Autumn with the Robber Barons

Last year was my first Autumn here in Pittsburgh and it was spectacular.

I wondered whether I was blown away just because I’d spent the last decade or so in New York City. The part of Manhattan that I lived in actually had a lot of trees, relatively speaking, but was still would not be mistaken for, say, a forest.

In Pittsburgh, the word “city park” means something different than it does where I came from — more along the lines of a place you go with footwear appropriate for hiking, rather than a place you duck into in between business meetings.

Some of this has to do with Pittsburgh’s Robber Baron legacy. These Gilded Age exploiters gifted or endowed the city with many of its public resources, including copious green spaces, some of which on the grounds of their former estates.

It turns out that my second autumn here has been almost as spectacular as the first.

First stop was the crazy big Frick Park (644 acres, just a bit smaller than Central Park in NYC for reference, although way less developed.) It was named for Henry Clay Frick. the coke and steel magnate.

Then it was off to visit the lands of Thomas Mellon (banking, railroads). I set up my paints at Chatham Arboretum — actually the campus of Chatham University, which are on the grounds of the former Mellon Estate. Modest at just 34 acres. Then to nearby Mellon Park, another 33 acres.

I live in a borough that changed its name to suck up to Andrew Carnegie (steel, also railroads, oil, general financier-ing). (The result was our spectacular library, worth it.) One set of paintings were done just around where I live, and the other on the 30ish acres of Carnegie Park.

Although there are parks still to come on my painting agenda that don’t have anything to do with old grifters, I’ll note the irony that I’ve found all this natural beauty in places that resulted from the noblesse oblige of people who created so much ruin.

The Novel Escape Hatch

I recently realized that the only times I find true relief from my worries are when I am sleeping and when I am reading a novel.

Although this sounds…maybe not so good…I am also aware it is an indicator that I am not being eaten alive by anxiety. Simply because I am able to focus on reading at all, which stops when I’m under the worst duress. (Ditto the ability to sleep.)

But my escapist* desire is strong right now — I just tore through novels all summer and don’t seem to be slowing down. On the balance it isn’t the greatest sign for my mental wellbeing.

The thing about fiction (or truly any art) is that it is composed and deliberate. I have been reading a lot of mysteries in this season, and when they are good they are so carefully constructed, like an elegant little machine. Nothing extraneous.

One of my reads was Everyone in my Family Has Killed Someone. by Benjamin Stevenson. The conceit here is that the main character is a writer — not one who writes mysteries, but one who writes books about how to write mysteries. So it gets very meta. It’s clever and cheeky— and also very aware of its cleverness, and then aware of being aware of its cleverness. I wasn’t sure I would dig it, but I did.

One of the points Stevenson made that I hadn’t thought about specifically — although it’s so plainly obvious —is that in a mystery the killer has to be a character that’s already been introduced. Although in real life things happen haphazardly and it turns out the thing that finally gets you is something that’s essentially random, a weird collision of circumstances, genetics, location — , a good mystery has a sense of inevitability about it. Maybe it ends without everything resolved, but the most important questions are at least resolved, even if unsatisfactory.

The possibility of this happening in my actual life is remote — but it’s nice to spend some time in worlds where it happens with some regularity.

*I’ve also realized that I can only tolerate books that are set in places that I’m not extremely familar with — Ireland, Sweden, Australia. (I’ve been to each of these countries, but not repeatedly.) The one novel I started and didn’t finished was set in the Adirondacks, a place I’ve been to many times. And I just could not sink in.

Art Journal Peek-a-Boo!

One thing I like about binding my own sketchbooks/art journals is the ability to include pages of different sizes. It allows for interesting and unplanned juxtapositions, often fodder for new ideas.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: my favorite art supply is randomness.

The (human) eyes at the top here are actually a glimpse at the drawing on the next page:

I worked on these pages separately and only saw how cool they looked together once I was finished.

