Noticing

I'm in finals this month and am pulling 8-14 hour days, drawing, drafting, writing, designing, and photoshopping. I sit in my office to do all this; my world feels very small right now. KQED on the radio, oatmeal for breakfast, slippers on my feet, colored pencils cover every surface. Every day is predictable and interchangeable with the next. I kind of love this.

The only time I get out of the office is on my daily walk to my local grocery store to get my lunch. I intentionally leave our refrigerator empty in order to get myself out into the perpetually shining sun (when I think a guilty New England-style "I really should get out, it's so beautiful" thought it is immediately followed by a California-style shrug and, "There will be another one, probably tomorrow.").

On this brief walk of 5 minutes and 6 seconds (yes, I have timed it) I try to notice something new every day. Luckily, my neighborhood makes it easy. My hill is covered in mid century apartment buildings whose facades are objectively stunning, but made more stunning by my New England-trained aesthetic comfort zone, all clapboards and shutters, beautiful in an under-stated, slightly Puritanical way.

The trees and bushes and flowers (and herbs! Rosemary and lavendar are basically weeds here) have all been planted in layers that create depth and height to every yard, even the smallest ones. If I wanted to, I could steal my daily intake of citrus and fruit, gather bouquets of gorgeous flowers, and harvest clippings for a variety of house plants all from my neighbor's yards. 

So here is a little bit of my daily walk:

This is my favorite by far. I mean, hello.Dr. Seuss tree

ApricotsNice of these flowers to coordinate so well

Texture texture textureOh what the?Giant palm frond Animal

Our apartment buildingWhy be a square when you can be a hexagon?

My Son Is 19 Today

Remember when Zane turned 18? That was awesome. Today he turns 19.

There are a lot of firsts in a parents life and every parent notices different ones. When your baby is young they come every day, like a barrage of cheap and common tricks, every one of them new and exciting to you and boring to others; every baby rolls eventually.

When your baby reaches pre-adolescence the firsts become more nuanced and fraught with potential pain - the first time she won't hold your hand in public or tell you she loves you in front of her friends; where you were once cool you are now a dork. I remember the first time I refused to skip down the street with my mom, newly self-conscious and beginning the hard act of distinguishing myself from her. She took it in stride, but I remember knowing I had hurt her.

When your pre-adolescent becomes a teenager their firsts as people become indistinguishable from your firsts as a parent - the first time they drive on their own is the first time you let them drive on their own. And when your teenager becomes an adult most of their firsts are unknown to you, mysterious and probably cringe-worthy - you are happy to let them be that way.

So.
My baby. The first time I cut food for him. When his L's became actual L's; "yud" became "love." His first deep cut, above his left eyebrow. The stitches. The first day he did not nurse. The first time he saw the ocean.

My child. His first subway ride. Baseball game. Sleepover. Crush. 

My teenager. Hair. Oh the hair! When "Can you come over and play?" became "Wanna hang out?" He is taller than me. Driving. 

My young adult. Complex relationships. Hitting 6' 3". Work. More work. Living in a house other than mine. Filing his taxes. And this:

His first birthday without his mom waking him up to wish him Happy Birthday. His first birthday in which he will not see his mom at all. Which is to say, dear reader, my first birthday without being able to wake him up and wish him Happy Birthday. My first birthday not seeing him at all.

This is, of course, a first that every parent will go through, and so in some ways it is cheap and common and not exciting to anyone, least of all me. But it is also a first that feels overwhelmingly significant. 

When I turned 19, Zane was at my birthday party. He was 3 months and 1 day old. We have been sharing birthdays for half my life now. To not share this one with him means that, really and truly and kind of forever, our relationship has moved on from the intimate and immediate one we've had for the last 18 years and into a distant and distinctly adult one. From now on, the injuries he sustains will be handled by doctors, he is well acquainted with a fork and knife, he can buy his own ballgame tickets, and he has driven across the country. Twice.

My role is no longer an observer and cheerleader of firsts. To be honest, I don't really know what it is, for the first time.

The first time he lived in a tent in the woods of CA.The first time he saw the Badlands.

The first time he was so handsome.

So, if you see him today, tell him his mother wishes him a Happy Birthday, okay? 

Sleeping!

As you know, I am a very lazy and tired person. Sleeping is my number one hobby and my best friend and gosh I just love it, so you can imagine that where I sleep is really important to me.  

Like almost everything in our apartment, I didn't really plan for our bedroom to come together like this, but I'm happy that it did. It's covered in gifts from friends and sentimental bits and pieces from my past, and feels lived in yet warmly spare. Is that a thing? Warmly spare? Let's make it a thing. 

Unlike other rooms in my life, where I love layers and layers of objects and controlled craziness and personality, I need my bedroom to strike a balance between cozy and minimal. Avoiding high contrast colors, shiny things, and big statement pieces focuses the room on its function: sleeping. Also, when you have a partner who has hypnogogic hallucinations, believe me, less is more.

So here is our room thus far. Can I take a nap now?

Client Bedroom Sneak Peek!

I am so close to being able to show you this whole room! Until then, let's just look at this right here and breathe a little deeper.

How To Draw A Treehouse

I haven't shared much about my grad program here, have I? Well, I'm in grad school. I'm in the Interior Architecture and Design MFA program at the Academy of Art University. I know, academy and university is redundant and there are WAY too many vowels in their name.

Last semester I took a Sketching in Perspective class and learned how to do this:

I designed this room. It's in an Eichler house and I love it.

I hadn't really drawn anything since I was in grade school. When I scan my memory for any instances of drawing I find very few, and they are mostly coloring, not drawing. Reading? Tons. Fort-making? For sure. Daydreaming about being the first woman on Mars? Yup. But no drawing. So to be able to produce the room above after 16 weeks felt pretty awesome.

Anyway, this semester I'm taking Sketching for Design, which builds on Sketching in Perspective. In it we add color, shade, shadow, and reflections to our drawing to render a semi-realistic representation of a room. We've used pastels, colored pencils and markers so far, and boy do I feel like a really sophisticated 8-year-old. I spend hours and hours drawing, you guys. Pretty neat-o if you ask me.

So here is my midterm. I'm pretty proud of it considering where I was a few months ago, and because I got an A- on it. It's nearly impossible to get an A in any class at my school, so this is essentially my best work. The assignment was to draw a dream room in 2-point perspective, do color studies, and render the room in color with shade, shadow, and reflection. When I asked myself, "What's your dream room?" my 14-year-old self answered, "A treehouse, obviously." I never ignore my 14-year-old self (except when she's telling me to peg my jeans) and went for it. 

I have explanations for every item and every color (you have to justify everything you design!), but I won't bore you with the details. Here is my 14-year-old self's dream treehouse:

Transfer of my original drafted drawing onto coldpress paperColor study on tracing paper

Starting to color!I actually love the negative spaces.

Almost there.A little black & white landscaping to help you know you're in a treehouse.

My 37-year-old self would totally hang out in here.