Colourblast

I know, I know, I've been remiss in not updating the blog...  I went on holidays this summer, and real life took a little more time than I wanted it to.  But I'm back!

So--back to business it is!

In October of 2011, while at another one of the many innumerable scout camps I attend (yes, it's hyperbole, but it feels that way sometimes), I had brought some of my work with me, because I wanted to pick a more knowledgeable friend than I's brain (I hope that statement made sense) about the colour scheme for a project I was planning on working on.  Unfortunately, the colour scheme was too complicated for me at that point, so I decided to select another design, and proceeded to create that one (This turned out to be Switcheroo).

As it would happen, one of my friends either asked me to make one, or I volunteered to make one, or a bit of both.  She said that she'd be happy with whatever I create, so I felt free to select a design from a region that I hadn't attempted before (incidentally, this happened to be a different village, from the same region as the original Switcheroo was supposed to be.  Funny, that).  In an attempt to "streamline" my production methods, I started working on two projects concurrently, the other one being Embroidery.

Now, and I ascribe this to be 100% part of the learning curve, it happened that one of the background textiles for these two concurrent projects was 'unbleached linen', the other 'white felt'.  For some reason, I decided to dye both sheets.  The usual tea-dye process.  Quite simple, and a relatively easy way to get rid of old tea bags that won't be drunk (because, well, they're bagged tea, not loose leaf.  But that's another topic entirely).  Both sheets were slightly dyed, a coat or two, and then I put this one aside, to concentrate on Embroidery, which was due considerably sooner.  Once that was done, it was back to this, and this is where the problems started...

One thing that I've been learning (and I'm still learning, much to my dismay, at times), is to really, really, REALLY pay close attention to the colour scheme, and inspect it carefully.  Somehow, I looked at it, saw that it was more or less a mirror-image design, easy as pie.  So I started colouring it; I finished the central flower, and thought that it looked quite odd with what I presumed to be a central flower of red, and an outer flower of differing colours, but, red again.  It was only when I decided to take a longer look at the scheme that I realized that, while indeed, the inner flower on the two outer flowers were of one colour, the central flower was the same, inside and out, separated only by a thin thread of green.  Oops.  I tried erasing the inner ring of red, but wouldn't you know it, those darn artist coloured pencils are quite difficult to erase!  And I didn't want to start problem-solving on the project ("Can I erase more?  No.  Can I scrape off the layer of colour?  Yes, but now the sheet's uneven."), so, I was left with one solution:  restart.  Which I did.

Oops.

 This time around, due to time constraints, I didn't dye the sheet.  Which means that of the two sheets that were dyed (remember Embroidery?), the one that shouldn't have been dyed was, and the one that should have been, now wasn't.  Odd, that.  Colouring went well--as long as I had a scheme to follow.  Then, suddenly, the colour indications stopped (somewhere around the middle of the design, meaning that for the right side, I was on my own, as I was for the birds, and the central stitching).  Well, not quite.  The central "wave" of stitching had the colours indicated, but not where each colour should start and stop.  But, I seem to have figured out well enough on my own.
 

Much better.

Once that was done, all that was left was the writing.  I'd managed to find a greeting I liked, so that was no problem.

Now, if you've been reading past posts, you'll have noticed that there's always something I'm dissatisfied with in my projects; something that I may have been satisfied with at the beginning, but with distance, I shake my head at:  and we're now at that point.

I'm not dissatisfied with the choice of text.  I'm dissatisfied with how I chose to present it.

I have a marked preference for medieval scripts (carolingian, gothic, and uncials, mainly), and this time around I chose to use an insular minuscule.  Only, for some odd reason, I decided I would incorporate an aspect of another post-uncial minuscule (Luxeuil minuscule):  ligatures.  And this took away from the legibility of the text.  Insular minuscule is not a ligatured script, and yet I insisted on combining 'E' with its following letters" 'z', 'n', etc.  But the problem is most marked with the word "szeretet" ("love"), which looks more like "SzErEcEc".  I also should have reduced the size of the 'e''s and 's''s.  They look odd being so large when everything else is small (and especially so in the middle of a word!)

