A work of heart

Imagine springtime in Boston, MA during the mid 1990’s, pre-Tinder, when most people didn’t have cell phones, let alone pastel colored mechanized cutting machines that could quickcut identical shapes like home robots from the Jetsons. I’m applying kohl eyeliner to Gwen Stefani’s “Just a Girl” playing loudly, as I think about which sundress to slip on for my afternoon date. I grab a cardigan as I leave to meet my new lover in front of an independent art supply store in bustling Central Square. We’ve only been dating for a short while, but I already want to show him the innermost part of myself — the creative, vulnerable artist who revels in paper and textile arts.

It’s three o’clock and I see him already waiting by the papier-mâché window displays. I wave hello and I ask if he’ll follow me into the store to check out the notebook section. We wander the long aisles, perusing the shiny tools for yet to be realized imaginative ideas. We flirt back and forth surrounded by gold leaf, chiyogami, and glitter. Too early for dinner, I invite him back to my studio.

After a quick ride on the subway we hold hands as we walk to my apartment in Beacon Hill. I nervously open the door and put my crinkled paper bag of new stationery on a side table, and show him where I’m working on a few sewing projects. Now alone in the small quiet room, surrounded by a collection of bright dupioni silks, neutral linens, and ribbons he looks around and we are both suddenly shy. He remarks about how he can see parts of my personality in my materials and tools. Looking around the oversized work desk with scattered sequins and gleaming pearls, he reaches towards the jars of scissors, rulers, and pigments. Pointing to a pair of orange handled scissors he leans towards me and asks, “Are these for cutting paper or fabric?” I smile and immediately know he is going to stay awhile.

Is that the passion you want to read about? Cue fuzzy obscuring of Harlequin Romance novel imagery, and violin music fade out… While that is based on a true story, let me divert you to the current day. Yes, I still have the aforementioned scissors. Over 2 decades later, those scissors, and many other various sized orange handled blades, are still in my collection for a creative life. My inspiration pushes me to often “make it work” like a contestant on Project Runway (if only Tim Gunn would come by my scrap strewn work area to chat!), or grab my travel art kit (that is never complete without my mini Fiskars labeled in Sharpie with a tiny “k”) to embroider in the car as my lover-now-husband drives me to deliver samples a few cities away. I still have an unsure, overthinking voice that gives me pause, and I sometimes must nudge myself to accept my creativity as a necessary and fundamental part of self expression, and a way to share my heart’s joy with others. I will concede that having an arsenal of excellent art supplies and tools is important to me, and provides a solid starting point for each inspiration to become something more.

My current colorful adventure is making a collection of good intention art dolls, aka. Joujou Poupée: French for toy, doll; referring to West African and Korean “juju” as a mystical charm. Each one is made with magic, love, and joy. I had this idea in my soul for years before I felt ready to be a doula for my own artist self, and let my inner muse bring such a personal concept into the plane of reality. It started with intuition, synchronicity, and an original block print. Each design is hand printed onto vintage cotton, and the body is cut from iridescent shantung silk. The fabrics are machine sewn together, and then finally hand embellished with shiny little baubles from my curated collection of spangles and beads. I might add a bit of organza or satin around the neckline. With a snip I trim the bow, and I let them go into the world via the rock paper scissors collective and my little Etsy shop.

Each one is a true bespoken token, a one-of-a-kind piece cut and sewn with passion (because let’s face it, making accessible handmade art is not always a money maker). Each doll has a front pocket to hold small pieces of fortune cookie like bits of paper or personal trinkets. I cut gilded joss paper, traditionally used to honor ancestors, and origami paper to fit and accompany each doll. I envision that each will be placed in a special spot — at one’s bedside, on an altar or mantle, or on a special shelf for pretty collections — to keep dreams and wishes in her pocket. I like to think that each doll can be a totem for others to be inspired and manifest their own intentions into their lives.

As for my lover and my devotion to artmaking, we have made a sunny home together, and he’s completely ok with my studio supplies spilling out into the rest of the house. Our young daughter even knows to ask that important, considerate question about “paper or fabric?” and I look forward to what she’ll create.