Category Archives: Artists

One Thing Leads to Another

Alyson Stanfield > Beyond the Studio podcast > Andrew Simonet > Artists U > Making Your Life as an Artist

A huge thank you to Alyson Stanfield of Art Biz Success, who recently put out a call to her Facebook connections for recommendations of podcasts and audio books, and then shared the link to the responses with her newsletter subscribers. I felt like I’d won the lottery in unearthing this treasure trove of new (to me) artist-recommended podcasts to listen to and to learn from while I work. After subscribing to about a dozen(!) of them, I struck gold with the very first episode I heard.

Artists Amanda Adams and Nicole Mueller state that their mission for their podcast, Beyond the Studio, is to help figure out the business of being an artist by “div(ing) deep into the work that happens beyond the studio”. I went back to the beginning of their archives and listened to their inaugural bookclub episode with Andrew Simonet. Simonet was a moderately successful (his words, not mine) choreographer and theater director for more than 2 decades and has transitioned into becoming an author as well. He knows something about the challenges of creative work.

Pennsylvania Peach ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and colored pencil on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches Like colors seem to have a way of seeking each other out. The cover of this recent issue of Art & Antiques magazine could have been designed to pair with this peach at its peak ripeness and the cheerful summer napkin that kept its juice off my chin as soon as this drawing was finished.

Along the way, he founded Artists U which is based in Philadelphia and is “an incubator for changing the working conditions of artists”. The goal of Artists U is to help artists build a sustainable life and practice. I encourage you to go to the site to read more about them, and then, without delay, download the free book and workbook Making Your Life as an Artist. I don’t care what discipline you work in, this is one of the best, short reads/resources for moving forward with your work that I have come across to date.

One thing definitely leads to another, and the generosity of information-sharing lifts us all.
So with that in mind…pass it on!

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This week My First Peony made its way back from it’s 3+ year stint at the US Embassy in Riga, Latvia, where it was part of the Art in Embassies program. It came back in perfect condition, wrapped exactly as instructed (an occurrence that, unfortunately, rarely happens when work returns from venues far and wide). I feel privileged, especially at this point in history, to be a part of a program that values artwork for its ambassadorial capacity.
If only this piece could talk…

Norway, Part 2

Time and exposure have taught me that the biggest gap in my art education relates to international art and artists beyond the expected European and Asian classics. A couple of years ago I was amazed when visiting the AGO Museum in Toronto at how many iconic Canadian artists I’d never heard of. That’s just not right. Therefore, one of the real joys of travel has become the opportunity to learn more about some of the major artists within the country I’m visiting.

Edvard Munch, Flirting in the Park, 1942, Oil on Canvas How many other paintings by Munch can you call to mind besides The Scream? Most of what we read about Munch concerns his obsession with psychological themes, but after seeing so many of his paintings, my lasting impression of his work is that he was an admirable colorist.

As promised, this week I’m going to take you off the streets of Norway and into the Munch and Kode Museums of Oslo and Bergen for a more formal view of Norwegian art. My picks tend to reflect the various concepts that were floating in the back of my mind at the time, due in large part to my questions and concerns regarding the piece I hadn’t quite finished before leaving for vacation.

Edvard Munch, Lucien Dedichen and Jappe Nilssen, 1925, Oil on canvas Talk about making color sing! The magenta underlayer of Dedichen’s blue suit, paired with the bright orange book cover and other objects on the table, in combination with the strong turquoise that defines the walls and corners of the room, elevate this painting of the physician Dedichen and writer/art critic Nilssen to an exhilarating degree.

There is plenty of ground to cover, so put your feet up and I will do my best to pull together the images that follow with the threads of what struck me as important about them. It will come as no surprise that portraits and use of color were utmost in my mind as I made my way through the various galleries of both museums. To a large degree, that was because of this piece I have been working on all spring.

First, although I haven’t written about it since the end of April (for a reminder click here), I have been chipping away continually at this portrait. My final challenge was figuring out how to set the relatively dark figure apart from its very dark background without obscuring the delicate luminescence of the unevenly dyed silk. My goal is usually to straddle a line between the image portrayed and the surface textures of which it is comprised. By stitching judiciously, while simultaneously exploring color in unexpected ways, I think I’ve come as close as I could hope in meeting that objective.

