SCRIPSIT Volume 35, Number 1 Washington Calligraphers Guild 2013
Beauty of the Earth by Anne Cowie
O
ne of my favorite quotations is: Every artist dips his brush in his own soul.
For me, it opens the door to thoughts of issues we feel deeply about as individuals and a society. I have asked the following artists the same questions and, like their work, I have gotten a beautiful variety of answers. A couple followed the questions pretty closely. Others had more than would fit in this volume of Scripsit. The questions were: Will you share with me a particularly poignant experience you’ve had with producing a piece of calligraphy? Have you ever created work specifically to stimulate social awareness or change? Did it take more than one time to get it “right”. If yes, did you pursue your original direction or take an entirely new one? My calligraphic experience has been one of great and generous sharing. Please tell me about something that was an important “sharing” that you received early in your lettering journey. I want to extend a bottomless thank you to the seven artists who shared their thoughts and work for this issue. Kate Irwin, Editor Volume 35, Number 1, 2013, ISSN 1530-2318. Scripsit is the journal of the Washington (DC) Calligraphers Guild and is among the many benefits available through membership. See www.caligraphersguild.org. Send inquiries and address changes to Sue Flory, WCG Membership, P.O. Box 3688, Merrifield, VA 22116-3688, USA. Both the cover and contents are fully protected by copyright and may not be reproduced without written permission. Publication of any article contained herein does not imply endorsement by the Washington Calligraphers Guild or its Board of Directors. To order additional copies of this issue, as well as selected past issues of Scripsit, see www.calligraphers guild.org/Scripsit.html. Designer/Editor Kate Irwin. Front cover: Kate Irwin, back cover: Charles Pearce. ©2013 Washington Calligraphers Guild. All rights reserved.
Carrie Imai
W
hen I was asked to contribute to this issue of Scripsit, contemplating the request gave me a chance to reflect on work that I had done several years ago and in doing so, brought some clarity to my thinking and purpose. In the early 1940’s during WWII, the government ordered my entire family to a Japanese internment camp. I was born there. My family’s response to our captivity, like so many others there, was to make the best of a very bad situation, make a life for our families and to carry on with dignity. My family rarely, if ever, discussed that period of our lives. It was something that happened, something we went through. It weighed heavily on me. I admired the amazing inner strength and grace that carried them through this ordeal.
Heart Mountain
All my life I have carried the weight of their experience and the experiences of others in the camp. It happened. It is a part of my life that shaped me. I wanted to honor those who endured and express emotions that remained within me. My piece, Heart Mountain, is a collage of memories and images. For many years I had collected mementos related to this period of my life—a photo of the camp, poetry from internees, a photo of my uncle 2
Heart Mountain, close up
Gaman in his Army uniform (he enlisted in the U.S. Army while his family remained interned). I cannot say that the piece was planned. It came together with each piece I had saved. I began with the image of barbed wire. It was real and harsh. I softened it with layers of beautiful rice paper symbolizing the Japanese spirit of moving forward
without malice making the life we had as beautiful as possible. I incorporated images and poetry from others interned, as well as a newspaper article about the bill apologizing for our internment, signed by President Reagan. Heart Mountain was displayed at an exhibit of the Society for Calligraphy in Los Angeles in 1990.
“Gaman” is a Japanese term meaning “to endure the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity.” 3
they would not. Putting this collection of memories and keepsakes down on paper was a very cathartic journey for me and helped me release any bitterness and anger that I retained. The powerful tsunami that hit To¯hoku, Japan in 2011 evoked within me similar and simultaneous feelings of pain and admiration of personal fortitude to carry on through the most devastating circumstances by people who have lost everything. Capturing my feelings with pen and brush on rice paper, commending these strong people, and honoring their struggles not only to survive but also to endure, I created Gaman, a Japanese term meaning “to endure the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity.”
Chief Joseph The response from the public was incredible. It brought about many deep and interesting conversations with visitors to the exhibit. Their reactions ranged from sympathetic to incredulous. I was amazed that many people did not know this part of America’s history. My parents were very closedmouthed about their experiences and feelings about the internment. It was asked of them by their government and they complied. I felt obligated to bear their resentment if 4
Learning has always been a big part of my calligraphic and artistic life. Teaching has become a culmination of that learning. Sharing what I have learned and seeing the light go on in a student’s eyes warms my heart and feeds my soul. We all have experiences and struggles that form who we are and how we interpret those experiences and express ourselves. I am happy to share mine.
