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.
defying gravity with friendship
Tiny the press suspended in air with 4 jackstands and a dream.
Usually about now I would be writing about this month’s postcard, a little back story about inspiration, but February’s postcards just went out, on March 2, so I thought I’d share with you a little of the magic happening that isn’t directly postcard related.
I moved to Portland 2 years ago, yes at the start of COVID, so making friends has been, um, tricky? Plus I’m recovering from a concussion that made scrambled eggs of my brain and conversations. (Thanks Caroline for that phrase.
A few weeks ago I was old I can move my studio space to a more private area in the same building, giving myself a little more room to work and fewer folks watching me. Plus I get to share space with Heidi of Shebeast Press and Dom aka Halftone Press, two super sweeties who have been supportive studio pals for awhile. Like most abstract things tossed my way, I said sure, because “soon” means not today and that’s all I can handle.
I continued on with other tasks, trying to go back to work, resting, doctors visits, collage, more resting. When pressed for a more concrete timeline, Adam and I made a plan, that worked with both our work and parenting schedules, fit into the larger studio plan, and we counted it as nearly done.
Then Adam sprained his foot. Which meant no running despite being two months away from a marathon. It also meant he couldn’t push a pallet jack with a 2500lb press on it. Neither could I. I asked for Adam’s help first because he has already moved it with me. Plus my scrambled egg brains don’t offer a lot in the way of strategizing and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to explain to anyone else how to roll this beast 50 feet to its new home.
Heidi agreed immediately. I assured her it would only take an hour or two (HAHAHAHA) and I had all the equipment (HAHAHA) . It went well enough. We had to drive across town to get a second scissor jack and it took us about 4 hours. BUT I didn’t resort to the sketchy bottlejack-under-the-front-of-the-press desperation and I realized I have a friend I can call on to move heavy things. A year ago I realized I have a friend I can call when I suddenly need a ride and a few weeks ago I called someone for an afternoon drink on short notice. Seems like I’m getting the hang of living here.
Oh, Adam’s foot seems better and he is slowly running again. And I took notes on how we moved the thing this time so maybe next time will be even easier.
somewhere underneath all that is my new work table
Keep Writing #153--Make Rules, Break Rules
We know social media is a distortion of our actual lives—our day to day is much messier, more nuanced and more complicated than we can post about.
I post about daily practices as part of a belief that creative practice takes practice, that it in in the small things we do everyday, in and out of the “studio” (especially when the “studio” is our kitchen table or lap.)
I post about daily practices because it is what I strive for. I try to clean my studio when I arrive. I try to read a poem every morning while my tea brews. I have a list of exercises to help my brain recover—I try to implement them as part of my daily routine. The idea of a routine is that we aren’t struggling to find time and feeling guilty but instead making space for the things that help us feel grounded daily. My routine changes as needed. I adjust, adding new exercises, removing things that cause unnecessary stress.
Keep Writing number 153 sent January 2022. inside and out
When I designed Keep Writing number 153, I was thinking about creative practice—what things do I want to bring to my studio when I work. I thought about the way people can get so bogged down in rules and perfection that they forget to have fun creating, they forget that their work is for them, first. I thought of Sister Cortita Kent’s Rules for the art school at Immaculate Heart. I thought about the desire to break the rules, and how a change in routine is refreshing.
So I asked what is your rule number one—for now. And don’t forget the last rule—to re-write the rules tomorrow.
broadside by FItzgerald Letterpress
If you want to receive a monthly letterpress printed postcard, subscribe to the Keep Writing project! Want to see subscriber’s responses to my prompt? Check out my archive of responses on tumblr.
How Can I Help?
I feel like my job as a teacher is to encourage, support, shows ways to organize, make space for experimentation. Or maybe just what I think I am good at. So when my partner told me he wanted to run the Boston Marathon as part of the Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge, I knew what I could do to help.
