Rending

I’m furious.

With it comes an energy.

Do something, it said.

I’m compassionate.  I helped. When I couldn’t help, I tried.

Do something else, it said.

My hands needed to be in on the action.

So this is what I did with that.

From the Archives:
Take This Inspiration And Shove It
The High Cost Of Being Me
Rations

Best Case Scenario

Rain. It did.

Before I stepped out, a minute, an hour ago, when I lay sleeping, unawares. It clings to the air, the tree trunks, the branches strewn about all random-artful.

Palettes soaked in themselves, wild, unfettered. Promiscuous watercolors I don’t have to paint. This is the stuff of dreams, what my photographer self waits for. It doesn’t look real but you can’t make it up either. I walk up about free, gathering it all in. Having a destination stops me not at all. Ridiculously early I will be anyway. I stop just short of greedy.

The best part is that the rains will come again. I see it in the sky, opulent white, opaque, the wind softening everything.

If it weren’t for the storm brewing, the shadows would be too deep, the palette drying under the sun. Nature would have put itself together again and I would have walked by. Nary a glance at what could have been.

By the time the sky unleashes the pelt, the soaking, I’ll be inside.
Warm, untouched, clothes, hair. Camera face down. Ready to be my other side. Content with incandescent bulbs, the TV, the safety, the perfect dry.


From the archives:
I Stand In Judgement
I walked to the end of the driveway
The Water Table

(Untitled)

I’m so much better than I was
I thought I was good before
I couldn’t have imagined this - what I’m doing now

I show no sign of stopping
I’ll keep going on
If I’m lucky
If I’m allowed to live

Ten years from now
I can’t imagine now how good I’ll be
At that time I’ll know what I can’t know now
What can’t be made now
What can only be seen hence
When I see it I’ll understand


From the archives:
Picture Edit
Careful Words
The High Cost Of Being Me

Industry Amidst The Ruins

The prettiest words are the greedy ones. They alight. Then they pollinate.

Because you have things to do.
Upright and important
You squirrel them away - somewhere.
Until they are a damned nuisance.

Then give it all a smidge of time.
Stingy and cheap but better than nothing.
It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

When you’re  about to burst you give them some room.
So what if it’s the rocky soil? The tamped down, head between hands.
The between of, not the desk, or even a nook.

The words, they comprehend.
For them it doesn’t matter.
They see no craggy impediment.
Any accommodation will do.

You are wildflowers.
A furnace, a factory.
The early 20th century.
A virile stag. Aloft.

You are trite but you don’t care.


From the archives:
Plainfolk
Suffer The Words
To mend

Picture Edit

It’s good. I can see that.

The lines are there. So are the composition, saturated palette and light. The filmy Christmas lights hung on the awning add a bit of whimsy - I could go as far as to say light irony - to the photograph. This keeps it from being too precious, too conventional, too full of itself. The rest of it is just the right kind of majestic.

Everything that years of working, failing, then trying again and succeeding are there.

This could be a welcome addition to my series.

I don’t feel the way I should about it. There’s no quickened heartbeat, crack of the bat against the ball and powerful arc signaling a home run. There’s no thrill in having captured it.

Like everybody, I spend my days in compromise. Maybe I cut a corner here, stay longer than I want, say yes when I mean no, exert willpower. My life is good. None of it is over my head. Not really.

But with photography, I’ve got to be all the way in. It gets to have my whole heart. If there is exactitude with love then here is where that is.

With this I get to have the orchestra, the breathlessness, the purity.

So I go ahead and delete it. I don’t regret it. Soon after, I don’t think about this image anymore. It’s stunning how quickly that happens.

You might also enjoy:
I walked to the end of the driveway
Chicken Scratch
My Future Crappy Work

Suffer The Words

You capture the germ of something. It's good. You work fast. Everything is lucid and frank. Nothing extra, nothing wasted.

You wait a bit and add more. It's bad. There's only one thing to do. Throw out the new, bad stuff. Leave it, and you'll ruin everything.

The first few sentences are still perfect. There lies the beauty. There lies the problem.

You labor a bit. It's fruitless. You have somewhere to be, so you go.