On the right: By the C
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Anne Cowie
I
n my studio, I work for a visual description that echoes an inner movement of wonder, profound respect, and the deep appreciation I feel about this experience of being human. Mark making is an integral part of the whole process that includes painting, printmaking, formal writing, drawing. I respond to group themes when I can relate to them, but mostly I am on a hunt for personal expression that feels authentic. This effort and search grounds every other activity related to my work and often my mood for anything outside of it! Engagement in process is the real lifeline for me. So much so that I am now at a place where what has been sitting about unfinished is standing up and making a plea for completion. But even if I move toward product rather than process, it is actual involvement with the work that maintains my psychic balance. A studio visit or participation in an exhibit leads to questions, conversation, comments, and those special gifts of recognition. It is a good feeling when an exhibit is well received, but specific comments, compliments, even questions are the source of energy to continue all of it. Overhearing a comment is powerful for me. A judge talking to a viewer about a prize-winning piece—“Well, she’s a natural painter. It shows
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Harbor throughout.” This made me feel especially good because I wasn’t going after it. “I just don’t relate to this kind of work. Can you tell me what you’re trying to do here?” led to a lively back and forth exchange that ended with “Well, maybe that IS kind of interesting then.” Someone walked in the door, saw a piece on the wall and said immediately, “I want to buy THAT.” “This makes my heart sing,” says another. “I want to get this as a surprise for my wife. I know she loves it.” “I decided I had to keep that present I bought for my friend.”
Earth No comment is insignificant; some carry weight for years. Expressed enjoyment is heartening and psychologically brightening. It usually sends me right back to work! I always loved school and I am thrilled to be headed for a class whenever I can. Filling up the well of ideas, working, experimenting, practicing, writing—what gifts to give ourselves! Benefitting from another’s experience and finding out how something is done, how little variations in what I do might open up whole new areas, finding out a way to practice, being in the presence of other seekers, combining energies, being inspired, watching process develop, walking hand in hand for a time with other learners.
In my first study with Sheila Waters, she generously wrote out several alphabets for each of us. As these evolved right next to me on my paper I sensed the subtle changes in her energy as she moved from Roman to Blackletter to Uncial. It was a kinesthetic knowing that I could not get any other way. For a few minutes absorbing the sound and feel, movement and pressure, rhythm and very attitude of body as she wove together dance, music, poetry, design. With every similar opportunity I am enchanted and filled with joy and a bit of hope that some of that will remain within, that I will bring it back to my studio. Some experiences of learning have become significantly formative. One of these was an experience at Cheerio before it became the weeklong adventure we have come to know. Leah Beckwith was leading some exercises, experimenting with movement and writing. Taking pen in hand immediately afterward, I sensed a significant difference in flow and ease and exhilaration of my writing. For the last thirty years I have been tracking down just what that was about.
“…our participation with one another is vital.”
What a privilege that we can rub elbows with masters of the trade, stand inches away from the magic they can make happen on the surface of paper right before our eyes!
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Introibo The more I understand the direct relationship between body awareness, breathing, and moving, the more excited I am about the possibilities for accessing and expressing freely and confidently. Body awareness is significant in my approach to teaching as well as my own creating. Another insightful exercise was in a workshop with Steven Skaggs. We identified portions of our own handwriting that were interesting to us. It was the first time I was so totally aware of the authenticity of our own mark. Those portions were really gestures, and I realized I could make more of the parts that I selected and preferred. With intention I could repeat what I already knew. I could do them with confidence. I made pages of marks for the delight of it. And still do. The third shift was really more of a rescue. It came after attempting an exercise with expressive writing
and sensing complete failure. I had just met John Stevens and shown him some of my mark pages. He happened by at a discouraged moment and asked me to show him my rejects. He simply placed them in different piles: have potential, interesting, do more of these. He talked about where I might go in my work, but it was the honoring of what I had done by taking time to sort that got my attention, lifted me up and relieved me of desperation. A sturdy lifeline. Studying with Laurie Doctor I experienced how to keep a flow going among elements I want to include in what I do. I think of it as a circle with stations that get returned to in a rhythmical way. Not fixating on one in particular but touching down on each one, focusing, then moving on to complete the path. When I lose my way in my personal searching, I have usually stalled somewhere. I picture her circle of actions and begin moving around it. These and many other teachers have encouraged me over the years. One of the things I love about teaching is the opportunity to pay this forward in some ways. If I have spent a lot of time in the studio I miss the immediate gratification of teaching and scurry to get a
“The energy and dynamic created are exciting and I s 8
all. I sense immediately if things are working. If there is not a response I modify. I do treasure letters and comments about classes; but right at the time, there are many signals of understanding and glee or worry and confusion.
