2022! WE ARE DOING OK.

Teaching, swimming, waterfalls, roadtrips, dogs. It was actually a pretty good year.

click on photos for descriptions

this unexpected experiment

What to say about this new work?  

Collage created post-concussion, working in a sketchbook, making abstract organic shapes from paper scraps.  Hiding in my office, making  work in a sketchbook because there was an irritated disconnect between my observations, my emotions, and my actions.  There was a terrible distance between my tedious explanations and what was understood. 

The work about my brain that is not about my brain.

In July 2021, I bumped my head and had no idea how it would change my life.

Three months later I was angry, frustrated and helpless.  I could not understand what was happening to me. I knew I was injured and struggling. I spoke carefully, slowly, thoughtfully but  my words sounded flippant, terse. I obsessed about how to say things, how to speak. But the harder I worked on communication, the less I seemed to be understood. 

All of this, I realized a few months later, were symptoms of my concussion and reactions to those symptoms.

But that autumn, as it got colder and darker, I felt confused and cornered.  I could not go to work, I was tired headachey, irritable. Noises and light crashed over my senses. I was thirsty for silence, for visual quiet.

I spent a lot of time in my office--a vintage trailer parked in our driveway. I was afraid of sounding angry, afraid of causing arguments, afraid of my own reactions.  I was too tired to go to my studio.  Impairments in visual processing made riding my bike difficult and driving dangerous.  Working in my office meant I could be separate but close by.

Collage became part of my regular creative practice around 2018.  By the time I was struggling with PSC symptoms, it was not unusual for me to collage, or collage alone. I started working on my sketchbook because  a friend, Kellette, shared her sketchbook and I loved the idea, containing all my work in one place, treating them like experiments.

When I decided to offer new prints for the holidays, I flipped through the sketchbooks, realizing I had a new body of work and a new way of working.  But what struck me is that the shift in my work came post-concussion. 

So many things shifted post-concussion it is difficult to differentiate cause or effect.  The past few years have been of great shifts, extreme social shifts, personal shifts. I cannot claim that any one thing could shift my work. And yet, here we are. Sketchbook number one.

This work is from the first sketchbook I started, in the dark dark days before solstice , as the days got shorter and the nights longer, and I was so deep inside my muddled brain, I could not tell you how I really felt about anything. I did not trust my senses, my gut or my emotions.

Somehow, with all this darkness, I worked with bright colors, I tried incorporating people, there are snippets of joy and whimsy. 

I am sharing them with you.

You can see the full collection here.

And buy prints here.

And if you want to know a little more about how post-concussion syndrome affects people, I am finishing up a zine about it. You can pre-order Eulalia #4 here. Created with collage, then riso printed in two colors.

superstitious--keep writing number 162

When I was 23, I was vegan and traveled in the UK for a month. It was 2001, before 9/11. Our flights were cheap but we traveled without pocket computers. We carried a small book of vegan-friendly restaurants and groceries.  I don't remember how we found places to stay. In Aberdeen, we had a room that felt like a suite in a palace. We stayed in a cramped hostel in Ireland. In Belfast,  we stayed at the home of a woman who had us sleep in separate rooms because of our perceived genders. She was perplexed almost to anger that we would not eat the eggs she gathered from the chickens that morning. But she nearly broke when my partner stirred his tea with a knife.

It's bad luck, she said.

He was untroubled by the revelation that cutlery choices could affect your future. 

I never thought of myself as particularly superstitious but I grew up catholic and my grandparents are Siciallian so, everything is relative I guess. The pageantry of my youth turned me off to organized religion but not to carrying stones or coins for luck.  I've never made declarations about the existence of ghosts but I am not going to forsake the idea that energy takes many forms and may linger.

What do I know?

I may have seemed very certain of my beliefs as a 23 year old refusing a very local chicken egg.

Isn't that what your 20s are for? Being certain and then having all your beliefs destroyed or questioned so you can rebuild in your 40's as somebody who is certain because of evidence and experience. And more aware of what they don't know.

I wanted to hear your superstitions. I wanted to know what you consider a superstition. 

This was not the original idea for October's card. 

In September, at the start of two months of an ambitious schedule, I  gave a talk from my studio for the SFCB From the Bench Series. The night before, I realized it would be cozier from my camper office. My studio was a mess. 

I usually have plenty of ideas for Keep Writing postcards, but occasionally I get stuck or ideas feel stale or I am thinking of classes I want to teach or talks I am about to give and can't focus on what I need to design a good card. The day of the talk, I was in the middle of designing a few Keep Writing postcards..

I thought it would be a good idea to plan the postcard live, during the call.

It was not.

It was fun, but there was not enough time to execute brainstorming, weeding out false hopes, and sifting a nugget of truth from the mud of ideas.  I don't remember the idea we were working with ( you can watch it unfold here).  I kept the scraps of our notes and when I could not make the collective idea work, I returned to our original list of subjects and was drawn to superstitions. And so it went.