For those of you who have asked, here is the life drawing that inspired it.

I usually try to include more than just head and shoulders in my life drawings by squeezing in as much of the figure as possible, as well as bits of the surrounding area. I think this makes for more interesting compositions. Yet there are certainly instances where those rules can be broken.

Edvard Munch, Stanislaw Przybyszewski, 1894, Casein and distemper on canvas. This floating head portrait of the Polish novelist was one of the first pieces I saw in the Munch Museum. Aside from being intrigued by the ‘Wizard of Oz’ nature of the portrait, I couldn’t help but make a connection between the thin glazes of atmospheric paint and similar effects that are possible via variation in dye saturation on silk.

Although it’s usually the back story of the subject that draws me into a formal portrait, these pieces from the Kode Museum in Bergen were intriguing for their stylistic attributes.

Eilif Peterssen, Old Woman, 1888, Oil on Canvas What lies behind those icy blue eyes? There is so much personality radiating from this woman, accentuated by the somewhat mystifying background of restrained color. The tones of her skin seem so real. I was quite attracted to the contemporary feel of this more than 130 year old painting.

It’s unfortunate that these striking side-by-side portraits (above and below) were each titled “Old Woman” Seriously, couldn’t each artist have been a little more imaginative?

Jean Heiberg, Old Woman, 1909, Oil on canvas In a country famous for its knitwear, I was thrilled to come across this painting highlighting a pastime that must have long been ubiquitous, certainly in the early 1900s.

While the contrast and depth of color in this portrait is striking in its own right, it was the composition which caught my eye, bringing to mind my own penchant for asymmetrical placement of objects with shadows that have as much to say as the main figure.

Ludvig Karsten, Red Hair, 1907, Oil on Canvas

Many of Munch’s works are thinly painted, often with the canvas showing through. It was a quality for which he was often criticized. But I was drawn to that aspect in a number of his pieces because it left such a clear path toward following his process, and it encouraged me in my decision to not fully fill in The Woolgatherer with stitches. The piece below is an excellent example. An initial view might lead one to think it is unfinished, but his signature in the upper right corner suggests otherwise.

Edvard Munch, Mrs. Schwarz, 1906, Oil on Canvas

Munch’s thoughtful use of color, even in this sketchy image of Mrs Schwarz, is a wonderful study in brevity. Henrik Lund’s portrait below, while more visually verbose, also provides much to consider in its use of marks and color.

Henrik Lund, Prime Minister Christian Michelsen, 1916 The use of color in this piece struck me: the green right sleeve contrasted with the blue lapel, and the various hues used to add depth and definition to elements throughout – the walls, chair, curtain, window sill and sash. It made me feel I’m not too far off track in my color explorations in The Woolgatherer, and serves as encouragement to keep experimenting.

If you are still with me, thank you.
I hope you too have been pleasantly surprised and inspired by this brief peek into these Norwegian masters’ work, admittedly from my pointed perspective.

Finally, my museum report wouldn’t be complete without a quick dive into one of the temporary exhibits that, quite frankly, was the main draw (for me) to Bergen’s Kode Museum. The dance between the classic and the contemporary made for a very satisfactory visit.

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The work of textile artist Kari Dyrdal and ceramicists Torbjørn Kvasbø and Marit Tingleff is nothing short of monumental in their exhibit “Forces”. To hear them each discuss their practices and processes, please watch these three brief subtitled videos, which convey their ideas much better than I could hope to do. I will leave you with a selection of my favorites from their work. Enjoy!

Kari Dyrdal – Pattern, repetition, color and material are all essential to Dyrdal’s computer generated tapestries. She is considered a forerunner in the field of digital textiles.

“I allow patterns to lead me like a compass, both the structures that are apparent and those that are not so easy to spot.”

Kari Dyrdal, Wall Sèvrres III, 2017, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Dyrdal purposely had this piece hung away from the wall so that visitors could observe the construction of the numerous panels from behind. This image gives a sense of the tremendous scale of the piece.

