last fall, i was introduced to a newish technique for making encaustic monotype, and i have fallen hard.

i paint sometimes in an open studio at a local community center.  it's good for me - to have a place to go, to have other people around, to be accountable, to have space to spread out.  most of the time i set up in the corner near a big window and work on my own (i've painted the field - the one you see in the print below - out that window over and over again these past few years).  but last fall, the teacher - an amazing encaustic painter and now a friend - taught a workshop in encaustic monotype and i was first in line.

i had made monoprints before.  but this.  oh my.

you can read more about the technique and equipment here.  or you can trust me when i tell you that the wax melts on the hot plate and it's luscious.  that the rice papers absorb or don't absorb the wax and deppending on the surface, the wax sways and swirls in all sorts of unexpected ways.  that sometimes i like the image on the reverse even better than the than the one on what's supposed to be the front.  and that's all part of the beauty of it.

i've been playing with papers.  playing with the paints.  playing.  

i'm reluctant to write more about the specifics because i'm afraid it might be boring.  and really, there's a lot of figuring it out as i go.  but i'm happy to share if anyone is interested.

i've sent eight tiny prints to the enormous tiny art show 11 at nahcotta gallery.  the show opens february 3, and it's full of all sorts of tiny goodness.  i hope you'll check it out.  

it's january.  i'm chronicling my month over here.  i'm making art.  and raising a puppy.  more soon.

the end and the beginning.

i made a quilt.

i was seventeen when i made my frist attempt at a quilt.  i grew up in a family with flannel sheets and lanz nightgowns (later replaced by xtra-large t-shirts and sweatpants) and people (really good, smart, thoughtful people) who would never - i do not think i exaggerate when i say never - have dreamed of making a quilt.  

i went to college early, and through a series of happy accidents i was a seventeen year old college freshman stage manager in the theater department.  it's not a job for a freshman.  or a seventeen year old.  but i tumbled into the opportunity, and it shaped the next few years of my life.

but i digress.

i was seventeen, and a college freshman, and i was stage managing a not-especially-small production of the musical quilters.  the director was into experiential theater, and she had the entire cast and crew stitch together in a quilting circle before each rehearsal.  i made a tiny quilt top that spring.  it was navy blue, with two blocks in white and a pale green.  the batting was synthetic, white and puffy and sticking out of the unfinished quilt sandwich.  and i can't remember the backing but i do remember carting that little unfinished quilt around with me through college to my first apartment, and then my second, and to our first house before finally letting it go.

my second attempt at a quilt was years later.  cotton, for our second wedding anniversary.  i gave dave two or three blocks on that 20th of october, with the promise of a quilt for our king-sized bed.  (ambitious?  uh huh.)  i stitched a few more blocks over the course of a few more months, but eventually i turned the whole thing over to my sister-in-law's mother to assemble and back and tie.  

i have wanted to make a quilt for a long log time, but i don't know if i believed that i ever actually would.  i was fairly confident that i could assemble a quilt top, but the idea of (gasp!) quilting and (gasp! gasp!) binding a quilt was daunting.  i mean, really really daunting.  and then in january, with a bit of new year's confidence, and the encouragement and advice and support of some stellar quilt-making friends, i decided that i would finally do it.  and i could not be more proud.

this quilt was meant to be improvisational, and i had to work hard to keep it so; it was hard for me to cut on angles, and make wonky lines.  but i'm thrilled with the way it turned out in the end.  i love that there are so many beloved fabrics in the colored blocks.  i love that there are colors and patterns from a friend.  i love that the back of the quilt is made from a favorite soft (so soft) old sheet.  i love the way the imperfect and angled horizontal quilting lines echo the imperfect and angled lines of the colored blocks.  i love that it's the perfect size for snuggling up on the sofa.  i love seeing it draped over a chair in the living room.  i love that i did it!  i love my quilt.

(and.  i can't wait to make another.)

a few things i forgot to mention.  and mostly, they're food related.  what else is new?

read this article.  it reminded me why i do what i do in the food department.  read this one too, but be prepared.  most of the time i'm glad i follow marc bittman on twitter (like when he writes this), sometimes i am disturbed - and yet, i'm glad to know.

i am lucky enough to have these two stunning publications in my possession.  but it is impossible for me to hand-stitch the binding of my quilt while i read, so they are waiting.  and i am curled up under my cozy quilt with a needle and thread watching silly tv in the meantime.

there's more, but not tonight.   

i don't seem to be able to talk about much besides food and the weather lately, in spite of having so much to say.

it's one in the afternoon and there are meatballs finishing in the oven, tomato sauce simmering on the stove.  spaghetti squash roasting, for those of us who prefer it to pasta.  i can't quite explain how much comfort this gives me (more, once the dishes are done.  but i'm typing instead.) - knowing that our supper is wholesome.  and ready.  that though i'll be driving carpools this afternoon, we'll come home to dinner.

the sun is shining.  and it's strong.  and this fills me with a certain kind of life that i also find hard to explain.  or maybe i'm not looking very hard for the words.  there are dishes waiting, after all.