 As a bonus,  I got to carve a two color evil eye.

While writing this, I cleaned out the cup holders of my truck and discovered a glass evil eye charm from a yard sale find from this summer.

I often think my ideas are like lightning but they are the slow burn of repetitive suggestions.

For the record, I believe in moving energy--setting intentions, carrying stones and smells and spells for protection and encouragement. I find churches overwhelming, even when they are so gaudy I want to be angry.  And I try to pay attention to the solstice, watch the sun rise and set if I can. 

I stir my tea with whatever is handy.

commit to the craft

We had our first snowfall today.

I’ve been waiting. I stayed up a little too late a few days before because of a misleading weather report. I feel like a kid, waiting, gleeful anticipation of something that brings me joy. I’m a little surprised at myself—I feared the cold when I relocated to Portland, OR after years in the gulf south. I love the warm humid Novembers. But it snowed within days of my arrival. And returned the next winter and the next. Despite protests that it “never” snows here, it clearly does. I have embraced it.

When I lived in Oakland I waited for rain in the same way but the lack of precipitation there is unsettling. Even here, I know it does not rain as much as it used to, as much as it needs to. Snog is a special kind of magic, requiring a certain tempurature and precipitation but also appears unexpectedly when it should be too warm or when the sun shines.

Another reason I was up late: I bought a new computer and have been catching up on tedious administrative tasks. My old computer was not preventing me from doing my work, but it was discouraging. The screen cracked a few months ago, creating a low vibrating glitch across 2 inches on the left and three inches across the bottom. The shaky intrusion of color made it very difficult to work until I “solved” the problem with electrical tape over the broken parts of the screen. Some days my fix wasn’t enough as the entire screen sang with excitement and flashing lights.

Then the computer shut itself down one day when I was opening files to edit.

I weighed my options and then purchased a newer computer, with screen intact.

I worked for months with the broken screen—I was in the middle of teaching two different series of classes online. I even began taping notes to myself in over the electrical tape, as if I had a thich margin on my monitor instead of a hidden secret.

My friend Brian, a writer you may remember from the exquisite corpse poem in 2020 Keep Writing, keeps notes taped around every room since his first adult apartment in Atlanta in the late 90’s. He writes in sharpie on white paper, blown up post it notes quoting songs and poems.

His notes around the house are not unique, but I appreciate the scale and his commitment. I love collecting bits of inspiration, verbal and visual. Taped to the edge of my computer.

commit to the craft.

Which might just be the theme of 2023.

The past year has been a slow grind of healing, and a slow return to the life I want. I have to assess, constantly, if I am making choices towards my goals and if these are the goals that suit me still. This might sound exhausting but I prefer the repeated check-ins, the assurance that I am on the right path.

I want to write, print postcards and create conversations.

I want to encourage you to create, to reach out to others and to stay connected. Expect more of this.

The downside of this snow is that it was wet, which means it is already melty, and can turn to ice overnight. Everything can shift so quickly. Knowing where I want to be heading helps me right my way.

What Surrounds You Inspires You part 2

A visual tour of the art in my bedroom.

Last weekend a friend showed me around their home and I was struck by the clusters of art in the bedroom. I can appreciate minimalism in theory but I prefer to surround myself with artwork I love, like a little inspiration nest! Here are some highlights:

Everything hangs a little crooked. Actually this is above Adam’s dresser. From the top: a painting by Adam (my partner, Adam Ross) , a letterpress print I made at Penland years ago (my first typesetting class and I was learning to set type in curves and circles) and a collage by Hannah Newman.

I bought a lot of art during the pandemic and I do not regret it. Here is a ceramic weaving—I have forgotten the artist’s name! The print is from a calendar, an ongoing exchange with Bryan Kring of Oakland. I send him Keep Writing postcards, he sends me his multi-layer calendar.

A new collaborative collage by me and Adam above a photo of I10 taken by Bruce Q. WIlliams, another impulsive and beloved pandemic purchase.

clockwise from top left: a collage I made for Adam, a photo of my paternal grandparents on their wedding day in 1936, a linoleum print by Adam Ewing, work by the first printmaker I knew who is still Adam’s best friend, Jim Wood, another collage I gave Adam from a body of work I completed in New Orleans in 2019.

Is anything in my house straight? A cluster of work by Jim Wood, a few pieces by Adam and in the center bottom, a postcard by Chris Johns.

Many years ago I received this Mary Oliver poem in the mail annonymously. I typed it onto a piece of paper I made and have carried it around for years.

This rearrangeable set of prints was a gift from Adam, I’ve forgotten the artist. They are photographic prints of montotypes, designed to be arranged and rearranged. The ceramic nest is a relic from art school (one of the only ceramic things I liked that I made.)

