Roz Wound Up

Spring in Minneapolis

Left: Twenty-minute watercolor Brush Pen sketch of the life model in gesture class. I drew directly with the blue brush and then washed out and diluted the color with a size 10 round that I kept in my hand. I was out of half sheets of Richeson recycled watercolor paper and wanted to work larger than a quarter sheet so I used duct tape (usually used to mark the model's feet placement for after break) to hold these two pieces together. (15 x 22 inches.) Click on the image to view an enlargement. 

Today's image has nothing to do with today's post. I just thought it was a fun image I could show you. You can read about the Bienfang Watercolor Brush Pens in this review post I wrote in March.

The model is very "art deco" in her look which you would see if I'd sketched her whole body, but by the time we get to the longer poses at the end of the class all I want to do is focus on the face. And Christine lets me do this. It's my time to experiment. And time to have a live model sit for me who actually holds a pose—such a luxury in a life filled with sketches made in stolen minutes in waiting rooms and on park benches.

What I really wanted to write briefly about today was spring and cycling.

Last week I got to ride outside five days, with no snow (which this spring is actually an oddity). It has been great to get out on the road again. Rain at the end of the week pushed me inside on Saturday to ride while watching DVDs.

But today, in the morning, the rain stopped and it wasn't horribly muggy. I got out for 17 miles of battling the wind. At first I told myself it wasn't that bad. "It's a crosswind," I kept repeating to myself as I tried to keep my speed around 16 mph even when gusts of wind threatened to knock me sideways.

On the return home I barrelled up the Sabo bridge at 15 mph (my routes are pretty flat so this is my "hill"). I crested the bridge, and turned, with the curve of the downward slope of the bridge, right into the wind! I was peddling as hard as I could while going down hill, and I was going 13 miles per hour. (Usually I go down this slope at about 26 mph.) (The wind was listed on the weather as 18 mph with gusts at 27 mph.)

When I turned on the flat a team rider decked out in his sponsor-splashed jersey and shorts pulled up along side of me and we peddled together for a bit—"I forget every year," he said, making conversation, "that we only have two seasons in Minnesota—Winter and Windy." We looked at each other and laughed with open mouths as the wind slammed right into us.

Despite the wind, I have had enough outside miles that I was able to shave 2 minutes off my time. So it was a good ride, even if it was hot (75-80) and humid (85 percent). 

But speaking of spring and outside miles, another little factoid: On May 12th I had ridden 219 miles outside. Last year on May 12th I had already ridden 727 miles! Snow and ice storms kept me from riding as much this year in April and May. There were probably about 5 days or 100 miles more that I could have put on this year if a family crisis hadn't kept me from riding, but that's still only 319 miles which is less than half of what I did by this time last year. Just saying…California looks pretty good, even with earthquakes.

Today I turned over at 300 miles and I'm grateful for every second of outdoor riding time; it's just a little strange to wear tights one day and shorts the next. We may have skipped spring to go right to summer, but I'm outside and that's what I'm excited about.

I hope you are all getting out to enjoy spring (or fall if you're in another hemisphere). And if you have to deal with a wall of wind, may a friendly soul swing by to cheer you on. You can always be that for someone else.

Ken Avidor on Toned Paper

Above Ken Avidor on Tone Paper video—if the embedded video doesn't play, see it at YouTube at this link.

Valentine's Day Minneapolis-based artist Ken Avidor talked about working on toned paper in a demo at Wet Paint in St. Paul. I was able to get some of it on tape.

Since I stupidly decided to avoid the highway rush hour traffic and go on River Road I got stuck in the exodus from the University! I arrived about 15 minutes late but then started right in taping at what I think you'll agree is a great moment to start!

Left: Roberta and Ken Avidor show off their new Brompton folding bikes in the concourse of the Union Depot in St. Paul, MN. Click on the image to view an enlargement.

 

From talking with friends afterwards I think what I mainly missed was a discussion of some of his tools and his admonition to "always draw from life," and his repeated encouragement to "draw every day."

In the video some things are mentioned and the following links and information will help you in your search for the whole "scoop."

People Mentioned in Ken's Talk:

Ken mentioned the Minnesota Journal Project 2000 in his talk. Linda Koutsky and Mark Odegard were the original coordinators who started the project and I (Roz Stendahl) was brought on in the fall of 1999 as a coordinator. I helped bind the 50 journals we used for the project and helped with the various activities and exhibits. This project ran through 2000, with exhibits in 2001. Fifty Minnesota artists, writers, songwriters, actors, directors, graphic designers, and other creative individuals kept journals for the year 2000 and those journals became part of the permanent collection of the Minnesota Historical Society. (In 2010 the group held a reunion at the History Center and an additional journal containing work from most of the participants was added to the collection.)

Both Ken and Roberta were artists already known to Linda and Mark (who had hired Ken when they both worked at the Science Museum). I first met Ken and Roberta when we had our first meetings for this project. In a studio visit with them I grumbled about the bond paper Ken was using for his sketches and I have been nagging him ever since to use better paper and materials because his art blew me away when I first saw it and it still does today. I'm pleased to say that I have made several appearances in Ken's journals over the years, thanks to my bossiness which he captures perfectly!

Sketchbooks and Paper:

For quite a long time Ken used Cachet's Earthbound journals for his daily journal. He liked the toned paper they contained. However the bindings were always pretty battered by the end of the year. He has since switched over to Strathmore's Toned Paper Journal line and is loving the slightly darker tone of tan paper (and also works on the line's gray paper). He finds the binding superior and recommends them. (You can read about the Strathmore journal line here. Ken only uses the toned paper journals in this line, and he only works in dry media. The post contains images from my toned paper journal experiments in this line.)

