Category Archives: Color

Hoarding Color

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

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

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

Crabs

Table

Windows

Circles

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

Delphinium

Hyacinth

Quilt

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

Citrus

Scarf

Shoreline

Bookseller Upside-down

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

Oslo

Pamela Tarbell

Persicaria

Fire

Instead, dive deeply into the colors alone.

Strripes

Sofa

Tulip

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

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

Slow Dancing With Color

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Hurrah of Color

One of the perks of living in a rural state is the beauty of the open land one passes on the way to pretty much everywhere.

Blueberry leaves in the fall are glorious – as these few stragglers attest

Each season lends its voice to the ever-changing flora, with color combinations that are sometimes prominent, sometimes subtle, but always there to enjoy. The sight of a well-known field as it reliably cycles through the year’s seasons is a both a source of comfort and of inspiration.

The azaleas also outdid themselves this year

Driving the back roads through the Northeast Kingdom to the Canadian border last week was a chance to enjoy the final gasp of what has been a gorgeous Vermont fall. Of particular note were the deep russet and rust hues interlaced between the ochres and dark umbers of the grasses and foliage in the marshes and bogs we passed, their impact heightened by the gloomily overcast skies. As various plants decline toward winter their colors differentiate, allowing their individual shapes to show in a way that isn’t visible amidst the lush blend of summer’s myriad shades of green.

This shrub is a voracious creeper that requires constant and merciless pruning. But all is forgiven when it puts on this stunning ombre display.

There wasn’t time to stop to take photos, but after getting home, I circled our yard to record the last legs of our own foliage. And good thing I did; strong winds and rain over the following 24 hours swept down the last of the leaves. For one final afternoon though, the striking color took my breath away.

The sight of crabapples and winterberry ease the transition when leaves drop

Not being a landscape artist, it’s hard to gauge how these impressions will surface in my work, but I know that somehow they will. It’s part of the wonderful, ongoing homework of making art. Paying attention to the colors that surround us, gleaning what we can in order to reinterpret them in a meaningful and personal way, is one of the many privileges of what we do and a major component of what attracts me to the work of others. The paintings below, seen recently at The Farnsworth Museum in Rockland, Maine, are a perfect example.

Six Cows At Lincolnville, Lois Dodd, 1961, Oil on canvas

Untitled (View from the Ruohomaa homestead on Dodge’s Mountain), Kosti Ruohomaa, 1935, Oil on panel.

To frame this idea from another perspective, consider color not necessarily as subject, but from the angle of its impact on us as a backdrop. Research abounds on how wall color affects mood and behavior in prisons, schools, and hospitals; it is certainly true of our outward surroundings as well. Museums and galleries play on this theory too — the variety of colors that grace their walls add immeasurably, although perhaps subconsciously, to the way one sees and experiences the art on display. Is that not also true of our outdoor environment and its effect on us? What better reason to celebrate a field sporting its last hurrah of color on a grey and drizzly morning than for witnessing its inherent beauty and the way the sight of it flavors the rest of our day as we move forward.

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I found a couple of interesting articles about the thought that goes on behind the scenes in choosing wall colors to enhance an exhibition, thereby heightening the viewers’ experience. In one, individual curators talk about what inspires their choices, and in the other, how color designers/colorists often create new colors to best highlight the work on exhibit.

©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 18×24 inches, Graphite and colored pencil on paper Perhaps resurfacing more quickly than I would have thought — reds and golds in a quick study from life drawing earlier this week.

And for those interested in getting even further in the weeds on this subject, enjoy this fascinating article from the Metropolitan Museum on “Color and Light in the Museum Environment”.

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One final note and announcement:
At the end of this month, I am going to be making a bit of a change with this blog in order to reclaim some much-needed time for other areas of my practice. It won’t be disappearing entirely by any stretch, but it will begin to transform. I’ll let you know more at the end of November. In the meantime, I am ever so grateful for your ongoing interest and support, and I hope you will stay with me and keep reading as Eye of the Needle moves forward to its next chapter.

Persicaria

Colorhue

One of the questions I get asked most often is what kind of dye I use.
I first learned about Colorhue dyes from Glennis Dolce when I took her online shibori course in 2011. I was instantly smitten.

Even though they seem small, these 2oz. -size bottles last me a long time. I’ve learned to stock up during the warmer months so I don’t have to worry about freezing during shipment… a small price to pay for the privilege of living where winter is winter.

I have stayed with Colorhue exclusively since then, and like them for the following reasons:

-They are environmentally friendly
-I get immediate results without a lot of bulky, extraneous equipment
-I can achieve deep, rich colors

Intensely concentrated, Colorhue is an instant-set dye that requires only tap water (no chemical additives, pre-soaks, or heat-setting required). Very little water is used throughout the process. For most projects I probably use a pint to a half-gallon of water total, and since the vast majority of the dye is absorbed directly into the fibers of the silk, there is very little dye remaining to drain into my septic system (unlike the gallons of color-laden water necessary to rinse out excess Procion dye).

