a little red hen

XRACTAL, a name for 20th century electronic art

A comment on family photos--mine and others--was a reminder  that it had been too long since my last visit to Marja-Leena Rathje.  She described finding leaves pressed in a book, showed how sharply they scanned--once she decided to save them.  The post title, "3D Scanning Techniques," did not do justice to the images produced.

She had  come upon the idea of saving these objects by scanning them and discovered that leaving the lid of the scanner open produced a black background.  Commenters visiting wanted details on the type of scanner, dpi number.

Baltimore 1991 Photos/slides were the accepted way to save images of neckpieces I'd started making a couple of years earlier.

Photocopying machines had been around for a while and small printing companies began to offer that as an alternative to letterpress.  The idea of using a photocopier was appealing.  Perhaps it evolved from my having a black and white copier in my home, wanted to try color.

There were no scanners, so I had to take my pieces and drive somewhere.  Well, you had to drive everywhere anyway.  It began as a simple notion of creating a different image of the work. I added fabric backgrounds, as in the picture at the top.  Next clear plastic sheets or plastic wrap, used to protect the glass, gained their own reflective place,  weathered shells (the focus of the neckpieces), even hair.                                                                    

While a member of Resurgam (now defunct), a co-op gallery in Federal Hill, a waterfront neighborhood, I met Jimmie Miller, longtime artist in many media.  It was a hospitable place for me to get started, be in a couple of group shows.  Jimmie and I decided to have a show together on our own.

Fractals was the name he gave his large, intricate mixed-media pieces--oil, pastel.  "What was a fractal?" I asked.  A generous and patient man, he explained the idea of "geometry of the rough..making order of disparate things."

It occurred to me that my color-copying had a similar sensibility and name them "Xractals" to describe this electronic print-making.  Since Xerox was the predominant copy machine at the time, that's the source of the "X" in my invented name.   Vintage stores were filled with used frames, Ron made mats, and I included several in our show, "Fractals & Ceremonial Neckpieces."

Already frail then, Jimmie Miller died at 71, three years ago.  Too soon.

Funeral Parade--with Drums--from My Window

"What's that music?" Ron leaned out the window facing 125th Street yesterday afternoon.  Sounded like a jazz funeral parade in New Orleans, the one you couldn't help but follow.  Yet different.

Barbara Ann Teer, founder of the National Black Theater died last week at 71.   When she moved from an active life on the stage to devoting herself to  the NBT, she stated:

We must begin building cultural centers where we can enjoy being free, open and black...where we can find out how talented we really are, where we can be what we were born to be and not what we were brainwashed to be, where we can literally ‘blow our minds’ with blackness.

Once again we found ourselves fortunate to live beyond the proper confines of the "upper west side," and within Harlem's boundaries.  Ron would point out details he noticed as we ran from one window to another to follow the parade as it turned from 125th onto Amsterdam Avenue below our window on the 21st floor.  "I got teary," he said. I wonder if picture-taking gets in the way of my own strong emotions.

The tourists on the double-decker bus (see final photo) probably never learned they were privileged spectators to a remarkable ritual, rarely seen in New York City.  The explanation came to us in today's New York Times headline, For Champion of Black Theater, A Funeral through Harlem's Streets.  There are many fascinating links for more about the visionary Dr. Barbara Teer,  known as "the queen of Harlem."

UPDATE:  More details at UPTOWN Flavor, a lively blog about all aspects of the neighborhood--events, art, politics.  Discovered independent movies are shown Wednesday and Thursday night in Morningside Park. 

Immigration and Knitting in NYC

Living in New York is about participation in an international city.  Sound obvious?  Many Americans probably think that this is true from reading or visiting.  For me, it is particularly sharp to live with that reality every single day.  Earlier this year when we had the futile hope that Congress would move in an intelligent and useful direction on immigration, I'd wondered.  How would my landscape change if recent immigrants--both legal and undocumented--disappeared?

