The post arrived last week with a bit of supplies for me to work up. I will mix my latest paint palette for Fall 2018 and perfect the hard edges before I apply it to a doll. More and more I find that when I receive something from the post it is an extravagant opening party. The kids gather around to see if it's toys or candy, but when they see it's not they still watch me open the parcel. Now granted, they both love to watch the videos on YouTube where adults open little eggs to reveal candy and gumball machine toys! It's all such a surprise!
A few weeks ago I received a package from France. I have a friend there who looks for bits and bobs for me to use in my work. So, she packed it up and send it on to America. She had found some old black lace and wrapped it in individual pieces of tissue paper. As we sat and opened each piece, my daughter and I dreamed a dream of what had been. What was the lady like who had this piece of lace stitched in her garment? What tales could it tell? It joys me to show the kids things from the past, our home is a virtual reliquarium. I feel like by using aged pieces in my work, I am saving the memory that is housed in the fabric. Almost like, the fabric holds a history and I honor it by making something anew. There are some pieces that I've had for 20 years or more and I've done nothing with it but keep it. Keep it's memory or possibly it's story intact. I can almost feel it's history in my hands. Some of my collection will never be used. It will just be kept.
I've been moving ahead with my owl boy. He has a name now. I've been calling him Opal, Opie for short. He is now winged and by the end of the week I hope to have him clothed. Baby steps!
I hope your week is lovely,
When I was small, l I would go golf ball hunting with my stepfather. We would park the car and get our bags, heading into the wooded woods next to the golf course. Golf ball hunting was such a gloriously fun task. It was like hunting for Easter eggs but more rouge. Many times, I would find golf balls that were hit into the woods and place them gingerly into my little grocery sack and later realize that I snagged the bag on a stick and put a hole in it, losing the bounty of my foraging along the way! Not many words were spoken on these little quests, the woods spoke in windy whispers and the ground chimed back in decay.
On this particular occasion it was the beginning of Fall and I was seven and a half years old. We were in the woods early as it is illegal to golf ball hunt in the woods next to the golf course. I was like a baby crow, enamored by fungus and shiny things, while every once in awhile spotting a golf ball and collecting it in my bag. All of sudden my stepfather spoke in a quiet and low tone, “don’t move” he said, I was immediately frightened. He was looking up into the low branches of a tree and now, so was I. We both set our gaze on this huge thing. It could have been a bird or a person, I was not sure. The only thing I was sure of was that I was looking at it’s back and then it’s head turned and I saw the owly face. My stepfather told me to walk slowly back to the car and under no circumstances was I to run. I took another few looks at the giant owl in the tree and walked steadily back to the car. My stepfather following closely behind.
When we were both safely in the car, I asked him what it was. He said it was the largest owl he’d ever seen in his life and I told him that I thought it was the size of a man or a boy. We agreed that it was more the size of a boy and rode toward home in quiet. In my seven-year-old mind I concocted an anthropomorphic owl child that flew though the woods frightening golf ball hunters…. From that day on there was Bigfoot, Yeti, Loch ness monster, the water rat (which I later discovered was my aunt in a brown blanket) and Owl boy.
In the weeks that followed we didn’t talk about it, but it was in the recesses of my mind. My stepfather had his friends over to play poker one evening and my mother tucked me into bed but I always listed to their banter before I drifted off. On this night the conversation centered upon the owl. He told them about seeing the monster bird in the wood and his fear that it could, if it wanted, swoop down and steal me away. They all had indulged a bit and were a little tipsy but one of the men said, "Bill, how big do you think the owl was?” “Oh, an easy 4ft tall” he replied. My smile widened a little more because I too was 4 ft. tall. The owl boy was my same height which made me feel akin to him in some way.
Now, it could be said that my stepfather only took me with him because if we were caught hunting golf balls illegally, he would probably be let go if he had a child along with him. Possibly the owl was not 4ft. tall, but he was huge and lastly, he could have been all owl and not part boy, but he will live in my imagination till the day I die as owl boy.
Now, fast forward to 2017. I was looking at the work of American painter Lori Nelson. She has a cryptotween series that touched my heart and as I became drawn in, there he was... Owl boy on the subway. I immediately was transported back to my seven-year-old self and the magic I felt to have conjured my own Owl Boy. My own mysterious bridge between the mythical and the woods.
I began sculpting with a feverish impetus. I had him in my mind again and now and as doll maker, I would create him. I had a need to deliver him from my imagination into my magical world. As I sculpted, I took liberties with him. The original Owl Boy from my memory had gained an anthropomorphism about him. He didn’t wear clothing last time I saw him and he wasn’t foraging for mushrooms, but he was real and he was my bridge to magic.
** My owl boy is 19 inches tall. He has been sewn using vintage and found fabrics. I used my sewing machine and hand stitching to accomplish his look. He is hand sculpted using papier mache and hand mixed clay. I've mixed my paint by hand, like I always do, concocting magical recipes for each doll. I call him Opal, Opie for short and he will make his debut at Bewitching Peddlers of Halloween fine art show in Marshall, Michigan this Fall.
Since way before Christmastime I've been working on a new collection of unearthed little beings. They are more real than they are clay. More alive than anything I've ever created. I've taken a journey deep into myself and taken stock of what's important to me and I have decided to stay here. Here is good.
The whole month of January has been a exercise in patience, mostly with my own process. I feel like with each new piece I relearn my process, but really after reflection I see that I am evolving, not relearning.
