By Robin Lindley, Street News Service
With an X-Acto knife in hand, Nikki McClure deftly cuts from a single sheet of black paper each of her iconic images that celebrate community, nature, sustenance, parenting, and activism. At a Ballard Library event in June, she displayed the focus of a brain surgeon and the skill of an expert drafter as she cut a beautifully intricate image in minutes for a throng of attentive admirers.
In her new children’s picture book, “Mama is it Summer Yet?” — inspired by a question raised by her toddler son during a long, cold spring (sound familiar?) — McClure movingly depicts clues of impending summer and a warm relationship between mother and child.
The book has been praised for its poetry and, as noted in Booklist review, artwork that “is captivating, capturing both the subtle seasonal changes as well as the love and shared joy between mother and son. Just when you wonder if summer will ever come, read this and make your heart happy.”
McClure grew up in Kirkland, Wash., and earned a B.S. in natural history at Evergreen State College. A self-taught artist, her work is fueled by her knowledge of nature and her skills of scientific observation.
Her first published book illustrations were bold linoleum block prints of nature scenes for “Wetland Tales” in 1991, a publication of the Washington State Department of Ecology. She published zines and small books after that, and embraced the art of paper cutting in 1996. McClure’s art became increasingly popular with her beloved calendars that have found an international audience.
In addition to her new picture book, McClure made a lavish book of her calendar art, “Collect Raindrops” (2007), and she illustrated “All in a Day” (2009) by Newbery-award winning children’s writer Cynthia Rylant. Her illustrations also have appeared in numerous publications, from The Progressive to Punk Planet.
McClure also was a prominent visual artist with Olympia-based record labels K and Kill Rock Stars, as well as a performance artist during the Riot Grrrl movement in the early ‘90s.
McClure recently discussed her art from her studio in Olympia.
Robin Lindley: Did you like art as a child?
Nikki McClure: I’d draw all the time, or watch ants march in the grass. I’d spend all day drawing fantastically huge, complicated scenes. I didn’t think you could actually be an artist because I didn’t have role models for that.
I didn’t know about an art major. At Evergreen there are no majors. I was in science, and knew you could do that as an occupation.
It may be a limitation to not have an art education, but I feel I understand art in a way that’s not so “arty.” My pictures are for people to enrich their daily lives, to provide nourishment. And (provide) hope for them for a positive future, and help get them there through positive action.
R.L.: The early prints in “Wetland Tales” are very strong graphically considering your lack of art education.
N.M.: That was my first illustration assignment for a friend with the state, and she was very helpful. She said don’t illustrate the big part of the story – leave that for people to imagine — but illustrate the minor parts.
Most of my work is intensely personal and autobiographical, and also [incorporates] a common memory that all people have. I like it to be mysterious. Like my son often draws things on the edge that have emerged or are leaving the page. The story is (off) the paper, not on the paper itself. It might be a footprint, a drop of blood, or an animal hunting. I’m inspired by that perspective where it’s not all you see that’s happening. Maybe (in) his visual language, things are in motion (like a film) and not static like a picture.
R.L.: Do you see art as a form of communication?
N.M.: In my work, I began with writing, then moved to performance art, and I sang. Then I moved into the visual realm, which was much different than standing in front of hundreds of people in performance. I like how quiet it is. It doesn’t demand attention like performance where you bully people to listen to you. But with a picture on the wall or a book, people are drawn to it willingly.
I make a calendar every year that people put in their kitchens, and it’s part of the dialog in the “kitchen community.” The kitchen is where life happens — the meals and the nurturing in the family — and the art is part of that. It’s a quieter way to communicate, but it’s a part of daily life. A poster or calendar on the wall is welcomed into the home — not like a performance.
Books also are satisfying. I like the smaller scale: the child sitting on someone’s lap and reading aloud, and being a part of that intimate scene.
R.L.: When did you begin your performance art?
N.M.: About the same time as the “Wetlands” book, but as I made more pictures, the desire to express myself that way was replaced with this other expression I found satisfying.
R.L.: And you performed with bands like Nirvana and groups in the Riot Grrrl movement?
N.M.: I never aligned myself completely with Riot Grrrl. It was a zeitgeist moment where young women found a way of expression that was lashing out at male-dominated music. Women began picking up drumsticks and guitars and microphones and expressing themselves.
I was finding that energy at the same time, so I was in a way part of it without calling myself part of it. Riot Grrrl gave me opportunities to express myself that probably would have been harder to come by if it hadn’t happened when I was finding a need to roar as well. So it was good timing, and it was fun. I’d sit in my room and make up a song, and hear that Bikini Kill, a Riot Grrrl band, was playing a block away, so I’d run down the alley with my ukelele and ask if I could play this song before they started, and they’d say yeah. I would, and then run back home. It (was) spontaneous combustion with talent exploding.
