Archive for the ‘Behind the Scenes’ Category

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At the Wayzgoose on Saturday (thanks to the hundreds of folks who showed up!), Jessica and I had a little teaser for the next Dead Feminist set up at our table—I figured it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t also share it online.

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I’m not going to say much, so as not to spoil the surprise, but I thought I’d drop a few clues by way of my messy drawings—

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warts and all. As you can see by all the smudges and arrows, doin’ it by hand is hardly a perfect process,

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but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

On a Mission is on press as I speak, inching closer to the finish line every moment. Look for it here on Friday—see you then!

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I’ve been sitting on this post for months now—it’s just that after spending so much time hunched over this project, I needed some time off from even thinking about it. But now I’m ready to talk birds again.

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From left: Cedar Waxwing; Steller’s Jay; American Avocet; Purple Martin; Tufted Puffin

Eighteen months, twenty-five birds, six hundred twenty-five individual prints and ten box sets later, my little Flock is finished.

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Mountain Quail; American Bittern; Long-billed Curlew; Hooded Merganser;
Laysan Albatross

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Barn Owl; American Kestrel; Eurasian Coot; Anna’s Hummingbird; Herring Gull

It’s a little crazy to see these all together, like, well, birds on a wire. Each one has been broken down into its own little assembly line for so long that I forget sometimes to see them as a set.

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Western Tanager; Lazuli Bunting; Northern Flicker; Bullock’s Oriole; Belted Kingfisher

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Common Loon; Marbled Murrelet; Northern Shoveler; Harlequin Duck; Brown Pelican

As you can see, what’s represented here is a pretty broad cross-section of Washington birds. There are so many bird species ’round these parts, in fact, that I almost didn’t know where to start—and narrowing the choices down to twenty-five was by far the most difficult task.

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Wait. I take that back. The hardest part was keeping the glue off of the pricey imported Japanese book cloth (glue plus cloth equals death—or at least wailing, gnashing of teeth, and starting all over from the beginning).

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You see, it seemed silly to have a set of prints with nothing to house it. My inner book artist took over (thanks to Jessica’s tricksy enabling), and insisted on encasing the first ten sets of the edition in handmade clamshell boxes.

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Even though the results are always worth it, I don’t have much love for making boxes—what I do love is printing the colophon, or production notes. A colophon (or in today’s hardbound novels, the “note on the text”) is an essential element in any artist’s book; this is where the artist steps outside the book’s content and talks about the making of the book itself. For this I decided to go back to my letterpress roots, and hand-set the text in metal type.

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While I’m rarely able to fit hand-setting into my projects these days (a drawback to all this D.I.Y. lettering I’ve been doing), it’s still my favorite method of getting a block of text onto a page. And this beloved Bembo, cast locally at Stern & Faye, is so beautifully spaced and balanced that it’s a dream to set and a pleasure read.

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Here’s what it says:

The sheer variety of avian species here in the Pacific Northwest is staggering. Nurturing a fledgling love of birding was easy; the hard part was winnowing my list of favorites down to a couple dozen portraits. Here, then, is Flock, a motley kettle of songbirds, waterfowl, raptors, and shorebirds. While they’re not exactly birds of a feather, every member of this brood can be found either as a permanent resident or a passing traveler in Washington state—with just a wingtip of artistic license, that is.

Printed from October 2008 to December 2009 on a gaggle of presses, including Vandercook models SP15 and Universal One, a Craftsman 6.5 x 10 platen, and my little Kelsey 3 x 5—at the School of Visual Concepts in Seattle, Springtide Press in Tacoma, the University of Puget Sound, and here at Anagram Press, respectively. The colophon is hand-set in Bembo, and each hand-carved linocut print is hand-painted with Pelikan watercolor (no pun intended). Of a covey of 25 birds, a tweet of 25 prints each, and a parliament of ten box nests, this is number [2].

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Okay, so maybe I went a bit overboard on the avian puns. It’s just that the thought of getting my hands dirty on type drawers again had me all twitterpated.

The ten box “nests” are now sold out, as are several of the individual birds, but about a dozen or so bird designs are still available in the “Flock” section of the shop. And I have a fluttering feeling that there might be even more birds in my future—one of these days, anyway.

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Jessica and I are carving like mad this week, getting ready for some quality steamroller time.

