Balance

 

Celebrating the first anniversary of my first spine surgery with some thoughts about balance. Turn on the sound to hear the voiceover.

Septuagenarian

 

When I heard the new King Charles referred to as a septuagenarian, I thought, Wow, he’s old. Then I realized I too am a septuagenarian. Last year I turned 70. This year I am in my seventies. Since I began my birthday year with a spine surgery a couple of weeks in followed by a more extensive one 3 months later, there has been a lot of healing to do. Progress is steady and I feel SO much better than I did last year on my birthday but it is slow. I spend a lot of time focusing on exercise of various sorts (walking, PT, Tai Chi, swimming) and a corresponding amount of time resting. I do spend time in the studio. While I miss being lost in my own world at my desk or computer for hours and hours at a time, the half hour segments are extra special and extra sweet.

Reality Virtually Hackathon at MIT

I am trying to process my feelings after the five day 2019 Reality Virtually Hackathon at MIT. I went into it knowing one thing about VR-that I loved writing with Tilt Brush, a room-scale 3D painting virtual reality app from google. You put on a head set, you hold a controller in each hand, and you write in the air. The lines can be narrow or thick. They can look like brush or pencil lines or like they have been made with shaving cream or electrical wire. You can make letters that surround you on all sides and over your head. You can scale them up and down and move them around. And best of all, it is a whole body experience. The gestures can be large and engage the body in a way that is hard to do with ink or paint and paper. You don’t have worry about dripping paint or climbing ladders. It is freeing in every way.

I have had two experiences with Tilt Brush. The first was guided by my son at a friend’s house. He thought I would love it and I did. I joined a VR meetup group and attended a meeting where I again got to play. To get started, I was looking for a fundable project to offset some of the setup cost. My idea was for an augmented reality project in which quotes from Jack Kerouac would be projected through an iPhone on buildings in his hometown of Lowell, MA.

VR possibilities were continuing to float around my mind when I saw the MIT opportunity online. The call made a point of saying that it was open to all. They said that they were looking for artists and writers and storytellers as well as developers and designers and that technical experience was not a requirement. They accepted 400 out of 1500 applicants and, to my surprise, I was one of them.

I applied in late December, was accepted in early January, and made my way to Cambridge on January 17. I feel like I have been slightly off kilter since the day I hit the submit button. I was nervous before I went and my fears were justified. I particularly dreaded the “Team Formation” on the first evening. I couldn’t picture how 400 people could “distill” into groups of 2-5 people without it being chaotic. The answer is they couldn’t. There were seven themes and seven signs on the walls of a long, twisty hallway. You congregated near your area of interest. You could either start a team or join a team. If you wanted to start a team, you filled out a large sheet of paper with the title, description, and a list of what kind of people you wanted in your team (developer--often specifying the platform such as unity, UX/IX, designer, sound), and carried it around trying to recruit  members. I was totally lost. No one had artist on their list. With the help of one of the mentors, I wrote up a project based on my Kerouac idea and tried to find team members. The mentor tried to help with that as well as suggest me to other teams. My skill of lettering with TiltBrush was not in high demand. I got a lot of no’s. My lack of skills was compounded by my age. No one wanted their mother on their team. I understand. I would avoid me if I were looking for technical support in a computer store.

I did find a team. We were an interesting mix: Aleli from Honduras, Melisa from Kenya, and Ryan who lived a half an hour away from me in New Hampshire. I was the odd one out in terms of technical experience but I provided the writing and narration for a VR experience to help those who are dealing with the loss of a loved one. I really enjoyed working with my team members but was overwhelmed by the schedule. Two days that started at 7 am and ended at midnight followed by a third day that started again at 7. The “thon” in Hackathon comes from marathon.

