Category Archives: Art

First Things First

Happy Thanksgiving!

But first things first…
I can barely believe that this post marks 10 years and 393 uninterrupted entries here at Eye of the Needle! I went back through my archives to reread what I had written in my very first post on November 29, 2014 and I’m happy to say that this project has been, and continues to be, exactly what I had hoped for and outlined all those years ago.

In the spirit of today’s holiday, thank you — to the many of you who have been here since Day 1, returning faithfully ever since, and just as sincerely to those of you who have joined me along the way.

With that in mind, I have an announcement:
To celebrate this anniversary, I am going to take the month of December off.
I’m looking forward to a break, as well as a chance to re-evaluate how I want to proceed going forward. There may or may not be some tweaks — we’ll see. However, this project comes down to two things:

One of the hidden truths of writing regularly about my practice is that it has helped me to better understand my artwork immeasurably, so I do not expect to stop, and
Judging from the comments you have shared with me, both here and privately, writing about my discoveries and explorations has opened the door for you to in turn fill me in on the things you have found or are doing. That sense of connection and community is exactly what I was seeking when I began and has made this endeavor so much richer.
So again, thank you.

One last thought: In episode #503 of her “Happier” podcast, Gretchen Rubin addresses an unexpected way to spark creativity which, once she mentioned it, rang very true to me. Creating a demand that has to be met, (e.g. the deadline of publishing a regular post online) fosters creativity. Maintaining this self-imposed commitment has taught me that, while admittedly some weeks may be harder than others, if one sets to work, the ideas never fail to come.

Now on to today’s post...

We celebrated the holiday early this year, in Chicago with our daughter. As is often the case, our trip included a visit to the Art Institute. This time we caught 2 exciting exhibits and had the chance to see a universal icon. Here is a quick recap.

First, the spectacular baskets of Passamaquoddy maker Jeremy Frey, were on display in the show “Woven”. His work is almost beyond belief in its complexity and innovation. We missed this exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art when we were in Maine last summer, so I’m grateful to have had a second chance to catch it.

Every step of every process in his baskets is accomplished by Frey. He thoughtfully selects and fells the trees (mostly ash), then pounds the logs with the back of an ax to separate the growth rings, splitting them into thinner sheets that he then cuts into narrow strips. He uses dyes to incorporate vibrant colors and he further embellishes basket covers by embroidering natural imagery with porcupine quills. His mastery and imagination are breathtaking.

This short video follows Frey throughout much of his process.

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Self-Portrait, Looking Left with Hand on Chin, Paula Modersohn-Becker, 1906, Oil tempera on paper mounted on cardboard

I hadn’t heard of Paula Modersohn-Becker before checking the Art Institute’s website to see what would be on display during our visit. Seeing her work in “I am Me”, I was moved by the sensitivity of her painted and, especially, her drawn portraits – mainly of herself or of other women. Considering she was only 31 when she died of a postpartum embolism, one can’t help but be awestruck by the intensity of her work, despite her relative youth. What a loss for the art world.

Farmer’s Wife, Seated, Paula Modersohn-Becker, 1899, Charcoal on paper

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Finally, Hokusai’s iconic The Great Wave is back on display for a limited period (through January 6). It was a thrill to see an original print in the flesh for the first time. Due to the gallery’s subdued, protective lighting, I didn’t even bother to take a picture, choosing instead to just stand and savor.

Under the Wave off Kanazawa, also known as The Great Wave, from the series “Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji”, Katsushika Hokusai, 1826-1836, Color woodblock print, 10 x 14-3/4 inches, image from Art Institute of Chicago website

For some fun facts, you might enjoy reading 10+ Things to Know About The Great Wave. Particularly fascinating: the impact of the work would have been entirely different for Japanese viewers who read from right to left, so likely would have viewed the print that way, as opposed to Western eyes which would have experienced the wave from left to right. Take a look with that in mind and judge for yourself.

Where else but a museum can you pack so much into a couple of hours?
That’s all for now.
Enjoy your Thanksgiving and holidays to follow; I’ll see you in January!

Small, Thoughtful Steps

Remember the painted detail of the birds that I shared in my last post?
Here is the full painting, now complete.

I can’t necessarily explain this piece in the sense of telling a particular story, but I will say it’s a convergence of and meditation on a number of things: the passage of time, a feeling of grounding that is rooted in one’s sense of place, the idea of freedom in unrealized possibilities, and an overarching love for the changes that come with Autumn as the landscape readies for the dormancy of Winter. Hmmm – I guess even if it isn’t a story, that’s a lot to pack into 9″ x 12″.

Washi tape and masking fluid give me the ability to preserve various sections while working on others. Pencil lines rough in the suggestion of a background pattern in the upper right (which becomes more prominent as the piece evolves). If you look closely you can see that this pattern riffs off both the pointed house shape, which encloses the portrait, and the swooping lines of the hair.

While I always work on an entire painting all at once, I do toggle back and forth between elements because, as I move through each stage, every decision affects everything that comes after. An action taken in one area dictates the next step for another section.