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Next Sunday, April 25, is the sixth-annual Wayzgoose at King’s Books, right here in Tacoma. This year promises to be the biggest hullabaloo yet, with letterpress magnetic poetry, B.Y.O. t-shirt printing, papermaking demos, artist tables, and the star of the show: steamroller printing! Last year over 500 people came to check it out, despite a torrential downpour—and this year, the weather just might promise to behave, so we’re bracing for a mob. There’s a reason for the crowds: this is a heckuva lot of fun. Here’s the skinny:

6th Annual Wayzgoose!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Noon to 4 pm
Free!
King’s Books
218 St. Helens Ave., Tacoma
More information and artist roster here

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Eight artists and artist-teams will be printing gigantic three-by-four-foot linocuts in the street, including Jessica and me—we’ll be adding another unofficial Dead Feminist to our roster. (Take a gander at our last steamroller print here.) This is just a sneak peek; stop by next Sunday to see this block in action.

See you there!

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The sun came out yesterday afternoon, and Mt. Rainier peeked out from behind the clouds. On a whim I tossed my camera into the car and bolted to Paradise, where I had been hoping for one more research shot for my book: Rainier in the snow.

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Well, I certainly got my wish.

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An hour and a half later I was standing in the cold, at the highest point on the southern park road, and the furthest one can go before the snow melts at the end of June and the rest of the park opens.

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I looked over at one of the few cars around me, and was absurdly reminded of all those winters I spent in North Dakota (minus the mountains, of course).

findingwinter_2007It was nice to think that if I wanted snow, I could come and get it whenever I wanted—without having to shovel my way out of it.

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This year marks the 100th anniversary of women’s suffrage in Washington—a feat only made possible by the collaborative efforts of many dedicated people of every walk of life and political stripe. In this spirit, we present our seventh Feminist Broadside, Just Desserts.

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Through our research at the Washington State Library and the Northwest Room at the Tacoma Public Library, we discovered that our state’s suffrage movement had many leaders, rather than one prominent figurehead. We also learned that there was so much head-butting, personality-clashing and partisan in-fighting going on within the organizations involved (Mesdames Hutton and DeVoe, I’m looking at you!) that it would be impossible to tell the whole story in one letterpress poster. So instead of quoting a single historical feminist, we cited a collaborative publication—the Washington Women’s Cook Book, published 1908-1909—and featured four women symbolic of the movement: May Arkwright Hutton, Bernice Sapp, Cora Smith Eaton, and Emma Smith DeVoe. The quote:

“Are not our desserts and salads things of beauty and the joy of the moment?”

The book was a clever piece of propaganda that operated on the principle that the way to a man’s heart—or vote—is through his stomach. All those jellied centerpieces and whimsical souflées must have done the trick—the following year, women got the vote.

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And for my part, the quote turned me into an almost-literal kid in a candy store; the design was just begging for elaborate confections and candy-coated typography. At first, though, I was turned off by the idea of having to draw salads (I wanted more ice cream!), until Jessica read off a litany of aspic salad and gelatin dessert recipes from the book. That’s when the light bulb turned on: Jell-o salad! The decade-plus I spent in the Midwest was about to serve me well.

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Turns out that Jell-o fit right into the turn-of-the-century theme: molded gelatin desserts were a Victorian favorite, and the name “Jell-o” was first coined in 1897 (and if you look carefully, the “J” from the original Jell-o box makes a cameo in the print). There seemed to be no end of antique recipes, advertisements and illustrations at my disposal.

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I might be horrified by the idea of eating gelatin salads, but drawing them was the most professional fun I’ve had in a long, long time. Zooey and I each spent hours researching vintage Jell-o molds—probably more for the pure fascination than for the value of the reference material.

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For the dessert portion of our little menu, I turned to an old favorite for inspiration: Andy Warhol.

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Forget what you know about Campbell’s soup cans or Elvis portraits; Andy got his start as an illustrator specializing in fashion and food. In 1959 he illustrated a spoof cookbook called Wild Raspberries (it’s been on my shelf since high school, and I finally found a direct use for it!), filled with ridiculous “gourmet” recipes for things like “A&P Surprise” (those of you in New England will get that one) and “Seared Roebuck.”

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The illustrations are fantastic (and the polar opposite of my style), but the thing that really drew me in was the lettering. Andy had his mother, Julia Warhola, write all of the text of his early illustrations in her shaky, school-girl script. Mrs. Warhola spoke little to no English, and simply copied her son’s notes letter-for-letter, so the text in Wild Raspberries has charming errors and misspellings throughout.

