Get a copy of "Wreck this Journal", by Keri Smith. Then go ahead and wreck it!

and doing the “wrecking” put me in the mood do draw for awhile. Also got some of the lacey japanese papers together to mail to Sakiko – a family friend in Sacramento. I made a fancy label for the paper package which I enjoyed.

one page instructs “color completely”. I used nail polish for a wacky material; the fumes got intense and I stopped after the page was 50% covered. Set the book down for a sec to grab some colored pens and made an inadvertant “monoprint”—which turned out to be an instruction later in the book! Doing these short “wreckings” has been really rewarding! I’ve been doing more random drawing, doodling, pasting, jotting-down-ideas etc. I got motivated to start another velvet burnout scarf – but it felt fun to work on instead of, um? intimidating?

this has been very fun! Tearing, smearing, crumpling, folding, cracking the book spine, writing on the outside – all kinds of unexpected, unusual ideas for just doing stuff! Funny how an idea of what it means to make art gets established; must be pretty/pleasing to look at, must be meaningful, should be done with ‘art supplies’ paint, pastels etc. but those are just made-up requirements. Doing these wrecking activities kinda breaks me out of a rut.

“Wreck This Journal” arrived yesterday. Wrecked a couple pages last night and two more this morning. Interesting to note what comes up for me about capital-A Art; being easily intimidated by the blank page, wanting results to be perfect, wanting the circumstances to be perfect (cup of tea, world music, uninterrupted) blah blah blah. But guess what? The Art police are in my head; nobody comes to the door after I’ve wrecked a page! Who is the Art Critic in my head?

and though I’m fearful (how apropos) of buying yet another book to help inspire/encourage/stimulate/give momentum to daily creativity this one looks different. Hm. Actually I have been working more than ever recently on cards, scarves, mosaics, drawing but it’s still not living up to my ideal of me hanging around every day in scruffy clothes (yet still looking vaguely attractive) sketching, painting, making mosaics and writing fascinating journal entries. Isn’t that silly? To use that fantasy as a stick? I’m blathering now. Just do it.