You forget about it for a while. You work on other things. The other things write themselves.

This beginning, this jewel of a thing hangs in the air. Until you find the proper middle and end that is where it will stay, suspended and waiting.

You're eager, but that won't get it done. Patience is what you need. You also must be ready to act quickly. Words sometimes arrive unbidden and unexpected.

Completion of this cultivated prose lies with the self that goes off script while doing the dishes. The shower is a think tank. So is the track.

You rein in this runaway train when it comes to paperwork, bills, forms and mathematics. You accommodate. You wish it were different. But you also treasure. For you, the wordsmith, that reckless vehicle is pure gold.

You might also like:

What I know, what I don't know

The Best Thing Someone Never Said To Me

Modern Narcissus

My Future Crappy Work

Sometimes - often - I will do some writing, a collage or photography and realize quickly that it is crappy.  In many cases, I abandon it entirely. Delete.

Other times, I salvage it. A few tweaks and then it's good. I wrote about that experience here in The Crappy Collage.

On occasion I'll jump ship on the first attempt, then re-do it from start to finish. I do this when the idea is good but there is something wrong with the execution.

If I share some writing, collage or photography that means I like it. That's the simple way of looking at it.

It might be almost perfect. But I allow for some other things to happen. Sometimes I try something new on for size and see what sticks. I might consciously decide to explore a new direction or post something I'm a little on the fence about.

If I insisted on perfection every time, sure every time, well developed every time, I wouldn't share anything and I wouldn't do anything.

For the most part though, if I share it I'm proud of it.

If I'm lucky, I stay proud. There's stuff I've made or written that I love as much as the day I finished it. These are rarified moments in artist-time. I cherish this.

There is an in-between thing that happens frequently. Time passes, and if I had it to share again, there are small things I'd change. A paragraph I'd get rid of. Something that could have been more refined. I could have shifted my vantage point a bit to the left. Cropped something out.

So far, I've acknowledged this, but left the words or the image alone. I'm more interested in moving onto the next thing. It was a moment in time and I'm willing to let that be. This isn't brain surgery. This kind of imperfection never killed anyone.

If I get anything published I'll work with my editor and address it then.

Every once in a while, something else happens. I won't beat around the bush.

There is work that I created and shared at some point in the past. This work is crappy. I did not realize it at the time. I thought it was good six months or three years ago. My intentions were good.

It took some time and distance for me to realize it was crappy.

I took a bunch of crappy photographs and wrote a bunch of crappy words. While doing this, I learned a few things. The work I do now is much less crappy because of it.

I stay pragmatic and I stay positive. However, it sometimes takes my breath away, just how crappy something I did is. It's like the air being let out of a balloon. Or the terrible sound the needle makes scratching against an LP.

I keep it in perspective. How important is it that I shared a crappy photograph of moss in 2012? Or that a collage that accompanied a blog post is the paper and glue version of a train wreck? Bad poetry isn't the worst thing that can happen.

Crappy work is something I try my best to avoid but once it's been out there a while it's like carrying a screaming two-year-old out of the lake whose lips are turning blue. He needs to come out of the water. He doesn't want to come out of the water. He's making a lot of noise and kicking. People are looking.

He's your third child. He's acting crappy. You know he's acting crappy. All of these people at the beach know he's acting crappy. You’re not worried or defensive about what these people are thinking. You and these people are in agreement about the crappy screaming. It's best to contain things and move on. Don't overthink it like you did with the first.

That's exactly how it is with the crappy memoir piece I wrote.

My problem isn’t with what I did. My problem is with what I am about to do.

I write a blog post. I do what I always do these days. I write it.  I get rid of some of it. I make a collage. It had no diagonals because I am sick of diagonals. I use my computer printer in a ways that utilize classic printmaking techniques with an irreverent twist. The entire effect is beautiful.

I have a satisfied feeling that comes from doing a good job. I am proud of my work.

But then it occurs to me that I was proud of all the other work I did before and then at a later date I realized that some of it was crappy. Furthermore, there wasn't much rhyme or reason to which work had staying power and which work would become crappy later.