This 18″ square area is the heart of my dye set-up, even for large pieces. Yes, it’s really that small. The white mug in the upper middle of this photo contains the eyedroppers I use to apply the dye. I couldn’t ask for a simpler operation, which is exactly the way I want it.

The fact that Colorhue has only 11 colors may be seen as a downside for some. Rather than reaching for a ready-made color, I have to rely on the transparency of those basic eleven, mixing the colors I am looking for from scratch. The benefit is it opens the door to some lovely and unexpected results. This is somewhat reminiscent of the limited palettes many Urban Sketchers prefer in their ongoing quest to trim down the supplies they pack in their traveling sketch kits. (For a fuller idea of the power of limited palettes, read here and here.) And frankly, it’s a task that encourages getting to know one’s colors better; arriving at what you want becomes much easier with experience as you learn how each color interacts with the others.

If you’re selling hand-dyed yardage and need to be able to reliably repeat a color time after time, these are not the dyes for you. And initially they may seem expensive. But because they are so highly concentrated, they stretch a long way – so I wonder if in the end they really do cost much more than other options.

It’s not very glamorous, but having a sink in my studio made me feel like I’d really arrived.

I buy my dyes from Dharma Trading who notes:

“…great when you need fast results and are not too concerned with depth of color. Black is the most difficult color and comes out more of a maroony eggplant. Good silk dyes for beginners, classes, and quick projects.”

While I can see the angle they are aiming for, I think that’s a bit of a bum rap for a great product. As with any medium, time and experimentation are necessary for greater understanding of how far it can be pushed. In fact, I have had no issues with achieving depth of color, or in using black. I think Dharma does these dyes a disservice to imply they are student or beginner grade.

In process. Once the stitching begins I can see the nuances of Colorhue dye up close. The luminescence of the central area in this piece, paired with the arched shape, have put me in mind of stained glass windows. Please note the variation of colors as they mix together, especially around the edges of the arch. It’s rich passages like these which cause me to take issue with the suggestion that these dyes are limited in their depth.

One has to keep in mind they will only work on protein fibers. While they seem perfectly matched for silk, I had very disappointing results trying them on some wool challis. Also, I have only used them for work that is framed and hangs on the wall, never for clothing. With that in mind, I feel like I should supply the disclaimer that the above information is just a window into my personal experience. I make no definitive claims and would encourage you to do your own research to see if they meet your specific needs.

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Operation Night Watch – Live
Did you hear this? The Rijks Museum in Amsterdam has embarked on a huge research/restoration project of Rembrandt’s The Night Watch. Rather than conducting this process behind closed doors, they have built a glass box around the painting in the gallery, allowing visitors to watch all work taking place. Check out their website for extensive videos, information about the painting itself, and this huge undertaking. Fascinating!

“A Blue As Of The Sea”

In spite of late snows, relentless rain, and cool temps, my garden in June is a reward to be depended upon like a fairy tale’s happy ending. Spring has seemed so late to arrive the last couple of years, and yet checking past entries in my garden journal proves that everything seems to bloom within several days of the same date each year. Nature appears to have a schedule that won’t be denied.

Our back garden

The colors of azaleas, rhododendrons, phlox, and poppies can make one a bit giddy after so many months of deep greens, grays, and brown. But it won’t surprise anyone who knows me that my favorite landmarks for breaking the color fast of Mud Season are the lilacs, lupines, and irises. What could be better than to see a landscape filled with all shades of purple?

Each year we scatter more lupine seeds in our wildflower field below the house. They are at their gorgeous peak right now.

Wild iris are also spreading, adding to my delight.

For sketching purposes, one couldn’t ask for more than an iris provides: each bloom presents a rainbow of colors, fantastical shapes, varied textures, and intriguing patterns. And how great it is to be able to look to the garden rather than just my kitchen counters for a suitable subject.

In the 1980s I visited Van Gogh’s striking “Irises” many times at the Joan Whitney Payson Gallery of Art in Westbrook, Maine. Ownership is too strong a word, but I think many Mainers would say they also felt a particular sense of personal attachment to the piece, considering its easy accessibility in such an intimate setting. It was heartbreaking to learn it was going to be lost to the collection in 1987 for financial reasons. It’s now part of the J. Paul Getty Museum collection in Los Angeles – which seems so very far away.

Vincent van Gogh, Irises, 1889, 29 1/4 x 37 1/8 in., Oil on canvas Collection of J. Paul Getty Museum

On a happier note, I always loved William Carlos Williams’ poem “Iris”, from his Pictures from Brueghel collection. He caught the essence of the bloom’s exuberance so well.