Here’s what I have come away with. I love my exact and personal experience with VR but I don’t love VR. Some of the winning projects gave me the creeps. Augmented Reality for safer driving involved seeing information in front of you on the windshield as you drive (I can’t stand to have a scrap of paper on my dashboard let alone things on my windshield) and enabled your driving to be monitored. The goal of a physical therapy VR app was to lessen the time the therapist had to spend with a patient. Another winning app enabled you to send virtual flowers to someone in the hospital. The reasoning-better because they don’t die like real flowers--makes me cringe. So much of my work is about the real world--the sticks and vines that hold within them the deep and interconnected spirit of nature and paper that is made from natural fibers by living human hands.

I’ve abandoned the Kerouac project, at least for now. There is too much to figure out that has nothing to do with what drew me to this media in the first place. I may be writing words that can only be seen with a headset but I am experiencing a more complete physical and mental involvement than I have ever had when lettering before.

Here is my question: do I invest in something that brings me personal joy and excites me creatively but has no end goal? I am inclined to say yes. It took four years for a Spirit Book to be made after I sensed the inner life of the sticks and vines from the garden. I am committed to working without a plan or sketch whether it be a Spirit Book or calligraphy. Why should this be any different? I can’t let the expense change the method of working that I have developed with care and intention over the past 40 years. We shall see.

Forty Years #40: A Gift

Forty years ago calligraphy came to me as a gift. I was unemployed and searching for meaningful work and the chance request for lettering in a wedding album reconnected me with a high school pastime. It was a demanding gift that required hard work and discipline. It awakened my creativity but also my insecurities and doubts. The joy of working with words that I loved and the 26 letters that I learned to love kept me going until they didn’t. After years of focusing on making books, I slowly brought calligraphy back into my life.

In this second chapter, the gift has changed. Writing these 40 posts has helped me see the change. While I had been experimenting with freer letters for many years, they weren’t free in my heart. They were still in a semi-constant state of comparison and often came up short. Now I take them as they are, a spontaneous expression of the moment, drawing on my history and hard work but opening myself fully to the joy of pen and paper and ink. As the fortieth year of my involvement with calligraphy draws to a close, I am grateful for this gift and look forward to sharing it with the world without qualification or apology.

Thank you for reading. The entire series can be read, in reverse, by following this thread.

Forty Years #23: Calligraphy for Hire

When I started doing calligraphy as a business, there was so much to think about beyond letters and spacing. It was not easy. I wrote this in 1980:

As if worrying about the craft of my work is not enough, there is that wonderful business end of the whole matter. I’ve had a couple of discouraging encounters -I just plain old don’t charge enough.- I don’t have the right business spirit- part of the problem I think is that I am basically a cheap person who doesn’t spend large amounts of money for anything and I can’t get it through my head that other people do. But I don’t want to be an asshole so I want to I guess strike a balance and get what I should be paid but not change myself. I’ve been wondering if I should take an assertiveness training or something like that. 

I never took assertiveness training and I never charged enough. I always underestimated the time it would take, a characteristic I have carried forward to this day. I used to say that I either needed a personality transplant or another line of work which is what I chose. I eventually replaced the calligraphy income with teaching bookmaking workshops in schools. One of the advantages of the teaching was that I charged by the day. Everybody paid the same rate and the money part was simple.

A certificate for myself!

a commission from the Lowell Sun

Brunch Menu for a hotel restaurant

Patient Handbook for Lowell General Hospital. Designer: Catherine M. Bucciarelli

 Lettering for a small company that made silk-screened stationery

 In the days before desktop publishing really took off, there was a lot of work doing certificates 

One of a series of signs for the British shop in Newburyport.

Name that was silk-screened onto a hand crafted bicycle

Invitation

Promotional Sign 

Lettering for Book Cover 

Forty Years #20: Workshop with Jaki Svaren

In 1982 I attended the Calligraphy Conference in Philadelphia. I'm pretty sure it was the first workshop I went to and it was pretty overwhelming. I was filled with insecurity and very shy. I chose a week of mornings with Jaki Svaren because I loved her book Written Letters. Her alphabets were accompanied by a running commentary ranging from big ideas on letterform, letter history and philosophy to detailed hints about the formation of each letter. Her voice was kind and clear: “Strive for equal amounts of white space between the letters, but delight in your humanity.”