Early layers of paint set up a backdrop

In other words, I depend upon a series of mindful steps that build upon each other. These images of the portrait within the painting give an idea of that progression.

Layers of Naples Yellow and Yellow Ochre connect the fore, mid, and background by adding dimension to the grasses, warming the tones of the face and carrying the sunset over from the left of the painting in the background. Washes and strokes of green link the hair, the eyes, the grasses and the field while offsetting the blue and yellow complementary undertones that had begun to dominate.

When sitting down to a freshly stretched sheet of paper, I may have a core idea of where I’m headed but I can always count on the fact that there will be plenty of changes and adjustments along the way, most of which relate to the nuts and bolts of process itself.

While initially I had planned to leave it out, adding a mouth soon felt necessary. The masking fluid that preserved the area for the sumac has been lifted in this picture. It’s always a relief to remove the washi tape or masking fluid so I can see the piece without the distraction of their strong colors.

In a way, every new piece is a wonderful sort of puzzle. Before the brush even touches paper, it’s necessary to think ahead to consider what might need to be done first (such as which elements to mask) and in what order each consecutive layer needs to be laid down. For the most part, the masking is really the only part of the process that rarely changes.

Masking the sumac branches and flowers in the foreground was the very first step after lightly penciling in the composition. Considering that masking fluid dries to a yellow-ish color, I had to consciously work to avoid letting it influence my surrounding color choices.

The stitched roof was a late decision. Not only does it further accentuate the curving pattern in the background but, more importantly, the added 3-dimensionality of the house/portrait combo makes a lot more sense, sitting in a landscape as it does – even though it isn’t meant to be a “real” house.

Incorporating stitching is usually the last step, but an element I’ve been thinking about before the first pencil mark even hit the paper. However, it too is influenced by what goes before, as noted in the caption above, and sometimes ends up being completely different from what I’d initially imagined.

It’s these small, thoughtful steps along the way, many of which can’t be predicted, that make a piece what it ultimately becomes. For the most part, I’ve learned it’s worth being patient, and trusting that the piece itself will lead me in the right direction.

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How many times have you read an article that challenges readers to name 3-5 women artists, correctly insinuating that it’s difficult to do in a culture that has historically ignored the accomplishments of women in our field?

Women Painters Book

When we were in Berkeley last month, I managed to find time — correction: I MADE time — to stop by Mrs. Dalloway’s – Literary and Garden Arts, a treasure of a local bookstore. I picked up a little gem that fit easily into my bag and that I think you might like too: An Opinionated Guide to Women Painters . It’s a concise compendium that covers, with images, “65 female artists from throughout history and across the world”. There are names you will recognize and plenty you won’t. The contributors have done their best to see that no one is stumped by the ‘name 5 female artists’ question again.

Japanese Gardens

Welcome to the first post of my Summer Stories Archival Sale!

As a reminder, the five works below are now on sale in my web shop at 20% off the regular price. Use coupon code Garden20 at checkout.

For anyone joining in for the first time, these works will be available at the sale price for one week. Sale ends at 11:59 pm July 3rd.

On to this week’s stories:

In my mid-twenties, I was incredibly fortunate to have been invited by a well-to-do elderly cousin on a tour of China, with stops in Japan and Hong Kong bookending the trip. She tapped me to accompany her as a female companion, and I felt at the time as though I was stepping into a Henry James novel. Of course it was an incredibly formative adventure in many ways.

For an untraveled young woman from New England, floating down the Yangtze for a couple of weeks, taking in the many wonders along the way, was unbelievable. It’s hard to describe what it felt like to suddenly be physically within a landscape that, while so different from the West, seemed achingly familiar considering the imagery I had encountered while studying Asian art in college. It was like walking into a dream.

Throughout the trip, I fell in love with the aesthetic sensibilities and detailed workmanship of both China and Japan, a quality that seemed to permeate so many aspects of their day-to-day lives. I became especially smitten with the gardens we visited, particularly in Tokyo. Since then I have sought out Japanese gardens wherever possible — Portland, Seattle, Montreal, San Francisco, Hawaii — the lists goes on. And some twenty years after my trip, in the midst of raising our growing, busy family, I began to consider Japanese gardens as a source of inspiration for my artwork.

I chose to switch from paints and pastels to art quilts when our children were very young since, as a medium, the non-toxic nature of fabric and sewing fit easily within an erratic schedule filled with interruptions and curious little fingers. As time progressed and our family life became busier, I found myself returning to Japanese gardens for the insights – parallels even – they provided to life and art. And, during that busy, busy period, I often found myself seeking the overarching sense of tranquility they represented.

I wrote in one of my artist statements at the time: “Through the garden’s deftly controlled organic and geometric forms, a sense of organized quiet overtakes the potential chaos of a living, growing, ever-changing environment”.