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I loved the down-to-earth quality of Mrs. Warhola’s cursive, so I wrote a recipe from the Washington Women’s Cook Book along the border of the broadside in a similar hand (though to warn you, it’s a recipe I wouldn’t recommend trying!).

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And of course, I couldn’t do without a little ice cream homage.

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Like The Curie Cure, this piece is printed in three colors—although the three we chose let us create many more. Our color scheme allowed us to print in a similar fashion to commercial printing, where a minimum of colors (CMYK—cyan, magenta, yellow, black) are layered to create a full-color image. Our layering of translucent pink, blue and yellow ink allowed us to create a full rainbow and a convincing depiction of foreign objects floating in Jell-o.

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Heaps of thanks to everyone who came to our talk at the State Library the other night, despite lousy weather and rush-hour traffic—we had a tremendous turnout, and a huge show of support for our state’s oldest cultural institution. For those of you who couldn’t make it, the staff made a video archive of our talk (they’re archivists! That’s what they do!), which will be available for online viewing in a few weeks. I’ll announce it here when it’s up.

One more thing: three cheers for the incredible staff at the Washington State Library (many of whom are among those whose jobs have been cut and will end very soon) who made our talk and this very piece possible. Because we couldn’t have done it without them, we have donated a portion of the projected proceeds of Just Desserts to support the State Library’s collections.

After all, it’s about preserving that joy of the moment for everyone to share, right?

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Just Desserts: No. 7 in the Feminist Broadside series
Edition size: 100
Poster size: 10 x 18 inches

Printed on an antique Vandercook Universal One press, each piece is printed on archival, 100% rag, recycled paper, and signed by both artists.

Colophon reads:
In 1909 suffragists saw an opportunity to forward their cause in Seattle at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific (AYP) Exposition. The Washington Equal Suffrage Association (WESA), led by president Emma Smith DeVoe, provided an AYP exhibition on the importance of women’s right to vote and hosted Women’s Days, distributing pamphlets alongside displays of domesticity. WESA treasurer Dr. Cora Smith Eaton, joined The Mountaineers’ AYP expedition to climb Mt. Rainier and placed a “Votes for Women” banner at the summit. Suffragists from eastern Washington, led by May Arkwright Hutton, came by the trainload to attend the AYP and WESA’s National Convention. Many of the details—from ideological clashes to victories—were archived at the Washington State Library, thanks to Bernice Sapp.

Women from around the country also contributed to the Washington Women’s Cook Book, published to sell at the AYP. Filled with recipes, domestic advice and inspirational suffragist quotes, it reassured male voters that the women in their lives would continue homemaking once they had the right to vote: “Give us the vote and we will cook, the better for a wide outlook.” Compiled by Linda Deziah Jennings, the preface extolled the virtues of making beautiful things, and the simple joy of desserts and salads. Suffragists in Washington worked through differences in personalities, social backgrounds and political parties to create a winning recipe, gaining their right to vote in 1910.

Illustrated by Chandler O’Leary and printed by Jessica Spring with gratitude to all the cooks. 100 copies were printed by hand at Springtide Press in Tacoma. February 2010

Price: $35 (plus tax and/or $12 shipping, when applicable)

Available now in the shop!

End of the Line (Harriet Tubman) and The Curie Cure (Marie Curie), the previous two prints in the series, are still available, as well. I’m posting these items in small quantities on Etsy (easier to keep track of that way—this is a dinky operation here!), so if you don’t see what you’re looking for in the shop, that just means I haven’t gotten around to relisting it yet. If something sells out I’ll post an update here.

We’re also still taking subscriptions to the Feminist Broadside series. The subscribers’ price is $30. If you are interested in becoming a subscriber, drop me a line at chandler [at] anagram-press [dot] com. And as a special Valentine’s Day thank-you to our many wonderful supporters, we’ll be including a little Feminist surprise to all new and existing subscribers: a mini “Dead Feminist” print featuring a quote by the lovely and talented Pearl Bailey.

The postcard reproductions of the first six Feminist Broadsides are now available, too, and are priced at $1.75 each. Every new subscriber, starting with either Just Desserts or the two previous prints, will also receive one free set of postcards.

(The next Feminist Broadside will be released in May 2010.)

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It’s just about that time again: Jessica and I are working hard on the next Feminist Broadside. She’s poring through texts and historical facts, and I’m pencilling as fast as my tendonitis will let me. This time we’ll be unveiling the new piece at the Washington State Library near Olympia; the staff invited us to give a lecture about the series next month.

