This tunic has a poem hiding in its pocket. Like a journal. Or a secret wish. Or a hidden tattoo. It's something like a worry stone you might rub between your fingers but instead of rock it's made of fabric, ink, and poem. Some of you might remember when I worked with my friend, Jen Hewett, to make hand-printed labels and poem tags on linen.
I couldn't wait to insert a poem in a seam or pocket or hemline somewhere but the moment kept escaping me. I'd design garments with the poem in mind but forget to include them before the bindings were added or the seams closed. But this time I kept the poem pinned to the pocket as I made my way through the pattern so that I would not forget to include it in the final piece. Hooray! There's a poem hiding in the pocket--my first garment with a poem stitched to its underside.
I posted about the Taproot Tunic pattern a few weeks ago. I love Sonya Philip's patterns and I was so excited to see this tunic included in the latest issue of Taproot magazine. I haven't had much time to sew lately and my momentum was halted by the challenge of French seams. (Thank you to those of you who offered advice in the comments.)
After three different attempts I finally asked the pattern maker herself if she thought it was possible. She simply said, "No, I don't think it is because of the bulk in the armpit." Exactly! Because of the bulk in the armpit. And with that I gave up on my French seams (Okay, I kept the French seams everywhere except for the side seam that creates the armpit) and then the pattern chugged along like a steady little sewing train. No more glitches.
The linen labels Jen printed are now a favorite. I love knowing that the entire garment is made from natural and biodegradable materials from fabric to labels to thread to binding. (I was just reading in Fashion & Sustainability: Design for Change that designers often overlook the material content of their notions and trims prolonging the landfill life of otherwise biodegradable fabrics. It made me think that I should also pay closer attention to my zippers, buttons, threads, and trims. So I'm making this effort. ) The fabric for the binding is a printed African fabric that has been waiting in my stash for many years now but it's finally found its mark here--a dash of pattern and color along the gray linen edges.
Now, I cannot wait to wear this new frock. I fear I might need to make another soon. Maybe very, very soon. Hey studio deadlines, you have some competition with the tunics. Perhaps you can all play nice and make time for each other at the studio table, okay? Okay then.
I'm thinking about mendfulness. That's right, mendfulness, and how my work is currently at the convergences of art-making, crafting, mending, and mindfulness. Oh, I shutter when I write that word, mindfulness, because I think it assumes some level of spiritual mastery that I am not going to even begin to pretend I have attained.
I am, after all, the parent of a young toddler and I think parenting requires patience, tenderness, and perspective but it's more like chasing a small monkey around the playground so he doesn't leap from the tallest tower and it's less like sitting in silent meditation. Though, of course, I advocate for moments of meditation when we can create them. But I use the word, mindfulness, because I also think it implies intention or being intentional and, good grief yes, that is certainly what I'm striving for in the Make Thrift Mend project and in my work at large. Mendfulness, yes.
And, for the record, I did not create the term mendfulness but instead it came to me through a reader and student and online craft companion, Jo Woolmer. (Thank you for your email, Jo!) But it has since made its way into an essay I'm co-writing for a magazine. About the intersection of mending, making, and reclaiming.
See? I just shuttered again. Let me say that I am not trying to create any hierarchy in the art, craft, or ecological communities. And I am certainly not trying to assume mastery in the very difficult act of living on the earth as an environmentalist. We are human. That means we are naturally imperfect. But it also means we can use our rational thinking and our opposable thumbs to our advantage.
We can be mindful. We can be mendful. We can do our very best to leave this fragile planet a little bit better than how we inherited it. (And now I'll step back down from my soapbox and talk about mending.)
So I've spent some time with the definitions of the word, "mend" and I'm finding it a very powerful little word. Mend (verb): To make (something broken or damaged) usable again: to repair (something broken or damaged). Mend: To heal or cure (a broken bone, a sad feeling, etc). Mend (noun): a place where something (such as a piece of clothing) has been repaired. And then the dictionary goes on to give several fabulous synonyms including reform, correct, repair, cure, heal, doctor, fix, patch, recondition, renovate, revamp, and rebuild.
