Tuesday, November 8, 2011

•teeny tiny art•

The one that got away. "Mustard Sally" didn't make it to the teeny-tiny-art exchange on Sunday, on account of some frothy growing glue that got out of hand. But it's nice to have her here, at home. (Note to self: don't test a new glue on an otherwise done project.)

Back in the summer, my friend Julie hatched a plan to get all of her friends to make more art. Inspired by Art-o-Mat, she decided to host a "tiny art" exchange in November, amid cocktails and appetizers and friendship. The art would be palm-ishly sized, and everyone would get to ooh, aah, and bring home treasure at the end of the night. Well, that night was Sunday the 6th. And oh, was there treasure! Gobs upon cookie-swap-gobs of it. Beautiful stuff, all. Fortunately, I only needed to pull one all-nighter to get my tiny pieces ready for the final reveal, because.... everyone in my family, as it turns out, is completely absorbed by art! Penn spent the weekend writing and drawing and stapling and taping, Troy made origami caterpillars out of old maps, and I pasted and cut and pasted and cut. It's not exactly news. We've arted in our house before. Supplies live on the windowsill. Houses and carports and Boba Fetts and snowmen are drawn and finessed and decorated and recreated on a daily basis. But this weekend was different. We couldn't stop making art.

It was fabulous.

It might just be the new house order.

The icing on the teeny, tiny cake: my brother Art was among the participants. Undaunted by the country between us, he sent his box of teeny-tinies in the mail. And I sent his swapped collection back to New York yesterday. Very much looking forward to Skype-ing when he opens it! We would have Skyped on Sunday, but oh, the wicked EST to PST time change. It works much better in the reverse.

More art that came out of the teeny-tiny-splosion:

Penn named this "air heart." It makes a little puff on your cheek, if you squeeze the poof.

An homage to... well, I suppose it doesn't even matter.

Now, for the clean up. I'm not daunted by the task, but I don't exactly want to put the supplies away... xox


  1. I absolutely love that all of you got in on the teeny-tiny art action. (I also think Mustard Sally is hilarious.) xoxo

  2. You know, Lis, I don't know you, but I like you. And I would like to know more about "growing glue," which is probably much less wonderful in reality than it is in my imagination (where it is a glue that you cooked up yourself, kind of like kombucha, but because it's a new recipe, you didn't take into consideration that it would continue to grow on the car, especially when it interacted with the white thing, which looks a lot like a sliver of soap).

  3. Ah, Jan, you may not "know" Lis, but that kombucha comment alone demonstrates a fine understanding of her inner workings.

    (Also, the two of you would ADORE each other. *ADORE*.)

    (Also, it's not beyond the realm of possibility that you have just put the idea of making her own glue into Lis's head.)

  4. Oh, the ideas that are planting and rooting and growing! Not unlike a scoby, in fact. :) Hi, Jan. I don't know you, but I like you, too.

    The idea of making glue terrifies me, about as much as my boss did yesterday when I asked if I could help her out of "the weeds," as she put it. "Would you teach my class?" Gulp. What she meant was, would I teach eight three-and-four year olds how to make yeast rolls? I'm not much of a baker. I don't like sticky things and messes. (I prefer the kind of glue that hardens in seconds, skin of my fingertips be damned.)

    I said no. I would not teach that class. It broke me a little, to admit how utterly scary was the prospect of wading into that audience of knee-high grasshoppers. But honestly? I was not the right woman for the job. (Those toddlers ADORE my boss, and I'm fairly certain she is the reason their parents bring them back again and again.)

    So-- no I will not be making glue. Or yeast rolls for Thanksgiving (tempted though I am to barrel headfirst into that kind of trainwreck). But I hope I'm making a new friend, here.

    (Janet, the white thing that looks *exactly* like a sliver of soap is, in fact, a seashell.)


  5. Seashell. Much, much better as a building material than a sliver of soap.

    I would not have taught that class of pre-schoolers, either. And not because I don't like sticky things and messes, because I'm afraid that the material evidence shows that I really just love sticky things and messes. And pre-schoolers. But because, as I have been gently told, I am crap at disciplining little kids, and it would have been a zoo within seconds.

    I like quick-drying glue myself. I'm not quite sure why I'd need to make my own glue but found myself wondering what the ingredients would be, and whether rendering of horses would be necessary. But I've recently had the revelation that the fact that I CAN make something does not mean that I SHOULD make it. It's changing my life.

    Lis, I adore Amy. So yeah, I suspect we'd get along famously. Maybe you guys need a road trip to Oakland this spring when we're in town for Passover. . .


  6. Oh, man. I adore you both. And when Lis and I DO road trip to Oakland this spring (because we will, oh yes, we most certainly will!), we will explain the concept of "hand-hewn pistachio butter" as it relates to the general idea of needing to make everything yourself. From scratch. And organic, fairly traded rainbows and unicorns.

    Though I think it likely that I've just given all the explanation anyone out there needs. (Although it should be noted that "hand-hewn pistachio butter" must be said in the most precious, twee, high-pitched voice possible.)

  7. I should maybe also note that "hand-hewn pistachio butter" is Lis's and my joke to shake ourselves out of our own rather INTENSE desire to make everything ourselves out of organic, fairly traded rainbows and unicorns.

  8. Oh, my dear, I get it. Recall that I DO know you!