In the video Ken passed around some drawings on loose sheets. He was working on Magnani's Annigoni Designo (which is a wet-media ready paper that I routinely make into books, but which is also available in pads) and Stonehenge Kraft, available in sheets and pads.

Tools:

Ken now uses China markers (white) after talking with Don Colley, who visited the Cities last fall. (Don is coming back to the Cities in May 2013 so when I have details of any demos he might be doing I'll let you know.) (Note: Wet Paint sells white China markers, as well as other colors as I have a bunch, but I couldn't find a link on their site so I've given you the Amazon link so you can see what they look like). 

Other white pens and markers Ken uses:

Faber-Castell Pitt Artist's Big Brush Pen with white India Ink.

Stabilo Tone watersoluble wax crayon in wood, which Ken calls a Stabilo in the video, is actually now only available as a Stabilo Woody. (This is my favorite watersoluble crayon, which if you've been reading the blog I've lamented long about. Use Stabilo Tone in the search engine and find a ton of posts on it. If you go to the link I've provided and scroll down to a "pens and crayons photo" you'll see both a white Faber-Castell Pitt Artist's Big Brush Pen [A] and Stabilo Tone/Woody [E] so you'll know what to look for. Wet Paint has both.)

White Prismacolor Pencils. (The regular colored pencils, not the Verithins.)

Pastel Pencils and pastels.

Lyra large colored pencils.

Ken used to use the Rotring Sketch pen but it is now his fall back pen. Currently he uses a Noodler's Flexnib—but would actually prefer a non-flexible nib. He uses the Noodler's pen because it looks more like a fountain pen and people don't realize he's sketching. He uses Noodler's ink, sometimes Platinum Carbon Black ink (though he has trouble with this ink in some pens), and various fountain pen inks (since he's using dry media for coloring he doesn't have to have a waterproof ink). He still carries the Rotring because it has a converter and if he runs out of ink with the Noodler's pen he has a back up. He will also use the Preppy Pen (which you can read about on my blog here, and you can read another more recent review of the Preppy here where I talk about the news that you can get converters for them!).

Sketch Outs and Sketch Out Groups:

Ken mentioned the following groups and events—

Urban Sketchers an international sketch group started by Gabi Campanario.

Urban Sketchers—Twin Cities (which is the local authorized sub-group of the Urban Sketchers organization and you can read there how to become part of it if you're a Twin Cities sketcher.)

MCBA Visual Journaling Collective is a group for journaling artists of all types (we have some writers as well as visual journal keepers) which I run with Suzanne Hughes at Minnesota Center for Book Arts.  

MetroSketchers—a local sketching group started by LIz Carlson and run by her and Tim Jennen. They meet the first Sunday of the month at different locations. You can find them on Facebook (no website at this time). You can contact Liz for additional info at MetroSketchers@yahoo.com.

Additional sketching opportunities that Ken didn't mention include Bell Museum Sketch Night and Dr. Sketchy's. See a list of Sketching and Sketch Outs in the Twin Cities here.

Each year I run the Minnesota State Fair Sketch Out during the run of the Fair. This is the link to the Fourth Annual Minnesota State Fair Sketch Out from 2012. The 2013 Minnesota State Fair Sketch Out will likely be on the Tuesday during the run of the Fair but details have not be finalized yet. Please check back, and use the blog's search engine to read about helpful hints for sketching at the Minnesota State Fair. Sketchers of all levels are welcome. (Yes there will be buttons!)

Books and Blogs and Reaching Ken Avidor:

Ken and Roberta Avidor's new travel sketching blog is here. While you're there follow links to the MANY other blogs which Ken runs, because he has a lot to say about a lot of things.

Ken and Roberta Avidor are two of the featured artists in Danny Gregory's new book "An Illustrated Journey." You'll want to check this out at Danny's blog. He's doing interviews via Skype with the artists and those are great fun to see. 

You can reach Ken Avidor at the following email address:
ken(dot)Avidor(at)gmail.com

Wet Paint Artists' Materials and Framing—An Independent Art Supply Store:

Wet Paint is Ken's (and Roberta's, and my, and just about everyone else's) favorite art supply store. I know Ken would like to thank them for the opportunity to spread the word about sketching and using toned paper. I'd like to thank Wet Paint for creating a community for artists by their regular demonstrations and "try-out" evenings. You can read more about Wet Paint here. No matter where you are in your journey as an artist Wet Paint staff members are there to help you get the tools and materials which will give you great results.  

Roz Cycles through 2012, Finding Her Way Back to Balance

It's December 30. The foot of snow we had on December 9 has melted and compacted a bit, and been dusted with a couple fresh, light applications of additional snow—just enough to make everything look quite pretty.

Since there is no heat wave in the forecast and only one more day in the year, it is a given that I will not be riding my bike outside today or tomorrow and that biking for the year is really over. (Well it's been over since that snow!)

I like to look back at my year and assess my goals. One goal I had for 2012 was to ride 2,500 miles outside on my bike. I hit 2,507 miles on Saturday, October 14.

It was a long riding season. The 2011-12 winter was warm and mild so the months at the beginning of 2012 were warmish and snow free. By spring of 2012 I'd ridden my bike at least one day every month of the previous 12 months. This year, 2012, I've been on a ride at least one day in every month of the year as well, though biking ended much earlier for me this year than in 2011.

