i, um…

It’s my dear friend Mary’s turn!  She’s a fine artist, but has made a name for herself on Etsy with recycled fabric market bags and silkscreened shirts; objects silhouetted and identified in Arabic.  Ya know how when you meet most people, you first notice their height, or their eyes, or their haircut…eventually their funny voice?  Well, when you meet Mary, the first thing you notice and the drowning feature thereafter is her soul.  I know, huge crock of cheese, but it’s true!  She’s on a mission to help anyone and everyone she can by any means presented, without personal gain, and with a gentleness and sincerity that makes the cause contagious.  I mean it, this woman’s so sweet she gives me cavities.  AND she’s damn hilarious.  I’m so lucky to have her on my team, and I’m so happy to introduce her to all of you!

1) Please state your name, aliases, and regional dialect

my name is mary e. (ella) robbins, and i have never had any notable nicknames, though when i was small i wished that i could change my name to tiffany or tina.  it was the 80’s.  i am from south portland, maine, ayuh, born and bred–yessuh.  my parents and all of my grandparents were born and raised in maine as well.

i have a degree in studio art with a concentration in painting from NYU, but my true roots come from the very raw experience of selling my art on the front porch of my house in south portland, maine as a child.  there i would sit, drawings, paintings and assemblages perched in neat rows, waiting for my illustrious career to take off.

craftiness and thriftiness is familial. i was named for my maternal grandmother, mary ella gibson.  i never met her as she passed on before i was born.  but i have learned much of her life from the stories my mother tells me, and as i have come into adulthood i have realized that much of my life has been spent chasing her creative spirit.  she was a knitter, a crocheter, a handmade maven of the purest, gentlest sort.  one of my most prized possessions is her collection of knitting and crocheting supplies and books, and i feel that she is with me when i am working.

well…? hm.  i am quite partial to the whale in love design.  i loved the raincoats we had in elementary school–the thick vinyl with the big metal snaps, all over printed with whales, or sometimes hearts.  i believe i had a turtleneck with whales on it.

the strength design is special to me as the image was one of my earliest silkscreen designs, developed during my summer as meetinghouse director at friends camp in south china, maine.  hearts and tools–two of my favorite things to draw.  not just wrenches, but also hammers, staple guns, screwdrivers, jackhammers.  i like them.

every once in a while i will see something that will strike me as memorable or touching.  and lines and shapes…simplicity that i see around me.  i am always looking for ways to convey human experience through the lens of the arabic language.  to show the unexpected.  so.  i search my head and the world around me, and think for a long time about what i want to send into the public sphere.  once i have the idea, i am able to realize the design quickly, it always works that way.

it changes throughout the year, depending on how close i am to an upcoming craft show or holiday, but roughly this is how it goes…i wake up naturally per my body’s very reliable alarm system at 7:16 am–sometimes 7:17, but nearly always 7:16.  my retired racer (greyhound) gus is occasionally standing at my bedroom door whining, and on days when husband nabil works at 8 am rather than 6 am, we are able to eat breakfast together as a family of three.  gus and i go for a walk (sometimes in the winter i slip and fall and get angry), and then i come back to start the day of work.

i do all of my best work in the morning hours…checking orders, emailing, updating the website and blog, etc.  in the afternoons i often work on orders or building up inventory for future shows, usually with a documentary or movie on netflix view-instantly playing in the background.

in the evenings nabil and i work together in the kitchen to make dinner and clean up, and then usually some intense knitting happens.  i have always knit for myself and others, but recently have started adding some knitting to the shop.

bazaar bizarre 2008 in boston.  i worked long and hard to prepare, and didn’t know exactly what to expect.  it was tremendous.  the volume of shoppers was intense, and a bit much too much too much too much for my introverted self, but i persevered with nabil at my side and the shoppers responded with a collective skipping heartbeat and hope for a better, more sustainable, peaceful future.  boston is full of college students–so hip it hurts at times–but holding tightly to earnest intellectual dialogue and the pursuit of ideals.  two individuals there on two separate occasions thanked me for my work.  this is the greatest compliment i can receive.