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The library boasts the entire collection of letters and personal papers of Emma Smith DeVoe (pictured above, right), women’s rights activist and leader of the Washington suffragist* movement. And since this year marks the 100th anniversary of women’s suffrage in Washington, we figured Emma would be a perfect fit for the new piece.

state_library_8318So a couple of weeks ago, Jessica, Zooey (R.I.P., J.D. Salinger) and I took a field trip to visit the archives and conduct a little research. When we arrived, we realized what they meant by “collection:” twelve enormous boxes packed full of letters, clippings and souvenirs. A “little” research obviously wasn’t going to happen.

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Luckily, the incredibly knowledgeable and helpful library staff (thank you, Sean!) let us take as much time and as many photos as we needed. So we cozied up to a work station and dived in, one box at a time.

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What we found was a fascinating collection of souvenirs, business cards, newspaper clippings,

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leaflets, propaganda,

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fan letters (Emma had an impressive array of admirers),

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telegrams, notes from sitting U.S. senators and presidential aides, and reams and reams of correspondance between the members of the Washington suffragist movement.

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The trouble was, most of these documents were utterly mundane—letter after letter simply acknowledged receipt of previous correspondance, or gave detailed instructions for planning events and delegating tasks. Worst of all, Emma rarely made carbon copies of her half of the correspondance, so there was very little in her own voice.

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We spent nearly four hours poring over every folder and box, and the only potential Emma quotes we found were mined from this instructional card. Still, it didn’t feel like we had found our inspiration—just a few weeks from our talk, we had no quote and no social topic for the piece.

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What we did have, however, was a much clearer picture of the women behind the fight for suffrage in our state (that’s May Arkwright Hutton above; she and Emma didn’t exactly get along), right down to addresses of homes and buildings still standing in Tacoma (the headquarters of the movement).

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From the documents themselves to the individual script hands of each letter writer, we had an incredible window into political life from a hundred years ago.

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And we found a good lead. Just as interesting as Emma (and more forthcoming with their own voices) were Cora Smith Eaton King, M.D. (pictured above, right)—correspondent, fellow leader of the movement, and one of the first women to scale Mt. Rainier!—and Bernice Sapp—friend, activist, and the one who compiled this collection of documents and donated it to the library.

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Bernice’s letters were full of quirky character and wit. We loved how she called Emma “the General,” and referred to herself and other suffragists by male titles: “Brother King,” “Mr. Hutton,” or simply “him.”

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Cora, on the other hand, was a real firecracker. Her letters (often scribbled on scraps of paper, even her own prescription pad!) revealed an eloquent intelligence and a sizzling sense of humor. We fell head-over-heels for Cora, and began to doubt that Emma was the right voice for the broadside—still, though, we had no quote from any of these women.

A few days later, Jessica hit up the astounding Northwest Room at the Tacoma Public Library, and hit the jackpot. She discovered a document that linked all of these women together, which decided us on a slightly different approach to quoting historical feminists. That’s all I’ll say for now, except that the new broadside may or may not depict a certain quivering, questionable “food” substance:

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If you want to be one of the first to see what the heck I’m talking about, I invite you to come check out our talk at the Washington State Library. Here are the details:

Pressing Matters: an evening with Chandler O’Leary and Jessica Spring
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
6:30 p.m. (doors open at 6:00), free!
Washington State Library
6880 Capitol Boulevard, Tumwater, WA
For more information and directions, click here

Libraries and archives face a tough reality in the current economy—especially here in Washington, where a regressive tax system has left the State Library with a 30% staff reduction and major cuts to its operating and acquisitions budgets. The 2003 earthquake damaged their building on the historic capital campus in Olympia, and forced them to relocate “temporarily” to a suburban office park a few miles south in Tumwater. Even when the economy recovers, it is unlikely the library’s funding will return to the levels it enjoyed in more prosperous eras, so the move to Tumwater is looking increasingly permanent. Despite these setbacks, the State Library continues to acquire new items (including our artwork!) for the collection and provide an essential service in preserving our state’s history. So please come and show your support for the library—a good turnout will help them provide more public events in the future, and might just go a long way toward saving them from another visit to the chopping block.

* This is kind of neither here nor there, but I’ve been dying to say it. Jessica and I are grateful to have had a lot of buzz about the Feminist Broadside series—but despite our best efforts, there’s a bit of misinformation going around. Time and again we’ve seen and heard reference made to “suffragettes,” as it’s a well-known term. The trouble is, its original meaning has been lost in translation. The word “suffragette” was originally coined by the London tabloid Daily Mail as a derogatory term designed to belittle the efforts of the women behind the suffrage movement. Since we’d hate to steal history’s thunder with unintentional slurs, we’d like to set the record straight: the proper term is “suffragist.”

