
The snails have returned! And I shared some recent snail mail in the newsletter.


The last few newsletters have shown off how obsessed I’ve become with printmaking — I can’t seem to stop!
From “All is not well (but some things are”:
“Not everything will be okay but some things will.” Years ago, I saw that phrase on a slide at the end of a Maira Kalman talk. It has stuck with me. I wanted to put my own spin on it, so I made a block print with the words, “All is not well (but some things are.)” I was looking for material to print it on, and settled on a few thrifted copies of Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation.

I made these prints after writing today’s newsletter, “The subtle art of showing up”:
I get several forms of the question, “What good is making art in times like these?”
There are many decent answers, but the one that rings truest to me, I think, comes from art coach Beth Pickens: “Artists are people who are profoundly compelled to make their creative work, and when they are distanced from their practice, their life quality suffers.”
If I don’t show up for creative work, I suffer. I’m not a whole person. If I don’t show up to the studio, it’s harder for me to show up for the people in my life.
And, really, that’s all, sometimes, you have to do: just show up.
I’m getting many “what are you going to do with all these prints?!?” questions… so that might be the subject of next week’s newsletter…

After I got back from New Orleans a few weeks ago we launched right into spring break mode, and pretty much all I wanted to do was listen to dub reggae and make block prints.
In a Tuesday mailbag, “The point of this world,” I wrote quite a bit about music:
Music is a form of transportation. A joy in the past year has been the way our vacations with the boys have synced up with a particular kind of music — every time I hear Yellow Magic Orchestra, for example, I’m back driving around in the deserts of New Mexico. Whenever I want to be driving around Oahu, I put on our Oahu mixtape.

On Friday, I shared some images of a print I made: “Be the weird you wish to see.”
There are terrible things happening in the world, but you can’t let it rob you of getting joy out of your day-to-day living while you can. One thing that never fails me: Stepping away from the screen and leaving the house. This week I found some major treasure on one of our daily walks. I took my kids to a baseball game. I shopped for records and art supplies and chatted with strangers. I know I’ve said it over and over and over again but I’ll say it again: the more I make an effort to engage locally with my neighborhood and my city, the better I feel about life.

A bunch of folks asked me how I do it, so I shared “an unofficial guide to block printing”:
I want to emphasize that I am a total amateur at this stuff, and I will miss a bunch that you can learn elsewhere in tutorials by more qualified people. That said, I wrote a whole section in Show Your Work! about how there’s a lot of value in learning from beginners. Because beginners have only recently figured stuff out, they know what a beginner needs to know better than an expert does…
And tomorrow’s newsletter starts out with an animation made with a bunch of the block prints I made for Tuesday’s posts.
This is how the newsletter comes together: just one thing leading into another.

Friday’s newsletter began:
Last weekend I attended a retreat at Laity Lodge organized around one of my favorite topics: living seasonally. I got to spend some good time with my friend Alan Jacobs, made a bunch of variations of the linocut above in a workshop led by designer Dana Tanamachi, and was introduced to the pipes of Uwade, who I’m very sure you’ll be hearing more from. I also got some good hikes in around the canyon — when I arrived on Friday it was still winter, and by the time I left on Sunday, it felt like spring had sprung. (Inside and outside.)
Read the rest here.

Today’s newsletter, “Printmaking with the Sun,” begins:
This is the season in Texas when the horny cicadas start screaming at the volume of leaf-blowers. I’m fascinated by cicadas, their long history in art, and how they make themselves available to metaphor, as in one of the Thirty-Six Stratagems called “Shed Your Skin Like the Golden Cicada”:
“When you are in danger of being defeated, and your only chance is to escape and regroup, then create an illusion. While the enemy’s attention is focused on this artifice, secretly remove your men leaving behind only the facade of your presence.”
An excellent lesson for those of us who use summer to escape and regroup.
Read the whole thing here.
(If you don’t have a paid subscription: The 20% off summer sale continues!)
Related reading: “Dragonflies and The Twisties”
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