Poet at a loss for words

My Dyslexia by Philip Schultz


Philip Schultz is telling me what it's like to be one of the students I tutor. He was a terrible student, often in trouble in school. He couldn't read until he was in fifth grade.  No one thought he'd end up a poet -- let alone a Pulitzer Prize winner. He'd been led to think of his predicament as a mix of stupidity and cussedness, with a tinge of insanity.  I've always been the opposite -- what my mom called a "bookworm." I naturally turned to writing and then teaching. Reading teachers are often people like me --  and we can't get inside the skin of people like Schultz. But he found the name for his predicament -- dyslexia -- not long ago. When he decided to start this book he got depressed. Dyslexia had woven itself into his life in deep and painful ways. Reading still gives him pain. But words give him pleasure. I am glad he finally wrote about how this can be.


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Owl-erina

Owl-erina

14 3/4" x 13"

cotton, silk, tulle, velvet

machine pieced & machine quilted

Untitled

I finally got moving on this piece -- I am NOT calling it Grief, although the image began with a summer news photo in a graveyard; it had lovely swirling lines like scarves in the wind. When the idea was germinating I privately called it Grief. Then I told people.

"If you have some grief you need to work out, then go ahead," one prominent quilter said to me at the Quilt Surface Design Symposium in June.  Yes, I do grieve ...  but her words didn't sit well. I don't make things for psychological relief. So I paused.

But I kept having dreams and conversations. "Grief is a part of life," said a friend who has lost her brother. "I know that by now. .. The first grief, that one surprises you. After that, it hurts, but you know you'll get through."

I do want to make this quilt. I love it already. Last week Agnes Martin surprised me with the answer: don't think. Trust inspiration. Thanks, Agnes!

Art media: pencil

April's class on art media at the LeMoyne Gallery is perfect for me: an overview of many ways to (pardon the art talk ) "make marks." Wednesday was pencils, plain black graphite sticks sheathed in wood. I have a long and intimate relationship with pencils; as I tend to do with everything I love, I have held my pencils too tight. The middle finger on my right hand is misshapen because I gripped so hard as a child. I still feel most myself when I'm carrying a pencil. All these years, for me a pencil has been to write. Now it is also to draw.

I thought drawing was making lines -- defining the perimeter of things.  April said you can also do this with dots and/ or dashes. If you clump them tight you make dark space. You can also crosshatch, which is slanting lines, first one way and then the other. Since Wednesday I've been looking differently at art online. I wasn't surprised to discover that my favorite artist, Agnes Martin, really used her pencil. So that's what graphite meant, describing her gray squares that I love so much. And then there's Drawings from the Louvre, coming Sept. 23 to the Morgan Library. Wow! Those artists are like God, giving life with just a humble pencil. . .  Well, OK, God didn't even need a pencil.

Wikipedia told me that pencils are graphite, not lead. We just say lead pencil because it looks like lead. HB is the European designation for our number 2 pencil. H means hard and B is soft, or black. You can see a chart here. When the number gets bigger, the graphite is harder or blacker, but not both, going all the way to 9 for each, with HB in the middle. And of course Cedar Key, Florida, was a world producer of pencil cedar until the town was destroyed by hurricane in 1896.

We are supposed to practice drawing. But first I sewed a pencil carrier because my pencils kept banging against each other in the bag. And, of course, I need to keep one out -- just to hold.

Dean Mitchell Speaks

Dean Mitchell after his gallery talk in Quincy Wednesday

When Susan left for vacation she made me promise to go to Quincy and take notes when the artist Dean Mitchell spoke at the Gadsden Arts Center (13 N. Madison St, Quincy, FL). It was part of the Dean Mitchell: Rich in Spirit show there until Oct. 29. So Wednesday I went .

Susan and another friend, Pete, both honor Mitchell's work; because of their enthusiasm, I'd already viewed the exhibit. Mitchell paints mostly the imperfect -- people, houses, barns that may be past prime; he conveys their nobility.

Mitchell seemed light and happy, and he often referred to his childhood in Quincy, acknowledging those present who had encouraged him. He said the Quincy and New Orleans scenes (and one mixed-media piece in the same mood) at Gadsden are only a glimpse of his work. He said he's driven to paint, often has 10 pieces going at a time, then sends them out to galleries across the country. "It's never finished if it stays in my studio," he joked. He said  family life in Tampa with young children helps balance his intensity.

Here are some Mitchell quotes:
"I don't feel a painter creates a style."
He said the basis of a good painting is strong, abstract composition: "I see shapes before I see anything else."
"We have to feed our souls … We live in a world now where there is so much emphasis on materialism and not character-building."
"I remember the dime store catty-corner from here, where my grandmother bought me my first paint-by-numbers set."
"A great artist is in touch with his emotions …"
"When I paint those structures, it's more than just a building. My work is to pinpoint certain moments in time … We are all just here for a very fleeting moment … We're all in some way interconnected."
On how he chooses his subjects: "They have a certain richness of character."
"I love being creative. It's a fun thing, being an artist."

"For people to be moved by your work, it has to come from your soul."

Mom's Peach Pie

When I told Mom I was making her peach pie for Labor Day, she said, "That's not my recipe -- I got it from Betty McGlone. All the good recipes come from somewhere, and that one's Betty's." Thanks, Betty! I hardly ever make pie any more, but this is so good I make it every summer. 

First, make the crust. Put it in a 9" pie pan.

Peel and slice peaches (good ones -- so many are tasteless) to make a mound on the unbaked crust.

Mix this and pour it over:

Sauce for Peach Pie

1/3 C. melted butter

1/4 C. and 1 T. flour (5 T. in all) mixed with 1 1/4 C. sugar

1 beaten egg

cinnamon to taste (I use a lot.)

1 t. vanilla

This is for an 8" pan. Mom uses 1 1/2 recipe for 9".  The sauce will bubble over, so put a foil-lined cookie sheet on the shelf below to catch the drips. 

Bake at 375° until the center bubbles, about 1 1/2 hr. 

Words failed him -- until they didn't

I'd like to ask adults how they learned to read, especially if they had some initial difficulty. I want to know what made it happen for them. Philip Schultz's essay in today's NYTimes is a start. Schultz is a winner of the Pulitzer Prize for poetry and he has a book coming out: My Dyslexia. 


As I continue tutoring, I get more awed by the mystery of reading. If you have a reading story, please let me know.

Grief 1

I spent game time yesterday playing with scraps. Football was in the other room ... FSU played some team ... Louisiana Monroe ... Colors are more intense than they look here; it's not sad, but I'm calling it "Grief." It's inspired by a graveyard photo.  9" x 8 1/2".  FSU won.