June 1, 2008, Kew Gardens' Spring Community Fair was a typical day of interaction with the City.  Ron and I were asked to help out with a knitting clinic at the Fair.  Before we drove to Queens, we stopped at D'Agastino's, a local grocery chain.  At the checkout counter, in native dress of Mali was the pretty woman at the beginning of this post.

Rachell (yes, two lls) Turner who is fluent in French and Mandarin joined us; she's teaching a little Chinese girl here.  Rachell was one of the few American-born adults (some children probably were also) we encountered that day--and Carol Lacks, native New Yorker, who organized the event.

  Boys, girls, mothers, grandmothers, we had them all.  Sometimes it was a stretch to know if we'd been understood but the craft carried us through.  The woman in red and black is a quilter who came by to visit from another table.  At first I thought she was from Africa.  She was an American artist among those from southeast Asia, all living in Queens, the City's most diverse borough.  Two young artists--twins, high school students, very self-possessed--amazed everyone with their on-the-spot portrait gig. Our location was the parking lot for the Kew Gardens stop on the Long Island Railroad; some fair attendees took the train to other stops in Queens.  It's a fortunate community that has public space like this, or maybe it's semi-public.  The distinction can be hard to determine some times.  Also part of the scene is Bliss Cafe, whose owner emigrated years ago from Asia, is known for her community enthusiasm--and gracious host  to frequent visits from our granddaughter who lives a few blocks away. 

Being with Roxie ended our intense knitting-helper day.  Her people landscape is so different from her Portland cousins.  It's always a bit of culture shock when we visit Oregon and notice less diversity of people on the streets.  We're very fortunate to have a foot in both cities.    

Saturday: Remembering Portland Farmers' Market

You'd think two glorious farmers' market--Eugene and Portland--would carry me through the summer.  Not so--I still think about the unusual thistle, bee stuff, gooseberries.  But I'm not in Oregon anymore so pictures fill the gap. 

Alongside  the  food  at the Portland Market was  a Summer Arts and Crafts Market.  A new addition,   "Sistered up" (their phrase), sponsored by the PSU Women's Resource Center.   Portland State University is the leafy site of the market in the South Park Blocks.   Kristin Yount, who organized the venue is also a ceramic artist. 

These lamps made from slides are the work of Phoebe Owens who describes herself as a "fantasticator."  The doll is by a fiber artist who calls her small companyZeldaloo.  With great restraint I limited myself to one  purchase-- a superhero baby onesie from Trusty Sidekick  --for the anticipated grandchild.  Appearing three times over the  summer, the Arts and Crafts Market wrap up its season on  Saturday, August 9, from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. 

Always ready to look at  books, on our way to the Market we  noticed this place  place, tucked away in the basement of The Old Church,  a beautiful structure now primarily a community resource with weekly concerts, lectures.  Jerry Rous, the proprietor,  sells reasonably-priced books and has an ambitious plan to  give away  those that might only be destroyed by paper recyclers or thrown into landfills.  Found several for our budding readers.  

Back in  New York, we went to the Greenmarket at Union Square on 14th Street.  So very different.  A few years ago it was an abundant source of fresh food from upstate farmers.  As the surrounding neighborhood gentrifies further,  the City keeps making  "improvements" and they were at it once again effectively reducing  space for farmers' stalls.    And many of the booths had fruits and vegetables that were definitely not local.

What  continues to give pleasure  is the unexpected  quirkiness-- random  petitioners and  this British vendor who entertains with his rapid fire speil for a peeling device.  We bought one last year and it works well once you get used to holding it properly.  Seeing the demo again, we were reminded that there's a piece on it to gouge the vegetable along the sides of --carrots have decorative, flowerlike look when sliced.  We ought to  take ours to Portland next time to entertain the grandchildren.

Portland Photobooth Silliness

Last month in a mall in Portland, Oregon.  Grandson Zach is as much a ham as his grandmother.  Can you hear grandfather, the director, in the background?

Posted as about to go into high heat of July in New York City...to the yarn store.  Stay cool, please, wherever you are.