The art of making magic is a serious one.
love to you
This is "Barbie Boy" it is a very special work of art created by artist Mab Graves for a special Mattel show at Gallery1988: in LA in 2017. Mab painted this piece in hopes of breaking down social boundaries and gender roles in our society. It's hard for a little boy in our society to truly love what they love and not face ridicule. To me the entire idea of boy toys and girl toys is archaic. Ask my mom, I played with transformers, Mutant ninja turtles and I still have a healthy collection of Muscle Men. Toys are toys.
But, other kids......
My son is 9 and right on the edge, holding softly to his youth and beginning to care what the other kids say. This is the age when it all goes down. The peer judgement, the pressure to be toxic masculine, the judgement when he cries his heart out because his feelings are hurt ... He's feeling it all. I am the type of mom that truly lets him decide on a toy based on what resonates with him. I have taught him for 9 years that a toy choice is simply what you are drawn to at that moment. It doesn't matter though, because at his age, what his peers say holds more weight that mom words.
Mab decided to host a "Mab's Barbie boys" contest on Instagram for a chance at winning one of her prints. Her contest touched my little family in a big way. We deiced to participate and my son gathered his toys and I observed as he did so. He would touch the Barbies and Blythe and he actually verbalized how much he like the colors, but quietly sat them down and told me they were girl toys. We had a very heart felt conversation about when I was little and what I played with. I asked him if it was ok for me to play with those toys and he said yes....I asked him why it's not ok for him to play with dolls. He replied, other boys aren't like us mom. They pick on me if I like dolls. Oh my god! My eyes welled up with serious tears. I've tried so hard to raise a boy who is comfortable in his sensitivity but he's right on the prickly edges.
So, we sat together and looked at all of the entries. All of the boys and grown guys with the things that bring them joy, and in that moment he understood why Mab painted this painting. He said with a big simile, Mab does the hard work with her art. I said she sure does... So as he moves from boyhood to the next stage, he will do it with the knowledge of artists like Mab who push back against social boundaries.
If you go to Instagram and type #MabsBarbieBoy you will see some heartfelt love.
The days are so busy with my hands in the paint and knee deep, doing the work for Prim Pumpkin. This is a sweet Pumpkin called Wilder. Wilder is a special pumpkin, created slowly in my signature Prim Pumpkin blue. My entire process, these days, is slow. From the hand mixing and stirring of my paints (I finally started labeling them, so remixing won't be as painful) to the hand working of my clay and papier mache, it's a process that I am proud of. A process that I've worked on for nine years now.
Wilder is whimsy; complete and utter love. She sparkles without an ounce of glitter. She is dressed in a fragment of a lovely and vibrant silk dress that I found at an estate sale. The dress had a story, as most dresses do that have been saved for over 60 years. It was a strapped, empire waist piece that I gravitated to instantly. It was almost as if the energy of the dress pulled me over. I do believe that a garment can hold residual energy... magic sparkles of what once was. This dress was hanging with a few others, all exotic and bright. I asked about them and the daughter of the home owner told me that they had belonged to her Auntie. She told me that in the 40's her mother had fallen ill and her Auntie who was an art assistant, rode a train from California to Michigan to help take care of her sister's children. Her Auntie was wilder than any woman she had known. She smoked and indulged in a drink from time to time. She also danced while in California to pay her part of rent as she lived with three other girls. The woman smiled as she pulled memories of her Auntie to the surface of her mind. She saw me standing there in front of her asking about her Aunties wild dresses and she gave a chuckle. I told her that I am a doll maker and I took out my phone pulled up photos of my work. She had never seen anything like my dolls and they resonated with her. I lovingly bought her Aunties dresses and promised to tell about her as her memory was now a part of my story.
In love and art... Jennie
I've been busy in the studio.. see what came to life? All of these pieces will be available at Bewitching Peddlers of Halloween. www.BewitchingPeddlersofHalloween.com
I like things that look magical. Magical looks different to everyone, but to me, speckled eggs have a quality about them that make me happy.
Years ago. I wanted an art doll by ball jointed doll artist, Nefer Kane. She had made a humpty dumpty doll with an egg shaped head! I was smitten, so after a big art show I treated myself to one of her works. Fast forward to this year... my vacuum cleaner cord became entangled in a display in my studio and my precious humpty dumpty doll had a great fall. The painting on her face became damaged and I was sick about it. Nefer offered to repaint her for me, but life got fast and I never shipped her back to France. I became obsessed with learning the process of painting on resin.
And then and idea began to form. It hatched one day and I was so excited to move forward with my doll. I decided I would paint her like a Mockingbird egg. Soft lovely blue with speckles thrown about like confetti at a child birthday party.
I finished her last night and I wanted to show you my Mockingbird. The doll who came to life for me as I touched my brush to her skin.
Artists are seekers at the very heart. We seek inspiration; some little morsel that serves as creative fuel for taking that which resides in our mind and translating it into something tangible that the world can see. 2017 has brought a new wisdom with the days and hours that pass. Learning about creativity and celebrating it can be emotionally exhausting. I've decided that I will create with all of the fierceness that I have and leave bread crumbs wherever I trod, so that in the days when I feel out of touch with my creative source I may look around my feet and find the remnants of days when the magic was flowing freely. I will pick up a breadcrumb of my own creation and feel full again.