Tibetan Cham Dance Mask - a DIY free download

My first sketch of a Cham dancer.  The background is a piece of discarded architect's tracing that has layers of different colors of acrylics, with a thin top layer of white applied with a rib.

Happy New Year! This mask is inspired by Tibetan Cham dance costumes. Skeletons represent the disintegration of the body and states of mind. The stylized dance shows the liberation that follows acceptance of the impermanence of life. The dancers usually have crowns with 5 human skulls on their heads and fan shaped ornaments on their ears. I took some liberties to make the mask easier to cut out and fit in a regular sized envelope.

Tibetan Cham dance mask modeled by innocent but willing bystanders.

There is a video of the Cham dance here.

After testing several ideas for this year's mask, this one was the most appealing. Although Tibetans don't see the skull as terrifying, I think my western feelings about death and the current state of world affairs have crept into the mask. Yes we can be liberated by accepting the idea of death. But I am also thinking about the potential death of our world and our democracy. Is this a time to dance? Probably not in happiness, but maybe in protest. Download the mask here.

I hope you all find some peace and joy in these crazy times.

Judy

Making art under the influence of old age

Artist book page by Judith Hoffman with lots of squiggly lines, showing what a shaky hand can do.

I originally started this post to be about aging and making art. There are physical limitations that creep in. But it also became some musings on aging and how I try to accept that.

Much to my surprise, I turned 80 this year. Even after seeing my parents and in-laws age and die, I'm surprised at how hard it is. Of course I have medical things to deal with, but the physical slowing down is what gets to me. I am not very bothered by my wrinkles and sagginess. After all, I am lucky to be alive, to have a home and food, and to have family and friends who love me. And lucky to be able to work on projects that are engaging. But the lessening energy, the physical struggles, are disheartening.

I have had a tremor in my hands for years, it's getting worse. I'm left handed and the left hand tremor is more pronounced than the right. Sometimes when I draw my lines are wavy. It can be frustrating. I try to regard the wavy line as a feature. At times it can blend in well with my drawing style, which is somewhat loose. Warming up helps, finding the right posture helps. Using scissors to cut out things has also become harder. With small things I cut right handed and brace my right hand against my left as I cut. It's much harder to cleanly cut larger things, where my hands can't brace against each other. I think getting tired makes the tremors worse. (My doctor says there is no physical ailment, it's just age.)

Detail from drawing showing squiggly lines produced by shaky hand. It's a consequence of getting old. They don't always work for me, but here they do. 

I have less energy than I used to. I have always been slow to complete projects, now my books evolve at a snail's pace. In part because they are more complicated, but I also don't get in the studio as much. Many household tasks are ignored. I sometimes lose interest in an art project before it's finished. I am, as always, easily distracted, often more interested in doing something new than repeating what I did last month. It does help to try to make small progress on a project, just a little drawing in a background can re-ignite my interest in the pages I am trying to complete. There are tricks that most artists know,  spending time cleaning in my studio. And spending time with tools and materials, even if it's just to doodle. It also helps to make collage papers, or to cut out things I might use in collage.

I must say, the process of drawing and collaging is still as alluring as ever. Once I start I am engrossed for several hours and end up feeling so rewarded.

As I have aged my priorities have changed. I care more than ever about the process and less about showing the books. Some people want to leave a mark before they die, but that's not me. I would like to have some of my books in public collections, but haven't pursued that much. And I feel that when I'm dead I won't really care anymore. If I spend more time making things and less on entering shows, that's the best way to spend my time. I want to enjoy my life now. 

Page from an artist book in progress by Judith Hoffman.

My dad used to say "it could be worse" whenever he mentioned his physical ailments. Meaning he could be dead. I think of him often, and agree completely. 

"... as we move through our lives, the way our bodies change, and ultimately death, can be our teacher. Forgiving our bodies - for dying, for aging, for becoming sick - can feel impossible, even radical, but it's essential if we want to fully appreciate the time we have. We can love our lives, even while knowing that one day they will end." Martine Panzica, from Lion's Roar, November 2025.

Happy Holidays to you all. I hope you will be content with life and feel productive in the coming year.