What Surrounds You Inspires You

If you’ve been reading what I write for at least a few months, you know I love swimming. But autumn is actually my favorite. I grew up in New England and for all the things I loved about living in New Orleans, there was never a real autumn. I grew up with red and gold blanketed hills, chill air, apples, spices, frost and roadways slick with wet leaves.

I love transitional times: spring, fall, sunrise, sunset. Being on the cusp of something else. Autumn is harvest and the end of a cycle. It is witchy air and preparations. It is calling back to what and who we lost and shedding what no longer suits us. In Oregon especially, it is gloom and mist and chill—satisfying my gothy inner teen—and then, for a surprise minute, bright sun—all the October Saturdays of my youth.

This morning I rode to drop off my ballot and then sat in the sun with coffee and wrote. I’ve been working and building for the past few months, and it feels like I have this month to push forward and see if the plan stands. Business, and life, is not really ever like that, one big push and then collapse or success. What we really have are the habits and relationships we cultivate, daily things we do and people we reach out to. I’m surrounding myself with people and practices that hopefully inspire and support. And a sunny autumn day feels like I’m heading in the right direction.

In June I made plans to teach and teach and teach. And I have. How validating to be doing the thing I love, to begin to turn down opportunities because they are not the right fit and to make plans for next year.

There is a big shop revamp coming in two weeks. My plans might be more than I can accomplish but here’s to taking in the cool air and see what I can share.

I Can't Draw Either

student work

I still say it sometimes. Years after I started this drawing workshop, sometimes I still say it. It is reflexive. I  describe my designing and printing process. I describe the tools I use to create images--clip art books, collage, drawing--but add as a disclaimer that I can't really draw.

It is true that I struggled in my life drawing classes in college, even though they were one of the main attractions to going to college in my 30's.  What I figured out is:

1) drawing takes practice

2) many people claim to be "not creative" because they "can't draw."

and then I realized:

3) being creative takes practice.

We get in our own way so often. We think we can't do something. We make assumptions. We were told one thing when we were young and did not challenge that idea in adulthood.

Here is the not-so-secret: you can draw.

It is true that looking at an object and rendering it accurately is difficult. It is a useful skill.  But it is not the only way to draw.

I wanted to teach a class I wish I had taken years ago. I wish I had been instructed to doodle. To make patterns. To experiment with materials.  To learn about color and composition but not rely on rules.  

So I designed a class like this.

It has evolved according to student feedback (thank you!) and my move to mostly online teaching for now. The class is now 6 weeks, 2 hours per week, with time for drawing, plus demos, slideshows, time to ask questions, and optional homework.

This is my favorite series. I love that students still send me updates about their practice--if they are still drawing or what it might look like now. Some of my students have taken the class more than once. Sometimes they bring a friend or partner or parent.  Our last class is often a drawing party, open to friends and former students. Being online is a little trickier but I appreciate the cross-country community.

Registration is open for "I Can't Draw" drawing workshop

Thursdays 5-7 pm PST

Oct 13-Nov 17

$345 includes all materials

work/trade available esp in Portland area

me drawing in my sketchbook to keep up with students

Tools for Remembering

I bought a bike.

A brand new bicycle. After years of riding a too-tall steel frame 80’s Centurion with a Schwinn fork (dubbed the Shwinchurion only by me), given to me by a generous friend, I invested in a brand new, tiny, 3 speed with panniers and a custom made front bag. My friend gave me The Schwinchurion after I had a bike stolen. It was too small for him, and though he had tried to make adjustments, it never really fit him. Or so he said. It a little too tall for me but once I changed the handlebars and seat, it was smooth and fast, and fit ll except that I could not stand straight up over it. I brought it to the west coast, rode it all around the Bay Area, packed it back to Louisiana. I knew I needed a smaller bike, but we had made it work. And then my friend died. Suddenly and tragically. I had not seen him in years. I could not lose another connection to him. So I rode the too-tall bike until my hips ached from standing askew at stoplights.

After bringing it on the back of my camper to Portland I finally decided to find a better-fitting bike. I tried trying a few different frames and found something workable. It sat for 9 months until Adam transferred the parts from the too-tall frame onto the new-to-me frame. The old parts did not fit on the newish frame. The brakes didnt quite reach the rims at the best angle and the rear cassette needed replacing but I kept riding it, stubbornly, slipping out of gear, braking slowly down hills and eventually walking it more often than riding it. I rode my dead friend’s bike to pieces and then tried to move the pieces onto another ill-fitting frame., riding that into disrepair.

