Author Archives: ehwfram

About ehwfram

I am an artist living in Vermont, inspired by the day-to-day details of life.

The Comfortable Reliability of Change

A friend, who understandably seeks mid-day breaks from her job’s unrelenting stream of Zoom meetings, recently asked me if I found what I do equally challenging because I seemingly need to sit in one place for long periods each day. My quick answer was no.
While there are plenty of long stretches when I am stitching or drawing, there are so many other elements to what I do that I can easily stop at any time and move into another phase of the work (or, for that matter, to take Quinn for a walk, do a bit of weeding, throw in a load of laundry or do the breakfast dishes, etc.). The ace up my sleeve, aside from the fact that I am in charge of my own schedule, is change – it keeps things fresh and it keeps me interested.

Daylilies & Liatris

The color combo of these daylilies and liatris makes any trip to the veggie garden or compost bin pure pleasure.

That fact is just as true for living in an environment where the landscape is in constant flux because of the seasons. Those changes set a rhythm and a tone, not only shaking things up, but also offering a sense of reassurance in their constancy.

Garden Bench

When the view out the window is subdued for many, many months, one can’t help but revel in the variety of tones and the lushness of texture to be found in a composition of greens.

Personally, I find contentment in the muted colors of November through March, enjoying the visual calm after the fiery hues of fall. In a strange way, the lack of color outside during that time of the year, makes my work with color inside all the more inspiring. And not to be discounted, there is no truer light in the studio than on a snowy day. But I also look forward to the rejuvenation that comes with the early blush of maroon and lime-green as trees flower and begin to leaf-out across the hills in April and May, knowing that there will be a fuller and brighter spectrum to follow.

Herb Spiral

In 2012 I built a stone herb spiral that is usually reserved for herbs and flowers. This year I had a few leftover Rainbow Chard seeds that I took a chance would sprout there and that I hoped would be ignored by the critters. Success on both counts! But even more rewarding is the jolt of color in the magenta central stems and veins of the chard leaves, humming alongside the singing petunias.

On a visual scale, summer is its own entity. This is the one short season when we have a measure of control and can choose for ourselves, via our gardens, the colors that surround us. Is it any wonder that so many artists garden and so many gardeners are artists? There is a Monet quote: “I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers”. I think every artist carries within them a bit of that sentiment. One of my earliest posts celebrated the garden of artist David Stearns. It remains one of the loveliest home gardens I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting.

Delphiniums

If there is one plant I eagerly await each year, it’s this delphinium. It adds so much to my front bed in height, shape, and glorious color. It’s situated so that I can enjoy it from inside as well. And each winter, when the snow slides off the roof in that spot, piling up to just about the same height, I think of this beauty that lies in wait for mid-July.

This year my garden has been a refuge unlike ever before. The bright colors and gentle scents are a salve during a point in time one might metaphorically equate with winter. While it’s been hotter and drier than usual and some plants are doing better (and others worse) than last year, I am always amazed to know I can expect each plant to reappear and then come into its own within 3-5 days of the date it did every summer before. Heck, I can even count on the Japanese beetles to show up around the same week each year. Good or bad, I find a great deal of comfort in this reliability — especially now, when so much in the world seems out of control.

Work In Progress

Work in progress: This new house I’m currently working on is a reflection of the joy our yard and garden are bringing to me this summer. It celebrates the myriad colors that surround me and the sense of home and hope that comes from watching all our plants cycle in and out, the same as they do every year.

But just as dependably, the seasons come and they go. The bright colors that are so enjoyable now, will transition to deeper shades before fading altogether. So, I find it worth thinking about and appreciating the oxymoron of the consistency to be found in change, and how that lends the gift of both excitement and stability to our day-to-day existence.

The Artist's Garden

 

Maybe you aren’t as interested as I am in getting your hands dirty, or perhaps you are. Either way, two books I’ve been enjoying this month are The Artist’s Garden: The secret spaces that inspired great art by Jackie Bennett, and Spirit of Place: The making of a New England garden by Bill Noble. Both are a testament to the joy that is possible right outside your doorstep.