(I won't ride outside when it gets below about 35 degrees Fahrenheit and if there is rain or ice on the road.)

I have to share something with you all, because this blog is about my enthusiasms, and because biking is probably one of my main enthusiasms, and because I'm a bicycling addict, but I believe I actually found balance this year—though it didn't start out that way…

Typically I will ride a route that takes me 17 miles through the city, on dedicated paths where other bikers commute, or simply exercise. It's a wonderful thing to be able to cut through the city like that, see a cross section of neighborhoods, and just go and go without much interference from cars.

I have other routes that take me along the parkway. Those are beautiful routes along the Mississippi River Gorge. I've seen eagles and hawks (within 6 feet of me) and a variety of other birds. There is shade from the sun. It's all pretty wonderful.

It is so wonderful, and I love riding my bike so much, that we (Dick and I) have actually put a cap on what I can ride in a day—17 miles, which I can do in an hour. Otherwise I would be tempted each week to go farther. Instead I concentrate on going faster, or riding better (however I define that on a given day—but typically it means crushing some 24-year-old).

Cycling is my time. No one to talk with, nothing to do but peddle, concentrate on my breathing; just thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. I come up with the best ideas when I am biking. 

And the endorphins are not to be sneered at. It's a hard high to come down from at the end of the season when I have to start riding inside on a bike attached to a trainer. (Indoor miles are just not the same, even though the ceiling fan directly above me does provide a little bit of a breeze.)

Last year I rode 2,521 miles outside. You can read about my thoughts on biking in 2011 here.

I began again at zero on January 1, 2012. My goal was to get out as much as possible again, within the constraints of "the hour-a-day for cardio" rules we'd set up. I had a vague sense that I'd like to get to 2,500 miles again this year, just to show myself it wasn't a fluke. But other than that I didn't have any goals. I just wanted to keep riding because when I keep riding my knees feel great and I can bound up stairs. Stop riding, no bounding.

Every year since I've returned to biking in 2008 the pressure has increased—the pressure to ride more and more. It's an internal pressure. I just love cycling. When I talk about it people always look askance at me and say, "Why does Dick have any say in what you ride each day?"

What people don't understand is that the person living with the addict (that would be Dick, living with me the addict) has to deal with the fallout when things go into a tailspin. And besides that I've always talked my workouts over with Dick, he did coach after all. And except for that stupid idea of restricted breathing he's been a pretty good sounding board. 

I like to think of myself as independent, and low maintenance. In most things I think Dick will agree I am both of those things. But in other aspects of my life Dick is pretty much the gravity that holds me on the planet. So if I am going to do some dumb ass move like ride 80 miles a day and fall apart physically, the least I can do is talk it over with him first—since he'll have to put me together later.

I avoid the whole issue by not riding 80 miles a day. But don't think I haven't thought about it. Only my respect for Dick, and his already full plate of activities, keeps me from doing that.

Now that you know all that you'll understand what happened—and how it was a nerve wracking, but exciting time this fall. 

Once I hit 2,500 miles for 2012 I started to do the math. This is an involved equation dividing miles left into days left when days left in the season is figured out by voodoo calculations and old weather data and current bad projections by "weathermen."

It was October and I started to get a little panicky. For a couple days I said to myself, "I think I can make it to 3,000." Then for a couple days I would redo the math and say, "Nope, don't even try. It's going to snow." Other days I would say, "What if? What if we lifted the 17-mile-a-day limit?"

After about 8 days "What if?" started to be all I thought about. All calculations started to take "What if?" into consideration. "What if I rode 20 miles every day, 23 miles everyday, what is the limit I can ride?"

Another reason I don't ride over 17 miles on a daily basis is that road noise bothers my hands when I ride 22 miles a day for more than 3 days in a row. (At least it always has.)

My desk was littered with scraps of paper with day counts and mile counts and projections. I was in thrall to my addiction. I had another goal. I wanted to reach 3,000.

I did what any addict would do. I went to my enabler and presented a rational, reasonable case as to why the hour ban should be lifted.

First I admitted to the low back problems I'd had since returning from teaching color theory (and having 4 days off). (I just came back way too strong with a 22 mile speed day. Stupid.)

Second, I assured him that if I reached 3,000 I wouldn't just turn around and say, "Let's go for 3,500," because "Look, there aren't going to be the days. It's going to snow. I know that."

(I didn't really KNOW that, but I KNEW that in my heart.)

Third, I promised to stop if the road noise bothered my hands enough to hamper my work effort. If my hands were numb when I tried to work for hours and hours I would become pretty grumpy pretty fast and it would be worse than being unable to bound up stairs.

Fourth, I explained that I'd really thought about all this and knew that I wanted to go for this goal. I didn't think I'd get these miles next year and it might be my last time. But most importantly I believed that if I could lift the ride limit and give this a go, I'd be happy with whatever resulted, and I wouldn't feel like an addict.

(I know, incredible bullshit comes out of my mouth when I talk to people.)

And fifth and finally—I shut up, and waited.

Because my dad, and every successful businessman who has started as a salesman has always told me, talk and then shut up—the first person to speak is hooked.

And I waited. 

And then LB looked at me with complete understanding and compassion and went over each of my points one by one. Waiting for me to nod in agreement. And gave me exactly what I wanted, his complete support—to ride as much as I wanted.

Which of course has the wonderful effect of making me sensible and self-limiting.