R.L.: What were you singing about
N.M.: I was doing fieldwork as a scientist in the North Cascades, out in the woods all week and home on the weekend. So lots of bear-chasing songs, or needing a coat of armor if I encountered a person because (it would) likely be a man with a gun. I was this female biologist with a pair of binoculars in the woods, so I’d sing about that. I had one (song) called “Omnivore,” and one called “Godzilla.” That’s me as an all-powerful beast who’d be bigger and badder than you. My self-esteem song.
R.L.: I read that you had performed with Nirvana and other groups.
N.M.: I danced onstage with Nirvana and Fugazi, and toured with Kicking Giant and Bikini Kill.
R.L.: Did you know Kurt Cobain?
N.M.: He was a neighbor.
R.L.: And wasn’t he also a visual artist?
N.M.: Yes. He did weird paintings. Dark with scary figures. Like driving around Aberdeen at night.
R.L.: Did his art influence your work?
N.M.: No, but the first time I heard (Nirvana) I thought they were going beyond where any of us knew. Kurt was gifted totally and a treasure, destined to shine. He inspired me by keeping me in shape to his music. I was literally on the other side of the wall, so I could hear him play. He would go to the radio station to play, and he had that energy, that we all had, that he’d want to share his music.
R.L.: To return to your visual art, how did you begin paper cutting? Was linoleum printing too awkward.?
N.M.: It was awkward and time consuming. You had to print it, and do everything in reverse, and I was bad at remembering that, because I’d just wanted to make a picture. My boyfriend at the time, Tae Won Yu, had gone to Cooper Union art school, and he suggested paper cutting.
R.L.: Do you work from sketches or photographs?
N.M.: I work more and more from photographs because digital photography has made that so convenient and easy. And my work has gotten more realistic.
R.L.: Which children’s book artists do you like?
N.M.: Maurice Sendak (“Where the Wild Things Are”) and Robert McCloskey (“Make Way for Ducklings”). And Tove Jansson. She’s Finnish and wrote the Moomin books (about the adventures of a family of trolls). When I was growing up, I liked her (black and white) pictures. They burned into my head.
R.L.: Did your paper cutting begin with your calendars?
N.M.: The calendars were a solution to the problem of an art show in a month. A friend suggested a calendar. Yes, I thought, that’s 12 pictures, each with a month, and that helped.
I like working in series. The calendars become a story of sorts. Next year’s calendar is about trees and limbs and arms. These trees are old, and I think it’s about getting older myself and strength and endurance.
R.L.: Do you see your work as political?
N.M.: Yes and no. It isn’t overtly political, but I feel I’m able to use my work to advocate for being better humans, and that can be political. It’s quiet. I want to shine the light on positive attributes of humanity.
I see my art as a way to bring hope. And I donate art to non-profits. Safeplace, a women’s shelter in town, used a picture of a mother and child for domestic violence awareness. It has the same power that a more explicit image has.
R.L.: And your son inspired your new book “Mama, is it Summer Yet?
N.M.: I was tuning him into the small changes in the natural world as summer awakens the earth. It’s not a political book, but it encourages kids to be aware of the natural patterns of the earth, something we may be losing connection with, and encourages parents to explore that with their child.
R.L.: Is it a different process when you illustrate for someone else, as you did for acclaimed children’s author Cynthia Rylant for “All in a Day”?
N.M.: It was intimidating. I got that assignment through an agent, but (Rylant) had seen my calendars at (a paper store) next to SAM in Seattle. So Cynthia Rylant knew of me, and a children’s book agent arranged this “marriage.” She wrote a book for my artwork (in) one sitting, and it was a beautiful poem.
R.L.: Do you have advice for artists who are just starting out and hoping to create a paying career?
N.M.: Show your work wherever you can: coffee shops, community centers, schools, libraries, churches, the doctor’s office. The more people see your work, the more chance of opportunities.
Share your work whenever you can. Donate the use of an image for non-profit thank you cards and fundraising announcements. You can help them and they send your work out into the community.
Don’t wait for permission, for the magic call from a gallery, publisher, agent, rep. Just start making what you want to make. Have art shows, make a book, give a performance. That call will come if you keep making instead of waiting. Besides, you are the best promoter of your work.
Start small, especially with print runs. Bit by bit, you will print more and be able to use some profit for food instead of paper. Also work with your printer to be as efficient as possible. If there is any trim, print on that: business cards, bookmarks, notepads all fit nicely on edges that would be recycled.
R.L.: What are your upcoming projects?
N.M.: This winter a cookbook, “How to Cook the Perfect Day,” is coming out with food memories that, if put together, would make the perfect day. And I’m finishing another book on farmers’ markets: about who grows your food, opening yourself to makers of your food, and knowing their stories and learning about them. The book was fun to do because I visited farmers’ markets, looked at what I bought, and found out how they got started and why they’re doing this.