Oh, I could write a novel on each of these words and its necessary place at the intersection of art, fashion, and ecology. Let alone its place in our kitchens. In our gardens. In our art studios. In our communities and legislation and infrastructure. I love how the list of synonyms conjures images of building houses, casting broken bones, and going to the voting booths all at once. I see hammers, scaffolding, herbs, salves, notebooks, declarations, pencils, erasers, threads, needles, and even a trip to the nearby gym. Bring out the sweatbands, my friends!
But I think what really struck me about the term, mendfulnes, is that it simply implies there is an intersection between mending and being mindful. That there is an intention to repair but furthermore to pay attention or to witness, to be thoughtful, and then to attempt to act from this place. Attempt. Because we know that even in our most mindful attempts we still make mistakes. Because, well, because we are human and also chasing little monkeys around the playground doing our best to make sure they do not leap from the tallest tower into the shallow sand below.
And I can hear my yoga teacher in last week's class when she talked about forgiveness. When she asked, "Can we forgive our selves for the mistakes we'll make in the future?" I've been thinking about that all week too. Because on some levels, yes, we must forgive our selves for the mistakes we've made in the past and will make in the future but we must hold our selves accountable at some point too. We must commit not just to intention but to action. We must be prepared to change.
So why these images in today's post? Well, these images are from my spoon for the 3636 Project organized by the lovely and talented Courtney Cerruti that opened last Friday night. Courtney offered 36 artists each one vintage spoon and the results are on exhibition at Paxton Gate in San Francisco on Valencia Street. It's a really lovely show and it's so inspiring to see how 36 different artists used 36 different spoons in 36 different ways. Of course, each and every one is distinct and different.
But I included it here because while I wasn't yet aware of the term, mendfulness, when I created this piece I do think it's at the heart of what I was making. I couldn't bring myself to disfigure or even upcycle the spoon I was given. It seemed so beautiful in its worn patina, sturdy in its solid wood, and wise in its many years that I just couldn't interfere. So instead, I enshrined it with hand-dyed indigo fabric and a hand-stitched thread binding.
I imagined it might be packaged for a long journey across the generations and this wrapping might help it to make the trip. Much like I think of slow fashion or Make Thrift Mend or mendfulness. That we are on a long journey to reclaim the garment industry or even just the clothes in our own closets and perhaps this mendfulness will help us make the journey.
Because even if our mindfulness does not result in action I do believe it changes our intentions and that redirection forces us to follow our internal compass to a different point on the horizon. One small shift in that compass can result in the difference of a very drastic location if we go the course for many miles.
So instead of imagining we need to make this epic shift in the walk from one end of our house to the other, let's imagine we make this shift in navigating from one side of the ocean to the other. It's more attainable that way, right? It's all written in the definition: Reform, correct, repair, cure, heal, doctor, fix, patch, recondition, renovate, revamp, and rebuild.
I've fallen in love. Yup. I've fallen head-over-heels in love for the Japanese stitching technique known as Sashiko. I am not going to pretend to be an expert on Sashiko or its various techniques in Japanese quilting, embroidery, or mending but I am going to tell you that it just revolutionized my pile of torn denim.
In very simplistic terms--it's a series of running stitches usually done with white thread on denim to reinforce the fabric. But there are also several elaborate patterned stitches in Sashiko used for decorative arts like quilting, embroidery, and applique. I love how it's being used in mending. So I tried my hand at it here on this pair of torn jeans. Now, I can't wait to try it again.
When I first saw images of Sashiko mending techniques I audibly gasped. Followed by a quick, "Ohmygosh", as the possibilities for mending began to expand exponentially in my mind. The light bulb went off and I realized that with even the very basic understanding of this stitch I could approach mending like quilting. (And then the skies parted and the rose-colored light beamed down on my sewing table and I reached my arms out towards the window. I think angels sang.)