Beauty class on the calendar. As in my own studio work, personal mark making is the connector in teaching about process, making books, painting papers, using words and letters. The great joy in watching someone come alive in their work and believe in themselves makes me the happiest of all. I enjoy planning and trying out new ways to make something interesting. I love to be a facilitator and make the space a good one to work and learn in, to encourage cooperation and a sense of community. The energy and dynamic created are exciting and I sense in the end I have learned more than the students. In this way, teaching and response are perhaps the most intimate dance of
When a student says they have seen or done something they have never been able to do before, I feel like I have won the lottery, and I recognize how high this ranks in my list of valuable activities in life. What occurs to me as I am relaying Grace in Motion this relationship between my involvement and response is that our participation with one another is vital. The more we recognize that actual conversations, focused looking at work, and honest feedback generate better involvement all around, the more willing we are to get into the game. We can ask for feedback from clients and let them know it is important to us. We can value the time and expertise of those who will teach us and let them know specifically how they have helped. We can value our students for their heroic efforts, and we can spend focused time with the mark making and letter making that bring us into deeper awareness— perhaps the most nurturing return on our investment.
sense in the end I’ve learned more than the students.� 9
Charles Pearce
I
suppose that we are all children of our early upbringing. Being the son of a concert pianist, I was constantly surrounded by live music. (We didn’t even have a record player until I was 17!) I like to think that there is a certain musicality in what I do. Whereas composers use notes and chords to create symphonies, I try to use letters, words and color in an attempt to create symphonies of light, color and texture. Over the past twenty years or so I have found myself to be something of a social commentator—a posture I feel is ideal for the calligrapher. Artists generally have to be allegorical in their approach to social commentary; but we, as calligraphers, have at hand the ability and tools to be much more direct. We can create abstract paintings which go on to say how we feel about what goes on in the world, while giving the viewer something to latch on to—words, even if they do not ordinarily get pleasure from abstract art. I have finally completed the song painting "In My Life" by the Beatles, and am now nearing completion of the first in what I hope will be a series of eleven paintings about gun control; something which greatly concerns me. We currently live in the world’s most violent society, and anything we can do to reduce the level of violence has to be to the good. I have approached other
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Roll Over Beethoven
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“I use letters, words and color in an attempt to subjects about which I feel strongly such as politics, healthcare, freedom from fear, and more.
Above & below: Roll Over Beethoven, detail
Music has always been something of an inspiration to me also. I have just completed a piece entitled Roll Over Beethoven, which consists of Schiller’s “An Die Freude,” the words in Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony overlaid with Chuck Berry’s immortal lyrics “Roll Over Beethoven.” Prior to that I worked on and completed a “quintych” (if there is such word), a five-panel piece based on Shostakovich’s 13th Symphony “Babi Yar,” the words by Yevgeny Yevtushenko. The first piece, of course, is somewhat tonguein-cheek, whereas the Shostakovich is deadly serious. I have been asked whether I ever make mistakes, working on canvas without roughs or anything; and the answer, of course, is yes. Sometimes I just ignore them, sometimes I throw more paint on the canvas and then other times I will re-gesso the canvas and start all over again. Working the way I do, without roughs or any preconceived notion of how a canvas will turn out, is naturally fraught with danger; but it also allows me to be much freer and more expressive than I would otherwise be. I am also asked who has been the biggest influence on me. The obvious answers are, naturally, my teachers: Eric Flegg, my high school art teacher who was a calligrapher; Ann Camp, William Gardner, and Dorothy Mahoney, my teachers at
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o create symphonies of light, color and texture.� the Central School of Arts and Crafts; and lastly and most importantly Donald Jackson, who encouraged me to spread my wings and not to be afraid to experiment. I also worked with Donald as his assistant for many years before coming to the United States. Working with him was very important to me and we became very good friends, a friendship which has lasted for more than 50 years. I would be neglectful in the extreme if I did not mention Thomas Ingmire as an influence on me. While he and I rarely see each other these days, it was he who first made me realize that I could be both painter and calligrapher. I am not sure whether it was his ability to create paintings where the background and foreground worked together or just his general sense of color and texture. Whatever it was, his work pushed me into a whole new direction. I try now to make the foregrounds and backgrounds of my paintings a cohesive whole, rather than there being a background with some words placed on top.