Kari Dyrdal, Red Sea, 2015, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Kari Dyrdal, White Waters, 2015, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Kari Dyrdal, Wall Sèvres II, 2018, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Kari Dyrdal, Wall Stone, 2015, Mixed fiber, digital weave I was really intrigued with this means of displaying this piece. Of course one needs plenty of space, but what a fantastic way to give the work its due.

Torbjørn Kvasbø – Kvasbø writes of his work:

“Disturbing and ambiguous, immediate and overwhelming, beautiful and repulsive. All of this combined to form a readable whole (…) in perfect balance: like a killer punch to the solar plexus.”

I was struck by the way this piece seemed to be woven together – a suitable foil for Dyrdal’s tapestries.

Torbjørn Kvasbø, Stack Terracotta, 2014, Teracotta clay, unglazed, electric kiln

Marit Tingleff – This part of Tingleff’s statement is particularly strong and thought-provoking:

“I live in an age where I’m not really needed. My pots don’t fulfill any utility function other than that they can tell stories about other times and other utility functions. They have acquired the utility that art possesses, i.e. they can open people’s minds and trigger wonder, joy and indignation.

Marit Tingleff, Deep Green, 2006, Earthenware clay, slips, transparent glaze. I wish there had been measurements on this and the following pieces, or some way to give you a sense of scale. They are enormous – probably 4 to 5 feet wide and 3 feet high.

Marit Tingleff, Black and Orange Dish, 2006, Earthenware clay, slips, transparent glaze

Marit Tingleff, Wall Object with Blue Flower Ornament, 2005, Earthenware clay, slips, transparent glaze

So tell me what you think. What aspect of all this work resonates most with you?

Life in Miniature

Last week I finally visited the Fleming Museum’s exhibition “Small Worlds”. I didn’t want to miss it since I’ve never lost my childhood fascination for objects and environments sized down to fit a tinier self.

Miniature sculptures from Matt Neckers’ Vermont International Museum of Contemporary Art + Design

The added significance of small-scale representations (at this ripe age) is they are a way of revisiting and reconnecting with childhood imagination, in addition to being a kind of heaven for anyone who loves details. This exhibition shows that I am not the only one enchanted by a world in miniature, nor am I alone in appreciating the range of possibilities such models present for those who like to dream about and play with manipulating the world as they see fit.

The work of two of the artists stood out.

Mohamad Hafez makes emotionally moving replicas of Syrian buildings on a tiny scale. Marred by war’s destruction, these model buildings uphold a hopeful connection with the former stability and implied lives of those who once inhabited them. Each piece reverberates with a sense of nostalgia and homesickness for the home Hafez may never be able to return to. As an architect, he represents in minute detail the beauty of Syrian architecture, yet that is but one element of the work’s power.

Mohamad Hafez, Hiraeth, 2016, Plaster, paint, antique toy tricycle, found objects, rusted metal, and antique wood veneer, 61 x 35 x 21 inches

The piece above is movingly entitled Hiraeth, a word that means a longing for one’s homeland — not mere homesickness, but an expression of the bond one feels with one’s home country when separated from it. The work sharply personifies the devastation of a conflict we only read about from safety and distance.

You may have already seen Matt Neckers’ work which has traveled across Vermont in the form of The Vermont International Museum of Contemporary Art + Design (VTIMoCA+D), a tongue-in-cheek series of mini art galleries contained within a vintage camper. I loved my dollhouse growing up, but as I think back on it, the miniature environment fascinated me more than whatever stories I was concocting with my dolls, and Neckers’ museum satisfies that purpose as well. His tiny galleries, complete with self-created contemporary artwork, are contained within antique suitcases and a vintage refrigerator; I love the idea of a world created in an unexpected space, making its discovery all the more magical.

Matt Neckers, VTIMoCA+D, Suitcase Gallery I, 2018, Suitcase, wood, glue, various miniature artworks, created in a variety of media

Neckers’ pieces balance between being serious enough to maintain credibility without losing their merry playfulness — it’s an enjoyable line for viewers to straddle.