That's when I realize that I might have just finished some future crappy work!

I sit with the worry for a little while. Then I let it go.

It's easy for me to not publish crappy things in real time. I'm not an idiot. I’m not lazy.

The only way to avoid sharing work that I am sure wouldn't ever be crappy later would be to make work and then sit on it for several years before sharing it. Then after a decade, I could see what was still good.

Or I could keep working and working without sharing until becoming a near perfect writer or artist or photographer. I'd emerge, fully formed seeming like an overnight sensation or hidden genius.

These ideas are romantic and not without appeal.

Here's why I'm not doing it.

When I was younger there were limited ways of sharing your work. There was no social media. You could be in a gallery show, you could be published in a book or magazine, you could get commercial assignments, you could show your portfolio of carefully crafted prints to other people.

I did all of these things. But there could be long, lonely spaces between shows, assignments, and publications. Things remained buried in drawers and clamshell boxes. Sometimes I couldn't get anyone to look at my work.

In the best of all worlds, I'd shoot beautiful still life photographs that almost no one would see for six months because that was the lead-time of the magazine.

I wasn't made to work in isolation. Social media is one of the best things that has happened to me.

There is something democratic with all of this. In a global sense, there are no gatekeepers. Our lives are crowded with crappy work that we now need to delete, filter or ignore. Some people dislike this. There's no one keeping the riffraff out.

I've said it before. The cream will rise to the top. It always does.

I can't worry about what work will remain suspended and preserved in amber, or for how long. I can't worry about what will seem antiquated in a month, what will gain meaning with time or look like amateur hour a year from now.

So if you look and read, you'll see my process. It's not a fairy tale. That would be a lovely work of fiction. You never know. I might just write that fable someday.

You may also enjoy:

Lying In Wait

Percolating

What's Good For Us Now

30 Minutes A Day: The Summer Edition

This past spring I stumbled onto a new resource for stress reduction. I take a leisurely 30-minute walk every day. I go out each day, regardless of weather.

I've skipped a walk here and there due to tightly scheduled time or unexpected circumstances. On those days I clearly missed the walk. So I'm prioritizing it.

The walk is no less or more than 30 minutes. It's not meant to be exercise. Errands don't count. I can stop whenever I like to take photographs with my iPhone. Sometimes that means I don't make it very far from my apartment. That's fine. Distance isn't the point.

You can read about how I got started here.

When I wrote my first post about this topic last spring I was just beginning to take this walk each day. I liked what was happening and decided to continue. I wanted to see if it kept on helping me with stress. I wanted to see what would happen.

Here's what happened.

Spring turned into summer. Daffodils and tulips made way for roses. Many of those have drooped then died. Lilies are everywhere. Lilies are having their moment.

There was something of the miracle in spring. The flowers did their delicate dance, poking through like it was the first time ever.  There was something pure and primary about it.

I'm a city dweller but the natural world has a way of jostling through the concrete. And so it is with summer. This summer is good and settled in now.

Where spring was young and gay, summer is languid and a bit sexy. The flowerbeds are a jumble of just bloomed, slightly sour and gloriously cloying. It's like too much perfume only good.

There is the hint of the exotic in this summer. Everything I see has been around the block and back.

The heat and humidity slow me down. I don't complain. This walk is only 30 minutes long and there's no need to exert myself or hurry. Given a choice I walk on the shady side of the street. I'm a shade-seeking individual. So is my camera.

I take photographs every time I'm out. I keep some, delete others. One of the reasons I find these walks relaxing and rejuvenating is there is no real agenda except to stay out for 30 minutes. There's something meditative about it. Walking slowly and looking around, taking photos, some good, some bad.  This might really be my version of meditating.

In practical terms, my walks serve as a much-needed break or incentive when I am working on things that are demanding and require discipline. It seems to help with stress. It's free. It's available.

I keep doing it because I enjoy it. I keep doing it because it's working.  I keep doing it because it's something I can count on.

