Author Archives: ehwfram

About ehwfram

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

First Blush of Spring

Our landscape is finally coming back to life. Each day there is something new to see as the browns and grays of mud season recede, making room for the richer hues of spring.

Spring 1

I have been watching for a solid couple of months as people who live elsewhere in the country — and world — post images on Instagram of their neighborhoods as they green up.

Spring 3

We in the upper Northeast may be the last to arrive at the party, yet there is sweet reward in the feeling of having truly earned the colors that are re-emerging after a long, hard winter of visual restraint.

Spring 2

For those of us who relish the cycle of seasons, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Spring 4

For now, our days are fluctuating between cold & rainy and warm sun, so the garden is unfolding slowly, making it possible to mark changes daily. I watch those details closely and am rewarded with a world of color in each square inch.

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For a dose of pure chromatic eye candy, Carl Holty’s Flowering brings the garden to the canvas. Read about him and see more of his lush work in this article in Art & Antiques.

Practice, Practice, Practice

One of the more challenging “duties” that goes hand-in-hand with making art is the Artist’s Talk. And while I know a few people who seem to be naturals at it – their off-the-cuff words flowing easily and coherently – that’s not the case for many. The rest of us have to really work at this necessary and important part of our job. The upside is that giving a talk can ultimately be very rewarding, especially once it opens up into a conversation with the audience.

Granville Dog ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 5.5 x 8.5, Ink on paper I purchased this raku-fired clay dog on Granville Island in Vancouver several years ago. It’s a favorite object for sketching since it has a ton of personality and holds a pose much more reliably than my friend Quinn.

This was the gist of a recent lunchtime discussion among a circle of artist friends, one of whom was bucking against an upcoming talk she is required to give. She would prefer to let the viewers be in the driver’s seat in terms of what they take away from her paintings, feeling she’s done the hard work of creating and now it is up to those viewers to ferret out meaning for themselves. If I understood what she was saying correctly, she gets lost in the making and isn’t necessarily thinking in the same terms as the questions that are often posed regarding the significance of certain objects or circumstances within her work. Therefore, she feels awkward in responding to such questions or in explaining her motivations. She would rather others assign their own interpretations to what they see.

The general consensus of the discussion, however, was that artists’ talks are crucial for connecting with viewers on a deeper level, while affording one more control regarding how the work is perceived, and thus received. Not only do talks offer a means for inviting viewers to better understand how you work, but also why you work. Most people are genuinely interested in hearing about the incentives behind art that intrigues them. Many of the artists’ talks I’ve attended have opened unexpected doors, invariably giving me some nugget of information that expands my appreciation of what I’m seeing within a greater context and to an extent I never would have gleaned on my own.

Preparing for a talk is a lot more work for some of us than it is for others. I find it incredibly time-consuming and an exercise that requires digging deeply in order to articulate ideas and objectives as clearly as possible. It is not fun; there is so much writing, rewriting and editing that occurs behind the scenes. But that said, there are positive take-aways. As much as I’d rather pass, I can’t deny that distilling my ideas and objectives in advance of a talk has not only allowed me to (hopefully) convey them fluidly to others, but it’s an effort that circles back to the studio, reinforcing and feeding the core of my hours spent there.

Believe me, I am no expert. But these two books have been extremely helpful to me as I’ve worked my way through this challenge, especially the one by McGowan.

10 Days to More Confident Public Speaking by The Princeton Language Institute and Larry Laskowski

Pitch Perfect: How to Say it Right The First Time, Every Time by Bill McGowan

If you have an upcoming talk, I promise they will help. That and the one other indispensable ingredient: practice, practice, practice.

On a completely different note _________________________________________________________________

“When you lose someone you love, you start to look for new ways to understand the world.”

So begins the trailer to 306 Hollywood, a wonderful episode from PBS’ POV series that is part documentary, part art film, part love letter to a beloved, deceased grandmother. The trailer’s synopsis describes it best: “306 Hollywood is a magical realist documentary of two siblings who undertake an archaeological excavation of their late grandmother’s house. They embark on a journey from her home in New Jersey to ancient Rome, from fashion to physics, in search of what life remains in the objects we leave behind”.

