“E is for Ernst”

Happy New Year to all!

I was fortunate this New Year’s Eve to spend the evening creating art and catching up with one of my oldest friends, Stacey, who is the author of a very inspiring blog called gotta tri. We grew up in the same hometown and attended school together from first grade until we graduated from high school, and have remained close in the years since. I brought along my ABC’s of Alice journal and completed two new pages, the first of which is entitled, “E is for Ernst.”

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Ernst John Marten was Grandma Alice’s father. He was born in 1876 in Sheboygan County, Wisconsin, one of ten children in a farming family. He was the namesake of his grandfather, Ernst Marten, who had chosen to remain in Germany when his children emigrated to the United States. Ernst married his wife Mary in 1905, and a short time later they purchased a farm located a few miles east of Waldo, Wisconsin. They had three daughters, and for much of the girls’ childhood, German was the only language spoken in their home. The family attended a tiny German Lutheran Church just down the road, which still exists today.

Ernst’s farm was small, like most in eastern Wisconsin at that time. He only owned 7-9 cows and one bull, a few pigs, and a pair of workhorses. Evidently he was quite reluctant to embrace modern technology; he continued to rely on the horses to plow his fields well into the 1950’s.

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Like so many men of his generation in the Midwest, Ernst would be the last in his line to be a farmer. The men his daughters married were employed as factory laborers and consequently they chose to raise their children in cities, and as the years passed, life on the Marten farm would fade into our family’s collective memory.

My father had a good relationship with his grandfather, and he and his sister were fortunate to be able to spend a lot of time on the farm as kids. Dad, who is now in his seventies, closely resembles Ernst at that age. My sister and I also take after Ernst’s side of the family, as we’d had the same white-blond hair he and his brothers were known to have had as kids.

This page was created on a background of black gesso and stamped white acrylic paint, and features items such as patterned paper, a page from an old German religious book, a vintage shop receipt from the 1880’s, a burlap doily, a piece of frayed canvas fabric, Washi tape, a Tim Holtz Flashcard, a date stamp, pigment ink, rub-ons, a sticker, and text typed on a vintage typewriter.

Here’s to celebrating the past and our ancestors–and to a happy and creative 2016!

 

 

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“Caution”

Here’s the newest page in my daily journal, entitled, “Caution.”

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The word “Caution” was trimmed from a piece of yellow caution tape I found on the ground while visiting an apple orchard back in October. I knew it would be a perfect addition to a journal page at some point, and I was pleasantly surprised when I discovered it worked well here.

The stamped words beneath the title state, “if you sleep, you may dream.” The page was inspired by some bizarre dreams–more like nightmares–that I’ve been having periodically for the last year.

On December 23, 2014, my beloved pet passed away. Her name was Kirby. Prior to Kirby, I’d had a lot of pets…but there was something truly unique and special about this particular animal. In many ways, she was my best friend. Her loss was excruciating, and even though it’s been 12 months, in some ways I’m still grieving.

The bizarre dreams I have are always about her. In each one, something happens that causes her to become lost, and no matter what I do, I can’t find her. During one dream, she was kidnapped from inside my home, and I ran around the city, frantically searching for her; I even called the police and reported her stolen. They kept telling me she was “gone,” and I could see they believed I’d been negligent. In another, she was somehow taken to Europe, and I ended up on a plane headed for Paris–but when I arrived I couldn’t locate her, even with the help of an impatient private investigator. In the most recent dream, which I had two nights ago, I’d taken her with me on a bike ride and accidentally left her on a bridge. I returned to the bridge but she wasn’t there, and I couldn’t track her down. The police were in this dream, too, and they chastised me for being careless.

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In all of the dreams, I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. Sometimes there are tears in my eyes. After a few moments, I realize they’re only dreams–and I shake my head because they are so ridiculous and unrealistic. But it doesn’t stop them from coming frequently.

