The Opening Exhibition of Camp Stories, Illustrated

It is a good thing this campfire wasn't any hotter, or it would melt the Letterology masthead above, making a sticky mess. As it was, the Camp Stories, Illustrated exhibit of my mother's and my own artwork, received a very warm and enthusiastic reception this past weekend at the opening, and I'm proud to say we may have set a world record for building the first publicly sanctioned bonfire and marshmallow roast in a university library. No books were burned in the process, I promise. 

I have to admit; setting up camp in any library is no easy task, but librarians are the best scouts you can imagine. Anything in need, they found it for me. I really want to thank Jane Carlin and her staff at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma for all of their accommodations while building the Camp Stories exhibit. The centerpiece of the exhibition was my campfire with roasting paper marshmallows, but more on that later.   



As I have described elsewhere in weeks past, this exhibit began with the stories of my mothers' childhood adventures spent living on Puget Sound, during the Hard Times of the Depression. Each Summer, the family of seven lived in a small, one-room beach house fondly referred to as "Camp". This was a time of neighbors-helping-neighbors and children who were free to run barefoot all Summer long. 

The image for the exhibition's poster originated from her joyful 11x14" illustration Swimming in the Rain as you can see above. Stepping back further, you can see my grandmother standing on the porch watching four of her young children playing in the water. This portrait sets the stage for over 30 more of her wide-eyed childhood drawings, each illustrated in 1983, at age 54. Her collective memories were all recorded in a journal which I discovered only after her death last January. All of her stories and drawings were produced within just one month, at the same time she was struggling with the increasing loss of her mobility after being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The drawings were produced with no motive of financial gain nor recognition, but only for her own personal growth. In the purest sense, this was art for art's sake. 

The rustic Camp house often overflowed with company every Sunday—sharing in a meal on the long front porch—as seen in another of her charcoal drawings below. My mother was the devil child in the middle who is being chastised by her father for clowning around during prayers. My grandmother, Mert is seen working away at the wood stove with dog, Spunky waiting for handouts.  

Most every image had a story accompanying it. For additional context, I sprinkled in a number of copied pages of her journal and early photographs from family members and various historical archives.

In this scene, my mother put herself in the image twice—in the foreground drawing, and on the bench looking out to the water. She also cut the roof open as an xray, to view the scene from above.  

Having Fun With This 

April 8, 1983

I want to do a night scene with the full moon coming over the bay—I want to draw us eating breakfast on the porch in the morning sun; the beds on the porch; the pillow fights we all had; the wood block and chopping wood. 

     I want to show the fear of the snakes coming up the path and how we'd throw rocks and wood sticks to chase them away. I want to draw a big bonfire and how we all sat around and roasted marshmallows and sang. I want to have us in a scene walking through Newell's property, Mrs. Garness and the cow, the milk house, the pasture and the barn I want to draw us on the bridge and dock waiting for the boat—the "Elsie C". 

     I want to show us going to first dock, the huge rocks we'd climb up on top of and the clay cliffs I want to draw the fire at 3rd dock and the ruins, the blackberry picking, Mert cooking in the kitchen. I want to draw rafts, the ocean liners coming from the Narrows, and the huge waves. 

     I want to draw the back of the Camp from looking down from up on the hillside. This is so exiting that I love it. 

     My childhood was active—I ran my legs off so it's no wonder I can't walk now. I never walked but ran full speed. I see now the body wears out from childhood and I need rest now I can write and reminisce forever but visual imagery is where it's at. 

     I can draw the boogeyman—the bears, the skunks, feeding the seagulls—we had wood to burn from the beach we had kerosene for light, a roof over our heads and a warm wood stove to heat on cold days. We had fresh water from the hillside spring, clams from the beach and fish from the sea. We had it all and life was rich even though we were poor. We never knew it.

My mother was essentially a self-trained artist who made her own rules of perspective, composition, style and technique, and her narrative line drawings reflect some of the raw, spontaneous folk artwork of outsider artists. Combined with the many stories accompanying them, I was delighted to see they brought enthusiastic responses and smiles to many at the opening reception this past weekend. For myself, it was an incredible journey I was able to make with my mother back to her family home in the 1930s, when she could still run free. I can't imagine a better collaboration. 

    The exhibition will continue through January 14th at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma, WA. Check website for the Library hours. Stay tuned for tomorrow when I will feature some of my own artworks from this exhibition.

Blackletter in Fall Colors

Letterology is on Fall break again this week as I am preparing for the opening of the Camp Stories, Illustrated exhibit at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma, this coming Saturday. Instead, I bring you re-runs of some of my favorites from the Letterology attic. Thanks for your patience!

I'm so behind the times, this post is now two years old. It could have been last week, as it is still just as relevant. This cover was originally published for the Fall 2011 issue of T Magazine, a supplement of the Sunday New York Times. Los Angeles landscape designer, Judy Kameon and photographer Erik Otsea created this living Autumnal blackletter T, and I couldn't help but notice how much it resembles an elder gothic cousin; the rustic old growth T below. I've included a family snapshot of other extended members of this woodsy gothic alphabet whose roots go way, way back. ;^)

:: Rustic Old Growth Gothic Alphabet via the Letterology Archives.

Aeroflot Takes Flight

Letterology is on Fall break again this week as I am preparing for the opening of the Camp Stories, Illustrated exhibit at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma, this coming Saturday. Instead, I bring you re-runs of some of my favorites from the Letterology attic. This one includes one bonus feature.