It’s both a gem and a visual delight for anyone who knows the loss of a beloved family elder and the challenge of deciding how to negotiate the objects that speak to who that person was and the marks they left on their loved ones and on the world. Check your PBS station or rent it on iTunes.

In Stitches

While there have been other things to write about in my last several posts, I’ve still been busy with the stitched portrait I began a month ago. It’s time to bring you up to speed with my progress so far.

The eyes ground everything else.

As predicted, seismic changes are taking place as I feel my way along in the proverbial dark. Most notably the initial white stitching has been/is being replaced with threads of color. In some ways, it’s much easier to make a “reverse” image of white on a dark ground than it is to work “positively” on a dark area. As I wrote in a recent Instagram post, there’s a reason why people often begin with a light background.

The depth brought out with color made it a no-brainer decision to remove the rest of the white stitching.

With each step forward, I can see how heavily I am leaning on lessons learned through drawing, especially from my weekly life-drawing sessions. Watching form and pattern work together as equals is incentive to see what will happen next. And color almost seems to have become its own dimension, nursing other important lessons.

Even though the colors aren’t what you might call “natural”, I think they are what breathe life into the figure.

I am making a conscious decision to leave some areas un-stitched, letting one’s eyes and brain fill in the blanks. Doing so calls attention to the piece’s “stitch-iness”, and serves my aim to direct your eye back and forth between the image and the surface. Right now I am mulling over how to treat the background — exactly how much I will work and how much will be left alone. It should support the subject without distracting from the lovely fluctuations in color created via the dye process.

This appears at a weird angle because of the way my frame was tilted when I took the picture. The shadow of the hand helps to better define the face. If you look closely, you can see how I changed that shadow from the previous image. Also, the lips have been reworked and toned down.

So, there is still plenty to do, but it’s coming along.

Each new section covered pulls out the image more.

When drawing from life, I find I’m most interested in composing my drawings so that they include more than just the bust of the model. A more complete figure set within its background offers additional opportunities to play off some of the formal considerations I enjoy so much, whereas working with just the head and shoulders presents an entirely different set of concerns. This piece is an interesting stretch for me.

Can you see the area where I removed some stitches? Only a dozen or so stitches taken out makes such a huge difference.

I’m curious about your thoughts. In general, what is your impression of portraits of people you don’t know? Is there enough to draw you in and hold your attention? Or do you find you’re more attracted to images of people who hold specific significance for you in one way or another?

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I’m always interested in etymological tidbits. When choosing the title for this post I couldn’t resist looking up the history of the idiom “in stitches”. So much invariably comes back to Shakespeare.

in stitches laughing uncontrollably. informal
Stitch, in the sense of ‘a sudden localized jabbing pain’, such as might be caused by a needle, is recorded in Old English. It is now generally used of a muscle spasm in the side caused especially by exertion. Shakespeare seems to have been the first to describe stitches brought on by laughter; in Twelfth Night (1601) Maria invites her fellow conspirators to observe the lovelorn Malvolio with the words: ‘If you…will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me’.

~ from thefreedictionary.com

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And, to underline the general theme of this post, check out this very silly link. It will leave you in stitches…

The Dialects of Line, Color & Texture

A picture is worth a thousand words.
With that in mind and as promised, here is a sampling from the opening of The Dialects of Line, Color, and Texture, my current show with Elizabeth Billings and Frank Woods.

The Dialects of Line, Color, & Texture

The following photos were taken before any guests showed up. Once they did, things got busy. I am so sorry that Elizabeth hadn’t arrived yet to be in this photo with us.

In addition to line and color, “surface design” (coloring, patterning, and transforming materials with an eye toward textural qualities) is an undeniable meeting point between Frank’s paintings and my dyed and stitched work. Sharing wall space seems very natural. As you look through the following pictures, enjoy discovering the similarities, despite our vast differences.

Nimbus, ©Elizabeth Billings

Anyone who makes and exhibits art knows the thrill of seeing it hanging on a gallery wall. And while solo shows have their advantages, the magic of this exhibition lies in the undercurrent of “conversation” between our three separate voices, creating an interaction where the whole can be seen as greater than the sum of its parts. Kudos and thanks to curator Maureen O’Connor Burgess for finding the thread of that conversation and moderating it in such a way that makes our work shine — individually and together.