I don’t have any experience as an interpreter of dreams, but I recognize that all of this has something to do with my loss, and how my mind and heart are still trying to process it. When Kirby passed away, there was a large part of me that blamed myself for not seeing it coming. Despite the fact that she was at an advanced age and had suffered a stroke without any advance symptoms, I felt so much as though I’d missed something and that it was my fault. I suspect many of the elements in my dreams, such as the fact she is always lost, and how it happens without warning, point back to these internal conflicts. The fact I’m always blamed for what happens, is another connection to them.

I might not be able to stop having these dreams, but at least I can use my art journal to help me to express my strong feelings about them.

This page was created with black and white gesso, acrylic paint, a vintage book page, pieces of caution tape, Washi tape, magazine images and graphics, rub-ons, stickers, letter stamps, pigment ink, and a pen.

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“D is for Dennis”

The fourth page in my ABCs of Alice journal is called “D is for Dennis,” in honor of Grandma Alice’s second child and only son, Dennis, who also happens to be my father.

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Grandma Alice did a wonderful job raising my dad, and he was always a dutiful and devoted son. When Grandpa Mike passed away in 1973, my dad, who was approaching thirty, willingly stepped into his shoes, taking on his father’s responsibilities for the next 25 years. He performed all of the maintenance chores at my grandma’s house, making it possible for her to continue living there in her old age. He mowed the lawn once a week, which was not an easy task considering that it was on a large lot and situated over a steep bank. He took care of the snow removal every winter. He painted the house and made repairs whenever necessary. He made sure her car was in running order. As she entered her 80’s and began showing signs of dementia, he patiently took her to doctor’s appointments and checked in on her daily. He did all of this without complaint, even as he worked a physically demanding job and maintained a household of his own.

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After Grandma Alice passed away in 1997, my mom’s parents, who were in their 70’s, began slowing down. He’d always been like a son to them, and thus he felt compelled to help them in the same way he’d helped his own mother. For the next decade he made their comfort and happiness his priority–and I know they loved him for it. Because of his efforts, they too were able to spend most of their golden years in their home. When my Grandma Loretta had asked me to be one of her powers-of-attorney in the days leading up to her death, I declined and recommended that she choose my dad, because I felt he could be trusted more than anyone with the duty of carrying out my grandparents’ wishes.

One of Grandma Alice’s greatest legacies is her son. She instilled in him the love of family and a deep sense of responsibility to do what is right and to help others. I’m so proud that he’s my dad!

For this page, I started by selecting a vintage photograph of my father as a young boy, standing in the backyard in his winter clothes. The background was created with black gesso and stamped acrylic paint, and the collage was built with vintage paper, old book pages, scraps of patterned paper, ephemera, Washi tape, a Tim Holtz Flashcard, burlap trim, stickers, rub-ons, and a pen. I purposely picked out items that I thought reflected the essence of him as a person, such as a net-patterned stamp and an image of a fish head (he’s always loved fishing) and papers with science-related print or mathematical equations on them (he’s always had an aptitude for those subjects–talents which were not, incidentally, passed on to this daughter!).

Thanks for stopping by today! Hope your weekend has been wonderful!

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“C is for Cuckoo Clocks”

Today was my first day of Holiday Break, and I was so excited to have the opportunity to spend part of it in my studio! Here’s the newest page in my ABC’s of Alice journal, and it’s called, “C is for Cuckoo Clock.”

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A vivid memory of Grandma Alice’s house was the vintage Black Forest cuckoo clock that hung on the wall in her living room. I remember well the audible tick-tock of the clock, as well how the tiny wooden cuckoo flew out of its door on the top, loudly screeching, “CUCK-OOO!” every hour and half-hour. As you can imagine, noon was definitely the most exciting time of day, because the bird came out twelve times in a row, issuing forth its cacophonous call each time. I can recall laughing at it often as a small child.

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My grandma apparently admired cuckoo clocks, because another one hung in one of the upstairs bedrooms, though I don’t think that one worked. She was the only person I’d ever known that owned them; I’ve never seen another cuckoo clock in anyone’s home, except in cartoons or films.

I recently asked my father the whereabouts of those cuckoo clocks, hoping that he or my aunt still had them, but he told me that unfortunately, they’d both been damaged beyond repair and were discarded after my grandmother passed away. I was extremely disappointed, because I would’ve loved to hang one in my studio!

