Category Archives: Color

Stick Season

I love Stick Season.

It’s prized by locals as the sweet period between fall and winter when pretty much everybody from away, stays away. But I’m more fond of it as the landscape’s last hurrah before the snow arrives.

It’s not as showy as September and October, but the russets, golds and olives of November have their own richness, especially when backed by a crisp blue sky or the drama of heavy purple-grey clouds.

Once again we become reacquainted with the structure of the trees that had been hidden by leaves since Spring. Lingering apples and the garnet red fruit in a stand of sumac brighten barren, grey branches like premature holiday ornaments.

In the early evening, the sometimes subtle, sometimes shocking gradations of a sunset’s colors can be viewed through the dark lines and silhouettes of leafless sentinels, often accented with an early star.

And before we know it, snow covers the mountains and a new season begins. Such is the beauty of Vermont.

Side Note: Can’t write about this subject without referencing Noah Kahan’s hit Stick Season, from the album of the same name

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For those of you who celebrate, I wish you a very Merry Christmas. And for those who don’t, may the weeks ahead be a period of cozy respite and peace.
As ever, thank you for joining me here.

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It’s that time of year and we’re all feeling it. Take a break from the holiday flurry; there are still two more weeks to visit Who Are We? Pieces of the Identity Puzzle at the Satellite Gallery in Lyndonville, VT. (Scroll down the page of the above link for more photos and information).

The Turn

Looking to the right as you walk out of our driveway and head further up the hill, there is a sizable break between the trees. Framed by foliage on either side, it’s a window out into the distance — a lookout different from our own view, and a place from which to watch the weather come and go and to mark the changes, week by week, throughout the year.

Depending what sniffs are on Quinn’s mind and how anxious she is to keep moving, I often stand there for a moment, soaking up the colors and light of that particular time on that specific day. It’s never boring, no matter the season.

For the last couple of weeks we have begun to see evidence of the start of fall. It’s such an iconic moment to catch “the turn”, visible in the slightest touches of orange or red poking through all the green. It won’t be long until this hillside, except for the evergreens, is a fiery display of reds, oranges and yellows. Another episode of dog-walk TV, at its best.

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Here’s a Fall Foliage Prediction map for any neck of the woods.

Summer Sampling

5-6 months out of the year our yard looks like some version of this.

Winter

So is it any wonder that when June rolls around, I can’t get enough of it looking like this?!

June 1

I am drunk with color these days.

June 2

It’s been a fun exercise this week to create color mixes that mimic what’s in bloom right now. This type of sampling helps me to understand color more generally, and my chosen palette more specifically.

June Colors 1

For those who, pardon the pun, like to get into the weeds of such things, I was a bit surprised at how many colors I used: 27 separate colors in making 28 samples of flowers, leaves and paving stones. To some degree, that feels very over the top and, considering 8 of those colors were only used in one color mix, there is definitely room to fine-tune if I were so inclined.

June Colors 2

Overall though, most of the colors I used got a pretty good workout, recurring in many of the mixes – most of which were made up of two and very occasionally three paints. The exception was the paving stones. They all required various combinations of three primaries to achieve their neutral tones.

These colors are the backbone of my mixes. The biggest surprise for me is how versatile (and “popular”) the Cobalt Blue Deep turned out to be.

I find it really handy to have color-mix samples like this for reference, so I keep a book full of them that I refer to regularly. I try to make time when I buy a new paint color to play around with it to see how it interacts old favorites.

Without question, if you live in Northern New England life is better if you actually enjoy the subtle hues of late November into deepest winter. But let’s face it, it’ll be nice to return to these samples when the garden is asleep again, as a reminder of the eye-popping abundance of June.

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Since we’re talking color… Have you been to the Vermont Arts Council Sculpture Garden in Montpelier to see the collaborative installation Elements of Shelter: Water, Fire, Wood, Earth, Metal? Spearheaded by Thea Alvin and Meg Reinhold, it’s a beautiful meditation on two of Vermont’s most immediate challenges: climate change and the housing crisis. The combination of paint with glass is particularly effective; the work absolutely glows in the sunshine. Plus, the craftsmanship of the pieces, including their timber frames, is gorgeous.
Read further about the installation and its creators in Seven Days. You can follow more of the creation process on Instagram: @theasunshine and @trilliumhandcrafts

For Love of Color

A couple of weeks ago I gave in to impulse.
My shelves are sagging under the weigh of the many books I’ve collected throughout the years, so I’m consciously trying NOT to indulge in oversized art books anymore, opting instead for Kindle editions.
But everyone falls off the wagon from time to time.

