My aunt and fake-uncle will finally become my aunt and real-uncle in just a couple of months. They asked me if I was interested in working on the print materials for their wedding and of course I said yes! It's been an interesting adventure–my first time doing wedding invitations–but totally worth it. In spite of a couple of hiccups along the way, I think everything turned out to be quite lovely.

Both my aunt and uncle-to-be grew up in Pennsylvania and spent their childhoods scouting, camping, and spending summers by lakes. When they finally decided to hold the wedding at an inn on a lake, a scout/state park theme seemed just the ticket for their autumn ceremony.

all of the invitation materials together

We stuck with a simple 4x6 postcard for the save the date, but got a lot more complicated with the invitation. Instead of just doing a traditional invitation, we wanted to run with the scout/park themes and create a sort of 'camp guide'. I ended up designing a tri-fold brochure with an inner pocket to hold the actual invitation and rsvp postcard. The brochure also doubles as a map and resource for driving/hotel information. You'll see some non-traditional merit badges across the piece as a little nod to the scouts. For the invitation, however, they wanted to keep it a little more traditional, so I stuck with a two color palette and some simple leaf imagery printed on 110# cream paper with a bit of tooth. To make the rsvp postcard stand out, I dropped the size down to 3.5x5–the smallest the USPS will accept. Lastly, we placed everything into kraft paper envelopes and had a custom rubber stamp made for the return address.

For more detailed photos of the different components, visit here.

top + middle: image on acrylic, bottom: printed image

It's a difficult thing, to realized you've failed. Even in your most optimistic and forgiving state of mind, a moment of failure can be discouraging. But failure is a strong and almost desperate word; one you yell to yourself at the peak of frustration. It's easy to overlook all of the valuable work leading up that moment–a million little wins forgotten in the wake of one mistake.

The other day I decided to make some monotypes (not to be confused with monoprints). I've been itching to do some printmaking and this felt like a really accessible approach, and one I'm familiar with.

To begin, I took my piece of acrylic (plexi), inked it with oil-based block printing ink, and began shaping my image by removing the unwanted ink with towels and brushes (keep in mind that like a stamp, the image will transfer backwards). When I was done, I dampened my Rives BFK with a water bottle and let it almost dry–until it was just barely damp and cool to the touch. Next, I taped my paper to the acrylic, to prevent unwanted movement, and began transferring the image by rubbing a wooden spoon and clean brayer on the back. If I were in a real printmaking studio, I would have used a press, but this should have sufficed for the simple image I was making.

The results are above. I could tell as I was working that the ink was thick and tacky–so it probably could have been thinned out. The paper was also very toothy, made obvious by the grainy way in which the ink transferred. When I lifted the print, I immediately felt frustrated and disappointed. I was hoping for something much more consistent and even in application and instead I had a blotchy mess. And, as the name suggests, it's a one chance deal. If it doesn't come out the first time, you have to start all over.

The last few things I've done with the block printing ink have been problematic, which I think has something to do with its consistency. Prior to purchasing the ink, I had been using oil paints for my xerox transfers and monotypes with much greater success, so I decided to pull them out. I grabbed a tube of cadmium red which pretty much oozed out onto the acrylic. Initially I thought, great–it's nice and wet, easy to roll with good opacity–this should print nicely. But as I tried to lift the paint and form my image, I found it incredibly difficult to maintain neat-ish edges or even remove the paint at all. I think that in the end it took me much longer to prep my image this time.

The results of my paint attempt were pretty similar to the ink–it looked more like a ghost print than a successful monotype. While I'm still not entirely sure what went wrong, I have my speculations: ink/paint consistency, paper type, level of pressure applied. At first I was ready to renounce monotyping, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that making a piece isn't just about the end result; it's about the entire process and my own experience throughout that process. Sitting there working on it was so different than being glued to the screen of a computer. The results may not be as 'perfect', but the process was much slower (in a good way), thoughtful, and emotional.

a little glimpse at my messy (shared) studio

Was it a failure? Yes and no. But the key is that failing isn't such a bad thing. It's all a part of the learning process and even if I have to fail three more times before I get it right, I expect to continue learning each time. And really, sometimes it's not even the technique you learn about, but yourself.

New. New site, new work, new frame of mind. I had been coding my own site for the past four years, which has been wonderful and quite a learning experience, but I've decided to join Cargo and embrace all of the fancier things that are a bit over my head. Updates will now be far less complicated (which means they should occur more often!)

I've been able to put my existing html/css skills to use refining and customizing, so those years of practice are really coming in handy. It's almost like the grunt-work aspect of the site has been taken away to allow me more time to explore the functionality and aesthetics. Cargo also functions as a community for creatives, which is a nice added bonus that lets me discover and connect with new, fine people. Conclusion: Cargo=fantastic.

As always, thanks for reading and thanks for looking. Happy Tuesday.

Yesterday I painted. What I really want to do is pull screens and roll presses, but I can't. Not yet anyway. In the meantime, I will paint.

I've always had a love/hate relationship with painting. I can't control brushes like I can pencils, I'm terrible at mixing colors (and always manage to run out), and nothing ever turns out as I plan. It's not process oriented and calculated like printmaking can be. But I can't let it go. Perhaps I'm confusing a love of looking at painting with a love of actually painting. I nearly fell over after seeing the Francis Bacon show at the Whitney last year, it was all so beautifully executed. But I'm equally stunned by the flatter work of Margaret Kilgallen. The more street and folk art I look at, the more I feel as though I've found my own gateway into painting.


My brain has created all of these parameters of what I can and can't do. I can't paint flatly, it says, what's the point of that? These are notions leftover from an art school education that placed too much emphasis on realism and not enough anywhere else. I agree that it's important–no, essential–to learn perspective, anatomy, and color theory. Everyone should learn to draw 'correctly,' or at least the foundations of drawing. But they shouldn't be stuck competing for the title of most realistic. I realize that I'm beyond those worries of my art school days and in the years since I've largely accepted myself and the style I work in. Hey–there's room for all of us!

So I've had two conflicts: One, I like printmaking processes way more than painting, as I can better relate to them. Two, I keep thinking I'm not allowed to paint, because I'm not a 'painter.' All of these somewhat irrational thoughts have lead me to avoid painting like the plague. My brushes went mostly untouched until a few months ago. The first paintings I did were meticulously planned (the printmaking side of me), but still liberating in a sense. I was painting–in my very own way.



Lately, I've been looking into the LA art scene, gleaning what I can from gallery visits, reading up on mid-century artists/designers, and learning more about street art and culture through resources like the book Beautiful Losers. I've been trying to doodle more and be looser and freer in my work. So yesterday I just sat down and painted. No hours of preparing. Just sketching with paint. Yes, it's still flat. It's somewhat naïve and certainly imperfect, but it made me happy. To act, to be making, and to work in a way that I feel comfortable. That doesn't mean I'm not challenging myself–painting in and of itself is still a challenge–but I'm content at the moment to explore this new approach with little steps.

Sorry for the rambling. I figure that no one reads this anyway and it's good for me to get it all out of my head!

It's amazing how quickly the days go by. So much so, that I often find myself wishing I had more time for drawing, reading, and just walking outside. Lately I've been trying to draw and doodle more–and with less pressure. Exercises to keep my hands, mind, and eyes fresh. Today I did a little doodle that reminded me so much of a friend, I had to finish it up with color and all.

On a side note, I can't wait for tea season–we're getting closer!

I finally photographed the painting–right before delivering it on Sunday afternoon. It was very warmly received and followed by a an hour or more of tea drinking, architecture talk, and the smells of pasta sauce on the stove top. A very fine weekend home!