There was snow on the ground Monday, November 12, and I had 188 miles to go. I even had to ride the trainer the next day, just so I wouldn't have too many days off. But then I jumped in with a vengeance: 19, 23, 17, 25. My plan was to have a light regular day and push a little extra mileage every other day.

I rode 21 miles (a horribly windy day which would only be more windy later so get out now!) and came back knowing that one of my tires was toast. As soon as I got out of the shower I went to the bike shop to get it changed right then so I could ride the next day. I worked out that I had over 6,000 miles on that tire. (Isn't Kevlar wonderful?)

I went 26 miles, 23 miles, 21 miles…The additional time commitment wasn't great. I could complete the longest rides in under 90 minutes; most days I was only gone for an extra 15 minutes.

On Thanksgiving Day, while everyone else was preparing and eating a holiday feast I was all alone on the bike path (I saw about 6 other cyclists the entire ride) peddling my way to 3,005 miles.

I'd completed 9 consecutive high-mileage days (I didn't dare take a day off in case rain or snow was coming; and I had the good fortune to ride before the rain fell on two of those days). My hands were doing great. In fact I'd never felt stronger. So Friday I took the day off and went to a deli with my friend Marsha!

I'd been lucky in temperature too. While there were some 35-39 degree days in that final few weeks, and some really windy days (more than 30 mph), the final 9 days contained several 40 to 54 degree days. It didn't feel like a slog at all.

Snow fell that Friday. A light snow, but it brought ice. It wasn't until December 1 that I was able to get out on the road again. I didn't know it then, but I only had three more outside rides. Despite pleasant riding conditions none were blow out rides. All were 17 to 20 miles. I resisted any urges to ride longer distances. I knew I wasn't going for 3,500 miles, just as I'd earlier predicted. 

Twenty minutes into one of those 20 mile rides my bicycle computer battery died (but I'd been that way so often I knew the exact mileage). I had to finish my ride the old fashioned way—with a beat, sense memory, and adrenaline. I crushed it. I was filled with joy.

I road 3,060 miles in 2012.

It might not sound like it, but in those two weeks or so, I got my life back, because what I did was ride for the joy of riding, as many miles as I wanted (which just happened to be a lot). I didn't think about my totals. I rode more slowly some days (when it was really windy) without frustration because I wasn't trying to beat the clock, I was just riding.

Last year I'd been bothered by my addictive stance towards bicycling. A mentor had told me to rediscover what it was I loved about cycling in order to bust out of the obsessiveness of my relationship with it. November 2012 was when I did that. 

I still had to use my will. I still had to ride on my gut several days (because of the back issues), but I found a way to listen to myself and push myself at the same time. (Just because you love something and find joy in it doesn't mean there aren't going to be difficult, impossible days. The key is to do it anyway.)

I loved every moment of biking this fall. It wasn't something to tick off, to get done in an hour and go on to something else. It was something I got to savor. It was also something I was gambling on because there was always that promised colder, snowy weather coming.

I've experienced this flip from obsession to joy one other time in my life. That's exactly what happened to me when I was 17 and had been journaling obsessively all my life. I met my mentor Thom and he helped me journal without obsession, purely from a love of expression.

We have to make that flip every day about a host of things. Sometimes there are people in our lives who help us make that flip. Other times we're alone and we have to make that flip alone. It's always nice when you can share that joy with someone and they appreciate it, but for 23 years since Thom's death I've had to make that journaling flip every day for myself. That's life. Everyday you have to live on your will and step in and do it (whatever it is), but there has to be joy in it. 

When people show you how to have joy in your life, take it and run with it. 

And if you find that you're losing the joy from something you've always loved talk to someone you trust about it and find a way to get that joy back. It is absolutely vital.

Just don't go running around the house saying "Feel my thighs," as you poke your now rock hard unflexed quads in invitation. That's just plain obnoxious.

What am I saying?! Yes, do that! Especially if it is just plain obnoxious—because there's a lot of joy in that too.

Reclaim something you love. It's the way back to balance.

Last Week's Snow Storm and My First Snow Pile Sketch of the 2012-13 Winter

Above: Looking out the side porch door, down the handicap ramp to the yard fence. In the distance you can see the houses across the alley, and of course, snow everywhere. Click on the image to view an enlargement.

On Sunday, December 9, 2012 a snow storm came through the Twin Cities. When it was over we had 12 inches of fresh snow (other areas had varying amounts). It was a weird snow for December—warm, wet, a definite spring type snow.

Of course I was worried that the weight of the snow would bring down electrical wires (and cable access) but that didn't happen in our area, so overall the storm was uneventful for us.

I'm not going to complain about the snow. We haven't had a lot of snow in Minneapolis the last couple of winters. I know we need moisture as we are in a drought. The river (that's the Mississippi) is very low.

Left: Looking out the side porch across the yard. Click on an image to view an enlargement.

But I will complain about the fact—evident everywhere on Monday—that people here have forgotten how to drive in the snow. I hope they get a clue soon!

On days like this looking at the yard I wish I were a landscape painter and could make something of the values, recesssion, and overlapping shapes. Instead I can show you these two photos, shot in the middle of the day (yes it was that dark). 

I did sketch one of our trees the next day, the first in this year's series of snow piles. (Several years ago my friend, artist Ken Avidor, got me interested in sketching snow piles. It keeps my mind off the fact that I can't be outside riding my bike!)