Looking back, that description might well be a metaphor for what art-making brought to my daily routine with busy teenagers. I was definitely in search of organized quiet and sought to create it with my art. The slow processes of hand-sewing and embroidery were a way to carve out a corner of calm. Plus, as it turns out, drawing a comparison between the gardens and my day-to-day was yet another way to acknowledge beauty in the ordinary, an idea that has remained a mainstay of my work.

Autumn Leaf on Wet Stones

I love Autumn and I love rainy days…all the better for being productive in the studio.
Light reflected off the wet flagstones of our Pennsylvania walkway, plastered with fallen leaves from the nearby Japanese maple, was a beautiful marker of the season.

Pennsylvania walkway with Japanese maple leaves

A picture of our wet, leaf-strewn PA walkway

Discharging fabric (removing color via bleach or other chemicals to create surface patterns) proved a wonderful way to capture this quality of light and wetness. A small hand-dyed orange rectangle, backed with gold metallic fabric, then embroidered in shades of red, orange and cream, references the poetry of a single fallen leaf.

The swath of ombre reddish/orange to gold fabric on the right provides balance – a compositional device learned through studying Asian art, as well as visiting Japanese gardens and reading about Ikebana flower arranging. It is also a nod to my personal preference for asymmetry. The arc could be interpreted as the path of a falling leaf, but it is also an element that I repeated in a number of works made around that time.

I still have a length of the sheer, synthetic ombre fabric (left) used in Autumn Leaf and a number of other artworks. It looks a lot more Spring-like when backed by white board as in this photo, but laid over black silk it offers the perfect Autumn palette. At one point I ran across a shop that carried lightweight metallic fabric in a variety of colors (right) and I bought a little of every color they had on hand. It doesn’t take much, but that small touch of metallic gold peaking out from behind the embroidered “leaf” gives it the punch it needs to hold its own in the midst of the more somber expanse of the rest of the piece, while simultaneously echoing the length of color on the right.

Incorporating a variety of unexpected fabrics, such as the examples above, became a central component in my art quilts. I looked for interesting and unusual fabrics everywhere, especially when traveling, certain that whatever I brought home would eventually be the perfect element for a future piece. The more unusual the texture or quality of the fabric, the better. Needless to say, over time I have amassed a wonderful collection.

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Sunlight on the Forest Floor

Despite the deep shade underneath a tree canopy, the colors within a forest are rich and lovely. Any walk in the woods calls to mind the magic of fairy tales through the awesome beauty of nature. Watching my step on forest trails, I have always been struck by the sometimes subtle, sometimes vibrant contrast between the vast variety of greens and yellows, paired as they are with the russet brown of the soil.

Sunlight on the Forest Floor, detail Art Quilt embroidery

Sunlight on the Forest Floor, detail ©2004 Elizabeth Fram Curving embroidery snakes through an open area of red-brown fabric, surrounded by quilting that echoes its shape. The hand-made stitches are reminiscent of fallen pine needles or, taken as a whole, perhaps a dropped branch.

Walking along, one can’t help but notice the places where the sun breaks through the tree cover above. Those areas always seem to be places of enhanced sensory details – such as the scent of balsam needles, leaves glistening with moisture, or the intricacies of spider webs, standing out as the masterworks of complexity they are.

Collaging diverse fabrics together is one way to call to mind the universal nuances of such an encounter while encouraging the recall of a viewer’s personal memories.

Sunlight on the Forest Floor, detail ©2004 Elizabeth Fram Again, an eclectic choice of fabrics best conveys the impressions of everything mentioned above. The sparkling iridescent “fabric” in the center of this piece is cut from a party favor bag, left over from one of my daughter’s birthday parties. The discharged fabric (red and tan) began as red, but once discharged the underlying color was tan, not white as one might expect.

Sunlight on the Forest Floor Detail, Art Quilt

The unusual base fabric on the right side of the piece is an example of a special find. It is a synthetic composed of three layers, blue, gold and red. I’ve separated them above so you can see the individual components. I thought this fabric was perfect for conveying the beauty and complexity of soil that is rich in organic matter.

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Riffle

Water features are a key element in any Japanese garden. We’ve never included water in our home gardens because we didn’t want to attract mosquitoes. But water adds so much to a garden experience, and it’s extra special when you can cross it via stepping stones.

Riffle, detail © 2005 Elizabeth Fram This piece is an example of painting directly on fabric, not printing, but painting with a brush. I tore strips of tape and placed them on the cloth to create a mask, then painted in the spaces between. Each area of color is surrounded with hand quilting. On the vertical area to the right, the regularity of large hand stitches and machine-stitched quilting creates a contrast with the more organic painted areas on the left.

A riffle is the rippling on the surface of water, so not only does the word conjure a visual image, but also one of sound. The trickling of water is integral within most Japanese gardens. I pushed myself to interpret the idea of a riffle in four different ways: discharge patterning, quilting, pleating, and with paint.

Riffle, detail © 2005 Elizabeth Fram I have incorporated many sheer fabrics in my work throughout the years, appreciating their transparency and the multitude of ways they might be manipulated for a variety of textures. I created water-like pleating in the block of sheer fabric on the left by pressing those irregular “pleats” into the fabric before appliquéing it to the green background. Each shape was hand-quilted in place to emphasize the effect.