There is this idea around support that if someone is struggling, with grief or anxiety or chronic illness, that offering specific help is easier to accept than a general “let me know if you need anything.” As someone who turns down help but who often needs it, I think about this a lot and have been trying to implement this as a habit. I think it is a great practice in boundaries and support. I can offer what I can actually do for someone, maybe something specific to their needs. They can accept or not. It gives a person who is under mental, emotional or physical strain the opportunity for aid without having to determine their needs. It takes the pressure off of them to respond or reply. Someone who is grieving may not feel hungry but may accept an offer of food, realizing they need to eat. I love it also because I can’t do all the things I used to, but I can offer what is within my capacity.
When Adam was accepted onto the team, he knew that his training would get a bit harder. And he knew he needed to start fundraising and telling people what he is doing. He is realizing a dream of running in the oldest continuous marathon in the world and he is raising money for cancer research in honor of his sister,and mother, patients at Dana Farber. I know nothing about running beyond the alleged “runner’s high” and that I have never experienced that. I don’t care for running. I can’t help with advice about running shoes or what to eat or when to run up hills or when to take a day off. He has a trainer for that. But I can write. And I’m handy with a spreadsheet and a calendar.
So I’m helping with his social media. He is doing fine without me so maybe he is humoring me by letting me help but here I am. Because I can. And because he is working full time while training. Which means some mornings he gets up at 4, runs for an hour, then gets ready for a 12 hour shift. On his "off days,” he runs long distances and parents his 10 year old. I don’t know how you are supposed to train for something when you are tired. I know that sometimes he wakes at 4 am and says he won’t run today, that there is ice on the streets and he didn’t sleep well. And often, he runs anyway. We are all so tired. There is always something. Always another thing we have to take care of, something we want to do. I’m all for paring down responsibilities and obligations to more of what matters. I’m all for rest and breaks because everything is so much. And I’m also all for supporting the people we love in the ways that we can. Somewhere between burnout and giving up, we go on.
oh yeah, if you want to donate you can go right to Adam’s fundraising page and help him reach his goal.
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.
2021 Year in Review
2021 started with a new full time job, an ice storm, an insurrection and ended with a snow storm, leave from the same job, and a satirical movie about our indifference to impending disaster.
Even with all the challenges of the past year, I’ve found a lot to be grateful for. Lots of time near water, lots of beautiful walks, and quiet time to heal. I’ve made friends through collage, expanded my studio space and found ways to offer my work.
Despite my initial aversion to winter weather, I’ve been appreciating the seasons, from the endless blooms in spring to the gloomy rain and eventual snow.
I’ve had to slow down a lot this year, but I am glad to be able to still cook food to stock the Free Fridges once a week, meet online and occasionally in person with other collage artists, and to have attended a few events.
I write and think frequently about adapting. After my concussion in July, I have slowly realized that I might not go back to doing things the way I did a year ago. I am grateful for finding ways to create and connect even with these obstacles.
Thank you for being here with me. If you have holiday money you’d like to share with others, consider donating to the National Network of Abortion Funds, or if you are in Portland, Meals on Us PDX has feeding folks through the pandemic and is working on getting a mobile unit to bring food to houseless people. Take care of each other.
click on photos for description
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
missed connection--Keep Writing number 150
One hundred and fifty. It seems like a celebratory number but I haven’t felt much like celebrating.
Three and a half months ago I got bumped in the head and it seemed like nothing until it felt like everything. I am slowly healing, no longer having daily headaches, my brain feels less foggy but the is residual damage. Not in my brain but in the ways I communicate.
I’ve been impatient. Possibly a side effect of the concussion but definitely the frustration of being unable to convey what I’m thinking, losing my words, and not having a way to describe what is happening inside my head. I say headache like I needed an aspirin but what I mean is there was constant pressure inside my head. If more than one person was speaking to me, or if there was too much noise or if I wasn’t sure what was happening or if I was tired or if someone was moving in my peripheral vision or if I was concentrating too long then things would get fuzzy, their meaning would be lost to me, the pressure in my head would increase. I would be tired, too tired to try again until I rested.