Vacuum Series

Dawn Patrol

Caught Red-Handed, Homer

Summer Stroll

Pick Me Up, Morning Musing, Side Kick

Ulysses' Wave

Evening Duet

Divide&Conquer, Cut Off, Sweet Bowl of Summer

Taking Pause

Without a doubt, the most rewarding part of an opening involves face-to-face dialogue with viewers. Not only is it a chance to explain the stories behind the work which has consumed so many hours, so much thought, and heart, but it is also an opportunity to get the work (and ourselves) out of the vacuum of the studio to see our ideas standing on their own. And when the work engages others in such a way that they can draw a connection between what you’ve made and a part of themselves you would otherwise never know, well, that is truly the cherry on top.

*All images © Elizabeth Billings, Frank Woods, and Elizabeth Fram

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I still haven’t sat down with a Louise Bourgeois biography yet, but I ran across this compilation of her thoughts on how to be an artist, and feel they are well-worth sharing.

Look to Art’s Formalities

Tuesday I loaded 25 pieces into a van and sent them on their way — all carefully wrapped, labeled, and ready to hang in the upcoming exhibit The Dialects of Line, Color, and Texture at the Highland Center for the Arts in Greensboro.

I am honored to have my work in company with pieces by Frank Woods and Elizabeth Billings, and I am very gratified to be part of a show that reaches beyond a specific medium or subject matter, instead highlighting how, despite the obvious contrasts, we all three gravitate to similar underlying formal structures to express our ideas.

I find this particularly pleasing since the formality of line, color, texture, shape, and composition is a major driving force behind both my drawings and my textile pieces. Perhaps, subconsciously, this explains why I was immediately attracted to both Frank’s and Elizabeth’s art when we moved to Vermont almost ten years ago.

I hope you’ll be able to join us for the opening on Saturday, or will be able to get up to Greensboro at some point during the show’s run (through May 26th). For those who can’t make it, I’ll do my best to have pictures to share with you next week.

Poster for The Dialects of Line, Color, and Texture

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This week textileartist.org posted an interview with Janet Bolton, another of my artistic heroes, whose work grabbed me very early during my own fledgling textile explorations. Attracted to her consideration of edges and the way she divides space, (again the formalities of art holding strong sway), I purchased two of Bolton’s books in the mid-90s: Patchwork Folk Art and In a Patchwork Garden. Hindsight reveals a predictable pattern of preference for these qualities, which resurfaced in my later inclination toward the work of Dorothy Caldwell, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Richard Diebenkorn, among others, and continues to attract me to artists today.
The dye, as they say, was cast.

Vermont Vessels

We are lucky in Vermont to have such a strong and active membership of the Surface Design Association — a vibrant, international organization whose stated mission is to promote awareness and appreciation of textile-inspired art.

This week, eight SDA members from Vermont, as well as several from New Hampshire and Massachusetts, made our way to the bottom of the state in order to meet Jackie Abrams and Deidre Scherer, and to see their collaborative exhibit Jackie Abrams and Deidre Scherer: Connections at the Brattleboro Museum. Both artists greeted us at the museum and generously shared their insights during a personal tour, answering our myriad questions.

Jackie, left & Deidre, right

Rather than attempting to reinterpret this wonderful show, I’m going to let the artists’ words and beautiful work speak for themselves. Enjoy.

Age, wisdom, the accumulation of experience, and their imprints on the vessel we call the human body have interested each of us for decades. The fabric-and-thread portraits of elders and the sculptural baskets representing aspects of women’s lives made it seem natural for us to collaborate on a series of three-dimensional objects that reflect the human form.

To create each object, we agree on the general shape and size of the vessel. An image of the original fabric portrait by Scherer is printed onto heavy cotton paper. The printed image is cut into strips and carefully woven back together by Abrams as a three-dimensional vessel. Sometimes other materials, such as copper wire or transparent plastic film, are incorporated into the weaving. The resulting vessels’ strong forms and subtle textures reflect the character that the human body acquires with experience and time.

