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

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

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

On to this week’s stories:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Autumn Leaf on Wet Stones

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

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

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

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

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Sunlight on the Forest Floor

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

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

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

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Riffle

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

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

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

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One Mossy Stone

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

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

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

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

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That First Peony

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for your interest and see you in two weeks!