Left: My first Winter 2012-13 snow pile sketch. Pen and watercolor in an approx. 8 inch square journal made with Magnani Pescia light blue paper. I started the page by placing decorating masking tape in a frame. It was my cagey way of eliminating the need to draw any of the pine trees and fence behind the apple tree. (This sketch was posted on Facebook.) Click on the image to view an enlargement.

On days like Sunday I immediately remember how much fun it was to walk and train in such weather conditions with the girls. Snow storms like this, as long as the power doesn't go out and everyone stays home safe, are actually happy times for me.

I always loved the winter even before we had Malamutes. The memories of the girls help me recall all the things I loved about winter (no mosquitos is high on the list). And those memories in turn help me feel a little more balanced when I go up stairs to ride the bike on the trainer instead of the roads.

I Live in the Best Place in the World

Above: View of the Mississippi River looking south from the Franklin Avenue Bridge. Fall colors from September 25, 2011. The sky was even more blue. Click on the image to view an enlargement—Better yet, come and visit Minneapolis in the fall!

Yes the river is a bit low, let's just get that out of the way. I think it was about noon when I took this. It was about 60 degrees and I had just just been on a 20 mile bike ride. I finished my ride and got my camera and came back to the bridge to take this photo to show you how lovely it is here. 

We've had some cooler mornings and I keep thinking that "Today I'm going to have to get the tights out," but that just doesn't happen. I keep riding in a short-sleeved t-shirt and cycling sorts. (The first mile is a little brisque, then it's easy-peasy.)

Last Monday, riding down West River Road (that's on the right bank in this image) I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest (not just because I was working hard, and I was, but) because it was so beautiful. Leaves were all different colors and golden trees glowed next to dark purple foliage, and everywhere dropped leaves were being scattered by the 20 mph gusts. There were still enough leaves in the trees that the sun filtered through making everything look like Maxfield Parrish had just painted it.

This is THE Mississippi River. The river Mark Twain wrote about. The river Indians, fur traders, and settlers traveled along. The river along which thousands of birds migrate very year.

I live near THE Mississippi. Every day I'm grateful that my mentor Bob suggested I come up here to go to graduate school. The second day here, my second day running in my new neighborhood (I was a distance runner back then), there was a temperature inversion and a foggy mist held close to the river. As I ran along the parkway I could see down the banks to the river. I had a visceral understanding of the Impressionists on that day. "I get it," I said to myself as I ran alongside colors I'd never seen before.

I've been getting it every day since.

p.s. This morning and a couple days last week the tights finally came out—it's still stunningly beautiful here, just a little bit too cool for me to wear shorts when I cycle.  

Final Totals for 2011

Above: Sketches of various actors viewed on TV during a lunch break. Faber-Castell Artist's Calligraphy Pen in a handmade journal (approx. 8 x 8 inches) containing a defunct drawing paper. Click on the image to view an enlargement.

After December 25's bike ride I was able to ride outside 3 additional days. Today was the final ride for 2011. While all the rides were on the "cool-ish" side and wind was always a huge factor (i.e., always around 20 mph and a cause to work even harder) I'm thrilled that I was able to ride my bike outside on the last day of the year, in Minnesota. (I'm sure we'll pay for it with a long and snow-filled winter next year.) My final total for outside bicycling this "season" was 2,521 miles. There will always have to be an asterisk in my log book next to this total—an odd year with too much rain, a virus, and an unseasonably warm and late winter.

Tomorrow the bike computer's counters get reset to zero. And it's just as well, as we have some rain and snow promised for tonight, and colder temperatures coming up. If any snow we get melts I'll keep trying to ride into January, but if there is ice on the ground I won't be on my bike; and the totals will build for 2012.

Another counter starts over tomorrow. I managed to finish the in-studio and carry about journals I wrote about on December 2. I actually didn't have enough pages and ended up using two paper test sample journals (one signature each; 24-32 pages each) for journaling as well as sample testing.

The final page count for the visual journals for 2011 is 1359. (Actually I have the final spread in my carry about journal to finish and I'm going to do that as soon as I get up from the computer.)

If you would like to read more about why I keep stats please read "Stats: A Yardstick for Planning and Assessing. 

What immediately jumps out to me in this year's total of visual journal pages is a return to the totals of the 1990s. I can quickly see the reason for the bump up. I did less teaching this year (so more time to journal) and I sadly did less painting (something I have assessed, found wanting, and am planning to fix beginning tomorrow!). Additionally I did a lot of paper testing (so Gert was very busily employed as a constant standby model on papers of all types). I kept track of those tests in my journals, or the papers were actually journals.

I've also assessed all that testing. I'd like to say I'll be doing less of it in 2012, but I think it's silly to make such projections. I love trying new papers, even when I am disappointed in the outcome I love the suspense just before the first stroke of a brush pen or the first swirl of a wash. Will this paper be a new favorite? I'm always optimistic. (I will have some test result posts coming up in January 2012.)

This year also brought a swing back to more privacy in my visual journals. As I reduced the amount of teaching I had been doing I started writing more in my visual journals. I am really enjoying that swing back to more writing. (I do keep a separate writing journal which is never shared.) This shift always comes to me when I am more focused on larger projects. It tells me that my mind is eager to push ahead and look at the questions that have been filtering up in my mind. 

Looking at the page counts (and also the miles on my bike) as it broke down over the months I can see other things about my life and output that will help me plan and pace myself in the future. On the spread posted today from July the page numbers are 510 and 511. In the second half of the year I did 338 more pages than in the first half of the year (i.e., 848 pages in July through December). Some of that can be chalked up to recovery time when I was sketching and not riding my bike. The increased output in the second half of the year again points to the decrease in teaching for that portion of the year.

