Author: Mia Lambert

Mia Lambert (aka miabiapia) is an art student at the University of Michigan. Coming from the wondrous communities of Minneapolis, Minnesota, she's hoping to share her work focused on identity, dreams, and the beauty of humankind. Her blog, Witness the Small Life, encourages herself and viewers to pay attention to the moments in our days that make our lives rich with stories and connections. In her (little) free time, Mia also deejays at the student radio station WCBN and makes bad jokes for the Gargoyle on campus. An avid CD collector, crappy chickflick aficionado, and lover of everything kitschy. Instagram: @miabiapia Email: mialamb@umich.edu

Witness the Small Life – Think Tank

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I’ve been thinking a lot about thinking. It’s kind of my thing. Words and ideas and images and connections. I think as an artist I’m overly encouraged to keep thinking, which I don’t mind one bit, but I do think the people around me start to tire after they hear enough words.

I’ve been pondering the word pretentious lately. I’ve spent my fair share making fun of people and things I’ve considered pretentious. In my corners of the art and music worlds the word pretentious gets through around enough. I spent some time with my thinking this past week and from this came the worrying thought that I was becoming the pretentious know-it-alls I love to despise. I think the word pretentious carries its weight and describes the truth of many situations, but at the same time I think we shouldn’t knock someone or something down who truly wants to understand, explore, or even push the bounds of what they know. I think intent and passion are two factors that takes a person from being pretentious to being curious. Humility and authenticity of course come into play as well and I think that shows up in the intent of sharing thoughts with others. I think in sharing with friends, peers, and strangers you should go into conversations with the desire to learn and make mistakes and find something new in the familiar. For me, I’ve been thinking a lot in relation to my semester-long art project where I’m considering the connects of mind, body, and soul to the physical and emotional space of home. When I start to talk about my project I feel like I sound crazy sometimes, but at the same time I want to stay that kind of crazy because that’s the passion that I’m putting into those thoughts taking form in words. I think starting to understand how other people respond, interact, and digest how I share my thoughts are really important to how they continue to take form in my mind. This idea of cycles and cyclical natures have been reoccurring in my thought process and I find that to be an important thread in my life. Cycles can show us the beauty in the mundane and the excitement in the unfamiliar. I think being a little pretentious allows us to take a peek into these cycles and allow ourselves to get lost in them. Or maybe I am crazy and I think too much for my own good…. but isn’t that just like all the other great artists?

To take into our next week:

Ins: Canned soda, charcoal, sienna (burnt and raw), tangerines, soft shadows, gravy, herbal tea, lavender oil (always).

Outs: Not wearing a hat, cold chins, forgetting to water my plants, dry air, sore thumbs, wet socks, too much heat.

Stew in your thoughts. Stare a thousand yards out the bus window and wondering about the car next to you. Consider taking a new route home and walk alongside your findings. Chew on a word that’s been on your mind lately. Talk a little too much and be a little pretentious. You deserve it!

Witness the Small Life – Dirty Laundry

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Life is a never ending cycle of soiled clothing. Rinse and repeat, dry on medium. I’ve felt this feeling times one hundred these last couple of days and the dirty clothes pile only gets higher and higher.

My visit to the laundromat this past weekend (huzzah to the broken washer) reminded me of the simple pleasures of waiting around. As soon as my roommate and I stepped into the jewel blue toned room lined with walls of washing machines I felt an air of productive stagnancy. There were people mingling about, caring for their jeans or tossing their clothes into the next cycle, and also people perched in various chairs of various types silent but patient. Crosswords and movies and games and naps were all around us as the sounds of tumble cycles created an atmospheric ambience. As soon as I deposited my handful of quarters and heard the water rush into the machine, I felt the room bring me to a lull. Although I had yet a hundred more things to do that day, there was a peace brought over me that I couldn’t quite shake. The very act of doing chores is a necessary nuisance, as we all know, and there’s something about the shared time taken with everyone at the laundromat that makes doing laundry feel a little less lonesome. People coming in with their hampers and baskets all come for different reasons, carrying different things. And yet we all spend the same time waiting around for the machine to release our socks and sheets until we come back to do it all again. There’s a comfort in sharing uneventful time with strangers that feels right in the laundromat.

To take into our next week:

Ins: Pomegranate tea, trout, violins, of Montreal (always), semisweet chocolate chips, goofy looking shoes, texting people about little things, chicken salad with grapes, wrist stretches.

Outs: Forgotten leftovers, not taking responsibility for your actions, forehead pimples, rooms that smell like feet, not turning off the lights behind you, frost in the morning, soggy noodles.

