It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to make some art.
So when I learned about Itty Bitty Mini Mart in Hermosa and its workshops for adults of all skill levels, I knew I’d find a creative outlet in its classes.
I love art and have been creating since I was a kid. Before turning to writing, it was my No. 1 way of expressing myself.
When I was in high school, I took a college-level 3D art class where I got to focus on sculptures made of clay, paper, cardboard, organic material and more.
But in recent years, my art has been neglected. I haven’t painted or drawn in over a year. It’s not always relaxing to sit down to create, especially if I’m on deadline or life won’t stop life-ing.
Itty Bitty Mini Mart is among the dozens of creative entrepreneurs — including a coffee shop, a record presser, a gin distillery and a roofing company — that make up Workshop 4200, a collaborative creator space. The building that houses the creators at 4200 W. Diversey Ave. is a large space — formerly the Hammond Organ Co., which manufactured the instruments in Chicago from 1935 to 1985.
Owner and award-winning artist Margie Criner’s Itty Bitty Mini Mart has been in the collaborative space for four years. She’s a sculptor and woodworker with a focus on miniatures.
“The mini mart grew out of my fine artwork because I make miniatures as a narrative form,” she said. “And I’d hear people at galleries say things like, ‘Oh, I wish I could buy that little couch in there,’ or ‘I wish I could make art like this,’ or ‘I wish I could afford art.’ So I thought, why not bridge the gap and make a company that sells independent miniatures?”
I joined five other adults and two instructors in a recent three-hour mini-making class. The theme of the day was mad scientist, inspired by the 1974 movie “Young Frankenstein.” Itty Bitty Mini Mart hosts workshops when it isn’t busy with trade shows and exhibitions.
Instructor Natalie Birholtz told me that many of the materials are prepped beforehand, so artists of all skill levels can feel comfortable. “Everyone comes in with something they’re good at,” she said.
“We teach a little bit of everything in the workshop. We’re going to be doing a little bit of sculpting. We’re going to be doing a little bit of woodworking and assembling. We’re even gonna use a mold today.”
In front of me: a work mat and a small plastic container full of tools, including paintbrushes, wood oil, toothpicks, scissors, wire tools, sandpaper, tweezers and an X-Acto knife. (Which is why the class is exclusive to adults. One wrong slip and you’ll end up looking like the severed hand I made out of polymer clay.)
Before making our hands, Birholtz began the workshop by having us knead the small, pale pink pieces of clay between our fingers to soften them.
The first task: build a tiny brain out of polymer clay by shaping two equal sides for the base of the cerebrum, then rolling out the clay to shape the little coils that make up the ridges and lumps.
“No smooth brains. We need our brains to have a lot of thoughts,” Birholtz joked.
A few of us chuckled, but everyone was hyper-focused on making their brains look realistic. It was a meta experience to realize that I was using my brain to build a teeny one.
I was careful not to damage one side of my brain while working on the other, but I misjudged the direction and size of my ridges. I started falling a little behind. Though the process was “meditative,” as one student put it, I was in my head about this damn brain.
Ready to give up, I sought help from Birholtz, who patiently guided me through properly laying the coils. I decided to peel off the clay and restart, carefully twisting and turning the coils until it looked good to me.
After we put our brains into mini ovens to bake, we made our hand specimens. I leaned into my mistakes this time. We used a mold to make the hands, also out of polymer clay, and since the pointer finger on mine was a little wonky, I chopped it off for some uniqueness.
Rachel Wakeman, a curator and the director at Madron Gallery in Lincoln Park, sat next to me during the workshop. Wakeman studied fine arts at the School of the Art Institute, but only recently got back into making art after more than 20 years.
“I’ve always loved little, tiny art, because I never make tiny art, so it’s good to try something [I] don’t do,” she said. Criner and Wakeman met two years ago and have worked together in professionally, but Wakeman’s never taken a miniature class with the mini mart staff.
The workshop continued. Next, we made tiny resin drinks with premade polymer eyeballs as garnish. Then, for the most time-consuming and final part of the workshop, we used laser-cut pieces of walnut wood to craft tiny television sets complete with antennas and two dials.
And as a bonus, Criner pulled out some tiny pieces of wood and movie stickers to make VHS tapes to go with our TVs. I chose “The NeverEnding Story” because, as my classmate Lilianna Blower put it, “They just don’t make movies like that anymore.”
The mini mart team loves using everyday objects one might find in their junk drawer, said Lucie Van der Elst, a multidisciplinary artist originally from France, who is a part of the team.
This is great news for me, as I now have an excuse for holding onto the seemingly millions of miscellaneous items left over from home improvement projects.
For weeks now, there’s been a small canvas sitting on my desk. I could keep finding excuses for not making art, or I could make intentional time for expressing myself in that way again.
I might be a little rusty, but I still have the passion and skills. Plus, Criner and her team at the mini mart helped me realize that I don’t have to overthink my approach.
I have lots of ideas, which include revisiting some old concepts in my sketchbooks.
Maybe I’ll do a mini polymer clay build of my pets, paint a sunset with my watercolors or sculpt something massive in my garage.
The possibilities are endless.
Itty Bitty Mini Mart grew out of owner and award-winning artist Margie Criner’s fine artwork “because I make miniatures as a narrative form,” she said. “And I’d hear people at galleries say things like, ‘Oh, I wish I could buy that little couch in there,’ or ‘I wish I could make art like this,’ or ‘I wish I could afford art.’ So I thought, why not bridge the gap and make a company that sells independent miniatures?”
Tyler Pasciak LaRiviere/Sun-Times