not having the equipment that i would like to have.  i regularly swoon over listings on the internet for 4-color printing presses and fancy flash dryers, exposure units with vacuum seal tops and industrial stainless steel sinks with high pressure hoses.  i know that i will get to the point where these very wonderful items (or at least some of them) will grace my studio (which will then be my fully converted spacious basement rather than my kitchen and office), but i must be patient and save.  until then, i will continue to cut my stencils by hand whenever i can to save screens, print on my kitchen table, and heat set for hours on end with my sunbeam steam iron on dry.  god bless netflix watch instantly and documentaries.

and the simple pleasures of my life :: franglibic, the language nabil and i have come to know as our own (combination of french, english, and arabic) :: homemade yogurt :: self-haircuts :: willard beach :: family :: letters sent with stamps and love :: spontaneous baking

the many arabic speakers–both immigrants to the u.s. and non, muslim and non-muslim–who have touched my life and shared their stories with me.  the hope that gentle work in color can inspire learning and positive dialogue.

winter armor

i would like to continue to develop my studio and make moth designs a more well-oiled machine, so to speak (rather than a creaky dusty slightly falling apart machine).  though i love the slightly falling apart aspects of many things (the human experience, antique furniture), i think it would behoove me to get into a better rhythm with my current work. and i can feel it happening, little by little.  so.  that’s a good thing.

and i dream of going back to school to become a certified nurse-midwife.  someday.

i really suck at playing pool.  i think it has to do with my propensity for silliness and inability to stop laughing in the face of trying new “sports.”  is pool a sport?  not really, is it?  well.  i am bad.

hm.  at the time that new kids were most popular, my sister was in the height of early teen star-lust.  there were posters and pin ups from ‘big bopper’ lining the lavender walls of her room, and i looked up to her with 8-year-old little sister eyes.  she had a perfect set of bonsai bangs and an enviable collection of spandex skirts and ankle boots–i put my trust in her entirely.  as donnie was her favorite (and remains to this day), so went i.  a little bit bad-boy…gets us every time.  sister carrie is going to see the new kids in their comeback tour this march.  hangin’ tough.

i cannot. this will be long.  when i first traveled to morocco in september of 2001, nabil was the only member of my homestay family to meet me at the initial ‘welcome breakfast’ at hotel ibis in rabat.  he was wearing tight black jeans, puffy nike sneakers, and a t shirt that said ‘camel’ in english, but wasn’t an advertisement for the cigarette company.  he had a flattop.  like a kid n play flattop.  and he laughed and smiled a lot, making up for his timid english skills.  to me he was awkward and kind, unabashedly extroverted and uncomplicated–i felt confident he would be a good brother and perhaps friend.

but throughout the first 8 weeks of my stay with his family, we were not close.  nabil was a professional soccer player; always at practice or on the road with his team.  i was home writing, painting, and discussing past relationships with brother hicham, the artistic sensitive soul.

upon the completion of my independent study project in morocco, i presented a series of 20 or so paintings, drawings, and collages, including a portrait study of nabil’s family.  nabil came to the opening and saw my work.  i did not know it, but at that moment, nabil’s heart simultaneously cracked and morphed–seeing me seeing his family, knowing that i was to leave in just a few weeks’ time.  he told me nothing. i knew nothing.

we kept in touch.  all through my time in india, all through my summer in new york.  the faithful brother.  and when i bought a ticket to return to morocco for a visit during my christmas break senior year, nabil was the first i told.

on that visit, during a trip to fez with brother hicham, nabil bravely, half desperately grabbed my hand one night and told me that he was ready to do anything to make our lives work together.  and there we were.  i was dizzyingly shocked and i had great doubts.  i was unaccustomed.

and so.  we still kept in touch. i finished college.  he sent me countless emails.  we wrote about and debated islam, homosexuality, interfaith relationships. we challenged each other.  i moved back to morocco after graduation and taught english.  we fought.  we pushed.  we grew.  ah–perhaps i do know the moment.  one year while teaching i returned home to the u.s. for christmas, alone.  i had told my own family nothing of our relationship, determined to protect nabil and myself, to develop our own reality before inviting the outside judgment and fear i knew unavoidable.  i had never felt so empty during a visit home.  coming back to morocco and the loving, humble, honest and unapologetically just-what-he-is, simply truly arms of nabil felt like home more than ever before.