I'm not sure why this hadn't occurred to me before but it hadn't. But, of course! We can use our quilting stitches and embroidery stitches to mend worn clothes. To reinforce them. And to make them even better. And we can apply our own design sensibility and our own aesthetic in making these repairs. They can be simple and quick or they can be elaborate and time intensive. They do not just have to be a chore to complete but also an opportunity to apply our own artistry. What a shift.
Something about approaching mending like quilting or applique or embroidery just made it so much more appealing. Mending doesn't have to be a stiff floral patch stitched poorly over a torn hole? Really? Are you sure? Because for over three decades I think some part of me has believed this.
But no. It can be different. It can be subtle. It can be full of beautiful hand stitches and it can even strengthen the original fabric. (Another reason to buy quality fabric to begin with--it will be worth the effort to repair and it will hold up to the test of toddlers, playgrounds, studio work, and other rough and tumble activities of an active mama.)
From my preliminary research I've realized that those adhesive iron-patches of my youth can be replaced with a simple piece of sturdy fabric. Any fabric. And in mending these denim jeans I just used another piece of denim as my backing.
This was actually the second time I've mended these jeans--see that tiny rectangle within the larger mended rectangle? That was my first attempt at darning. Which I also loved. And little did I know that darning is pretty much just weaving. You add a reinforcement fabric behind the area to be darned (I used an iron-on patch) and then you create a warp (lengthwise stitch) and then a weft (vertical stitch) to replace the torn fabric.
So I had replaced the tiny torn hole above my knee with my first attempt at darning. Small victory. But soon the space below the iron-on patch also gave way and resulted in a much larger gash. It was too large to darn at last week's mending circle so I stitched a piece of denim behind it thinking I'd figure out the decorative stitches later.
Fortunately for the wonderful wide world of Pinterest--my mending inspiration board became twice the size as I researched images of Sashiko mending. So simple! So inspiring. Next time I wouldn't even stitch a whip stitch around the edges of the denim patch because the running stitches would hold it in place. Just. Like. Quilting.
But the real testament to this beautiful stitch? My husband glanced over as I was mending up these jeans--admittedly over a glass of red wine and an episode of Downton Abbey after our toddler was finally asleep--and he said (and I quote), "I could even do that to my own jeans". Gasp. Faraway stare. Glance up to the corner of the room. Moment to compute what just happened. And then I replied, "Why, yes, honey. You could." Imagine my mending pile being whittled away by my dear husband and the Sashiko stitch. Anything is possible. I'm telling you, this stitch has superpowers.
Last week, as part of my project, Make Thrift Mend, I hosted a mending circle with my dear friend, Mati Rose McDonough, at her studio space in Teahouse Studio. We invited a handful of local artists and simply asked that each person bring something to mend, some basic sewing supplies, and a bit of food to share. Local artists, Courtney Cerruti, Rachel T. Robertson, Jen Lake, and out-of-town guest, Cal Patch, joined Mati and I for an evening of mending. It really was the simplest gathering I've hosted in years. No fuss. No food prep. No decorations. No hurry. No worry.
We gathered around a large table in Mati's studio and set to our mending. There were six of us and somehow we ended up with enough food for twelve, of course. But something about the low-fuss preparation really made it inviting and easy while staying focused on the reason we were together: to mend our threadbare garments. Wine, tea, chocolate, crackers, cheese, veggies, dips, and some sweets was plenty. We gathered at 7 o'clock on a Thursday night and by 9:30 we were cleaning up and walking out the front door. A true sign of our age, I suppose, as the late weeknights of yesteryear feel like just that in my toddler household--something of the past.
But two and a half hours was plenty. Some people brought a stack of easy mending fixes--holes in seams to be stitched up or pockets to be reattached. And some brought a more complicated project that took the entire time--holes to be patched in the knee of beloved denim or elbow patches to be applied to favorite cardigans.