There was a third piece, made by Allison May Kiphuth, that caught my attention, but the reason had nothing to do with scale. Come back next week to learn what I mean.

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And since we’re on the subject of miniatures…
When we were in Amsterdam several years ago, I was determined to get to the Central Library to see the Mouse Mansion on display there. Downstairs, in the children’s department, is a magical world in miniature that will captivate a child of any age. Over 6 feet wide and more than 9 feet tall, this conglomeration of over one hundred intricately appointed rooms was built over a period of years by Karina Shaapman. One can easily get lost in the myriad details. It’s definitely worth putting on your checklist for your next trip to Amsterdam.

Karina Shaapman, Mouse Mansion

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.

SF MoMA, Part 2

There’s something to be said for visiting a museum with an agenda in mind, and yet wandering from gallery to gallery, exploring as the spirit moves, can be just as rewarding. A couple of weeks ago, with my pilgrimage to Wayne Thiebaud’s paintings and drawings securely under my belt, I had the remainder of the afternoon to roam freely throughout the rest of the museum.

Looking back through the pictures I took, these are the pieces that stood out.

#1 Rope ©Jackie Winsor, 1976 , Wood and hemp

Jackie Winsor, born in St. John’s, Newfoundland, is descended from a long line of Canadian ships’ captains and farmers. One might infer from her choice of materials (wood and hemp), that her family’s history has had a strong influence on her work.

The repetition of spheres and verticals in this piece leave me feeling of grounded, its form projecting a sense of steadiness and reliability. Contrasted with its shadow which, to my eye, somehow reads as almost whimsical, I couldn’t help but think of cartoons where a figure’s shadow projects a different personality from the character itself.

Geoffrey Hendricks and Brian ©Alice Neel, 1978 , Oil on canvas

Alice Neel, detail

Looking at portraits has become a more nuanced experience since I started regularly attending life drawing sessions, 14 months ago. This Alice Neel portrait of Geoffrey Hendricks and his partner Brian first grabbed me with the comfortable sense of familiarity it radiates. Looking more closely, it is the wonderful halo of green surrounding each man’s head and the general use of color overall that locks me in place.

Untitled ©James Weeks, 1953, Oil on canvas

This piece by James Weeks, also a force of pure color, is such a beautiful and exuberant expression of abstraction via shape and composition. I love the way the colors around the edges are channeled into and through the figures, keeping your eyes swirling throughout the painting the way I imagine the music of these musicians is filling the room where they play. Still, the composition remains firmly balanced by the strong verticals and horizontals, an assertive structure that holds the piece together.

Noel in the Kitchen ©Joan Brown, ca. 1964 , Oil on canvas

Joan Brown’s work is not delicate or subtle. The paint is built up so thickly and unevenly that this painting is as much a tactile experience as a visual one. What a perfect expression of the early years of motherhood: messy, loud, and unpredictable. Yet it also stirs a tenderness of memory for those of us who have seen this sight, or something quite similar, in our own kitchens.

Spider ©Louise Bourgeois, 2003 , Stainless steel and tapestry

I was happy to get to the top floor to see the grouping of Louise Bourgeois’ spiders. This example that inserts an element of empathy by including a human form comprised of tapestry, was especially resonant. Enjoy what Bourgeois has to say about her work in this short video.

I am quite taken with Cloth Lullaby, an illustrated biography of Bourgeois, written for children. This year I would very much like to read an account of her life meant for adults. There are so many Bourgeois biographies available that it’s hard to choose. Can any of you recommend one that you thought was particularly good?

Fire ©Teresita Fernández, 2005, Silk, steel, and epoxy

Of all the wonderful work I saw, there was one piece that stands out. Looking up from Thiebaud’s work to the next gallery, this view took my breath away. This piece has a presence that is absolutely spectacular. If you can spare three minutes, this wonderful museum video provides insight into the work and its origin.

Fire ©Teresita Fernández, 2005

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Finally, seeking out bookstores is an important part of any trip, don’t you think? If you have time to spare while in the neighborhood, there are two that are well-worth a visit within a stone’s throw of the SF MoMA.