Twice a week I went to physical therapy for my injured neck and my PT would note my symptoms. He was patient, listed everything I said, checked in often. He listened. Every two or three weeks I checked in with a doctor who kept telling me that it should clear up soon and I realized how little the PT’s notes mattered. I talked to my doctor for a few minutes every two weeks and he said I should be fine. I didn’t feel fine. The more frustrated I got, the harder it became to communicate. I started keeping track of my daily symptoms because my doctor believed they should be resolved and I started to doubt what I was experiencing. As I struggled to feel heard by my doctor, a male friend assured me that doctors listen to their patients, ignoring the piles of written experiences of women, queer, young, trans, non-binary, black, native, latinx, people who have their experiences diminished or ignored. I think about chronically ill friends who struggle to convey their symptoms and to be taken seriously. I think of friends and kids I know who struggle to communicate because their way of thinking and processing doesn’t make sense to the people they are talking to or are unable to form words for what they need to say. I think of all the ways communication can be difficult.
In the early weeks, I did some research about what might help me heal. I bought logic puzzle booklets and a card game called Set—cards with shapes and colors that can be grouped in a number of ways. I appreciated the replacement of words with pictures, the complexity that came out of a simple premise.
This month’s Keep Writing card was inspired by this card game words being replaced by photos, and the struggle to communicate. It’s been a hard year. Be patient with others but keep trying.
ps as of 10/28 I’ve had a few days with very mild to no headache. I started driving a little. I feel clearer, more patient, and exceedingly grateful for the people who offered care. I still have more tests and check ups and Im not back to work regularly yet but it finally feels like I’m not going to feel like this forever. Im hesitant to say Im all better because anyone healing from anything will remind you that healing isn’t linear, but at least Im feeling more hopeful about things.
resources:
Tender Points: by amy berkowitz: a beautiful book about chronic illness, trauma, medical sexism
Caroline Paquita is a visual artist who has been dealing with post-concussive syndrome for 5 years and makes videos about her experience.
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.
allow me to introduce myself
HI! I’m Hope (she/her), a visual artist and educator who believes we could all use a creative practice.
Through classes, collage art and the Keep Writing postcard project, I am always excited to share ways we can work together and support each other creatively. I host a weekly on-line meet-up, work collaboratively with my partner Adam Charles Ross and continue the monthly interactive postcard subscription I started in 2008.
Born and raised in New England, I’ve moved between the west coast and the gulf coast three times, spent many years in Louisiana and currently live in Portland, Ore.
As an artist who never felt comfortable with my life drawing skills, I use collage as one way of creating drawings without drawing. I like to work in batches, starting with ink blots or themed source material to develop representations of conversations, interactions and inner discourse. Collage is a perfect medium for collaboration and exploration of relationships. I love experimentation and re-interpreting discoveries.
I’ve printed 149 postcards for the Keep Writing project—though the numbering has been off at least once!—and have asked at least one hundred questions. I don’t think I’ve asked exactly the same question twice and I keep a list of ideas for future cards. I love finding the balance between a question that is specific enough to inspire a response but broad enough to be relatable to all of my subscribers. I treasure the penpals I’ve made, the family and friends I’ve reconnected with and the many many anonymous responses that fill my mailbox. I offer monthly, yearly, and occasionally lifetime subscriptions because I can’t image not printing a monthly card.
My path as an educator has been just as meandering as my travels. I’ve volunteered with elementary school writing groups, been a substitute art teacher, worked at an amazing and magical summer camp, introduced adults to letterpress printing and finally created a few courses that I am proud of because I think you CAN draw.
I recently retired my business name of gutwrench press to better blend by interests—collage, classes and the Keep Writing project.
