Nightmare on Elm Street

Why is this a perilous place? Because it is going to be torn down any day now.

This does not have to do with children's books and illustration directly. It is more about preservation, recycling and waste. To me, however, there is a link to some of the things I like to rant about--building, destroying, creativity, imagination. You see this house is a part of my dreams and wishes, and now physically it will be gone.

Here is my story. I live in the tear-down capital of the United States. Mostly, it is pretty depressing what they replace the houses with. This has been my favorite house for as long as I can remember. I sort of latched on to it in my imagination and I dreamed about one day living there. For some reason, even as a little kid, I had always dreamed of living in a house with a history. Not that this one has a specific story--I can always supply the story part.

I go by this house every day. Mostly, while walking to and from school with my children. It is a saving grace that my son just graduated from his elementary because I won't be forced to pass it this year. Once, I noticed the front door was open and I ventured up on the porch and rang the bell, just to tell the gentleman who lived there how much I liked his house. No one ever came to the door but from what I could see from the porch, I realized the house was too nice for me. It was elegant and welcoming and beautifully furnished. I am a make do, fix it up, garage sale type. Still, it was something I aspired to.

Unfortunately, when it went up for sale, the price made it out of the question for us. I was able to go through it during the open house. I hoped it was too beautiful to tear down. I was wrong.

So my kids and I went up and drew it. It is not a very good drawing. I will attempt a better but for now I wanted to post it so that somewhere it still exists. I always feel at odds with the values of the town I live in, but now I really wonder what I am doing living here. I used to think that the friction caused me to think and inspired me, but today I am just saddened by it. I look at everyone in the down town and they are like aliens. I guess I am the alien. An alien with a broken space ship since because of family, children, and resources, I am stuck here for a while.

Rockville in Fennville

Are You a Builder or a Destroyer.

It's been a while since my little Mo Willems tirade-not against Mo, of course. Spring, which is always crazy, gave way to summer and nothing seemed to slow down this year. Until Fennville. We went to Michigan for a week with my husband's family.
The house we rented had a little beach and there, I was able to continue my perilous pursuits. I had just finished a set of revisions on a novel, and while my daughter read my book aloud to me, my son collected rocks and I began piling them up. It was a distracted little activity in homage to Andy Goldsworthy in the beginning, but it grew. After a couple of days, I realized I was getting a little compulsive, and that it was really an extension of the tippy, crazy buildings I draw. My children began to help build and we searched for stones together. It was lovely.
I knew that it was a temporary "installation" but I imagined that the weather would topple it and the sand would bury it, even the water might wash in around them. Without really realizing it, in my imagination, it was all a part of the little rock city's history.
Two days before we left, someone with large feet wearing shoes, destroyed the whole thing. If they hadn't, I might not have realized how attached to it I was. It just seemed so senseless, and unnecessary.

Here are two things that it made me think of:
1. Why was I so invested in this creation?
2. What is it that makes people want to ruin things? Here was something that had nothing to do with this person. They could destroy it, so they did. Why?

It reminds me of children when they build something as tall as possible, because they can't wait to knock it down. We are all creators and destroyers inside, and all the time we are choosing which to be. Like, in kindergarten, I remember doing finger painting. I could never leave it be. The slippery paper and squishy paint felt too good. I would make a picture and then smoosh it and make another. The impulse is there. But I never smooshed someone else's painting.

Maybe the teetering piles of rocks defying nature and gravity was just too tempting. However, going forward, if I am ever tempted to destroy some one's work, I will remember all the bad karma that goes with it. Believe me, it's a lot.

By the way, thanks to the kind neighbor who took photos and gave them to me on our last day. It was a really lovely souvenir of our week.

Rock City

My daughter the graffiti artist!

Hooray for Mo Willems!

A day or two ago, Mo Willems was on NPR talking about drawing. In a nutshell, he questioned why people stop drawing when they become adults, and he encouraged adults to draw, doodle and serve as examples for children.

I have always felt this as well. People often say they "cannot draw" but what they are really saying is "I cannot draw to a certain standard." It is like people saying they "cannot sing." No one assumes that this person really cannot sing, if they have a voice otherwise. What they mean is they cannot sing well. Maybe these people do not enjoy drawing or singing because of the struggle to achieve an unrealistic product.

