​Painted driftwood, air dry clay (girl’s head), hair extension, silk and cotton fabric fragments, 12 x 3 x 3 inches. 

This is my depiction of “The Girl Who Fell in Love with a Horse,” from the Tales of Tono. The Oshirasama Hall in Tono with thousands of girl and horse dolls made of crude wood pieces and fabric left an impression on me in October last year. The love between the girl and horse is broken by her father, who is enraged that she would fall in love with a horse. He hangs the horse from a tree and when the girl still won’t let go of the horse, he cuts off its head. The girl and the horse’s head fly off into the heavens to become divine beings, reunited in their love. The girl becomes the goddess of sericulture in this Tono Tale (Tono was known for its silkworm industry.)  

From this rather sparse and gory folklore, I created the horse and girl figures from driftwood gifted to me by Sondra’s husband, Patrick. I painted them black, then created a head for the girl with air drying clay. They are clothed in scraps of silk and cotton that I had collected over the years. 

Layered cotton muslin flour sacks, unbleached cotton batting, silk kimono lining and disco zipper. 6x6x6 inches. March 11, 2024
This is my second Art Tag piece for Mending. 

​My mother and I lived geographically apart since 1970, when I moved to the States. I had a deeply stressed childhood, being placed in the role of intermediary between warring parents. Only by escaping to another country did I feel that I could become my own person. The relationship between my mother and me was broken by my marriage, which my mother raged against. She never apologized for the massive tantrum she threw at my new husband and me, belittling him and my choice in men. 

This piece represents the mending of that broken relationship because that is miraculously what happened in the following years. By the time she passed away in November, 2023, we had come full circle. We started traveling together and through those travels, we talked about a lot of things in her life. I learned to laugh at her insults and to admire all she had done as a single parent. I understood her better than any other person in the world. I knew that she loved me and all her children to the best of her ability.    

This new Art Tag round is "Mending," a very appealing topic. After some thought, I decided to work on a relationship piece using a faded child's kimono that I picked up at a Tokyo flea market in 2019. The top image is an iconic photo of my mom, who couldn't get by without coffee in the morning and afternoon. The lower image is me looking pouty in my favorite cowgirl outfit. My challenge now was what to put in the space between us.
I read my mom's journal last night and was struck by the banality of her observations. The journal was written intermittently over the last 12 years of her life. Up to her 70’s she used to write the most engaging and interesting observations in her weekly planners. In this journal, she recorded her aches and pains, daily chores, and meals taken with my sister and niece. She also pasted many newspaper clippings of recipes, healthy habits, gardening, and cartoons. I was pleased to note that her final entry, made in the summer of 2020, was still coherent even when she had trouble interacting with others. She wrote in Spanish, English and Japanese, which was also interesting, as during my visits with her in 2019 she spoke exclusively Japanese.
I was going to incorporate some of her writing in this piece but abandoned that idea. Last night in my dream I came up with exactly what I want to fill in the space between my mom and me. It will be an embroidery. I had to do a bit of research on Etsy and found the perfect embroidery pattern and on Amazon, a seemingly amazing wash away transfer paper. Have downloaded the pattern but Amazon will take until Wednesday to deliver the transfer paper. Can't wait to go on to the next step.

​This is a portal for summoning the dead. The red faceless dolls attached to the rim are called oshirasama and were used in Japan by blind female shamans (itako), as part of the summoning ritual (kuchiyose). The green tulle represents ectoplasm that envelopes a small glow-in-the-dark amulet. This is my third piece for a round of Art Tag on the topic of "portals."

I am making some fabric dolls for an exhibition this summer.  The dolls will be about 17 inches tall and have pliable limbs. To create a proof of concept, I acquired an old doll on the left from Etsy. I then created a doll on the right as a birthday gift for a friend. I will take these examples and create four fantasy dolls associated with Alice in Wonderland. As in every creative endeavor, there are aspects to this project that are not exciting, such as sewing the body of the doll together and stuffing it with wire and cotton. I look forward to finishing those tasks so I can go on to the fun part of making the costumes each character will wear. 

I participate in Na Omi Judy Shintani's mandala project every year. Starting January 1 we make a mandala a day for the next 12 days. Participants find mandalas in all kinds of ways - photographing round objects, drawing, painting, collaging, printing. I make mine in my tiny art journal at the beginning of each month to inspire or remind. I use various media from drawing, painting, stamping, cutting paper to collage. It's a pleasure to come upon a mandala at the beginning of the month, especially as the year wears on, because I would have forgotten and be reminded of the image + word. I  like to come up with the words first, then make mandalas about them. The words are meant to inspire and to trigger an action.  This is also a good way to turn art-making into a daily practice right from the beginning of the year.  
https://www.facebook.com/groups/722443325669393

I participate in the Postal Collage project every year hosted by the Round Table Collaboration. They randomly assign five or so participants into a group to make collages in the round. This collaboration consists of adding elements to each other's collages with very little restriction. 

