​Ten years ago, Elizabeth Bradfield -- writer, naturalist, published poet, fellow MFA companion (back in the day) and good friend (to this day) -- told me she was starting a special online project: Broadsided Press.

A bit like a literary magazine -- but collaborative and reliant on community effort for distribution and printing -- Broadsided Press would take submissions from poets, ask a group of artists to "dibs" on new poetry each month and create artwork that arose from the poems that spoke to them directly. These Broadsides would be printed and hung by "vectors" all over the world, and it was a new format for an old idea, and it was super exciting, and it would include interviews and translations and opportunities for special response features to world events, plus years "in haiku," and did I want to be a part of this?

I did. But what I was really focused on around that time was wading through an icky-pukey first trimester, so I was distracted and didn't really understand how large this project could potentially become. My son's name is "Pelle," in part because of the time Liz patted my belly and asked, "How's Pelagic Meissner?" I might have barfed right after that, but "Pelle" stuck. When he was born, "Carl" was absolutely the wrong name. Ahhh, good friends.

The Butterfly Farm is the latest Broadside I've had the pleasure of being a part of. The poem was written by New York writer, Nicole Callihan and spoke to me as a mother, woman and observer; I knew I had the perfect piece of artwork to accompany Nicole's writing. 
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​Broadsided Press is going strong after a decade of successful collaboration. I've moved in and out as an artist, once even getting an email (okay, maybe twice getting this email) that said "Nudge, nudge your artwork is due," and I looked at my kids and said, "You guys need to entertain yourselves while I help my friend Liz."

Sometimes the artwork already existed:

But most of the time the poetry has spoken to me as an illustrator, warranting something brand new.
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The first glimmers of my current direction with textiles happened within these Broadsides -- small opportunities to diversify and explore new materials. Initially, I'd wanted to incorporate textile use into children's book art, but this hasn't come about yet. My work is dark, and somehow the textiles tapped into an even darker place. I know there are dark children's books, I'm drawn to them, but I've been told a number of times by art directors that my particular darkness is a little too ... scary.

​Maybe.

Clicking on any of these images will take you to Broadsided Press, where you can print out and distribute these Broadsides in your own haunts -- coffee shops, street corners, buses, bars -- you, too, could be a vector. For those of us who don't get out much, they also look pretty good on design walls.
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I'm grateful for the opportunity Broadsided has given me to crack knuckles and stretch arms a bit. It's in this diversification -- format, materials, collaborative effort -- where I've discovered new ways to extend my voice and apply it to current work. If you have the chance to diversify within your art form, it will serve you well. I recommend it.

​I also recommend the following:

​Elizabeth Bradfield is an award-winning poet, writer, naturalist and publisher. Check out her blog, The Haul Out, which considers seals and other items ashore, mostly on Cape Cod. If I could give her an award for being an awesome person, I'd do that too. Also, I wish she could accompany our family on all our Alaskan boat outings because she can identify everything flora and fauna, and she's not a picky eater.

"Bradfield's poems guide us alertly into this treacherous territory pocked with political pitfalls and theoretical quagmires. One hardly notices the perils that abound because Bradfield is such a deft naturalist, with a keen eye." 
—Jon Christensen, reviewing Interpretive Work in The San Francisco Chronicle

*     *     * 
For even more diversification, a year ago I published this. A bit beachy, a bit writerly, a bit of insight as to how all things have a way of fitting together to make a life whole.

This fall I spent a lot of time sitting at my computer submitting work to shows, applying for grants and answering questions. And while it's not necessary to have a creative writing background for these things, it does take the edge off, kind of like when your husband hands you a gin and tonic over top of the bickering children and the smoking pot on the stove. (That's a terrible simile, implying that while one doesn't need a drinking background to parent and cook dinner, a person may find it helpful).

One of the more creative computer-bound opportunities I did have was for Mabel Magazine, who asked if I would write about creating art in Alaska for their "Living..." segment. This is the first time my writing and textile art have appeared together in print, and I was beyond thrilled when my copy appeared in the mail this week.

Mabel was founded two years ago by Liz Kalloch and Stefanie Renee, two creative San Francisco Bay Area women committed to print and creating a magazine that offers "real stories about real issues that people face with their creative endeavors, with their businesses and in their lives."

The current issue's theme is "What's Next," and these well-written essays explore all the ways creative women have come to terms with what is next for them, whether it's rebounding from a work layoff, losing a loved one, staying open to the unknown or committing to staying right where they are.

​I'm honored to be in such good company.

Mabel isn't available to read electronically (on purpose), but you can certainly order your real copy online. I showed it to a friend of mine yesterday and she said the same thing my husband said when it arrived, "Oh! This is such a nice magazine!" It really is. The writing is thoughtful, the photographs are gorgeous, the paper is lovely, the layout is beautiful.
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I'm really thrilled to be a part of something so well conceived and executed.

​I hope you'll check it out, lots of inspiration here:
www.mabelmag.com

A woman I have never met, who I know appreciates fine cloth and good gin and is an extraordinary book binder, has sent a box from England to the darkness of Alaska, knowing that the contents will be appreciated.