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Since my job description reads, among other things, “Draws pictures all day,” I often have to be my own model. (This is a common problem for artists—I once shared a studio with a seriously talented comic book artist, and I remember frequently turning around to find him suddenly shirtless and drawing himself in a mirror balanced precariously on one knee.) For the most part, this works out fine, but hands are a tricky business—especially when you need to draw both hands at once, and you need one to operate a pencil.

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Since I’m currently working on the illustrations for a cookbook being published this year by the Tacoma Community House, I’m drawing a whole lot of hands lately. Hands carrying dishes, maneuvering chopsticks, folding samosas, kneading dough, etc. And since I had the lovely Zooey here, I decided to enlist her as hand model.

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(Firefox and Internet Exploder users: hit the ESC key to stop the annoying animation.
Everyone else: hit the “stop reloading” button in your browser.
)

We spent a couple of afternoons shooting reference photos. Zooey rolled and unrolled pretend spring rolls made of fabric and made “samosas” with a scrap of denim. We took turns ripping a baguette to shreds for the camera (to mix up the hand anatomy, y’know), and mimed with nearly every dish in the house, just in case.

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One thousand and nineteen photos later, I was satisfied I’d have enough to go on. We made a mess of the bread, but my illustrations are better and Zooey has some pretty unique on-the-job training under her belt.

In other news, I did a little website tweaking over the weekend. My “commissions” page felt clunky, so I imploded it and replaced it with an F.A.Q. (I prefer to pronounce it “Fack.”) If you ever wondered what I mean about half the things I say around here (and judging by the volume of questions I get on a nearly daily basis, you might), go and check it out here—it’s a whopper.

It ended up being a lot of fun to write (less fun to engineer, although I feel like a complete rock star for actually figuring out the coding all by myself!), because I got to play the part of the snarky interrogator (not that I get many of those, but it’s fun to write like one). I did practice some restraint, however; I was tempted to include a question I get more often than I’d like to admit: “Wait, aren’t you a guy?” True story. Sigh.

Also in the running was “Will you print 1000 coffee mugs with ‘World’s Number One Dad’ for me?” Because I really did get that email once, along with quite a few others mistaking my business for something entirely different. Maybe this will clear things up just a bit…

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Thing number 386 that they don’t teach you in art school: how to navigate local business excise tax laws.

My wonderful and brilliant accountant, Alyssa, takes care of the heavy lifting of my federal business taxes, but since the deadline to pay the Washington piper falls before the federal paperwork even arrives in the mail, I file my state taxes on my own. To be perfectly honest, I take a kind of perverse pleasure in bean-counting—there’s something satisfying about the annual financial housekeeping rituals of compiling and tallying. But now that I own a business in a state that relies solely on sales tax revenue, business excise taxes and weird, archaic, late 19th-century property-assessment laws that tax my homemade bookshelves and vintage filing cabinets (I kid you not), the annual tax ritual has turned into an entire weekend curled up with my calculator.

Since I’m obviously a tax-happy liberal gal who loves her some socialist blueberries (not to mention public libraries and paved roads), I’m perfectly glad to fork over the revenue—I’d just love it if they’d just levy an income tax instead, and spare me (and all those poor state employees) the paperwork nightmare!

Political grumblings aside, I’m just chalking this up to All Those Really Important Things You Have to Learn on Your Own When You Start a Business. I’ve got some fun stuff to share with you, but I’ve gotta get this stuff done first. In the meantime, playing in my head over and over again is that little diddy Bobby McFerrin sang on Square One: “Anything you wanna be, you’ve got to know math.”

So true, Bobby. So true.

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Sorry for the little absence there, but I find I’m spending more time at the drafting table these days, and far fewer hours chained to the computer. This month I am blessed with an assistant—a brilliant young woman who is helping me with my administrative and production work, in exchange for school credit, a little professional experience and the chance to beef up her design software skills.

We’re lucky to have here in T-town an arts-magnet public high school, and part of the curriculum for juniors and seniors is an internship opportunity during the winter term. I was completely ignorant of this until I received Zooey’s email last fall, asking if I would be willing to take her on. I almost turned her down, simply because I couldn’t imagine I’d have enough to keep her busy and interested for three 40-hour weeks.