Another project done, another lesson learned, and more knowledge as to how to accomplish the perfection I so seek in calligraphy...

Embroidery. Just for Men.

So far, all my projects have been made for my lady friends (I know, it's a stilted phrase, but you'll understand). I've been uncertain how to approach my male friends on the idea... "Hey! I made you a card with pretty writing and flowers!" "You're a dork, Georges..." So I was quite pleased when I was talking with one of my friends from New York, when we agreed to an exchange--he would carve me a spoon, I would make him a card. Thankfully, my main resource for the patterns I use for embroidery had a number of designs, from different regions, that would beyond the common colourful patterns Kalocsa, and Palócföld (Kalocsa is a small town in southern Hungary, and Palócföld is a region in northern Hungary, for those who haven't been here since the beginning). There were also a few patterns from what are called "cifraszűr".

Cifraszűr need to be described... These were felt "overcoats", which Hungarian shepherds wore. They were made of felt, and were quite warm (including in the summer, although they weren't unbearably hot). The interesting thing about them, is the embroidery. These were embroidered with wool, not cotton or linen thread. They were also only embroidered by men, the "szűrszabó", which were formed into 'guilds' in the main centres of production. And, as the cifraszűr was found in many different areas of Hungary, while the overall form was the same, with few differences (the sleeves would be long, which was the main type, or they would be short, "stubby" things sown shut with a "plug", and used as pockets. These last forms were more common west of the Tisza river). They would be richly decorated; the back panel, hanging from the shoulders would often be richly decorated, and have rosettes at the corners. The lapels on the front would be decorated, and often stretched to the bottom edge, which would itself be decorated, as would the seam at the back, and the waistline. They were also "closed" with a buckle at chest-height. One of my favourite articles of Hungarian clothing, which I would dearly love to acquire an example of! (Unfortunately, I have been unable to find a usable picture of a cifraszűr. But it's easily Googleable.)


One of the first things I had to do with this project was actually dye the paper. Yes, good old-fashioned tea-dyeing, to give it the look of white felt, which, of course, wasn't "printer-paper white". This had the side-effect of curling the paper, since I had a short time in which to dye it, let it dry, and trace the design, before I left for a visit to Québec City. Thankfully, as a result of storing it in a portfolio, it's now lying quite flat. The colours were an interesting discovery. So far, I'd been able to get away with using plain colours, without having to blend (I definitely don't have an art background...), but the colour scheme for this one was red, pink, and... dark and light "Bordeaux" (which is in itself a dark red). Which meant I had to discover the secret to blending colours. In this case, I think I succeeded quite well.

What surprised me, was the amount of red involved. How red it was. Of course, the colour scheme showed where the red would be, but I've yet to be able to visualize the colours on a blank design. The pink and bordeauxs softened much of the initial shock as to how red it was, but I recall wondering whether I'd made a smart choice in design. And since I was using watercolour pencils for the first time, I didn't realize that they would rub, and I ended up with a nice red glow around the design itself. Which was for the most part subsequently erased, after having shifted my hand and arm position for the remaining colours (touch the paper as little as possible!).


The greeting was another problem. Since this was a birthday card, it had to have the appropriate greetings of goodwill, happiness, etc., etc., but I didn't want something along the lines of "all the stars are dancing for you, because an angel told me it was your birthday". Sometimes I'd think I found one, and then later reread it, and decide against it. Finally, one said (get ready, this will be a horrible translation) "I wish the days of your life will be like the surf of a clear brook". It sounds better in Hungarian.

Early on, I had decided to use a Gothic script for this one (it seemed more "manly" than most of the other scripts I'd used to this point. But certain types of Gothic can be quite difficult to read when written in large amounts, since the excellence of Gothic isn't judged by the individual letter or word, but rather by the appearance of the entire sheet. If the page looks even, equal, nothing standing out, it looks like it was "woven", it's a good example. If there are "holes", or if something stands out, it loses its cohesion. One of my books had an example of Gothic with "spiked" foot serifs, which lent weight to the script. Combining this with my script, it kept it readable, but also accentuated the letters themselves, without taking away from the overall appearance.