As a white, bisexual, cis-gendered and able-bodied woman, I strive to make my classes accessible. While operating within the confines of capitalism, I have been working to create sustainable ways to be able to give a part of our earnings to historically marginalized groups including but not limited to Black, queer, indigenous, immigrant and southern communities. For a year I choose a different group each month to support, donating 10% of my total sales. I am currently in search of a local Portland and Louisiana group to partner with, to continue to donate a share of my profits. I also reserve spaces in my classes for students without the means to pay full price. It is not a perfect system but it is a start.
I have benefitted from greatly from the business coaching of bear hebert, the printing guidance of kathryn hunter and the fiery enthusiasm of rachel david.
Now for some Fun Facts™:
In my 20s I was vegan (it was the late 90s! In seattle!) and even worked as a vegan baker. Even when I started eating meat again, I continued to bake without animal products. I recently started cooking wiht butter and eggs and can understand the appeal but my best chocolate cake is still vegan,
I make pizza from scratch about twice a month because my stepkid prefers it to his favorite pizza shop.
I drink gin or whisky, bourbon and rye but never tequila or vodka.
I love rainy weather and grey days but I miss the warm slow summers in the south.
Twenty-five years ago I wrote a zine called 3 am but I now prefer enough sleep to morning coffee.
I would be a night owl if I could but I also like early mornings. Once at a residency, I flipped my schedule and got up at 2 in time to have early dinner with another resident before they quit for the night. On my last day there, I called my friend and penpal (and now husband) 6 am as I was closing up the printshop and drinking my last beer watching the sunrise over the mountains.
Lastly, I could use an editor. I mean, I’m not hiring but I still write in run-on sentences.
Thank you for being a part of this.
only a fool
When I designed this postcard for The Keep Writing project, I was thinking about exhaustion. The idea came before my concussion and I was getting ready to mail them out as Hurricane Ida was approaching the gulf coast. This phrase comes back to me often —“only a fool keeps running out of gas” and its original context was literal, lifted from reflections on touring as a punk bank in the early 2000’s. For me, it is a reminder of rest, to not repeat avoidable mistakes. As friends were evacuating or hunkering down, as reports of where to get gas or food or water, before and after the hurricane hit southeast Louisiana, wanted to send these out with a footnote:
*or those who can’t afford gas.
Because, let’s be honest, there is a lot we can do to simplify our lives, to slow down, to rest. But there are also plenty of situations and people who are working too many hours to take care of families, because low wage work is all they can get, because they don’t have paperwork or family support. Anyway, printing 200 of anything will make you rethink your words and examine from many view points. I used to love setting type because of that meditation on words. I appreciate the simplicity polymer plates and digital design allows me but I miss the slowing down.
routine but not boring
After a few months of feeling behind and uninspired, I wanted to make a card that could show off some of my favorite aspects of printing—the texture of lines and co-mingling of color. Here’s a secret: I know a rainbow roll is a crowd pleaser but also a sneaky way to add 2-3 colors to a print in one run. And while printing the September postcard, I was still operating at about 60% of my pre-concussive self. So I cheated a little so make a postcard that popped for you while going easy on my brain.
This card is about routine, and finding that which will steady you through a sea of uncertainty. We’ve all had a bit of that in the past 18 months, myself included. Small routines give some form to my days. Currently, I’m trying working later in the evening, giving myself some time to unwind, and sleeping in. I do miss the early mornings and the rush of ideas that come with it for me, but healing and light duty at my full time job and my body adjusts and I try to adjust with it. I’d love to know what keeps you grounded in times of change, and its always a time of change.
My Turn
What would my response be to this month’s card?
I would share my studio routine. When I arrive at my studio (or my camper office) to work, I make a cup of tea or coffee, and clean up for a bit. I put away piles, sort prints from the previous visit, sweep, organize. I’ve been doing this for years. It might seem like procrastinating but I feel like it gives me a little time to arrive in my space. And I tend to work late and leave in a hurry so it is a chance for me to re-set my space before getting to work.
