As part of a group exhibition at Concordia University Irvine I was asked to give a brief reflection on my work in the show. I am including the text here. 

    Thank you for the opportunity to share my work with you today. My name is Julia Hendrickson, and I am a professor here at Concordia. I am a printmaker working in the Abstract Expressionist tradition with a distinct emphasis on process.
    The foundation of this series began a few years ago when I was on a Zoom call with a precocious three-year-old. We were painting together and she was asking lots of questions, as is her right as a three-year old, which meant that my focused attention needed to be directed at her and not necessarily at the painting. What could happen was a fingerprint at a time. A simple gesture, that evolved into patterned prayers, meditations on connection. I painted on dry paper in sketchbooks and then dry paper in large rolls, 30ft long rolls. A shift happened when I wet the paper and then fingerprinted onto it dancing with the blooming touchpoints, allowing for real-time adjustments of the image. After gaining proficiency with this working method I returned to my familiar practice of adding salt to wet imagery. The hydrophilic and hydrophobic reactions highlight the directionality that the water application introduced and construct highly textured images.
    As for the content of these images, this Droplets series is a reflection on two concurrent epidemics in America. First, SARS-CoV-2; as someone with a complicated immune response to illness, my life has been drastically altered by the presence of these viral droplets. The second endemic that the Droplets series focuses on is gun violence and subsequent blood splatter. Something I am all too aware of as a university professor. As I realized the content of these paintings I removed my fingerprints from the paper and created through splatter and drips; making no direct contact. This is reminiscent of the distance that many take when talking about these challenging issues.
    The painting remain unframed in the traditional sense. For a long time I didn’t understand my reluctance to framing. I had the means and ability, but the work resisted it. It wasn’t until I read Amanda Palmers book The Art of Asking, where she explains about the exquisite trust and venerability that develops between a performer and their audience that I understood. The pieces are an experience in trust. The sheets of paper remain unprotected. They rely on the viewer to treat them with at minimum benign neglect, and at best, upmost care and consideration. Thus adding to the interpretative elements of the two epidemics while implicating the viewer in the process.
    While the process of making these paintings appears effortless, they are splatter paintings after all, they are not. They are carefully choreographed collaborations between material and intent. The monochromatic scheme constructs a meditative space where the viewer has room to explore free from the distraction of compliment and contrast. Every element is collaborated with allowing for the coalescing of form and meaning. Thank you for your careful consideration.
                                                                    -Julia Hendrickson
                                                                     Ordinary Time 2023

400 is a significant number. Even if it were only grains of sand, you would certainly notice if that was in your sock. And I have now read over 400 books this year. My updated goal for the year is 500 even though it seems I am on track for many more than that. But as I look at other things I am committed to for the fall season 500 is within the arena of probable. Sometimes I don't know how it is possible that I have read so much this year and still done all of the other things I have done (hundreds of paintings, over one hundred Instagram posts, hundreds of miles of walking), but then I think about things I haven't done (commuted to work, gone to the movies). As with any noteworthy goal, choice is a primary factor. I choose to read six days a week. Sometimes I would rather mindlessly scroll, or binge-watch a show, but most of the time remaining focused on getting to achieve this long held dream of reading 365 books in a year is enough enticement to continue reading, in addition to the joy of reading and delighting in stories. Now that I have passed the 365 goal it is intriguing enough to see just how many books I will get to read this year. Here are some of the best books (of the last 100) that I have read.

Fiction:
Chain-Gang All Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah An excellent "fiction" reflecting on the prison industrial complex and live entertainment. Lots to consider. 
The Measure by Nikki Erlick How would your life change if you knew when it would end? 
The Overstory by Richard Powers A multi-perspective narrative concerning the interconnected nature of trees (and humans). 
Tress of the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson A delightful submersive fantasy. The total world construction is what places this among my past 100 favorites. 

Non-Fiction:
A Stone is Most Precious Where it Belongs by Gulchehra Hoja A poignant personal perspective on a Uyghurs experience as a political refugee. 
Soil: The Story of a Black Mother's Garden by Camille T. Dungy A beautiful reflection on community and self-sustaining practice. 
The People's Hospital: Hope and Peril in American Medicine by Ricardo Nulia A considered case study by a doctor reflecting on insurance as a barrier to care in the experiences of 5 patients. 
New Rules Next Week: Corita Kent's Legacy through the Eyes of Twenty Artists and Writers An encouraging read for artists and educators. 


Friends:
Doorway to Artistry by Esther Lightcap Meek A philosophical exploration of creativity presented as an extended metaphor on hospitality. 

The book discussion group I am a part of just finished Rebecca Solnit's Wanderlust: A History of Walking. It is an in-depth prowl through cultural understandings and appropriations of walking, particularly who can walk and where. We had robust discussions and introduced some creative reflective practices too. Two of those I include for you below if you want to participate in some play.

Prompted by section three of the book: 
Design your walking book cover: what colors, vibe, images would you include 
OR 
Design your walking protest poster (either the informational one, or the one you would carry day of) Concern location (which city would you place your protest in, colors, images, causes) 

Prompted by the book as a whole:
Paul Klee is attributed with the sentence "A line is a dot that went for a walk." What would your line look like? What images would it traverse? What would be excluded? 