This handsome set of five Aeroflot Airlines tourist brochures are great examples of 1960s modernist design and typography. Their bold, colorful designs, and simplistic illustrations suggest they could have easily been designed by the American designer, Alexander Girard, who did extensive work for Braniff Airlines in the mid-sixties. Unlikely however, given the political climate of that era. Even so, some of these Aeroflot brochures are written in Russian and English and aimed at the American traveler. Others mark the arrival of modern jet aircraft to the Soviet airline's fleet. During the 1960s, Aeroflot set out to expand their fleet and greatly increase service, at a time which coincided with the international space race. In the span of one decade they covered more than 3500 destinations within the Soviet Union. Surely this beautiful marketing campaign promoting modernized aircraft and the romance of airline travel, must have contributed to their expansion in the 1960s.

This last brochure just above, is a little out of character from the rest, but lovely in it's own right. Lastly, here is one additional brochure with a curious question mark, which was not included in my first Aeroflot post. This is currently available on eBay here, where all of the Aeroflot brochures were originally sourced.

No Match for Reading Books

Letterology is on Fall break again this week as I am preparing for the opening of the Camp Stories, Illustrated exhibit at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma, this coming Saturday. Instead, I bring you re-runs of some of my favorites from the Letterology attic. Thanks for your patience!

Source: Inferno 55s Flickerstream

Proof positive from Department B: People still read books of all kinds.

Birds and Words, Redux

Letterology is on Fall break again this week as I am preparing for the opening of the Camp Stories, Illustrated exhibit at the University of Puget Sound Collins Library in Tacoma, this coming Saturday. Instead, I bring you re-runs of some of my favorites from the Letterology attic. Thanks for your patience!

In my mind, this set of 1959 Czechoslovakian postage stamps are some of the most beautiful I have seen. They are designed by painter, illustrator, lettering artist, teacher and stage designer Karel Svolinsky (1896-1986) and engraved by Jirka Ladislav. The illustrations of the birds with the lovely script lettering, and the high quality multi-color engravings, set these Czech stamps apart as works of art. More of Svolinsky's postage stamp artwork can be seen in two of my earlier posts here and here, and in this handsome set of original lithographed Winter solstice postcards from 1948 from the Letterology Archives.

A Benevolent Skull

The annual Mexican fiesta Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, has crossed many borders over the years, and rightly so. To celebrate the memory of those we have loved and lost is a reunion of benevolent souls and keeps them with us for a time. Beginning the first day of November, this welcomed holiday tradition has come to be symbolized by skeletons and skulls (known as calaveras), which we owe to one of Mexico's finest artist and printmakers, José Guadalupe Posada (1852-1913), who died 100 years ago. Posada is best known for his satirical wood engravings of dancing skeletons in colorful costume. (Find more Letterology postings on Posada here and here.) Surely he has many dancing on his own grave today.

The Day of the Dead lives on

Posada would probably be quite proud to see the many modern day adaptations of his calveras. Being a letterpress printer, I'm certain he would particularly favor this typographical skull, which was born of a collaboration of three skilled printers, Jamie Murphy, Justin Knopp, and Robert Pratley. The two-color Dia de los Muertos broadside was printed at Knopp's Typoretum Press in North Essex, England. It is built of two distinct layers—one of metal type and ornaments, and the other of wood ornaments, which fittingly glows in the dark. The wood layer was inspired by Aztec motifs, while the metal ornament design was influenced by the contemporary decorations of the Dia de los Muertos' masks. (And a wonderful likeness of someone I once knew ;)   

Jamie Murphy of The Salvage Press in Dublin tells me that the wood layer was hand-inked and printed on an 1851 Albion press. For the glow-in-the-dark ink, he hand-mixed phosphorescent powder with a matt varnish in various measures until arriving at the perfect printable consistency. Constructing the metal layer with the many small ornaments presented the biggest challenge, Murphy claims—though it appears to be an impressive lock-up in the image below. It was printed on a 1960s Farley proof press with a split fountain process combining two hand-mixed fluorescent inks.  

The broadside was printed on a 250gsm (110 lb.) Somerset Velvet 100% cotton paper in an edition of 100, and measures 297 x 420 (approximately 12 x 17"). Signed and numbered copies of this adorable benevolent skull can be ordered directly from either The Salvage Press or Typoretum. 

Ghost Writing

When I was ten years old in Mrs. Rogers 4th grade class, I was a member of the Scholastic Book Club. Illustrated catalogs would occasionally arrive from the book company featuring cheap paperback books on science, space exploration, adventure, elephant jokes, and sappy teen novels. Most of the covers were pretty goofy, however some were exceptionally nice with illustrated mid-century patterns. Surely it was a great source of income for many accomplished illustrators at that time. I'm not sure exactly why I was particularly attracted to this Spooky Magic book, but I suspect it was the wacky type with the googlie eyeballs on the cover. A real deal at 45 cents!

Source of 1963 Scholastic Books order form and lots more: Tattered and Lost Ephemera.

Inside there were lots of amusing science and magic experiments, but none delighted me more than the chapter on ghost writing. It was a magic trick for secret lettering and could easily be performed at home with a fresh lemon, a paintbrush, paper, a candle, and matches. Was Scholastic Books encouraging child endangerment or was it spooky science? You decide! 

Being a bit of an arty nerd, I decided to make a haunted Halloween house, just so I could show all my friends this really neato trick I could do with spooky ghost lettering. I set up a table and chairs in a small hall closet where I could close the door and burn a candle in the dark (kids, don't do this at home), to expose the ghost lettering for a line of bemused and probably confused friends.  

Despite my lack of parental supervision, I didn't burn down the house. I guess it was a mild success. I must have earned my arty nerd badge for life, as I still enjoy this ploy. I hadn't thought about ghost lettering in years, but had a momentary flashback when I saw the Spooky Magic book here, where you can learn many more spooky magic tricks.

I had to try this trick once again at home. It's science-errific! For more Scholastic Books' flashbacks check out this fun Flickr set.

Arty Nerd Badge. Get yours here!