Yay! Mail art is back. Cutting up old journals is a great idea. I tossed a ton of my journals-of-my-20s--maybe I saved a few doodles and that's it. I had made some conscious decision at some point in my mid-20s to stop writing down every angst-y feeling that popped into my head (little did I know the Internet would come along, giving everyone, including me, a platform for those feelings). Reading through those early journals was VERY embarrassing and I didn't want to subject future generations to them, so out they went. I did save journals of the 90s--they seem more "balanced" overall, and contain some story ideas.
One thing I was really surprised to rediscover on going over old journals recently (we were probably doing this in tandem a couple months ago without realizing it), was that I was very, very serious about being a writer. I had multiple short-story ideas going on for a couple years, and I was sending out a lot of completed work and making note of my rejections (some hand-written notes on them that kept me from giving up), and filing things and being very driven and organized. What happened that changed that trajectory? Was it just giving up, or deciding to try later--probably just working full-time for low pay and survival taking over I think.
Anyway, there was a part of myself I had COMPLETELY buried in my subconscious. My writing side. I stopped journaling altogether for some time, but have picked it up again, along with doing art with you (hmm--interlinked). I still write ideas in journals so I won't forget. They get used for blogging, comics and our limping-along script. Which will be completed--I predict--or at least first-drafted this summer. It must be!
So we can get going on the second script.
Also: thank you for this collage and the nice window envelope. It's weird to have something of yours from a couple decades back when I distinctly remember your work from then. I remember this brown ink, and lovely drawings and your commitment to putting it all down on paper. A huge part of you in these little collages in the mail. The P.O. made some nice stamp-age on the envelope as well. This reminds me of you back in the day very much.
This teeny handwriting--you have such skill with miniature. I love your miniature still-life broaches--I have my bowl of lemons you gave me. Much talent. Much, much, much.
2 comments:
I don't know that I was ever serious about art. I have no idea how to go about being serious. I've had a couple of very unprofessional shows, the last of which was in a cafe and so very anticlimactic, complete with being handed a belated check from a bored and put upon proprietor. The local critic here wrote something up in the local paper about my work and while that was exciting nothing came of it and now that's been a few years and I have not continued with whatever momentum that could have sparked. I am torpor personified. I think someone has to love your work and take you under their wing. Now the world is filled with artists and there are only so many wings and so many people to sell stuff to and I'm afraid my opportunity has come and gone. When I do work on things I do it without an eye toward anything but amusing myself. In some way that's better, but at the same time, wouldn't it be fab to be able to live off the creative work we do?
I don't know why but I loved that brown fountain pen. And that is totally weird and amazing that we were going through our journals at the same time!
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