Spirit of Place

Update

I had so much fun with this latest addition to my “selfie project”. Hard to believe as I look at it now, that the leaves hadn’t even fully budded when the photo sent to me was taken. But generally, the image struck me as very hopeful and joyful – a mini-celebration of the fact that spring was on its way, despite our all being confined to home at the time. I’ve tried to use color to help further that feeling.

Adrianna

Adrianna,    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink, gouache, and colored pencil on paper, 12 x 9 inches

You Win Some, You Lose Some

Ai, yai, yai!

This week is as close as I’ve come to crying “uncle” during the selfie project. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to capture my dear friend Dianne in a satisfactory way. Sometimes only the eyes and nose pass muster, sometimes it’s the mouth that is okay. And every single time I’ve struggled with the overall shape of her face, partially because in the photo her mouth is open, making her chin look unusually elongated.
This is the inherent danger of drawing people I know. I so desperately want to get it right.

Dianne 1

I can’t even tell you how much courage it’s taking for me to post these images, especially since I know many of you who read this blog know Dianne personally and will immediately see my missteps. However, I think it’s important to highlight that rough patches are a given. They test our resilience and are also the secret sauce that moves our work forward.

The picture she sent was not meant as a selfie submission, but rather to share the beautiful hat her granddaughter had made for her for Mother’s Day. She looked so tickled and proud that I asked if it would be okay to use the image for this project and she graciously said yes.

Dianne 2

The result is I have felt doubly responsible to both Dianne and her granddaughter, so my shortcomings and inability to do them justice cuts deeply. Four unsuccessful iterations later, each new version cringe-worthy in its own way (I’m not even going to share the 3rd attempt with you), the process has left me feeling more than a bit beaten up.

Dianne 4

To say I’ve been frustrated doesn’t come close. The next best (and only) step was to just shake it off and to start completely from scratch, this time using a bamboo reed pen and a bottle of ink. No expectations, just the joy of line and the buttery feel of the pen as it glides across the paper.

Red Ink

This latest may not be successful in a formal way, but it’s not a total loss because I can finally see the slightest glimmer of my friend Dianne as I know her peeking through. Even more importantly, I am going to celebrate the fact that this little drawing represents a fight survived. Not one that was won, or even one that was escaped without a few mental scrapes and bruises. Rather, it marks a battle that honors persistence and stands as a reminder that the real reward is in the process, not the result. That realization in itself is more than enough for today.

Note: Austin Kleon’s latest book Keep Going: 10 Ways to Stay Creative in Good Times and Bad is a welcome shot of inspiration for navigating minor rough patches like the one outlined above, or for finding ways to keep your creativity intact through bigger challenges, such as the uncharted territory of a pandemic.

On the flip side, there was also a bit of a win last week.
I’m quite happy with this new little house – an offshoot inspired by the Shelter in Place project. It’s an expression of the dichotomy of feeling both hemmed in and safe at home – one I know  we’re all experiencing these days.

Cocoon

Cocooned    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 20 x 11 x 14 inches, Wrapped-resist dye on silk with foraged branches

the Sheltering in Place project

It was a fun privilege earlier this week to help hang/place, amid a forest of willow branches, the little shelters that are the heart of the Sheltering in Place project now on view at The Highland Center for the Arts in Greensboro. Granted, when I left, the set-up wasn’t absolutely complete so I didn’t get to experience the full effect with special lighting and recorded haiku written specifically for the show. But I can confidently tell you that it is going to be a magical exhibition.

SiP Evite

The show will be open to the public by reservation only. Check the HCA website for information about their COVID-19 protocol for the building and the installation. Sadly, there will be no reception or artist talks due to obvious concern about large gatherings at this time. But truthfully, the work speaks for itself and perhaps savoring it in relation to your own sheltering experience will be the most meaningful way to enjoy it.

Relative Distance

Relative Distance    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk, with foraged twigs, 9 x 6 x 6 inches.   The above image is to jog your memory so you can keep your eyes peeled for my piece in the show. If ever there was a testament to professional photography, this is it. Thank you Paul Rogers Photography

Meanwhile, I’ve enjoyed spending time drawing our friends and neighbors up the street. An added bonus is that they took these photos on May 11th, recording our late spring snowfall. Karen’s sense of humor about being long-overdue for a haircut added to the fun of trying to capture her.