Each of these prompts was allotted 15 minutes and we mostly relied on digital media (Canva, etc) to collate our images in that time frame.

These are two of the potential book covers I sketched up. The modern naturalist cover emphasizes my utilization of a walk as a time of observation. The 5-7 miles I walk every day yields an abundance of flower and sky photographs, while the text of that cover emphasizes the momentary and spacious essence of walking. The text-based cover reflects on my steady walking habit which at times is excessive (half-marathons everyday... perhaps a bit much). AND it references the expansive experience of walking, along with the amplifying investigation of perusing the same paths day after day. 

Mako and I recently recorded a conversation about the latest edition of Mark Rothko's book "The Artist's Reality: Philosophies of Art." This text is an interesting exploration of what Rothko thought of as the themes in viewing and making art. If you are interested in a more academic take of these concepts I recommend reading. In the meantime enjoy listening to the conversation we had about "The Artist's Reality" The latest edition from Yale University Press which includes Mako's afterword can be found here. 

These paintings are part of the "What Lies Beneath" series which utilizes scripted words as the foundational paint application method before the salt is applied. Both phrases come from the book "​"How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy" by Jenny Odell.

I have the opportunity to participate in a book club right now and this was our first book for discussion. Many others proposed brilliant questions, but here I offer those that I generated prior to our conversations. 
​“‘Nothing’ is neither a luxury nor a waste of time, but rather a necessary part of meaningful thought and speech” (Odell, 4). How do you resonate with or reject this concept of nothing? How can/should the “benefit” of nothing be divorced from productivity and capitalism (xii)? 
How is listening (25) linked to “nothing” in your own practice?
How do you connect with the period of “removal” Odell references (9)?
How do you identify addiction in yourself? In others? (31)
What is your dream retreat? Be specific.(34-35)
How do you threaten social norms? Do you want to? (64)
How is discipline valued? (72)
How distracted are you? How do know you are distracted? (81)
What are you paying attention to? (93)
-what do you want to pay attention to?
-what are you willing to pay attention to?
How do you contextualize yourself? (96) bioregionalism (148)
What are you curious about (104)? 
Ethical persuasion or self-control? (116)
What reality are you interested in constructing? (126) Be specific.
When was the last time you were in a park (181)? What was it like? Do you think it was an act of resistance? 
“Where and when am I, and how do I know that?” (185)
What do you think of the idea of manifest dismantling (186-204)? 
While these questions are very direct, I think there is benefit in answering them for yourself as you reflect on the concepts that Odell proposes. I highly recommend this book and Odell's latest "Saving Time: Discovering a Life Beyond the Clock." 

I recently had the opportunity to speak with Makoto Fujimura, friend and mentor, about the importance of listening, silence, and curiosity in the work of making and culture care. 

In addition to this interview I am including a reflection guide on Curiosity that I put together this spring. May it guide you on interesting paths. 

I remember reading this article about Nina Sankovitch in 2009 about her year of reading which included 365 books. The envy I felt was keen. The desire I felt was certain. I wanted to read 365 books in a year. It is an Everest of an accomplishment for those of us with the inclination. As the pandemic has stretched on and my need for a Covid conscious life persists I have found myself reading more and more for fun, aided by the end of graduate degree schooling, and Libby (an app connected to my local public library) which delivers books to my phone and e-reader with ease. Throw in the audiobook format and all of the elements have coalesced to deliver my reading year. It is currently the middle of June and I am at the 300 book mark already. This makes me more likely to hit the 365 mark, but I will not be certain until it happens. Just like summiting Everest you never know what the next step will bring. If I reach 365 books this summer, then who knows? Perhaps I will extend my reading goal even further for the years end.

Here are some of the best books I have read since January:
Learned from
Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell
I Never Thought of It That Way: How to Have Fearlessly Curious Conversations in Dangerously Divided Times by Mónica Guzmán 
Both of these books address the shaping power of language. 

Book Club
How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy by Jenny Odell
This book has great content for discussion regarding how we utilize our time and attention. 

Friends Books
Beauty is a Basic Service: Theology and Hospitality in the Work of Theaster Gates by Maria Fee
Redeeming Vision: A Christian Guide to Looking at and Learning from Art by Elissa Yukiko Weichbrodt
Great books from friends about how to look at art and what art means in your life, community, the world. 
​
Favorite Re-Reads
A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers
A Prayer for the Crown Shy by Becky Chambers 
This beautiful duology poses the important question of "What do humans need?" with immersive world-building. ​

If you are interested in following along with my reading in real time I update with star ratings (and the occasional review) on StoryGraph and goodreads. According to Story Graph the books I read are primarily reflective, emotional, and informative, averaging 275 pages long, with a 60/40 split between fiction and non-fiction. 

