On the Art of Construction

First, before we get into the word “construction,” let me just say that June got away from me.

I say that as if June were a rambunctious toddler, but the fact is, I’m actually the toddler, and it’s me that got away from June. Not to mention getting away from time in general since February of 2020. Somehow, a lot of us have been functioning outside the normal tocks and ticks, with both internal and external clocks providing a cuckoo bird to pop out occasionally and announce the state of affairs, but no hands to mark exactly where we are in a given day. Did I say “given day”? Do I even know what day it is?

Bigger question: Should I blame it all on the pandemic? No, I should not. I’m getting older – there’s that. Still, the pandemic didn’t help. But it might have been wise to keep an actual calendar on the wall and turn the pages. At least then I would have seen the lay of the land, with Sunday standing solidly at one end of a week and Saturday standing just as solidly at the other end, with rows of weeks stacking up one after another, and with a substantial oomph to the accumulation, also known as “months.”

Instead, I’ve been keeping my calendar on my iPad lately, and things are different in iPad World. They have a different shape. Less oomph. Less turn-the-page-ability, more spillage of May into June, etc.

So, should I blame my losing June (June losing me) on my electronic calendar? No, I should not. I will blame it on construction equipment. Excavators, lumber deliverers, Mack trucks! At my house to build an addition to the nest.

Mack trucks mean business.

I’ve been eating, sleeping, dreaming, breathing construction progress. We had a big crane come up the alley in May and move our outdoor studio from one part of the yard to another. Lost an asparagus bed and some raspberry plants, very sad, but a thrilling moment when the 12×12 structure was lifted off one foundation and put onto another. Like a great clumsy bird flying low to the ground. Or more like a big baby being carried in straps and swaddling by an equally big stork.

Baby studio about to lift off.

An excavator came and dug a somewhat precise hole. Our garden lost its adolescent golden chain tree, but holes are fascinating, too. I managed to save the pink dogwood and the white hydrangea paniculata at the edge of the hole. Whew.

What we called the Big Digger.

Then the foundation forms were built in the hole and a cement truck came to the front of the house, accompanied by another truck with a 90-foot crane/hose to deliver the cement up and over the house and into the back yard from the cement truck. Neighbors came to watch. Fast work, loud and messy and exciting. Very carnivalesque.

The talk of the neighborhood.

Then our builder went for a ride on his mountain bike, fell coming down a dangerous trail, broke his collarbone, had to walk out on his own, was taken to the hospital, had surgery. Real life came back into focus. The next day he’s walking around with his arm in a sling and making sure his assistant knows what needs to be done. The man is a sweet lunatic. And he loves building houses.

Next the sill is then nailed in place (I hope I have the terminology right!) and plywood subfloors go on and it starts to look like a bedroom. Walls even start to go up. As of the moment I’m typing this, the room awaits more walls and trusses and a roof and shingles and and and and and. And that is how I lost June.

I love our construction team. Bravo! I could sit all day and watch them work.

I wish I had taken woodshop in high school but that just wasn’t “done” in the 1960’s. So my brother learned how to swing a hammer and use a skill saw; he worked in a lumberyard and basically built a second floor on to his house one summer. I, meanwhile, studied literature, read poetry, and learned to construct both Elizabethan and Petrarchan sonnets. People call what I do “creative” and what our construction crew does “manual labor.” I know for a fact that both our efforts demand blood, sweat and tears. Well, not blood, hopefully. We’ll save that for mountain biking accidents. But definitely sweat and tears.

I’m tempted to offer up comparisons between the building of a house and the writing of a book – the design work, prep work, foundational work, the structural considerations, the progress forward, the big Mack truck of a deadline bearing down on you, the dozens of first decisions and final decisions, the trance-like condition of creating something that makes you lose track of hours and days. The joy you feel when you’ve made something that will stand the test of time.

Poetry and house-building. Many similarities between these two arts.

i.e. gallery show

A solo show of my paintings will be at the i.e. gallery in Edison, WA. for the month of June, opening this Saturday June 5th from 2-4 PM.

Here are many of the paintings for those of you who can’t visit in real life.

My paintings have always been connected to my work as a children’s book illustrator. Most of my paintings tell stories although they don’t have manuscripts. You can make up your own stories when you see them.
This show includes a few series of work done over the past several years, before and during Covid isolation.

One group of paintings began with this character whom I call Aurinko (the Finnish word for sun). In this painting she has lots of feet so that she can travel far. Those feet were inspired by a Catalan print of La Vella Quaresma that hangs in the kitchen of my friends Karel and Nancy.

I imagined her in different settings and seasons (and with varying numbers of legs and heads).

I painted this series using a dip pen and waterproof ink, then added color. Here is a detail. What is summer without bugs?

The Fishermoon soon joined Aurinko.

And the mermaid. And various other creatures of the woods and waterways.

Another group of paintings was painted with gouache and pinpricks. These were from the heart of the pandemic – a time of isolation.

Here is a detail:

Another series is gouache and collage with simple shapes and bold colors.The paper for the collage elements is hand-painted. I began this series in 2019 and have continued because the strong colors feed me.

Here is a detail:

I made designs for giant enamel panels for Sound Transit in 2020 with this technique, playing with the idea of transportation. I will be redesigning them to be mosaics, so these paintings could be included in the show. You might recognize the influence of La Vella Quaresma again. Unlike that story, my character gets to keep and use her legs. She even gets new shoes.

The Skagit Valley is a wonderful place to ride your bicycle.

I hope that by bike, car or foot you can see the show in real life, or visit the i.e. website to see more work. Thank you.

On the last day of the show (Sunday June 27) I will be teaching a workshop where we will make paper lanterns. For more information on the workshop please click here.