But then it occurred to me that I might be able give her an accurate idea of what it’s actually like to make one’s living as a full-time artist—which largely consists of being one’s own secretary, account manager, bean-counter, marketing department, production assistant and gopher, as well as coming up with all the creative ideas. That’s something I wish I had known as a student, and yet was certainly never taught in art school.

As it turns out, there’s plenty of work for both of us, and it’s been a mutual learning experience. Zooey (not her real name, in keeping with my little privacy policy) is picking up design skills they aren’t teaching at the high school level, attending client meetings and press checks, learning the ins and outs of seeing a project from concept to completion, and contributing her own ideas to creative discussions and brainstorming sessions. And I’m able to spend more time actually creating artwork, rather than endlessly playing catch-up with back-burner projects that should have been done months ago (although I crossed my heart and made her a solemn vow that I would get my own damn coffee).

The best part is having good company during the day. Running a one-woman shop is pretty solitary work, and learning that Zooey is not only a talented artist but also a mutual audiophile and movie geek made her an instant kindred spirit. (It was funny to discover that we both have a habit of singing along with the background music, but often choose different vocal parts to follow: harmony is so much more fun than a solo.) So these days I’m churning out new work and ideas faster than ever, while Zooey keeps a hand on the metaphorical wheel—and all the while the studio is filled with music and laughter.

I’m a control freak by nature, so I’m pleasantly surprised to find myself capable of letting go of the reins a bit. And I was even more surprised to learn that Zooey is the only student working with an individual artist this year (everyone else is working with firms or large companies). Here’s hoping that other artists and freelancers open their doors and minds to future students—there’s so much to learn, on both sides.

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End-of-the-year summaries have never been my strong suit, not least because I tend to measure time on completely different terms than the standard calendar (like counting up from the anniversary of an important event, for instance). And since nobody seems to be able to agree on whether the decade ends this year or next (anyway, doesn’t any ten-year span count as a decade?), I think I’ll leave that one alone as well.

Instead, I thought I’d share my own way of marking time—an experiment that I’ve been working on for two years now.

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You might remember my friend Sarah Christianson, who has spent the last several years documenting her own family history. Among her family artifacts are several of her great grandmother’s daily diaries, which Mrs. Anderson faithfully kept for many years. As you can see, there isn’t much space to write (so most entries say things like, “Went to the store, visited with Mildred,” etc.)—but what really interested me was how the five-year format of each page paints a larger picture of a woman’s life.

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Sarah and I were both inspired to start five-year journals of our own, but I decided to turn mine into a sketchbook. I loved the idea and the challenge of documenting each day with a tiny, panoramic image.

Almost every drawing depicts something mundane, even trivial; it might be a sliver of that day’s activities, or just a snippet of an object that caught my eye. I’m almost never specific in the brief phrase written in each space—in fact, already I find myself forgetting what I was referring to when I go back to look at past entries. When I do remember what I was talking about, though, each illustration triggers my memories better and more richly than any of my photographs or writing can.

But that’s not the point of this project; this was never meant to be a detailed journal of my every thought or action. Instead, I’m trying to remind myself to really look at the world around me, and to live in my own present.

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Now, exactly two years into the project, the same type of narrative I found in Claire Anderson’s diaries is already beginning to emerge. The drawings serve as a sort of flip-book; as one pages through the journal my personality, tastes and interests come to life, and the result is a more complete picture of myself than I ever could have come up with consciously. And an interesting by-product of all of this is the sometimes-unwitting documentation of the current era—this book might prove to be useful in other ways, someday.

The really curious bit is how the book is both intensely personal and completely ordinary. There isn’t a single image in there that I couldn’t share with a total stranger (no nudity, no embarrassing missives, no dirty laundry, etc.), and yet I’ve only actually shown it to a handful of people. I’m not sure why that is, but now that I’ve gone “public” about it I’m sure I’ll post occasional excerpts from here on out.

At the very least, maybe this will tighten the screws on my discipline a bit. Sarah and I learned quickly how difficult it is to keep a daily journal like this, whether in words or pictures (I doff my hat to Mrs. Anderson’s habits)—it’s all I can do to keep up with it, and I’m often playing catch-up. But now that I see how worthwhile the effort has been, I find myself excited for whatever tomorrow brings.

And isn’t that the whole point?

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Wishing you a happy New Year full of wonderful events and tiny moments worth savoring—however you choose to remember them.