Prairie Girls and Dip Pens
I met my first pen pals in during a summer camp at a living history site along the Minnesota River. We dressed in mid-1800s era cotten dresses, used quill pens and chalk boards in the school house, marbled paper, learned to use the drop spindle, made saltine crackers from scratch, and performed a number of other “farm chores” with delight. We took on the names Betsy, Tacy & Tib (that’s me), based on characters from the Maud Lovelace book series, and felt like we were living the dream. I even used my allowance money to buy a quill dip pen and ink at the craft store chain, which I used to write blotchy letters to Betsy & Tacy until I reached high school.
I kept up the “character” of Tib/Thelma as a volunteer interpreter at that site until I was 18. It was there that I learned to knit, spin, weave, dye, and enjoy chicken and dumpling soup. I believed I was born in the wrong century, but now I realize I just enjoyed playing at a lifestyle where making was a necessity and lack of modern conveniences forced you to know your environment. By no means do I want to idealize that time; it’s only magical to PRETEND to be a female in the 1800s. In reality, I’d be married with six children, have few rights, and work as a seamstress. More likely, I’d be dead from disease or complicated childbirth.
That wave of memories came upon me yesterday when I my new quill dip pen a whirl for the first time in years. I tried it out on a cartoon sketch I’ve been working on: Plates. I hesitate to use the word “cartoon”, because I’ve always associated that term with “funny”. This isn’t funny. Well...maybe it is, but in a nervous laughter because this is ridiculous but also kind of sad sort of way.
I’ve never been drawn to using cartoons or storyboards before, but it just seemed a fitting format for the conversations I’ve been recording in my journal. I like how flexible it is, allowing you to play with emphasis and complexity in tiny moments.
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