Riffle is essentially a series of mini compositions within one big overall composition, a challenge I set for myself that is reminiscent of how turning every corner within a Japanese garden often creates a new, equally enticing view of the same plants – just from a different angle. I greatly admire those gardeners’ design aptitude, both in creating a puzzle to unravel, and as a skill to strive for.

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One Mossy Stone

There are three things I most admire about moss: its jewel-like color, its velvety texture, and the fact that it seems to thrive on so little. I love the fact that even in the early days of Spring, moss pokes through the thinning snow with all the vibrancy of mid-summer. It is such a seemingly simple plant and yet so complex, very much like a raked Zen garden.

One Mossy Stone, detail ©2007 Elizabeth Fram The green of the stone was made by painting on interfacing. It is an example of creating my own surface design rather than relying solely on fabrics with ready-made, preprinted designs. I will write more about those explorations in one of my future story posts.

Raked gardens with thoughtfully placed large stones evoke islands floating in the sea. If those stones are covered with moss, the green stands out in such beautiful contrast to the grey of the raked gravel, creating a wonderful convergence of color with texture. One Mossy Stone speaks to the strength of that contrast.

If you look closely at this thread which was used within the center of the mossy “stone” above, you will see that it is slightly variegated between green and blue. It was hand-dyed by a Pennsylvania artist friend.

I am a big fan of variegated thread although I have never tried dyeing it myself. While I used it sparingly in this piece, as seen in the detail image above, it is a linchpin in most of my current stitched paintings, valued for its nuance and the color variations it makes possible within a very small area.
The brownish wool thread, to the left of the “stone” in the same detail image above, mimics the brown/ochre colors in the small fabric square nearby, enhancing a sense of definition and connection.

One Mossy Stone, detail ©2007 Elizabeth Fram Texture is such a major component of Japanese gardens, as it is for an art quilt. Discovering new ways to create texture with stitch became a means toward forging a strong connection between what I was making and the gardens that inspired me. The textural variations within the white-on-white and blue-grey areas of this piece create an active dynamic within largely monochromatic areas.

A couple of my favorite books during the time period One Mossy Stone was made were Being Home by Gunilla Norris and Plain and Simple by Sue Bender. Akin to a Zen garden, they highlight the strength to be gleaned by slowing down and appreciating simplicity.

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That First Peony

With all the rain we’ve had in the past week, our peonies are on their way out, but it has been a glorious year for them.
In my Pennsylvania garden, the peonies bloomed much earlier than they do here in Vermont. I often didn’t have a chance to clear the winter clutter beneath them until the first was already blooming. The contrast between the newly cleared soil (represented in brown silk on the right side of the piece) with the glorious first fully opened peony blossom, was always a thrill.

That First Peony, detail ©2007 Elizabeth Fram The central red/pink/green section, which represents the peony blossom, was cut from a relatively small mono-print on cotton fabric that I made using acrylic paint and textile medium. I was very excited by the brushstrokes which stood out so well on my plexiglass printing surface, transferring beautifully to the fabric.

This piece is another example of my experimentations with printing/dyeing my own patterns on fabric. They are pretty tame because, at the time, my studio was our wall-to-wall carpeted 4th bedroom. Obviously there was no sink and very little extra space, so not at all conducive to working with wet and messy processes.

That First Peony, detail ©2007 Elizabeth Fram The cream-colored silk with green patterning was one of my first forays into dyeing. I find it amusing how tentative the color appears to me now – and yet it is the perfect counterpoint to the all the stronger colors in this piece. It is a suitable ground for the embroidered curving lines that were enhanced by hand-quilting on either side. The textural effect of the small lime green square in the center was created by hand-quilted stippling.

This piece was chosen through the Art in Embassies program to hang in the US Embassy at Riga, Latvia for four years. If you aren’t familiar with this program, it is a wonderful vehicle of diplomacy via art that was begun during the Kennedy administration.
The US State Department treats the art they borrow (and the artists they borrow from) with tremendous respect and deference. It has been a true honor to be asked to participate, with my work hanging in the US Embassies of both Riga and Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

That First Peony, detail ©2007 Elizabeth Fram Embroidery has been an integral part of my work since my very first art quilt. Not only does it create unique textures and marks that cannot be replicated by a machine, but by virtue of being hand-worked, I think it draws/encourages a somewhat personal connection between the viewer and myself.

Phew! You made it to the end!
Should you feel a connection with any of these pieces, don’t forget to use the coupon code Garden20 for your 20% discount in my web shop. These five pieces will remain on sale through 11:59pm July 3rd. And don’t forget, free shipping within the continental US and hanging slats are included.

The next sale will begin with my July 11th blog post in two weeks.
Keep an eye on my web shop, as the next five pieces will be available to preview soon after this sale ends. You can find them under the category “Life As We Know It”.

Thanks for your interest and see you in two weeks!