Humor At the Store
There are times when I wish that I could work more quickly (the Roll Over Beethoven piece being 4' x 8' took just about seven months to complete). Being interested in social comment, I am constantly worried that by the time I have completed a piece, it is no longer very important in the overall scheme of things! 13
Annie Cicale
I
n 1994, I completed my MFA, which included a major project that filled a gallery with banners, paintings and a huge accordion book, as well as a time line that circled the gallery, showing the growth of human population over the last 2000 years. The project was exhausting, emotional and controversial. I had thought I would change the world, but I realized that I would only be able to influence a few people with my project, that I was only preaching to the choir. After finishing this, I fell into a creative funk. As an artist I need feedback, a bit of admiration and sales. Political art provided me with only small chunks of that, and I realized I was being a doomsday prophet, not a person who brings joy and understanding to the world. Some of these, however, led me back to the contemplation of the human condition and the dreadful changes that might be in store for our planet; and perhaps smaller issues could be less disheartening. So I began searching for subject matter, both texts and images, that were a bit more uplifting to the spirit. I teach drawing, painting, calligraphy and printmaking and try to coordinate word and image in my work to communicate beyond what either alone can convey. Some of my pieces are commissions; others are personal explorations. With the commissions,
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Asimov Malthus Banner
Final Timeline I hope to work with my client to best express their ideas as well as my own. THE PROJECT An example of this is a piece that I did for a friend in Tokyo. Chieko Hirose and I met on a trip to France in 1995, where we visited a number of libraries and museums to study medieval manuscripts. Years later, in 2009, Chieko invited me to Japan to teach for a month and she organized workshops in three cities with the Alpha Club and the Japanese Calligraphers Network. We spent time together, working out the details as well as visiting the national parks near Kyoto, museums in Tokyo, an ink factory and many art shops, galleries and restaurants. The teaching was delightful, with students aggressively
mastering the fine points of Western calligraphy and design. Needless to say, it was a fabulous trip. At the end of the trip, Chieko asked me to produce a piece for her, and she was quite open about what I could do. “Just make it something for me,� was the only directive. This left me with too many possibilities; but we had something in common: a background in chemistry. Except for understanding paint pigments, I abandoned most of my chemical studies a long time ago. But Chieko is a chemist and her husband is a patent lawyer; together they work on chemical patents, something my father, a chemical engineer, did as well! So I thought that I would try to come up with something chemical, something we both shared. 15
become my new quotation buddy. I typed “Profound chemistry quotes” in the search box, and came up with some terrible texts, but one writer, Primo Levi, stood out from them. The text is a beautiful presentation of how a chemist searches for meaning by exploring how things are made on a molecular level. Levi’s life story stood out for me, too. He was an Italian Jew who was incarcerated at Auschwitz in World War II and was one of the few survivors. After the war, he worked as a chemist for a number of paint companies; and he became a writer, first a memoir of his time in Auschwitz and then poetry and essays as well as two novels. So right off the bat, I responded to him as a human with whom I had a great deal of empathy: a survivor, a chemist who dealt with color, and a writer. And the text is beautiful: Levi I had been a fan of quotation collections such as Bartlett’s, Crown, The Curmudgeon’s Guide to Love, WabiSabi, as well as from my own reading long before I became a calligrapher. When I worked as an engineer, I kept a little notebook of quotations and taped some of them to the wall in my office. I use them now in my practice journals, as I love to ponder meaning while practicing new letterforms. With the internet, Google has 16
For me chemistry represented an indefinite cloud of future potentialities which enveloped my life to come in black volutes torn by fiery flashes, like those which had hidden Mount Sinai. Like Moses, from that cloud I expected my law, the principle of order in me, around me, and in the world. I would watch the buds swell in spring, the mica glint in the granite, my own hands, and I would say to myself: ‘I will understand this, too, I will understand everything.’
Levi, close up Reading this text, and working with it over a few weeks led me to read more of Primo Levi’s work. His memoir of his survival in Auschwitz is direct and factual, as he documents the disintegration of civilization under extreme stress. His character studies of the people whose nature helped them to survive are written with little emotion, but which moved me to tears on many pages. THE DESIGN I had taught a few watercolor classes in Japan, so it seemed the obvious media, along with the fact that Levi made paint. I did not struggle too much with the composition: the idea of the Neuland letters over washes made of many pigments came quickly. I had started with the idea of putting the text over the periodic table of elements, but it was too rectangular, too obvious. So I used the elements as color chips down the left side. While sketching the layout, I realized I was going to run out of space long before I reached those newer discoveries with atomic numbers of 105, 106, etc. I was only on 78, platinum. And
the next one was 79, gold. Aha, that made sense. I moved it up to the upper right—and gilded it of course. The pattern of black squares down the left side separates the elements from the text. Are they the black volutes, the indefinite cloud of future potentialities? I found as I worked on this that I thought about much more than just the significance of the text as it applied to chemistry. There was a lot of ME in this piece, and I hoped a lot of Chieko as well. It helped me to find a writer who has profoundly affected my thinking and whose eloquence will most likely show up in future calligraphic work. I am a calligrapher because I love the words, which bring me closer to the life and experiences of people from all over the world. As I shipped my piece off to Chieko and told her to look up the life and work of Primo Levi, I felt again the importance of creating work that comes from a deeper source. The writings of an Italian Jew whose life was almost lost to the Germans in World War II became the source for a piece that connected two 20th century calligraphers from opposite sides of the world. 17
Katherine Malmsten 18
I
have always tried to use my art in response to current events, cultural and social awareness, and personal struggles. Through the years, this has resulted in a number of works that were hopefully reflective of my feelings. Some were cataclysmic—9/11; some were local tragedy—an arson fire that killed four firemen; some more hopeful and positive—the fall of the Berlin Wall. I also have pieces that were in response to ongoing societal issues, two in particular being hunger and homelessness. For years, I had a studio in an area of Seattle that had a fairly large homeless population. They became individuals to me, and I saw that it wasn’t a simple problem with a straightforward solution. I was working on a pro bono project that was a fundraiser for a Northwest food kitchen program many years ago. It was a worthy effort: but as time went on, I saw more and more the disconnect between my clients (mostly wealthy Eastside patrons of the arts) and my neighbors in Pioneer Square. The benefit dinner featured gourmet food and drink and a high end art auction; it seemed so far removed from the hunger that so many people actually experienced. Finally I had to work on a piece that was more of my take on the situation; if nothing else, it was cathartic for me. A few years later, I felt the need to do a piece that addressed the homelessness issue and the complex aspects of it.