​How can this trust exist? Perhaps this is the biggest mystery of all.

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I contacted Kate Bowles over a year ago -- I'm not even sure why, maybe just to say, "I love your work" -- and we've kindled a small relationship based on common interests and a kindred spirit of appreciation for the old linens, mending and handwork. I participated in a blog hop last year and she was one of the artists I passed the hop onto. In response to an online request I recently made, she contributed items that she doesn't need or want, has tidied up her cupboards, and inserted some excitement into a cold, dark northern afternoon.
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Many of these doilies are likely Scottish in origin. I'd like a magnifying glass for some of the work because it's so fine, the gauge much smaller than the pieces that have come from my own family.

Kate said doilies make excellent kindling. She said this twice, but I'm going to assume she doesn't know about this first hand. We did find some fantastic things to do with these doilies right away and still managed to warm up the house without setting anything on fire.
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Kate's work* was recently featured in Claire Wellesley-Smith's book Slow Stitch: Mindful and Contemplative Textile Art. This book highlights work by a number of textile artists I greatly admire, and if you haven't picked up a copy for yourself, you probably should (or at least have a frank conversation with Santa). 
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If you are curious about this work, or have toyed with the idea of setting fire to your own mass of burdensome domestic linens, you can contact me and I'll send more information on what I'm seeking and how to cathartically contribute. 

If you think this is insane and you'd rather sit back and watch all this unfold, that's super, too. Just know that while we light plenty of fires around here, none of these boxes of mystery will find themselves in the box of kindling.

This is the final group of boogie-woogiers. If you missed group 1 and group 2, I think it's worth following the links back to see how other artists are getting out "what's in them." 

Many thanks to all who participated in this inspiring journey of stories and images -- both to those who shared and to the rest of who followed in a long, snaking boogie-woogie line. The call out is officially over, the curtain has closed on this series. There may be an encore in the future of this blog, however, so check back if you think you hear some heels clicking on the stage.

And yes, here's the last of what came out:

" ... I have always in the past been able to use sewing as a distraction, but it had not been going that way lately.  I know by getting this chaos out of the way, that I can move forward, but this will certainly be a progressive piece until the end is reached [...] my boogie-woogie is a journey that will be long, but will also be a time for healing."

Lynn Langley

"... When I finished my first naturally dyed square, a door opened through which I glimpsed tablesetting as ceremonial placemaking. The tablecloth itself was the first one that took on its own life as I made it, moving from a simple design based on my backyard clematis to a textile echoing with barely ascertainable associations ... like sinking Venetian palazzos or Sleeping Beauty's castle. Unseen elements like those that made our dinner parties so varied and engaging became apparent in the cloth and I realized that those elements, like roots, permeate everything. The weather, the season, the occasion, the ancestors, the taboos, the craft traditions, the aesthetic judgements, the interpersonal connections, the life and the love ... all weaving together to underscore and enhance ordinary daily existence, including dinner. My boogie woogie is making table settings that elicit life when we gather to share food, seeking nurturance on many levels..."

Dana Webb

Oh all you Boogie-woogiers, you rock. Thank you for taking the time to contact me and share your work. I'm inspired and blessed by your creativity and words. Someday we'll go shake up that rickety stage again.

The original post is here: Boogie-woogie. Get down.

This is the second installment of the boogie-woogie artist call out -- many thanks to all the artists who contacted me with their meaningful work. If you missed group 1 of the boogie-woogiers, I highly recommend you check out those pieces, too. I've included portions of accompanying stories here, but know that most of these inspiring journeys have been long and multi-faceted.

They are therefore revered in this space.

And here's what came out:

"I saw magpies nesting in a tree bursting with flowers. I had to do it right down to the poem and the 3-d nest and eggs! I had never done anything like it before and haven't since either ... this quilt demanded to get done and it opened the door to further art quilts. One of those, a reverse applique of my daughter's dog - actually went to Groton New York and hung in the Main Street Art Gallery there among oil paintings and watercolors in a juried show!" 

Sharon Gunn

"On our first day in the ceramics workshop we all moulded apples, about the nearest thing to a plain ball of clay you can think of, just to get the feel of it. At the end of the session I was the only one to ask for my attempt to be fired. The following week I held in my hand, still warm from the kiln, the wonkiest apple with the chunkiest leaves ever seen, with a huge grin on my face." 

Helen Clifford

"Last year I had a Grand Incubation of LARGE white grubs in my compost. I was both repelled and fascinated believing that there was some very important reason why their beetle mothers had chosen this small acre. The combination of some tacky eyelet ... and the almost rotted through walnut dyed linen is uncomfortable, but perfectly portrayed this mystery of the Earth Realm."

Grace Forrest

One final group of boogie-woogiers will follow soon.
The original post (with a brazen 1970's leotard-and-neck-kercheif-boogie-woogie moment of my very own) is here: Boogie-woogie.