Revisiting Philly

There’s nothing quite like a wedding to put a shine on the world. We’re just back from Philadelphia where family togetherness, perfect weather and a healthy dose of art made for a very special long weekend.

Blick Art Haul

First stop: Blick.
In my world, a trip to Blick is a major highlight during any city visit. With my very patient husband and daughter in tow, I made a beeline there to stock up. There’s no match for wandering the aisles and fingering the goods in person, and it was nice to have a few new things to try out in the hotel room between planned activities.

Nevermind the Phillies, Eagles, 76ers, & Flyers, IMHO one of Philly’s best claims to fame is that it’s home to one of the largest public art collections in the country. When we lived in Bucks County, 30 miles north of the city, life was too busy with raising kids to dive into the Philadelphia art scene as deeply as we might have – but what a pleasure to have a chance to enjoy it now.

Contrafuerte ©Miguel Antonio Horn Read more about this sculpture, seen in the Cuthbert Street alley as we left Reading Terminal Market.

The city’s 63 year old Percent for Art Ordinance mandates that any new City construction or major renovation project must include site-specific public art worth one percent of the total budget. So if you don’t have time to visit one of Philadelphia’s numerous stellar museums on your next trip, rest assured you’ll get an eyeful merely walking or driving from place to place.

Gratefully, this visit there was also time to check out a couple of museums.
The Philadelphia Museum of Art is currently showing The Artist’s Mother: Whistler & Philadelphia, a fortuitous discovery considering my current direction.

In addition to Whistler’s cornerstone painting, “Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1” (don’t miss this fun NPR piece about it), it was a treat to see other masters’ approach to portraying elder women. The emotional element between artist and sitter adds a bonus layer to each work.
If you’ve never seen Whistler’s painting in person, you should. She has the loveliest rosy cheeks and, much like the Mona Lisa, appears so much warmer than any reproduction seems able to convey.

And to cap it all off, my sister-in-law arranged for a fantastic docent-led tour for interested wedding guests at The Barnes Foundation the day of the big event. Founder Albert C. Barnes was a bit of an odd duck, as is evidenced by the way he insisted his collection be displayed into perpetuity. But there is no denying that the collection is spectacular, and it’s interesting to take into consideration his aims and perspective as you wander through the galleries. There were plenty of stunning portraits to absorb among the many other treasures.

And on a slightly different note, I was grateful for the chance to revisit this small watercolor by Charles Demuth – a painting that has remained a favorite in memory from my last visit to The Foundation over a decade ago.

And now, home again and back to work putting those new supplies to use!

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So many wonderful things to read – it’s hard to keep up.
Two of my latest favorites on Substack speak to two things that take up a lot of real estate in my mind and schedule most days: art and recipes. If you’re of like mind, take a look at Amy Allen’s Palate & Palette: Stories about people who make great art and food and Vicki Smith’s Easel to Table: Turning food into still life first and dinner second

À la Carte

I’m not sure how we did it, but when we planned this year’s trip to Maine last winter we somehow landed on what might have been the best week of the summer; we only had to pay one day of rain tax. Considering what a soggy season it has been across New England, that’s really saying something.

Clark Island

Before we leave, I usually have 1 or 2 specific shows in mind I want to see, but it never fails that unexpected creative treats pop up along the way. Here’s a bit of a tasting menu of what caught my eye.

Portland Coastline ©Diane Been, Oil on paper I couldn’t stop looking at this print of a painting by Diane Beem during lunch at Mae’s Cafe in Bath. Deemed “Modern Fauvism” by the artist, the colors aren’t what one might usually associate with the Portland waterfront, and I think that’s a large part of what drew me in.

©David B Harmon Always a sucker for animals in art, I loved David B Harmon’s woodblock relief prints, some of which were huge. His exhibit “Cohabitation” at Rock City Café in Rockland calls attention to the fact that we share community with creatures of all types. And knowing a couple of special somebodies who are currently trying to negotiate a coexistence with a raccoon, this piece suddenly had special meaning.

Archipelago is a Rockland art & craft gallery filled with the work of Maine artists. Its mission is to support creative island and working waterfront communities. Currently, they are highlighting the work of Kelly Desrosiers: acrylic collage that looked (to me) like fabric.

Bird Island by Kelly Desrosiers, Acrylic Collage

The Farnsworth Museum is a gem that always has something terrific on view.

Edward Hopper, Haunted House 1926, Watercolor, gouache, pastel and graphite on paper

One of their current exhibits, “Edward Hopper and Andrew Wyeth: Rockland, ME”, blew me away. Beautifully curated, it finds strong parallels between works of two very different artists, made decades apart. The stars of the show are their subjects: Rockland, as a place, and the physical apparatuses of its historic industries. The overlap of the artists’ interpretations were both surprising and delightful.

Andrew Wyeth, Untitled (Snow House), 1983, Watercolor on paper

I always return to the fact that details are my kryptonite.

There is a world unto itself in the variation of color in each pane of glass Wyeth painted in this window.