He was well pleased. Enough said.

Redbirds

Things seem to have begun panning out. At the beginning of March, while at a weekly scout meet, I was speaking with a few other leaders, when somehow, my calligraphy came up. It may well have been me, saying "have you seen my calligraphy?" (Yes, I know. Very subtle.) One of the leaders turned to me, and asked if I'd consider doing a project for her mother's 75th birthday. And, here's the clincher, I'd be paid for it. Of course, I said yes. A) I get remunerated for a project, and B) word of what I do spreads. Wonderful. By the end of March, we've finalized on the design that will be used, the text, the greeting. (The style of calligraphy, as well as the layout for the project itself, would be left up to me.)

I then started mentally planning the project. All this really means is that I spent a week thinking "I really should get started on that project." I really should get into the habit of drawing rough sketches of what I'm planning. Perhaps that way I'd have less surprises when I actually start.

In retrospect, it was a good thing I'd delayed, so that I could do it over Easter weekend (or I'm rationalizing. Probably rationalizing). Because I was being paid for it (and I had no idea what I should ask for, or expect, so I always brushed it off with "we'll discuss it when I deliver it"), I needed to be able to keep track of how much time was spent working on it, as well as keep from moving it too much, to avoid dog-earing it. One of my main concerns was that at my usual size (11"x14"), with a full frame, there would be very little space for writing, or that the writing would seem to be cramped and tiny, so I opted for a bigger board, which I could subsequently trim to size. However, I have yet to discover all the intricacies of sizing a project from the centre out, and I was trying to figure out a starting point, my mom chimed in with "she's an older lady--she'll have an easier time finding space for a smaller board", which certainly solved that problem. So I had to do it on an 11x14, and work it as best I could.

I was halfway through the first motif (and somewhat horrified at the amount of tracing I would have to do), when I noticed I'd screwed up: There was no way I'd be able to fit a full frame, with writing, so I'd have to cut back on the frame. However, by also starting with the left-hand frame, I'd also ensured that the bottom frame wouldn't fit properly (there wouldn't be sufficient space for two motifs; one motif would be too short; and that one motif would just look like it was stuck on). Off I go to grab another board, draw my edge marks, and start over, with the base first--this allowed the design to look like the base frame was supporting the left-hand frame. Of course, I still managed to screw up just a bit. Instead of starting in the bottom left corner, which would result in a small gap at the ends of both frames, I started in the top-left, meaning that there was no gap in the top-left, but there was one in the bottom-right.

After the tracing, came the "lining" (I'm sure there's a proper term for this, but I don't know what it is), where I go over the pencil with a thin pen. This, to my eye, allows the colours to come out as separate colours, with separate elements, as opposed to blurring together, had the colour been applied directly to the pencil; it gives the colours and elements definition. Once the lining was done (and a coat of fixative applied, so it wouldn't bleed), came the colouring. This part became a bit unusual. My parents had given me a set of coloured pencils for Christmas, but these were watercolour pencils. Meaning that as I sweat over my work (literally), the colours would bleed (I learned this on a project that will be the subject of an upcoming post). So my method turned into touching the sheet as little as possible, and only edge the reds. Then fix. Then fill the reds, then fix. Add the blue, and fix again.


Thankfully the colouring was done, because I was getting a touch loopy from smelling the fixative (I was not sniffing it, but it was in the ambient air...), so I got to take a short break, open the window and let it air, while I went and considered the scribing. A few calculations, and it turned out that instead of nice big letters, these would have to be quite small (of course), but still legible, and the script could still be seen clearly. The longest line, and the greeting, which I tend to do a size bigger (For example, if I write the main body with a 1 mm nib, at three nib-heights=3mm, then the greeting would be 1.5 mm, at 3 nib-heights, 4.5 mm. For those wondering, yes, I use Speedball nibs), still fit in the space allocated, which is one of my main panics at this stage. And to make it more impressive, instead of simply writing it with a right margin, I indented each subsequent verse, giving a descending-stairway appearance, which worked out quite nicely.