The workshop was in what Jaki called the bone alphabet which involved pen manipulation. The calligraphy part was great but nothing in comparison to philosophy shared through words of wisdom and stories and especially the introduction of the book Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind by Shunryu Suzuki. Jaki urged us to take away value judgements in reference to our lettering. If we make a letter and think it’s good, it puts pressure on us as we make the next one. If we look at a letter we have just made and say it’s bad, it decreases our confidence and our flow and we don’t make the next one with the right attitude. Suzuki wrote: “Good and bad are only in your mind. So we should not say, ‘This is good,’ or ‘This is bad.’Instead of saying bad you should say, ‘not-to-do!’”

While in Philadelphia, I found a copy of the book in a bookstore. I think it's fair to say that Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind changed my life. I tried to extend the taking alway of value judgements and not defining things as good or bad to other aspects of my life. I can't say I have always succeeded but it has made a difference. The other passage that really stood out to me was: “Of course some encouragement is necessary, but that encouragement is just encouragement. It is not the true purpose of practice. It is just medicine. When we become discouraged we want some medicine. When we are in good spirits we do not need any medicine. You should not mistake medicine for food.” These words were a guide on my path to being an artist. The understanding that validation for one's work has to come from within has deepened over the years.

Forty Years #12: First Exhibition

I had my first exhibit at Art Alive!, a two person show with Barbara Irving (now Barbara Levesque), the first President of Art Alive! We had the good fortune to have a member and friend, Stephanie Fries, who was a framer with a business called The Underground Framer.

We did not work with standard sizes. Steph cut the mats for us, we ordered the frames (by phone or mail, no online shopping then), bought the glass at a local glass company, and assembled the frames ourselves. I spent the opening avoiding handshakes as I had cut my right hand on the glass while framing.

The exhibit taught me a lot. Most important of all, it taught me that it could be done. It was a lot of work, it was stressful, but it could be done. And it was satisfying to see a collection of one’s work on the wall and to share it with others. And it was much easier to get people to come to see art than to buy it. Exhibiting has gotten easier over the years, but all of the above still hold true. 

Forty Years #11: Art Alive!

 From 1979 until the mid 1980s, I was involved in Art Alive! The Greater Lowell Art Co-op. I was President of the organization for several years. It was a volunteer position with part-time hours and full-time responsibility. For years I was so depleted by the experience that I didn’t think much about the benefits but I came to see how incredibly fortunate I was to have been a part of Art Alive!

We saw ourselves as an alternative to the established Lowell Art Association. We were given a gallery space by the National Park Service which had purchased the Solomon’s Fabrics building at 200 Merrimack Street in Lowell and did not yet have a use for it. We shared the space with the local non-profit, Human Services Corp. Once the word got out, we drew members from a 30 mile radius. While there was an age range, most of us were in our early 30s to mid 40s. We were an eclectic mix. Some had been to art school; many had not. Some were experienced artists with a resume of exhibitions; many had never exhibited before.

We forged close bonds. We had monthly exhibits where we could exhibit one or two pieces and opportunities for solo and shared shows. To have a place to regularly exhibit with the support of friends was such a great starting point. I shared the struggles and joys of making art with like-minded people. I learned about framing, presentation, meeting deadlines, publicizing work, and forging ahead. Again, maybe too soon, but it made me work harder and get comfortable with the public part of being an artist.

Forty Years #10: Too Soon

This is the hardest to share. There is no doubt that I put myself and my calligraphy out into the world too soon. My defense: I didn't know better. But I learned quickly. I wrote this in my journal in 1980:

Ann Schecter’s (art critic for the Lowell Sun and later a good friend) column in the Sunday Sun (met her Friday night)-she said nice things about me, very nice, in relation to exhibit at the Med. Ass. (a medical building that exhibited the work of local artists)-called my script “exquisite and moving” which of course from my eyes isn’t true at all, from this end it’s awkward and static, and I know my opinion is based on greater knowledge and so I feel like a sham, a fake, and while I will say it has renewed my desire to work hard, etc. it has also contributed to my ache in the stomach.