If you take this one step further, Americans loath amateurs. "If you can't be a prodigy, or make money at something what is the point, " seems to be the general opinion. The word amateur is even used as an insult here. This is a shame. Creativity is so essential to life--at least to me, and I have yet to make a living at it. If we just dedicated the time spent watching TV to creativity, it would be so powerful. I think people would be so much more satisfied with life.

One of the interesting things Mr. Willems pointed out was that in other eras everyone used to draw, he gave as an example the drawings of explorers. I have another example, Leonardo DaVinci. I believe (I am not a scholar, of course) that DaVinci became an accomplished artist because he drew to learn. His art was a way of understanding science and painting was just an offshoot of this discipline. One really learns so much by sitting still, looking and trying to record what you see. You realize that what you see is not always what you think you see, or that what you see is really so much more complex and beautiful than at first thought.

I am just giving up my post as Chair of Art Volunteer in the Classroom at my son's school. It has been a labor of love because I sometimes believe I am the only one who thinks it is so essential. We conduct discussions with the students--Socratic method. I ask the children to look at one (maybe others for comparison sake) piece of art and make observations for thirty minutes. Our job is really to keep the questions coming and listen to responses. I believe it is important because we are deluged with images all the time and don't realize that visuals are incredibly manipulative unless you question it. Oh well, I could go on and on.

I guess, like Mr. Willems, it is all so important to me, I cannot imagine art not being a part of everyone's expression. Like, when someone says, "I cannot draw," I silently believe that he/she is really an artist that has been smothered by society and commercialism. Though this is a belief almost like faith in that it comes so naturally to me, I do wonder sometimes if I am wrong. Am I blind when it comes to art? How ironic.

Bothered Birds

Bird Brains

Bird Humor Greeting Cards

Hello Out There

Sorry that it has been so long since my last posting. Revisions, taxes, illness but not in that order are my excuses. I am also wondering why you would want to listen to my ravings but whatever. One thing I wanted to do this year was log the books I have read. Mostly for myself but if anyone else wants to comment on them I would be really interested. A few years ago a writer in SCBWI logged all the books she read and she started to see repeating elements like: the best friend having red hair, mother dying, and lists. It would be cool to draw some comparisons like that but right now I just want to keep track. I did not start in January as I planned but I will list some of the ones I remember. Excuse the fact that I don't always have authors. When I get more or less up to date I will have the authors.



Tender Morsels: Brilliantly written retelling of the fairytale of Rose Red and Snow White. A lot of disturbing content so be prepared. The ending left me a little bit wanting.
Graceling: This was a fantasy about a land of several kingdoms where there are special individuals born with graces or talents. They are identifiable by their mismatched eyes. The main character is a girl who is graced with killing. I really liked the way the author worked with the central idea of being graced, the different problems facing these graces and how they are sometimes mistaken about their graces or how to use them. What I didn't quite buy was that she had actually been a killer. The central mystery and its connection with an evil king seem to be only a vehicle and not plausible.
Hunger Games: We listened to this on tape. It is brilliant. Thrilling and yet also meaty. It is set in a futuristic North America where most of the country is divided into districts that are subservient to The Capital which is not in the Rocky Mountains. Each year the districts must sacrifice a boy and a girl to a televised game of survival. There is so much here about human nature, the nature of government, poverty, and wealth.
Ransom My Heart, by Meg Cabot: This is a romance novel plain and simple. It is supposedly written by the princess of Cabot's Princess Diary series. There are sex scenes which I wasn't expecting from a YA Cabot.
Sunshine by Robin McKinley: This is a re-read for me which is rare. It is just the best vampire book to date. McKinley is the queen of the Beauty and the Beast re-tellers. She has done straight retellings twice--both excellent. This is a third less traditional take on the tale. I love the way she peals away the familiar world and even to the end you are discovering strange new details that totally fit in. The contrasts of light and dark, food and blood, baking and magic, human and Other are tangible. It continues to surprise me the second time around.
The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman: Winner of the Newberry. I listened to the author read this and read the book. I really enjoyed it. Again the central mystery was not quite satisfying but the rest of the book is captivating.

That is all for now. Those were the ones off the top of my head, but there are more.