— Deidre Scherer and Jackie Abrams

Please note all work is ©Jackie Abrams and Deidre Scherer

“Couples”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, plastic film, waxed linen thread, 9 x 11 x 11”

“Faces: Woven Vessel II”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2017, print on cotton paper, wire, 12 x 8 x 8″

“Staggered Gold”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, wire, 12 x 8 x 8″

“Connecting #1 and #2” (diptych), collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2019, print on cotton paper, wire, waxed linen thread

“Garlic”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, plastic film, waxed linen thread

“Hands of Light”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, wire

As is to be expected, there’s no way my images do justice to these beautiful pieces. Please see the work in person if there is any way you can swing it. And note that the artists will be giving a talk at the Brattleboro Museum on Wednesday, April 24th at 7pm.

Lifeblood

Have I got a great book for you! …Handywoman by Kate Davies, a recounting of transformation through creativity.

In a series of essays Davies wrote in response to the paralyzing stroke she suffered at the age of 36, this book offers a fascinating look deep beneath the surface of an unexpected, life-changing event. Davies discusses at length the ways that her stroke and disability have transformed how she sees not just herself, but also her community and the world around her as she relearns to navigate within all three.

A special thank you to my friend, mixed-media/knit sculptor Leslie Roth, who introduced me a while ago to Kate Davies, her designs, and her blog …and for loaning me this wonderful book. Watch Davies’ Tedx Talk about her experience.

What most engaged me is the tenacious thread woven throughout the book relating how creativity and her drive for “making” opened a pathway toward healing when she was at her lowest points. That drive has continued to be a mainstay as she has learned to redefine herself.

Davies acknowledges in detail the advantages the creative foundations she had built in childhood provided her in moving forward from the dark days when she realized she could no longer accomplish the most basic tasks by herself, such as braiding her own hair — a daily ritual that had been part of her identity for years. One essay delves into the history of braiding as the precursor to all textile arts, carrying with it early and strong symbolic and spiritual associations. Recognizing the dichotomy of both the feminine and the mysogynistic connections that are attached to braids, Davies highlights a skill we often think of as simple (my mother set me to braiding yarn before she felt I was ready to learn to knit), and yet when dissected from the vantage of point by point coordination and movement, it is, as Davies explains, a “dexterous performance of remarkable complexity”. Relearning to braid with thick yarn was the beginning of regaining strength in her left arm so that with three months of hard work she was once again able to take care of a very personal grooming routine, regaining, to an integral degree, a sense of herself.

Hard reality sets in as I begin to see that color is going to be key in defining different areas. The white “reverse” stitching is okay to a point, but it doesn’t go far enough. At this stage I’m beginning to see the challenge of choosing colors that can both coordinate with and hold their own against this dark background.

Her stroke wasn’t diagnosed for a crucial 36 hours because the attending physician didn’t think to look for it, assuming she was just a stressed, hysterical woman. And those caring for her during that interval callously shunted her aside as spoiled and privileged. She takes a hard look at those uglier realities of the medical system and of some who work within it, while simultaneously noting the many kindnesses and intriguing science that facilitated her as she worked her way back to mobility during the time she spent in care.

She writes at length about the liberating impact of good design in the tools that aided her progress as she reattained her independence. The depth of her research and engaging writing style are a testament to her former career as a literary academic, bringing the reader along toward greater understanding of a wide range of topics as she uncovers the layers of complexity and far-reaching effects of brain injury.

It’s time to leave reality and move toward “oomph”. The variegation of this thread starts to show the possibility of using color to define form.

But beyond those topics is the unfolding of how she found strength, healing, and community through knitting, making her way on a new path as a knitwear designer and author, building a career that accommodates her slower pace and new reality. As noted in the synopsis on the back of the book, this is not a story of triumph over adversity, but rather “part memoir, part personal celebration of the power of making…redefining disability as in itself a form of practical creativity.

I think I have most of my palette nailed down, so now I need to keep plugging away, stitching and (undoubtably) undoing stitches, as I find my way. There will be a lot of changes in the days ahead!

And for anyone who is a maker of any sort, you will be uplifted and reassured in what you undoubtably already know: making and creativity are indeed lifeblood.

It Was Just A Matter Of Time

A couple of years ago the collector who bought “3 Pears” suggested I should consider people as subject matter. I’m not sure if he meant portraits, but at the time I didn’t give it too much thought because I was just beginning to find my way in translating still lifes with thread and felt completely unqualified to attempt a human.

I’m revisiting a mokume framework for this piece for its simplicity. There will be more than enough to think about without sparring with a dyed pattern underlying the stitched image.