This summer I’ve been experimenting in my sketchbook with layering assorted media, including gouache and soft pastels. So it was a treat to see how Hopper incorporated a variety of materials in this lyrically beautiful passage of grass in the foreground of “Haunted House”.

A couple of other gems at the Farnsworth I couldn’t resist sharing:

Francesco Clemente, Robert Creeley, 2002, Oil on linen, Gift of the Alex Katz Foundation Any and every portrait is intriguing to me these days.

Lois Dodd, The Painted Room, 1982, Oil on linen The ambiguity of Dodd’s depiction of this room’s painted mural, framing the window, framing the real outdoors, sets the stage for all sorts of imaginings.

I was lucky that one of my Maine buddies alerted me in advance to the (Brunswick) Curtis Memorial Library’s exhibition of Robert McCloskey’s original illustrations of some of his most iconic and best loved books.
Forgive the reflections.

Most kids from Maine know all about Blueberries for Sal. For those of us who grew up in the state and summered in an old-fashioned, down-to-earth Maine cottage on the coast (not the fancy McMansion-type dwellings built by people from away), everything about this book is comfortingly familiar (except the bears).

When I look at art, it’s invariably with an eye toward what I can learn from someone else’s expertise. This detail from one of the illustrations in McCloskey’s Burt Dow, Deep-Water Man is a masterclass on being concise without sacrificing detail.

One of a number of wooden reliefs by Blake Hendrickson, also at the library. They reminded me of my friend Dianne Shullenberger’s “Circular Earth Series”.

And finally, the cherry on top of the vacation cake was discovering this local exhibit of portraits by Abby Carter. Beautiful work honoring community.

Abby Carter

One last Maine note: There’s always time around the edges to do a bit of sketching. I’ve been very happy to learn that soft pastels can be wetted and painted like watercolors.

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And now, back in Vermont, I’ve finished the portrait you have only seen snippets of so far.

The Gardener, Detail Since it’s a bear to photograph the glow of gold paint, this detail better captures what the photo above didn’t.

A Respite and A Request

I’m taking a bit of a respite this week to recharge and reinvigorate. But first, an update.
The portrait that I shared briefly at the end of my last post is now in its last phase. The paint work is finished and the embroidery is well underway.

First pass

I’m loving the variety of processes involved in these works – first, because there’s a certain challenge to pulling everything together, and secondly, because it’s so satisfying to see the piece materialize as each stage builds upon the one before.

Detail

In many respects this whole process is parallel to my my previous stitched-then-dyed-then-stitched work, it’s just that the scales are tipped more toward drawing/painting with much less stitching. The up side is that since these latest pieces move along so much more quickly, I can learn from, and then move on to the next piece to respond to, my mistakes – and my successes – without the huge lag time inherent in the textile works.

Happy accidents lead to fortuitous discoveries. Working on a dry run practice sheet for this section, I stumbled upon the fact that carelessly letting the paint extended outside the masked lines resulted in a flavor of batik. Hmmm, that opens the door to lots of possibilities. This is exactly the kind of discovery referred to above, which I can act on and explore more quickly because this piece is almost done.

And now my request:
I need of models for this series honoring the strength, wisdom and resilience of women of a certain age. If you (or someone you know) fit the bill, live in the central Vermont area and wouldn’t mind giving me 15-20 minutes of your time to take a quick series of head and shoulder photos of you to use as inspiration, please contact me.
ehwfram@gmail.com

Stitching

If you’re shy about having your picture taken, it may help to know that my painted results never turn out to be exact representations of my models – so it won’t be a portrait of you. Rather, your image would be a jumping off point. I’ve come to think of this process as something akin to literary historical fiction … based on fact, but with plenty of artistic license.
I would really like to continue with this series so thanks for considering, and I hope you’ll be in touch.

Oh – and be sure to come back next time for the full reveal of the finished piece!

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A special thank you to India Tresselt for alerting me to Loreen Edwards Forkner @gardenercook after my post on painting the colors of my garden. I have color on the brain now and it’s seeping into my sketchbook. You might enjoy Forkner’s book Color In and Out of the Garden, based on intentional observation of color in tandem with nature’s palette.

I’m not sure I could ever quite do justice to the dramatic blue of the sky and circus tent stripes in Montreal a couple of weeks ago, but Winsor Newton’s Cobalt Blue Deep gave me a fighting chance.

Master Masks

One of the joys of living where we do is being surrounded by woodland neighbors. For the most part they are shy, so we only hear them or see evidence of their presence. It’s a lucky day when we actually catch a fleeting glimpse of one of them going about their business.

4:37 AM, 05.05.2021 My husband has a game camera that he moves from place to place in our woods. In the wee hours of an early May morning a couple of years ago, he captured video of a bear, fox, raccoon, fisher cat and porcupine, all making their rounds at different times during the same night. We loved that they all chose to cross one of his bridges, rather than keeping their feet on the ground. Owls and pileated woodpeckers are less quiet and less elusive, but no less thrilling to see.

