Pocket-Sized Masterpieces: The Joy of ATCs

There is a quiet magic in creating something beautiful with your own two hands, but there is an even greater joy in sending that piece of your heart out into the world to make a brand-new friend. This is the beautiful essence of Artist Trading Cards. These miniature works of art, affectionately called ATCs, carry a delightful tradition where the only strict rule is their size; every single card must be exactly 2 ½ by 3 ½ inches, which is the precise size of a standard baseball card.

Within those tiny dimensions, the creative possibilities are absolutely endless. You can use any medium your heart desires, whether that means drawing intricate patterns with white gel pens on dark paper, blending watercolors, or layering bits of vintage paper and ephemera for a beautiful collage. Because they are so small, there is no pressure to create a massive masterpiece; instead, you get to experiment with colors and textures, making each little card a unique expression of your imagination.

Finding My Lines: How a Week of Drawing Made Me Feel Alive

The dolphin on left was drawn on my first day, last Monday. The one on right was drawn on my sixth day. Daily practice is wonderful.

It is a weird, awesome feeling when your hands finally start catching up with your brain. At the beginning of the week, every time I put pen to paper, the lines came out looking completely gimpy. I'd have a perfect image in my head, but what actually ended up on the page looked shaky, lopsided, and just totally off. 

Penny for your thoughts

When I was ten, I made my artist grandmother a cross for her wall by cutting a couple of chopsticks into shorter pieces with a steak knife, using a leather bootlace to bind them together, and then I used Elmer's glue to attach pennies up and down the stake and the crosspiece.

I remember having to prop the pennies so they would stay still and let the glue dry properly.

Gramma Mary hung that cross on her wall in Chicago, and then took it to California when she moved there when I was about 20. It was still hanging on her wall when she passed away, about twenty years after I made it for her.

It was kind of gimpy, but she loved it, and loved that I had spent time and effort making it for her.

I miss you, Gramma.