I couldn’t resist this wonderful little book. As I suspect is also true of Alexander Book Company where I found it, you can dip in and out of this book and still find something new each time you crack it open.

And for contemporary art books, don’t miss 871 Fine Arts on Hawthorne Street, an establishment that carries only art books — thousands of them. It has an adjoining gallery as well. Complete the triangle with a visit to the MoMA’s bookstore, and I guarantee your inner bibliophile will end the day fully satisfied.

Golden Gate Art, Part 1

I didn’t realize it at the time, but the back-end advantage to the relatively nomadic life my husband and I lived during our first decade of marriage is that we now have a handful of very special places (and people) to revisit across the country.

Untitled (Neapolitan Pie) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca.1990, Pastel and graphite on paper

Untitled (Two Ice Cream Scoops on Plate) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca. 1985, Watercolor and graphite on paper

Over the years, my artistic sensibilities were unquestionably influenced by the various places we’ve lived, as well as by many of the artists who are iconic to those locales. At one point or another I’ve called Maine, Washington, Virginia, California, Hawaii, Pennsylvania, and Vermont home, and I’ve collected my fair share of artistic heroes along the way.

Untitled (Bakery Case) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca.1963, Felt-tip pen on paper

Untitled (Bakery Case with Wedding Cake) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca. 1963, Felt-tip pen on paper In 1962 Thiebaud stated, “At present, I am painting still lifes take from window displays, store counters, supermarket shelves, and mass-produced items from manufacturing concerns in America.” Responding to the postwar manufacturing boom, commercial developments such as the Nut Tree along U.S. Route 80 offered unprecedented visual experiences surrounding the ritual of food, including seductive confectionary cases like those seen here. Although a wedding cake seems to promise fulfillment, the lack of human presence evokes a sense of emptiness.

Wayne Thiebaud is right up there at the top of my list, so I have been looking forward to seeing the current exhibit of his drawings and paintings at San Francisco MoMA for months. It was a thrill to finally get there last week.

©Wayne Thiebaud, Untitled sketches, Ink on paper

©Wayne Thiebaud, Untitled Sketches, Ink on paper

Pairing Thibaud’s work with the companion exhibit “Artist’s Choice” (pieces from the Museum’s collection that Thiebaud hand-selected himself) rounded out the experience beautifully. Each painting in this concurrent exhibit is tagged with Thiebaud’s notations, providing not only a window into his thought process in choosing a particular piece, but presumably identifying various factors that contribute to the way he approaches his own work as well. They are words of wisdom from a teacher I wish I had had.

Orange Sweater Elmer Bischoff ©1955, Oil on canvas Thiebaud notes: “You can almost feel, since it’s a library, that it’s a very quiet place. Beautiful light coming in from several directions. There is a nice color relationship between the green and the little tiny bit of orange shadow over her sweater. But it’s also a very good geometric abstraction: the way those horizontals and verticals work and that terrific angle. This is really beautiful — the way this pattern of light coming down from the top and across in a nice L-shape forms one illumination.”

Jockey James Weeks ©1962, Tempera on Board Thiebaud: “Isn’t that sweet? This marvelous intuitive placement where this little white structure holds the whole thing beautifully centered. His paintings are normally big – or the ones I knew him for. He went back East at one point, back to Boston. But he was here, it seems to me, with some power and some effect.”

Scéne due rue (Street Scene) Pablo Picasso ©1900, Oil on Canvas Note: Picasso reused a canvas for this painting. Just beneath the surface is a cancan scene. Thiebaud: “Well, he sure settled that down. His mother must’ve been overseeing it. He’s such a strange fellow but this feels so authentic and so real. I’ve had a long, long association with it. I think I made some drawings of it.”

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And while it’s fun to return to old haunts when going back to a former home, the lure of discovering something new can be even more enticing. With a bit of pre-trip research, I discovered the San Francisco School of Needlework and Design, a non-profit organization devoted to preserving and promoting the traditions of hand embroidery and bringing a modern creativity to an ancient art form.