the windows are open.  there are sunflowers on the kitchen table.  i've started (and re-started) hand stitching the binding of my quilt.  i spoke to my grandmother.  i'm waiting to speak to my other grandmother this afternoon.  there is laundry waiting to be folded.  i ate an apple with peanut butter for lunch.  and crossed four things off of my to-do list before noon.  it is wednesday, and i am alive.

there is a gourmet hot dog cart not far from our house.  it has the cutest name.  it's open only for lunch.  it's almost like a food truck, but it doesn't leave its garage location.  which happens to be next door to a french pastry shop.  can you imagine?  yum, and yum.  suddenly, i'm thinking about making a little recording of the whole hot dog experience to share with you here.  maybe i'll gather enough courage to do it.

we're having this for dinner tomorrow night; it's become a family favorite in a very short time.  i've been trying to find a few minutes to make these; lucy keeps asking when we're going to make the "cheese-it-men."  and i'm waiting for some bananas to ripen so that i can make this.  i made this (again) and this on friday.  the kitchen has been in overdrive.

tonight at dinner bennett suggested that each of us share a brief report on what we're reading.  (he's 12.  i love him.)  he's reading goliath and is enamored with the world scott westerfelt has created.  lucy is reading this - the longest book she's read on her own - and she's loving it.  my cousin is reading something by bill bryson in english, and something else in hebrew.  but dave and i are not reading anything at the moment, which was a wake-up call for me.  i've started no less than five books since the summer, and have - very uncharacteristically - abandoned all of them.  i'm going back to this one tonight.

the darkness has returned.  i'm not as resistant this year as i've been in years past.  i guess i'm looking forward to candles on the dinner table, and light when i wake in the morning.  but no matter how you slice it, i miss the longer days.  it seems especially late to me now.  and i think that's enough random for one sunday night. 

i've never been a big fan of this holiday.  my mother tells that i was three, or maybe four, when snoopy came up the front walk on halloween and i began to cry.  i've always loved snoopy.

eight or nine years ago i bought myself a witch's hat and cape.  i wear them every year - along with a set of green plastic fingers - but i'm thinking about upgrading my hat next year.  the cape is pretty wonderful - floor length and all billowing out behind me as i walk.  i'd sort of love to wear it every day, if a person could get away with walking around in a polyester cape on any old tuesday.

maybe next year, too, we'll have pumpkins.  or something.  this year, there was nothing.  no pumpkin carving, no pumpkin painting.  i haven't even made pumpkin muffins yet.

it turns out that i am a person who requires a setting.  an old friend reminded me of this recently - that i'm never really ready for any holiday until the table is set.  that it's the very act of setting the table (table as metaphor.  you understand that, yes?) that moves me into the holiday spirit.  halloween doesn't really have a table, but thankfully there are costumes.

lucy went as a baby.  she's been talking about it for months and months, and when we went to the party store to buy the pacifier she wanted for her costume we got scared - and i mean scream-out-loud-and-jump-out-of-your-skin scared, both of us - by a person pretending to be a statue.  and it turned out that they didn't have what we wanted at the party store anyway.

bennett went as a physicist.  a mad-scientist type.  he pulled his costume together at the last minute with a lab coat and glasses from the dress-up box.  it's a good thing we still have a dress-up box.

i think it's time to brush my teeth and make some pumpkin muffins and move on toward high-autumn.  soups and risottos and pumpkin muffins and thanksgiving.  i do love thanksgiving.

suddenly it's cold enough that i'm wearing a vest all day, even in the kitchen.  except that tomorrow i might need an actual coat because there's snow in the forecast.  i fell in love with an enormous scarf made out of jersey and i've been wearing that all of the time too.  even with my pajamas.  (well, practically.)

and oh!  there's been so much cooking.  and baking.  beef stew.  asian noodles.  shepherd's pie.  chicken pot pie.  bread.  granola.  waffles.  and repeat.  there hasn't been nearly enough tea yet.  my quilt is almost finished.  i've been painting flowers.  and my cousin has arrived from overseas for a few weeks.  right now she's teaching lucy to play backgammon at the kitchen table.  

chicken is roasting in the oven.  the table is set.  there are new towels tumbling in the dryer.  

it seems early for snow, but i'd be thrilled.  either way, i'm delighted by the prospect of a cold rainy saturday forcing us to stay inside hunkering down and cozying up.  that's the thing about this season.

this is our first quiet weekend in i can't remember how long.  over pancakes we agreed to leave our electronic devices turned off.  we walked in the woods.  we balanced on tree stumps.  we collected acorn tops.  and a few leaves.  we made no telephone calls.  at all.  we took the kids to a pasta bar for lunch (their idea of heaven), and we ordered limonata.  and canolis for dessert.  we visited my grandmother, and listened to her story about alan and his club feet and the woodsmen.  all of which i'm pretty sure is imagined.  we were quiet.  and together.  and it was good.