Karen

Karen     ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches

For whatever reason, Alan’s image was harder to nail down (my fault, not his). It was a challenge to balance the shade and reflected light under the brim of his hat. However, pushing into mixed-media by adding watercolor and white ink eventually got me over the hurdle.

ALan

Alan    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Mixed-media on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches

One final note before wishing you a happy holiday weekend:
I tend to collect quotes gleaned from my reading, but since I don’t have any specific place to keep them, they are always a lovely surprise to come across again when I’m sifting my way through old daybooks or stacks of paper that build up on my desk. I thought I’d leave you with this one from David Hockney as an offering of hope in the midst of all our uncertainty. Keep it in mind if and when you go to see the Sheltering in Place project.

I have always believed that art should be a deep pleasure…there is always, everywhere, an enormous amount of suffering. But I believe my duty as an artist is to overcome and alleviate the sterility of despair…New ways of seeing mean new ways of feeling… I do believe that painting can change the world.     ~David Hockney

Lesson 13

Sometimes the smallest thing will spark an idea which begins (or reignites) a line of thinking that ultimately impacts what happens in the studio.

A couple of weeks ago, while thinning out the overly abundant Lady’s Mantle in our back garden, I was struck by the way it develops. Unlike most plants which sprout baby leaves that are a miniature version of their full-grown selves, the new growth of this perennial is something of an engineering wonder. Each tiny leaf emerges intricately compressed in a series of accordion-style folds, perfectly designed to open into the wide, dew-catching, platter-like leaves that characterize the plant. I couldn’t help but think of this as a prime example of nature-made origami.

Lady's Mantle

Lady’s Mantle leaves in three different stages

That reminded me of when we first met Quinn at the dog shelter and they allowed us to take her for a quick walk around the block before deciding to adopt her. I was walking behind her and noticed that as her ears jauntily bopped up and down with every stride, they exquisitely folded in upon themselves. Smitten by this wonderful quirk, I thought of them then, and still do, as “origami ears”.

Origami Ears

 

A quick search online about the origins of origami makes it pretty clear that it’s an art that has been around for so long that pinning down a comprehensive history is nearly impossible. But I’d be willing to bet it was originally inspired by nature.
With all of the above in mind, it’s not a huge leap to wonder how I too might adapt origami-type folds into my work.

Origami Dye 3

 

A couple of years ago I began experimenting with basic folds as a way to enhance dye patterns. At the time I was using a wrapped resist (Arashi Shibori) technique with interesting results. But I never quite figured out how to take my test samples to the next level. I’m thinking that this summer might be a good time to revisit and push the idea to see where it might lead.

Origami Dye

Coincidentally, and in that same light, last week I listened to the art critic Jerry Saltz on The Upgrade  (How to be Creative Right Now) as he talked about “his secrets to finding inspiration in these isolating times, as well as how he imagines the art world will emerge from this global pandemic”. It’s an interesting interview, but even more importantly, it alerted me to his newly-published book How to Be an Artist. Take a look at the list he has compiled — I’m sure you’ll be able to relate to much of what he outlines.

origami dye 2

 

Saltz’s Lesson 13 makes me feel like I’m on the right track.

 

Eve

Eve    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches  When I emailed Eve her scan of this drawing, I told her that I’m finding this project simultaneously very fruitful and extremely humbling. The question that’s always in the back of my mind is: am I doing this person justice? And while that’s not something you have to spend too much time worrying about when drawing an anonymous model, I think it’s something to strive for nonetheless. With someone I know, I’m happy if I can get into the mere neighborhood of a likeness. The bigger lessons lie in the nuts and bolts of pushing my understanding of color and how to best use my materials. I think I need to do about 100 more of these to make any true progress, but it’s very motivating to work with the images of folks who inspire me. Eve is currently meshing her previous career as an election law attorney with her current path as a full-time artist by spear-heading Knit Democracy Together – a project connecting people with ideas and each other through art and knitting.

