Cards that are about more than communication.

Although we are in the throes of winter, I am working on my collection of invitations that preserve a moment in time, event program covers that enhance an occasion, and creating note–cards that are about more than communication. My desire to bring back the practice of sending a paper card is even stronger than it was a short time ago when my friends and I were discussing the pitfalls of sending “E–cards” about which I blogged in a previous post, and I am thinking ahead to the forthcoming seasons and images that might celebrate them.

The card posted above is a sample from my edition known as The Petite Fold-Out Card Collection which can be found, along with many others, for purchase on my web-site, and can also be viewed within my downloadable paper-brochure.Each card in this edition measures 5" by 4 and 1/4" and additional samples are posted below. They should be viewed this way: The right portion of each image is the front of the card, and the left side of each image is the back of the card. 

Each card in this edition is blank inside. The one featured at the top of this post is titled Pansies and Violas. I’m encouraged to learn that others might feel strongly about sending cards this way too. Nine days ago (March 6th 2010), on National Public Radio affiliate WNYC’s The Leonard Lopate Show, the host’s featured guest was the novelist and critic Thomas Mallon, who was touting his book Yours Ever, People and Their Letters, published by Pantheon. As Daniel Okrent states in a November ’09 review of the book, “Mallon’s writing about a practice that for at least eight centuries was the primary means of communication between people who happened not to be in the same place at the same time. It was more than just communication, though; it was a form of human conduct enhanced, even exalted, by the demands it imposed on those who practiced it.” Okert explains that Mallon writes, “The small hardships of letter writing — having to think a moment longer before completing utterance; remaining in suspense while awaiting reply; having one’s urgent letters cross in the mail — are the things that enrich it, emotionally and rhetorically.”

Okert concludes that, “Given the present and future of letter writing, it’s a privilege to be cherished.” Hearing the interview with Thomas Mallon, and re–reading Daniel Okrent’s review, leads me to believe that not only is letter writing a privilege to be cherished, but so is the sending and the receiving of paper cards. The impact (on quality communication) of mass–produced–E–cards getting lost in cyber–space, either by a spam filter or a broken link, is threatening whatever little personal touches have been left in communicating these days — and is fueling impatience as well as the need for immediate gratification.




E.B. White had this to say about greeting cards (The New Yorker, 6-19-54): “A greeting–card firm has sent us some statistics about the expression of friendship and good will in America. The figures were staggering. In 1953, some three and a half million cards were mailed carrying greetings of one sort or another. Friendships ranked high on the list, along with Get Well Soons, Happy Birthdays, and Merry Andsoforths. For a firm dealing in the emotions of love and affection, the statistician’s mind runs on very strange matters indeed. Thus we read that the money spent on ‘friendship’ in 1953 would ‘pay for a battle-ship.’ And if stacked one atop another in their envelopes, those three and a half billion messages would ‘make a pile so high that even the Russians couldn’t invent a guided missile that could get over the top of it. It would be 4,375 miles up in the ionosphere.’ There seems to be something wrong here somewhere. Perhaps we should simply stack these friendship cards instead of mailing them, thus warding off unfriendly missiles. Or perhaps we are sending the cards to the wrong people. Why doesn’t some enterprising greeting–card firm get up a mailing list of our ‘enemies’ (there must be billions of them), to whom a friendship card would come as a real surprise? The money spent on the cards would still pay for a battleship, but if the cards worked, the battleship might never have to open fire.”





In anticipation of spring, summer, and fall, I have recently created a unique line of all occasion greeting cards based on (but not limited to) my garden images, which I sell at select venues, to private clients, and on my web-site. The nature based images in these beautiful cards are a nice way for you to announce that you have scaled Mount Kilimanjaro, cycled from Manhattan to Cape May, have completed the Midnight Run in Central Park to ring in the New Year, scooped up eighty martini glasses for $100 at The Tavern on The Green’s recent auction run by The Guernsey’s, or to say a very special message when e–cards just won’t do.









There are other Petite Fold–Out Cards not seen here (but posted on my web-site) which are perfect for inviting folks to your own garden party, or to announce you have finished writing your libretto — and to thank your agent, publicist, cast, and your dear friends who supported your efforts as you rose to success — as my friend and talented client Charles Leipart, the celebrated librettist, has done with cards he has purchased from me. Charles has purchased from my Black and White Note–Card collection as well as the Fold–Out Collection. Here is one of his favorites, October in the Woods #2:

So if someone has had you for dinner serving you a special cuisine, or celebrated a significant birthday (they are all significant) with you by offering a toast, or taken you on a voyage, or even given you a job interview — why not take out the pen and write a personal note that won’t get lost in spam but will be welcome in a snail–mail–box amongst bills and campaign requests. If you are worried about not being green by sending a paper card, please note that these cards have a double–life, because the unique feature of these cards is that the image is continuous, folding out into a print that is 8.5" by 5" which is suitable for framing. It’s a nice way of preserving a moment, as seen below with the card titled, The Last Leaf Gardener.