Most of the time I go out for my walk at a predetermined time, based on what else is happening that day. I don't choose my 30-minute block when it's "nice" out, because it's sunrise or because it's cooled down. It's more of a process of elimination. I can't go when I have a meeting. I can't go while I'm cooking. I can't go when I'm taking care of my children. I can't be in two places at once.

So from 9:00 - 9:30 or 2:30 - 3:00 or 7:40 - 8:10 it is. It doesn't matter. Whatever is out there is out there. Morning rain shower, late afternoon sun with long, inky shadows, hazy miasma, warm, forgiving dusk light. It's all good.

My thirty minutes are up. I walk into my apartment after my tiny journey. My air conditioner and iced coffee with soy vanilla greet me. I left the meandering outside and I snap to, smart, sharp and ready to take on whatever it is.

I took the photographs below during two thirty-minute walks on July 7^th and July 8^th.

I was attracted to the rare coloration of this saturated and fragile bloom.

I don’t know what kind of plant this is. It sure is orange.

It’s unusual for me to go inside during my strolls. I’ve been eyeing this lobby for a long time and saw an opportunity. This is the latest addition to a series I am working on called Mid-Century Modern. I love the clean lines, optimistic looking palette and whimsical tiles paired with the poignant wear and tear.

This might be one of the last Hydrangeas to bloom. This is but a section of the giant white orb, drooping ever so slightly in the heat.

Mid-day light and shade on the weathered wall of Park Terrace Gardens.

I almost never see anything representational in my abstractions. This time, I saw an eye in the knot of this tree bark.

The same sun and rain that nourishes the cultivated flowers also supports the weeds. My latest in the series I call Hardscrabble Plants.

Another view of the elegant and mysterious plant bearing exotic red flowers.

These lilies are heavy with their own loveliness.

A mess of daisies.

You might also enjoy:

White Seamless

Blizzard

The Beautiful Trash Incident

The Hatchet Job

I wrote something recently. It seemed almost good. I though it needed some fleshing out. That is what I set out to do.

Just as I was ready to add a little color to the piece, I unexpectedly and suddenly did the opposite. I deleted something.

After deleting a little of it, I liked what I saw. So then I cut the rest of the paragraph. I liked that too.

At this point, I’m on a roll.  I went through the writing, paragraph by paragraph. I deleted a little at a time at first. Then I became bold and started eliminating wide swaths of writing. Entire threads went into the trash.

This non-writing was extremely satisfying. This non-writing started to feel like writing.

After getting rid of most of my writing, I looked at what was left. I didn’t miss what was missing. Even though I had acted very spur of the moment, I knew that I did the right thing.

I was so satisfied with this hatchet job. I didn’t add anything back. I didn’t add anything new.

I’d arrived at the crux of it. I experienced happy minimalism.

I don’t know what this means going forward. But I have a feeling it’s leading somewhere.

White Seamless

I was a still life photographer. People sought me out and hired me because of my creative vision. If you wanted a photograph of a product - say a shoe - and you needed that shoe to be elevated through use of lush fabrics, rich colors and a keen sense of composition, you would call me. If you wanted to infuse the shoe story with a sense of humor, fun and quirkiness, then you'd also dial my number. You either liked my work, or you didn't.

Notice that I wrote dial and call, not text, email, or Facebook message. This was the late eighties and nineties. You spent a lot of time on the phone back then.

If you wanted something very straightforward, just a really simple, conventionally lit shoe, then you'd dial someone else's number. There were people who did this very well. It would behoove you to call one of them.

The photographers who did this really well had some things in their studio to help them. They had rolls and rolls of white seamless paper. If memory serves me correctly, it came in 9-foot rolls and 5-foot rolls. It would be propped up against the studio walls.

The photographers would unfurl the white seamless and they would have a perfect, clean, anonymous surface for the product shot. They'd employ multiple light sources and these reflector cards.

I might not have been a fan of white seamless at first, but I always loved reflector cards. I like to think of my still life photographs as very beautiful, but what my audience didn't see were the reflector cards, propped up at jaunty angles, sometimes precariously, around the perimeter.