Summer Knitting with Global Warming

The spinner,  weaver, hat-maker here has been led into using his handspun wool for a baby carriage cover.    Pattern from "Knitting Made Easy," Best Recipes, 2004, publication probably bought in Portland supermarket, unfindable via Google.

It's the most ambitious knit project Ron has tried-- and enjoyed.  He's now sewing the triangles together, next, the strips.  Last  Saturday at the Harlem Knitting Circle,   Lisa Daehlin described a technique as "surface crochet."  New to me.   Might try it as decoration on Ron's cover.  It's for our next grandchild-- expected in Portland, Oregon, next month!

Photos:  Lisa explaining; Njoya (HKC leader) teaching; 10 year old  girl crocheting.

While in Portland, I found  Araicania Yarn, hand-dyed in Chile  thick/thin cotton called for in this pattern, I'd brought along from New York.  It's called a couvercle ("lid" in French), at  Knitty, the online pattern site.  Since I wanted a longer visor and do not think it's quite my thing, will probably return to the Northwest.  Could work better stylewise for my daughter who is always wearing hats--indoors and out-- during  Portland's winter.

Major  summer  project has been  this shrug, free pattern at  Knitty City designed by Amanda Gale.  Using very different yarn, Rowan Silk Cotton Tweed, I added a Picot Knit Bind-off--same as in the last thing made for granddaughter, Roxie. 

Some good advice from Lisa D. about how to increase spacing between picots (Tao Silk, Colinette Yarns) and the very best idea:  let it sit for a while before deciding not to add trim around the neck.  It's pretty but think best design for my life and body is the vest made from Rowan Cotton Denim about five or six years ago.  Fades just like denim, goes over everything unlike this new one which only works over particular blouses.

We are finally into true summer heat here.  On the one hand, reassuring and on the other,  challenges  my practice of Elderexercise where I've become addicted to daily recording of steps on my little pedometer.

 

Old and New Photos--and Coincidence

How long had I envied other people's old family photos?   Probably a very long time.  Finally, in my forties, visiting Frostburg, Maryland, I purchased this  family in a familiar pose.  Not that there is any way to relate them to my personal history:  I simply wanted to claim a connection to an historical past.  As time went on, I purchased others.

There's penciled writing on the back  I neglected to decipher in the 1970s, now cannot read at all.   How many times do you write identifying information on a photo?  Photo, a black and white print, what's that? some child visiting here might ask.

Later in the 1980s, I became interested in late 19th/early 20th century photography by women, of women.  It was a surprise to learn there had been many women photographers back then.  Taking photos was promoted to women by Kodak, could be pursued as an artistic expression without attending art school--usually closed to them.  A married women might learn by helping out in her husband's  studio, frequently assigned to  developing prints.  Often when a spouse died, she'd take over the business, have a means of supporting herself.  One day I'll write more here, post  some of the unknown women and men photographers  I discovered in vintage shops.

Another image that drew me in was this one, two--maybe three-- generations of women in a family.  Again there is nothing about them on the back.  However, because the photo has been on my walls in the original  wood frame, glass covered, I decided to open it.   First what I found under one edge of the frame:

   The negative of this photo is preserved for future orders.  Duplicates can be obtained at any time at reduced rates.  We make a Specialty of enlarging in Oil Colors, Crayons, or Pastel.

E.W. MOORE, Artist, (Removed.) Seventh and Washington Streets,

That was too enticing not to investigate further.  Prying open the mat glued to the picture, I was surprised by what I saw--Dekun Building, Portland, OR.  Surprised because I'd found the photo on the east coast, some time in the mid-1980s.  Now Rachel, my daughter, lives there; I know those streets.  A little Googling located Mr. Moore, the photographer,  in 1895, though not the building.

Here's  my own three generations of women in black and white, in our more casual time taken while we were in Portland last month.  It pleases me that our children and their children will have images to pass along,  not need to depend on other families' collections.

Rachel, expecting another daughter next month, also went to Frostburg State University years after that first photo entered my collection.  A nice bit of synchronicity.