I am grieving a bit over having to miss a planned trip to Maine last week due to the virus. In an effort to get a remote fix, I’ve been paying special attention to Maine galleries and museums on Instagram and then following up online. Discovering Carrie Moyer’s and Sheila Pepe’s fabulously titled exhibit Tabernacles for Trying Times at the Portland Museum of Art has offered some thought-provoking inspiration, despite the distance. Don’t miss their short video on the Museum’s website.

 

A Little Bit Of Everything

Such a sobering week.
I have spent most of it trying to grasp the horror of what we’ve all witnessed, while doing my best to learn from those who are far more in touch than I as they respond to George Floyd’s murder. The voices that have most moved me are those of people on the street, in the midst of peaceful protest, articulating their direct experience of life in this country as African Americans. Many of them, interviewed in the moment, demonstrate more grace and eloquence, measured strength and wisdom than one might think possible in the face of this latest devastating event.

George Floyd

George Floyd     ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 11 x 8.5 inches, Graphite, ink, and colored pencil on paper

How could one’s heart be anything but heavy at the way our communities of color have long been, and continue to be treated? Words are woefully inadequate.

I am a privileged white woman who has never for a moment worried that my actions might be observed and misconstrued as threatening. And even more tellingly, I have never ever worried that my children might be profiled or be mistakenly, dangerously detained because their race made them inherently suspicious. I cannot fathom how harrowing living within that reality must truly be.

I tend to turn to books as a means for reaching beyond my ignorance and for improving my understanding. Both Ta Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me and Angie Thomas’ The Hate U Give have guided me along that path. Kareem Abdul-Jabar’s May 30th op-ed in the LA Times also sheds light.

Relative Distance

Relative Distance     ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 9x6x6 inches, Stitched-resist dye, embroidery, and scavenged twigs on silk

My piece for the Sheltering in Place exhibition is now complete. The show will be a compilation of both visual work and haiku. Exact dates and venue are still to be announced. It will also be available to view online. I will let you know details as I get them.

In a completely unrelated note, other than the fact that it has to do with stitch, in 2018 the BBC produced a show called A Stitch in Time with fashion historian Amber Butchart.  It explores historical figures in art and the clothes they wore. Each piece of clothing is carefully recreated, exploring techniques and materials as they were originally used. The mixture of art, history, and authentic construction techniques is fascinating. I viewed it on Acorn TV through my library’s RB Digital app, but you can also see the six episodes on Youtube.

And finally, my “Selfie Project” of friends continues — this week with the supremely creative Hasso and her canine pal Woody. In addition to the one she sports in this image, Hasso wears, and has worn, many hats: artist, curator, landscape architect, graphic designer, illustrator, and organizer of our weekly life drawing group.

Hasso & Woody

Hasso & Woody     ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 8.5 x 11 inches, Graphite, ink, and colored pencil on paper

The photo she sent was filtered, so it was difficult to see and capture minute details (her eyes for instance). But as I told her when I sent her a scan of the finished drawing, that fact made this piece challenging in a good way. I love to get lost in details but, because of the blurred effect of the photo, I was forced to think more in terms of lines as marks and pattern for filling blocks of shape, rather than as a means for describing form. One of the great things about this project is that each new selfie offers worthwhile lessons to learn along the way.

Finally, the ever-present question is what can each of us do to make the world a better place? I’d like to thank Cory Huff of The Abundant Artist for proposing to his email subscribers that he would match any gift up to $1000.00 this week to The Black Futures Fund. I can’t think of a better way to try to contribute to change than to support Black arts and culture.

 

Marking This Period Of Time

Among other things, one of the phenomena of the past weeks that seems to be universal is how hard it is to keep track of time, a fact that is hitting close to home. Even though both my husband and I have kept to our regular schedules (there’s been no break in his work routine so, for the most part, my days also appear unchanged), I still find my sense of time is warped.

Template

For the past several weeks I’ve been working on a piece for an upcoming exhibit entitled “Sheltering in Place”. While I was figuring out how to construct the little house I will be including, I began with this template. As often happens, things change. As you can see below, rather than all being connected, the sides and roof of the house were created separately and will be sewn together in the next step.

