I’m joining the inimitable Carson Ellis for a conversation at Bart’s Books this month! Come help celebrate the release of her new book, One Week in January, on October 12th in the Bart’s courtyard from 6-7pm. We’ll be chatting about creative booms in funky towns, spending time with our younger selves, and finding community in rural spaces. Event details here.
Here’s a bit more about the book:
In January 2001, […] 25-year-old Ellis moved into a warehouse in the Central Eastside with a group of fellow artists. For the first week she lived there, Ellis kept a detailed diary recording only the minutiae of each day, mostly as a brain exercise to stave off what she perceived as memory loss. A couple years ago, having recently rediscovered the volume in a crate of letters and keep-sakes, she set to illustrate the two-decade-old journal with rich gouache paintings, evocatively capturing a specific cultural moment of the early 2000s.
Offering here a snapshot of a bygone era and a meticulous re-creation of quotidian frustrations and small, meaningful moments, One Week in January is a meditation on what it means both to start your journey as an artist and to look back at that beginning many years later.
You can also see all the original paintings from the book at Nationale in Portland through October 19th!
There are tons of things I love about this project, but I’m specifically delighted by it as a time capsule of the Portland that was already dissolving when I arrived there as a college student in late 2009. I know the buildings and markets Carson mentions in her diary! I’ve visited friends’ painting studios in those same warehouses! I’ve shopped at those corner stores! But the version of the city I found was slightly newer, the grime a bit less visible. The city I visit now—the one she still lives outside of—is newer still.
And then, of course, there’s the collapsing tunnel that flings me back further in my own life. A year after writing this diary, Carson would illustrate the cover of Castaways and Cutouts—the first album from The Decemberists, fronted by her now-husband (and frequent diary apparition) Colin Meloy. By the time I started high school in 2003 I was eagerly bringing their songs to play at Morning Assembly. As a tall ship sailor in the late 2000s, it was basically mandatory that one listen to a band with so many raucous, anachronistic, shanty-like tunes under their belt—not to mention the nautical art Carson made for each release. The thought of sitting down as something like peers to discuss Carson’s work from that era is surreal in the extreme.
Now that I think of it, one of my favorite reads from this year, Dear Sophie, Love Sophie, likewise begins with the recovery of a painfully earnest diary and spins it into something compassionate and affirming in the present day.
It’s more graphic novel than pairing of painting and text, but equally heartfelt and charming. (I’m just a big fan of Sophie Lucido Johnson, generally speaking. Her newsletter is great.)
Oh, Carson has a newsletter, too! It’s called Slowpoke.
Okay, I think that’s it for promotion. See you at Bart’s!
