Here I am writing about my 34-year old piece of watercolor paper in a way I could never have imagined then. Not in a million years. 

Who could have envisioned the World Wide Web 34 years ago? (No one, except maybe Tim Berners-Lee.)

1985

The future founders of Google were finishing up elementary school.

Madonna was “Crazy for You,” and Hall and Oats were “Out of Touch.” Sade was a “Smooth Operator,” and Stings advice? “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free.” And Katrina and the Waves were “Walking on Sunshine.”

(That concludes my nostalgic 80s musical interlude.)

So, back to business.

How did I find out that Twinrocker handmade paper even existed?
Was it recommended by one of my art teachers? Was there an ad somewhere? Did I have a catalog? (There must have been a catalog.) 

Wish I could remember, but I don’t.

Postal delivery

It arrived wrapped in thick brown kraft paper, with the edges folded and taped for extra security. Like a giant makeshift envelope. Inside was a sturdy piece of watercolor paper, a little bigger than a letter. It featured four deckled edges.

Four. Beautifully feathered. Deckled edges.

I’d never seen a sheet of paper as beautiful.
But, the paper scared me. So I put it away.

For 34 years

It moved with me twice. And stayed tucked away in its kraft paper protection.
I visited the paper a few times during those 34 years. And then wrapped it back up. Still scary.

“One of these days.” I promised myself.

The wait is over

For several years, I’ve been in an exclusive relationship with oil painting. Lately, I’ve discovered, or rather, re-discovered watercolors. And using nice papers for my rekindling, like Arches for instance.

I was on a watercolor roll.
So I figured it was time.

I unwrapped my 34-year old piece of watercolor paper, and got to work.
It didn’t seem so scary anymore.

And now, 34 years later, there’s a painting.
With four, beautifully feathered, deckled edges.

My 34-year old piece of watercolor paper is now a painting

Is the paper tinged with a little yellow from being surround by kraft paper for 34 years? Sure. So what. 
Still, it didn’t detract from the amazing painting experience.

Well worth waiting for.
Best paper. Ever.

Thanks, Twinrocker.

Click on the photo and shop the collection

Are you a fan of abstract art?

Marie Condo wants you to start with clothing.

Boxes are key.

Things remain neat and organized when placed in a box.

I already fold socks in a similar way and have always kept things in boxes. Yay, me.

My boxes “spark joy.”

I have huge wood wine boxes, wooden cheese boxes, all kinds of cigar boxes, small paper boxes, tea and cookie tins, fancy pastry boxes (Ladurée, Paris!) So many boxes. They keep me organized and most of all, “spark joy.”

Am I a tidy person? I like to think so. My house isn’t cluttered. (Okay, fine — maybe the basement.) After watching, I realize anyone can improve their household, to some extent. And if the KonMari Method works, why not?

But for me, not so much. Maybe a little bit.

Clothing? Sure. I don’t own a lot of clothes or shoes. I can get rid of a few things — no problem. But my pile would be a hill, not a mountain. Some kitchen stuff? A few things, sure.

Books, papers, and sentimental stuff? Not happening.

For instance, I have a tall tin of random buttons. Sure, I’ll probably never use them. And they’re a mess. But the mess is in a tin box. The tin “sparks joy,” and so do the buttons. Which is why I would never get rid of it.

My mother and daughter each have similar tins. (It’s a weird family thing.) Once in a while I like to dump the buttons out and visit them. Is it clutter? NO. Pure joy.

Now about those SAT scores.

Why on earth would I keep those, and my old report cards, and my AP French test scores, to mention a few things? Why?

Because it’s my history. I have two children and someday, they’ll get to know their mother by looking at all the paper trails. They’ll have a sense of who I was before they knew me.

I’ve saved letters and cards from childhood. Not only will they get to know me, but they’ll have a better understanding of the era I came from.

So that’s why I keep those things.

What’s going to happen?

In our new digital age, there will be no paper trails, barely any cards, or photos. Is someone going to find an old i-phone or lap-top and search back-ups? And photos? Who has photos? Is the Cloud going to be any help at all?

So, no. I’m not getting rid of random papers I’ve saved. Even though looking at my embarrassing high school report card may not “spark joy.”

And speaking of books, when we moved a few years ago to a smaller space, I gave away lots of books.

But I have regrets.

Do you think it’s because I forgot to “thank them for their service?”

September, 2009

A love affair begins. It was a pleasant, sunny morning. A perfect day to enjoy a walk and admire colorful autumn foliage. I’d never driven somewhere in the country to go “leaf peeping” but I enjoyed watching the trees change color. Who wouldn’t? It’s gorgeous.

So that day, I walked and admired the colors of the many varieties of trees on my street. On the way home, I picked up a vibrant red leaf that was on the sidewalk in front of me.

And then, once home, without thinking, I painted it, as if possessed. (My oil paints were out, luckily.) The process seemed robotic and effortless. Like an out-of-body experience. It was weird.

It wasn’t a particularly exciting leaf. However, that painting became my “first dollar.” You know how people display the first dollar they made? Well, that was the first leaf I painted. And so began my decade-long love affair with leaf portraits. (Friends and family endured my obsession. Read about it here.)

The evolution of my leaf painting (“first dollar” is the red one.)

As a result, I became ambitious and painted a couple of collections. Here’s one.

And so on through the years. Sometimes painting on wood.

In 2016, I discovered a paper which renewed my love affair with passion.