Counterintuitively, with no out-of-the-house activities, no outside meetings, no visits to exhibitions or “art dates” with friends…heck, no activities at all beyond walking the dog and going to the grocery store and post office, the weeks seem to fly by. And yet, when I think back to something only a week past, it seems like months ago. This must be partially due to the general lack of variety between days, and I’m sure the unrelenting quick-fire news cycle also contributes. But whatever the cause, it’s been disorienting.

Blue Dye

Color is always a major consideration for any piece, but I wanted to be sure that the dye pattern was obvious, yet not overpowering. This light blue with tones of rust was perfect.

Listening to podcasts while stitching has been my touchstone with the outside world and a means for gaining perspective. I’m listing a few below that have been particularly helpful.

Back in March, Gretchen Rubin of Happier recommended keeping a coronavirus journal — not necessarily a written diary, but some way of marking this unusual time. What I find most helpful about her suggestion is it is malleable enough to accommodate whatever need each of us feels during this time. When we emerge on the other side, as we will, the details that feel so important and pervasive right now will be easily forgotten. I’d rather not forget.

Front

Aside from strict size specifications, the curator’s directive was only that each piece reflect “our individual experiences during this dramatic time in our collective history”. Obviously, our isolation with Quinn is my everyday story.  My goal for the piece is to show that despite our isolation, we remain very much connected to family and friends elsewhere. I debated about including the heart, wondering if it would be a little too sweet, but ultimately decided it needs to be there as a symbol of the root of our connection. I’m not sure if I will sew lines or have some sort of connective cords coming out from the heart, wrapping around the sides to various points on the maps.

For one artist’s solution, check out Elizabeth Le Serviget’s approach to remembering each day. It’s clever without being all-consuming. And, if you have time while on the Highland Center for the Arts website, take a few moments to treat yourself to exploring the work of all the artists who have submitted to “The Show Must Go On-Line”, a virtual gallery where artists show work and briefly discuss how their practice has been affected in the past months. This is but another example of how art entities are resourcefully maintaining engagement despite being shuttered.

East

Our family and friends are both near and far flung. I have filled in each state where loved one(s) reside and have been sheltering in place themselves.

If you’re struggling with concentration or with work in general, you aren’t alone.  Artists Louise Fletcher and Alice Sheridan address their COVID-19 experiences, their changes in working habits, sense of malaise, and general frustration in Episode #69 “Frayed nerves, broken glass, and really…what’s the point?” on their podcast Art Juice. Their down-to-earth manner leaves one feeling less adrift and more hopeful.

West

It’s hard to tell from these photos, but each of these pieces (sides of the house) will wrap around a supportive layer, and then be sewn together into a 3-D house shape. The photo below should give you a better idea of what I mean.

Perhaps my favorite listen so far has been “Jenny Odell on nature, art and burnout in quarantine” on The Ezra Klein Show. She talks about living in the world right now, the role of art in this moment, why we undervalue the most important work in our society (so key!), where to find beauty right now, the tensions of productivity, and the melting of time. So much to absorb and so worth it…fascinating and important on all those many levels. (Thanks Stu)

The World

We have a nephew who is in Norway and friends in London. This back piece refers to the fact that the pandemic knows no borders. I think that is the thought that has most made me stop to catch my breath…there isn’t a human on earth who hasn’t been affected.

And for anyone who is a fan of El Anatsui’s work, especially fiber artists, The Lonely Palette’s re-release of Episode 15: El Anatsui’s “Black River” is superb. Host Tamar Avishai’s description of the unique qualities of working with textiles is spot-on, giving the medium the articulate and sensitive recognition that is all too often lacking. One can’t help but think about the inherent, labor and time-intensive nature of many textile processes and how becoming lost in the flow of the making is yet another means of warping time.

Finally, it seemed just the right moment to reread one of my favorites: May Sarton’s 1973 Journal of a Solitude. I tried to absorb it in a slow and measured way, but each entry was so insightful that it was like eating popcorn — no stopping. Aside from the obvious link with our current experience of isolation, it also resonates for its quiet observations that shine a light on the comfort to be found in the most ordinary of life’s occurrences (e.g. the changing seasons, light falling just so on flowers from the garden, a pet’s morning greeting), the things that act like glue, holding both good times and bad together.

