Hello all, and happy May!
I've been DEEP in the process of creating final art for a book this past month and have zero brain space for any other illustration stuff. Since I can't talk about the book yet and haven’t had time for personal creative experiments, I thought I would instead give you a little peak into my wonderfully weird childhood, via some objects my mama handed off to me over the Christmas holidays. By the way, thank you to all the parents out there who hold onto our childhood stuff while it just sits there, taking up space! There's nothing quite like reading your own diary from 6th grade or leafing through a photo album of class trips over the years. Anyway. she brought me a whole box, but I just selected a few items that still bring me particular joy, and I think say something about who I am as a person today.
A quick note that this post is cross-posted on my patreon as well! So if you’ve already read that one, you haven’t missed anything!
Let's dive in, shall we?
First off, a bear that I knitted myself, I would say... second grade or so? His little tshirt and hat come off as well :)
My love of making things by hand started very early on. As soon as I could hold knitting needles I wanted to learn (my mom is an EXCELLENT knitter and sewer. She even worked for a dressmaker at one point).
Next up, a classic: the box set of the Little House books, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. If you aren't familiar, this series follows a family in the 1870s-1890s United States, who head west in a covered wagon. They were published in the 1930s and 40s and are an incredibly popular account of the pioneer life at that time. These were well-loved and read over and over in our household, usually out loud. My sisters and I used to pretend we were the Ingalls daughters and built our "log cabin" out of couch pillows.
It's been many years since I've read one of these books, but I'm certain they give a very narrow perspective on the US at that time, as they are a first-hand account by a white woman and her family. So, as much as I have warm memories of these stories, they also represent the limitations of what I was taught about Native American history as a kid.
Before we get too much further, I should probably mention that I went to Waldorf School from preschool through 12th grade, which involved a lot of creativity, making stuff by hand, and learning outside in nature. I absolutely loved it. As a kid, I also understood vaguely that Waldorf School was viewed as weird and cult-y by outsiders. As an adult, I can say it is totally weird and cult-y and I still love it and fully embrace my Waldorfian qualities. It absolutely made me who I am today. Here are some things I made in school throughout the years.
Yep, another bear. I love his little mouth. I think this was for a doll-making class, probably in high school?
A wooden spoon! This is a classic Waldorf woodworking project, I think we made these in 7th or 8th grade, using hand-carving tools.
A hand-drawn textbook for a class called Sacred Geometry in 10th grade. I'm not exaggerating when I say that this class truly changed my life. There is no better way to teach math to a visual-learner like me that to draw it out. To be fair, I think it may have been a struggle for other students who had less interest in perfecting a hand-drawn isosceles triangle or using a compass.
This was also the class where I first learned about the Italian mathematician Fibonacci and the way he saw math in nature. This was very inspiring to me.
Part of why I loved this class so much was the teacher, George Herschkowitz, whom we all just called George. He was a little gruff but had a great laugh and a good heart. Sadly, George passed away from cancer in 2021. Here is his note and grade on my book, which I think shows a little bit of his dry humor (I think he begrudgingly gave me an A even though he wasn't sure my math was correct):
Another very precious object from my childhood was this Root Children flower press. I've always found pressing flowers to be incredibly satisfying. I admit I opened it up just to check that there weren't any remaining flowers from 15+ years ago (sadly there were not). The illustration on the front is by Sibylle von Olfers, whose work has deeply influenced my own art.
Lastly, I found this book that I was obsessed with when I was about 8 or 9. Letters from Felix by Annette Langen and Constanza Droop is the story of a stuffed rabbit toy who goes off on his own adventure, and writes letters home to a child who is missing him. The format is especially fun, because you can actually pull letters out of the envelopes and read them.
Perhaps this was also an influence on my love of maps in books. Also, thanks Grandma and Grandpa for this one.
And that's it! I hope this was a tiny bit interesting to read! After going through this process, I really encourage everyone to get in touch with your childhood self through objects (if you have the opportunity to do so in a safe and healthy way). I find that many of the things I hold dear and strive for now in my adult life, have seeds in my childhood, and for me, that directly translates to helping me make the kind of work I want to make. Yes, it can sometimes be painful or sad to look back at the past, there is always a nostalgic mourning the person I used to be... but looking through this stuff also gave me a sense of deep reassurance that there is an unbroken thread, that I have always been ME, and will continue to be that person at my core. I’m trying to understand her a little more each day.