Both of those pieces were on paper, using graphite and ink; both a little “messy” and in fairly subdued colors. The hunger piece was a little graphic, in hindsight, with some visual reference to blood and flesh and bone. For the homeless piece, I chose a paper that recalled the color and texture of concrete. Both contain multiple texts; often I feel that just one text is not enough, that more needs to be said, and the sum hopefully adds up to a concept rather than just one voice. I generally do not redo very much. Often a piece becomes something other than my original vision, but I am usually okay with that; sometimes it ends up growing into something new. The same process takes place with current events. For 9/11, I felt compelled to respond with art. The words came from a fellow calligrapher, Nan DeLuca, who, living in Greenwich Village, experienced the horror of that day and the weeks that followed. She posted emails during the initial week. In that case, all the text came from her emails. It was a single strong point of view. When the Berlin Wall fell, I got a quote “stuck” in my mind about the people giving a great shout, and the wall of the city falling down (Joshua and the battle of Jericho); so that piece reflects more about how, with time, it was the continual demands
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of people that eroded it. I included a bit of Robert Frost—“something there is that doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down” (a little ironic, since it is from “Mending Wall”). Like the hunger piece, I feel in hindsight it has a little too much literal imagery. Early on, I gravitated toward art works that explored concepts through a fusion of verbal and visual imagery. For me, that is still the most satisfying calligraphic art. I admired (and still do) a number of artists, including Thomas Ingmire, Annie Cicale, and others who accomplished that. One Above, close up, and below: Berlin Wall
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person I never got to meet was William Stewart. An article in Calligraphy Review featured a work by him called “Preserve My Words Forever (for their aftertaste of misfortune and smoke)” featuring the words of Osip Mandelstam; I contacted him about getting some slides for a class I was putting together called “Conceptual Calligraphy.” Though he could not have known anything about me or my work, he generously sent a number of slides to use. But I came to find out that calligraphers are a generous group, for the most part, and willing to share what they have and know. Right: Rock, Paper, Scissors
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Laurie Doctor
T
eaching at a women’s prison was much more than I ever thought it would be. I underestimated their hunger for poetry and stories—which became a larger part of the class. I did not know what to expect. It took some effort to be able to become a volunteer, and I was refused the Kentucky grant I had applied for. The first step was to get cleared by security. The last time I had a security check I was refused entrance to the White House in spite of having an appointment with the Correspondence Secretary for Cheney, so I was a bit apprehensive. Once I passed security I was enrolled in a mandatory training program for anyone teaching at the prison. The officer who ran the program warned us against displaying emotion, and the threat of being manipulated by the female inmates who could under no circumstances be trusted. For example, he said, if they compliment you on your earrings, it is dangerous to say thank you. Instead we were instructed to say something like “I am here to talk about the class, not fashion.” Upon hearing this report, my husband, Steven, who knows my teaching style and my earrings, commented: “If you get through this
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Weathergrams and envelope books without being thrown into the prison, it will be a miracle.” The trainer told us that 85% of the men who work at the women’s prison get sexually involved with the women. He also told us that about 85% of the women at the prison have a “girlfriend.” It is unclear what the latter means, as the women are not allowed to touch each other in any way—not comb each other’s hair or tie each other’s shoes. For any of these offenses they can be accused of having a girlfriend and punished. Later, in class, when they got excited about something they were doing and went to “high five” each other, they stopped a centimeter short of each other’s hands. Most of them had been deprived of touch for over three years. When I asked about the incidence of rape or murder in the women’s
prison, the trainer said it was rare. Still, the men make the rules for the women’s prison, and I was told they are the same rules as for the men’s prison. When I asked about how to dress, I was advised not to wear khaki, as that is the color of their uniforms and, eyeing my scarf, he said, “And no scarves in case someone tries to strangle you.” Forty-eight hours ahead of class each week I sent in a precise list of supplies by email for “gate check.” I was not allowed to bring in ink or metal, not even blunt bookbinding needles. Anything metal can be fashioned into a weapon or a tool. I did bring my basket of colored pencils and even though I was not permitted to give my students gifts, I encouraged them to take whatever colors they wanted as pencils were one of the few possessions they were allowed to have. I marveled at having a class of students where everything had been taken: family, home, phone, internet, computer, clothing, privacy. They all slept in one room. They cherished each colored pencil and piece of paper. Each bead and length of thread. The charms I brought from New Mexico for their books they loved but in the end were not allowed to keep. In some ways, their lack of electronic devices was a benefit. Their focus was free of any messages in the airwaves vying for attention. The atmo-
Pocket accordion fold Book of Days sphere in the classroom was thick with observation, investigation and contemplation and stories and singing. At 7:30 each week I arrived at the large, well-lit concrete parking lot with my bag of supplies that had been cleared for gate check. An officer walked me through the locked doors and passages to the classroom. He pointed out the “lock down” building surrounded by barbed wire where inmates who had broken a rule were put in solitary confinement. There were a few different colors of uniforms on the women walking along these paths. Yellow meant you were pregnant, blue, a medical assistant or nurse. On the walkway to the classroom there were beautiful flower gardens made by the inmates and the gardening teacher. I grew accustomed to seeing my students standing in line outside the building dressed in their pressed khaki pants and shirts. I remember Beatrice’s blonde hair neatly tied into a pony 23