I was quite surprised to find that I'd spent 9.5 hours working on this. I didn't think my projects took so long, especially since on many of them, I would also work on them on my lunch breaks. And 9.5 was only the time spent sitting in front of the board. If I included all the time spent looking at various designs, and shortlisting the ones that would be best suited, as well as looking through my scripts, and doing various arithmetic, it would probably be closer to 12...

And here's the technical description! The design is a Palóc apron design from the town of Varsány, in northern Hungary (Palóc embroidery is renowned for its use of red and blue), and the script is in Bâtarde, which, combined features of Gothic script, with French Secretary hands--hence its appellation. It was used in the 15th and 16th centuries.

Les fameux signets (The famed bookmarks)

Back in 2007, I was hired by the Toronto-area francophone public school board as a library technician at two schools, for a one-year contract. I'll admit I didn't do much. I didn't start any major projects, I didn't put into place any radical changes in the manner the libraries were run, because to my mind, they weren't "my" libraries, and I had no business changing anything. I was simply "holding the fort" for the permanent technician, who was due to return the next year.

One thing I did change, however, were the bookmarks the kids were using. These bookmarks were big, because their job was to hold the place of a book on the shelves, while the kids looked at them, and decided whether they wanted to borrow that particular book. And since these were elementary schools, some of the books were big, and so the bookmarks were just as oversized. They were over a foot long, and about an inch-and-a-half, two inches wide. But they were beaten up. Boy, were they beaten up. They were torn, creased, folded in two, and in some cases, as the lamination split apart, so did the paper. They also lacked something that said "This is the library!" One school's was simply numbered. Blank bookmarks, with a number on one end. And believe it or not, the kids actually found numbers to fight over. Seriously. You would have a kid whining "I wanted 34!", and another kid gloating that they were the best, because *they* got 34. At the other school, it had been one of the classes that had drawn them, with the resulting variability in designs... The boys didn't want the bookmarks that had rainbows and flowers, and the girls didn't want the ones that had guns and explosions (Really. At least one bookmark (I remember one clearly) had a number of small guns drawn with markers, along with starbursts explosions). These had been drawn by those that were then in grade 8, when they had been in grade 3. So they'd had five years of abuse, by at least four classes a year.

So I'd decided that I'd leave my mark in a way that was unobtrusive, but still unavoidable--I'd make both schools new bookmarks.


The idea was simple enough. Make bookmarks that clearly say "this is the library". Each bookmark was to have a quote written on it, on the topic of books, reading, writing, or the library. The quotes were mainly from francophone, primarily French, authors, although there were some German, Dutch, and English authors thrown in. As well as Groucho Marx. Due to the size of the classes, I had to make a large number of bookmarks (Thirty-four), which meant that I had to make 68 bookmarks (one set for each school), and find 68 quotes (two for each bookmark, one on each side), as well as images of 34 literary characters. The quotes couldn't be too long, should be understandable (or at least, I should be able to explain them), and the characters had to be from books that were contained in the library (and preferably by francophone authors).

It took me about two months to write up all the bookmarks, which was not too shabby, since it was tiring, and since this was my first project of this size, I had to deal with complications as they appeared. I had a number of different scripts to pick from, and I used as many as I could, and used a number of different ink colours as well. And mistakes were not uncommon. These I dealt with in the medieval manner: scrape off the ink, and keep going! Nice thing is, since I was using cardstock, these mistakes were sometimes difficult to find.