Nineteenth century black and white photos are wonderful in many ways.  Particularly remarkable is the way they continue to look sharp as we struggle to find places that will produce good  black and white prints.  When we traveled in Mexico and China, prints frequently had green or sepia tones.  Same usually  in the U.S. where color, of course, rules.

This one was printed in Portland where we now mail film for better reproduction.   The best ones are those Ron would make  a few years ago.  These days he still shoots black and white film; I carry color in my digital camera.  The  hours he spent in  the darkroom have been replaced by spinning and weaving, a more amiable old guy pursuit.

Eugene, Oregon--Fiber and Produce

A visit to Oregon this time of year is not complete without experiencing produce in the open-air.  We began in Eugene where we'd gone for Black Sheep Gathering.  We made a point to visit the bountiful town market before the sheep so we could bring our own lunch along.

For reasons only the natives must know,  the worst sort of fast food is available at the Gathering--nothing fresh, no lamb.  Curious.

As great and glorious Eugene's Saturday Market is, it was the waste-conscious sensibility that got to me.  Imagine, a container for compost.  Of course, this assumes that everyone knows this is for waste that can  be composted not as I initially thought, "They bring compost here?"  And everyone know which stuff belongs in it?  Remarkable but then I live in another universe where it is someone else's responsibility to keep the earth clean--not ours. 

The  specialness of our trip was taking Zach, our 6 year old grandson, along on his first overnight trip with us.  He was very comfortable with this Angora sheep and all the wool-centric happenings.  Though very sensitive to wearing wool, we cannot knit or  spin  for him, nothing was a problem with the live product.

He was encouraged to be up-close with the animals by Carol Ronan,  a sheep breeder in Selma, Oregon.

We watched the judging--Carol even encouraged Zach to come into the ring with her--as she won two ribbons for her animals.  We'll return next year and see if he's ready to get in the ring.

Malingering in July?

Since I returned to New York from Portland, Oregon (this is Mt. Hood on a very dry day), it's been hard to return to blogging.  Reasons?

For the past few months, my thoughts have been with clarifying my purpose here.   In a recent post, Claude at Blogging in Paris  mentioned taking a break for the summer from the French side of her ambitious, picture-filled blog.  She has been in the mix for four years; a little red hen, just two-plus.

Some of it has to do with time.  As noted in recent posts, my struggles with TypePad, my blog server, have been discouraging.  In an odd way, it was reassuringthat Ronni Bennett,  far more  experienced  with computing, has noted similar problems and the general slowdown for those of us not paying at a  "premium" level for our broadband service.

Following Typepad's  suggestion, my switch to Firebox from Internet Explorer added another level of annoyance:  my Bookmarks were transferred selectively and did not include blog sites regularly visited, type size continues to challenge.  The clock ticks; I may be retired but do not want to spend so much time seated!

And yet, a useful adaptation has emerged.  Instead to beginning to write a post before showering, I pay attention to getting dressed and attaching  pedometer to waistband soon after breakfast.  Thanks to Claude for taking the idea of Elderexercise and virtually running with it. 

The more important item on my plate--next month I  turn 75!  How do I visualize my next decade.   While in Portland (two grandkids, 6 and 2+  here... sun  through the window in unusually bright and dry days), Ron and I moved further toward the idea of spending early winter there when there will be another granddaughter.  Looking about for rentals added secondary gain of  steps on pedometer.   

And after the personal, there's the political, a/k/a, my creative life, always a mix.  Where, when, how?

Before I left in June,  Njoya at the Harlem Knitting Circle offered her space at the George Bruce Library on 125th Street as a teaching spot for "Safe Sex Knitting."  On  Worldwide Knitting in Public Day, I taught two stitches for creating Condom Amulets.  You'll read on her blog, that we had a small turnout. Yes, it was  a disappointment, but could not outweigh my pleasure with the group's age range, enthusiasm, and concern about HIV in women over 50.  We talked about the latest teen statistics that one in four has an STI (sexually transmitted infection).   

More later about our splendid trip to Portland.  Now back in NYC where east coast granddaughter lives and  fire engines have raised the volume on their sirens since June.  Or is it just me?