Once, many years ago, I attended a community bike shop conference. At the host shop, we chose bikes to borrow for the week, fixing them up from the shop’s collection. I chose a single speed bike with a coaster brake. I felt self-conscious, as if everyone would judge my mechanical skills on this bike. I hastily worked and decided it was good enough. I rode up a mountain with the group, the bike in such disrepair that I had to pedal downhill. Finally, out in the desert, a friend offered to take a look and realized I’d been riding with a malfunctioning brake . I am stubborn and proud.

Finally, this spring, I accepted that if I had a better functioning bike, I could depend on e more often for transportation. I was driving less after an injury but also preferred riding. I knew it would not stress me the way driving does, and I knew it made me feel better. I researched new bicycles. I asked a million questions at the shop. I debated. I test rode two different bikes, confirming my choice.

Nothing brings a dead friend back. Nothing reverses history or aging or and some injuries stay with us. I gave up the bike that won’t bring my friend back. I felt like a traitor buying a new bike. Physical objects remind us of our lost loved ones but objects are just vessels for the memories, for the love. I bought a new bike because what I remember about my friend is his generosity, his kindness, biking with him and shouting at cars, riding to the swamp. And it doesn’t matter which bike I’m riding when I remember that.

sustainability and a big thank you

new hanky for my workspace from Caroline Kern/Pegacorn Press

I have an artist friend whose work seems to be everywhere. It is beautiful, thoughtful, interesting. I often wonder how she does it, show after show, with markets and events and so much new work always. Her work evolves and grows—it does not seem stagnant or repetitive to me. She recently said something about coming out of something, implying an illness. She remarked that self-employed artists don’t get paid sick time. Which is true. I don’t know the details of her situation but I have been struggling with this as I ease back into the full-time work life:

how do I continue to take care of myself and work in a sustainable way while being self-employed?

I was house sitting a lot this spring and summer. The best jobs were ones that lasted at least a week. It was a way to begin working without straining my body. It gave me a chance to re-establish some healthy habits . As a bonus, I stayed at a friend’s lake house and went swimming off the dock every sunny day.

When I got home, finally, it had been nearly 2 months and I was exhausted. I wanted to bake bread. I wanted to clean out my closet. I wanted to encourage the tomato started I put in the ground haphazardly before a rainfall between housesits. I thought about making housesitting my job. I love being alone, I like animals, I like being in different parts of the city. But it was stressful to always be leaving. So I put it on hold.

I committed to staying home, for now.

I’m still coming back to California when I can. I am definitely a person who makes a million plans when I am feeling good and then realizes I have over-committed. A friend calls it the difference between sunny day plans and rainy day plans. After a few days of a persistent headache, I sometimes come out of it with the sunny day feeling—I want to do EVERYTHING.

One of the things I signed up for, in a whirlwind of an EVERYTHING day was six months of coaching with Bear Hebert, a friend who has always given good advice. I am slowly moving my business towards supporting me full-time, with their patient help. One step:

I raised the price for all new Keep Writing subscriptions.

There is no way to raise prices for existing subscriptions, which is both frustrating and understandable. I decided to tell my subscribers what I did and why. And then I let them choose. They could cancel their subscriptions and re-subscribe at the new rate, or not. And they did. Not everyone. But a few folks did, and a few folks with lifetime subscriptions volunteered to pay a little every month. It was very sweet and validating.

It is true that I don’t get paid sick days. And I don’t know my artist friend’s situation. I have a financial cushion right now. I am not shaming my freind. The problem is not artists who want to work and live on their work. The problem is capitalism. I have a flexible schedule which means I can take time off whenever I like, but the same work awaits me when I return. I have at least 40 hours of work to do every week. I am continuously building in ways to not overwork, to not burn out, to get paid what I need to be a person who sometimes can’t work. It is a privilege to be able to choose this and it is likely I will be looking for part time work this fall. But I keep taking steps to a better work life. Thank you thank you for supporting that.

If you are a subscriber who is willing and able to pay the new subscription rate here is what to do:

if you pay monthly, and are able, consider cancelling your subscription and re-subscribing at the new rate.

if you pay yearly, and are able, consider cancelling your subscription and re-subscribing at the new rate. Please email me and I will refund any difference for the remainder of your old subscription.

If you are a lifetime subscriber, and you are comfortably able and willing, consider a one time tip or pay $3/month as a family friend. email me and I will help you with the next steps. It is clunky but works.

the long view

Oof, even if you’ve been expecting it, the news last week was still a gutpunch.

What’s been helping me is: information, reading legal takes and insight from organizers, and making a recurring donation to the New Orleans Abortion Fund.

I’ve been in planning mode, looking ahead: writing classes, applying for residencies, and making business plans. My concussion symptoms are healing but it’s hard to establish a good work rhythm when I am derailed by heat-induced headaches.

How do we not burnout on news, personal struggles, the pains of capitalism?

