It turns out that the secret to getting off your ass and doing something is… getting off your ass and doing something. Kleon’s book is parts manifesto, pep talk, tough love talk, to do list, and art held together with some humor, good intentions, and a vision of the world where more people actually get off their asses and create.

Which makes it pretty awesome, unless you are determined to be a hardcore cynic, in which case I suppose you decided the book was ridiculous based on the title. It is not.

Draw the art you want to see, start the business you want to run, play the music you want to hear, write the books you want to read, build the products you want to use — do the work you want to see done.

If this manifesto resonates with you, go get the book. I doubt you’ll be sorry. You’ll probably be inspired, and you’ll want to share it with others. There isn’t a great mystery here, the ten key points Kleon makes are listed right on the back of the book:

1. Steal like an artist.
2. Don’t wait until you know who you are to get started.
3. Write the book you want to read.
4. Use your hands.
5. Side projects and hobbies are important.
6. The Secret: Do good work and share it with people.
7. Geography is no longer our master.
8. Be nice. (The world is a small town.)
9. Be boring. (It’s the only way to get work done.)
10. Creativity is subtraction.

I liked that he calls out the secret right there, point number six, in case you might miss it. In other words, the secret is there is no secret: get off your ass and do something.

Creative side projects have been important to me for a long time now. I think, after reading this book, I will try and apply the ideas to not just my side projects, but to my day job. The list of things Kleon says you’ll need to be creative seem to me to be necessary in my new gig: curiosity, kindness, stamina, and a willingness to look stupid.

I highly recommend this book. I think it will be good for the creative and procrastinating and sometimes scared (most of us) and the not certain they are creative, but yes they are and need a nudge to embrace new ideas (all of us at some point).

This books is a beautiful object. Of course you’d expect the illustrations to be wonderful (and they are stunning) but Penguin went the extra mile and provided pages with a wonderful texture to them (literally) and made the book just a bit larger format than a hardcover usually is. The story is Sís’s interpretation of the twelfth century Persian poem. I am admit to not knowing anything about the original source when I picked this book up.

So I’d say you don’t need to know anything beyond what you find in these pages to enjoy the journey Sís takes you on. The poet is transformed into a bird, and leads the birds on a quest, though “the birds realize that this will be a difficult journey and are reluctant to give up their comforts.” They attempt to cross seven valleys: the valleys of Quest, of Love, of Understanding, of Detachment, of Unity, of Amazement, and of Death. There is risk, uncertainty, doubt, fear — and determination, recognition, and faith.

If you are already a fan of his work, don’t hesitate to pick this up — though know if you usually buy his books for little people, children are not the primary intended audience for this book. (Not that it would be bad for kids… and older readers may appreciate it.) If you are drawn to Muth’s Stillwater panda books, or particularly his Three Questions, this will probably resonate with you as well. Definitely recommended.

This book is what happened as a result of July’s struggling to finish the screenplay for what would become her second movie, The Future. Of the screenplay, she tells us:

Again and again it was respectfully suggested to me that I cut Paw-Paw’s monologue. But I couldn’t kill him twice, and I thought his voice might be the distressing, ridiculous, problematic soul of what I was trying to make. Not that my conviction protected me; it’s always embarrassing to pin a tail onto thin air, nowhere near the donkey It might be wrong, it sure looks like it is — but then again, maybe the donkey’s in the wrong place, or there are two donkeys, and the tail just got there first.

I suspect July is the kind of artist you either really like, or she bugs the shit out of you. Reasons she may bug you: she seems to get away with doing whatever she wants; she does more than one kind of thing (writing, directing, creating art installations); she creates characters who could use a good proverbial smack upside the head at times; she might be considered twee; the Paw-Paw mentioned above is a cat.

I like her. I loved her short story collection No one belongs here more than you. This book, while all about stories, isn’t fiction. July is telling the story of being stuck in one creative pursuit and what emerges are many other stories, often of people being somehow stuck in their lives.

She and her assistant and a photographer go meet people who are selling things in the PennySaver: these are the stories she hears as a result. The PennySaver is the poor internet-less person’s Craigslist. Through her, we meet people selling old blowdryers, photo albums, leather jackets, tadpoles. They are sad, strange, funny, a bit repulsive, heartbreaking. July reveals what she is really looking for, by finding them:

All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life — where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.

I think this is the reason I like Miranda July. I want to know the same thing.

This book is a collection of graphic designer Martin Venezky’s work. He shares what he’s done with some details about his thought and construction process. In the case of his teaching, he includes samples of some student work in response to his assignments. He doesn’t love everything he’s ever done: the book include points of view other than his own, most notably in an interview with Speak magazine publisher Dan Rolleri, who fired him more than once.

What I liked most about the book is that Venezky is unapologetic about his obsessions. They are on full display, and you either have to admire or hate that he managed to work images of his cat into paid work. Venezky isn’t a “point and click designer” — meaning, in part, that he is a more literal cut and paste designer because he uses paper and scissors, he has a pen in his hand.

I’m not sure how I feel about so stridently making this distinction. I tend to think work speaks for itself (or not) and lots of information about the process shouldn’t be necessary or shift my response. Working digitally doesn’t save time in all cases — you can spend ages manipulating and creating digitally — and part of the point here seems to be the time invested in making something. Perhaps to justify that it is work, what he’s doing, though it looks like he’s having fun. Certainly his massive, wall-sized collage creation reflects consist effort and playfulness.

Recommended if you are a fan of collage, prone to obsessive collecting, or are a designer in need of a visual inspiration resource. I found myself wondering where/how I could give over significant wall space to see what collage would emerge if I started assembling the various images I’ve kept… and also what it would look like to create something similar in digital form. I’m not sure if my cats would make the cut, though I do believe my obsessions would be made visible.

Paolo Ventura shoots film.

He shoots film, capturing scenes he has worked hard to create. He uses miniatures and painted backdrops, little models he can arrange just so. The resulting photographs invite storytelling, lingering, puzzling over what is real and what isn’t.

Is that tightrope walker really wearing shoes? Yes. They shouldn’t wear shoes, should they? It’s out of place, the scene with the shoes (like many others in the book), full of uncertainty and tension. You can imagine walking around in this world, imagine it isn’t a set, imagine what people’s motives are. This world is enticing, not less so because of of the sense of danger, the grittiness.

You can see sample images, sadly small in comparison to the luxurious eleven by fourteen inch satiny pages, on Ventura’s website. But if you are truly curious, search out his work in a bookstore. The book as an object is beautiful and well-made with a thick, folded over dust jacket and rich paper.

In addition to the finished series of photographs comprising Winter Stories, there’s an essay by Eugenia Parry as well as pages from Ventura’s sketchbook. The sketchbook has both literal sketches — watercolor smooth lines — and polaroids. It’s a peek into his process, but not one that really reveals the artifice, that ever pulls back far enough to see the scale of the model. The essay is more companion piece than explanation, though more explanation surfaces in the footnotes if you want to dig. I liked this about the essay. It had one great line, that fits the work well: “It’s not perplexing if you believe in magic.”