And so it goes. I can look at the themes I worked on for additional information about where I might want to branch out or scale back. I have already identified themes for paintings in 2012.

Awhile back (probably over a year ago) a reader wrote in about one of my journal stats posts. She was concerned about comparing her output to that of other artists. I think it is very important that you not compare your output to that of another. I wrote back to her saying that: 

The numbers are really a concrete way for me to make a point about my own output, relating to my own output in previous years, time periods, whatever. [A point I should also say is one I make to myself every year as I make an assessment.]

One of the things I stress for all my students is that everyone journals differently and if they listen to themselves that journaling reflects and answers the needs they have for the journaling to answer.

Some folks spend hours and hours and hours on a page, returning multiple times over days and finding more and more to do, more to experiment with on that page. They'll be lucky to do a page in a week or maybe even a month. But every stroke they make on that page is giving them satisfaction.

Other folks might only sketch while they are out and about, or on the train. Their books might be filled with a new page for every trip to work, yielding 365 (minus days off) pages a year.

Some people also make their journals into what I might call artists' books. They aren't concerned with getting all the details of their lives down, but instead are interested in making artistic statements on each page (which often will reflect their lives but do not necessarily do so).

For me the journal is probably my main personal art form, and a lot of times instead of doing a stand alone painting I'll work in my journal. 

Also my journal isn't an art book in my mind, so I have pages where I draw sketches of a book structure I'm trying to work out, to make an artist book or editioned book for instance; and there are other pages where I have some meeting notes; and other pages where I do thumbnail sketches of paintings that I want to do. Add to that all the stuff I see on the street when I'm out and about that interests me, and photos of projects that I finish and want to remind myself of the details of (like some beaded ornaments I made over the holidays—I wrote detailed notes on how I worked out the pattern so I wouldn't forget if I want to make them again and included close up photos—my own "how-to" article within my journal). [With all this happening] the journal fills up pretty fast. 

And finally add to that the fact that I am basically a "portrait painter," so if I do come face to face with someone (person or animal) I'll pretty much use the whole page to capture them—I like going large). Well you get the idea.

So you are totally right that one shouldn't compare his or her output to any other person. (I've written about this somewhere on the blog but darn if I can remember what I called the post so I don't know what to search for!)

I think the best approach one can have to looking back at one's journaling output over the year is to see HOW IT FITS IN YOUR LIFE, so [posting about stats addresses that introspection] in my life. [And allows me to share that concept with my readers, many of whom might need to develop such a tool.]

Seen in that context your one journal in 6 months I am sure served your needs and fit into your creative life which is focused on your [other] art. And it was much healthier than what I was up to in December! [I believe I was referring to December 2010 when I seemed to have several journals going on at one time and a flurry of journaling activity.]

Because if we look at what happened to me in December, we can see it ultimately wasn't healthy. And I'd like to point that out to people to watch for in their lives.

Journaling is a wonderful gift we can give ourselves but we have to make it work for us.

My journals really are just for me and I like it that way. The healthiest gift I give my students I hope, is the clarity to think about why they journal and [guidelines for] how to set boundaries around it that work for them, and to think about all aspects of sharing journal work and how it may sometimes be counter productive.

I've written a bit about this in the early days of the blog and even have a note on my desktop from a reader asking me to write more about this, but I haven't had the time to condense it down into one post yet, or a series. We'll see. I probably need to do that soon. [I will write a dedicated post about this in 2012.]

{Items above in square brackets are grammatical corrections or other corrections for sense, as well as a couple comments to clarify.]

So my final point for 2011 is a wish actually for everyone reading this—that he or she develop a journaling practice which is deliberate and thoughtful; but most of all useful to his or her needs. (And remember your needs can change over time. And when you remember this you allow more flexibility in your life; which I believe brings in more creativity and leads to greater productivity.) At various times in the year it is important for us all to look at what we have been producing and discover what it reveals about our concerns, our obsessions, or interests, and of course our enthusiasms. Armed with that self-awareness we can go forward in a way that is balanced. I hope to look for this throughout my life; I have found the journal an elastic and valuable tool for the task. I recommend it to you. 

P.S. I also recommend homemade chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches (with vanilla Häagan Dazs ice cream), which is what Dick and I baked and made to celebrated this afternoon, after my final ride for 2011.

Bicycling, Addiction, Joy, and Peace on Earth

Left: Me after my 18.2 mile bike ride on December 25, 2011, yes, December 25, 2011, in Minneapolis, MN. I'm wearing tights and a long tshirt and a longsleeved turtleneck in accommodation to the cool 40 degree weather. (Also full gloves and I have earmuffs under my helmet.) But I never felt chilled for a moment even though there were 20 mph winds that day. Look at how beautiful that blue sky is! Click on the image to view an enlargement.

I have been a complete shit the past several weeks (gulp, two months?!). There is no other way to say it. I am an addict. The bicycle, or rather the endorphins that I generate while on the bicycle are my drug of choice. (I also can't say enough about it as a pain management tool and a physical therapy aid!) As the weather cools down in Minnesota and specifically as snow falls, I have to give up the bicycle until spring. Outside bicycling. I can still ride my bike on the trainer inside, watching Robbie Ventura speed through a race telling us all to keep the rubber side down. As much as I love Robbie—and I must because I haven't purchased another tape and watch this over and over quite happily—inside riding is a totally different animal of existence from outside riding.