Kaffe Fassett In The Studio

Kaffe Fassett In the Studio: Behind the Scenes with a Master Colorist is worth every inch of shelf space it will someday occupy — although I think it will be a while before I let it out of immediate reach. It proved a really fun read in the moment and will be an inspirational resource for the future.

This and below: a selection of the wall colors I love living with

Textile artist, painter, mosaicist, designer and collector of all things eclectic, Fassett ushers the reader through his intermingled home and studio (who doesn’t love a good peek into another artist’s working space?) writing extensively about the evolution of his long art career. With the flip of each page, one gets a further glimpse into the many aspects of Fassett’s prolific creativity, all of which seem to turn on an axis of color. The experience has the effect of making one feel a bit like Alice journeying into Wonderland.

Fern Green

A dozen years ago, while we were still in the design phase of building our Vermont home, I gained a lot of inspiration and courage from Susan Sargent’s book The Comfort of Color. I’m pretty sure I freaked our painters out when I handed them a spreadsheet outlining the panoply of colors I wanted applied throughout our new house. Let’s just say I put a bit of a wrinkle into the ease of blindly using one version or another of white from room to room.

Red

Most artists I know surround themselves with strong colors and eclectic collections. On a more universally known level, think of Monet’s Giverny or Frida Kahlo’s Casa Azul. The trip through Fassett’s home/studio is no different although, compared to many, arguably on steroids. And what’s not to love about that?

Seaglass

If you’re lucky, the colors outside your home are just as vibrant as those that surround you inside.

View from my studio

It’s hard to beat nature’s colors as autumn takes hold here in Vermont.

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For a deeper dive into the rainbow, don’t miss Dian Parker’s sparkling essays on individual colors. Start with your favorite and then savor each one – you will be fascinated reading about their history, chemistry and their significance in art and everyday life.

Potluck

The past several weeks have been a bit of a smorgasbord of projects. Through them all, I can’t help but think I’ve been subconsciously influenced by our reawakened garden which, especially during this glorious month of June, has visually been like a rich shot of espresso after months of presenting as the equivalent of a weak cup of chamomile tea.

©2022 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye on silk A thank you gift for @gollyokate, whose Catch-and-Release Program contributed, via her art, to feeding hungry families, maintaining community safety nets and helping the planet.

Now that our show Tucked In: Resilience in Small Moments is closing at the Gruppe Gallery on the 19th (there’s still time to visit this weekend if you haven’t already!), I can move beyond the writing and back-end administrative duties associated with it to dip into a bit of artistic free-styling.

In process ©2022 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk This avian fellow was originally meant to be a chickadee, but took a turn toward a more vivid imaginary specimen after reading The Feather Thief and as color returned to our yard.

I look at our beloved perennials bursting back to life, each day’s view a bit different from the one before as they grow and bloom in a constant state of evolution, and I’m inspired. I think I’ll try to relax into that frame of mind in the studio for the next couple of months and see where it leads me.

Front Garden

Color + Light = Place

There’s nothing quite like travel for a reminder of how much light and color affect a sense of place. In fact, I don’t think it’s too bold to say that, for those of us interested in such things, the elements of light and color define place.

Kailua Beach

Matisse knew that fact, as did Winslow Homer and Gaugin. On the more contemporary side, look to Dorothy Caldwell, Eric Aho or the interior designer Justina Blakeney* for color that portrays the essence of specific locales.

Berkeley

Our visits with family in Berkeley and Hawaii were nothing less than a full-on immersion in chromatic glory – especially for this northern New Englander. It was the kind of visual shake-up that makes me sit up straight and pay close attention.

Hawaii

That isn’t to say things haven’t been waking up here in Vermont over the past weeks. We arrived home to find our garden bursting with the colors of Zone 4: phlox, azaleas, lilacs, iris, rhododendrons and lupins…and let’s not forget the lush Green Mountains.

Vermont

I’m not well-versed in the science of light wavelengths and how they are affected by their relationship to the sun or the surrounding environment, but at least I can say that their variations make my travels – and coming home – all the richer.

*Thanks for the introduction, Sandy!

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For a similar experience – especially while travel is still iffy with COVID – consider tuning in to the Strong Sense of Place podcast. Each episode explores one destination by discussing in detail, without spoilers, five books that will take you there on the page. Hosts Melissa & David ferret out books that really convey the feeling of a particular place — color and light limited only by your imagination.

Color Maps

What is it about grouping colors together that is so enticing? Have you ever left a paint store with only the color chips you came in for? Neither have I.

This is a pretty cramped area to work in so I am planning to expand into another part of my studio. While I didn’t buy any new paints (see below), I did order a new porcelain palette. This old one that I’ve previously used with textile paints is versatile, yet I wanted something with a larger flat area for mixing. After a bit of research, I ended up ordering a rectangular porcelain sushi plate rather than a formal palette. Not only will it fit my work area better, but it doesn’t have paint wells, which were the often-mentioned caveat in review after review of various palettes.