I’m not a life coach or a therapist but I have learned this past year that adaptability and boundaries are key. That doesn’t mean ignoring what’s going on politically, because it will affect you. Abortion isn’t a “women’s” issue, and white folks are not immune to the effects of police brutality. All these issues are interconnected—power of some over others.

Connecting with your community, finding ways to care for each other outside systems that can be threatened by legislation, and staying informed on issues will help you be more resilient. For me, that means getting involved with groups that feed hungry folks in Portland. Currently that looks like donating money most of the time but I am also ready to start committing more time to it. It can feel hopeless, overwhelming, but I find that finding sustainable ways to participate while also being involved with others helps soften the hopelessness.

It’s boring, and tedious, the long view. But also more sustainable. So, get in the streets when you can, shout and cry and be with others. Demand change. But also chip away at the laws that oppress, the attitudes that uphold inequity and surround yourself with others doing the same work.

For further reading about this, I was influenced and inspired by this by Dr. Ayesha Khan.

a finish line, a threshhold

Two big things happened this month

Adam, my partner, the other half of @circles_and_lines_collage, father, painter and enthusiastic runner, finished the Boston Marathon in just over 4 and a half hours.  He raised over $8,000 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and he still likes running.  I'm proud of him. Training for a marathon never seems like a fun thing to me but he found time and stayed committed and crossed the finish line almost smiling. His fundraising wraps up May 18th so there is still time to donate if you are able to help him reach the $10,000 mark. Or join us on World Collage Day to donate and celebrate.

I also am fully-self-employed again.  By choice.

Keep Writing subscribers may remember many questions about jobs and identity.  My brief time with a full-time job was complicated, of course. I had health insurance for 15 months without interruption--nearly unheard of in my adult life, a great privilege that only solidified the absurdity of healthcare being tied to employment. I had my teeth cleaned by the same dentist twice.  I paid down some debt.  I met people and made friends at time when there were still mask mandates and limits on indoor gatherings.   But I was also injured at work.   

Concussion recovery is slow but continues. 

I am very very lucky to have support from a great physical therapist, doctor and my family and friends. I have been taking mini-trips to spend time in the quiet forest and to reset my brain and habits.  One day I will have a million thoughts on daily practices that balance a productive and restful day but I am still figuring that out.  Too much computer time or driving or math can really wear me out, and cause debilitating headaches. But I have a lot of tools for coping and lessening the effects--having more control around my employment is a big one!  I am already scheming about classes, a recorded class, projects and markets. A friend referred to this as "sunny day planning"—  the optimism of what you can accomplish when you feel great versus the reality check of a rainy day, or in my case, a symptom-heavy day. Being self-employed means more freedom in making my schedule, more time for recovery, but also there are some jobs I can't do right now, possibly ever.

One of the hardest symptoms for me is a difficulty in communication. When I am tired my sentences get shorter but not necessarily more accurate, as if I am too tired for the right words. It means I can sound dismissive, grouchy, and it may be hard to understand what I am trying to say (and I don't have the patience to explain! Like being hangry!) But I have a few in-person events coming up. I am hoping that all I have learned about pacing and breaks will make for a fun day selling things zines and collage to old and new friends. 

keep writing number 156--an actual marathon

NOT A SPRINT// When Adam said he might run the Boston Marathon one day, I encouraged him because it excited him.  He rarely does things that aren't for his kid or me or his friends or work.  And he wasn't sure he could do it--especially raising enough money to be part of the Dana-Farber team. But when someone I love says they don't think they can do it, I am happy to encourage them past their self-doubt. He was already running and ran a marathon years ago. His sister and I could handle fundraising. Six months later Adam ran 26.1 miles and raised over $8,000 for cancer patient care and research for the Dana-Farber Institute in Boston. His sister, parents and son were able to cheer him on in person. I stayed home (post-concussion symptoms have made flying unappealing)  but texted him throughout the race to encourage him.  And I made these postcards.

This month's postcard honors the big plans. I was telling a friend the other day that I realize I am impulsive (or decisive depending on how you look at it) but the past nine months have made me slow down and slow down and reassess until I accept I have to take small steps towards a clear goal. On a good day, everything feels possible but I am still working on the needed equilibrium to not feel defeated on hard days. This card is for small steps and big plans. For one day at a time and the actual marathon you might be training for.

You can still donate to Adam’s fundraising through May 14!

mis/understood--Keep Writing number 152

The worst part about slightly misquoting zadie smith was re-listening to her read from Intimations, hearing the words and realizing I had slightly misquoted her in print, and it was too late.

And then I returned the book before writing down the correct words. Again.