Lynn

Lynn ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Graphite, ink, and colored pencil on paper, 12 x 9 inches.    Meanwhile, my selfie project continues… this time with Lynn who is an avid birder. Since she was dressed all in beige in her photo, it seemed a good time to try out a new, tan-toned paper. But I wasn’t thinking and forgot that the sheet was just a bit too big for my scanner bed – which is why the image appears slightly cropped here. I did take a shot of the complete image, but for some reason it didn’t record the tan of the paper as well as in the scanned image. I thought seeing the tan ground was more important here than the tiny bit of the drawing that ended up being cropped.

It’s human nature to want to find ways to mark the passage of time and certain points within it, to remember, to be able to look back and make sense of a confusing and uncertain period. I wonder how you are choosing to do so, and how your choice is affecting your experience right now. There will be much wealth in the art that emerges in the months and years ahead. My hope is that it will lead us toward a better understanding of how, going forward, the pandemic has changed not just the world around us, but the core of ourselves.

Seeking Normal

This is the 8th week since our new normal began.
It’s crazy and it’s scary, but at the same time I am heartened to read and to hear daily accounts of resiliency and generosity of spirit that can’t be suppressed. It keeps me going.
Plus, creativity appears to be flourishing. Check out these two recent examples highlighted on the PBS Newshour’s Arts and Culture segment, ‘CANVAS’, for some welcome humor and to be inspired.

For my part, I’ve started working on two new projects, one drawing and one stitching. I’ll save writing about the textile piece for my next post, when it’s a bit farther along.

Meanwhile, as you know, I’ve been using the Sktchy app in my regular drawing routine. It’s hard enough to draw from a photograph but, especially during this time of isolation, it’s gotten to the point where scrolling through endless selfies of anonymous people vogueing and pulling silly faces, in order to find one that is interesting enough to draw, seems pretty hollow.
I, like everyone else, miss spending time with family and friends.

So the idea occurred to me that since we can’t see most people in person anyway, maybe I could coerce a few folks into sending me a selfie to use when I practice. I was quick to preface the request with the caveat that I’m not a portraitist, so best to keep expectations of likeness reigned-in.
But, aside from the fact that drawing people I know and care about is a much more interesting approach to keeping up with my drawing goals, it would also be a wonderful way, especially while socially distant, to spend an hour or two with each of them — even if virtually.

John

John ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 8 x 7.5 inches.

My friend John was quick to dive in. Among other things, he is a fabulous photographer, nature-lover, tree expert, chef, and humanitarian-extraordinaire! It’s entirely appropriate that he would send a picture with his nose buried in a bouquet of daffodils and with a twinkle in his eyes. While drawing him, concentrating on the features of someone who has quietly touched the lives of many, the world seemed a bit more normal again.

This will be an ongoing project. If you’d like to participate, email me and I’ll send you the basic parameters. It’s very easy, I promise. In return, I’ll send you a high-resolution scan of the finished drawing.

Hoarding Color

As I was scrolling through Instagram recently, the colors of this painting by Carol Gillott stopped me in my tracks. There may be science to explain my attraction; the roofs, chimney pots, and building facades are, after all, based upon a triad of primaries. But I’m not sure that accounts entirely for the immediate emotional impact that this little piece and other color combinations stir up in me.

Paris Breakfast

Carol Gillott, writes the blog Paris Breakfast. Her caption for this piece says it all: “Like Paris cats we’re stuck at home, looking out the window…waiting.”

Over the years I have cut out and saved hundreds of images from magazines and catalogs, taken countless photos, and even have a box filled with scraps of paired fabrics, all the result of being seduced by the effect of various side-by-side colors.

 

Crabs

 

Table

 

Windows

 

Circles

 

My hoard is partly for inspiration, but it has also become something of retreat, a place of escape that requires nothing from me — not even thinking.

 

Delphinium

 

Hyacinth

 

Quilt

 

It’s a collection that celebrates color for it’s own sake, recognizing the power that different hues have upon each other. One might make a comparison to the way that a chorus of diverse voices brings richness and depth to a concert that just isn’t the same with a soloist.

