big One" which is being invoked daily in the newspapers now. No, folks, it's not the "R" word anymore, it's the Big Bad "D" word. And according to the infographics (read: charts) he's looking at, what we're in now is equivalent to, not worse than, these last two in 1973 & 2000, at least for now. Time will tell. He thinks we'll pull out (in our lifetimes, I ask?) But my arrogant isolationism doesn't allow me to accept the mainstream anxiety either. I'm not adopting his point of view because I understand or believe in it. I simply cannot let myself spin out into panic.

I think perhaps the opportunity is presenting itself to shake out old dependencies and reliances. The world order is changing rapidly. The future belongs to the kids, of whom I have none. So my commitment is tenuous. Not sure where all this will lead. Does anyone? Did anyone ever? Here is a quotation from Il Gattopardo, (The Leopard) by Lampedusa:
"We're not blind...we're just human. We live in a changing reality to which we try to adapt ourselves like seaweed bending under the pressure of water.... We may worry about our children and perhaps our grandchilddren; but beyond what we can hope to stroke with these hands of ours we have no obligations."
And then
"As always, the thought of his own death calmed him as much as that of others disturbed him; was it perhaps because, when all was said and done, his own death would in the first place mean that of the whole world?"


:::
"Jeder mensch steht unter seiner Himmelskugel"—Robert Musil

:::

What a time we live in! More musings on mid-life crisis. The interview I did recently asked what mid-life meant to me and I had to say that it's the time (whatever your age) when you know you have less time left than you have already lived and you start counting up how much living you have to squeeze into that time. That is, if you have the strength (which you don't—because getting old is about loss). The biggest task is accepting and accommodating. Words, just words, but I have the same gripe with words that I have with my pictures. They are so easy to ignore, to take at face value and treat as a fait accompli when in fact they sometimes represent the most strenuous process. Of course, now I am treading in dangerous territory: the meaning of art.

:::

"I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art, And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita."—Vladimir Nabokov.

And to think that there are people out there who actually believe this is a book about child pornography.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Philadelphia Flower Show





CLICK TO ENLARGE! These are big images with lots of detail
:::

Monday March 2, I started my day shoveling the sidewalk at 6AM. The snow was steady and promised to keep up all day to the tune of 12-18". I had made plans to meet with a small cohort of gardening friends at Penn Station to take the train down to Philadelphia for the Flower Show.



Despite delays, we got to the Reading Terminal Market in time for an early lunch (my annual dose of Philly Cheese Steak) before crossing the street to the Convention Center.

As always, we were greeted by the most hardworking clichés



and over-the-top showmanship. Yikes!



It takes a short stroll over to the competition area for the exquisite, but less effusive, individual offerings of devoted perfectionists



to ease my annoyance at the crass bombast playing out in the commercial area.



This year's theme was Italia and as always, displays ranged from the sublime



to the ridiculous



The light level is typically so low (read: "dramatic")



that photography is a challenge and there is a kind of malevolent feel about the place.



It's when struggling with all this drama and the limitations of my camera that I am made aware of the sordid backdrop of the whole enterprise.



The Flower Show is a completely artificial, temporary & ephemeral environment that requires monumental coordination and enormous effort to pull off in a space better suited to showing cars and electronic equipment. Tons of dirt are hauled into the joint only to be hauled out again at the end of the week. Horticulturists like to call it soil—same difference to me—go figure, if it makes them feel good not to call it dirt, you don't see much of it in any of the exhibits anyway.



We saw the plants on Monday, so they were still quite fresh. But it must be a daunting task to keep these displays properly humidified and perfectly un-wilted.




That the show was also relatively uncrowded (most likely due to the inclement weather) was a pleasant bonus. Students from a local vocal academy were there to perform arias from Italian opera on a raised stage set that looked like the balconies of an Italian villa. Never mind that Doretta's aria from La Rondine was sung in medieval dress. Frank Sinatra recordings crooned in the background from another booth.

A somewhat overwrought, but nonetheless inventive display had yellow tulips and daffodils (cut flowers) sitting in clear plastic water bottles (hundreds of them), lit from below with a cool white light and trelllised in some sort of wierd polypropylene tuteur. An industrial designer's dream. Not unpleasant; there was just a bit too much of it.



Fashion was represented in the form of shoes [not shown here, kind of yucky] and hats, which I found sort of charming.



The ikebana were stunning if garish.



:::

As always, there were many little treats amongst the sheer profusion of botanica on parade. Some of my favorites:

This little Sempervivum. The color was just as you see it. A "must-have" on my new wishlist.



An azalea which name I did not get, but it is a ringer for the one I painted in 1992. This one was growing as a standard, a giant lollipop of pink & white with red freckles.




This variegated begonia in a terrarium looked positively extraterrestrial.



Lilies. The scent was divine.




Lots of Clivia in every shade from pale yellow through deepest orange, some with beautifully variegated foliage. I couldn't get enough of them, and for some reason, they were very easy to photograph.



This Hammamelis caught my eye. I didn't get the variety name.




This bromeliad was part of a psychedelic-looking display featuring colored lights. A bit much, but the forms were beautiful.



And finally, a begonia that looked alarmingly like some wallpaper that was in a house we once moved into, and that we peeled off immediately in favor of a plain white wall. Amazing what context can do.



And then...I moved on to the "marketplace" portion of the show. This is where all my best intentions come to naught. I am, these days, completely unemployed, except for my studio work which hasn't earned me anything since last May. So it goes without saying that I couldn't afford to buy anything. But, when I stumbled into the booth with the little minature pots of exotic tropicals, I knew I was in trouble. Well, the prospect of a long trek back up the (by now) dark North East Corridor by train in a miserable snow storm brought me to my senses before much harm was done. And this sunny (but cold) morning I am delighting in the delicate details of: a variegated baby Jade (Portulacaria), Nemntanthus, variegated Trachelospermum jasminoides, South African squill, Singapore Holly (Malpighia coccigera), Comprosma kirkii, a pink Serissa, and a white rabbit's foot fern (Humata tyermaniii). But all that's for another post