I have put the books mentioned together in a wishlist on Bookshop.org for your ease in learning more. Purchasing books from this site allows you to support independent bookstores even if you don't have one in your area. Did you know that the New York Times bestseller list pro-rates sales from independent shops for their famous bestseller lists? And that new books are published on Tuesdays in the United States because of those lists? And that independent bookstores are cultural hubs for their communities even if no "events" happen there? All that to say there are conglomerate alternatives that have known and unknown impacts. Hope you read something good this week friends!  

A version of these words was originally delivered to Concordia University Irvine students in an artist talk and then published in my newsletter. Neither of those are my own platform and I am increasingly convinced of the importance of placing things in places were you are in possession of the foundation. So I include it here.  

As dining with friends came to a halt in early 2020 due to the pandemic, and my external studio space closed and my dining table became my studio and host to another kind of relational event, that of materials, learning about each other. The personification of material in the contemporary context can be drawn from Walter Benjamin’s essay which asks the maker to consider “What does this picture want to be? How do these materials relate to each other?” For two years, I consistently hosted this conversation. The timelapses of their creation (which are observable on my Instagram and YouTube) document the getting-to-know-you phases of the materials and how the relationships evolved over time. The dry paintings are a result of those “dinner parties.” They stand as remnants and reminders of the way in which relationships change us by way of question and possibility. 
Allow me to introduce you to the primary conversation partners of this dinner party.  
The first guest to arrive is paper. Rives BFK is traditionally a printmaking paper, relatively heavy at 280gsm, and a cotton mold-made paper, which means that the cotton rag slurry is rolled onto a continuously moving woolen felt. This allows for the paper fibers to dry in multiple directions, yielding a very strong and smooth surface, placid if you will. Without this kind of strength, the paper would shred and disintegrate given the amount of water used to create these images. Rives BFK is similar to fabric in many ways, it bends but does not break, it is not easily torn, a stalwart companion, and foundational to the success of this gathering. 
The next guest at this proverbial dinner party is Winsor and Newton Payne’s Grey Professional Series Watercolor. According to the Winsor and Newton website “Payne's Gray is a dark blue grey made from a mixture of Ultramarine, Lamp Black and sometimes Crimson. It was named after the 18th c. water-colorist William Payne who created the mixture and often recommended it to his students as an alternative to plain black.” It is a semi-opaque paint with staining properties. What I love most about this paint is the range of opacity and transparency. Payne’s Grey always has a je ne sais quoi element, making it mercurial and transitory as a conversation partner. And yet its allure keeps the invitation extended, because no other paint can do what it can do. 
I still remember the first time I was introduced to salt as a watercolor companion, 8 years ago. I was in Barnes & Noble leafing thru a book on urban watercolor sketching and came across a page that suggested spit or salt for adding texture to a painting. I had never considered salt (or spit) before, as I was more interested in printmaking and pattern design at the time. But I quickly became obsessed and tested every salt in the cupboard at home and then purchased a few more. Now most people that view my work have no idea that my original training was in printmaking, because this watercolor and salt relationship has taken over so thoroughly. Salt is a relationship that pulled me away from everything and everyone else, but proved to be such a good companion that I can’t imagine my life without it. What emerged as my salt bae, specifically, is Morton’s Coarse Kosher Salt because of its size and reactivity with the chosen paint. 
The Princeton Neptune Line 3/4” oval wash paintbrush is a true companion. I am in love with this brush. There I said it. We can debate the theological ramifications of loving objects in a different talk, but suffice to say the Princeton Neptune 3/4” oval wash is the brush of my devotion. It is what artists call “thirsty”, meaning it holds A LOT of paint. This is particularly useful, because it is a rather small brush when covering sheets of paper 22”x30’ or 30”x44”. A larger brush picks up too much paint and leaves glumps on the paper, and the smaller brush is too dry when covering this sized surface. The 3/4” is my best friend, always there, ready and willing to pick up the conversation wherever we left off and wherever it leads, hence their presence at this dinner conversation. 
Water and Time are also in attendance. Both constant companions to human existence and integral to this party. I think that they need no introduction as they are universally known and acknowledged.
All of these materials are in conversation, with each other and with me, constructing a careful measure practice. Deepening the relationships thru deliberate action. They are also a practice that points toward the Christian idea of the new heaven and the new earth, a restored existence. This dinner party of materials is only a glimpse of the eternal feast that is to come. 
You may be wondering why I articulate the material relationships in such detail? Because we have a G-D that spoke the world into being, we have the ancient word abracadabra, which translates to “as I speak I create” and the paintings are a visible construction of hopes and prayers, creations without words. These paintings are a practice of painted prayers, in the manner of Brother Lawrence who suggests that every action we undertake can be done as a prayer, washing the dishes was his famous example, and painting is my lived example. 
Done during the various waves of the pandemic the paintings are records of a conversation, missives sent with the knowledge that one-day things will be different, conviction of restoration. They depict reflective observations of the present, echoes of landscapes explored and to be explored. The imagery is biomimetic, referencing bones, shadows, ice, coral, flowers, tree bark, bacteria, and mud. These paintings are a direct result of a years-long studio investigation focused on the interaction between watercolor and salt, prayer and practice. It is my hope in hearing, with specificity, about these materials that portals to knowledge and understanding will stand unlocked and ready for you to explore in your own constructive life and practice.