Finally, around mid-April 2008, I'd finished 68 bookmarks, split them up so each school got a set, and brought them in. I'd spoken about them for so long, and the kids had been asking when the new bookmarks would be in for so long, I decided to have a bit of fun with the "reveal"... The grade 3-4 class came in, sat down, and... waited. I started playing Carl Orff's "O Fortuna", because, really, isn't just the most dramatic choral and orchestral piece around? As the piece started, I picked up a wastebasket, then picked up and tossed in the old bookmarks. When the first "climax" hit (about 15 seconds into the tune), I triumphantly raised up the new bookmarks. The class started cheering, applauding... They were so enthusiastic, a teacher's aide came from the other side of the school scolding as to what all the noise was, since we could be heard on the other side.

I handed out the bookmarks, they marvelled at them, and within 15 seconds, they were being folded.

Oddly enough, the kids didn't believe me when I told them they were all hand-written. It would seem I did such a good job (and, well, who does calligraphy these days?), that they couldn't wrap their heads around it, until I would randomly write the name of one of the kids in various styles, that they would realize "well, geez, he really can write like that!"

They've survived four years of rough usage by the kids, and they'll hopefully be replaced next year, before they fall apart...



And they're very popular. I'm down to 28 at one school, and I have no idea how many still remain at the other school.

Orchids and gothic (For lack of a better title.)

Thus begins the second year.

Well, OK. I'm about three weeks early in declaring a year of calligraphy, but considering this is the second card I make for my Viennese friend, I'll call it a year.

I'm going to try and not get weepy and retrospective-y, but I'll still talk about the past year to start off. I didn't think, a year ago, that I would be doing this so much. I mean, sure, calligraphy was/is always going to be a hobby, but I never imagined that it would pick up so fast. Granted, the summer was slow (mainly because I was in Hungary for a month--that tends to slow down calligraphic production), but I did complete six projects this past year. Which seems like very little, but four of those were completed within the past three months. Not a bad rate of production. I also did a number of smaller projects (three Christmas cards, and one birthday card. Nothing really special about them). I taught the grade 8s at one of my schools to do a little bit of calligraphy, and will be doing so again. I introduced calligraphy to the grade 9s at my other school, and have been encouraged to launch a calligraphy club at school next year. I created a decent-sized project, and completed it, without too many flaws, in a short time. And I launched this blog, which, if we go by page views, has gotten a bit of exposure (who's reading my blog in Russia and the Ukraine?!)

End sentimentalness.


In my past projects, I had trouble working out how to adapt patterns to my ideas, or resizing them (it's true. It didn't occur to me to use a photocopier to resize). This really limited my ability to create something. The design element had to be the right size, in the right place, for it to work. This was why I had fallen back on frames for my second and third project--they were easy to adapt, and, frankly, didn't cause me headaches. I don't know what happened, but I started looking at designs, and going "if I shrink this, I can use that element without a problem." I was now able to use more design elements on a sheet, and still have sufficient space to write. Of course, this being Hungarian embroidery based, I am still restricted to using elements from one region on one sheet. In other words, I can't mix a Sióagárdi element with a Kalocsai element. This time around, as seems to be turning into tradition, I've picked a Kalocsai design from an apron (no, Hungarian aprons weren't "Kiss the Cook" or some such. Or at least, they weren't traditionally.) Aprons were everyday wear in Hungary, although there were often some retained for more formal occasions, like Sunday Mass. The full pattern for this apron (well, this part) was the design at the base of the sheet, with a "bouquet" of three roses at the top. I chose to use the design at the base, and one of the roses as a header.

It's funny. I don't consider myself intrinsically artistic (far from it), and I couldn't create a design from scratch, but within 30 seconds I can look at an embroidery pattern, and decide not only whether it will suit a project, but also what elements will be used, and how. It's like "This is a nice one. S/He will like this. I'll put that there, and that there." The writing is a whole different story.

The tracing, lining, and colouring, as usual, took me little time. A few hours, in total. Of course, considering my time was mainly spent working on "Panic Mode"(qv.), "Orchids" was worked on when I was unable to continue with "Panic Mode". Once "Panic Mode" was finished and mailed away, I could get down to focusing on the more perplexing aspect of "Orchids": the writing. Previously, I'd gotten away with three texts. But I didn't want to start recycling the texts too soon, so I had to find something. I was hoping to find another traditional greeting/blessing, but wasn't having much luck with that. Thankfully, some people put together a few webpages that contained a lot of greetings, wishes, and the such (here, I'll admit I'm not very poetic, either.)

