Tonight in the big bookstore I noticed there were used book racks. I browsed 'em looking for Donald Barthleme stories or picture books or something about women in the nineteenth century. A woman with a nose ring and a white tank top stood next to me, looking too. She and I chatted a little about our search for a perfect, cheap book.

Maybe 10 minutes later, I found it! This was a book I had loved when I read it a few years ago. And I offered it up to my new friend, who I sincerely hope headed home to read it.

When I googled the author, I discovered that she ( Lorrie Moore ) grew up in good old Wing's Falls . How else would she know the power of Storytown? Why all of those close friendships we had in highschool linger on? Why it matters how we tell a story?

And before you tell me that Horsehearts is an unbelievable name for a town, I present Horseheads , not far from Elmira.

more soon, studio gets cleaner, weekend marches away...

take care,
Rachael

by the way I did find the Barthelme story I was looking for, about Colby

My nose stung for an hour, and it took some time to scrub the dirt of me, but I'm happy to report that the first layer of grime is out of the small room in the carriage house behind our apartment. The little room that will soon (after a couple more layers are scrubbed away, the walls are painted and a good ventilation system is figured out) be my studio. I need a place to be messy. A quiet room. All of the reading I've done lately about drawing and all of the artwork I've been looking at has me geared to begin some big drawings...or some small paintings...or some of both.

It's funny how my process has changed and is changing, and how much writing is playing into the way I make art. I don't know how much to speak about it now but in a few weeks I'll start some writing classes at a wonderful local literary center and frankly I am excited to begin further connecting myself to my community, connecting my words to my images, and connecting to other ideas.

Ok, more soon but if you'd like a good laugh we enjoyed Harold & Kumar at the cheap theater last night. Goofy and amusing.

take care,
Rachael

Funny how language, how poetry can sink into my brain and how magic coincidences can color a day, a week or an hour. This is an orange day, as I sit in the public library, at a big wooden table all to myself with light streaming in from every corner. I got my library card today, just about 20 minutes ago. I’m still glowing in the girft of a card that lets me access books (like My Perfect Life by Lynda Barry and Saul Steinberg’s Reflections and Shadows ), and magazines (like School Arts and American Craft ) and a ton of other resources. Libraries and the abiility to vote and the existence of free pre-kindergarten programs and school lunches are among some of the things I love about America.

You haven’t heard much from me this week because along with the turning of leaves (amazing how long it takes me to walk home when I am stopping and stopping to look), and the avoiding of radio speeches (we haven’t had a tv for years but the hate of the campaigns still sneaks into my house), I’ve been wrapped up tight in the book The God of Small Things by Arundahati Roy. I borrowed the book from my mother’s house and found myself enchanted by the language, fascinated by the details, passionate for Estha and Rahel, Ammu and Velutha, worried about Sophie Mol…I finished the book last night and wiped tears aside, went to bed, woke up and put on my orange pants to match the sun.

As I rode my bike downtown this morning I noticed a sign on a local bookstore, Buffalo is reading The God of Small Things. And next week Arundhati Roy will be in Buffalo speaking and listening and reading and encouraging peace. And it is so encouraging!

It also thrilled me to see and read about these lush food still lives at the Met. Thrilled me to be able to go paint outside today, that's what I'm up to.

take good care and more soon...
Rachael

(Southern politics, guys who play chess and surf the web, notes on the imagery in taxi driver, Harvey Ellis, Buffingtons and lots of coffee)
Among the stuff in my head today is this article my friend Lisa sent around the Atlanta art news listserve. John Sims is planning to lynch a confederate flag and while that is a powerful gesture I wonder how much the exhibit, the hoopla, the media, and the us vs. them point of the debate can help. It is reassuring to know that there are artists tackling tough symbols and loaded imagery, but is the art ready to move the dialogue forward towards solution or does it just inflame the anger? More thoughts deeply brewed are here at this Gwendolyn Shaw review on Africana and then the angry (smells racist to me) other side here. I dunno, I want to avoid judging a show miles away. I'm in a different world now. Not in Atlanta anymore and instead I'm in this coffee shop...


I don't know these guys but that doesn't matter. It's a comfy, often crowed hub of talkers and folks on thier mac-tops...


In fact the more I look around this town, the more I learn about the fertile present and rich history of thinkers and creators. It wasn't just George Eastman, but also guys like Harvey Ellis whose Night Study is a striking little painting (in the collection of the Memorial Art Gallery. I'm taken in by the work and history of this painter and designer who used to live in Rochester. As I read his story I found myself amazed to find a Buffington. That's my maiden name and the name of my father's family from around Montana and I really doubt there is any connection to Leroy S. but it is always a kick to encounter a Buffington...

This chatty, we're all in here together out of the rain atmosphere is so strikingly different from the isolation/ crazy-as-norm world of Travis Bickle (we saw Taxi Driver) last night that I am encouraged to brave the rain and head home to finish a little watercolor I've been playing with to sort out clarity and crazy intersect. Oh, I'll just go and paint it. The sun is out and I'm a little over-coffee-shopped...

see ya,
Rachael

Well, I was kind of a dork the other day to fish for comments but it has been swell to hear from Chip, and J, and J, and Katie, and Jeremy, and everyone who made a comment or sent an email. I have been swamped with work and adjusting to this new place and have had no time to blog this week. Excuses, excuses...it's more useful to respond to some direct comments...

yda wrote me about drawing and while it was/is always great to hear that folks like my drawing, I find it really important to stress that I practice a lot. I've drawn pretty obsessively since I was about 14. She/he wrote that "i can't really draw even a simple thing...i tried to improve my drawing...and seems there's nothing much different...".
I want to help. Here's what I strongly suggest. Get a good, big sketchbook and a set of pencils or pens you like the feel of. Give yourself a quiet hour alone everyday to draw. Write on the cover of your sketchbook that mistakes are part of growth, that learning takes time, that drawing is a learnable skill, that you will draw better. Draw only from live (or dead) natural things. Draw slowly and try to look more at the object you are drawing than at your drawings. try notto worry too much as you draw about the things you've done before or the speed at which you are progressing. Try to capture something about the size, scale, form, shape, feel, color, etc. etc. of the thing you are drawing. When the sketchbook is done (completely filled) take it to the nearest well respected art center and enroll in a drawing class. Show the registrar of manager your drawings and ask for the instructor who can help you build on the skills you already have. Keep drawing.

It's late and I'm tired so I'll step off my soapbox, put down my bullhorn, stop the sermon and get myself to bed. But I wanted everyone to know that I am listening, I am here, and I am still drawing!
take care,
Rachael