It was hard not to think of the animals who share their homes with us while visiting master carver Dempsey Bob’s retrospective “Wolves”, at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. The beauty and skill of his work is beyond spectacular. His poetic use of line interweaves forms with deceptive simplicity, conveying both depth of character and a seamless alliance between the conjoined animals.

Wolf Chief’s Hat © about 1993, Dempsey Bob, Red cedar, acrylic paint, operculum shell, horsehair, leather, ermine. Collection of Eric Savics

Eagle Chief’s Robe © about 1992, Designed by Dempsey Bob; Made by Linda Bob, Melton cloth, leather, abalone shell buttons, acrylic paint, deer hooves. Collection of Eric Savics. I couldn’t resist including this textile collaboration Bob created with his sister.

Each wooden surface is burnished to the sleekness of glass, its smoothness amplified by the textural attributes of the other natural materials he incorporates.

Wolf Eagle Frontlet © 1996 Dempsey Bob, Alder, acrylic paint, abalone shell, sea lion whiskers. Collection of Eric Savics. From the exhibit label: “Dempsey Bob has said, “I am a Wolf because my mother was a Wolf. …And her mother was a Wolf. … We get our clans and our traditional names, and also our songs, from our mother’s side of the family.”

Mosquito Mask © 1989 Dempsey Bob, Alder, acrylic paint, sea lion whiskers. Collection of Rod and Kira Dales. From the exhibit label: Deftly carved out of alder wood, one of Dempsey Bob’s most elegant and expressive works, Mosquito Mask exalts the lowliest form of pestilence in high style. The acutely concentrated features of the warrior figure below are dissected by the elongated beak of the mosquito above. Both faces are from a dream world and embellished with sea lion whiskers. “The warrior defended his village by slaying a fearsome monster, chopping his body up and burning it,” says Bob, adding, “The floating cinders became the stinging nuisance we know today.”

Eagle Transformation Mask As one moves around to the left of the above mask, a transformation appears.

Wolf, Frog, Bear, Eagle, Hawk, Raven, Shark, Killer Whale, Salmon and Beaver are all central characters in the cultural stories Bob’s pieces relay. The incorporation of sea lion whiskers, fur, hair, abalone and operculum shells — gifts from the animals themselves — add to the stunning beauty of these pieces while underscoring the native stories they reference.

As a viewer, I couldn’t help but feel reverence — for the work as well as for the creatures depicted. Intentional or not, Dempsey Bob’s art is a reminder of the essential role all creatures play in our collective histories and futures, and of the respect we owe them.

For more depth, this hour-long interview is filled with humor and history. Plus, in a segment that particularly resonated with me, Bob talks about the importance of drawing as a foundation for seeing and for making any type of art. To my mind, that’s the secret that says it all.

Can’t make the exhibit? There is a catalogue.

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…And considering my ongoing series, the cherry on top was this mask.

Old Woman Mask ©1974 Dempsey Bob, Alder, moose antler, copper, abalone shell, human hair, moose hide. Private Collection. From the exhibit label: Dempsey Bob’s teacher Freda Diesing was known for her remarkable Old Woman masks, which he paid homage to in this early work. The labret in the woman’s lower lip designates her high rank.

First steps on my next…

Gateway to Growth

Our dog Quinn has the art of post-nap stretching down to a science.
We can’t help but admire and laugh at the languorous ease with which she lowers herself to the floor from her bed on the sofa, slowly and purposefully trailing her hind legs in order to fully stretch out her spine.

I spent our first morning exploring pattern, with the background of future portraits in mind.

Considering it’s beyond mid-May and I’m well out of my winter cocoon, I’ve been thinking about ways to figuratively emulate Quinn’s example in my practice this summer. It would be nice to shake out the cricks of habit and routine that have settled into place after months of being cozied-up inside.

Layers of color add complexity

A hopeful first step was jumping – no leaping – on-board at a friend’s suggestion that several of us take a long weekend for an artist’s retreat at her place on Martha’s Vineyard. In hindsight, there is a certain poetry in the parallel that runs between being situated on a physical island while simultaneously experiencing a metaphorical remove through focused making, discussion and inspiration.

Final spots of red could just as easily been added with thread

As with so many things, the benefits undoubtedly won’t fully surface for a while. No question, it can be quite fruitful to release some of the ideas that bang around within the confines of one’s own head, and then see how those thoughts reflect back in the light of others’ insights and responses. I have a lot to think about now that I’m home, and I know that it will take longer than the actual retreat to get to the nut of what I gleaned.

Later that same day we walked a trail that, in places, ran alongside beautiful old stone walls that are riddled with holes. They are unlike any I’ve ever seen in Vermont or Maine. Later, reading a book about the Vineyard, I learned that these walls, which snake all across this part of the island, are referred to as “lace walls” because of their unusual holes. Although my sample painting above was finished before seeing the walls up close, I can’t help but think of it now as an abstraction and reminder of Chilmark’s unique and ubiquitous boundary markers.

I’m feeling like I got a satisfying stretch for my brain and my practice, and am ready to move forward.