This background of this page was created with black gesso and bubble wrap-stamped acrylic paint. The collage was built with a variety of items, including a page from a vintage shorthand book, a vintage sales receipt, other ephemera, a paper doily, Washi tape, ribbon, a Tim Holtz Flashcard, rub-ons, a sticker, pens, and a photo of a cuckoo clock that closely resembles the one Grandma Alice had.

I’m so grateful to have more time to devote to my art throughout the next eleven days, and will definitely share the fruits of my labor here on the blog! Happiest of holidays to you all! 🙂

 

 

 

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“Empty Chair”

Today’s journal page is entitled “Empty Chair.”

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Since I was a child, Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. To me, Christmas meant twinkling lights, delicious food, great presents from Santa, glorious music, and most importantly, precious moments spent with my loved ones, particularly my grandparents. They always did everything they could to ensure that the holidays were happy and fun for my sister and me–and we are so fortunate to have many warm, wonderful memories of the times we spent with them around the tree.

Our paternal grandmother passed away during my senior year of high school, and as my sis and I became adults, our maternal grandparents entered their eighties and began to slow down. At that point, it became our job to make Christmas as merry as possible for them. Each year we eagerly anticipated the holidays, and our goal was to do whatever we could to make them wonderful. When I started scrapbooking, I began creating handmade greeting cards, albums, and other items for them. The expressions of pleasure and joy on their faces as they opened these heartfelt gifts will remain with me forever.

Since their passing in 2005 and 2008, respectively, Christmas hasn’t been quite the same. Last year, a day before Christmas, I lost a beloved pet, and this has also made it difficult. The proverbial “empty chairs” at my holiday table, and the challenging feelings of remembrance, grief, and loneliness that many people have during this season, were the inspiration for this page.

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This page was created with old book pages, scraps of patterned paper from another project, masking tape, Washi tape, white gesso, acrylic paint, pigment and dye inks, stamps, water-soluble crayons, a vintage Dymo label maker, pens, and a magazine image.

For me, art journaling is a wonderful and needed source of catharsis, and I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to share with you!

 

 

 

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“Keep On Reaching”

Here is the newest page in my daily art journal, which I finished last night.

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Entitled “Keep on Reaching,” it was inspired by some experiences I’ve had this week, and some highly meaningful connections I was fortunate to make with a few treasured friends.

This past Sunday, I was in a bad place.  I wasn’t feeling optimistic about the coming days, and was suffering from quite a bit of anxiety about it. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I wished so badly I could escape. At one point, I remember thinking to myself, I wish I were somebody else.

As the week rolled along, I discovered that at the moments when I most needed love and encouragement and a listening ear, all I had to do was reach out, and a friend was there, holding out her hand to me with a smile, carrying exactly what I was desperately seeking.

I was also granted multiple opportunities to do the same. I reached out my hand and passed along what I had–and what I’d been given–to others in need. In those experiences, I realized something crucially important: as much as I might have wished to be someone else on Sunday evening, the only person who could have extended that hand to those individuals in those particular moments was me.

We all go through rough patches in our lives. At times, we all feel helpless and in need of help. But we can always reach out our hands–to our family, friends, neighbors, colleagues–even to complete strangers. As long as we keep on reaching and keep on being there for one another, nobody will end up empty-handed. We can all make it through this life, as long as we stick together and watch each other’s backs.

This page was created with acrylic paint, spray ink, pigment ink, a drywall tape stencil, rubber and found-object stamps, old book pages, Washi tape, rub-ons, typewritten text, pens, and a magazine image.

Thank you for stopping by!

 

 

 

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“B is for Bingo”

I’m continuing to plug away at my ABC’s of Alice journal. Here is the second page, which I completed this evening. It’s called “B is for Bingo.”

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I grew up in Sheboygan Falls, a small town of fewer than 10,000 souls located in eastern Wisconsin, not far from the shores of Lake Michigan. Because the area had been primarily settled by immigrants from Germany in the nineteenth century, the 3 B’s were ever-present staples of life: beer, bratwurst, and Bingo. For the older folks, Bingo was the biggest game in town, and it seemed like every church, club, and civic organization hosted its own Bingo events, well into the 1980s and ’90s.