(My beloved Arches oil painting paper.)

The leaves seemed to lay on the paper as if newly fallen. I was smitten. (Limited few prints still available in the shop.)

Here’s a favorite from 2017. You can see the lovely torn edges of the paper.

Is it weird that I sometimes remember the tree or street where I found a certain leaf?

Here’s a recent one. Could it be the last? Quite possibly.

Somehow, I’m not as excited as I once was. Has my love affair waned?

Only 2019 will tell.

One summer morning, Sofie woke up and discovered she was being moved. Sofie was a plump, heavy little armchair and moving her was not easy. “Oh where could they be taking me,” she thought. “I was so comfortable here.” Sofie had been around a long time and had sat in several different spots inside the house.

Next thing she knew, Sofie was outside the house, sitting on the sidewalk, like a common park bench. This. Was a first.

“Oh, what’s happening! Why have they brought me here,” she thought. Sofie immediately began to worry.

A little later, Louise joined Sofie on the sidewalk. Louise was a Louis XIV-style armchair. She was at one time elegant and beautiful, sitting in the living room, admired by visitors. What was happening to her?

Sofie and Louise sat side-by-side on the sidewalk and suspected the worst. Louise cried and Sofie was silent. Misery.

“My lace is gone,” said Sofie.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Louise cried. “And you sat there all those years for them, making them comfy.”

“And you were lovely Louise, sitting by the window at the desk.”

A cat came and jumped up on Sofie, curling up and making himself comfortable.

“Get off me, you beast!” Sofie wouldn’t tolerate cat hairs on her slipcover. “Louise, DO SOMETHING.”

“Oh what are we to do.” Louise quivered, her faded upholstery looking even more pale under the hot sun.

Sofie and Louise sat for some time. Helpless. Every now and then, one of them cried a little. And then, silence.

“I’m hot,” announced Sophie.

“Me too,” sobbed Louise.

The cat was still on top of Sophie. “I can’t think with this awful creature on top of me. “Shoo. Shoo. Go away. Get OFF.”

The cat still sat, “Beast.”

They plight seemed hopeless. Endless.

“I remember when they bought you, Louise. They were so excited! You were a beauty. They wanted to put you in the perfect spot.”

“Yes, right by the window, where I faded,” Louise sighed. “And no new slipcover. Instead, they DUMP me.”

“But you looked out the window all those years. You weren’t bored to death, and spilled hot tea on, like I was, sitting next to the bookshelves in the dark.” Sofie’s raised her voice. “Only when they felt like reading or spilling tea, did I see any light!”

Just then, the cat, sensing tension, jumped off Sophie.

“Beast.” Sophie sighed.

“Oh, Sophie, could they be letting us ‘air out,’ you know, the way they do to the rugs?”

“Louise, face facts. We are no longer wanted. As you put it, we’re DUMPED!” Sophie was blunt. “Only why did they had to do it in this heat? We never did a thing to them!”

“Ingrates,” said Louise.

The afternoon came, and with it, more heat.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” said Sophie. “If we are to be collected, I wish they’d GET ON WITH IT! What if it rains or something?”

There was not even a whisper of a cloud in the sky. In another situation, it would be a perfect day.

Louise started crying. “Sophie. Oh, Sophie. I’m so scared.”

“Me too,” said Sophie.

Exhausted from worry and fright, Sophie and Louise dozed. As two old chairs might.

And then. Sophie screamed.

“What? Is it happening? OH!” Louise was in a panic.

“That horrible beast is back on top of me. Look at it. Why doesn’t it stay OFF. As if I don’t have enough troubles.”

“You scared me.” Louise looked even more faded than usual.

“I’m sorry, dear. How very thoughtless of me.”

“Well,” said Louise.

The cat sat.

Sophie cursed.

The afternoon passed.

And then

A little girl came walking down the street towards them.

“Sophie, look. She’s coming to, to, well, you know. Oh Sophie, she’s here. Goodbye Sophie. Goodbye.” Louise was hysterical.

“Louise. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a girl. Little girls don’t DO that sort of thing.”

“How silly of me,” said Louise.

“Ralph. Ralph!” She was closer now. “Where are you Ralphie?”

The cat ignored the girl and continued to sit on top of Sophie.

“Ralph. There you are.” The girl sat on Sophie’s arm. “What are you doing here?” She picked up the cat but he immediately escaped from her arms and jumped back on Sophie. “Ralph!”

“Go with her, Ralph,” pleaded Sophie.

“Yes. Go.” Louise liked the idea. She was weary of Sophie complaining.

“I’ll go get Daddy. He’ll make you come home.” She turned and ran down the street.

As the sun lowered in the sky, Sophie and Louise cast long shadows on the pavement.

Soon the girl returned with her father.

“See, Daddy? He won’t come home. Daddy? Are these chairs garbage?”

“Who are you calling garbage?” Sophie was furious. “Indeed!”

“Looks like it, honey.” The father started looking at Sophie and Louise. He looked under their cushions, picking Louise up to look underneath her.

“Put me down!”

“Leave her alone! And take this horrid hairy beast off me!”

But he didn’t put Louise down. “Come on, honey. Let’s take this one home. We’ll come back for Ralph later.”

“Sophie! I’m scared. Where are they taking me?” But Sophie didn’t hear. She was crying.

Soon, they came back. The girl, her father, and a young man. They started to lift Sophie up. Ralph jumped off. And they carried Sophie away as the sun began setting.

The End