A big part of my attraction to watercolor is the transparent layering of hues, as well as the flow and interaction between them. Pair that appeal with a love for the colors and forms of plants and you have a near perfect recipe for endless exploration.

Showell Fruit and Veg Portraits

Over the years I’ve collected a number of books of painted flora, the vast majority in watercolor. This week I’ve been re-reading Billy Showell’s 2009 book Watercolour Fruit & Vegetable Portraits. Her botanical studies are strikingly accurate while retaining a sense of informality. It’s a given that anyone who writes such a book will spend the first chapter or so going over their chosen materials. Often I’m inclined to skim those sections and move on, but Showell goes a lot deeper than most in discussing her palette, particularly regarding primaries. It’s important information.

I wish I’d thought to do this earlier, but I realized with a bit more of one color or another I could add a sidebar to a swatch to give an indication of it’s range, leaning warm or cool.

For instance, she mentions that there doesn’t seem to be a single paint that is a true primary, so she will mix a cool and a warm version of a color (e.g. Cadmium yellow pale and Cadmium lemon) in order to get as close as possible to a near perfect primary. As you can imagine, this is key info for mixing greens, the mainstay of plant portrayal.

I was impressed with the range of greens I could get and with the added depth in them as the two colors of a given mixture settled somewhat separately as they dried. Genuine Serpentine, in the lower right corner, is the only green straight from the tube.

Before adding any of the colors she recommends to those I already have, I figured I’d see how my current palette stacks up. Not bad, as it turns out. In fact, the range of secondaries I can get from the various primaries I have on hand is pretty impressive. And that doesn’t begin to take into account the full range of color that is possible from any mixture of two colors, depending on how you adjust the percentage of each.
It also turns out that making these little swatches is incredibly relaxing in it’s own right. Give it a try.

The oranges, on the other hand, weren’t quite as varied.

Another watercolorist I’ve long admired and look to for guidance is Charles Reid. His work, unlike Showell’s, is loose and spontaneous, such that it truly celebrates the unique qualities of the medium. He is also a master of the lost and found edge, but that is another discussion.

As I work on my stitched garden paintings this summer, I hope to find a happy medium somewhere between Showell’s skill for description and Reid’s expressiveness. Figuring out how to incorporate each stitched house form, while capitalizing on both those aspects, creates an unexpected bridge between the two.
And while I’m practicing, I will be happily lost in color.

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I finished the puzzle piece mentioned last post and sent it off to the We Are All Connected Art Project. While scrolling through to see the latest pieces added, it was a happy shock to discover that Ai Weiwei had also contributed. My guess is that’s the first and last time I will have any overlap with him, but I’ll take it!

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Watch for more details about this upcoming exhibit in my next post, 2 weeks from now.

Hidden Messages: Old and New at the Chandler Gallery in Randolph, VT • July 10 – September 5, 2021

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Three artists who often share their lovely dye and watercolor swatch work on Instagram are Mirjam Gielen @mirjamtextiles, Rachel Kahn @vermontknitter and Paul Wang @paulwang_sg

Marking Time

If there’s such a thing as visual euphoria, it’s the garden coming back to life again in all its glorious colors and textures. The early season vibrance of azaleas is beyond stunning after a long Vermont winter.

For those who have followed me faithfully here, you will recognize color as a recurrent early summer theme. How could it not be? With the lupines now out and irises just beginning to pop, I am reminded of this post from a couple of years ago, exalting a landscape immersed in purple and blue – my favorite.

Lately I’ve been noticing that the variety of greens on the hills and mountains that surround us are more vivid than ever. As summer wears on, the leaves will mature, becoming increasingly monochromatic, but for now their wide spectrum from warm to cool, offset by scattered reds and pinks, is pure visual pleasure. The sight is a post-winter reward.

May 18, First Color ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitch on paper, 5 x 5 inches. I have been meaning to get back to watercolor for ages. This is a rusty first stab after a long break but, as with everything, practice is all. It’s such a pleasurable activity; time just melts away in pools of color.

Digging deeper, it is the constant change of the seasons upon a set structure (mountain) or template (garden) that I find endlessly interesting.

May 18, detail ©2021 Elizabeth Fram One can only learn by doing. By matching the colors of thread in the stitched house so closely to those of the paint below, I think the image melts just a bit too much into the background. The aim was to have it be like a good conversationalist, holding its own without either monopolizing or fading into obscurity. The results seem to lean more toward the latter the further you get from the piece. But maybe that’s good? An unexpected surprise upon close inspection?