All fall I kept reminding myself how grateful I was to not be sick. This is the first time in two years I have not been ill in September after the exposure of the Minnesota State Fair. (2009 Bird Flu; 2010 pneumonia.)

Fall is a glorious time to ride a bike in Minneapolis. The parkways are beautiful and green and then they are golden, red, brown—luxurious. The light slants (something about the tilt of the earth or some other science fact you can go look up) and takes on the tint of the newly translucent dying leaves. (In spring there is a similar effect with a barrage of greens.) 

I was ill for months earlier in the spring (some mystery virus the doctor couldn't grip, but which eased out of my body in its own time) and I missed many days of cycling. I grumbled a lot. I pouted. I wasn't easy to deal with then. I saw my goal of hitting 2,000 miles for the season slipping away. But then after the Fair when I didn't get ill I found myself hoping for dry days (we'd had a rainy summer) to ride, just one more day, just one more day above 50 degrees. This morphed to a wish for one more day above 40. And as of December 2011 it has mutated into a wish for anything over 35 with no accumulated snow. 

Which leads me to my current dilemma and bad behavior. The end of cycling season seems to me very much like break-up sex. You have this person (or in this case activity; well I guess in both cases it's an activity) and you really, really want just one more go at it. You get all set in your mind that this is the last time, the final time. You even tell yourself that it's right, that you really are too tired (in the biking situation) and that it's time to move on. 

But then in the case of bicycling the weather this fall has changed, and it's on again, the whole compulsive act of it. Don't even try to arrange a lunch with me in the fall because as the temperature falls I exercise my freedom as a self-employed person to bike at lunch time when it's still "warm enough." And so the season elongates. And so does the stress of wondering when it is going to end (if you're an addict).

I started talking about moving to California sometime in November. Dick countered with questions about whether or not I could ride in a velodrome—something you would expect from a MacGyver engineer. We both laughed, knowing one of us (me, if you had to guess) wasn't serious.

Then something unthinkable happened on October 19, I popped over 2,000 miles for the season. I began to make new deals with myself (don't all addicts do this), while at the same time making new preparations for disappointment (again, not a healthy mode). Maybe I'll get to 2,500? Nope, there just aren't enough days left, enough days that can be both over 40 degrees and have no snow on the ground. Not in Minneapolis in November…

Then it snowed, a good covering. I thought, "It's over." I began putting time in on the inside bike. (Inside bike miles don't count in my seasonal total; I keep track of duration.)

But the snow melted when we experienced record high temperatures. I found myself riding most days outside again. But of course there was always the expectation of a temperature dip and some weeks I faced 4 or 5 days of resignation that it all really was over and the inside bike was my only recourse. I would just get used to riding daily inside when the weather would warm up again.

And the snow would melt. Last weekend while I was binding books I was also able to ride my bike outside every day. A solid 40 degrees F, with equally solid wind speeds (on one day the winds were 25 to 38 mph). I rode outside last Friday, returned excited, and told Dick, seconds after dismounting, "I miss it already." Such was the roller coaster of my emotions; and the deepness of my addiction.

I do miss it already, even though it looks like I might get one more day in before the New Year, which for me would be an official end to my outside seasonal miles total. 

I miss it for a lot of reasons. I miss the speed. I miss the light. I miss my body moving with the gears and propelling me forward into wind or calm. I simply miss the going and the coming, because just as I never get bored with Robbie I don't get dulled by the same out and back trail which takes me across the city and lets me see what's going on within that city. I'm always wondering "how fast can I push it today?"

After a bit of a ramp up in the spring, because I'm protective of my knees, I ride 17 to 22 miles per non-rainy day. The mileage is a function of two things. First what can I get accomplished in a hour or slightly more? (Believe me there is a lot of bargaining around those limits; what if I did go more per day, what could I still get done in my life?) Second what can I do daily without the road noise impacting on my hands and the work I must do daily with those hands. (You guessed it, more bargaining, "I don't really need to bead, I really should focus on my painting anyway." For a person who prides herself on being orderly this type of back and forth bargaining is excruciating, and a huge dose of my own medicine—you have to make choices.)

Additionally the mileage is a function of me enjoying myself, me pushing myself. Me having fun. This is my time. I get to focus on being strong, no matter how achy or weak or sick I might feel (in our house we do our workouts unless there is loss of limb or major loss of blood). I find that is a great way to return to work: strong. And on my ride I find that my brain doesn't wander, but focuses. Crystal clear ideas come to me, whole passages of writing, illustration ideas, and new projects. 

It's the spin of the gears, silence, sort of, a whir that says "power," that sets my mind running in these powerful ways. I whisper blessings on the heads of mothers who raised their kids to work in the bicycle co-ops; the kids who tune my bike to perfection and smile when a woman old enough to be their mother comes in to have her tires changed and buy "gear." These are polite, respectful, considerate kids with problem solving skills, who take all this strength of character and curiosity of mind with them into whatever area of life they branch out into.

Mothers of the bicycle co-op kids are deserving of our gratitude. They have raised their kids to love the Earth, to seek community, to embrace physicality, and to delight in the mechanical (which engages both intuition and intellect).

It's on these pillars that any civilized (and civil) society can be built. That and joy—because it's the experience of joy in however small a dose it comes that makes us hunger for peace.

I will leave you with one other thought—an image. I couldn't paint this if I lived to be 100. Maybe someone with the skill of Sargent could because he understood light—but noses and the micro expressions of his patrons were his focus. Perhaps Girtin? If Turner was right and Girtin was all that.