I found a nice greeting that essentially said "may you always smile, never cry, and always have a happy birthday" (told you I'm not poetic. A translation would have been horrid).


What originally got me interested in calligraphy was illuminated manuscripts. Being a bibliophile and a history buff, it was only a matter of time before I discovered these masterpieces. And I don't know what it is, exactly, but I have a preference for Early and High Middle Ages works (Lindisfarne Gospels, Book of Kells, Képes Krónika, Macclesfield Psalter (although the two latter ones are towards the end of my interest)), as a result, I tend to prefer working with uncial, insular, and Carolingian scripts (and occasionally italic). Gothic, due to how slowly it is written, and its angularity (often causing it to be nearly illegible in its most formal form) is a script I had so far avoided. However, I was worried about writing myself into a corner (yes, that was a bad pun), so I looked at a wider range of scripts.

Every once in a while, I wonder why I have so many books on scripts (I currently have eleven, of which two to four are more studies of historical calligraphy than 'how-to' books), especially since there are really only a few unique scripts (Roman majuscule, Uncial, Insular, Carolingian, Gothic, Italic, and !@#$% Copperplate), and just about everything else is variations of those main types. Of course, these variations come in useful, when one is only found in a single book. I had been hesitating to use Gothic, because of its characteristics, but one of my books had a script called "Cursive Gothic". 'Cursive' only in the sense that it could be written faster than "regular" Gothic. But it suited my purpose: it was a script different from what I had used before, it was legible, and I felt it would be suitable. I'd also realized that since red is a very common colour in the designs, I would have a tendency to write in red ink (so there would be no clash between the writing and the design), but really... Not every project needs to be in red, does it? Out of all the colours in the design, the next most common colour was green. I didn't have an ink that matched the shade of the light green (I'd have to blend inks to do that. Another skill I have yet to learn), so I matched the dark green.

I'm actually happy with this one (and so is she, and that's what's important).

Something about Hungarians and Peppers...

Hot on the tails of "Switcheroo" was another card. Actually, both were being coloured at the same time, which probably explains the resemblance in method.

Two months after making my first card, I went to Montreal to visit some friends, and while I was there, I showed one its photo. She asked for one, so a few months later, when the time came, I started working on it. At this point, I hadn't quite figured out how to modify the patterns I had so they didn't hog all the space on the page. This is why these two particular cards have such big designs (Switheroo is the other one). Around this time I also bought myself a portfolio, so I could protect the sheets while I worked on them (and avoid bending the corners). Needless to say, I felt like I was becoming a true artist (of course, that's absolute nonsense).

Anyway...

One of my resources where I get the designs from has a sheet, showing 5 different "sorminta", or "row patterns". These are designs that would often be embroidered along the edge of a tableloth, sheet, pillowcase, etc. And their purpose happens to make them easily adaptable for my own purposes, with very little mucking of the design. If you've been reading the blog from the start (or have read the older posts), you'll recall I stated that embroidery and design from Kalocsa ("Kalocsai") is very popular, both in Hungary and internationally. (If this is the first time you read that statement, you'll recall I said it the next time I say it.) As a result, this sheet had two examples of Kalocsai sorminta. Nice colourful flowers, as usual, but with, um, two unusual details. One sorminta had a head of wheat, and the other had peppers. First reaction is something along the lines of "what are those doing there?" But, of course, the flowers, wheat, and peppers have a meaning (red peppers represent strength and vigor. And if you've ever eaten hot Hungarian paprika, you know why).

Around this time it comes to my mind that the staff and students at the schools I work must think I'm really weird for drawing flowers all the time.

