More on the Bed

Lest I get more credit than I should, I wanted to mention that I looked at several books on miniatures before constructing the bed. For the frame, I wound up largely using a design from Jane Harrop's Thirties and Forties Miniatures in 1:12 Scale. More or less, I divided hers in half lengthwise. I also fiddled some details to allow for the fact that I was using paper-covered book board, rather than stained Obechi wood in various thicknesses as she had, but I was quite pleased with the direction her examples took me in. This is an illustration from her book:

I also wanted to share this interesting book design I found recently. It is shaped like a dolls' house, and opens in the front like one. Possibilities there...

Bed Book Project

I've had an idea for a sculptural book running through my head. "Be careful what you take to bed with you" will be the only text it will contain.

I've also been looking at books about miniatures and dolls' houses. So I built a miniature bed. Or rather, half a bed. It's going to sit on the open book, looking as if it were sticking out of it. Or at least that's the idea.

Here's the bed frame, which is made from book board, paste and Washi:

Here's the bed after a mattress, pillow and blanket molded from Washi, foam, quilt batting, thread and paste was added. It has a stiff, papier maché-like texture:

The book block has been sewn and is waiting to be cased in. The plan is to make a little paper sculpture monster or swimming sharks or something to put under the bed. I might also add walls or flooring from folded pieces of paper. I am allowing it to develop and let it suggest things to me.

My Fantastical Imagination

Purposeful studio chaos.

I threatened to someone that I would post a picture of my work table. Now I'm getting around to it.

Along with it, some background. It's been an interesting time. I have a show coming up next year, and need to be productive in the studio. I also have been dealing with health matters that make that difficult. I used to spend a lot of time cutting paper and creating intricate collages. Over the last decade or so, it became impossible to continue doing that.

Getting a diagnosis has been a long struggle. One neurologist years ago told me that my problem was that I was an artist. He informed me that the same "fantastical imagination" that allowed me to create my artwork would lead me to have "a fantastical interpretation of my bodily sensations." This neurologist also, by way of emphasizing how funny and crazy we artistic types are, told me that one of his patients was the musician and painter Don Van Vliet, popularly known as Captain Beefheart, who, incidentally, lived in my small town and died just a few days ago at the local hospital. To emphasize his point, the neurologist, while laughing, impersonated Captain Beefheart's distinctive Multiple Sclerosis-related movement difficulties with what I'm sure he thought was a comic flourish. I didn't know Don, but had heard that he had a reputation for fiercely defending his privacy. We wild and funny artistic types.

I was also told that I'd caused my painful problems myself through my artwork (too much fine hand motion, even though I had other symptoms that clearly had nothing to do with my arm pain). I am now careful to avoid mentioning art to medical people, lest it bias my care.

I could spend several web pages detailing cruelties from doctors and others. A friend once laughed at me and made it clear she thought I was a contemptible hypochondriac. Others haven't said it to my face, but I suspect they've thought it.

This past week has been bittersweet. I finally found a decent specialist out of town. I now have a name to put to this (it's basically M.S.). It's degenerative, but the decline won't be all that quick. But I can shelve any fantasies I might've still been harboring that things will get better.

I recently started a new medication that has helped with some of the more distressingly mind-numbing symptoms. A few days after starting it, I had a sudden urge to pull out some of my old collage things, including a little 4 x 6" picture I hadn't worked on in almost 6 years. The picture above is my chaotic worktable when I had it out. It was wonderful to be immersed in my old work again. My recent trip put a damper on my stamina, but I'm hoping to get back to it. I've also been working on some book-related projects (pictures to come).

I'm always torn over how much I should post about medical things. There is a sense that one should maintain one's privacy, and other people's medical problems are boring. On the other hand, I don't like that vague feeling of stigma. Being ill or having a disease isn't a source of shame. I've also long been using my experiences with the medical establishment as creative fodder. I can't pretend this aspect of my life doesn't exist.

Product of creative fodder?

(As I wrote out those last few lines there was a sudden massive flash of lightning and a thunderclap outside the window. A sign?)

Time Flies

My last film camera. It's the one I was using in 1997.

I cannot believe it is 10 days into December. How did that happen?

Somewhat fitting the theme, the other day I was browsing through a book called Photomontage: A Step-by-Step Guide to Building Pictures. It came out in 1997.

"In the future," it tells us, "people will make their family snapshots with digital cameras. At this time, the best digital cameras are very expensive (in Chapter 10 the illustrations for steps 8 and 9 were done with a $30,000 camera . . . )."

I was sitting in a coffee shop and nearly choked on my brew. Intellectually, I know I didn't even have a computer in 1997. But it's still amazing to contemplate that 13 years ago (ok, almost 14) today's technology was as futuristic as something out of a sci-fi movie. I can only imagine what features that $30,000 camera had (or rather, didn't have). I hear there was a Canon then that could boast an awesome 6 MP, but 1.5 was more the average).