Judy

Fixing a big mistake

I mostly like this page, but the arm of the woman behind the large hand is bothering me.

For all the wonky drawings that I accept as fine, this one was not fine. I spent 3 weeks thinking about what to do (and working on other pages). I could just glue more eco dyed paper over the part I didn't like, but it would stand out as being glued on.

Drawing over the arm with white ink made a mess, but it did lighten those lines.

I made a stencil and printed a thin coat of pale titan buff on the areas that were bothering me.

Then I glued coffee splattered abaca paper on the offending area.

A new arm is collaged on. Maybe it's too short? I think his arm and shirt need a pattern.

Sometimes this looks okay, sometimes I am not happy with it. I'll put it away for a while.
 

Here I have extended the aura around his neck. I also added shrubs and another arm for the woman. I feel the sleeve needs something. Check out this recent post Jane Davies recently did about a change she made in one of her paintings. She has a very good attitude toward making changes, and she is skilled at it. I agonized over every step here, feeling bad that I had made this mistake. I need to take Jane's approach. And if I can make mistakes and correct them I will feel more okay with experimenting.

 

I eat lettuce and milk for breakfast

A page from my handmade book My dreams defy analysis. ©2024 7.75 x 5.75 x 1 inch (closed).

I am emptying a big bowl of lettuce and milk onto the ground behind our house. I was eating it for breakfast but a lot of the lettuce was old and brown and yellow. I don’t want any more. I see a tiny man about 6 inches high ride by on a tiny horse. He is at the foot of the hill. He goes so quickly then he disappears near some rocks. When I walk over to see where he has gone, at first it looks like he disappeared into some huge boulders that make a wall, but then I think he has climbed a small ravine that goes up the hillside. When I look up I see he has become huge, maybe 12 feet tall. He is a bulky guy, very thick in legs and arms. As I watch he leans over and becomes a huge boulder on the hillside. No one would ever know it’s a man. 

The man was so real in my dream. And I felt like I had seen a marvelous thing. Lately I have been having a lot of stress dreams, searching and not finding, worrying about things, so this felt like a real gift. The image is from my book "My dreams defy analysis."

Writing a Meaningful Artist's Statement with Jane Davies

Fluke, 1987. 7 x 5 x 1 inch closed. Collage and acrylic paint on watercolor paper.

I have been anticipating this class for months. Originally I thought I could write one really good statement and cross that off my to-do list. It's not that easy. Jane suggests a new statement for every new body of work. Or maybe every 6 months. It does make sense. As we look at what makes a good statement I realize I would need to re-write it every time my work changes. With Jane's guidance we dug into ourselves and tried to explain what was important to us about making art. It was hard work, I usually just write whatever comes into my head. I ended up with 17 pages of text and notes. And three paragraphs that work well.

Duck Dreams, 1987, 7 x 5 x 1 inch closed. Collage on watercolor paper, acrylic paint.

At one point I went back and looked at all my earliest books to try to explain why the book format was so important to me. I think my interest in artist's books goes way back to a text book for an art class I took around 1965. There was a photo of a handmade book that had a glove stitched to one page and a ladder on the opposite page. This whole book as a revelation - it had a lot of art that I would not have defined as art. And I loved a lot of it. It was eye opening. I figured out which book it was and ordered a used copy. I'm very curious to see that again. 

In My Dreams We Travel in Boats, 2008.

So far I have 17 pages of rumination. Out of that has come a statement that feels authentic to me, it's certainly the best one I have ever written. I have learned more about myself, and I know more now about what I want to say in my art. I would definitely recommend this class to people who are willing to put in the work. It's like a college level class, with time consuming homework. But it only lasted 5 weeks, with more time to discuss for another 3 weeks. The more time and effort you put in, the more you will get out of it. 

Fluke, 1987, 7 x 5 x 1 inch closed. One of my favorite early books.

I wanted to take the time to look closely at everyone else's work and writing and try to respond to it. Partly because I don't feel I'm very good at looking at art in general. And I'm often not able to articulate what I feel about it. As people's statements came into focus they helped me to see their art in a new light. I had never realized how important and helpful a good statement could be.