I'd check carefully to make sure that none of them were in the frame. There was nothing more embarrassing than having a gorgeously crafted photo with a reflector card peeking in at the edge. The reflector cards were genius at getting rid of the harsh shadows I hated. If a corner of the photograph were receding into a dull shadow, the reflector card would bring that right up. If I wanted the texture of my crushed velvet or handmade paper backgrounds to come forward, instead of stuck in the murky shade, the reflector cards would fix that situation.

When I was first starting out, I refused any assignment that did not meet with my creative vision. After a while, I realized this was silly. Sometimes an art director needed something straight forward done very quickly and all the other photographers they liked were booked. I'd do the assignment on white seamless. It was fun being so minimalist once in a while. It was fun getting that product to look like it was floating in whiteness. It was fun earning a paycheck while pursuing more high-minded work.

I took ballet lessons for many years. I was not destined to be an elite ballerina. Still, I learned a thing or two. When I enter a room so quietly and gracefully that I startle people, or notice my ears over shoulders over hips carriage in a mirror, I always say the same thing. You can take the girl out of ballet, but you can't take the ballet out of the girl. And so it is with photography.

I haven't done still life photography for clients for a very long time. The pictures I take now are very different. I'm usually outside.

I'm writing this on the heels of a very snowy winter. I think it's over, but I can't be sure.

I was going about my day about a month ago. I was walking outside from one place to the other. I was noticing some lovely things happening with freshly fallen snow. I took a moment or two to examine the flowerbeds near my building.

The light was very calm and even due to the cloudiness of the day. This was very pleasing. I took some photographs.

As I was riding the train, the experience had a sense of the familiar that was hard to put my finger on. Later, it came to me while I was doing something else. The experience I had in the flower beds reminded me of commercial still life photography. The entire winter reminded me of commercial still life photography. It reminded me of white seamless. It reminded me of reflector cards.

I like having fresh snow around for several reasons.

Things that are beautifully shaped might fade into the background of grey and green and brown when there isn't snow. When there is snow, many things get covered up. But the things that are lovely that are not covered up have a white sweep. They get to be the star. They get to be, in the 1970s still life parlance that much preceded me - the hero.

The seamless effect would only be apparent with brand new snow. Even if it didn't get dirty later, older snow takes on a more pebbly and granular texture. This patina has a way of announcing itself. It's great for some pictures. Just not for the ones I'm talking about today.

Soft, new, light, non-reflective, not dampened down - that is hero-making snow.

The diffuse, cloudy light that is so common in the winter is a gift. It's bright enough to agree with the iPhone camera at the same time that it is softened up and forgiving. It's even better than the translucent material called Toughspun that I used to put over my lights in three layers, as a professional.

The Hero

There is less color around outside in the winter. But there is some.  A good, outdoor, colorful subject in the winter is a sight to behold. It can be a good subject for me.

There is a bit of magic that happens along the edges of my photographs with so much snow around. Brand new snow is best, but any old snow will do. If there is enough snow on the ground it will serve as a giant reflector for my subjects. The shadows are filled in. The colors become saturated. There is better color separation. The snow isn't in the photograph. But it contributes.

I work quickly. The same gift of snow that pretties up my subjects brings harsh temperatures and cold fingers. I decide on things fast. Sometimes a strong gust will blow my photography materials around in ways that are hard to anticipate. I'm prepared to get what I need in one take. Variations are a luxury the winter doesn't always allow.

I didn't invent snow. I didn't invent white seamless paper, Toughspun, or reflector cards. I did connect the dots.  Sometimes you go to the photography store to get what you need. Other times it falls from the sky. It's in the recognition. It's in making your move before it’s gone.

 

The snow outside of the frame served as giant reflectors, intensifying the colors, softly filling the shadows and casting a brilliant glow.

More posts about photography:

After Careful Consideration

Old Friends

Flowers

They Create: Jeremy Shatan’s Playful Paper Cut-Outs

I’ve said it before. My husband, Jeremy Shatan, is a Renaissance man.

He raises money to help children with cancer. He is a serious baker. He’s an avid skier. He writes about music for his blog, AnEarful.

He does too many things well to list them all here. In addition to all of the other stuff he works on, Jeremy also makes these whimsical and wonderful paper cut-outs.