Trimming down what I brought with me took some thought because there is the very real temptation to bring everything. Bottom line: it doesn’t take much to create and settle into a transitory studio.

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This summer I am planning to balance stitched studio portraits with more spontaneous versions that are painted from life in a group setting. The difference between the two is obvious, but I feel like each approach feeds the other in a way that ultimately benefits both, as well as my own learning arc.

Art As Alchemy

It might be said that January represents change more than any other month.
For many, each new year opens the door to a fresh start – whether through newly forged resolutions or the hope of leaving the old year’s troubles behind. Either way, what better metaphor for the idea of transformation than the amaryllis?*

Signs of January’s hope & renewal: a new flower bud and baby bulbs growing from the sides of the mother plant.

I have accumulated more than a dozen of these plants and they remind me of the power of change every January. After a full year of watering and feeding, transporting them outside for the summer and then back inside to a cool, dark basement pantry for a 10-week autumn rest, my amaryllises have returned to our living room window sills.

The transformations that take place as a piece develops is like magic; it becomes addicting as one pushes forward. I try to take photos at various stages of each piece to track my progress. As you can see, not always in the best light at the end of a day.

With additional layers, the image begins to materialize.

Assisted by the lowered arc of December’s sun and our cozy evening fires, they’ve re-acclimated and are a glorious foil to January’s short, dark days, adding light and color where there might otherwise be gloom.

This piece began with the thought of incorporating a house shape (see previous pic) But as things moved along, I realized I had already gone too far for what I had in mind for this particular work, so the idea was nixed.

The outside garden may be snoozing soundly under a blanket of snow, but the transformation of these bulbs from papery and leafless lumps to vibrantly green and blooming is something of a winter miracle. Even though their flowers are short-lived, they are certainly worth all the tending and waiting.

Considering this painting’s overall tones are relatively muted, the accompanying stitch colors needed to be hushed as well. Pulling out hues from the portrait subtlety marries it with the background without overpowering either the image or the textural quality of the stitching.

With that thought in mind, I invite you to also think about the alchemy that is produced within an artist’s studio. By this, I’m not only referring to how raw materials are transformed into something new, but also, perhaps more importantly, to how those creations can fundamentally alter a viewer’s perceptions and foster communication. Yvahn Martin’s brief article “The Transformative Power of Art” discusses art’s communicative potential to enable and generate change in various positive ways – politically, socially and personally.

Still Waters ©2023 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor, graphite and stitching on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches I am settling into these portraits of older women with acknowledgment of and reverence for the paths they have laid out before us. This piece, in its relative subtlety, is a reminder that we all have stories that we may choose not to share. But those deep-seated histories still lie beneath the surface.

This week marks the opening of Transformation: Material, Environment, Us, a selection of artwork by the Vermont Members of the Surface Design Association, currently on view at Studio Place Arts in Barre, from January 25 – March 4, 2023. The exhibit meditates on the fundamental idea of change. I hope you’ll find time to visit and to consider not just how change is represented by each artist, but how their works may affect change in you.

Blooming

If you go, it’s a ‘three-fer’: 3 exhibits on 3 levels. See the info below for details.

*By typing “amaryllis” in the search bar to your right, you’ll see how these beautiful plants have made their way into my sketchbooks and this blog, year after year.

Sanctuary

The last week of the year is special.
All the hustle, bustle and added to-do’s that define December are now in the rear view, making way for pockets of time to sit back and think about what’s next.

Snow Moon & Firestorm

My final project of the year was a commission that a I’ve kept mum about until final approval. The directive was for it to be about a foot tall, a house nestled in branches and, similar to Snow Moon, covered with trees. Much like Firestorm, it was to be wrapped in a mantle of organza, this time embroidered with leaves. Prominent colors would be browns, oranges and greens. The aim was for the house to feel enveloped in nature and to represent, as my collector put it, “sanctuary from the crazy times we live in”.

Although not specifically asked for, this metallic copper-colored moon/sun seems to add just the right note of mystery

Working on such a relatively small scale carried a few unforeseen challenges, such as how to incorporate the organza cloak. But frankly, no piece would feel complete – or suitably satisfying – without a puzzle or two.

I dyed the organza to suggest the mottled colors of the tree canopy, and folded the fabric into a double layer to provide depth through color variation. The puzzle was figuring out how to embroider leaves so that the reverse, which would likely be visible, wasn’t a mess of knots and crossed threads. Sarah Homfray’s YouTube channel of embroidery tutorials is an amazing resource!

Now that it’s finished, it will soon be on its way to Texas. And in hindsight, I couldn’t have asked for a more positive note than the idea of “sanctuary” to close out 2022, or to prepare for the fresh page of 2023.

With that sentiment in mind, I wish you a peaceful new year – bright with the possibilities that lie in creativity. And I’ll look forward to reconnecting with you in a couple of weeks.
Happy New Year!

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Following through on the idea of sanctuary – my final suggestion/recommendation for the year:

I’ve had my eye on Jethro Buck’s work for a while. The Albert Einstein quote on his website landing page pretty much says it all: “Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better”.