Little Journal

I love this little book my friend Kelly Kilmer gave me.  It feels good to hold it in my hand and to think of her painting and collaging the pages. 

Kelly teaches inspiring and just plain fun classes all over the country.  If you get a chance give yourself a treat and attend one of them.  You will be addicted like I am.

Here are a few of the pages from the book

I added a 'veil' to her.

I finished the book in a short two weeks.  I want to make another little book soon.  It is nice to have a finishable journal.  Even though I write in my journal every day they take months and months to finish,  especially the large ones.  I like that too but I'm in the mood for a palm-sized journal for now.  

Do you have a preference in journal size?  

Do you work in more than one journal at a time?

Do you have a regular time or place where you journal.

  

xxo

Sights from Journalfest

Fort Warden, home for four days.  I am still flying high from my time at Journalfest.  Now that Journalfest 2012 has been canceled I am even more glad that I made that last minute decision to attend this year.  I wanted to show you some of the sights.

A spectacular tree on the grounds

Lisa Englebrecht's work

Family of Surrealist band members

Textures

Textures

Textures for future backgrounds in journals or paintings

I took this while talking on the phone to a friend whose mother just passed away.  I did not see it until I returned home.  Gave me chills.

Seaweed  spotted on the sand.

I would love to hear where you find inspiration.  Thanks for stopping by today. 

xxo

What is Journalfest Anyway?

Many of my friends get a blank look on their faces when I tell them I am going to Journalfest.  They picture a room of four people in their own worlds writing in their journals.  Why would a sane person who lives in sunny California and who journals daily in the comfort of her neighborhood coffee shop fly to dreary Seattle, drive another two hours to Port Townsend and spend four nights in a dorm at Fort Worden, an old military base?

My answer:  to join 140 others who are passionate about journaling, learning new creative techniques from painting, collage, drawing, stenciling, lettering to using different mediums (all of which can be translated to canvas or other types of art).  The visual stimulation of seeing other people's work,  camaraderie,  sharing of favorite tools and supplies and how to use them, learning from generous teachers, and to meet up with friends met at the last fest are but a few of the reasons I returned for the second year.

I have wanted to learn how to make my own stencils and jumped at the opportunity to take Roxanne Padgett's class.  Here is a sampling of Roxanne's array of stenciled and stamped fabric.  

One of  the fabrics I painted.

Book I made from my stenciled and painted fabric.

I met Juliana Coles last year.  I found her Extreme Journaling Process evocative and stimulating so I attended workshop at her home in Albequerque.  I just couldn't stay away this year.  Here is a page from her workshop.

The third workshop I took with Lisa Englebrecht.  Although I have her lettering book, Modern Mark Making my marks have not improved much so I couldn't wait to take her workshop.

In the end, it is about being with a wonderful and exciting group of like minded people and having fun.

Photo taken by Cynthia Fawcett of Carrie and  me

Kim and Carrie

 Teesha, the ultimate organizer and hostess

Cynthia, Laurie

Tracy, the other half of the organizing team and Lisa

Jenny

Heidi, one of my housemates last year

Brian with his new ledger

Steve from strangejournals.com

Until next year.   

It was a dream.

Thank you Tracy and Teesha for creating a haven and community of journalers.

To Journalfest

A brand new journal cover made for Journalfest

and supplies packed in a heavy suitcase bound for Port Townsend.  I am excited about my three classes and to see old friends and make new ones.

Remembering a Family Legacy

Whenever my family gathered together, all of my cousins gathered around Grandpa Iwataki as he told us stories of his samurai father and our heritage.  We would settle in around him in rapt attention after a day of running in his back yard.  He sat below the photograph of is father so from our vantage points as little ones, we would look up and see them both at the same time.  In his broken English we would  hear that family is the most important thing, that  his  samurai father was the leader of our clan.  I carry these stories in my heart. I pass them on to my son to remember always and remind him to think of the strength of his samurai great great grandfather whenever he has a difficult time.  I have visited my family gravesite nestled in a bamboo grove above a 400 year old Buddhist temple in Sakura, Japan.  The mother of the monk lit incense in a metal lantern and carried it as I followed her to the site.  If I close my eyes I can still inhale the smells, hear the rustling leaves, and feel the carved cold concrete gravestones.  Here is my grandfather on the left, his father and older brother.

Grandpa Iwataki immigrated to 'Amerika' in the early 1900's in search for a new life.  The feudal system in Japan had disbanded, the nobel samurai class no longer a viable lifestyle.  Later Grandma came in an arranged marriage.  She, an educated young woman, unusual for her time, came in hopes of the freedom she read was available to women here.  They pose in front of their house, the home my fondest childhood memories.

Thank you to all who have come here through the sweet Rebecca.  I have been out of town and not able to visit and comment on your blogs but will be catching up with you this week.

Remembering Mom

She met the love of her life at Santa Anita Racetrack.  It was 1942.  After the bombing at Pearl Harbor the Japanese people living on the West Coast were ordered to pack one suitcase and report to an assigned Assembly Center.  The racetrack was one of the centers.  Each family lived in a newly whitewashed horse stall.  She met him there.  Both were barely 20 years old.  He was nicknamed 'Hollywood' for his good looks, she, the youngest of four, longing for her own identity.  Later each were moved with their families  to Arkansas but at different Internment camps.  They corresponded over the next four years and married at the end of World War II in Chicago after they were released from the camps.  I admire Mom's fortitude, her gentle and kind nature, her ability to remain sweet and loving through hardships.  I remember waking up early as a child to sit with Mom as she got ready for work.  I sat in the steamy bathroom after her shower and watch her powder her face in a comfortable  silence.  To this day I am an early riser, long before the sun is up.  

A Simple Warm Up Offers Deeper Answers

I get endless pleasure from creating quick journal pages with magazine images,

transfers,

layers,

whimsey,

words,

photos.  

Also in the process when words are added to seemingly random images torn from a magazine,  

answers come  to questions I did not know I had 

or 

I develop a personal code of communication with my inner self 

or 

a message emerges that makes me think more deeply about life 

or  

I work out a difficult issue

or

I just have fun.

Magic happens in the simple act of ripping and gluing.

Do you find this to be true?