Ever since we became a couple, Jeremy and I have always been intent on creating our own holiday traditions. We tend to take classic elements from Halloween, Thanksgiving, birthdays, Christmas, and Chanukah, and give them a unique spin. We pick and choose what we like, discard what we don’t, then reinvent the rest.

Jeremy began making the paper cutouts as alternative to commercial, mass-produced decorations when our children were very small. We are still enjoying the first creations he made 17 years ago. Over the years, he's added to the collection, inspired by birthdays and other celebrations. They hang from our doorways and ceilings. They're affixed to our walls, windows and front door.

The paper cutouts are serving an even higher purpose now. Our firstborn, Jacob, inspired Jeremy's first cutouts and lots of other art, too. Jacob passed away from childhood cancer at the age of two and a half. Every year, we form a group called Team Jacob in his honor. We participate in a special walk to remember him and raise money to help children with cancer. You can learn more here.

For the last two years, Jeremy and I have created a theme for Team Jacob based on some of Jacob's favorite things. In 2013 our theme was the Granny Smith apple because not only was this one of Jacob's favorite foods, he also loved noticing apples everywhere we went.

When Jacob was being treated with chemotherapy, it was a challenge getting him to eat enough. So Jeremy made Jacob special waffles called Power Pack Waffles. They were loaded with the nutrition and calories Jacob needed. In 2014, Jacob's waffle became our theme.

I wanted to share Jeremy's thoughts, process and creations with you. So I interviewed him.

Describe what you remember about the early days of your paper cutouts. Why paper cutouts as opposed to paintings, photography or a different art form?

When it came time to celebrate Jacob's first birthday, I didn't like the commercial themes and designs of the stuff they sold for kids' parties back then. Since it was common to have wall and hanging decor made of heavy card stock, I thought I would just make my own. 

I wanted them to be simple shapes that Jacob could recognize - and I'm good at drawing simple things. At first I thought I would do imaginary bugs but then I decided on hippos, rhinos and elephants as they are easier to cut out and we had a history of buying stuffed animals of those creatures. 

When it came time to make them, I found it very easy to make a line drawing and then cut it out using an X-ACTO knife. I discovered a real affinity for that tool, enjoying the sensation of the blade cutting through paper. I often enter a flow state when I cut, a relaxed, focused mode where every instinct is the right one.

I never considered other media as photography was an involved process back then and I wasn't confident in my abilities with paint. I also like the absolutely graphic quality of colored paper, giving each element of the final product an even, overall color. 

Talk a little about how our friends and family have responded to your cutouts.

The best first audience for the cutouts was Jacob. We hung up the hippo, rhino and elephant from a beam in our apartment while he was napping before his first birthday party. When he woke up, I brought him out and held him up high, near the decorations. "Wow!" he said in a drawn out and clearly enunciated expression of wonder. At that moment I knew I had done something very special. Those three are still hanging in our apartment, 17 years later.

When it comes to the holiday cutouts, everyone has loved them. The feedback I've gotten tells me that people like the fresh approach to classic themes, somehow making stock images like wreaths and menorahs new to them again.

Having birthday parties for our kids year after year took the themes of the cutouts to a different level. Describe a birthday party or two and how you used the cutouts and other paper elements in your decor.

When Hannah was little, she got really into the circus. She liked anything to do with that form of entertainment so we made that the theme of her party. I really challenged myself with some of my most elaborate designs yet, including a decorated elephant standing on a drum and a trapeze artist swinging through the air. 

The year before that, we paid tribute to Hannah's well-rounded interests. She liked ducks, trucks, and globes ("Eart!" She would say, pointing) so that's what I made for her.  We would've had to buy three different sets to cover all those bases!

Noah's parties were fun because he was all boy, so that meant balls of all shapes and sizes one year and a three-car steam engine the next. 

Could you give our readers a paper cutout "recipe" along with some helpful hints? 

I always start with a sort of Platonic image in my mind: what would the perfect Santa hat look like? Of course, that image is filtered through my taste, memory and perception so it can't help but be an individualized idea. 

