Spelunking into the Page

Each blank sheet of paper has infinite depth. Sure, the edges limit lateral extension but think about how far inward you can dive through a single sheet of paper. And while you're spelunking into the page, when do you determine that the rope you're drawing has reached its limit? At some point there's an end, right?

I'm in the process of finishing a drawing. I haven't puzzled through this in over a year. I mean, a long term, long puzzled drawing with lots of intricate content. I've pieced the images together and as I finalize their connections, composition, distribution of light and flow, an inevitable end looms indeterminably. Morning after morning, my imagination lowers deeper into the remaining crevices of white. I'm not done exploring, but the blankness fills and there's less to discover. Soon as there's no where else to climb, it's time to dive into a new sheet of paper. And that's how a drawing ends. Next time, draw a longer rope.

A Peculiar Imagination

I discovered this book of my four year old drawings. My descriptions of them are, well...pretty morbid. Don't be deceived! I was a very happy child. 

The Value of Your Art When You're Dead

Thank you, says the tall British man as the tenacious gentleman adds $10,000 to the already $130,000 glorified Calder doodle. Postured people line the perimeter of the room on telephones and occasionally a stiff hand raises to claim the removed painting as it rotates on a grey walled easel. Sitters contemplate their books while the easel turns at the rate the auctioneer takes each overdue breath. Voiceless conversations buzz through tense air.

I raise my hand.  The price increases another ten thousand. My hand goes up again, competing with a young business casual woman holding a phone that correlates to a booth above. Inside a famous face is masked by a row of starchy blue curtains. Another bid, I pitch my final bold raise...And I win!

"SOLD for two hundred and twenty thousand dollars to the young woman by the door in a track suit."

I run as fast as I can: down the East River, over the Williamsburg Bridge, through Hipster Wonderland,  back to my studio in Greenpoint where no one will find me. Back to where I make art and hope someone will value it beyond the cost of the materials.

Developing Enveloping Envelopes

My latest project. Sharpie and colored pencils on security proofed envelopes. Every tree is different, only 15 more to color. I'll update more as it develops into a book.

My Casserole Life

I am a creative junkie.

I'm a journal writer, an artist, a swing dancer and collector of corks. I fold cranes obsessively and store them in abnormally shaped jars, I adore the patterns at Sal's Boutique and draw trees almost as much as I seek out delectable meals. I collect people's stories, absorb white noise on subways and have developed skills in latte art. I attend lectures, plays, the ballet, improv shows and make jewelry out of recycled materials; meanwhile I'm baking gluten free and gluten full, singing jazz standards and airbrush face painting elaborate works of art on screaming children. I'm a New Yorker with a never ending itch to travel, I'm a young woman with an extra dose of helpless romanticism.

This blog is a big unpredictable work of thoughts: welcome to my life.