Book of Days with case tail, her perfect make-up on her young face, and her small hands holding the Book of Days we were making. They had assignments each week and took them seriously. Beatrice stood next to Angeline, who was quiet and attentive, and kept her dark head bent down. She held a few colored pencils in her fist. The women in my class were all in Psychological Services, and so had any number of issues I could relate to in these circumstances: anxiety, depression, even schizophrenia. The psychologist in charge was accessible and sincere. I was glad to
discover that she and the education director care about these inmates. But even the psychologist said prison is an unsafe environment for expressing your feelings, even to your therapist, as the slightest dissatisfaction can be interpreted as a danger to oneself or others—and then one is “thrown in the hole.” All my students knew about this experience of being thrown in the hole. When I asked Kerry about it, she said flatly, “you don’t want to know or ever go there.” She had been thrown in for trying to escape over the wall after hearing about the death of her teenage son.
I underestimated their hunger for poetry and s 24
So my first concern in the class I taught was to give them freedom of expression without the danger of being detected. How can I teach them to write openly without fear of being punished? How do you give inmates permission for such a human need in a place where behavior is so scrutinized and restricted? I used writing techniques. I also applied “out in the world:” writing with a white China marker on white paper so not only your neighbor cannot see what you are writing, but you cannot either! Permission is such a simple act and so elusive. We also developed handwriting techniques where each line overlaps and painting techniques that obscured and made illegible anything that was secret. All of this became material for the books and weathergrams we made. I wanted each student to have the experience of being proud of something they made, an avenue to self-esteem that, at moments, lit up their faces and gave them something they could take with them. Just like the “outside,” I began class with movement, meditation, and then a story or a poem. In the first class they were very quiet but soon, at each class, their urgent request was: “Will you tell us another story?”
Above and below: Envelope books and weathergrams
I told them I would tell them stories of women in trouble. They heard about "Psyche’s Impossible Tasks," the "Handless Maiden," "Persephone and the Underworld," and other
stories—which became a larger part of the class. 25
Book of Days with case archetypal stories of darkness and loss. I told them about Star Woman and some of my storytelling heroes: Joseph Campbell, Nancy Willard and Michael Meade. How loss is right next to the door where we can Weathergrams
become more fully who we are and understand what we are here to do. From this perspective, death is not something that comes just once at the end of life. Death shows up in every loss or ending, departure or grief; and these important turns in the road force us to choose whether to become bigger or smaller as human beings. The stories and poetry give us a map. When Ceci arrived one morning, she could hardly hold up her head. She had just come from med-line where she received her day’s medication. Lenora had let me know she would be a few minutes late. They watched out for each other and had such
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kindness. I did not ask them what they were in for or what they were on. I just wanted to meet them as new people unfettered by history. Occasionally during class, a student would tell part of her story. Back surgery, oxycontin, addiction, stealing. Loss of a child, alcohol, accidents, self-defense. They loved the music I played. Dolly Parton singing “Knocking On Heaven’s Door” was a favorite: “It’s getting dark, too dark to see...” Kayla, who tested out at fourth grade level, was the quickest in understanding the bookbinding instructions. Eve, who was a college graduate, was a kind of spokeswoman for the group. She knew when each student was getting out or going up for parole. All my students had committed felonies, and they were all due to get out within a short time after our last class. Some had made decisions to go to a halfway house, others to a family member. I was relieved when Beatrice decided not to go home to her husband after all. In prison, where inmates are unpredictably moved from one facility to another, it was an unusual opportunity to have the continuity of the same students for the eight-week period. I found myself
Envelope books worrying about how they would manage on the outside. At the last class they surprised me with a book they had made for me. On the cover there was a detailed colored pencil drawing of Star Woman descending from the heavens on a golden thread. “Ms. Laurie,” Becca said, “we have something for you.” She placed the small book in my hands. They had each written personal notes ending in “Namaste,” a word they learned from our opening movement exercises. The spirit in me bows to the spirit in you. In spite of the warnings against displaying emotion, their simple words and heartfelt gratitude, bravery and respect, rendered me speechless. I never did experience being manipulated by them; I only felt their hunger for art, thirst for contact, and devotion to stories. 27
Ieuan Rees
Nexus Award
I
was once asked to do a headstone for the children of an artist friend who unfortunately died due to a horrific car accident. I knew the girls personally. They were only 11 and 14 years old so I had no idea what I could do for them, and I worried and worried and no idea came. I remember leaning on my desk with pencil in hand and in desperation, holding my head, I shouted, “Please Myfi and Megan help me.� I have no explanation for what happened next, but I had a dream of two little girls dancing in their school uniforms and stopping now and again to pick up some flowers on a sloping field. I have no idea how long the dream lasted; but when I woke up, I saw that unbeknown to me I had scribbled a rough design that I expanded and modified. When I showed the design to the parents, the mother, who had not shown any emotion up to that point, tearfully asked me what inspired the design. When I related the dream she asked me to look out of the window and I saw the very scene from my dream.