We stitched. We bitched. We covered all the usual ground--husbands, partners, kiddos, books, movies, jobs, and even a lengthy conversation about the challenges in sourcing ethical, affordable, and machine-washable undergarments. I have one silk slip I've been wearing for nearly 15 years because it's that hard to replace. It seems that being unsatisfied with the options in undergarments was a common theme. (Maybe one that sustainable fashion designers will make obsolete soon enough?)
But the best part was simply making time to gather. Setting aside time in our busy lives to create community around crafting. And knowing that I would have good company while I darned the hole in my jeans was amazing motivation to pull them out of the to-do pile and make them wearable again. (For the record, I am wearing them as I type.) I only wish there was such community building in all my dreaded household chores--maybe a dusting circle would have the same appeal? Hmm, probably not.
I've started collecting images for pretty mending techniques over on Pinterest. Mending, darning, or patching the garments is only half the trick. Making them look good is another story. So I'm collecting images of inspirational techniques and it's opening my mind up to the design possibilities. Many of the folks from the mending circle posted photos over on Instagram and I was surprised by the feedback. So many people thought it was a great idea and expressed interest in hosting their own mending circle.
To this I say...yes! Host a mending circle! Invite a handful of friends, grab some wine, find some chocolate, and gather around a kitchen table to whittle down your mending pile. (And trust me, if you can learn to tie your shoelaces you can learn to mend. And I know that tying shoelaces is not something we know from birth because my two-year-old son requires Velcro. You can mend a simple straight stitch by hand, I pinkie swear.) Practical and a good excuse to gather with friends. Double win. I can't wait to host another one soon.
I've been in the studio all day for a photo shoot that started at 8am and lasted until 6pm. It was a very long day that, regardless of the hours, felt like a marathon. It reminds me of the special events work I managed many moons ago when I worked in fundraising for nonprofit organizations in New York City. Those days were truly work marathons. We prepared for weeks ahead of the event and then endure 15 or 16 hours in one day to make it all happen. Then we collapsed into a tired office heap.
Today I wore pink corduroys, a denim shirt, and sipped green tea all day long. Back then we wore black dresses, black heels, and sipped champagne with our guests. But the elegance was temporary--immediately after the event we kicked our heels into the corners of some strange storage room before taking all the decorations back down and schlepping all the materials to the elevators, out delivery ramps, and into rented moving vans. The next day in the office we wore tattered jeans, drank too much coffee, and magically made all the decorations cram back into their tiny cupboards before reviewing infinite spreadsheets. Then reluctantly we'd start all over again.
This makes me think about the fluidity in our work, in our studios, in our homes. How one transition often feels like it is taking our lives in a very new direction but once we have transitioned into this new direction we find familiar scenarios from previous jobs, homes, cities, colleagues, or friendships. We find our own familiarities. The players change but not the positions. The uniform shifts. The colors change. The black dress is swapped out for a denim shirt. The job description alters or ebbs or changes considerably but our character does not. The detail-oriented find the details and the big-picture thinkers find the big picture and the very organized refine the organization and so it goes.
I take comfort in this sameness. I take comfort in moving from one side of the country to the other and finding familiar feelings, familiar stories, familiar ways of interacting with new (but seemingly familiar) people. I take comfort in finding all my previous lives very useful to this present life too. I still use the skills I learned in special events to organize a photography shoot and I have the same mix of exhaustion and relief when the day is done. I use the organizational skills required in various art offices to plan my week, outline my meetings, and coordinate efforts with colleagues and collaborators. My desk looks very different now but many of the functions are actually the same.
I like to think that we are the same at our core. That my core is the very same now as it was when I was 7 or 17 or 27. I like to think that my situation has changed, my environment has shifted, my work has shifted too but the core of my character and, likely, the core of my weaknesses and strengths have been weathered by my experiences but they have not really been altered. My job description changes but maybe, in some ways, not actually my work.