Iris

A burst of iris so that
come down for
breakfast

We searched through the
rooms for
that

sweetest odor and at
first could not
find its

source then a blue as
of the sea
struck

startling us from among
those trumpeting
petals

Garden Iris

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?

First Blush of Spring

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

Spring 1

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

Spring 3

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

Spring 2

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

Spring 4

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

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

Pleasure and Privilege

Making art is something of a ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card.

Yes, the stripped down beauty of a snowy landscape has a unique subtlety that many of us who choose to live where winter is serious business appreciate and even relish. But that doesn’t mean we don’t sometimes miss the full-blown colors of our gardens and of the local countryside that currently lie dormant under a blanket of snow.

There is rich privilege in being immersed in color every day via drawing or stitching or dyeing. It’s an advantage I don’t take for granted. And perhaps for just this reason, I find the current phase of this piece – defining the octopus with color – the most enjoyable of all the various steps that have led up to it.

Do you remember the color theory exercises comparing two colors that seem completely different, but which are actually identical? The point being that their appearance is drastically affected by the color surrounding them. For an example of this phenomenon, check this out. That’s one of the key factors that brings so much pleasure to this current process of fleshing out the image. Each stitch is influenced by the color of its neighbors, as well as by the varying shades of the dyed silk ground it is sewn upon. That interaction creates a visual richness that at times seems almost melodic.

It’s a fascinating process and somewhat addictive. I have to set a timer to remind myself to stop and get up to stretch because I get so lost in the rhythm of stitching and the desire to see how new interactions between colors will evolve. The wonderful bonus is that it’s also a great way to guard against any feelings of color deprivation that can often be mid-winter’s calling card.

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How is a parterre like a patisserie?

I’ve begun watching Monty Don’s 3-part series Gardens of France. Drawing a parallel between the 17th century gardens of André Le Nôtre, creator of the gardens of Versailles, and rows of glistening pastries under glass, Don acknowledges a French cultural love of formality that lends a sense of order and harmony and balance, coupled with refinement. Admittedly, what I’m seeing in the gardens he is touring and in the display case of Carette at Place des Vosges, is a far cry from my relatively undisciplined flower beds and humble cookie creations, but the spirit of both are equally inspiring on a chilly winter day.

June in our back garden: azaleas, early phlox, and one of my favorites – American umbrellaleaf or Diphylleia cymosa, whose white flowers transform into blue/black berries on bright red stalks, and whose leaves become a beautiful mix of burgundy and gold toward the end of the summer.

Isn’t it wonderful how culture and even national sensibilities squeeze beyond the boundaries of a given discipline, surfacing in the arts and daily life?

Out of the Deep

The base stitching is finished. From this distance, it’s hard to make out the image in the midst all the pattern, but if you zoom in you will see it.

Every new piece brings its own discoveries. When it was time to dye this one, I decided to work with high key colors rather than the deeper tones one might associate with an octopus’ habitat. The next days will be spent figuring out how to merge the two (background and figure) so that neither overpowers the other, or gets lost.

Folded, with resist stitching in place, the dyed piece looks darker when it is still wet.

This is the exciting part: seeing how the dye and pattern are absorbed into the embroidery.

These photos are a log of this past week’s progress. I can’t stress enough how many decisions take place as I go along. There are constant questions and challenges to each choice (is the outline too dark? How can I keep the stitched rectangle background obvious without overdoing it? How much of the shibori pattern can, or should, remain within the figure of the octopus?)

I am planning to use red tones to define this guy, but it will also have to include some of these other colors so as to play on the camouflage effect.

Now that the piece has been completely outlined, the real fun of blending and playing with color can begin.

Every hurdle presents a puzzle and the potential for new revelations to add to my “toolkit”. The fact that the road ahead is uneven is a big part of what brings joy to this work.

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Who, besides yourself, are you trying to please with your work? Once again, Danny Gregory lights the way in his recent blog post How Not to Give A Damn.

Color, Please!

I think we’re all feeling a bit color-starved in the Green Mountain state these days.

What a cold, dark, and damp month this has been!
I know there are bright crocuses and leafing trees somewhere, but winter has yet to release its grasp on our Vermont hill.

Gratefully, art supplies bring a touch of the sorely missed brightness within reach.

I am back to exploring the patterns and distortions that appear when looking through a glass of water. These sketches are my pretend garden of shape and color, a stand-in to tend while waiting for the real thing.

A lot of New England artists seem to be turning up the color while waiting for spring to arrive.
Help yourself to a dose of their medicine.

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It was such a pleasure to spend a couple of hours in the company of bright young artists this past week during our stitching workshop. They were an eager and happy group, diving in with needles in hand, cheerily socializing while they worked. I was impressed that the majority had previous sewing experience, and so pleased that gender wasn’t a factor.

Cyclops

Rose

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What made me happiest was that several commented on how relaxing they found the work, and that they were definitely planning to keep on stitching!