At the beginning of September I created a collage with torn paper repaired untidily with band-aids, a childhood photo, and fragments of mail. I deliberately left room for people to add things to it. Although the rules require sending collages once a month, my group was exuberant and collages started arriving well in advance of the deadlines. I had to make sure I kept them in order so as not to mess with the sequence. According to the schedule, I was supposed to receive my original collage back on February 1, 2023 but it came back in early December, 2022.

My collage was unrecognizable. After everyone was through, the torn paper had been neatly mended and the entire sheet was covered with cute animal and plant images with just my photo and the words "I do believe in a right to privacy" left over from the original. I saw individualized narratives rather than a cohesive whole. I could not relate to the cute elements. I set the collage aside and went to London for the Holidays. 

Back this week, I took the collage with me to Collage-a-Rama, a monthly collage-making evening at Arc Gallery. There, I looked at it with fresh eyes and gave myself permission to alter significantly. I decided to go with the small newspaper clippings on surveillance and privacy on the top right side of the paper. I found a page of middle-aged men faces in GQ magazine; the faces reminded me of G-men. I used them to make over the animal faces. I also had a sheet of rub-on lettering and decided to add random text into the collage.

The next day, I had a break-through. Using lettering stickers, I added Nextdoor discussion threads about break-ins, catalytic converter thefts, loud noises, theft of packages, recall of Chesa Boudin, police apathy and attacks on progressive politics in San Francisco. I transformed a sweetly nostalgic collage of flowers, greenery, beloved cats and cute bunnies into a raucous commentary about this moment in time in San Francisco.  I like the result, even if the collage is a lot busier than what I normally would compose.  

I am organizing a postcard exhibit with the theme, "I Do Believe," on opinions about abortion. The woman’s right to abortion in the United States became Federal law on January 22, 1973 through the Supreme Court Case, Roe v. Wade. Individual states could no longer have their own laws that would contradict the provisions of this Supreme Court decision. But the passage of Roe v. Wade did not put the issue of abortion rights to rest. Recent cases under review in the Supreme Court may change or overturn abortion rights in many States. There are widespread disagreements among United States politicians, media, and citizens about abortion. I would like to receive your personal point of view about this complex and difficult topic. I am seeking postcards with viewpoints on all sides of the abortion issue from artists and non-artists, in the US and overseas. The purpose of this exhibition is to share beliefs, opinions and experiences on all sides of this issue. For more information and to participate, go here: ​littlemailbox.blogspot.com/2022/01/call-for-art-i-do-believe-postcard-show.html

I belong to a monthly group called Collage-a-Rama that meets in our gallery once a month to make collages. We haven't had many physical gatherings in the last couple of years because of Covid and various other reasons. We do an annual show and it's coming up in April. The group decided to do a group project called "Cut Along the Dotted Line." We made 6x6 inch collages on board, that will be displayed together. Mine are made with old calendar pages, cardboard houses, political posters and origami and the quote is by Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy. 

I have set my table in the manner of a 10th century poet. Sei Shonagon was a highly educated woman of acerbic wit, lighting fast imagination and a keen eye for fashion and manners. She was famous for her diary, called “The Pillow Book.” 

Shonagon writes:
“One day a minister brought the Empress a bundle of notebooks. 
‘What shall we do with them?’ Her Majesty asked me. ‘The Emperor already has enough.’
‘Let me make them into a pillow,’ I said.
“Very well,” said her Majesty. “You may have them.” 
I now have a vast quantity of paper at my disposal and I set about filling the notebooks with odd facts, stories from the past, and all sorts of other things, often including the most trivial material.”

I have set my table with modern, ancient objects that might have delighted her:

• Wrinkled momi paper representing a flowing river 
• Unpainted wooden table
• Unpainted wooden cup filled with ink
• Bamboo straw with a paper umbrella
• Eating utensils of chopsticks and calligraphy brush resting on an old-fashioned comb and a coaster of black origami
• Tablecloth of mulberry paper with flowing hiragana and kanji script
• Tray of sandalwood Buddhist prayer beads and incense
• Paper boat carrying chiyogami wrapped clams 
• Shuttlecocks on a plate made of banana leaves
• A tiny tin of rouge