This is not to say that people cannot change. They can change. They do change. We must change to evolve and grow and stay engaged with our living. But I am beginning to think that the evolution is more about getting honest with our selves, about recognizing our selves, about knowing our selves than anything else. That growing into myself is actually the work of my age--not growing into somebody else.
And in these moments when I've had a very long day and I feel like I haven't felt this kind of exhaustion since I was running special events in Manhattan over a decade ago--I like knowing that I've actually been right here before. That I've been here since. That I'll be here one day again and it will feel simultaneously familiar and totally new. I like seeing myself in the nuances and finding myself tucked into the ups and downs of what a long day demands. I like knowing it's the same me in that black dress and black heels or in these corduroy pants and denim shirt--substitute the champagne for a pot of green tea.
I like recognizing the details of the work as the same details in previous positions--just the setting and the goals have changed. I like thinking of this continuum and how I'll recognize so many sides of myself over the next several decades of my career. I like knowing that it's the same me--just a different desk, a different drink, and a different pair of shoes.
I can't believe I'm almost half way through the year of my fast-fashion fast. I imagined it would be so much harder than it has actually been. When I first conceived of the Make Thrift Mend project I gave myself permission to buy new clothing that was ethically made but half way through I'm realizing that isn't going to be necessary. I won't buy any new clothing (even sustainably made) for this entire year. Instead I'll only buy secondhand, mend my own, or make my own garments.
Trust me, this would have sounded impossible if I just thought about it as an abstract project--who doesn't buy any new clothing in an entire year, right? Well, me. I don't. Or I don't this year and it's totally okay. It's better than ok--it's awesome! It's changing how I see fabric, garment construction, and the ever-impending pressure of a fashion trend. I'm not suggesting we cast fashion to the wind--quite the opposite. I'm suggesting that by paying more attention to the fabrics, construction, and make up of my clothing I feel liberated to see beyond the trend.
So as I'm drawing all my attention to my buying habits I'm also drawing attention to my mending habits (or lack thereof) and my making habits too. I feel more inclined to mend my clothing because I have a better idea of what options are out there. And I have a better idea of the actual quality of the garment. (If it isn't worth mending then it goes into the scrap fabric pile. Hopefully that pile will be reduced in years to come.)
I'm also realizing where I need to improve my sewing skills. I can make simple dresses, tank tops, tote bags, quilts, pillowcases, and my heart has really been in making art objects from textiles. But this project is pushing me outside of my sewing comfort zone. More specifically? Well, it's winter and I can't wear tank tops and simple dresses even if I do live in the very temperature Bay Area. I need some sleeves. Long sleeves, to be exact.
Sleeves. Gasp! Yes, I'm going to tackle sleeves. And what better way to start my first sleeve project than with my dear friend Sonya Philip's new Taproot Tunic pattern in Issue 8 of Taproot magazine. That's right, a pattern. I've decided that I need to tackle a few sleeve patterns before I can improvise my own. So that's what I've been doing the past few days when I can sneak away from work deadlines or squirrel away in the studio while the little one naps. Tackling sleeves. Or wrestling sleeves might be more appropriate as I've far from tackled them yet. Not quite yet.
I love working with linen and I love wearing linen for the way it drapes. In focusing on natural materials I've been looking mostly to cotton and linen for my handmade garments. I'm leaving the wool and silk to the future dye vats for now. And, truth be told, I'm only a mediocre knitter or I might commit to knitting a sweater instead. But for now it's sleeves. And in choosing this gorgeous gray linen that meant I needed to confront the unfinished seam. I'm fine to use my pinking shears or to use a zig zag stitch when finishing a cotton seam but with linen I find that it unravels too quickly. So... enter the French Seam. (And enter the Jaws theme song, please.)
I'm determined to figure out a way to use this gorgeous Taproot Tunic and make all the seams French seams so the linen will not fray after several washes. I'm just not sure how I'm going to negotiate the bulk of the corner at the sleeve hem. (Suggestions, my friends?) So Google searches will have to be my best friends for the next few days until I figure it out. If I can't make it work I'll have to rip the stitches out and try, try again.