Even the local government got in on the action. When I was a kid, every Monday night was Bingo Night at the Municipal Building. You could never find a parking spot downtown, because every senior citizen from miles around showed up for this weekly Bingo extravaganza. On hot summer nights they kept the doors open to let in the breeze, and as you walked by, you could hear the caller shouting the letters and numbers into a microphone.

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Grandma Alice never missed Bingo Night. My sister and I usually visited her once a week, but never on Monday evenings; they were always off-limits.

I don’t know for certain what it was about Bingo that appealed to her, but I know she had a lifelong affinity for numbers. She’d always told me that she preferred math at school because it came more easily to her than other subjects. I think part of it stemmed from the fact that when she was a young child, her family spoke nothing but German at home and she’d been forced to learn English as a second language at school. Reading and writing had to be incredibly difficult for someone learning a whole new language–and according to her, the teachers at her one-room country schoolhouse weren’t very patient or knowledgeable about how to help someone with this kind of challenge. Throughout my career as a teacher, I’ve worked with many ESL students, and I’ve often observed a similar attachment to numbers among them. Some of them seem to cling to math, possibly because it is a sort of “universal” language, one they can more easily grasp, whether they are proficient at English or not.

With that being said, I do find it kind of ironic that the Bingo card I’d selected for this page doesn’t feature any numbers! Knowing my grandma, I think it’s safe to say she would’ve quit playing Bingo if the cards at the Municipal Building looked like this!

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I started this page with a coat of black gesso and some stamped acrylic paint. I then built a collage with old book pages, patterned paper, ephemera, a burlap die cut, Washi tape, rub-ons,  stamps, a sticker, gingham ribbon, a wooden Bingo piece, a plastic tile, a date stamp, pens, and Prismacolor pencils.

I’m already getting inspired for the next page, dedicated to the next letter in the alphabet. Hope you’re all having a great week! We’ll “C” you soon! 😉

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“A is for Alice”

I recently found a vintage 1930s Eastman Kodak scrapbook among my grandmother’s possessions recently. Although she greatly enjoyed collecting photographs and cutting out newspaper articles about family and friends, she was never much of a scrapbooker. Instead of arranging and adhering pictures and clippings in an organized manner, she tended to haphazardly “stuff” them between the pages, where they languished for decades–or fell out!

With that being said, it wasn’t hard to reclaim her old scrapbook for my own use. After much pondering, I decided to convert the plain black book into a scrappy journal celebrating my grandmother and her long, productive life. At first I wasn’t sure how to proceed, but I thought that developing an alphabet theme based upon the people and things that she loved might be fun and reflective. So, here’s the unveiling of The ABCs of Alice!

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To create the first page, “A is for Alice Augusta Marten,” I first glued a few of the delicate, aged pages together and applied several coats of black gesso to make a firm base. I then collected a variety of items from my stash, including acrylic paint, stamps, paper scraps, ephemera, die cuts, lace, a burlap flower, Washi tape, stickers, rub-ons, and pens, and began layering all the pieces in an intuitive manner. The focal point of the page is a portrait of my grandmother as a baby, taken around 1909.

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As I worked, building up layers of color and texture, I marveled at how, throughout the process of collage, the eye and the heart just seem to know what feels right and true, without a lot of conscious thought. Something else–something mysterious–takes over. Before you know it, you’ve created a piece that reveals the special story your soul desired so much to tell.

I absolutely loved creating this first page, and I’m very much looking forward to working on letters B through Z!

Thanks for stopping by!!

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Forever a Dreamer

The last two days, I’ve been working on this page in my journal, entitled “Forever a Dreamer.”

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My creativity and my passion for art are beautiful gifts I received about five years ago, although I believe they were always with me, lying dormant, deep inside. Until that point, I hadn’t truly realized they were there.