One day this fall I was peddling down the Greenway, past the lakes and the dog park. The morning light slanted down the shaded path and filtered through the remaining leaves, illuminating the spider filaments attached to every fragment of surface on the black epoxy coated chain link fence. They sparkled, fluttering in the light, as dense as pennants at an Australian regatta.

Joy—to have seen one sight, or the other. Gratitude to have seen both in the span of one life. Each time I was on a bicycle.

Note: I wrote this on Tuesday, at which point I needed 21 miles to crack 2,500 for the season. Whether I do or not will be a function of the weather and my constant striving to not be compulsive, and to find balance, but at the same time grab every opportunity for joy that I can. In spring the dialog will begin again.

Note 2: It just occurred to me that some of you might like to read about my return to biking after a long haitus with the dogs, in July 2008. "Hairdos Matter" is all about it.

Note 3: My final total of bicycling miles for 2012 was 2,521. Any outdoor miles on January 1 or after became part of my 2012 total, even though it seems like one continuous "season."

This and That: Aquash Brush Pen, Boston Terriers, Roofers…

Left: Boston Terrier sketch (from dog park sketches as reference), made with the Pentel Aquash brush which comes with light black ink (waterproof if that matters to you). Click on the image to view an enlargement. (9 x 12 inch page from my Venezia studio journal.)

It has started. There are men on the roof. Everyone told me when the roofers came I'd have to leave, and in truth I'm ready to bug out of here, get out on my bike and work on my new ukulele song: "You Can't be a Stunt Woman Past 50." It came to me yesterday when I was dodging folks on the greenway and an 80-year-old woman with sun-tanned skin like wrinkled leather, a spine as stiff as my headmistress', and a shocking crown of pure white hair, peddled towards me. My mind works that way. There is a nifty chorus about osteopenia, but it needs some work as all I'm coming up with are slant rhymes.

And no, I haven't purchased a ukulele yet, but we did go to the guitar store so I could smell them. (I'm allergic to many woods and all varnishes [unless aged].) There are several possibilities.

But the most important news I have for you this morning is that the Aquash brush pen with light black ink is now empty. (There is a slight stream still coming out but no sloshing noise and no extra ink when you squeeze it so I doubt I'll get even another full sketch out of it.) It lasted about 3 weeks of daily sketching. I got over 80 large sketches or complex page spreads out of it. So for slightly less than $10 that pen seems to me to have more than delivered on FUN (yes, all caps). I'll see about getting a replacement cartridge because I want to see how long the brush tip holds up (it's still doing well after a lot of abuse). But I already feel I have got my money's worth.

I'll have other images made with that brush pen to post as the days go by. But now I'll be using some other pens more again. (I do have a second Aquash brush pen that I can start using as well.)

There you have it. I am into my tights and out of here!

The Best Laid Plans…

Left: The Breakfast Nook in June 2010. Click on the image to view an enlargement.

I was going through my files and setting up posts for this week. I came upon this photo—the Breakfast Nook last summer. The wall had been torn up for 5 years and we pushed to finally get it done before we had house guests in April or May (I don't recall the exact dates) of 2010.

I also remember that last year when we had a little dachshund bitch come and stay for 38 hours (I would have liked her to stay for longer, but that was the extent of the "loan," though I did train her to potty on command! And I do this in the kindest of ways, with observation, repetition of the magic word, and some well-timed treats) we had to put a piece of foamcore in the heat register (by the bicycle's front tire) so she wouldn't slip down into the duct work. (The original register cover had been lost during the 5 years we were working on this project!)

It looks nothing like this now. (And I think this looks pretty good!) We ended up finishing just before our spring 2010 houseguests arrived, but only 30 hours before their arrival. I didn't think we should paint the walls and make them put up with the paint smell during their visit.

Then there never seemed to be time to paint. And of course in the summer one always wants to be riding one's bike.

I could choose to be upset that we are going on 6 years of no kitchen table space, no access to the perforator (that's what's under the sheet), and no place to make paste paper (I make it on the table in the Nook, and set the paper wetting tray in the center of the kitchen floor).

Instead I'm happy to report I have an exceedingly low blood pressure and no stress about this at all (though I am running low on paste paper!). During the winter we had an ice dam and the roof sprung a leak. At first Dick didn't believe me, but the Nose is ALWAYS right. The leak is clearly visible above the top left window if you were to look at the Breakfast Nook today.

Now I'm glad that I didn't take the time to paint, and spent the summer on my bike. We have to have the roof fixed and now we don't have to "re-paint."

There's no point to today's post, no art point. I just find it incredibly humorous. And fortuitous. Wait, here's the point, both art and life—choosing to not let the mess bother you can give you time to make a lot more art. It isn't for everyone, but it works for me. My blood pressure is, as I said, very low, and not all of that is due to the miles logged on the bike last summer. I choose painting—not walls, but paper!

Another Dog with Attitude from an Artist with Attitude!

Left: A spaniel with attitude. Pentel Pocket Brush Pen sketch in a journal I made with Nideggen (use the blog search engine to find out more about this paper). Click on the image to view an enlargement.

I've got an attitude today myself—rainy days have been keeping me on the inside bike instead of the outside bike. As I set this post up I can only hope that I'll be out on the road today. If not: this is a self portrait.

Update 1:30 p.m.: I was able to get out for an-18-mile bike ride this a.m. It was gorgeous, 46 degrees F. and sunny, and only a slight breeze. I've got a much improved attitude.