While I'm talking about the mid-way mark of my project, do you want to know my best Make Thrift Mend secondhand find yet? I just scored a pair of Frye boots at the local consignment shop for $24! What?!? It's true. They were marked at $85 and after I traded in some hanging-in-the-closet-not-being-worn clothing I only had to pay $24 for seemingly new black Frye boots. I almost passed out at the register I love them that much. Dear Thrift Gods, I thank you.
This weekend I did some experimenting with coffee dye. I found a white cotton cardigan on one of my recent thrift expeditions and I loved the fit and the style but wearing any white clothing in the presence of an active toddler is not really a wise idea. Unless, of course, it is made from 100% natural materials because then it is perfect for natural dye experiments. Hence, the white cardigan found its way into my closet in the name of future dye projects.
So coffee. In my very fledgling work with natural dyes (I confess to being a novice and given the natural dye experts who have dedicated their entire careers to researching natural, plant-based, dyes I will likely consider myself a novice even after decades of this work) I have tried to avoid using mordants. A mordant, in very simple non-encyclopedia terms, helps the dye bond to the fabric. Some dye/ fabric combinations are much easier to achieve without mordants than others. Thus, my very novice disclaimer above. It's a lifelong practice. (You can see more of my natural dye adventures here.)
I'm learning there are more and more natural non-toxic mordants (or let me be more specific and say "edible" mordants) but I've been hesitant to go the mordant route. When dyeing, I use the same stainless steel pots and wooden spoons that double as kitchenware so I have been hesitant to introduce alum or iron mordants because that will entail separate "dye only" equipment. If I had the extra space and good kitchen ventilation--or a dreamy outdoor garden dye studio--I'd be less hesitant. But our cozy 650 sq foot apartment already doubles as home, office, studio, and playroom and this does not allow for many extra pots or pans.
So in my own kitchen I've worked with onion skins, carrot tops, beets, cabbage, tea, and coffee. But I am learning that the different reactions are not just the plant (or the time of year you harvested, age of the plant, soil of the plant, etc) but also very much the mordants. Ho hum. And, of course, if the fabric is made from animal or plant materials. It seems the protein-based materials take to the dyes quicker than the plant-based. Or the wools and silks react better than the cottons and linens. Well, usually.
But in my quest to avoid mordants (which is very much coming to a quick end, I do declare) I am also learning that there are other plant-based and nontoxic mordants. Like seawater or salt. And vinegar. And citrus. And, of course, scrap metals that will make my kitchenware my "dyeware" but I suppose I can find an extra spot under my studio desk if I must. Ho hum again.
So coffee. I used a 100% cotton cardigan and it turned out a very pretty--albeit very pale--shade of beige. I hate the word "beige", so let's say, "tan" instead. So it's tan. And it has this pretty hint of yellow or green depending on the light. Maybe even a warm brown but a very light brown at best. It's certainly a warmer, more earthy version of its original stark white. So that's a move in the right direction. I do love the complex colors of natural dyes--perhaps, it's what I love the best.
But it is far from the deep rich brown I had imagined. And I also tossed in a pair of my son's pajama bottoms--92% cotton and 8% spandex--because they were far from their original white already. They actually took the dye better than I imagined (as they are not 100% plant or animal-based) but my shibori string was tied to loose. Next time I'd tie each tiny leg in it's own shibori thread as only the outer edges really received the result. Ho hum again.
But, oddly, I'm not dissuaded. I think that working with plant dyes is certainly in my future. And like any creative pursuit, it just takes time. Trial and error is really the only way of navigating a lifelong journey in the arts. Or in the kitchen. Or in the sewing studio. Or in parenting. Or in love. Or the list continues.
Like anything really meaningful, it cannot be learned on the first or second or maybe even the tenth time. It takes time. And so now I'm going to use the rest of my son's nap to continue reading my beautiful dye books and to do some research on post-mordanting (or modifying as it's called), and over-dyeing, and also this new direction I've been learning about using a protein as a mordant. Hmm.