after so many more months of teaching and a failed move to istanbul, we were married in morocco, went through the immigration process, and moved to maine.  there is oh so much more to say about all of this–but i will stop here.  should you be interested in reading much more and seeing photos, visit me at www.maryerobbins.typepad.com

that is a difficult choice–i loved to read.  i still do.  but i did especially love charlotte’s web.  my mother and i read it together on her big king sized bed, and when we reached the end, she cried but continued reading to me.  i also loved the laura ingalls wilder books, and thus loved playing the oregon trail in school–hopefully you remember this green-pixeled wonder with stars in your eyes, as i do.

at the moment :: chocolate no bake cookies.  when i absolutely must have sweets, which happens often, i almost invariably pull this heavily stained, wrinkled, partially ripped recipe from my (embarrassingly chaotic) food files, pretending that i still need to see the ingredients, as if making them two times per week hasn’t burned the process indelibly into my subconscious.  and navel oranges.

when i was in highschool :: top ramen oriental flavor ramen noodles.  drained, with blue bonnet vegetable spread, and the flavor packet.  right before swim practice.

when i was five years old and under :: a saltine with a bit of peanut butter and three mini marshmallows, toasted in the toaster oven until the peanut butter is just melty enough and the marshmallows are just a hint of toasty brown.

hopefully forevermore: grilled peanut butter and dill pickle sandwich on sourdough.

at this moment in my life my home is a great source of serenity for me.  in 2008, nabil and i were able to purchase our house–the very same wee bungalow in which both my father and grandfather grew up.  i am a self-recognized hermit and have developed my very own brand of domestic bliss, complete with the occasional irrational outburst of r-rated language and unwashed northeastern burliness.  when children make their way into our lives, i am willing to wager that i will need to find another spot to seek quiet.  i have also always loved my grandparents’ cottage on panther pond in raymond, maine, affectionately named ‘loon lodge.’ long afternoons of kayaking and lilypad admiration.

i am silly.  a huge silly pants.  i love to laugh and eat candy and tell self-nullifying stories–i am human in a most visceral, fermented way.  i am unashamed and unafraid to admit my own weakness and humor-evoking follies.  the last time longwinterfarm and her wee lovelies came to visit i ran out into the street in my red unionsuit with the butflapp open.  oops.  i am sure that the last time i peed my pants it was because i was laughing, and in fact this has happened so many times in my life that i can’t remember exactly the last time.  i will say this, though, i am sure that when it happened, i said ‘i just peed my pants.’ and then kept laughing.

my favorite word has changed many times, and at the moment i am not sure i have one, but it used to be the word for cherries in arabic : hablimlouk.  there is a cherry festival in morocco during the height of the cherry season, and they have a cherry princess.  a cherry princess–yup.  i think my all time favorite word is integrity.

hm.  i do recall shedding a tear at ‘the land before time.’  but it seems to me that other movies i have blubbered a bit over have been either PG or PG-13.  not many R-rated movies have made me cry, but i do remember crying at the end of ‘glory,’ and ‘paradise now,’ which i believe are both r-rated, or at least ‘glory’ is.

it depends on the context.  the ocean is a constant.  when i was a wee one i used to love the smell of my plastic she-ra (princess of power) horses–they smelled like chocolate.  i do love the smell of cumin and olive oil, and of ariel washing powder on rooftops in morocco.  pine –not at all pine sol but the deep piney smell on a rainy day in the woods.  and old linens.  cedar.  citrus.

Win: Mary is giving away a shirt!  To be exact, the aqua one above.  It comes in S-XL and she’ll send it anywhere in the world, so get to postin’ folks.  Say anything you’d like, in any language you’d like, and at the end of the week I’ll announce a random winner chosen from the comments on this post.  Contest ends Saturday, February 28th, at noon est.

Thanks for being a victim, Mary!!  <3

Filed under: sunday friends on February 22nd, 2009