I’ve done a lot more drawing since then – with ink, graphite, and thread too. And as you know, I’ve landed in a wonderful weekly life drawing group that provides lots of ongoing practice with models. The many benefits of those sessions are beginning to take root, to the point where not only do I feel more confident in portraying people but, as with my daily sketches, I have begun to see an element of reciprocity between the marks that build up in rendering those figures and the patterns of stitches I incorporate in my textile work. To some degree, this phenomenon reminds me of when one is learning a new language and it is suddenly spoken within their dreams.

The row of dots that run up the right side of the mokume shibori pattern are the result of the knots of the resist threads which create that pattern. They too resist the dye. It may be a very subtle detail, but I plan for their inclusion because, not only do they add an unusual graphic quality but they also underline the fact that this process is done by hand.

So, I’m ready to take a leap of faith by attempting to stitch a person. It’s going to be a big “we’ll see”. There will no doubt be plenty of groping in the dark, but I’m ready for the challenge and eager to dive into the lessons ahead. I’ll be bringing you along for the ups and downs.

In return, I’ve come across several items this week that I’d like to share. I hope you’ll find at least one of them useful.

First, a friend emailed this link about the power of art to influence in unexpected ways. Are you a fan of Mario Puzo’s The Godfather? Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, I think you will appreciate this story.
I’m always on the lookout for sketchbook suggestions. While you can never know for sure if one is right for you until you begin to use it, this review offers seven to choose from. I like the idea of the ILLO 8″x8″… perfect for Instagram posts and its 122-pound paper seems like a good option for wet media.
And for anyone trying to start a sketchbook habit, often the hardest part is deciding what to draw. Here are 75 suggestions to get you off and running.

Tell Me Again

Occasionally a poem is just right.
I eagerly recommend Mary Oliver’s 2013 compilation, Dog Songs, to any pooch lover — especially anyone who has had the honor of sharing their heart with a rescue.

Feb 23

Here the poet herself reads one of my favorites: Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night.

Which of course reminds me of our Quinn.

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I just discovered Hilary Pecis‘ work. Orchestrating the ordinary into the lyrical, her paintings are bouquets of pattern, color, and familiarity. Her work encourages a recognition of our own individual worlds through the expression of hers. To me, the unexpected prominence of books in many of her pieces, appearing in neat stacks or filling walls of shelves in the background, add to the comfortable sense of “home”. As Tamsin Smith and Matt Gonzalez wrote in their October 25, 2018 review of Pacis’ work for Juxtapoz “…beauty is a matter of looking closely. It is the eye, not the object, that holds the power.”
I couldn’t agree more.

Bird’s Eye View

It’s a sure sign that winter is waning when the warning for Town Meeting appears.

Town Meeting Sketch 1

Each year, the first Tuesday of March brings us all out of hibernation and back into the folds of community. Town Meeting Day is set aside for every municipality in Vermont to come together in order to vote on budget items, to elect local officials, and to discuss town business. It is a venerated civic tradition that has been going strong for more than 200 years, and it demonstrates democracy at its finest.

Town Meeting 2

Aside from those attributes, I love the opportunity to sit up in the balcony of our primary school gym, listening to the discussion and voting “from the floor”, while drawing a vast array of the community members sitting below. Being up high skews my perspective to some degree, but it works to my advantage as I can see a lot more than just the backs of heads.

Town Meeting 3

Unlike airports, where everyone seems to have have their neck bent and head bowed toward their phone, people at Town Meeting are engaged — paying attention to the speakers and select board, or chatting with their neighbor. Within the crowd there were quite a few knitters, children playing quietly near their parents, and a sign language interpreter. So, lots to look at and to think about in attempting to capture an image.

Town Meeting 4

The added advantage is I can happily sketch for as long as I want without calling attention to myself or making anyone feel uncomfortable or self-conscious. It’s a wonderful forum for practice; too bad it only comes around once a year.

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Many thanks to my good friend and fellow artist, Dianne Shullenberger, who alerted me to Sketchbook Vol. 1, an exhibition of 14 contemporary artists’ sketchbooks at Sugarlift in Long Island City, NY. The work is mind-blowing; check out the particulars here and here. You can follow-up by visiting websites or Instagram accounts to see more of each artist’s amazing work.