And another time that year:

Am feeling discouraged about my work-my skill is improving but also has a long way to go and I wonder if with my fear and stubbornness and pride I will ever get to be as good as I could/should since I have such a difficult time bringing myself to take a lesson or do probably very constructive things for myself instead of plodding along in the dark-my good points are that I am able to be self-critical, self-disciplined-usually-and that I set high standards for myself, but I wonder if this is enough-can I get by with just that or will I be less because of it? I keep thinking I’d like to be a little better-get to that certain stage before I venture out but will I 1) ever get to that stage or 2) know it when I do or 3) know it but still be too afraid. 

Forty Year #6: Words

What initially drew me into calligraphy was spending time with words I loved in a very different way than I had as an English Literature major. By graduation, I was tired of analyzing. Writing ten pages on a 14 line sonnet meant getting very, very picky. I wanted to connect with big ideas and grand themes. I wanted to just enjoy the sound and flow of the words. I knew I would never consider pursuing further education in literature. My start in calligraphy came after a year doing clerical work in an office and four years teaching swimming for the Boston School Department.

Looking at this early piece, it's hard to see big ideas or grand themes or especially flow. It practically radiates the effort that went into each letter. I may have been struggling with letter formation and spacing, but at the same time my heart was singing as I wrote each word.

You can read a blog post with a positive assessment of the value of my English Literature degree here.

Forty Years #4: Learning Calligraphy

Learning calligraphy suited me. It serves a certain kind of impatience and needs a certain kind of patience. I had taken pottery classes but didn’t have the patience for preparing the clay or the continual struggle to center it on the wheel. I didn’t have the patience for the darkroom even though I loved taking pictures. Getting started in calligraphy was immediate. Find a piece of paper, dip a pen in ink, make a letter. The journey begins. Instantly there is something to react to on the page. 




But there is also patience. When I taught calligraphy at Rivier College, I always told students that learning calligraphy was more like learning how to play an instrument than learning how to draw. Repetition and practice are necessary. You have to love, or learn to love, the 26 letters to keep going, to put in the time (hours, days, weeks, months, years) to make them your own. 




I was prepared for that. I had been a competitive swimmer. Back and forth in the pool- a mile or two a day for ten summers. Each movement required attention: is my elbow coming out of the water at the correct angle, is my kick consistent? And it was the same with calligraphy. So many questions to ask for each letter. How am I gripping the pen-lightly or am I squeezing it? Is the nib at the correct angle in relation to the line? Is the letter well shaped? Is the m arching properly? You can look at a blank page as an invitation to boredom or an offering of opportunities for fresh encounters with the 26 letters. I chose the latter.

Forty Years #2: Earliest Days

My first encounters with calligraphy were in high school. I had a friend who was introduced to it in art class and he in turn introduced it to me. From the beginning, it was the connection to words and writing that drew me in. I'm guessing this picture was probably taken in 1968 or 69. I am writing the poem "The Gift" from Leonard Cohen's book, The Spice-Box of the Earth. You can see the paperback book to my left. I'm not sure if the copy I have now is that one or one I picked up later. To my right, there are two bottles of ink. My favorite hand at the time was the Speedball Handbook's Engrosser's "Old English" Text Alphabet but it looks like I am doing some version of my handwriting here. I was surprised to find this picture and glad to have some record of my earliest endeavors. For the next post, I'll be writing out the poem again.

I see this picture as evidence of an earlier interest in calligraphy and also as a testament to my parents' encouragement of me. In my room I had a desk and bookshelves. They always believed in the importance of an education for me. I went to a private girls' school and they were asked more than once why they were wasting their money on a girl. Rudeness is not a new phenomenon.