The greeting is as usual in Hungarian, and is a traditional greeting sung throughout the Hungarian scout community for someone's birthday. It's another one of the funny-indented cards, but from the looks of it, this one was done on purpose. The text, I find now, is remarkably compact. What I had done, was instead of spacing each line out, was simply stack them on top of each other, meaning that now, there's a huge block of space above and below the writing. Spacing it out (even if only by x-height [the height of the majority of letters]) would have spread out the text a little more, and made it more legible. An excellent example of how spacing matters is between the first and second lines, where no less than three times is there a conflict between ascenders (l and h on the second line) and descenders (y, g, and p on the first lines). Inserting an x-height space, in addition to the space required for ascenders and descenders, would have prevented such a conflict. The script is a form of uncial (I think it's half-uncial), which was prevalent from the 3rd to the 6th century.

And of course, there's a typo.

Switcheroo

Part of the fun in doing my various calligraphy cards, I think, is the fact that few people know they'll be getting one. A few people have expressly requested one, but most recipients have no clue, until they get a photo, or, in this case, it's in their hands.

I had been invited to a friend's eighteenth birthday party, and, well, I had absolutely no idea what to get her (and I hold "your presence is a gift enough" to be a cop-out); so I fell back on the common (well, somewhat common in my family) "make something yourself!" As opposed to most of the cards I'd done so far, the text was one of the first things I had settled on. Both her and I were dancers (well, she still is; I start, and then drop out once the skill required for the dances pass me by. I'm far from being a good dancer), and the text is (once again) a Hungarian folk greeting, this time from the region of Szék (now Sic, in Transylvania), which is well-known in Hungarian folk-dance circles.

As for the design, I was having trouble finding a nice "centrepiece" design (like in "Out of the Gate"), so I chose to go with a frame design. Here's where "switcheroo" comes in... Originally, I had planned to make one with a design from the Matyó region of northern Hungary, but I was unsure about the colour scheme. So I asked a friend of mine, who's knowledgeable in the various embroidery colour schemes, and her questions (like "which village?" and "which decade?") made me realize that I had picked the wrong region for a sudden-onset project. So I had to go back to the drawing board, and pick a design that I could pull together quickly. The winner? A border embroidery design from the Palóc region, which, as it happens, borders on the Matyó region! Right next door, and yet, so different. From a multitude of colours and shades, to two: red and blue. Once I knew what shades I needed, things could progress.



By this time, the party had come and gone. So much for a deadline.

But my sister (who makes cards), and I (who, apparently, does calligraphy) teamed up to provide a hand-made and hand-written card.

Of course, there was no hint that the "real" gift was forthcoming.

When I finished it, and gave it to her at a scout leaders' conference (yes, another scout...), the others were ribbing her that since it was so delayed, she shouldn't accept it. And I actually had to say "aren't you going to unwrap it?"...

I don't know if I've mentionned it before, but it usually takes me two days to write a card (in addition to the time spent working on the design). The first evening is a draft, measuring, making sure the writing will fit in the space set aside for it, and seeing how the lines will line up. Basically, making sure that everything will be perfect when the time comes to make the final write-up.

OK. Here's where I totally, and I mean, totally ruin the card for my friend. (Actually, I'm expecting a message asking "you gave me this CRAP?!" after she reads this. If she reads the blog, that is. There's a reason I don't name names.)

This is due to a number of factors that would have been discovered, and resolved, had I not decided to make a card on short notice.

Do I regret making the card for my friend? Absolutely not. Do I regret not having done a better job of it? Absolutely.

I'm disappointed with the way the lines didn't line up evenly: I "solved" this by making all the lines indent, but they don't even indent evenly! I'm disappointed with how crowded it is. Just because you can fill most of the white space, doesn't mean you should. Keep an eye out for when you need to refill the nib, so you don't have words in the middle of the line looking like they're in bold. And if one of your lines ends up being a different size than the rest, when it shouldn't be, RE-LINE IT!

And, of course, there's a mistake in the last line of the poem. Two, actually.

This is one of those times I go "I'm glad people don't know how easy it is to do calligraphy. If they did, they'd know how bad my stuff is."