Remember you can read responses I’ve received to Keep Writing postcards here and if you aren’t a subscriber, remember there are monthly and yearly options here.
welcome
gutwrench press is now hope amico!
ps it always has been.
choose your own adventure style! full story? read on just want to know what this means? skip ahead to the bulletpoints.
If the past 2 years has been an ongoing lesson, consider me a scholar of adaptability.
Remember two years ago when I bought this camper and planned to be hitting the road to bring you classes and zines and printing out the back of my truck? Then I fell in love, got married, became a step mom and moved to Portland. I intended to follow through with the travelling plan from my new homebase and even started booking classes and markets along the west coast.
Then I arrived in Portland, in time for a freakish late season snow and the first COVID related shutdown. I hunkered down like everyone else, taking lots of walks and baking while cancelling events and settling into uncertainty. Like many of you, my long term plans became more vague as I responded to the day by day bits of homeschooling and unemployment and social unrest.
After nine months without a regular job or properly qualifying for unemployment in my new home or my old home, I got a full time job so I could pay off some debt and eventually return to teaching. I found a studio, slowly expanding my space to accommodate my press and my ideas and tried to slowly integrate a little teaching with full-time work.
And then I was injured at work and now here we are laughing at plans.
My favorite viral tweet lately: the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse could be here and we are still going to work.
It sometimes feels like end times. It definitely feels like time to be doing what I love.
While at home recovering, I decided to take a business course with Bear Hebert, about marketing but it made me rethink my plan again. Honestly, I rethink my plans constantly--I was looking over notes from a coaching session with Bear two years ago and it was about simplifying and clarifying. I am still working on recovering to return to my job, and I won't be teaching full time anytime soon but I want to take steps to be able to do that. I haven't quit my day job but am making plans for a more sustainable work life.
As always, these changes seem small --a website name change, adding a third color to my palette, removing some old postings--but it's always with intention. and I like sharing that part. I like talking about the thought process behind choices, whether they are design choices or business choices. Because I assume that there are artists and small business owners out there with some of the same conundrums.
Gutwrench Press has always been me. I liked having a business name and a mystery identity. When I started making collage work a few years ago I chose my birth name. I've always liked it. I found myself correcting reporters in press interviews and laughing when they thought my last name was Gutwrench. I've decided not to keep my art and my postcards separate because to me they are not. I don't need or want two websites or two different personas. I just wanted what I have to work better for me.
Isn't that what adapting is all about? Working with what we have, not wishing for something different?
What's changing :
gutwrench press.com becomes hopeamico.com--you should be forwarded here if you try to navigate. the new site has all of the keep writing and classes of gutwrench press plus all the collage of my personal website now in one location
instagram handle changes to @hopeamico
monthly blog is back! more about postcards and occasional other writings (think seasonal notes, end of year musings, that kind of fun)
email! hello@hopeamico.com
What's you can still count on:
Friday Night Collage, online every Friday and in person on the first Friday of the month.
Keep Writing subscriptions and archives--if you are a subscriber, thank you for your patience with the many delays this summer. We should be all caught up! email me if not!
Classes coming soon
my po box address!
10% of all sales being donated to local important causes
What you might miss (or not):
the name gutwrench press
custom letterpress printing--I love printing business cards but I haven't been doing any custom work for awhile
zine distro --I loved showing up to zine fests with a selection of zines I love to share with new audiences but I am paring down the selection of what I sell--check Antiquated Future, Portland Buttonworks and Brown Recluse Zine distro for loads of new and amazing stuff
facebook presence! (sorry mom!)
I know this is long. Thanks for sticking it out. And for being here these past years--I'm looking forward to sending you more fun, less verbose news every month!
A version of this appeared in my monthly newsletter. To receive news, stories and a top 5 list every month, sign up for The First of the Month Club!