In my basic plant dye experience I can say this: Use natural materials, use clean garments, let the garments pre-soak in water or a mordant, brew your dye vats strong and long, and let the garments soak for longer than you think is needed. Unless, of course, you're working with a dye or garment that will reach a saturation point or working with a mordant that will dilute if soaked for too long. You see? It's not a perfect science at all. But it IS a whole bunch of fun. Now, off to enjoy a bit of this quietude during naptime.
PS--THANK YOU to those of you who left your feedback on my last post. I'm so grateful for your thoughts! I'll announce the winner of the giveaway in the comments section of that post tomorrow morning. The giveaway is open until midnight tonight so there's still time to enter. Good luck!
I would love, love, love to get your feedback. I'm considering offering more classes in 2014 and I'd love to get your thoughts on what topics or projects you'd like to learn. This does not mean that you have to take the class or commit to the class in any way, shape, or form. Not at all!
It's just an opportunity for me to better understand your creative interests as I'm thinking about new class offerings. (And to sample some folks about their creative interests, at large.) I'd love to know more about what you want to learn, study, or create and see how I might offer creative guidance through an online or in-person class.
My art and craft work focuses primarily in paper, textiles, and/ or creative writing. I like to work with natural, up-cycled, or sustainable materials and often use found materials in my work too. And I'd be happy to teach courses or projects in any of these areas or even some combination thereof.
I've noticed that most current art and craft courses for adults seem to focus on projects but I'd be happy to cover projects or techniques. Or both. Some of you also remember my former life as a nonprofit arts administrator-- for 12 years I worked in fundraising, special events, and programming for various nonprofit galleries and theaters.
Last year, I offered several workshops in the Bay Area focused on fundraising for artists--writing grants, creating individual appeal letters, and launching online fundraising campaigns like Kickstarter to support art projects. I also offered the online course, INTERWOVEN and am thrilled to offer this class again March- May 2014. INTERWOVEN focuses on four different projects and offers a wide array of information surrounding those topics--crochet, soft sculpture, embroidery, and quilting.
But I'm thinking about offering other workshops in 2014 and I'd love your input. So if you would be willing to answer just three questions in a comment then I will select one person at random and send you a Made by Katrina art care package. Oh gosh, I'm excited just imagining what I'll include in this package! It will be a sampling of work I offer through my Etsy shop, materials I use in my studio, and at least one other original creation. It's an art care package from me to you--to thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts.
Okay, just answer these three questions in the comment section below by next Monday, Jan 20 at midnight. And if you're too shy or busy to leave a comment (nudge, nudge shy and busy folks among you) then I'm also going to create an anonymous survey on the sidebar with a briefer version. But I'd really love to know your thoughts. Did I say that yet? Okay, the three questions:
- Location: Would you prefer the class be offered online, in the Bay Area, or as part of a bigger arts offering like an art camp for adults where you take other creative classes while you visit?
- Subject: Textiles (sewing, dyeing, hand-stitching, embroidery, quilting, soft sculpture, etc), paper and/or printmaking (book arts, bookbinding, paper sculptures, linoleum block prints, banners, garlands, etc), creative writing (poetry, nonfiction, blogging, etc), or professional arts practices (fundraising, grant writing, appeal letters, artist statements, artist resumes, etc)?
- Details: Anything else you want to add! If you're thinking, "Oh, I'd really like to make a dress" then I'd love to know these details. Or if you've been looking for a class in a specific art/ craft subject area I'd love to know about it. Or if you took an awesome art class and want to go deeper--tell me about that too. Or if you've never taken a craft-focused class in your life then where would you want to start?
Thank you times 100. No, thank you times 100,000! I'd love to get your input whether you've been reading this blog for 6 years or 6 months or just about the last 6 minutes. Regardless, I'd love to know your thoughts and your own creative interests as I pursue opportunities to expand my teaching in 2014. Thank you much.