Since I was a little kid, I was always a maker. Except for my mom, who tended more to the practical (as in volunteering to help people and being a patient advocate), my brother, two sisters and I grew up drawing, painting and making things. My brother built models (some of which he designed himself) and messed around in my dad's wood shop (which I envied him for - I have not, to this day, learned my way around a wood shop). My dad grew up poor in Scranton PA, and made his own toys as a kid. As a grown up, he would spend his evening hours in the basement, running power tools. He made toys, book shelves and other things, and, as a grandfather, became a virtual Santa's workshop every Christmas.
Eventually, our coloring books gave way to sketch books. My older sister drew big-eyed girls; I tended towards sunbursts and more abstract designs; my other sister, being the youngest, sort of trailed along and came into her own in creativity later. I remember my sisters and I sitting around the family room table (one of those gigantic pedestal tables that pulled apart to pretty good size), with our arsenal of art supplies. We made our own Christmas wrapping paper using stamps made out of potatoes and learned to cut stencils. There was glue, paint, pencils and glitter all over the place.
Some of my artistic development (if I may be so bold) came from spending the summer in Europe in 1968, when I was 12. Twelve years old is a great age for observation - too young to get into real trouble, but not likely to forget much, either. that's where the sunburst idea came from - for some reason, it was a thing that summer in several places where we went. And then of course, there was just being there. The colors of the Mediterranean, and Spain, and the sleek modernity of Denmark. And some of the finest museums in the world. My travel diary of that period mostly mentions this and that cute guy along the way (hey, I was twelve), but the real experience was being able to see Michelangelo's David, and the colors and eye-popping 3D-ness of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. I was at the perfect age to soak it all up like a sponge. Notre Dame, the Coliseum, the ruins of Pompei. For a country kid, it was life-changing.
I came home from that trip so different, I lost all of my friends - I could not communicate what I had seen in a way that meant anything to them, many of whom had never left the county where we all lived. But it didn't bother me that much - I had no problem being different.
Like a lot of girls in the '60's, I had to take home economics (my brother, of course, took shop - there's that wood shop/metal shop thing again). Our home economics curriculum meant two things - cooking and sewing. Honestly, home ec can be a lot more useful and even deeply meaningful, but that's what we had to work with. I won't go into the cooking part (which can also be deeply meaningful and artistic, but not in this case), but the sewing part - therein, as they say, lies the tale. In seventh and eighth grade, I learned my way around both a stove and a sewing machine. I found the sewing machine much more fun.
My mom provided the further catalyst by letting me know that she was okay with buying fabric, which, at that time, was fairly readily available, but was not especially inclined to buy clothes to appease the ever-shifting trends of the late '60's and early 70's. My overachieving older sister both sewed and got a job in a dress shop. I stuck with making things, for the most part.
So - the source of this blog. The title comes from something my older sister said when I asked her what she would like for her birthday last year. She said, "Make me something I can wear." So I did. More later.
Eventually, our coloring books gave way to sketch books. My older sister drew big-eyed girls; I tended towards sunbursts and more abstract designs; my other sister, being the youngest, sort of trailed along and came into her own in creativity later. I remember my sisters and I sitting around the family room table (one of those gigantic pedestal tables that pulled apart to pretty good size), with our arsenal of art supplies. We made our own Christmas wrapping paper using stamps made out of potatoes and learned to cut stencils. There was glue, paint, pencils and glitter all over the place.
Some of my artistic development (if I may be so bold) came from spending the summer in Europe in 1968, when I was 12. Twelve years old is a great age for observation - too young to get into real trouble, but not likely to forget much, either. that's where the sunburst idea came from - for some reason, it was a thing that summer in several places where we went. And then of course, there was just being there. The colors of the Mediterranean, and Spain, and the sleek modernity of Denmark. And some of the finest museums in the world. My travel diary of that period mostly mentions this and that cute guy along the way (hey, I was twelve), but the real experience was being able to see Michelangelo's David, and the colors and eye-popping 3D-ness of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. I was at the perfect age to soak it all up like a sponge. Notre Dame, the Coliseum, the ruins of Pompei. For a country kid, it was life-changing.
I came home from that trip so different, I lost all of my friends - I could not communicate what I had seen in a way that meant anything to them, many of whom had never left the county where we all lived. But it didn't bother me that much - I had no problem being different.
Like a lot of girls in the '60's, I had to take home economics (my brother, of course, took shop - there's that wood shop/metal shop thing again). Our home economics curriculum meant two things - cooking and sewing. Honestly, home ec can be a lot more useful and even deeply meaningful, but that's what we had to work with. I won't go into the cooking part (which can also be deeply meaningful and artistic, but not in this case), but the sewing part - therein, as they say, lies the tale. In seventh and eighth grade, I learned my way around both a stove and a sewing machine. I found the sewing machine much more fun.
My mom provided the further catalyst by letting me know that she was okay with buying fabric, which, at that time, was fairly readily available, but was not especially inclined to buy clothes to appease the ever-shifting trends of the late '60's and early 70's. My overachieving older sister both sewed and got a job in a dress shop. I stuck with making things, for the most part.
So - the source of this blog. The title comes from something my older sister said when I asked her what she would like for her birthday last year. She said, "Make me something I can wear." So I did. More later.
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