 

Citrus

 

Scarf

 

Shoreline

 

Bookseller Upside-down

 

I’ve rotated some of these images in an effort to make them a bit more ambiguous; I’d rather you didn’t see them as “things”.

 

Oslo

 

Pamela Tarbell

 

Persicaria

 

Fire

 

Instead, dive deeply into the colors alone.

 

Strripes

 

Sofa

 

Tulip

 

I didn’t have the opportunity to see the much revered Hilma af Klint exhibition Paintings For The Future at the Guggenheim Museum last year. However, due to the coronavirus shutting independent theater doors, a documentary about af Klint and her work, Beyond the Visible: Hilma af Klint can now be seen via streaming in “virtual theaters” (cost $12). It’s available through numerous venues, giving you a choice of which one you’d like to support. While not the same as visiting the work in person, this film finally gives a little-known and ground-breaking artist her due, shedding light on her tremendous oeuvre and the sheer force of her vision. Among other elements, I find her use of color captivating.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRFzfVFmrKM

Slow Dancing With Color

Moving out of winter into spring isn’t an overnight event here in Vermont. The transition is a slow roll-out that offers plenty of time to savor the “two steps forward, one step back” nature of spring’s dance of color as it gradually returns to our landscape. Every day there is something else to notice, its discovery made all the more special by a muted backdrop and lack of visual competition.

United

United    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 8.5 x 5.25 inches

Mulling this idea over, as one tends to do while out on a walk, it occurred to me that there is a connection between this slow unfolding of spring and the way my daily drawings are currently evolving.

Blue Curtains

Blue Curtains   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 8.5 x 5.25 inches

The coronavirus may have stymied our weekly life drawing sessions at Maple Corner for the time being, but there are always other options. Lately I’ve been using the Sktchy app for my daily sketchbook practice. And while ordinarily I wouldn’t chose to draw from a photo, it’s surely better than not drawing at all. As with most limitations, it’s best to just look for any advantages and get on with it.

Yellow Shades

Yellow Shades   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 8.5 x 5.25 inches

So, back to how Vermont’s transition to spring might inform my drawings.
First, part of the reason I notice and appreciate the measured changes that arrive as our surroundings reawaken is that I walk the same general route every day with Quinn. In a similar vein, I also tend to make the biggest discoveries in my work through daily repetition. I don’t mean repeating each drawing exactly, but rather echoing the same parameters (coffee cups say, or in this case, head-shot portraits of the same size, all made with ink and colored pencil). In doing so over and over, parallels begin to rise to the surface that, once noticed, plant a seed for how I might play upon and push those ideas further in each new drawing.

Red Glasses

Red Glasses   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 8.5 x 5.25 inches

The second part of this so-called vernal theory is that limited color, thoughtfully placed in tandem with shapes and patterns composed of black marks and cross-hatching, create a sense of energy and interest (at least I think they do) that might be lacking in a work with more extensive and fully fleshed-out color. I can’t shake the idea that often the strongest work is the most concise. (And that’s a great goal for me to be chipping away at, especially in light of how intricate my current stitched piece is).

In Process Barbara

In Process   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk, stitched area approximately 10 x 8 inches.    I still need to try to tone down that bulls-eye circle smack in the middle of her face. Hopefully as I do more to suggest her veil, it will help to solve the issue. I’ll have to keep the lessons from this post in mind, hopefully figuring out a solution without a full cover up.

One of the things I enjoy most about what I do is paying close attention to surrounding details and inferring unexpected connections from them. I can’t think of a better teacher than spring in Vermont to promote the lesson that you can often convey the most by saying the least.

A recent email from our local library reminds me that even though its doors are closed, our librarians are still hard at work offering our community valuable resources, such as virtual programming for all ages. I know that lot of folks are having trouble concentrating on reading at this time, and to some degree I count myself among them. But I’ve been listening to a ton of audio books while stitching and drawing, all coming through my library’s RB Digital platform, and it’s been exactly what I’ve needed.
See what your library has to offer, and say a quiet thank you to Ben Franklin for ensuring we have this resource in times of calm and of crisis.

Conquering Isolation

We’re all adjusting.
It may be grasping at straws, but the upside to the challenge of social distancing and remaining at home is that we’re shouldering this together … and virtual cocktail parties are becoming de rigueur.

