Sometimes when I make these they make me laugh or remember people or daydream. Here's Frank. And he just bought some 7 inches and he wants to get a beer.



And Jane Jr (naked as the day she was put together). She is alone and in her own head.


Then here's Peaches the most anime of all the dolls I've ever made. She's not really from Japan she just rilly rilly wants to be...


Or there's Clarissa and Sebastian who seem a little made for each other as well as high school drama club auditions for a production of Twelfth Night.




I can't seem to stop making them. It's way to fun to cut up the work I once thought was precious. Nothing we make is. No reason we should not create the things that are most close to the bone and these imaginary friends are both ridiculous and contagious.

Rachael

My world is always different in the summer when the art school where I work has a thriving summer camp running full throttle for seven weeks. It is invigorating and exciting, creative and draining and I wonder if I only truly appreciate it when the summer is done. That's when I can sit on my back porch for a couple of days and cut old paintings into scrappy paper dolls, when I can brew the random bits of history and imagery into a story and when I can think through the theory that weaves through all of this.

As theories go mine has no footnotes, no ties to French philosophers ('cept maybe TinTin but he wasn't French, he was Belgian) and no followers, nor has it really been written down and I attempt it here as a way to contextualize these paper dolls and why I am feverishly drawn to making them.

Ahem.

The art we make that makes others smiles naturally, that comes out when we least expect it, that feels right is worth giving, sharing, trading, leaving where it can be found. By pushing past the boundaries --rules of art endlessly written, the voice that says you can't make art, and the time drains-- and making something honest we open the possibility that someone else can find joy in the thing we found joy in making. Scrips and scraps can come together in coherent, cohesive, if ridiculous meaning. The best stuff we make is the stuff we have to make, sometimes the meaning becomes evident only after the last connector is connected.

Above, then is Ivan, below is Lucy (but I want to call her Sinead because I so vividly recall that moment)...


and below that is Pierre and they are all of the batch of paperdolls that I will have at my booth at the Artist's Market. Where I oughtta be able to flesh out my theory some and send some of these dolls out in the world. Right now I have about 75 of them and they keep growing, growing and growing.




Here we are after labor day weekend and I am slowed down. Happily so. So happily.
Off to make more dolls, dear, and so please take care and come see me at the market...

Rachael

Saturday August 16th we spent the day drawing (morning at the Public Market, afternoon at High Falls) and the effects (of a small vibrant community of people engaged in drawing, of the buzz of trying new ways of working, of the inspiration) are still strong.

I asked the folks who drew last week to send me images for this blog and so Paloma wins a prize because she sent in two charming drawings and I know she drew while also keeping her active son busy, too.

Enjoy her two 3 x 5 drawings below (Somebody, and Manuel).





I hope to post more drawings, ideas and what-nots as life gets a little calmer in the next few weeks. In the meantime, know that I am brewing some ideas that may result in writing, paperdolls and will be on view on Sunday September 21st when I have a booth at the Artist Market at the Public Market. Hope to see you there...

Rachael

I just happened to be sitting outside of a cafe writing my friend Mary a letter when a bunch of college kids asked me to take their pictures. I fuddled with the buttons and the iphones and I gave 'em a little goodnatured guff. The one in the red baseball cap laughed the most at my goofy jokes and seemed pretty used to the fuss. I thought they were all friends from camp or something but the one in the hat was the rock star playing a show downtown tonight. The guy was David Cook, Mr. American Idol, the guy my friend would have wanted to meet if she'd come along to the coffee shop with me. I know that because the barista told me but the kids with their phones scattered pretty quick.

I used my standard papparazzi and model release and "I'll send you guys and invoice for these photos" jokes, even. I think they thought I knew who I was photographing but he looked just like the rest of the scruffy college kids with their dirty jeans and unkempt hair.

Kerry coulda had the time of her life had she just met me at Javas, but I ought not rub that in. She's a little sore at me. And those kids'll be pissed when they see how blurry their photos are.

so then, back to writing...
Rachael