Recircled Christmas

I have STACKS and stacks of paper left over from other projects, stolen from airplanes, gifted from old ladies' attics, found roadside, etc. These stacks, which will absolutely kill me, are also where I turn when I need to make cards. Thank YOU, circle template.










This is paper leftover from a coaster consignment for Little Amps Coffee Roasters. The original paper had come from a euro-bin in Florence. Because I'm really, really fancy.
























Once, i found maps. I have no idea where. But they are a strange blend of French and German, and I have used them for a thousand different projects and will cry like a child when I come to the end of them.

Misdirection

I taught a cardboard workshop to wonderful, imaginative people in Ms. McClymont's seventh grade art class on Friday. Check out these portraits of Woody Allen. Maybe I'll try to send them to old Woody. (Probably not.)























Woody Allen drawing lesson: by Liz















by Bethany, 7th grade















by Eli, age 5.























by John, 7th grade



























by Ryan, 7th grade





























by Macy, 7th grade

Poem for a Wednesday.

In that land there's a winter (The Tallest Man on Earth)

(There's also this song you should hear.)

The Verisimilitude show

Verisimilitude
(n) (or truthlikeness) is the quality of realism in something.

Midtown Cinema is celebrating its 10-year anniversary this month, and the kind folks in charge asked me to create a series of film director portraits.

So I did.

















I just like going into strange worlds
(or, David Lynch)

All things go, all things go (Sufjan Stevens)

Some things:

1. Chicago means "wild onion" in a Native American language. It comes from "shikaakwa". Yes, it does.
2. Ashleigh Hill is one of the smartest friends I have, and I am always interested to hear what she has to say.
3. Ashleigh participated in this little project we have, and I am always grateful to see that people have done that. Feel free.


Text: Farmer Boy, Laura Ingalls Wilder

The Only People For Me Are the Mad Ones (Jack Kerouac)

A favorite former professor of mine, with the grace to ignore the fact that I went to class about half the time, commissioned a portrait of Jack Kerouac for his son, Colin. When someone smarter than you commissions your work, it's enough to make you weep with terror and gratitude.

I made this portrait in the Dickinson College library after having taught a workshop on recycled art (on a side note, you should know that Dickinson is exploring some elegant solutions to old problems and employing wicked smart people to do it). I fished the cardboard out of the mail room trash and borrowed some scissors from the lady selling coffee in the corner. Thanks, guys.

The text is ripped from Dharma Bums, Colin's favorite Kerouac piece (on a side note, you should know that Colin used to be a student of mine. He's 17 now, happy birthday, and he's becoming one of my favorite writers.)