Snowy days. Starry nights. "And since we've no place to go, Let it go, Let it go, Let it go..." (A Case For Not Sending 'E' Cards)

Engaging conversations. Sipping Papillon Hermitage. Snacking on Prince De Clavrolle Cheese and a baguette from Tom Cat Bakery as we make up our own words to the "Let it snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow"  song and replace them with "Let it Go, Let it Go, Let it Go." We are snow-bound in my studio apartment and looking out onto my terrace garden celebrating my winter note-card collection and so this is my first 'in-between-Saturdays-post.' 




These cards will soon be in the store-front pages of my web-site, and are so perfect for the season and to send when 'E' cards just won't do. We are not 'E' card people, and while we are fairly proficient in using the computer, and are very much concerned about our environment (we don't "waste" paper), we like to keep in touch in a personal way which is often by mailing a card.

This causes me to think how grateful I am for some of the 'paper-cards' — as they are now branded — that I have gotten in the past. While I am not a collector, I have kept some very special paper cards that I have received. I've even framed some cards. One card that I have framed is from the summer after sixth grade. It is one that I received from my Great-Aunt Grace (who had eyes like Bette Davis eyes — long before the pop tune coined the phrase — but not the personality Kim Carnes  depicted in that song), my maternal grandmother's sister, who I always remembered as having been to the World's Fair (as seen below) in New York City, which even as a child, is a place where I wanted to live.

That summer had been hard. I was very overwhelmed: My father had moved away the year prior, my Neurofibromatosis was now causing bumps to appear everywhere on my body. I wanted contact lenses, because my left eye was frequently turning inward from the lack of acuity  that it had, and my eye-doctor had told my parents that contacts would help with this problem as well as help to correct my low vision. Additionally, I would be attending a new school in the fall —the junior high school — where I would be going from room to room for various classes as opposed to having everything taught in one room, and I  was nervous I would not have time between classes to arrive on time. I even thought of my possibly missing the elementary school kids despite the fact that they didn't pick me to be on their Murder Ball team because of my low depth perception causing me to be an "easy-out." At least they had seen my physical problems and the teasing me about them had subsided; now I'd have to start all over again by being with different kids.

Most of all, I was overwhelmed because I could not comfort my mother, who cried constantly over my father's leaving us. I knew I could share these thoughts with my Great-Aunt Grace, who often 'baby-sat' when my mother needed someone to take care of me. I was looking forward to seeing Grace on my birthday, but that was not to be. My dear great-aunt died unexpectedly in her sleep. She had been discovered dead, by her land-lady, after having turned blue in her bed. I still received the birthday card that  she had put in the mail prior to her fatal day. It arrived (featured below out of its frame) the day after I got the news that she had died, and it was to let me know she'd be thinking of me on "my day" as she called it. On the back of the card my Great Aunt wrote, "Will see you before long."

 

Now at my launching of my winter-card-line soirée, we agree, "These kind of treasures aren't the same as an 'E' card that's been archived in your e-mail account-folder, with the threat of  a link breaking if you want to view it again." Being snowbound and drinking wine is fueling our nostalgia as we continue to talk about  framing cards. Our attention is now on another card that I have framed is posted below:

As you can see, a car is pulling into a parking space in a crowded lot. We can infer the driver is pleased to find a place to park. I received this as a birthday card from my father, with whom I'd finally reconnected on a minimal communication level, after having lived in New York City a number of years.  My conversations with my father did not go much beyond the weather and cholesterol levels — despite my yearning for a relationship. He was a man of few words, but he sent me this card upon hearing I'd found an apartment — the living space where I am now - that I truly love. "Sometimes paper-cards can express what we cannot articulate," my friends and I conclude as the snow continues to fall and the wine warms us. My inclination to frame certain cards has led me to design cards that are suitable for framing which you may have seen in my previous posts but I'll include here for convenience.

The following are some selections from my new winter card line that we have been celebrating, and that Chris Deatherage, (my new web-designer) has added to my web-site.The first is titled Snowbound, the second is titled Hibernating, and the third is titled  Family Life In Central Park. (These are all petite fold-out cards.)

The images in the first two cards posted above are from my terrace which provides me with solace and inspiration. The third card is derived from an image taken in Central Park, a few yards a way from my apartment. Winter in New York City brings out the need to sculpt as evidenced in my image, Snow Diva in Central Park, for  the new single-sided card line (which Chris has also posted).

The front of the card is the right portion, the back of the card with the title of the image is the left hand portion. The card is blank inside and sized the same as the Petite Fold-Outs (5" by 4 and 1/4"). As you may recall  from my "day one" post, I've been inspired by the snow-sculptures constructed in Central Park after a winter storm, as evidenced by one of my very first line of note cards, Round Yon Virgin, an image of a snow sculpture of the Madonna and Child, seen near the Delacorte Theatre in Central Park.

