Spread 13 & 14



One of my favourite things to do in my art journal is to tape or glue ephemera from my day. String, tape from packages, ribbon, napkins, torn pieces of tissue or gift wrap. I also pick stuff up from the ground and call it ‘found art’. Then I can piece it all together with a few words or a story about my day.

I enjoy flipping thru magazines for words and colourful backgrounds. There used to be a watch ad I liked because the background was often a fantasy garden in the rolling green hills of Scotland with a stream nearby. Sometimes a full page in a magazine makes me feel good just to look at and I’ll tear it out and glue it in my journal. I may run my Versamark pen around it and heat up Queen’s Gold embossing powder from Ranger to add an accent. Queen’s Gold is my favourite gold and is no longer made by Ranger. I recently purchased Princess Gold to see if it was a product name change but it’s not. The Princess Gold is a different colour of gold.

I also enjoy magazine spreads of models in natural world settings. Whether it’s Morocco or a New York City tenement, it creates an interesting background to write on. It can be a form of camouflage. I once participated in The Sketchbook Project for the Brooklyn Art Library using only pictures of walls as my morning pages. I called it “Writing On the Wall“.

Wordle 217:


On a warm summer’s day
with the scent of honeysuckle
on the breeze, we rode
our bikes down a
well-worn path thru the orchard
until we reached the edge
and could see across the valley
where new homes were being built.

Jerry made a mad dash
trying to keep up,
and skid to a stop
right next to me.
Just in the nick of time.

Racing each other,
tires and handle bars
jounced and bounced,
in tandem with
the hard pebbles
and small holes.
We laughed
with the freedom.

When he kissed me
our lips touched–
light as dragonfly wings.
A trick of nature.
Identical grins
plastered to our faces,
we waited for our hearts
to subside.

He said he’d found another path
so I followed his lead.
We rode right down into
the new housing tract.
Excavators, dump trucks,
backhoes and cement trucks;
all the things that can excite
elementary school kids.

No denying, it was loud
and scary. I knew I wasn’t
supposed to be there.
My father had threatened
us kids about the danger.

A hard-hatted workman
waved harshly, trying
to evict us from our reverie.
Flee. Flee. Flee.

It was a long ride home.