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.

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My Wordy Valentine.

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!

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Mulled Claret for Heroes.

I am keenly devoted to warm drinks all through the winter, but on unusually blustery days like today—especially when friends come visiting—my ambitions go beyond pots of strongly steeped tea. On such days, I might make up a batch of steamy, citrusy mulled wine. And my favorite recipe for mulled wine comes from The Week-End Book.

The Week-End Book was first published in 1924 by the Nonesuch Press and has gone through multiple printings and new editions–including Duckworth Overlook’s 2006 edition, which is the copy I have. The Week-End Book is strangely practical on certain points while entertainingly silly at others—as if P.G. Wodehouse had been assigned the job of writing an etiquette and travel guide. And it’s altogether charming as it addresses the wants of both host and guest during a country house weekend. Readers find entertaining poetry, a plant guide, do-it-yourself games (for both indoor and outdoor), and even a few recipes—including how to make mulled claret.

Within The Week-End Book are found three versions of mulled claret—designated as for Boys, for Men, and for Heroes. I recommend the Heroes version, but it admittedly does pack a punch, so you might want to keep doses dainty unless you want your weekend to be a Wilderesque lost weekend.

Mulled Claret for Heroes
(adapted from The Week-End Book, 2006 ed.)

  • 3 parts claret of your choice (claret is simply the English term for wines of Bordeaux)
  • 1 part tawny port
  • 1 scant part brandy of your choice (I use calvados when I have it)
  • a pinch each of ground cinnamon, grated nutmeg, and ground cloves
  • a couple pieces of lemon peel
  • 1 tsp. or less of sugar

Combine all of the ingredients in a saucepan over low heat and warm the mixture for about 10 minutes or more (until it’s steaming but not boiling), stirring a bit to dissolve the sugar.

Serve it in teacups or mugs, and add cutouts of lemon peel and cloves if you feel fancy.  Then, once all are feeling heroic, settle in for a game of Qualities (using the handy printed endpapers, guests rate themselves and each other according to various qualities like common sense or charm; fights or laughter ensue). Or bundle up and head out into the snow to play Man-Hunt, an altogether friendlier version of The Most Dangerous Game that ends in “a suitable pub.”

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Beehive Inspired Tea Cozy.

Beekeepers have a long history of making ingenious homes for their bees. But before the days of moveable frame hives and bee space, beekeepers’ material of choice was often straw coiled and woven to form squat coneshaped baskets.

Inspired by these iconic straw bee skeps, I made a beehive teapot cozy that takes its design cues from these traditional coiled baskets. It’s constructed of two layers of wool, quilted together. Unlike some teapot cozies that allow the handle and spout to stick out the sides, this one is designed to cover the teapot completely—simply lift off the cozy, pour the tea, and then replace the cozy over the pot. Here’s how to make your own beehive inspired tea cozy.

What You Need:

  • Teapot (mine’s a 22 oz. carrot-colored Bee House pot)
  • Tape measure
  • Paper
  • Pencil
  • Ruler
  • Fabric for the Interior Base Layer: ½ yard of woven wool or wool felt (I used a remnant piece of dark brown wool suiting from my stash)*
  • Fabric for the Exterior Coil Layer: 2 fat eighths of Mary Flanagan’s hand dyed felted wool in a shade of gold or light brown (available at purl; I used a shade called gold mine)*
  • Straight pins
  • Scissors for cutting paper
  • Scissors for cutting fabric
  • Sewing machine or needle and thread**
  • Sewing needle (with an eye large enough to accommodate embroidery floss)
  • Embroidery floss in a color of your choice (I used a little less than two skeins of DMC cotton floss, color no. 3046)

*You might need more fabric if your teapot is larger than mine; I’ll give my teapot’s dimensions below and you can work from these basic numbers to see if you will need more fabric.

**You can do all of the sewing by hand. Or, if you prefer, you can complete the Interior Base Layer on a sewing machine and then switch to hand sewing for the Exterior Coil Layer.

1. Measure your teapot.

Circumference: Use a tape measure to measure the circumference of your teapot, including the spout and handle. I found that by placing a loop of measuring tape on a table, setting the teapot in the middle, and then looking down upon my teapot from above to be sure that it was entirely within the measuring tape circle, I got an accurate measurement of the circumference.  Add 1” seam allowance to the circumference.

Height: Use a ruler to measure your teapot’s height. Add 1” seam allowance to the height measurement.

Point Height: There’s just one last calculation needed, in order to plot out the tapering pointed beehive shape. Figure out what 2/3 of your Height calculation is (height measurement + 1″ seam allowance) is. This will be your Point Height.

My teapot’s measurements and final calculations are as follows:
Circumference: 20” (including the spout and handle)+1” seam allowance=21”
Height: 5” + 1” seam allowance=6”
Point Height: 2/3 of the Height=4”

2. Make the Interior Base Layer.
Use the measurements you calculated in step 1 to draft your pattern for the interior base layer.  The pattern will be the width of your Circumference, and as tall as your Height + Point Height. Divide the width of the pattern into 6 roughly equal sections, making the sections on each end a little bigger to accommodate the seam allowance.
Along top edge, mark the center point of each of the 6 sections. Then, draw a gentle curve from each center point down to the dividing lines of the six sections. You’ll now have six pointed tops.  This is what my pattern for the Interior Base Layer looks like the drafted pattern pictured here.

Cut out this pattern.  Use this paper pattern to cut one of the fabric you have chosen for the Interior Base Layer.

Placing right sides together, sew the fabric piece (you can do it by hand or machine) into the basic beehive shape. First, sew the two side edges together (right sides together) to form a squat tube, and then sew each point edge to that of its neighbor, almost but not quite closing up the tapered top. Last, turn 1” up toward teh seamed side of the bottom edge and sew down this hem. Press all of the seams with an iron.