Dyed

As I promised last post, the following photos show my progress to date, in living color. This shot is of the piece still folded, pleated, and stitched, fresh from the dye bath.

Whole Cloth

The stitches removed and the piece ironed open, reveals the dyed pattern. Note that the colors lighten significantly as the fabric dries – a point I have to keep in mind while dyeing.

I feel guiltily lucky that my studio is at home so that my work hasn’t been upended or interrupted. It’s made it much easier for me to forge ahead and to more easily distract myself through the inevitable waves of anxiety we all seem to be experiencing to some degree. Nigel Cheney, an artist whose drawings and stitched pieces always surprise and amaze me, wrote recently, “I live a life of near perpetual self-isolation already…”, a fact that is largely true for many of us whose work requires large spans of solitude.

Dyed Stitching

Because the image was stitched with silk thread, it too absorbs the dye with the silk fabric ground, largely obscuring the image from view.

Outline

Selective outlining starts to bring her forward. Varying the line between solid and dashed is a simple but effective way to suggest both depth and translucence.

For the most part, it seems that other artists I speak with aren’t feeling the pinch quite as acutely as those who are usually out and about, interacting with the wider world as a necessary part of their day-to-day. But that isn’t to say we aren’t just as much in need of helpful resources to get us over this hurdle.

Fill-In

As I fill areas in with stitch and work to suggest form, I constantly lean on what I’ve learned, and continue to learn, via cross-hatching in my drawings. Although there are obvious differences, there is also a strong relation between the patterns of marks that build up, whether via thread or ink.

Eyes and Mouth

No question, a corner is turned when the features are fleshed out and color is added. The piece really began to come to life once the irises of the eyes were added.

The arts community is pulling together on many levels, demonstrating that learning and culture refuse to kneel to COVID-19. What follows are some resources that surfaced this week. I hope you’ll find something in this list that’s helpful to you as you cope.

Color

I am working back and forth between the figure and the background and still have a long way to go.

The Vermont Studio Center (grants, emergency funding, online events and discussions) and Vermont Arts Council (general resources for the creative sector) are compiling ongoing lists of resources for artists and writers affected by the coronavirus. Each of these links will take you to those pages.

I’m sure others of you also received an email from Andrew Simonet  of Artists U entitled “Artists, This is What We Train For”. If you didn’t, please follow the link to read what he has to say and then take it to heart. As an artist, you have something unique to offer during times of crisis.
(But that said, don’t let it stress you out. Here’s a humorous response to the currently popular tidbit that Shakespeare wrote King Lear during a time of plague.)

Danny Gregory and Sketchbook Skool are offering a free Coronavirus Creativity Guide, including live drawing sessions every weekday on YouTube and FaceBook.

Urban Sketchers London, who by definition usually draw outside on location, have posted the Thirty Day Indoor Sketch Challenge with 30 proposed prompts. If you’ve been meaning to begin a sketch habit, this a great time to start.

Museums and galleries are closed and observing social distancing, but you can tour some of the world’s most famous museums for free without leaving home. No crowds or inconvenient hours to get in your way.

Alyson Stanfield is adapting her Art Biz Podcast to the current situation with new episodes specifically geared toward helping artists weather the COVID-19 storm. The most recent episode, “Structure Your Days to Be in Control of Your Art Business Now”, discusses adaptable work habits that take into account the challenges that being confined to home may have on your practice.

Need a lift? On his blog Still Learning to See, Photographer John Snell shares his view of the world through stunning photographs and insightful musings. There’s no better time to be reminded of the beauty and wonder that surrounds us each day, while keeping in mind our shared humanity.

And finally, a good book is always a great way to escape the news cycle. I am currently deep in The Golden Thread – How Fabric Changed History by Kassia St. Clair, and am fascinated by the details she unearths about the importance textiles have held throughout history and across cultures.

Please check in to let me know how you’re doing. I’d love to hear what coping mechanisms you’ve put in place and the bright spots you’re discovering along the way. And there’s always the question: what are you reading?

We’re all in this together.
Be well, be smart, and be safe.