Summery

5 lessons from an inkmaking workshop in Brooklyn

Portrait of Heinrike Dannecker by Gottlieb Schick, 1802. (Detail)

I keep trying to write you about all the things that have happened and then new things happen the solstice came on bright with heavy heat and tiny rainstorms and more sun and then more rain and a big strawberry moon swimming in clouds and all the tattered fire engine red poppies scattering petals everywhere leaving half-opiumed sticky purple alien heads. Everything alive and kicking. And it seems like its alway like this. Even in the thick of summer its passing already. Swimming. Wavery. Half in memory as its happening. I picture you who on the other side of the world in the Southern Hemisphere in your winter watch us summersaulted looking down into the stars.

I left early last night. The cool garage with the walls decorated in carpets and the rare handmade spicey plum Slivovitz party early to be out in that solsticey night the sidewalks smelling like Versace Eros and fried chicken. Somehow deep June is always like this racing ahead of itself. But I want to look back. I want to tell you about the workshop I was a part of in Brooklyn at the Painting School the beautiful people there and what we found and made and thought about together. Here is what I remember and don’t ever want to forget in 5 lessons

Andrea Bonney Gould

1. Fear Kills Magic

I was afraid at first. Afraid that some of my favourite people from instagram who were coming would feel like my book about making ink was more inspiring than me. Or that not knowing this little corner of Carrol Gardens near an overpass and a concrete-forward playground and the stoops of the fancier streets with expensive strollers and high trees would not offer up much to the forager. I was afraid that I had not brought enough supplies from Canada to support a workshop that was full. That we even let 3 more people into and I did not know the space yet. I was nervous that I didn’t have enough empty ink bottles. That the stickers for the inkbottles were dried up and would fall off. I was nervous that we only had one hotplate and one pot. That the participants would know more than me or that what I said would be too simple or too complicated or that I would be tired or shy and tongue-tied and that I woudn’t be able to speak from the heart to such a diverse group. My worries melted almost immediately in the face of just getting into it. And more importantly the solutions to the fears became a part of what the workshop was.

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2. Get Communal

The workshop started with quick introductions and the group was full of experts in all sorts of fields and open to sharing their knowledge and curiosity with eachother. The space itself has a mandate to build community around art. Where things physical or logistical were missing people helped to share stuff and rig up solutions. Where there was only one pot and one hotplate there was communal inkmaking and a chance to talk about practicing methods of extracting pigments that did not need boiling. Where I blanked on some question of chemistry or botany or local foraging someone else was right there to fill the gap with their own knowledge and discoveries.

3. Adventure is at your feet

With so many people all open to what might be found and with some knowledge of the species of finds that might harvest colour we opened the doors and entered the outside world. Immediately the sidewalks made their offerings. Right away someone noted the dying marigold blossoms in the planter right beside the door to the studio and how even dried out they are a traditional source of beautiful golden yellows. Someone else asked about cigarette butts. I pointed out the lambsquarters which were everywhere. We saw oak leaves high in the trees and knew that somewhere there would be acorns. We saw stains on the sidewalk and knew that mulberries could not be far away. Right across the street there was an unkempt square of green beside a fence to the playground and even though I planned a long foraging walk maybe over to Redhook or at least to the water it was there in that little square that I ended up staying. I saw a beautiful complicated leaf that I did not recognize