LEAVING LEAVES – After 31 Years, Shades of Autumn Is Going Dark

The inspiration literally fell out of the sky.* That was 31 years ago, and I've been making lampshades of pressed autumn leaves ever since. Let's just say I've made a few of them...and learned a thing or two. In fact, by now I may just be the world's leading authority on this craft.

Number 4, one of my early works

MEDIUM SIGHS
As part of the inexorable downsizing of my life, I’ve decided to take down my shingle and clear out my studio. Today, as I begin dumping my precious medium, the 50-plus bins of dried, pressed leaves I’ve collected over these three decades, I realize just how emotional this transition will be for me.

So many varieties, leaves from the most common trees, like oak, maple and birch, to some pretty exotic ones, like Canadian moon seed, cucumber magnolia and smoke bush. And not just leaves; I’ve also preserved grasses, seeds, berries, flowers, sticks, birch bark and other accent materials.

 

         

With each Tupperware lid I pull back, I’m reminded of all those crisp autumn days out searching for the freshest, cleanest leaves. The countless meditative hours picking them up with my reacher-grabber tool—at least 100,000 of them, I figure. 

               The leaves in my hands remind 
               me of warmer, brighter days.

MORE THAN A HOBBY
Crafting lampshades of leaves has been more than a hobby for me. It’s been the main outlet for my creative ardor. It’s reminded me I can be really good at some-
thing that’s not my job. 

It’s helped brighten some of the darkest passages of my lifetime—the trauma of 9/11; the deaths of my parents, my sister, a few friends and a dog; the pandemic; the turbulent aftermath of George Floyd’s murder; and the deadly gestapo blitzkrieg on Minneapolis and the rest of the attempted overthrow of American Democracy. 

There will be a void in my long-held 
identity as an artist and designer.

And my leaves have provided my primary autumn connection with Nature. (Actually, that connection carried on through all those cold, dark Minnesota winters, the leaves in my hands reminding me of warmer, brighter days.)

Jeff chats with a visitor 
in his booth at the juried 
American Craft Council Show.

There will be a void, not just in the scheduling of my days, but in my long-held identity as an artist and designer. I can only hope to discover a new craft, one I can practice in a much smaller space—or a space shared with someone else. I’ve always wanted to give woodworking a shot.

THANK YOU!
To all of you who’ve commissioned and bought my lampshades, thank you. I hope they’ll keep illuminating your home with beauty and joy for many years to come.

*  I was taking a walk one autumn afternoon many years ago, a gust of wind churned up a few fallen leaves. One of them landed and stuck on my sleeve. I picked it up, and as I turned it over, it happened to catch a glint of sunlight. 
     As if autumn leaves weren’t wonderful enough, the light coming through this one just seemed to ignite it with color. All the veins and little irregularities, backlit like that, made it all the more stunning. 
     I stopped right there and wondered, How could I make something out of leaves that would cause light to shine through them and show off these rich textures, this incredible, radiant color? Without hesitation, the muse of creativity answered: Make lampshades out of them.

Want to support my ad-free writing? Buy me a coffee—just click on the purple button at the upper-right of this page. Many thanks! – Jeff