Stitched Letters in Photoshop

I've been getting complacent lately with my Photoshopping. I know how to use a couple of tools fairly well, but I don't have any exposure to the really advanced stuff, so I'm left with this feeling that I'm doing really well at it. To counteract that, here's my attempt at this tutorial. I'm not going to explain what I did, because whoever wrote the tutorial did it better, but here's how it came together:

New document to create the stitch pattern.

Side note: choosing the dimensions of a rectangle in Photoshop is not straightforward. You need to try and transform it (Ctrl + T) then right click in the width and height boxes at the top right to change the dimensions manually.

One stitch.

Layer styles added.

Tessellating pattern selected.

 This step is important. Make sure that the pattern meshes with itself on all sides, otherwise when you go to fill a document with it, you'll have these little artifacts all over where the edges don't line up.

New document to make fabric background.

Filled with tesselating stitch pattern

Color overlay.

Add noise...

Then blur it...

Then overlay it.

Some clouds for good measure.

Honestly, I don't really think the clouds did a lot. Although maybe it's one of those imperceptible effects that make the overall thing seem better to your subconscious. I don't know.

This will be the final document. I'm making a desktop background.

Filled with "fabric" and put in perspective.

I'll interject here to say: I made all the stitches in Illustrator using the Blend tool. If you're going to do this tutorial, I'd recommend picking a sans-serif font with minimal curves and fixed letter widths and heights. It'll save you a lot of grief. Also, I want to mention that Illustrator's ability to edit paths surpasses Photoshop's by ORDERS of magnitude. Seriously....same company, same software suite, couldn't it just carry over? Hmph.

Also, Illustrator's Blend tool is really incredibly powerful. I made the letters by placing two black rectangles at the ends of a straight line, adjusting the number of steps the tool makes, and creating a blend. Very simple to do, but what's even niftier is the curved pieces. to make those, you draw a path that marks the middle of the curve, create an appropriately-sized blend off to the side, and replace the "spine" of the blend. Very quick and very powerful. 

Rotating stitch letters to fit.

Rounded the edges of the stitches.

Put in perspective again.

Liquefy filter so that the letters look more embroidered and 3D.

Adjusted with levels filter to make stitches white.

Noise plus blur.

Embossed layer style.

Duplicated and darkened layer to make a shadow layer.

Created a bit of an indent around each letter with the shadow.

Giving the stitches a bit more texture.

Textured and blurred.

Second shadow layer added to ground stitches.

Reflected gradient that'll serve as a base for the lens blur.

And there it is! I painted some black around the edges with a 300 px soft brush and turned the opacity of that layer down to about 20%. I also added a rendered lighting effect (2 o'clock spotlight) coming from the top right.

Stuff I learned:

Liquefy filter
How to "focus" (like a camera)
How to create a pattern block

Smells Like Home

California chaparral has a very distinctive smell. It's part warm dirt and part plant life and part air that's close enough to the sea to turn just barely humid. It's a smell that I grew up with, and I associate it with sunscreen and open air and early mornings shooting arrows at paper plate targets. I was biking home the other night, three thousand miles away in a city that hasn't had space to stretch its legs in three hundred years, and I smelled it. It smelled like this:

And this:

And this:

And this: 

It smelled like open space, and oh god, if you think I don't miss this sometimes, you are sorely mistaken. It's funny what a smell will do to you like that. One breath, and I wanted, suddenly and intensely, to be back in California, somewhere where I could see all the way to the horizon and walk more than a hundred feet without seeing something made out of concrete. Visual memories are like old photo albums - kind of faded and familiar, and you can pull them out whenever you want to. Olfactory memories jump out of freaking nowhere and clock you over the head with vivid images and emotions.

It turns out there's a reason for that. The physiology of the olfactory system is such that the primary olfactory cortex, of the brain-bits that process sensation, is physically closest to the hippocampus and the amygdala, which deal with memory and emotion, respectively. Not only that, the olfactory nerve is only a few synapses away from both those structures. Naming odors seems to also have an effect on both the ability to access an olfactory memory as well as our opinion of the odor. For example, someone who smells lavender and can't identify it will probably dislike it, whereas someone who can name the odor will find it pleasant. 

That which we call...lavender.

Science doesn't seem to have a clear reason for why we have olfactory memories. In fact, it's sort of  mysterious - your average olfactory neuron dies after only 60 days. The human sense of smell is sort of the low man on the totem pole - relatively poorly understood in comparison to sight and hearing. Taste and smell are physically and physiologically different than sight and sound. Receptors in your eyes and ears respond to different frequencies of a (light or sound) wave, and your brain translates the frequency into something you perceive as a red, chirping bird. To taste or smell something, your own receptor molecules have to come into physical contact with what you're perceiving. Smell goes one step further: it is the only sense in which receptor neurons interact directly with the environment.