To everyone out there hoarding your quarters for the laundry fund: I understand. I hope for even more quarters to come your way, and for everyone else who is lucky enough to have an accessible (and functional) washing machine I hope you’re able to relish every quarter you receive. If you’re able to, take the time to sit around while you do your laundry. Find a friend. Share a story. Do a crossword. Count every quarter you have and do some math. There’s joy in mundanity and the laundromat is the perfect place for it.

Witness the Small Life – Signed, Sealed, Delivered

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There’s always a pull between a pencil and surface that you just can’t stop. I’ve been calling a lot of people recently and I’ve always noticed my need to fidget or be active when I’m on the phone. 9 times out of 10 I have some paper and a pencil or pen next to me and somehow my hand finds its way to drawing doodles and scribbles and then some. My favorite places are those with words and sentences and even whole essays splattered across its walls. From bathroom walls drenched in gossip columns to hidden graffiti under a strategically placed flyer, I love seeing the endless possibilities found in lines on surfaces.

As I’ve been thinking about writing this week, I’ve also been thinking about the beauty of handwriting. I’ve always been victim to those complaining about my handwriting (“Why do you write in cursive?”) while also graced by many a compliments (“You’re handwriting is so graceful!”). I always took these comments at face value and considered my handwriting as weird or abnormal. In my time thinking about writing as marks on a surface, I’ve been able to appreciate the oddities of letters and the uniqueness of one’s approach to these letter forms a lot more. Someone’s writing tells you so much about them, of course, but also how they approach communication. Sharp and quick lines show how emphasis on speed and necessity of no wasted time for that person, whereas thick and heavy curves can show how someone takes their time to leave an impact with their words. The ways we choose to communicate with each other whether it be verbally, physically, or something else entirely represents such a large part of our person. Like I always say, communication is key! The way you decide where and how and why you write connects you not only to those you’re writing for (yourself, a class, a stranger) but it’s a snapshot of that exact moment you chose to lay those lines on a page (or a wall or a board or even a window). As we live in a world where convenience is king, the time it takes to handwrite something says a lot about the way you chose to share with the world. I think we should encourage ourselves and others to write more. After all, the pen is mightier than most things really.

To take into the next week:

Ins: Waking up before dawn, kombucha (always), charcoal, blackberries, overnight oatmeal, productive meetings, mittens, brown sugar, scan beds, surrounding yourself with true friends (always).

Outs: Chapped lips, hair in the drain, glossy paper, scary mechanical noises, less than 7 hours of sleep, letting dry skin get drier, a lack of lamps.

My task for you all: Watch your hands as you write and draw and create. Notice how you grip the pencil, how the swoops of your Gs intersect with the crosses of your Ts. Watch someone else write. Find the wondrous quality of sharp against curve and how the blank space makes it all come together. And do a little bit of vandalism. Because why not?!

Witness the Small Life – Print Stint

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I’ve reached a newfound love for sunrises. I’m now starting my days in the darkness of 7am, and in these too early mornings I find myself witness to the magic of the sun warming the world as it rises the horizons. Yes, I love sunsets as much as the next person, but there’s something about the sun rising and waking tired eyes that feels like a hug after a night spent too alone.

As a professional workaholic, I spend my sunrises and sunsets in the Stamps print studio most days. My lifelong growing love for printmaking has only grown tenfold this past year during my printmaking classes, and in its wake my love for the print studio has blossomed as well. Although I come home bruised, stained with ink, and the sorest I’ve ever been every time after working in the print studio, I’ve never been happier. The print studio has become some what of long lost home in my time here in Ann Arbor. It’s where you go to find someone willing to laugh with you and gossip after a long day working. You’re able to find secrets tucked away in the donated artwork pinned across the walls, lasting memories of those who came before. There’s a peace that exists in the studio when no one is there, and you can feel it right before you walk it. The air is stagnant with the smell of ink and linseed oil, and the metal of the presses sit still and cold until you will them awake for the next step of work. The dust of litho stones are settled into corners never touched by brooms and the crinkle of newsprint stay silent until a breeze shakes them to life. There’s a certain special kind of life breathed into the studio when you step in and see an assortment of people you never would’ve met if it wasn’t for this shared love and you start to create alongside them. There’s a special connection made through printmaking and I find it to be most tangible in the life of the studio. From late nights to early mornings, from spilt ink to perfectly polished plates, the print studio exists as a world entirely its own and it’s something that can never be replaced.

To take into our next week:

Ins: Pomegranate tea, hosting movie nights, reading before bed, sunrises, the color mauve, hummus, thermoses full of coffee.

Outs: Sleeping after 11pm, broken appliances, wind tunnels, dry knuckles, static electricity, grease.