With that in mind, I’m beginning a new project this summer, both as a break from months steeped in COVID-centric houses (although I haven’t released the house shape yet), and also as a creative stretch. I’m looking to combine paint with stitch, and what better inspiration could one ask for than the ever-evolving flora that has suddenly taken center stage once again?

The painting before stitching; the marks that outline the house are visible underneath the painting.

The core idea I am grappling to articulate relates to structure, within the garden or even, perhaps, in the larger landscape. Inspired generally by Piet Oudolf (designer of Manhattan’s High Line and Chicago’s Lurie Garden in Millennium Park) and particularly by the Red Garden designed by Jack Lenor Larsen at his LongHouse Reserve, I am thinking about constancy amid change – and even the constancy of change. I don’t quite know yet how this will pan out, you are seeing my very first steps. There are bound to be lots of stops and starts as I figure out where I’m headed, but for now it’s enough to embark on something fresh.

And since I’ve brought you into a garden headspace, here’s another resource, especially if you’re out and about in the area:
Elizabeth Billings is currently doing an artist residency at three of the Nature Conservancy’s natural areas in Vermont. She is creating intentional contemplative spaces under the title “Together: Nature Unites Us”. She has been posting about it on Instagram.

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Summer reading:

Oudolf Hummelo – A Journey Through A Plantsman’s Life

Four Ways To Add Color To Stick Season

I think it’s safe to say that the last gasp of summer is now behind us. That fact, paired with the latest COVID restrictions on social interactions here in Vermont, point to more time for reading and digging into creative outlets, online and otherwise.

November Trees

It’s a time when we can all use a bit more color in our day-to-day, so I thought I’d share a few of the things that have brightened my outlook:

I’ve been enjoying the American Craft Council’s weekly post “The Queue”. It’s a series of interviews with 2020 ACC Awards honorees, often including a short video of the artist. The ACC is a wonderful resource; I encourage you to spend some time exploring the Stories section of their website. The satirical sculptures of recently featured Bob Trotman caught my eye several years ago, so I was happy to become reacquainted with his work on a deeper level via “The Queue”. With a background in philosophy, not art, Trotman was originally most interested in studying the idea of the individual. But as he developed an art career, his concerns turned toward examining the machinations of society. As a result, his artistic commentary is largely aimed toward money and power in America.
Considering the unprecedented behavior we have been witnessing from our out-going president and his enablers, Trotman’s powerful voice is more resonate than ever.
Another resource that delicately walks the line between delightful and educational is Vermont painter Susan Abbott’s Painting Notes Blog. Always enriching without being didactic, Susan shares her extensive knowledge of art history from both a visual and personal angle. She shines a contemporary light upon the artists and works that have gone before us, and who have laid a path for us to follow. If you’re interested in book suggestions from Susan, look for her generous response to my question at the very end of the comments section of this post.
Beginning with the lock-down last spring, several major textile organizations joined forces to offer weekly “Textile Talks” — video presentations and panel discussions that surround a huge variety of subjects related to textile art.
All can be accessed via YouTube.
The recent “creative discussion” between color icon Kaffe Fassett and his niece Erin Lee Gafill covers their personal history as well as the habit they’ve developed of painting side-by-side. They’ve recently released a book of these parallel works called Color Duets. Anyone who knows and admires Fassett’s work and his long, illustrious career will enjoy the conversation. Particularly inspiring is the way Fassett straddles different media while maintaining the consistent thread (sorry for the pun) of color.
And finally, if you too are a student of color, you know it’s hard to beat a garden – flower or vegetable – for the lessons it can teach. Our beds may be all buttoned up for the winter, but even as the snow flies we can dream about next year’s glory…while learning a thing or two along the way. Two resources that will be scratching the color itch for me this winter are Darroch and Michael Putnam’s Flower Color Guide and the Floret Flowers website. There are plenty of lessons to be gleaned from each, but perhaps more importantly during these crazy, stressful days, they both offer pure, visual delight.

Flower Color Guide

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With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I can’t let the occasion pass without saying how grateful I am that you choose to join me here every other week, sharing your ideas and comments along the way. Please accept the suggestions above as a token of my gratitude. Be well and wear your mask. We’re all in this together.

Linda ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink, graphite, and colored pencil on paper, 11 x 8.8 inches. It’s always fun to see what each person chooses to include in the selfie they send me, because it’s a further window into who they are. Linda made the paper batik behind her and I think it’s an apt reflection of her bright spirit. All 13 pieces in my COVID-19 Selfie series can be seen together on my website.

The Comfortable Reliability of Change

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Artist's Garden

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

Spirit of Place

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Update

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