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The mother told me that most afternoons her daughters would get off the school bus and go to that field and pick some wild flowers to bring home. The experience left me drained but I have never had a similar experience again. SOCIAL AWARENESS One of the biggest problems I face is dealing with councils and church authorities who do not like headstones that are different and individual. They are obsessed with conformity, dreaded rules and over-the-top health and safety issues. I feel it is my duty as a compassionate artist to act on behalf of my clients to fight these issues when I feel they are unfair, usually because of convenience and habit. I ask vicars why they want all headstones the same and why treat all the deceased the same, when God sees them all as individuals. I plead with them to respect the wishes of families who do not want a headstone picked from catalogues and heartlessly executed by machine rather than by hand and with love. I am not a troublemaker, but I genuinely believe that we artists must stand firm and raise public awareness
to individuality and creativity in any fair way we can, and to support families and clients when necessary. I am proud that I have stood up for so many clients and families over the years, as I have produced so many individual and personal designs that have given them comfort, pleasure to the public at large. and encouraged me to stretch my imagination. I rarely have a preconceived design approach. I do not over think at the early stage as it can cause confusion. When I have a design idea, I do not think about it for too long. I put it down on paper as soon as possible to see what my outer eye thinks of the inner eye’s idea. Invariably it does not like it but it produces a starting point for development. Before serious designs are considered I ask numerous relevant questions, as the answers to them may well affect the final design approaches.
vicar’s name on an existing plaque in the church. The design on the vicars’ plaque was not of a high standard and I cringed having to carve intentionally inferior and badly spaced letters so that they were in keeping with the rest of the names on the plaque. However on Plaque for the Museum of Wales
By taking notice of the client’s needs, the purpose, time factor, answers to all relevant questions, material requirements, etc, I am supplied with useful ammunition for a creative and enjoyable journey. RECONSIDERED THOUGHTS I I was asked to produce a slate oval plaque for a church. After completing it, the client asked me if I would not mind carving an additional 29
completion I looked at the plaque and realized that whoever had designed it had made a good attempt at copying Roman letters and had obviously designed and carved the plaque with care. In no way was it perfect, but in its honesty and simplicity the essence of the Roman letters were there resulting in a charming piece of work that had a life of its own. This made me question if too much knowledge and striving for perfection can inhibit spontaneity, honesty and spirit at times. Yes, striving for perfection, in both design and craftsmanship, is all-important but now and again we need to put those needs on the back boiler and perform, hoping that our knowledge and skills will subconsciously aid us. Griffith Headstone (closeup)
I thank that unknown designer/ craftsman for reminding me of this.
Logo: Craig Y Nos RECONSIDERED THOUGHTS II This next experience has nothing directly to do with my work or lettering and calligraphy but it was an important experience for me that has changed my perception of so many things. I was brought up in a small country mining village with its usual associated narrow mindedness (although I was not aware of it at the time), closeness and the domination of the chapels, with few facilities and shops, and totally, but happily, ignorant of the big bad world. It was a happy and innocent time. Years later, my first wife Barbara, who died too young, desperately wanted to go to Russia. So I took her. Whilst in Moscow she wanted to go and see a ballet at the Bolshoi Theatre and I refused to go. My narrow-minded upbringing had not allowed me to go to cinemas or dance halls and the thought of men dancing in tights would not have been tolerated. But in Moscow my conscious pricked me so badly so I managed to get two tickets for us at the last minute. I felt I was making the ultimate sacrifice for Barbara, but it turned out that she was the one that had done me a huge favour.