I always believe time is well spent no matter what you’re doing as long as you’re in a space you love. I hope everyone is able to enjoy the places that bring peace, happiness, or even just respite from the chaotic world in the coming days.

Witness the Small Life – Cold Comforts

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We’ve made it… the bend-and-COLD!-snap!!! Do we ever really feel alive unless we can’t feel our eye sockets anymore?

In honor of the frozen weather, I’ve been appreciating all the accessories and layers in my life that keep me functioning from sun up to way past sun down. As someone born and raised in the flux of deadly winters and chilling winds I’ve always had a plethora of hats, gloves, scarves (you name them) every since I was a kid. I think most people can look back to their favorite pom-pom hat or various kitten mittens in fond childhood memories traipsing around in the snow and sledding over death-defying hills. Although I’ve lived in the cold for the majority of my life, I can never ever get used to it. I blame it on my eczema or my penitent for tank tops or anything else I can use as an excuse but no matter what I do in a mere 2 minutes my teeth are chattering all the way home. Because of this, I’ve been giving extra thanks to the scarves that swaddle me and the hats that flatten my bangs a little too much. Each of them carry a piece of a past self or a loved one who cared enough about my warmth to make or gift me a little something that could carry comfort through a chilly walk home. Fabrics found by my roommate’s mother, hats passed down to me from my boyfriend’s family, and even skills shared to me from my grandma and cousin are woven into each hat, scarf, and mitten I wear. The next time I’m outside (which will be far too soon) I can feel a little bit warmer knowing the love and care I have with me as I scurry through yet another icy wind storm.

To take into our next week:

Ins: Chamomile tea (always), muted purples, actually interesting text books, aloe vera, hair pomade, perfectly fitted hoodies, overalls, a solid hug.

Outs: Nails that are too long, scorching soup, weird hoods on winter jackets, gel eye masks, ignoring when your feet are too sore, eating one too many anchovies straight out of the tin.

I hope everyone is bundling up in their favorite mittens and gators and earmuffs galore as we all try to survive these next few days of tundra. I task you all with finding and appreciating one another’s fanciful winter accessories as there are too few days when we get to wear all of them all at once!

Witness the Small Life – Self-Interest

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New year, new semester, new entry! Huzzah to the jugs of coffee, days of work, and more hours of sunshine to come our way. Although we’re barely a full week into classes, it already feels like a semester to rival all others.

This week I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept and physicality of self. In my figure drawing class this semester we have a self portrait to do every week, a new version of ourselves frozen in the moment we create them. As someone who started as a self-taught artist in middle school, I’ve always used myself as a model in my artwork. It’s the easiest reference to use, right at the ready as long as you have a phone or a mirror. What started just as studies of human anatomy started to grow into modes of self-expression. I started to draw myself not just as what I saw but as what I wanted to see. Somebody confident, or witty, and especially self-assured. I dreamed up fantastical stories and places that I would put myself in as if I always existed there. An ideal within a dream that took place between the covers of my sketchbook. Then, in high school, I decided to move beyond the literal and into the conceptual. For my AP art classes my upperclassman years I explored the events, memories, and ideas that shaped me throughout my youth. From identity, to nostalgia, to crisis I captured it through the explosion of visual language that I started to hone in my teenagedom. It was Covid, of course, so being cooped up inside meant I spent a lot of time with myself, whether I liked it or not. This lead to the creation of self-portraits in forms of crochet sweaters, clay sculptures, a pair of junk earrings–whatever I could get my hands on really . The expansion of self-portraiture that I created in this time pushed not only my perception of self but my understanding of how I could really capture that version of self beyond what is there. Now in college I’ve turned back to traditional self-portraits with a newfound appreciation. I’ve learned how a drawing of your face is more than just your face, it exists as a record of every decision made to create that face. Every line of shadow and scratch of contour is an example of our very impact of choice onto that page. As an artist, and as a person really, every thing I do is influenced by who I am. The idea of self and identity are always shifting and transforming that I find myself fascinated by the very concept (which is absolutely why I have a billion of drawings of myself). I think it’s funny to say I love drawing myself as both a slightly conceited thing and a truly passionate declaration. Through the creation of my self-portraits throughout the years I’ve been able to confront who I am and grow so much of my self-love from those moments of confrontation. To see, create, and capture is to love and how wonderful is to do that through the practice of self-portraits.

To take into our next week:

Ins: Clogs (always!!), sunglasses, oolong tea, accents, cheesy soup, practicing an early bird routine, medium roast coffee, dressing up in costume.

Outs: Sour tomatoes, sore feet, undercooked onions, objectively bad jokes, character assassinations for the sake of plot, not doing wrist stretches, spoiled milk.

Here’s to another lovely year together and to even more witnessing of the small life all around us 😀