Forty Years of Calligraphy #1

This fall marks 40 years since I began to seriously do calligraphy. This is the first of forty posts tracing my work over the years. It's an ambitious task to complete by the end of the year but I am looking forward to this opportunity to look back. The idea started this summer when I wrote this:

I feel the need to go back and review my experiences, in a way to tell my origin story. I need to do this to try to answer the question: why do I keep wanting to apologize for my calligraphy? It's kind of crazy. I have worked over the years to be looser, more free, to let the pen guide me. I try to let the work lead me rather than my lead it. And I like that. I really do feel that my calligraphy is an expression of myself. And yet...

I want to qualify. I want to explain. I want to tell you that I know the letters aren't perfect, that I could have worked harder, that I could have done calligraphy almost every day for the past 40 years instead of just the first ten. I'll be sharing past work and past writings about my work. And I'll let you know the ending up front. I no longer feel that need to apologize. What joy!

Birthday Morning Quote

As I turn 67 and think about the passing of dear friends this past year, I understand that another birthday is truly something to celebrate. I wrote out these words from John O'Donohue's book, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings, this morning to give me inspiration for the year to come. I've made it into a pdf for you to save or print and share.

Studio Sunday-Calligraphy

Lettering with Speedball C-5 nib and Higgins Eternal Ink 

Inverted to White on Black (command I) in Photoshop

Studio Sunday-The Joy of Making Gifts Part 2

 My daughter and I made tea bags for Christmas gifts last year. She found the drawstring tea bags online, I did the lettering and design, and we filled them together. My first thought was to write out quotes but I didn't want the lettering to be so small so I chose words instead. As we were both thinking about, and not looking forward to, making origami boxes to hold the tea bags, I found these wooden boxes at Artist and Craftsman. Much easier! I've heard that some recipients are drinking the tea and others are admiring the tea bags in the box.

National Handwriting Day

National Handwriting Day reminds me how lucky I am to have become involved (40 years this fall) in an art form that is so intimately related to handwriting. This connection has allowed me to come and go in the serious practice of calligraphy while keeping my hand engaged as I made cards, wrote out recipes, and addressed envelopes. Those years of making letters for personal communication rather than exhibition gave me the freedom I was seeking when calligraphy was my sole focus. Thank you calligraphy and thank you handwriting. You have enriched my life.

Studio Sunday-The Joy of Making Gifts, Part 1

The time in the studio when I make gifts for friends and family is in a special category, filled with love. While I love my work and feel more and at ease as I increase my understanding of the process of letting it unfold, there are certain expectations of work for exhibition that make it unlike the complete freedom of making gifts.

I made this for friends' fortieth wedding anniversary. I used a speedball c-5 nib and sumi ink for the black. I chose a deep red to fill in between the lines since ruby is the gift for 40th anniversaries. There are tiny dots of gold and silver made with my first use of my new fintec watercolors (love them). I had purchased the brass locket (3" square) during a trip to Montreal with my daughter a few years ago and I am now looking for more online. I think this is a great idea for small gifts although I suspect numbers are more welcome for anniversaries than birthdays. Next week I'll be sharing some gifts I made for Christmas.

Here is a quote from Lao Tzu that I lettered to share with my Tai Chi class at the Newburyport Public Library. As my New Year gift to you, you can download a pdf here. Wishing you all the best in 2018.

Article in Take Magazine

Besides the obvious thrill of seeing an article about myself published online, I find I always learn something about myself and my work when I respond to the questions I am asked in an interview whether it be by way of email, phone, or in person. Take Magazine is about New England culture so she asked questions about what living in Massachusetts and New England meant to me.

“I love living in the part of the country where Dickinson, Thoreau, Emerson, and Whittier among many others lived and worked,” Gaylord says. She identifies with these literary greats and “their sense that the glory of nature can be found equally in something as small as a flower and as large as a mountain or as vast as the sea,” all of which are easily found in the varietal landscapes of New England. “I have spent more than half my life in the Merrimack Valley, first in the Lowell area where I began my life in the arts and immersed myself in the writing of Jack Kerouac, and then in Newburyport, where the river meets the sea, for the past 32.”

You can read the article here.