I won't pretend to know the neurological details of why olfactory memories are so strong or so vivid, but everything I've read points to the fact that the olfactory system is a visceral, immediate, and far-reaching one.  Most of our olfactory memories are made in childhood, which may explain why these memories seem so sudden - on smelling boxed birthday cake mix, we don't remember the office party two weeks ago, we remember our sixth birthday party instead. 

Who knows? Maybe after a couple more years in this city, I'll move away and find myself with a new set of olfactory memories to tie me here. I'm not too sure, though. This is an old place, covered in concrete and bricks. I don't know if I want to remember what it smells like. 

Precision, Clarity, Honesty

This may not be the time or the place for it, but recent events have gotten me thinking about some more abstract issues than I normally deal with here. Said events have kept me a bit too busy for a solid blog post, so in the interest of not letting this page go dark for too long, I'm posting this to tread water until I can write intelligently about something more interesting.

Let me be blunt: society, the way we talk to each other, American social culture, something - is innately deceptive. Our communication, mostly verbal, but written as well, comes with an asterisk: *this is probably not precisely what I want to say or what I really mean. This footnote is pervasive and invisible. There are rules about what you may and may not say to someone, depending mostly on your relation to that person. Unwritten rules - untaught, too. Learning occurs by osmosis or observation or desperation. What do you get at the end of that training? Circumlocution in the name of politeness. Equivocation as self-preservation. To be professional is to hide your meaning behind layers of words, not one of which means exactly what you want to say.

I am part of the Net Generation; the free flow of information is my air and water. To feel no pressure to equivocate is a relief. To speak freely without second guessing the words I choose is like taking a long drink when I didn't know I was thirsty. My theory of communication, ingenuous and naive, is this: we both need the same facts if we are going to have a productive interaction. It's the linguistic version of leveling the playing field. Mushy language allows for misinterpretation (possibly intentional!) and doubt. Be direct and clear with me. I will be direct and clear with you, and even if we find that we disagree, at least we are not floundering around not knowing where we stand.

I could play devil's advocate and speak in favor of ambiguity. The invisible laws of professional interaction provide a framework for anyone to speak to anybody else. Navigating the professional world within these boundaries is predictable and safe. Politeness greases squeaky wheels and smooths abrasive personalities. The language of professionalism is, however unfortunately, quite necessary. I'm well versed in it, so help me. I could choose to stand in favor of it, but I would rather say this: it is (and here is where I take issue) about presenting an image - language as a marker of professionalism. It feels dishonest. I will also say that there is no need to sacrifice politeness for honesty. There is a difference between brusque and honest, curt and clear.

Nothing is going to change - of course not. I'll even admit to some relief that there'll always be that safety net of indirect speech to fall back on. I'm just tired of padding my meaning and talking around issues. Here is what I want: precision, clarity, honesty. Those are my markers of professionalism. Are they yours?

Thumbs: Now Greener Than Ever

When I started this blog, I had the idea that I would never post about the same subject twice in a row. For the last three days, I've tried and tried to come up with a decent topic that didn't have to do with plants. Hindi? Too much work right now. SketchUp? Not really feeling too architecturally creative. Something programming related? Tends to attract snark from my boyfriend, and he makes up a significant percentage of my audience. And, trumping that: I cannot get gardening out of my mind. I want to plant seeds and go absolutely mad with anticipation until they sprout. I want to set up large window boxes to be filled with herbs. I want to plant something that I can make dinner with in three months' time. Then I thought, hell, it's my blog. If I want to go garden-crazy for a week or two, well...I can do that!

I just came back from the gardening center. Oh dear. Cue gratuitous growing-things shots.

Plants absolutely everywhere. It's orchid week, did you know?

I should probably not be allowed in a nursery on a springlike day with a respectable amount of disposable income at hand.

These are not blurry in person, I promise.

A quick aside on these hanging plants: they are called Nepenthes, or pitcher plants, from the family Nepenthaceae (a word on the Latin naming system: Latin is dead. Say it loud, say it proud, and no one will ever know the difference.). They're native to Malaysia, India, and Australia. The "pitcher" portion of the plant is filled with a fluid to trap and/or digest insects that may find their way inside. Interestingly, the fluid is effective even when it's diluted with rainwater, as inevitably happens with this morphology. The name "nepenthe" in Greek means "without grief" and in Greek mythology "is a drug that quells all sorrows with forgetfulness." (source: here)

Possibly my favorite type of plant.