My newly discovered passion motivated me to find an outlet for it, so I returned to college to pursue an Associate’s degree in graphic design. It was by no means a piece of cake; I worked full-time in a demanding service profession by day while attending school at night for three long years. I also had to learn how to make art in a whole new way, via computer and software, which was profoundly challenging for a technophobe like me. Eventually I arrived at the end of the tunnel, finally earning my diploma this past August.

When I finished, I was feeling exhausted and burned out, and didn’t know where to go next. If I wanted to transition out of my current profession and into the field of design, I knew I’d need to continue my studies and earn a BFA. That would require another 2-3 years of schooling, while again working  full-time. It would also would require that I fall into serious debt, which terrified me.

It would also mean continuing to put my personal art pursuits on the back burner, relegating them to third or fourth place on my list of priorities, as I’d been doing–and that made my soul weep.

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After agonizing about this decision for months, I decided to stop agonizing, and just let things be for awhile. I reentered my studio on a regular basis, brought out the papers and paints and inks again, and dove back into art journaling.  I registered for mixed-media art classes and workshops. I felt like an artist again, on my own terms, and I liked it. I still like it.

I still don’t have any idea what the future holds. I still don’t know if I’ll choose to enroll in college again. I still don’t know if I’ll make a career transition.

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What I do know is that I still want to live a more creative, artistic life. I still desire more creative fulfillment in my career. I’m just not ready to commit to anything concrete yet. I am forever a dreamer, trying to find my path. I am wishful, hoping that serendipity will shine a light, pointing me in the right direction of where I’m meant to go and who I’m meant to be. In the meantime, you can find me in my journal, doing the work to figure it all out.

 

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Where It All Began

My aunt recently moved into a nursing home, and as a result, she’s decided to vacate the apartment in which she’s lived for nearly twenty years. My father, her devoted brother, has taken on the mammoth task of going through all of her belongings and making the painstaking choices of which items will be kept and which items will be discarded or donated to charity.

A few weeks ago, while I was visiting my parents, my dad brought out a dusty box of framed photographs that he’d found at my aunt’s apartment. Inside were several decades-old family portraits, as well as annual school pictures of my sister and me. On the bottom of the stack, I discovered this frame, which I’d given to my aunt for Christmas back in 2003.

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At the time, I was a 25-year-old teacher in my second year of service at an inner-city school. I didn’t have much money, but wanted to give her something heartfelt and meaningful. I hadn’t yet begun my journey of creativity, and had not yet learned about scrapbooking or mixed-media art–but I remember being drawn to the old pictures in our family albums, and feeling an inexplicable urge to make something with them.

I wanted to make a collage with the pictures and a Maya Angelou greeting card I’d bought, but I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t realize that when copying photos, one should use high-quality photo paper; I’d copied mine on regular old typing paper. I didn’t know that when trimming paper, one should use a rotary trimmer for razor-straight edges; I used a regular old (and dull) pair of scissors (which, incidentally, I cut myself with at one point during the project–requiring that I go to the ER to get a tetanus shot!). I didn’t understand that when gluing paper down, one should always use an acid-free adhesive; I used regular old rubber cement.

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In looking at this frame, it’s easy to notice the imperfections: the jagged edges, the places where the rubber cement is beginning to eat away at the card fragments and photos. However, it’s also easy to notice the love of family that Maya Angelou speaks of, the decades of stories represented in each photo, the ties that bind over three generations, beginning with my grandparents, continuing with their children–my dad and aunt–and carrying on with my sister and me.

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Equally important, it’s easy to notice that this moment marked the beginning of my identity as a creative person. The urge I’d felt, which compelled me to make this piece, didn’t end when the frame was finished; it had only just begun. Within the next year, I would wander into my local craft store and purchase my first scrapbooking supplies, which included, ironically, premium photo paper, a rotary trimmer, and, you guessed it: an acid-free tape roller (smile!). Within five years, I would make the transition into collage and mixed-media. Who knows what will come next in my creative journey?

Sometimes, when people ask me what I do and I tell them I’m an artist, I can’t even fathom it. In 2003, which isn’t really that long ago, I would’ve laughed and called crazy anyone who told me that in the future I would be creating art. It just goes to show that even the smallest step can bring you into a whole new world of possibilities–if you are brave enough to take it.

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