Art at the Lair is more than just an activity—it’s an experience. It’s the joy of sitting beneath trees, the air filled with chit-chat and the Grateful Dead, while your hands work beads, clay, or paint.
“The Art Arbor is a really big part of the Lair experience,” said Ella Villar, last summer’s Camp Gold Art Director and a UC Santa Cruz Art major. “It’s a space for laughing, talking, and creating.”
The Art Crew will set you up with all the supplies you could dream of. There’s friendship bracelet string, yarn, beads, mini canvases, paints—it’s all there, ready for you to create.
You can make just about anything. Pottery? Yes. Lanyards? Always. Tie-dye? Of course. There’s a sink for washing clay and paint off your hands, watching red and blue bleed together and turn purple before slipping down the drain.
Who might you find in the Art Arbor? Four moms bent over friendship bracelets, laughing as they swap stories about their seven-year-olds. A camper asking a staffer to add him on Fortnite. Music lovers debating the best Jack Johnson song for a soft summer morning. The Art Arbor is a community built through crafts, and it’s as warm and welcoming as it sounds.
“It’s just a very open and safe space to try something you’ve never done before,” said Nikhil Patel. “You have people ready to help, and all the supplies you need, so it’s the perfect environment.”
What could you make this summer?
3×3 spiral lanyards. Sparkly string, twisting and looping in your hands. The kind of thing you do without thinking, but then you look down and, wow, you made something and, wow, it glitters in the sun.
Pinch pots. Take clay and pinch it into a shape—simple, imperfect, perfect. A little pot for paperclips, lucky pennies, or whatever small treasures need a home.
Lair tents. Little ones. Paloma Raffle made a template last summer, so now it’s easy. Cut, shape, and piece it together. Paint it however you like—your tent number, a bear, polka dots. Tiny tents are cute. Tiny Lair tents? Extra cute.
Mugs. A mug for tea or pencils. A mug that’s yours because you made it, because you pressed a leaf into the clay before it dried. A little bit of the forest, baked right in.
Rock friends. Find a rock. The roundest one, the smoothest one. Paint it a face—smiling, serious, eyes, nose, maybe even a mustache, or some lipstick, whatever you like. Give it a name. Carry it in your pocket for the rest of the week.
When you sit down this summer to make something, just let it happen. A lanyard, a mug, a rock. It doesn’t matter so much what you end up with—it’s the making itself that counts.
You’ll take your baby home with you, and when you see it again (maybe sitting on a shelf, maybe stuffed in a drawer) it’ll take you back. Back to the clear air, the clear mind—back to the kind of stillness that only shows up toward the tail end of a week in the woods.
It’s a little thing, this object, but it will remind you of how time felt at the Lair—moving gently, like the water in the creek, always flowing. A piece of the Lair, in the palm of your hand, always with you, never really gone.