The original is something more like "people sometimes demand change. they rarely demand art"

With apologies, here is keep writing number 154, february 2022. This month, I've included a sticker for you to use, post and share. Let's see what happens.

chasing waterfalls

me last week at silver falls oregon

I never thought about how often I travelled alone until I travelled with someone who had only travelled in groups—on tour, or on road trips with friends. I never thought of travelling alone as anything special—it was partly because I like travelling on my own time, at my own pace. I sometimes get so excited about a plan that I forget some the logistical troubles of travelling alone. Like the time I hiked to the bottom of a gorge, because I knew there was a very special swim spot under a waterfall. I had planned my roadtrip to include this spot and had already skipped it on a previous trip. Before the hike, park rangers explain the obstacles—a scramble across the river on rocks, a large smooth stone you must cross without wetting your shoes. I think the warnings were for people who might think this is a casual swimming hole and try to bring the while 4 generations of a family plus floaties for all. Another hiker later told me that when the ranger gave them the talk,each point was punctuated with:

“OR YOU WILL DIE.”

I initialed the permit and boopidy-booped down the 600 stair entrance to the trailhead. Halfway in, I realized how immensely stupid it was to be doing this alone. If I twisted my ankle, there was no way back but up the gorge or in a rescue helicopter. But I didn’t turn around (which actually would not have been easier anyway). I was careful and fine. I jumped into the pool at the base of the waterfall and floated looking up at the the gorge wall, which is my favorite favorite place to be. I met a pair of hiking buddies who helped me get my backpack across when I was done swimming and scrambled up the steep walls back to camp.

That is how I usually feel about travelling alone: blinded by adventure pausing at some point to realize I didn’t think things through.

By then it is often too late. I am in a hotel room in San Juan adjusting my derailleur and looking up bakeries for breakfast realizing I don’t enough cash. Or I am alone in my tent at a very secluded campsite (near another waterfall) and I swear I hear footsteps in the brush outside—it is drunk dudes from the next campsite or is it a bear? Or halfway into a solo hike appreciating the quiet around me and then momentarily concerned because no one knows where I am.

I never liked hitchhiking alone or sleeping in public spaces when on a bike trip. I always felt too exposed, but never brave enough to find a better spot. I never slept well and always got sick. But in the back of my truck in a campground, I mostly feel like a weirdo which is fine, that’s my life. I’ve slept alone in rest areas, hiked alone in other countries, travelled to cities where no one spoke english and I could not guess what any signs meant. I’ve done some stupid things. And I’ve had some really great times.

Last week I went to Silver Falls State park alone for 3 nights. Concussion recovery means I want quiet more often than I can get it. I feel like I can never drink enough quiet, always thirsty for more.. Driving still is tricky for me but it was about 50 miles, straightforward, and then I had a tiny cabin near an old growth forest to myself. I hiked, wrote, slept a lot. And missed my family. I like travelling alone. I like having my own slow schedule. I like eating from the same can of vegetarian baked beans for 3 meals. I like no one having to be on my schedule, no one waiting on me, and no one telling me I overplan.

This trip was a little like a writing retreat, a little like some time for healing. My partner and I had camping plans for 2 weeks after my injury but I was just too tired. We took a few brief day trips because I love swimming. I thought I was getting better enough for camping a month later but there was a 100 degree heat wave and it was cooler at our house. I can’t take care of others the way I used to, I can’t organize things and make sure everyone is packed or get up and make breakfast for everyone. I love to. I loved being in charge of meals when camping with friends. I love to plan and organize but it is exhausting . It is easier to travel alone sometimes. but not always what I want.

I like travelling and being alone and I am grateful for the family and friends who love me. I am grateful that the unearned confidence of my growing up white and middle class didn’t turn any of my trips into a tragic tv mini series. I am grateful to spend time in places where cars can’t be heard, or people, just two birds battling out the airspace.

one of my first solo trips, hiking in the grand canyon when I was 18.

secret obsession

yes, i did choose venusaur for the color combination

If you know me you know that I don’t care about fad or pop culture. And when I do, it is years behind everyone else. I recently texted a friend that I heard a Taylor Swift song and kind of get their obsession. I like pop music because I am not a great dancer (despite Thea P’s reassurance in 2005) and I think the insistent beat and no-fuck-aroundness / I-don’t-cariblity of pop release something for me that gets my arms and feet moving in a big way that feels good. I am very slow to the trends and I don’t want to talk about them with most people because it is embarrassing to be out of touch and embarrassing to care at all about teen rom-coms and strong women superstars.

But when I became a step-parent, my partner gave me some advice about his kid: become interested in his interests.