And here is the statement:

Dreams have been a major interest all my life. When I was around eight I had a dream that terrified me. Little creatures were quickly lifting me up in the air, my family was far below, calling and reaching up to me. But the creatures carried me higher and higher, I couldn’t get away. I woke terrified, I had the feeling that dreaming was another world, as real as our “waking” world. I did not want to go back there for months.

I have kept a dream journal off and on since I was in my 20’s. When I went to art school in my 30’s I became consistent, and started using the dreams as inspiration. When I’m dreaming I can draw aside a curtain in my mind and see more of what’s going on there. I don’t understand most of my dreams. I always write them in the first person present tense and end with “I wake.” 

Books hold stories and are the perfect containers for dreams. They can be held in my hand, pages are turned, the images are sequential and so influence each other more. Books feel personal. I believe books can contain answers to all the big questions, where did I come from when I was born? Where will I go when I die? I just have to find or make the right book.

I find a penny

Dream Intruder artist book 7.75 x 6 x 1 inch. Acrylic ink, found papers, dreams. Drumleaf binding, eco dyed papers. by Judith Hoffman

I’m with my family. We’re deep in the woods at first. I find a penny. While we talk someone dies. We have to go somewhere else, we travel in a coach with horses. I find a dime. Mom dies on some steps outside a house. She is buried in the wall of the house. Then I find a quarter. That seems big. I think it means I will die. But then people start coming back to life. Mom comes back to life on the steps outside the house. I wake up. There is a nickel on the floor of the laundry room. I don’t want to pick it up. 

Momigami experiments with hand cream

 

Momigami experiment - left is the momigami, right is the original inkjet print on architect's tracing paper. I was surprised the momigami got much lighter than the original.

Momigami paper on left after rubbing on some acrylic paint or hi-flow inks.

(All images will enlarge - just click on them.) My friend Eileen of the Good Junk Sanctuary came over and showed me how to make momigami. It's something I have been curious about for years. We made a couple of pages while we talked about art and life. She mentioned that you could use hand cream, cooking oil or a gel made from konnyaku powder that is intended for momigami. After Eileen left I experimented with hand cream. (There are lots of videos online for making momigami.) I'm using Vaseline Intensive Care but I think hand creams are pretty much all the same. I first made a number of pieces of momigami from different papers. I let them dry overnight, the hand cream seems to go away. Maybe it's absorbed? The next day I rubbed acrylic paint diluted with glazing medium or hi-flow paint on them. All the paints were very thin, I wanted a transparent layer that wouldn't obscure the original patterns. My goal is to have interesting collage papers. All the papers became softer, and heavily wrinkled of course. The more fragile papers developed little holes and tears along the edges which I love. Rubbing the papers with paint did smooth out most of the physical wrinkles but emphasized the visual texture. At times the backs are almost more beautiful than the fronts.

The section of a brown envelope on the right with the arrow head is the momigami. The paper had already been printed with some acrylic paints on a gelli plate. The light spots are titan buff, a fairly opaque paint.

The next day the momigami paper was rubbed with acrylic paint. Not much change, but the more opaque titan buff spots stand out beautifully from the ground. Hard to see the effect in the photo. 

The momigami piece is on the right, the original paper was printed on the gelli plate. I was surprised at how much lighter it became. This is also architect's tracing paper. It's very tough. 

I painted some thin blues and sepia toned paints over the momigami sample. 

These two pages came from a magazine. The small figure on the right looks particularly good for collage. 

The pages were then painted with blue and golden brown acrylic paints.

I like the network of lines caused by paint sinking into the wrinkles. These will make inspiring collage materials.

On the left - momigami on a gardening magazine pages. The ink came off the page and smeared  around some, making my hands inky and the page look dirty. 

This was another gardening magazine page that was fragile. To strengthen it I tried to coat it with mat medium on a gelli plate. The paper stuck to the plate so I let it dry then coated it with more mat medium and laid a piece of architect's tracing paper on top. When that was dry I was able to peel the whole sheet off. What I have is some beautifully grungy text and plants. 

Bits of a page that fell apart. I love the cracks and the subtle colors. 

The backs of the previous bits of paper. The visual textures and colors are lovely.