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It did not take long for my preconceived, infant-molded opinions to be totally destroyed when I saw and experienced the art, movement, commitment, and craftsmanship performed to the very highest of standards. Neither Barbara nor I could speak for a long time after the performance, so great was the intensity of the experience. We often have too many pre-conceived notions, and that we must be open to all things and approach everything with an open mind. To this day I am a keen ballet lover. SHARING I do not think anyone can thank everyone that has shared valuable information with them as we pick up useful information all the time without always realizing it. Useful information is often stored and released at the right time without us knowing at times how that info, tip or thought got there. We must not look aimlessly at things; we must question, analyze and observe what we are looking at. We must put down not what we think we have seen but put down what we have understood and learned. This point and many others are reiterated in my calligrapher’s bible, The Art Spirit by Robert Henri of New York. The outline of any shape
must reveal the form within and I try very hard to achieve this in all my work. In my first week at Camberwell School of Art, London, Vernon Shearer, a Scotsman, and head of the Lettering, Logo: Makers Mark Calligraphy and Illuminating Department, noticed me constructing Roman letters with technical instruments as instructed in L. C. Evetts’s book Roman Lettering. He threw my instruments on the floor and said, “You are an insult to your Creator, Boy. He has given you all the tools you need for this kind of work: these,” he said showing his open hands, “And those,” pointing to his eyes, “Use them.” He walked away. Cruel as that may have been at the time, I was frightened to touch an instrument again to construct Roman letters. His method of teaching may not have been to everybody’s taste but he was the perfect teacher for me. He and other lecturers constructively encouraged me at an early age to question and think and analyze for myself. I shall always be indebted to them as I was freed from relying on non-constructive rules to blindly follow and I was allowed freedom to make full use of my inquisitive nature. I appreciate that some need more guidance and 31
Logo: Jo White there is nothing wrong with temporary rules as long as they are not set in concrete. Also in my first term, Vernon Shearer asked me how I was getting on with my calligraphy. I was taught by a teacher called Sydney Bendall, mainly a letter carver, and one of the nicest and most sharing people I have ever known. When I told Vernon Shearer that I marveled at Sydney’s skill and his sharp and consistent Foundational Hand letters, I felt that, although I could not produce decent letters myself at that stage, there was something wrong with Sydney’s letters but I had no idea what it was. Vernon Shearer, a left-hander, sat down and wrote out, without lines, a flowing and well-performed Garden of Remembrance
alphabet. He looked up and said, “Is that better?” I could only nod as I was nearly in tears. He wisely went on to say, “When you are ready you, too, will be able to perform like that, but for now you need to learn the basics which Sydney can help you with, so be patient.” Also Vernon Shearer helped me when I was struggling with my letter carving. When he asked me how I was getting on with the carved letters I informed him that I was happy with the progress of my drawn letters but I went all to pieces when carving. He told me, “Remember this Ieuan. Any idiot in the course of time can learn to carve, if they really want to; but not every idiot can be taught to draw and design which you have a natural ability for, so stick with it. The skill will come.” That encouragement has sustained me to this day. I now realize that my problems with the carving was due to having two part-time instructors to teach me carving and their diverse opinions and advice were confusing me. When I gained more confidence in my own judgment, my carving improved drastically. I cannot leave this question on sharing without mentioning and give enormous credit to Norman Brown from the San Francisco area, who,
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unfortunately, I only had the privilege to meet once in the 80’s. Being in his sharing and gentle company for only a few hours will be a memory I will always cherish. His love of making nib holders and his love of preparing quills was infectious and so informative, and I will always treasure the electric iron he gave me in its wooden cradle for preparing quills. I have given a credit to a few people who guided me on the way, but I must confess that not one teacher anywhere pointed out an all important and essential fact. I have known for years that something had been omitted in my education. In recent years I have come to realize what it is. I received many tips in cutting quills, sharpening nibs, preparing vellum and gesso, sharpening chisels and many more tips. But no one ever mentioned the part the body plays in all of this, especially the hands, arms and shoulder. It is the various parts of the bodies after all that have to do the work, we need to respect that and help the body. Two of the most important factors that we must master, although extremely difficult, especially in former years, is to learn to breath properly and be relaxed. If we are not relaxed, our muscles and joints stiffen up and we cannot perform freely. A quill cannot
Headstone for William Brown be cut with a tense mind and a rigid wrist and no curve and straight line in letters will flow together with the same problems. I appreciate that these are difficult but we must learn to apply them. I appreciate that some readers of Scripsit have heard some of these stories before, but I hope they will not mind, as I am sure the majority will not have and that they will find them constructive and helpful. Memorial Plaque 33
From the Collection of John Robert Willer In My Life by Charles Pearce