No, everything’s fine. Why do you ask?
(When one is distressed, one either has to take a walk, or do like Paul Klee and “take a line for a walk.”)
No, everything’s fine. Why do you ask?
(When one is distressed, one either has to take a walk, or do like Paul Klee and “take a line for a walk.”)
Whenever I write about how important keeping a notebook is to me, people ask me what specific brand of notebook I use. I have no less than 3 notebooks going all the time:
1) an extra-small hardcover notebook that I carry with me whenever I leave the house (which is not often)
2) a small daily planner that I use as a logbook
3) a fat, paperback-sized, unruled, flexible notebook, which I use at home and in the studio
Of course, only a crazy person juggles 3 notebooks, so just keep things simple and get The Steal Like An Artist Journal instead.
I’m continuing to have fun taking an X-Acto to the newspaper instead of a marker, though I fear the TSA will make me leave it at home for the upcoming tour…
This week I traded my marker for an X-acto blade. It was one of those switches that seems obvious in hindsight, but I can’t say there was anything intentional about it. Just sort of happened. (Certainly inspired by the work of Brian Dettmer, Kelli Anderson, and Andrea Dezso.) Follow along as I make them on Twitter or Instagram.
From playwright Sarah Ruhl’s terrific book, 100 Essays I Don’t Have Time To Write:
Recently, my son said to me after seeing a ballet on television: “It’s beautiful but I don’t like it.” And I thought, Are many grown-ups capable of such a distinction? It’s beautiful, but I don’t like it. Usually, our grown-up thinking is more along the lines of: I don’t like it, so it’s not beautiful. What would it meant to separate those two impressions for art making and for art criticism?
See also: “Borrow a kid”
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