
My handmade valentines in past years have often been of the “a picture’s worth a thousand words” variety, with paper cuts or found images. But this year I decided to let the dictionary speak for me. This valentine includes definitions of words (like together, pair, gaga, etc.) that evoke the holiday, clipped out of an old, bedraggled dictionary from my undergraduate days. Now, before anyone gets all moral over my cutting up a book, please keep in mind that: one, it was MY dictionary, not a library’s; two, it was old (but not old and wonderful like Samuel Johnson’s—just old); and three, in using it this way I give a new life to printed matter that has outlived its original purpose—a practice of which I’m always a fan.
This little valentine is based on a snake book structure that I learned about in Esther K. Smith’s book Magic Books & Paper Toys. The snake book folds flat and can be secured in different ways; I simply pierced it and threaded red embroidery wool through it. If you like playing with paper, you’ll like Magic Books & Paper Toys. It’s just one of three books by Smith (How to Make Books and The Paper Bride are her others) that offer easy-to-follow instructions, inspiring ideas for how to personalize basic shapes, and a solid tour of the creative heights to which book artists take these structures. And this weekend Esther will be the Library’s special guest at Handmade Crafternoon, and we’ll all get the chance to try out some of her favorite book structures. I’m looking forward to learning more!
















Winter Art Field Trips in New York City.
During one of this waning winter’s darkest days, a very wise friend advised me to feed my creativity by setting aside time each and every week to seek new art and design. It struck me as odd that I should have to schedule time to explore in this way, since I’m swimming in visual and historical resources at work. But I’ve thought about it and while it’s true that the serendipity of discovering a new idea at the Library does enrich my handmade efforts, it’s also true that my workdays include few opportunities to slow down and really absorb new ideas, new scenes, new interpretations. In a nutshell, I don’t have the leisure to start gapeseeding over pretty things at work.
So, to address this simple need to get out to see with my own eyes what artists are making, I’ve started seeking the new and the stunning on my days off through a series of local field trips. My favorite recent outing was to Lever House and its current installation by artist Richard Woods. The landmark building’s pillars, benches, and indoor lobby floors are clad in what appear to be gargantuan square tiles inspired by the Victorians. There are oak leaves, grape vines, stark takes on faux Tudor architecture—all standing together, and all creating a wonderland of pattern and color. The tiles are printed with wood blocks, and a close look rewards you with details of the paint squash (visible in my photo of the bird detail above). And this installation encourages intimate examination—visitors sit on the designs, move among them, and even walk across them. The colors are bold, the technique feels both historic and fresh, and the entire thing evokes a playful sense of humor. It’s up until March 13th, so there’s just a little time left to visit it. I plan to go back again before it’s too late.
Another recent outing brought me to the Cooper-Hewitt, a truly stunning spot for experiencing a broad vision of what makes good design. My favorite unexpected highlights of their Design USA exhibition included the designer behind the Singer sewing machines of the seventies, the user-focused work of IDEO, and the thought-provoking design of John Maeda. And as a bonus, there’s a second exhibition: Quicktake: Rodarte, with captivating clothing in mesmerizing color gatherings—green and grey, peach and copper, and black and blue—and vivid contrasts of hard edges with painstakingly delicate handmade techniques. Well worth visiting and contemplating.
A final idea, though perhaps the weather will not cooperate for a repeat experience: I walked on the High Line the morning after a snowstorm. Without the usual crowds, I could stand still and notice how the snow and ice muffle sound, round all of the structure’s textures and edges, and alter the light. Hushed, stimulating, and inspiring. Just like any field trip should be.