Lucy and Annalee of the SF School of Needlework and Design

Conveniently located on the north side of Union Square, I was warmly welcomed by Program Director, Lucy Barter and Director of Community Engagement, Annalee Levin, who shared the wide scope of what SF SNAD offers: classes, lectures, exhibitions, an extensive library, a shop with supplies, and free weekly stitch-ins that are open to all). It’s an enviable resource; be sure to check their events calendar and stop in the next time you’re in the Bay Area.

SNAD’s library contains over 3000 titles, including an antiquarian collection.

And, if you are an embroiderer, consider contributing to their ongoing “World’s Longest Band Sampler Project”. Full information on their website.

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Lastly, a hearty thanks to those of you who have been hanging in with me (and the octopus) for the past weeks. Thousands of stitches later, it’s finally finished.
Here’s a taste of how far we’ve come.

January 8, 2019, in process, Silk thread on raw silk

And now, I’m ready to move on.
More from San Francisco next week.

What’s Your Line?

Time wears on and my weeks continue to be a balance between drawing and stitching. At the core of each is line — everything else seems to branch out from there. Although it’s surely more time-consuming to try to make room for both disciplines most days, I wouldn’t give up the exchange between them for anything.

In my life drawings, I can’t seem to move away from using .03 and .05 pencils (H, HB, & B). I would prefer richer darks, but don’t want to lose the immediacy and detail in each stroke to smudging or quickly blunting pencil tips, as commonly happens with a softer, darker lead. Using finer points allows me to build layer upon layer of marks that eventually carve out a form that tells a story through patience and time, for me and for the model. I don’t know our sitters, but I have the illusion of feeling I know them better at the end of each session.

When I look at the art of others, as I may have mentioned before, color can draw me from across a room, but it’s line that brings my nose inches from the piece and keeps me there for careful study.
After visiting the Boston MFA this past weekend, I am still thinking about the expertise of two very diverse artists who exploit line to its fullest and best effects.

Dandelions, Jean-François Millet, 1867-68, 16 x 19.75 inches, Pastel on tan wove paper, Boston Museum of Fine Arts

The first was a surprise. I think of Jean-François Millet as a painter, not as a pastel artist. But in the current exhibit French Pastels – Treasures from the Vault (on view through January 6, 2019), a dozen of Millet’s pastel works (along with selections from Cassatt, Degas, Manet, Monet, Pissarro, Redon and Renoir) allow one to experience the breadth of his fluency with line, conveying each scene to the effect of intimately enveloping a viewer. The rhythmic strokes give the illusion that you are peering over his shoulder while he works.

Dandelions, detail, Jean-François Millet, Boston Museum of Fine Arts

In another part of the museum and in a completely different way, EH Shepard’s illustrations in the exhibit Winnie the Pooh: Exploring a Classic (also up through January 6th) are pure delight. I was weaned on A.A. Milne’s books, so it was enchanting to see Shepard’s working drawings, including the written notations between him and Milne as their collaboration developed. Shepard’s ability to convey so much — mood, emotion, & personality — with such brevity, is breathtaking. If you too are a fan of the Hundred Acre Wood, try to get to Boston to catch this special show.

Tree for Wol’s (Owl’s) House from Winnie-the-Pooh, 1926, E.H. Shepard, Pencil on paper

Piglet and Pooh, E.H.Shepard

“Do you think it’s a Woozle?”, E.H.Shepard

“Bumpity Bump going up the stairs”, E.H. Shepard

Hundred Acre Wood, E.H.Shepard

And finally…
Looking for a light-hearted, uplifting, and inspirational art movie to cap off your week? Check out the film Faces Places by Agnès Varda and JR, available through Netflix — or try searching to see where else it may be streaming online. In it, a line of a different sort grabbed me. In response to an onlooker who asked Varda what was the point of the artwork she and JR were creating she quipped, “The point is the power of imagination”.
Perfect!

Endpapers for the House at Pooh Corner, 1928, E.H.Shepard

Maine-ly Art

Art and travel go hand in hand, which is one of the reasons I’m always happy when I can get back to Maine.