I thought these were daffodils, but now I'm thinking probably narcissus. Whatever they are, I adore them. I should do them more justice next time and take a picture that's actually in focus. If I thought I could get one of these to survive indoors on my desk at work, I would probably have six of them already. Maybe seven.

A little dark, but you get the idea. Plant in a bowl!

This one I like for the interior design aspect of it. I also like the composition of the shot. I could even pretend it took me a few minutes of careful setup, rather than the shoot-from-the-hip phone camera technique that I actually used.

But enough about the nursery, although I could have spent another hour in there browsing. I got these:

From left to right, that is: oregano, basil, marigold, green onion, romaine lettuce,  lettuce salad blend, basil, eggplant, and cherry tomatoes.

I'll leave the seed descriptions there for now, but know that I have much, much more to say on the subject (and of those tomatoes, in particular).

Artsy shot of same.

I also have two tiny flowerpots that I found at Target at Christmastime. They were $1 each in the stocking stuffer section, so I got myself two. As stocking stuffers, naturally.

Not shown: a large bag of potting mix and some fertilizer. They weren't very photogenic.

I have tentative plans in place to start planting things tomorrow. I need to do some research on the heavy-hitters (eggplant, tomato) that I haven't grown before and will eventually be planting outdoors. Those seed packets are all marked up with details like "Start indoors 5-7 weeks before last frost date" (May 3rd here, for interested parties). I need to figure out if I can start them even earlier and just transplant them after that date or if that'll stress the plants for some reason (too little light as seedlings? getting transplanted too late in the growing process?). I am giving no such consideration to the basil, however. I had so much basil last year that I was considering giving away half of my plants.

Tomorrow it'll be spring!

Gardening on a Whim

One of my always-on-the-back-burner project ideas that never really comes to pass is to grow a proper garden. I have dreams of fresh eggplant, fresh tomatoes, and fresh herbs all waiting to be picked, right in my front yard. I guess that in my dream of the idyllic garden, I can waltz through my patch of home-grown vegetables, fruits, and herbs, clipping at will, and eating fresher-than-thou produce all summer long.

Thanks, Wikimedia Commons user Srl!

Obviously, some education is in order.

For starters, I have no yard to speak of (well, I do, but I also have a landlord), so it'll have to be container gardening, probably indoors, although I could potentially co-opt the landing just outside my window, which is really the landing for the third-floor neighbors' stairs. Placement will definitely be an issue. Two points for an indoor garden, though: I have very large, south-facing windows, so sun will not be terribly difficult to come by, and two: I live in hardiness zone 6-ish, so plantng indoors will alleviate some of the "oh god, when's the last frost??" stress.

Secondly, I have never grown a garden. I have had some success with herbs - that is, last year I grew far too many basil plants, a lonely oregano plant, and I have never once gotten a rosemary plant past its third week. My basil made it through the winter indoors (hallelujah!), but I let it flower (bad!) in order to start over this year  (yay!). I would post pictures of the plants I have, but I'm far too lazy to get out of bed. I used Urban Garden Solutions' garden planner-majiggy to pick some plants I think I'd be happy to see in September/October: 

From the top left, in rows: basil, tomatoes, eggplant, flower x (type to be determined), lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, flower y, oregano, edamame, spinach, flower z. 

Obviously I can't go dig up the front lawn and put plants there in that configuration, but I'm planning on buying 12 approximately-1-sq-ft pots and arranging them on the porch (landlord permitting), on the neighbors' landing (neighbors permitting) or inside (boyfriend permitting). I'm also planning on doing plenty of research, because I've grown exactly two of these plants before. My first call will be to my lovely and knowledgeable grandma, green thumb extraordinaire, who has been gardening probably twice as long as I've been alive. 


I complained last night that it took me hours to make eggplant parmesan and roasted asparagus. Now here I am planning dinner for September. Bring it on, garden!

Photoshop Drabble

This poster is the result of the confluence of "hey, we need a sign here" and "hmmm, I wonder if Photoshop could....". I might be persuaded to do a tutorial on this technique if a couple people were interested, but at the moment, I'm just gonna throw it out there.

Actually, that really is what it feels like - throwing something I made out there to be caught by the wind until god knows who finds it and uses it as they please. The internet isn't known for respecting intellectual property, but I slapped a watermark on there just in case. I'm even throwing in a creative commons license for good measure:


Wordy recycling by Emily Wachtel is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Will it help? Yeah right. But I guess it's a little like bringing water wings on a plane in the event of  a "water landing" - they might help in a crisis, but that's really out of your control. Plus, you brought water wings on a plane, so you're probably feeling kind of silly.

Anyway. Wordy Recycling. The words say "recycle" in as many different languages as I could grab off of Google translate.