These two pages were originally a vintage magazine page (I’m guessing an old National Geographic, although I can’t really tell anymore), and a misprint of a greeting card I designed a couple of years ago. The first page was made with acrylic paint and a white pencil; the second page with wax pastels.

By the by, this weird person above was inspired by an image in yet another art journal, where the pages are rice paper, albeit all the same size. This paper allows plenty of bleed through from page-to-page; the resulting marks are the basis for another image. (This is my interpretation of a process taught by Henrik Drescher in this class. )

In fact, this may be my key motivation for keeping these books to begin with — the pages I find most satisfying are the ones that lead to other pages, other projects.

Here’s another one from my current art journal:

This first page was originally a page from some sort of a vintage directory. I purchased it ripped like this, from the bulk section at the amazing Center for Creative Reuse in Pittsburgh. (You can fill a huge bag for like $10, enough material to bind at least five journals! A bargain and a creative bonanza.)

And this page was the back side of a map of Europe. I love working on vintage map paper (obviously unlaminated), it’s such high quality.

As I write this, I’m realizing that both of these page “duets” I’m sharing were made with one page in my studio (the paint) and one page on my couch-side “studio” (the wax pastels). And they were also made on different days.

I’m also realizing that both of these “peek-a-boos” were a result of ripped pages, an aesthetic I happen to like, and which creates the most unexpected juxtapositions.

But you can also achieve this just by binding together pages of different sizes. In fact, if you do this thoughtfully you can end up with multiple “peek a boos” in a single spread, with many different potential page compositions. Here’s one more example, a spread from a 2022 art journal:

You can see four pages in total, three on the left —and one on the right. Let’s turn the (little) page backwards.

That little page was originally — yes — another map! I’m going to guess the dessert theme on this collection of pages wasn’t entirely random, but it’s hard to remember exactly now.

To give you a better look at the last visible page on the right — the one with the gold stripes — I had to flip back a number of pages, as this was made on one of the widest pieces of paper in this journal. That means it was visible and influencing many spreads on either side of it. (Which I’m not going to show you here right now, I have to stop somewhere!)

Although many if not most of the pages I bind into my journals started life with another purpose, I also will include brand spanking new paper of different kinds and provenances. This one was extra special — I got it at the famous paper room at New York Central Art Supply (R.I.P.) — at least seven years before I made this journal,

Of course there are other ways you can achieve this type of juxtaposition in your art journal, besides varying the page size or taking advantage of random tears.

Some ideas I’ve experimented with:

• Folding pages. Due to the binding, you can only fold on one direction. (Vertically, in a side bound book, horizontally in a top bound book.) The size determines how many times you fold = a really wide piece of paper can yield an accordion. But you can also fold from the corners — triangles are unexpected and interesting!

• Cutting into the page. Many different possibilities here. Simple windows, complex shapes. You can cut with a blade or you can tear.

• Adding to pages. You can increase the size of the page in any direction that isn’t bound with tape, and then fold it back into the book. (Ok, technically this a variation on folding, but it’s additive.) You can also tip in pages to an already bound book, but that’s just a variation of binding a book with pages of different sizes.

• Paper engineering offers many more possibilities, starting with pop-ups! I periodically get really into making these. The two books I have on my shelf are both old and by Paul Jackson: The Pop Up Book and Cut and Fold Techniques for Pop Up Designers.

Eight Ways to Fill a Sketchbook: New Video

In contrast to the sketchbook video in my last post, this one was more “produced” and took me a lot more time. (I did pause to read a few books about how to make videos.) I wonder if it makes any difference? Or if it’s better to just let the camera roll while I flip pages and not try to impose any order or lessons on it?

Cranky Art Journal Tour

Lookie lookie. I made an art journal video tour! And it was SO ANNOYING to film, I cannot tell you. (Well I do tell you in the video, which is why it’s called “cranky.” )

I guess I have to pony up for a better tripod and also a microphone.