School Street mural, Rockland, Maine

Akin to the sight of white pines backed by azure skies and the smell of salt in the air, many of Andrew Wyeth’s images speak to me as an indelible representation of the state where I grew up. PBS recently added an episode on Wyeth to their American Masters series; it’s quite good and addresses the often uneasy sense of mystery that hovers in the stark beauty and loneliness found in many of his paintings. I can’t speak to any connection those from Pennsylvania may feel toward his Chadds Ford work, but for me, Wyeth got Maine exactly right.

Olson House, Cushing, Maine

Although I visited the outside of the Olson house (the forbidding clapboard farmhouse that anchors Wyeth’s iconic Christina’s World) as a child, one can now see the inside as well thanks to the Farnsworth Art Museum assuming ownership in the early 1990’s.

Hathorn / Olson Graveyard looking out to Maple Juice Cove, Cushing, Maine

The ‘tour’ that comes with admission is really a half-hour history of the house and its generations of inhabitants — a single family line — told to wonderful effect by a local docent. With dramatic pauses and a spooky affect that gave the impression of a cross between a no-nonsense schoolmarm and a wicked witch, she relayed how the original settlers were descendents of John Hathorne, the notorious chief justice of the Salem witch trials. They came to Maine in the 1700’s seeking to escape the tainted shadow Hathorne left upon the family name. Our docent capitalized on that air of eeriness with tales that encompassed deprivation, childhood death, and of course Christina’s disability.

Front Room, Olson House

Afterward we were free to roam the house which has remained as it was when Christina and her brother Alvaro lived there, and as it appears in many of Wyeth’s paintings. It’s an other-worldly experience walking into rooms that are hauntingly familiar, immersed in the same sense of place and light depicted by Wyeth, looking through the frames of windows he depicted to the views he recorded with a combination of faithfulness and artistic license.

Roofline, Olson House, no doubt the vantage from which End of Olson’s was painted in 1969.

Much has been said about Wyeth’s place in the lexicon of American painting, and I’m not going to debate that here. For me, his superior draughtsmanship, emotionally charged brevity, and compositional fluency negate any question of merit. But beyond those attributes, his paintings speak to a sense of Maine that anyone with a strong connection to the state would recognize, a quality that makes his work so intimately relatable.

If you’d like to dig a little deeper on the subject, let me recommend Christina Baker Kline’s novel A Piece of the World, a wonderful first-person portrayal of Christina Olson’s life inspired by her circumstances and her relationship with Andrew and Betsy Wyeth.

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On a more contemporary note, I was thrilled to walk into the Archipelago Store and Gallery of the Island Institute in Rockland and to discover an exhibit of wonderful paintings of lobstermen by Abe Goodale. On his website Goodale notes this series, the Eastern Waters project, is a tribute to the hardworking lobstermen of Penobscot Bay and that he “set out to capture a way of life, a generation upon the water and an industry that is thriving, yet fragile”. I think it’s remarkable how sensitively he portrays the toughness surrounding these men and their work.
I regret the quality of my photos is so poor.

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And finally, because I believe censorship is wrong, I am sharing a link to textile artist Salley Mavor’s recent story of being forced, ten days before the opening, to withdraw from her solo exhibition Liberty and Justice: New Artwork by Salley Mavor. The show had been in coordinated planning for a year.

In relating the circumstances, Mavor is careful not to cast aspersions on the organization/venue, its staff or volunteers. I truly hope you will take the time to read what she has to say. It is not a political rant, it is a measured response to where we find ourselves in society today. She says, “For me, the work is about stepping away from a safe, sheltered existence and into a very real reality, one where there is possibility for action toward making a difference in the world.”
I want to honor her request that links to her work be shared in order for it to be seen. Maybe you will too. It is so important that we work together to subvert censorship and support artistic freedom.

Regardless of your political stance , please take the time to explore Mavor’s website. Her work is beautiful, and if you share a love of nature, I’m sure you will find it both magical and delightful. Her creativity and skill with a needle are remarkable.

Many thanks to Eve Jacobs-Carnahan for bring this to my attention.

Indomitable Self

Reclamation, the spectacular exhibit of portraits at the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe this summer, closed last weekend. As a parting shot, Margaret Bowland, one of the exhibiting artists, gave a wonderful talk — easily one of the most engaging I’ve ever attended.