Once I have the image in my mind, I think about how I can achieve it using the minimum amount of elements. In the case of the Santa hat, I knew I would need a red triangle, a fluffy white brim and a fluffy ball for the top.  After choosing my paper, I draw each element, which is one translation of the image into reality, and then cut out the shape, which is another. I accept the changes that occur during this translation process - as long as I'm satisfied with the final results, of course. 

Then I glue everything together. If it's going to hang from the ceiling, then it needs to be double-sided, which means making two of every element, except for the central one (in this example, I only needed one red triangle) - another good reason to use as few pieces as possible. 

Here are some technical tips:

1. If you're unfamiliar with X-ACTO knives, experiment before your first project. Don't press - just drag your blade through the paper (I often think of molecules parting, believe it or not). Buy lots of blades and change them often. Dull blades rip paper. 

2. Splurge on glue. It can be seriously annoying to have all these beautiful bits of cut paper and then your final piece has all kinds of bubbles and bulges because you used Elmer's glue. I used to use this weird stuff that came in a white tub. I think I got it at Kate's Paperie.  In any case, go to a good store, ask their advice, and make no object of money. Cheap paper is fine - cheap glue is untenable. 

3. Have fun with it! If you enjoy the process then you can't help but be satisfied with the result. 

They Create: The Playful Paper Cutouts of Jeremy Shatan is the second in an ongoing series about creative people across many disciplines.

Read They Create: The Lego Artistry of Don Rice.

Halloween Cat

Acrobat for Hannah's circus birthday party

Jeremy made me Mother's Day and birthday cards using his beloved X-ACTO knife & glue

Detail of oft-worn Team Jacob granny smith apple shirt

Team Jacob wore the waffle in 2014

Thanksgiving pie, 3rd birthday clown & Christmas candy cane

This pumpkin is faded from many years of Halloween window display

Chanukah gelt

They Create: The Lego Artistry of Don Rice

Don Rice is a good neighbor and friend. One evening, I asked him for a favor. We live in the same apartment building, so I went over to his place so that he could help me with something important.

When I arrived, I couldn’t help but notice that there was a large table full of exquisite creations made of Lego. Naturally, I asked Don all about it. Don and his family are industrious, creative people. You never know what you’re going to see over there.

There is an amazing historical gem in our neighborhood of Inwood called the Dyckman Farmhouse. Don is a passionate Inwood historian and has been working on building his own Dyckman Farmhouses out of Lego. He’s worked hard on this and has amassed an impressive collection.

Everywhere I looked there were Dyckman Farmhouses. Some were large and elaborate, some were smaller and pared down. I fell in love with Don’s Lego creations. That got my wheels turning.

Don let me come over to talk about his Lego artistry and allowed me to photograph his pieces. That interview turned into my first post for my new series They Create.

Don, Give us some background information about yourself and your career.

I was raised in Rochester NY. In high school I wanted to be a sax player. After college I eventually got a job playing on cruise ships. I also arranged music for entertainers and wrote my own stuff for the band. 

 After working on the ships for about three years I moved to NYC to see if a musical living could be made there as a player, arranger or copyist. It was the third option, a music notation guy, that the phone mostly rang for.

Music copyists deliver clear, quick and accurate notation of music for bands in live shows, jingles or recordings. This was the early 1990s and use of the fountain pen on Broadway was just beginning to be transformed by computers and laser printers. From the ships I already knew how to operate music notation software and had a sense for what a page of music should look like.

In 1992 I was hired to work in a Broadway show’s music department, and that show led to another, and another and another. And here it is more than 20 years later.

What got you started with Lego? Did you build with them as a child? Did your boys influence you?

My brothers and I played with Lego as kids from a young age almost every week after church. This was the late 60’s. We had a couple of drawers full of bricks, and we’d pull them out and dump them on the table.

There were fewer colors and kinds of bricks, so whatever we were building would evolve on the fly, depending on what parts were still in the bin. I don’t remember having any kits back then, just bricks in bulk, which sometimes came with a brochure with building ideas.