Luckily, my and the kid already have some common interests: walking in the forest, swimming, walking at night, card games based on cats, clever puns, pizza, teal, and drawing. But the first time I agreed to play pokemon, I was at a loss. I missed the first pokemon outbreak. I don’t play strategy card games. And though the kid has many charms, at 7, he was not great at explaining the rules of the game. So I downloaded the online card game (its free and never has in-app sales) and started playing. I figured out the rules, figured out ways to play against him so the match was somewhat even. I play on my own and build decks. I’m not great. We have real decks to play so we aren’t always online. He likes cute small pokemon. I like cards where the illustration is a crocheted or clay depiction. I find things to appreciate. And when his friends come over, I am the cool step-mom who knows the evolution of Chewtle and can talk a little about a fairy/psychic deck I built, if asked. I don’t have hundreds of pokemon’s names and attacks in my brain, but I like a good strategy and like being able to understand a sliver of what is happening in my step-kids brain.

At Christmas, my partner found these nano-block pokemon. I liked lego as a kid, but don’t have much interest now. But something about these—they are tiny which makes them , well, cute. They are just hard enough that it feels like a challenge to my post-concussion brain, but I don’t feel overloaded. (actually building them reminds me of specific exercises in the cognitive tests I took—something I struggled with, matching a diagram to actual blocks. ) Turns out they are a little too fussy for my kid but I bought a few more for myself. Someone tried to tell me about nanoblack months ago, and I didn’t understand. But these small, hyper-focused projects that take me 30 min to an hour and result in a little pokemon, well, I will soon have a tiny army. Or I think in pokemon world it is called a gym. I don’t really know.

bonus: when I first met him, my future step-kid said I looked like a pokemon trainer, which I think is a complement , though I wasn’t sure what he meant. Now that I know some of the female trainers are hyper-sexualized, and still teens, that comment is more confusing, but the general aethetic of pokemon trainers are kind of a vaguely punk, colorful but simple clothes, with bright hair….ok I get it.

snorlax and psyduck are friends

finding your people and your path

In July 2021, I was injured at work with a concussion. I feel like I talk about this all the time because I am thinking about it and experiencing it constantly. I’ve written about it in a newsletter, made postcard or two about it but I never can tell how much I've said.

For the past 6 months I have been slowly recovering from a mild traumatic brain injury (meaning I didn't black out). It has been wild, surprising, limiting, isolating, and has shifted so much of what I can expect of a day.

I have a partner who has been able to help with taking over some of the things I can’t always do and I've had friends to talk to but there is still a disconnect between my experience and what I can express. I’ve been able to talk occasionally with friends who have been or are currently going through a similar thing which helps. This week I met with a support group of other artist weirdos going through similar injuries and it was so wonderful to be in a group of people who can affirm that my experiences are valid. Talking with people about resources and tips and just listening made my whole week a little easier.

During our meeting, we introduce ourselves briefly and then mention one positive thing that helped us this week. It is not a saccharine affirmation, but a sliver of light in a dark and confusing time. For me, this week, I have reminded that a quiet forest walks can help reset my often over-stimulated brain. The grey days are easy on my eyes, there is plenty of shade on rare sunny days, but a light rain deters enough people that it can be so quiet, though I am a mile from my house. Though I am new to Portland, it has been a place I have visited for many years, and am grateful for being able to walk there. I forgot to tell my group this so here it is for you.

Many things can make us feel extra alone right now, so tell your people you love them, and reach out. Say hi. Keep going.

keep writing #152--we are not alone

Once in a while, I will meet someone and tell them I am a printer and they will say they have something I might be able to use. Once it was a whole printshop of type from a flooded house in New Orleans—the owner’s dad had printed a newsletter and now that he was gone, she wanted to clean out the type. She thought maybe her metalsmith neighbor could melt it down and use it. Luckily the metalsmith called me. Sometimes it is other printers, sometimes people just have some random stuff. I often take it. Even when it is busted, flooded, missing parts. Because I appreciate their generosity. So when someone from the neighborhood was getting a tour at my stusio and offered to bring by some cuts I said, why not. People dont often follow through and so what was the harm. A few weeks later he called me, and delivered a box of printable cuts. Only a few were corroded, and many were lovey. i felt very lucky. And like maybe I should use some printers cuts in upcoming postcards.

So December and January’s postcards feature printers cuts I was gifted from Jake. It seemed appropriately fitting that I was planning a special card for December. Long time subscribers may have noticed I often send a flat card in December or January, a sort of month off kind of gift. But this time I wanted you to send a card to someone special. Or anyone you think may need it. Like the mail carrier. When I was delivering food in 117 degree heat I almost cried when someone left a mini cooler of snacks and water. It wasn’t what was in the cooler—it was that they were thinking of me. Reaching out is the first step and it has a bigger impact than you may realize. There is nothing to send me, though if you want to take a photo of the card and tell me about who you wrote to in an instagram post, tag me! @hopeamico. and take care.

keep writing #151--the 100 t-shirt project

One of my favorite stories to tell is how I became friends with Abram*. I had only been in New Orleans for a few months. I was riding my bicycle to the downtown library when I was hit by a car at a stupid intersection. I was brought to the hospital by a stranger, who may have been the person who hit me, and dropped at the emergency room. Before cell phones, the hospital called my house and left a message for my roommate and visiting friend. I can’t remember why, but my friend Jamie had also called, maybe to meet for coffee or say hello. But word of my accident was passed along to him and, realizing he was the only person we knew with a car, Jamie and his best friend Abram arrived at the hospital as I was being released. I had a broken collarbone, staples in my head, and a fractured ankle. When we arrived at my house, Jamie carried a bag full of leafy greens and vitamins and Abram asked me if I wanted help walking. I stubbornly limped with my crutch to the door. After several painful minutes, Abram told me I was doing a great job but that was enough for now. He carried me up the stairs to my apartment.

