I know it’s been a while, and I apologize for being so neglectful. I was busy knitting a lot and not leaving the house.

Last time we spoke I was at the end of the semester. Now I am well in to summer. Here are some of the things I’ve been doing art-wise this summer.

first, I set up an Etsy shop!

I’ve been making stuff to go up for sale on there. Stuff like these scientists as saints mini notebooks:

Or this coffee cup printed notebook:

I’ve also been working on a project that I hope to carry over in to next semester, but I’m not really ready to talk about it yet. Because I have this large complicated project that I’m working on, I’ve been doing silly little prints as a kind of art procrastination, like this mock up of a book cover for John Green’s new book:

and I’ve also been making gifts for friends in my haphazard studio/living room

Gifts which subtly reference doctor who.

I use notecards now. Notecards are cool.

Catch you guys of the flipside,

Em.

Putting together things I want to put in the bike trip zine, I came across this.

After the bike trip, on the morning I was to go to the airport, I ordered a cab. The cab driver was exceptionally chatty. He told me, I think, that he wrote stories. Then he recited to me from memory one of his more recent ones. I think it was about a waitress, and it was from the first person perspective, I assumed it was meant to be coming from him. Something about cigarettes, coffee, and some unspoken desire on her part (that, I thought was strange, and presumptuous, but I said nothing) I wish I remembered it better. At the time, it was something I did not care about. I was in emotional turmoil, I had left something else unfinished and I was about to return to my mother’s house with no plan, no future, and a backpack full of salt-stained clothes. What was this man to me? Just another in a surprisingly long series of people who had told me more about themselves than they would tell the average stranger. It is odd to me now that I was not phased by an impromptu recital in a yellow cab on the way to the airport. Now that I think about it, he was smoking. It wasn’t about cigarettes, definitely about a waitress. He was smoking the entire time. Cigarette and thin leathery arm dangling out the window as he lightly tapped the ash in to the street.

Today’s post is brought to you by first drafts and anxiety.

Tonight I finished the first draft of my novella.
I still have to go in and add, take away, poke and prod it, but the bulk of the story is out of my brain and on to the paper.

I’ve been carrying that thing around in my head for so long, I’m just glad it’s out on paper where I can forget about it for a couple days.

So, that’s nice.

Now for part two: Anxiety.

Also, stress. I have a lot of work piling up on me right now. This is understandable, as the end of the semester is fast approaching. What isn’t helping me, is my inability to sleep. I am constantly exhausted since I can’t seen to get my brain to shut up for even a couple hours about how much I have to do, so I can get to sleep and be awake enough to do it.

urgh.

-

Two nights ago I had a dream that my father died.

I’ve actually been having a lot of dreams where my family dies or is in mortal peril recently. It’s probably some sort of reaction to the stress of school mixed with the guilt of not being able to see any of them due to time issues. I’ve been trying to figure out a time to go see my grandparents and I honestly can’t find a time in the near future where school lets up for long enough that I could visit without destroying my GPA and subsequent college career.

Anyway, because I had this dream I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot.

(I don’t have any pictures of my dad currently on my computer because of the great unplugging of the external hard-drive tragedy of 2008, so the only pictures I have to go with this post are some old army ones I took digital pictures of, out of the albums he has in Florida.)

I remember one night when I was little, (maybe 6 or 7) and my dad was home at night for the first time in ages and he had come in to my room to read me a story, and fallen asleep on my bed. I remember being so cold because the fan was blowing on me and it was almost September, but my blanket was under my dad (this giant, gray, hero of mine) and the last thing in the entire world that I wanted to do right then was to move him. I wouldn’t even touch him because he might wake up and leave. I remember sitting there for what felt like hours, terrified to move and absolutely chilled to the bone. Then I found it. The top sheet was only wedged halfway under my dad, so I scrunched down near him, and put the sheet over myself. The warmth, just the thin cotton was enough of a reprieve from the cool wind that I felt like I had just crawled inside a giant fluffy sleeping bag. I think that was the warmest I’ve ever been. That night in august, near my dad (but not touching him, for fear of waking) huddled under a sheet, I was contented with my situation.

For as long as I can remember my dad has known everything.

He showed me how to braid challah when I was so young that I didn’t understand why we ate it on Fridays. When I was in junior high and struggling through biology, he explained to me how genetics work in simple terms and drew me a Punnett square on the back of a napkin while we ate dinner. One afternoon while we were walking around his neighborhood with the dog, he tried to explain to my 12-year-old self how light refraction works. He is a doctor; I was always amazed that he knew how to fix people. I still am amazed. I never knew how he did it, how he knew so much, and I was jealous and sometimes annoyed. I couldn’t get facts to stick in my brain like he did. Nonetheless, it was exceptionally comforting to know that there was this adult in my life who could answer any question I had (and sometimes lecture on those questions which were never asked.) But now as I get older I am starting to become more like him, more aware of how my brain works, and I can finally begin to understand more of how his may work as well. I am not an encyclopedia, but a collector. I collect information I find interesting. I think this is also how my dad works. This mental compulsion is what creates in me the desire to learn. I find myself spending hours researching everything I possibly can about something just because it sparks my interest. I wouldn’t change it for the world, because of this I care about things; I am able to immerse myself deeply in something and truly learn. I got this from my dad, my dad who knows everything. I think he is a collector, too.

So thank you, dad. Thank you for my desire to learn, for teaching me, and for always being there with an answer when I needed one.

http://upthefolksstudio.wordpress.com

For the time being, you can find me more readily there.

oh, and look how awesome rosemary is, she sent me bowie buttons!

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it before, but my absolute favorite part of my entire apartment is the built in cabinet in my dining room.

Its just so adorable. It is also where I keep my tea (inside that koala are about 7 boxes worth of tea) and vegan cookbooks. It’s just one of those things in my life that makes me happy.

Another thing that  makes me happy is this camera:
Its a Kodak Duaflex II and I’ve had it for about 3 years (my friend Kate got it for me for my 18th birthday.) I have moved it from philadelphia to chicago to philadelphia to maine and I have never used it. I am sick of not knowing what to do with it, so I’ve decided to figure out how to use it and print some sick photos this summer.

I’ve been reading The Complete Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for the past month in my down time and I am in love with it.

I love the atmosphere, the strange short mysteries, but mostly I love the vocabulary. I always knew that the term “Pub” came from the phrase”Public House” but I had never heard that phrase used in context until Sherlock Holmes. It sounds so lovely. I’ll see you, I’m just going down to the public house to engage a man in a round of fisticuffs etc. Love it.

Lastly,

SPRING BREAK IS ONLY A WEEK AWAY. Sweet Jesus thank God praise Allah Sh’ma Yis’ra’el Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad  etc.

Oh how badly I need this break.

Not that I’ll actually have much time for rest as I have projects for all six of my classes due the week after break, but at least I won’t be in classes all day everyday, and Dan and Kate are visiting me! So Excited!

http://upthefolksstudio.wordpress.com/

(i’ll put the link in the sidebar under Places to Find Me)

Just in case you want to be updated on artmaking without my useless blathering on.

I’m finally through my beginning of the semester slump and am starting to make okay art again. However, I can’t find my camera charger. Instead I’ll show you what i’m doing in my “how to stop being bad at computers” class.

What does one do in a class like this? Photoshop your own work in to galleries.

mine is the Klimt/Cassat crossover. on the left wall.

-Make good art

-Make really good art.