More recently, when my kids were young we’d build from kits; often Bionicle and Technic - other types of Lego building sets. I think I enjoyed those sets as much as my kids did. On one memorable trip to Toys r Us we found big containers of unsorted Bionicle parts on sale. Unbelievable! Our whole family spent the afternoon seeing what we could build from undocumented parts. 

Please talk a little about your process. It seems like a real engineering and architectural focus.

When I started thinking about making a Dyckman Farmhouse model from Lego bricks, I needed help, so went looking for drawings and photos of the house. As luck would have it the Library of Congress has measured set of drawings of the farmhouse from the 1930s online. Bingo!

By matching bricks physically to a printout of the drawings, I was able to complete a first model. There were several subsequent iterations as I tried to make the model smaller and use fewer bricks.

Since Lego bricks are a form of pixelation, as a builder I had to decide the smallest unit of detail I wanted to show accurately, and let that detail dictate the scale of the model. It could be the windows, the roof, a door or the porch railing.

I'm finding these very aesthetically appealing, humorous and engaging. Talk about the artistry.

I try not to think about artistry when building. It can be easy to overthink. I try to listen to nonverbal gut feelings, and let them part dictate what’s working well. By trying to tune in to a sub-verbal place, the element of playful appeal you mention has emerged. 

What prompted you to make monochromactic Lego creations? They're very powerful, both individually and as a group.

I think the monochromatic forms are fun and I think they do invite our subconscious into a dialogue about the meaning of the house, and feelings can bubble up.

Remember Peter Max in the late 60s? I do, vividly. I even ordered a Peter Max paperback from our school book club. I loved his bold sense of color and line. And his images could be playful too, mixed in with messages of flower-power 60’s idealism. So that’s an influence. 

You’re an Inwood Historian with a beautiful collection of maps, art and artifacts. You've used Lego to deeply explore your interest in the Dyckman Farmhouse. What was this like for you as an Inwood Historian?

Several of the monochromatic Lego models show the farmhouse being worked on by construction workers. And it just so happens that a century ago in 1915 the farmhouse was renovated and then given to the city. Being a history buff has helped me set down roots in this neighborhood, and it’s surely affecting how these models take shape.

Your work with Lego has expanded into philanthropy. Please talk more about that.

About a year ago the Dyckman Farmhouse Museum Alliance (a non-profit that supports the farmhouse) asked if I’d like to become a trustee. So I’m involved there as a member of the board. Fundraising and friend-raising are two things we do to help keep Dyckman in the community mix.

The farmhouse is the oldest building in Inwood and as such it has ongoing preservation and maintenance needs. But more importantly it has been a witness to the passage of time up here. The stories it can tell us make it a vital force in the neighborhood. If a Lego idea (model kit, calendar or whatever it might be) can help connect the farmhouse’s force to the community it becomes exciting. We’re there to serve. 

Talk about your mission with providing enrichment for kids

After finishing the large farmhouse model, I thought it would be fun to make a smaller version, one that kids might like to build. Trying to get a model down to 100 bricks or less was the challenge, as was keeping it easy to build, recognizable and (importantly), affordable.

It’s still a work in process, making instructions, trying out packaging, locating inexpensive pieces and shops that might be willing to stock a locally made kit. Hopefully it will be something that kids can build while they think about our neighborhood history, and at the same time (hopefully) generate an ongoing trickle of income for the farmhouse.

You spoke beautifully about how you make time for your art. Could you elaborate? People are always talking about not having time to pursue their interests. How do you do it?

I’ve found it’s possible to be creative and productive even with small chunks of time. On school mornings after the kids leave for school and before I get ready for work, there’s a short window of time, about fifteen or twenty minutes - just enough to try a building idea or start a new model. I may muse about a project while riding the subway or at lunch and the next morning try it out.

Do you have any plans for future Lego projects?

Would it be fun to build the old arch on Broadway and 216th? You bet. Henry Hudson Bridge? 215th Street IRT station? Cloisters? Oh yes. 

They Create: The Lego Artistry of Don Rice is the first in an ongoing series about creative people across many disciplines.

This is where the magic happens.

A small sample of Don's beautifully curated collection of Inwood artifacts.