Abram gave me a copy of his second book with his phone number written inside. We didn’t hang out often, but he always had encouraging words for my projects and impulsive choices. When I texted him last month to ask if I could use his second book as a prompt for Keep Writing, he was flattered and asked for a few copies. He was one of the first people to sign up for Keep Writing, back when it was a mailing list on a clipboard at the New Orleans Book Fair. The initial price was I was $1 for 2 months because I wasn’t even sure if it was an idea that would work.

I’ve appreciated Abram’s ability to talk to strangers, be forward with his opinions and to ask others good questions. He has encouraged others to write their stories, through the Neighborhood story Project and as a writing teacher at the University of New Orleans.

I do keep a running list of ideas for Keep Writing, and still sometimes when I sit down to design the card, nothing fits. This month, while pacing my house trying to make another idea work, I thought about something I had said in a text to a stranger. I was trying to sort out the shipment of something I had ordered and after having to clarify details repeatedly, I apologized and told them that I had a head injury and that I easily get confused. It is so helpful for me to preface conversations that way but also I feel some shame— like I am making things too personal and awkward. I thought about the ways we don’t say what is really happening, especially now as we deal with the mental health effects of living through a pandemic and grief and depression. There are many obstacles to clear communication. Maybe we think or process in a different way, or we don’t speak the same language or because we are grieving or tired. I want to approach conversation and interactions with more compassion.

So I borrowed Abram’s idea of writing our background thoughts on a shirt. What do you want people to know when they are speaking to you? What are you thinking about as you navigate the world? What could you share that might make communication easier? What do I need to understand as we speak?

Keep Writing 151 went in the mail November 21 2021. Im looking forward to your responses which will be shared on tumblr!

*It is also possible I met Jamie or Abram when they were selling their books by driving city to city and talking to strangers. I was in Boston then, visiting before heading to New Orleans. What long lives we live.

celebrating abundance

ABUNDANCE//biking to my studio the past few weeks, I looked for ripe persimmon trees in public places. I would occasionally pass trees full of ripe fruit behind tall fences and lament the wasted fruit. After the boom of home gardens I watched many vegetables spoil on the vine. (@sarahmirk wrote a great lil zine about their personal rules for gleaning--not taking from people's gardens but fruit trees along the sidewalks, when fruit is falling from the tree--a sign no one is harvesting)

And then one day, in front of one of those fenced off overloaded trees was a 5 gallon bucket of persimmons. How many is too many? I brought home a bag full, sliced and dried them and now have sunny orange-sweet slices all winter.

With plenty left over to bake something for the Free Fridges.

Thanksgiving is complicated to celebrate. Historically it glorifies the fiction of the settler-in-need, nevermind the gory facts of colonialism and its legacy. Many of us are here because our ancestors were opportunistic, claimed land that wasn't up for claiming, bullied ahead with violence and unearned confidence and never really backed down.

I don't want to celebrate that.

I am grateful for a moment to be thankful of the abundance of the year, for the people who have offered support, who have shared what they have, even when it was little, preparing us all for the winter. I'm going to eat pumpkin pie for breakfast with my partner & stepkid because it is our favorite, and miss my friends in New Orleans, who will be dressed up and celebrating with oysters and pies and taking care of each other.

want to support your neighbors? @maaportland is raising money for tents and sleeping bags for houseless folks and the United Houma Nation in South Louisiana is still recovering from Hurricane Ida--you can donate here

what I learned in college

I was 31 when I started my undergrad degree at a state school with a decent print program and a lot of equipment I wanted  to use.  I had to take a lot of required courses, including an intro to 2D design that mostly frustrated me because I didn’t understand what the teacher was attempting to demonstrate and because it was some of what I wanted to learn in college. The basics.  I dreaded that class. But I learned a few things:

1)composition and design elements are easier to understand once you start teaching them 

2)collage collage collage and

3)I have everything I need to start making art. You do too. Fancy equipment is nice and helpful and experimentation is key. But don’t let that stop you from working with what you have.

This is probably my all time best selling postcard , printed in my first days as an intern at San Francisco Center for the Book . Thanks for letting me reminisce—it reminds me how far I’ve come.