3. Add the Exterior Coil Layer.

Prepare the fabric strips that will form the coil design around the exterior of your hive by cutting a series of long strips of felt on the bias, 3/4” wide and as long as possible using your fabric. Cutting on the bias (at a 45 degree angle to the weave of the fabric) will allow the strips to stretch and curve around the beehive shape. Then, sew these strips together end to end, making sure that all seams face the same direction, so that you have one long, continuous strip. I needed about 8 yards to complete my beehive. Mary Flanagan’s hand dyed felted wool is ideal for this project because its luxurious flexibility allows it to drape and bend around curves handily.

Starting at the base of the Interior Layer (with its seams facing out), begin to attach the coiling strip (with its seams facing in, against the Interior Layer) along the lower edge using a running stitch and embroidery thread along the lower edge of the strip. When you get all the way around once, begin to incline the start the second layer so that eventually it runs parallel to the first round, just overlapping by ¼” or so. Continue round and round, stitching the lower overlapping edge of the coiling strip.

When you get within one round of reaching the hive’s top, stop attaching the coil and make a handle.

4. Make the handle, and complete your hive.

Take a scrap of leftover felt measuring 3” long and ¾” wide, and fold it in half so it measures 1 ½” x ¾”. Insert it through the top of the tapered top of the Interior Base Layer so that the folded edge sticks out the top by about 1”. Secure this handle to the hive with a few stitches using the embroidery thread.

Now, complete the last round of coiling at the top. To complete the hive, stitch through the top edge of this last round and cinch it closed around the handle, securing it with a knot inside.

It’s completed!  This hive will keep your teapot warmer longer on winter’s draftiest days; you can curl up with a pot of tea while you immerse yourself in the wonders of armchair beekeeping.

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Flannery O’Connor, Seamstress.

In Flannery O’Connor’s high school home ec class, “all the other girls busily sewed aprons, or underwear, for weeks on end, while O’Connor sat idly off to the side, not particpating.” On the day the big sewing assignment (to make a complete outfit of clothing) was due, O’Connor astonished her teachers and fellow students by bringing her pet duck, along with a complete set of clothing tailormade for it, to class. The students all worked together to dress the duck up in his handmade finery, and of course, Flannery passed the course!

I learned this tale and many more in Flannery: A Life of Flannery O’Connor by Brad Gooch. If you are a fan of Flannery O’Connor’s stories and are interested in learning more about this reclusive writer’s craft—literary and otherwise—I recommend this biography. Gooch uncovers telling details of this talented and disciplined eccentric’s subtle and surprising creative energies. Gooch also does the unexpected—he shows her to be a ham in home ec.

(You’ll find the duck tailoring anecdote on pages 77-78 of Gooch’s biography, and Gooch himself found it in an unpublished memoir by Barbara Beiswanger, held at Georgia College & State University’s Ina Dillard Russell Library).

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Savoring the Language of Lost Crafts.

Over Christmas I received a copy of Una McGovern’s Lost Crafts: Rediscovering Traditional Skills. From its cover (with evocative art by Rob Ryan) and all the way to the last page of its lush interior, illustrated with scenes of handicrafts both past and present, this book is a treat. McGovern’s approach is part history, part how-to, and a wholehearted homage to those who do the hard work of creating useful objects and edibles by hand. All in all, I love this book.

There are six main sections to Lost Crafts: Farming, Hunting & Gathering, Food & Drink, Home & Garden, Practical Crafts, and Decorative Crafts. Within each of these sections McGovern has collected dozens of short essays in which she discusses each skill’s history and techniques and tools, accompanied by advice for places and organizations to turn to to learn more.  Reading about candied peel, for instance, I found two recipes—one from 1718 for “China Chips” and the author’s own guide to the confection. And the fascinating discussion of beekeeping includes mention of the English church’s appetite for beeswax (for candles), the discovery by Lorenzo Langstroth of “bee space,” the practice of “telling the bees” household news, and a recommendation to turn to the British Beekeepers Association for further guidance.

While reading Lost Crafts, I had the unanticipated pleasure of encountering the specialist vocabularies that come to life in discussions of these forgotten skills. My eye would halt over certain words–like inkle, proggy, crusies, Scotch hands, cobnuts, conkers, guddling, sniggling, and smoots—and lead me to wonder about the many such terms that have fallen from familiarity because the skills they describe have also been lost.
And perhaps it’s because I’ve been studying guides to English walking holidays lately, but McGovern’s book also struck me as a way to get to know the rural corners of that country.  Lost Crafts offers a means of better understanding what a hedgerow is and how to guess its age; how much work goes into a thatched roof; the way that dry stone walls are constructed and why.

With its images, language, and respectful approach, Lost Crafts offers an appreciation for traditional everyday arts that remain well worth understanding and valuing today.

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Pennants Fly at the BiblioBall.

Last Friday was the Desk Set’s BiblioBall, and in my role as a crafty volunteer I created a string of nearly one hundred snowy white pennants to hang from the rafters at The Bell House.  You can see them here, alongside lovely trapeze artist Jean Loscalzo (who is also hanging from the rafters):

What you can’t see is what they’re made of: a lacy white cotton eyelet, threaded onto forest green jute twine from the hardware store.  I liked the look of the fraying jute paired with the pennants’ raw edges.

The BiblioBall was a smashing success and raised over $7,000 for Literacy for Incarcerated Teens.  I was proud to have my pennants play their small part there.   But I am confident that they’ll have other chances to shine in the future.  I can picture these white eyelets swaying in a breeze over a picnic, or perhaps an easy-going summer wedding too.  I’m hopeful that they’ll have a long life and watch over many future occasions of good fortune.

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