Well, this week seems to be turning into a sort of tangential week, somewhat like my life. I had three or post ideas sitting there, waiting to be written, but none of them worked out. The clay and typewriters post was benched by equipment malfunctions, the thank you note post just sounded pompous and dry, and the post about clay and typewriters and hands? It fizzled before I even wrote the first sentence. I'm stuck slightly high and dry, but I still want to post something... I think this is what they call a post-finals slump. Everything just starts to shut down, leaving you in a rut. So, I think I may well leave this post at that, and let the lovely M share some more with all of you, and try and come up with something brilliant and witty for my next post--the slump should wear off in a few days. I'll see you all then.
I know I promised this post several days ago and that I've been desperately slow about getting to it. Forgive, forgive! It's finals week and I've been up to my ears in a crazy bookbinding project for class. I thought I'd be talking about paper and technique and the value of such a skill but I have something better to talk about instead. Tonight was my bookbinding final, which in the world of art classes, consists of a pizza party and impromptu showcase. I got to display my entire semesters worth of work for my professor, along with my fellow students. There were some amazing things.
But the highlight of the night was the look on my professor, Mark's, face. He was flabbergasted. Literally speechless. And I was thrilled. And though I know I sound like I'm bragging, it's not pride I'm feeling. If I could pick a mentor, I'd pick Mark. He gets me. He didn't tell me like everyone else that I was crazy for spending upwards of sixty hours handwriting, illuminating, and gold leafing a manuscript style poetry anthology. In fact he understood completely why I'd undertaken such a huge task. And he was pleased. He knows the satisfaction of working with your hands. He felt the resonance of a job undertaken and well done. So, while my back is killing me, I think I have carpal tunnel, and I am mentally exhausted and emotionally drained, it was entirely worth it. I poured everything I had into something good and I did it well. There is no better feeling than that. Not one. In fact, I think I may do it again. Later. After I've slept for...who knows, just wake me in time for Christmas. Real post on bookbinding to come at a later date.
*Waves* I'm A. This whole thing was my crazy idea, though M didn't put up much of a struggle at the dragging along part of it.
And about me? Well I'm an artist, as the name applies (specifically a potter), a writer, a photographer, and a lot of things in between. And I'm a scientist. It's an awesome combination. My plan in life is to end up a small town doctor, living in the mountains and just enjoying life.
I'm another one of the barefoot types, even in the winter and at the barn, and like M, I have a tendency to sleep on the floor. I think it's the random little things like that that make it possible for M and I to be friends... just random enough that things get entertaining...
Just a warning--I'm a terrible speller. If it weren't for spell check and the red lines, some of my work would be unreadable. I love the smell of campfires and raku firings, and of sweat and leather and sweet horseflesh. I'm from a rural farming area, and some of that seems to always carry over into the rest of life.
I tend to ramble on when I write, so please, bear with me on that. But I love talking, ad it's a running joke that give me twenty minutes with someone and I can find something we can talk about.
I think I've said what I need to now... M and I, while good friends, are dramatically different as well--but like I said, that's what makes this so fun.
Whoops...Perhaps A and I ought to introduce ourselves before we get too carried away. My apologies. Hi, how are you? My name is M. I'm a fourth year English student at Brigham Young University. No, I have never waited for a missionary. No, we do not pray at the beginning of every class. No, I do not have horns. Yes, I do think BYU lives up to most of its cliches. And yes, as A is a student at the rival university, we are a little amazed that we're friends. I want to be a librarian and a book conservationist when I grow up, or una bibliotecaria as I finally learned to say in Spanish the other day. Maybe my language classes are good for something after all. Who knew? Anyway, I like frozen yogurt, reading picture books instead of my assigned texts, hiking, playing devil's advocate, and sleeping on the floor. I do not like wearing shoes, eating my vegetables (except carrots, LOVE carrots), making phone calls, or being asked about my love life. I hate Twilight. I want a pet burro and three pygmy goats. (named Potpie, Pim, Bugger, and Nina respectively) I need to hike across Europe. I hope to survive my finals. And I love that now you kind of know who I am without literally knowing who I am. Muahahaha!
Disclaimer: Please don't hold me to my English major status, there are more important things in life than perfect grammar and punctuation. Post on that topic at a later date.
Next Time: BOOKBINDING!
I am an anachronism. I am an artisan. And frankly, I am a little embarrassed to post following what M put up yesterday. She far outclasses me when it comes to words.
Yet, thinking about what M wrote, I came up with a word. Maybe not my favorite word--that would be an impossible task--but a word that is part of why we are embarking on this journey. Ephemera. Loosely defined as something of no lasting significance that somehow manages to hold on. In a way, I think that it describes the Art of the Letter. A letter itself isn't meant to last forever. They tend to be created of organic materials that may not stand the test of time. But even then, the words on the paper live on within us. They can haunt us, like the waters haunted Maclean. Those words have been a reason for change, for war, and for so many glorious things--love and peace and celebration. Who among us doesn't remember the rush of getting something like that college acceptance letter in the mail, a welcome relief after the months of angusihed waiting. Or at Christmastime, when Grandma and Grandpa would send their annual card, and you just knew that there would be a surprise inside. That is the legacy of the letter.
While the legacy of the letter lives on, we fear that the art behind it is becoming lost. Children today have little concept of what it is to sit down at a desk or a typewriter, crisp sheet of paper before them, and pour out your soul for someone else. We want to revive that. Bring the joy of hearing words from a friend far away back into our lives. Tell another we love them in more than 3 words, in a way more lasting than fleeting breath. it is why we do what we do, why our pens and typewriters work overtime.
I hope my ramblings here today inspire you. We love our art, and want to share that love.