Bowland’s piece in the show, a young African-American girl covered in white paint, spurs difficult questions, especially as our country continues to struggle with its racial history and its ongoing disparities — open sores that show little sign of permanent healing. Could she really be depicting this youngster in white face?

But as is often the case, there is a greater narrative that lies below the surface. This quote from the Helen Day’s Gallery Guide of the exhibition clarifies Bowman’s self-imposed directive.

Margaret Bowland’s large-scale portraits attempt to untangle power. As the artist explains, “when making works I have often covered my subject in paint to make this point. I feel that I am doing what the world does to my subjects, tries to obliterate them or turn them into people they are not. For me, the victory is that my people stare back at you completely themselves. No matter the costume or the make up you are looking at an individuated and very real, human being. They have, or are learning to survive through what the world has thrown at them.”

The depth of Bowland’s art, careful layers of insight portraying questions of identity and ‘self’ through the lens of social and political mores, encompasses both her personal history growing up in North Carolina and her deep understanding of art history. She is a dynamic teacher, and her talk last week shed light on her brilliant ability to synthesize difficult and diverse questions of what it is like to be “other” through a portal of empathy, all the while rooting her work within the realities of history, both the history of art and history in general. I am envious of her students’ access to her theoretical and practical knowledge.

Please take some time to study the paintings on her website and to read her artist’s statement, which is an abridged version of the talk she gave. You too will be impressed.

Not There Yet

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” ~Thomas Edison

I wish I could say, after all the folding, stitching, and dyeing of the lobster piece this past week, that I was completely blown away by the success of my results once all the resist stitches were painstakingly picked out. But sadly, that isn’t the way it turned out.

Come out, come out, wherever you are

While I’m very happy with the shibori pattern that developed, and I’m grateful for figuring out how to seat the image within that pattern, it’s a huge disappointment that the embroidered lobster image has become completely lost and is now practically invisible. It’s a ghost lobster, if you will. Somehow I have to puzzle out how to illustrate the idea of ‘hidden in plain sight’, but it will have to include the one thing that is sorely missing, the root of my misstep: contrast.
I’m headed back to the drawing board.

Ghost Lobster

In the very beginning of my shibori journey, I came up against a similar brick wall. Some of you may have heard me tell about the first piece from my Dog Walk series – where I used stitched-resist to define the silhouette shadow. I undid those resist stitches with the same level of anticipation, only to be sorely deflated at the unremarkable results.

But after letting the piece simmer for a bit, I hit on the idea to break up the space with a grid of color by layering textile paint on top of the shibori image. This was followed by defining both the grid and the image with stitch. It not only solved my immediate problem, but also started me down this path I’ve been happily following for the past several years: combining shibori patterns with embroidered images.

So, I haven’t lost heart; I’ll figure something out. Challenges are a good thing – and in the meantime the process will give me something to write about in the weeks to come.

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The most interesting thing I learned about this week was the work of Maria Sibylla Merian (1647-1717). Entomologist, botanical artist, and naturalist, she was the first person to record metamorphosis, documenting and illustrating the life cycles of 186 insect species throughout her life. Her classification of butterflies and moths is apparently still in use today.
Check out the link above to get an idea of the height of her mastery.

Illuminated Copper-engraving from Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, Plate VI. 1705 by Maria Sibylla Merian

She created volumes of spectacular botanical illustrations. They were painted in watercolor because, as a woman, the guilds of her time wouldn’t allow her to use oil paints. In 1699, at the age of 52, she traveled to the Dutch colony of Surinam so she could sketch the animals, plants, and insects there. Her journey was remarkable for the fact that she was able to undertake it in the first place, and all the more so because it was sponsored by the city of Amsterdam.

Plate 1 from Metamorphosis in Surinam by Maria Sibylla Merian

Everything else aside, with the heat we’ve experienced this week, can you imagine traveling to and working in the tropics dressed in the many long layers of dress worn by women in 17th century?
And on another note, I wonder if Merian’s work was inspiration for Mary Delany? It must have been.