I am a visual artist working in collage, assemblage sculpture and altered books. My practice explores identity, memory and the history of the African diaspora. Vintage and contemporary images collide to convey how the past informs the present.


Introducing... Kicky McAngrypants

I figure every crying newborn looks pretty much the same, so I'm bending my rule about No Pictures of The Boy on le blog.Aside from a little matte medium to seal the inked paper edges, this new page is done. It's about how I discovered that sticking out the lower lip when angry is something babies really do, without being coached.

You know how some people (um, me) rename people "Something McSomething"? It's a habit I picked up from my sister-in-law while she was living in L.A. So it was inevitable that The Husband and I would apply that to The Boy in the first few months of his life.

The Boy was not keen on swaddling: he had to have his arms free, and very soon he decided the legs had to be free too. So one evening, while The Husband was bouncing The Boy on his knee to calm him down, he came up with "Kicky McAngrypants."

I typed "Introducing" and "Kicky McAngrypants" in Blasphemy [hee hee... "blasphemy"] font, then did water transfers of both in different font sizes. I also gessoed, then painted the nameplate space with a cream acrylic, then adhered the water transfer with matte medium. Just for good measure, I painted a little more cream around the edges of the nickname.

Finally, the fun part: I blended it in with the patina of the nameplate by painting it with the special Michael de Meng schmutzing colors. I love it when things turn out the way they look in my head!The "Introducing" water transfer sits on top of cream acrylic paint too, because I figured it wouldn't show up very well otherwise on the purple cardstock. A little more schmutzy paint on that and the prickly cactus loteria card to tie them all together, and there we go.
I also made a mica and vellum paper sandwich, bound with wire. Someday The Boy will look at this page and not find it funny at all, of course. So this is my (ultimately futile) explanation that he was not, in fact, tortured by his parents for the sake of a picture. Geez, The Boy got nursed and a bottle right after I took the picture! What does he want, blood?

Oh, yes... of course he will.

Postal

My kind of physics lesson