If you are interested in preserving moments in a special way with any of my note-cards, please feel free to contact me via the information on my web-site. If you see cards posted here that are not yet on my web-site,  I can make arrangements for you to purchase them. Meanwhile we are still watching the snow fall, as we look out onto my garden (it has accumulated quite a bit since we began our soirée). Although we are surrounded by snow, we are now talking about our forthcoming spring card collection. After all, just a few weeks ago, Stanten Island Chuck, the New York  City Ground Hog, saw his shadow, and despite the heavy snow fall this evening, we know spring will be here soon, so we hope you do celebrate winter with friends, sip Hot Chocolate -infused with bitters  — (We recommend del Capo ) — and reach out to those near and dear to you by sending them one of our cards. I'm two days early posting this. Perhaps it's the del Capo's influence.....

"America's Answer to Guy de Maupassant:"The Inspiration Behind the Title of My Blog, The Last Leaf Gardener

With this post which will mark the first post of my from now on weekly postings (with the exception of the dates I stated in my first post (and an occasional post in between on certain Saturdays if a special event occurs), I’d like to take a moment to tell you about the title of my blog, The Last Leaf Gardener – and the name of the image posted above, a framed card from a collection created by me.


This collection can be seen on my web-site. The title of the framed piece posted above, and of this blog, is a modification of the title of a short story, known as The Last Leaf, by O. Henry. O. Henry! The author whose story title influenced me and who has subsequently been called “America’s answer to Guy de Maupassant.” (For pleasure read Guy de Maupassant’s The Necklace – you’ll see why O. Henry was influenced by him and maybe why I in turn was influenced by O. Henry.) Both of these authors were “known for their twist endings,” and in his story, The Last Leaf, O.Henry tells us that Johanna (Johnnsy, the protagonist) has renewed energy upon seeing a lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against a wall. If you’ve read this story, you are aware that unbeknown to Johnsy, what she is actually seeing is a wall on which a single ivy leaf has been painted by her disgruntled super, who knows that when Johnsy sees the leaf, she will find the strength to carry on with her life. Coincidentally, on the wall of my roof–top extension garden, someone (prior to my moving in) has painted many leaves of ivy (which you can see in the first photo in the panel in the the right side of this blog – the photo associated with my “on-line brochure”). This “ivy” is above and to the extreme right of the door in that photo.

A number of years ago, this “ivy” was bought to my attention by a neighbor, who happens to be named Johanna. She came to visit me when she learned my ceiling had collapsed into my top floor studio apartment where the main living space measures fifteen feet and four inches by ten feet.
Several things were destroyed in my apartment, and the dust from the fallen plaster made it nearly impossible to stay inside. I was distraught when Johanna and I were speaking. Since living here, I’d undergone four surgical procedures, suffered the loss of a parent when my father died a horrific death, and had my hours cut at my job, leaving me without enough funds to meet my needs. Prior to living here, I had experienced years of living in apartments that were barely habitable, including a small, top–floor studio apartment that had no window (except for a small sky-light that could only open a crack) and where the toilet was in my clothes clothes closet as seen in the photo posted below:

Now, standing in my current studio apartment with Johanna, in the aftermath of the ceiling collapse, and seeing the ceiling on the floor, with shard and plaster strewn all throughout the apartment, was overwhelming. In the midst of my angst, I noticed that one of the only objects which was totally unscathed by the ceiling collapse was a Bell Atlantic Caller ID Box; sitting on top of a stool.

I couldn’t help but think that the “surviving” Caller ID Box was a copywriter’s dream! What a great ad that would’ve made for the durability of those Caller ID boxes (and the need for them when catastrophe strikes). The fact that I was able to find humor in this situation should have been an indication to me that I would get through this, but at that moment all I could see was the struggle ahead to recoup the losses of my property, and to recover from the physical problems aggravated by this. Because of the difficulty we had breathing in my apartment, my neighbor Johanna and I went outside to my terrace (where I had yet to plant any type of garden) to talk about solutions. With no funds for repairs to my property (and no renter’s insurance), I shared my feelings of despair with Johanna. At that point, she showed me the painted ivy trailing up my building’s wall and told me the O. Henry story. Soon after, I was able to sell my mahogany cabinet that had been only slightly damaged.

I had inherited this piece of mahogany furniture from my great uncle, Dave Loth, a journalist for The New York World. This had been his first piece of furniture in his first New York apartment, and it was now going to be used for funds to repair some of my property. The aggravation of repairs ensued for months. At times, instead of being inspired by The Last Leaf, I felt that my situation was more akin to being the last straw, and worse yet, that I was the last leaf, barely clinging to a vine. Years have passed since that accident, but the painted ivy still remains, as does my inspiration to cling to the vine of life (not to be a clinging vine) when everything seems to crumble around it – an inborn reaction, I suppose to having the surname Youngquist (which translates into the ability “to survive under any condition”).

—  P.S. I now have a beautiful garden which will be a focus of my blog; hence The Last Leaf Gardener for the title.