Category Archives: Discussion

The Value of Nothing

I have just redone my website — please go check it out. Without a doubt, it took way longer to accomplish than expected but, ultimately, the project has been a positive instance of how taking a step back can help to sharpen one’s focus.

Concurrently and fortuitously, I’ve been slowly making my way through Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing — a gift from someone I admire, not least for the way she controls the technology in her life rather than it controlling her. It’s a dense read for me so I am absorbing it in small increments, but I am impressed by its message of resistance against the reality of 24/7 connectivity and data production.

The gist of what Odell has to share is that one can thoughtfully resist, not by doing anything specific, but by simply being present in our environment. She maintains that “only (by being) in regular contact with the tangible ground and sky can we learn how to orient and to navigate in the multiple dimensions that now claim us”, which in turn is a way to find relief from the chaos and anxiety that have become a business model for the so-called attention economy.

Showing this image is a bit like thinking out loud. I rarely plan so much in advance before beginning to stitch, let alone show a working drawing like this. But, as I’ve begun to move ahead, this piece it isn’t materializing at all in the way I’d hoped, and I’m not sure yet how I’m going to dig myself out from the ditch I’ve landed in. There is going to be a lot of trial and error in my future. Yet, it’s just as important to share the challenging underside of making art as it is the successes, as the finished product is only a small fraction of the adventure.

Redoing my website has been something of a necessary evil that has cost a lot of time at the computer as I learn and adapt to new software. But the greater lesson of the experience has surfaced through the act of tweaking my various statements and in uploading new images. Via that exercise I’ve become keenly aware that, while not consciously intended as such, my work is also a quiet form of resistance. The making of it and the end result is an “under the radar” place of refuge, a slow and methodical means of centering on small things that have the potential to carry significance if one is of a mind to see them from that perspective.

Coincidentally, while I was digesting the overlap between Odell’s thoughts and my own, photographer Michelle Saffran’s seasonal studio newsletter arrived. In it, Michelle writes very eloquently about elements of her process as they’ve been unfolding lately. And, as you will see, her queries streamline seamlessly with Odell’s observations and my own inclination toward finding beauty in what might be overlooked as ordinary.

Michelle has given me permission to share her words with you here and I hope they hold as much meaning for you as they do for me. Please visit her website to see examples of her striking work.

Over the last year or more I have been walking the land, smaller than an acre, around my house and photographing whatever I notice. I wander without agenda, during all seasons, times of day and weather conditions. Often I am drawn outside by shifts of color from the waning sun or from an overhead bank of storm clouds. Other times I head outside because I want to see – see what? I’m not sure. The area is as familiar to me as my own face yet each time I approach it I see something new. There is something unexpected that comes from the routine of looking at the same thing over a protracted period of time. I wonder about the meaning of this work and why it is important to me. It does seem important, even if I don’t have the words to say why. The images that emerge from this act of walking and looking mean more than recording a specific piece of land. Yet when I try and pin down a purpose to this work my mind scrambles and can’t hold onto thoughts, something just beyond my consciousness is driving me. I can’t quite put my finger on it. ~Michelle Saffran

Safety Net

I’ve been sifting through my Evernote files in order to do a bit of digital housecleaning. As tasks go, revisiting the diverse array of items collected there can be both enjoyable and interesting because it often results in new and unexpected ideas.

Work in progress © Elizabeth Fram

Tools like Evernote and Pocket make it easy to file all sorts of data and images without the burden of storing paper. I never know when something I’ve saved — inspiration, business tools, specifics about art supplies, notes from my reading, calls for entry, etc. — will be useful, but sooner or later a need invariably crops up. That said, every so often it’s fruitful to review the whole lot, culling the bulk for what still resonates.

Skimming through a series of quotes saved from various readings, I found one to be particularly apropos to the new piece I’ve begun this week. At this early stage I don’t have much more than a sketchy idea of the endpoint I’m aiming for, so I know there will be plenty of trial and error ahead on the horizon. But leaning on previous lessons-learned will help me get the stitching off the ground, and I can consider the exercise a fresh opportunity to deliberately practice older methods while hopefully discovering new ways to mesh ideas with process.

Work in progress ©Elizabeth Fram

In discussing the idea of “deliberate practice”, Joshua Foer writes in his book Moonwalking with Einstein,

Deliberate practice, by its nature, must be hard.
When you want to get good at something, how you spend your time practicing is far more important than the amount of time you spend. In fact, in every domain of expertise that’s been rigorously examined, from chess to violin to basketball, studies have found that the number of years one has been doing something correlates only weakly with level of performance. Regular practice simply isn’t enough. To improve, we must watch ourselves fail, and learn from our mistakes.

What a perfect testament to the desire we all have to keep trying. Some pieces make me feel a bit like I’m at the foot of a mountain that I haven’t yet figured out how to scale. The wisdom and encouragement of the above quote is reassuring, like a climbing harness or a safety net, lending support as I wrestle with the possibilities of where I want to take this piece and, perhaps more importantly, where it will eventually lead me.

Work in progress © Elizabeth Fram The stitched-resist dye in this new piece is the perfect example of deliberate practice. At this point I’ve stitched and dyed this pattern many, many times, but this time my goal was to separate the two sides of one length of cloth with opposing colors while still having the piece read as a whole. It’s a first shot at a seemingly simple idea, but tricky to accomplish, and one that will benefit from further practice.

Giving shape to a nebulous idea doesn’t come easily. I appreciate Foer articulating the importance of mindfully failing in order to succeed — an attitude that lightens the overall process.

If you’re interested in what Foer has to say about how important memory is to creativity, link back to this post.

Work in progress ©Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye on silk, approx. 18 x 24 inches

Back and Forth

The more I juggle between stitched pieces and drawings, the more I appreciate the power of their influence upon each other.

I thought it might be interesting to see 5 stages of both a drawing and a stitched piece, side-by-side as they progress. The drawing begins with a very hard lead so I’m afraid it’s a challenge to see here, a fact amplified by its reduced size. You can see its details much more clearly in this post.

It’s definitely an ongoing challenge to give each its due in a given week, and I’m sure that fact delays my progress in each. But the strong similarity between the way an image is built in one discipline really helps me work through the hurdles I encounter within the other.

The drawing is 24 x 18 inches, whereas this stitched piece is about 10 inches square

The upside is it’s a two-way street: having two objectives may slow me down, but working both mediums in tandem ultimately seems to push me further than if I were pursuing only one.

I like working in layers because it lets me build up an image gradually.

I’ve written before about artists I admire who work across disciplines, but only by doing so myself have I been able to truly see the returns materialize.

There is definitely a lot to be said for the oomph of color that comes easily with dyes and thread. Yet I am also attracted to the subtlety of line which I feel conveys just as much, albeit with a quieter voice.

Advantages weave back and forth between the two, each lending a fresh perspective on the qualities that interest me: texture, color, value, pattern…and not to be forgotten, all-important composition – whether encased in an imaginary frame defined by the edges of the paper or within a framework of shibori pattern that is as much a part of the overall piece as the subject.

And then you reach a point where it feels like everything that can be, has been said.

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Summer Reading:
I love the premise behind this list of 20 books featuring seasoned female protagonists from Modern Mrs. Darcy. I’ve read and enjoyed a handful of them, so I know her recommendations are reliable.

My mother was a great reader and an inveterate article-clipper, as perhaps yours is, or may have been, as well. She never missed an opportunity to share something she found interesting or that she thought I should read. And it seems I have inherited that gene, as my kids will attest. But the happy flip side of that is they also share articles and book titles with me!
If you’re looking to liberate yourself by taking control of your devices, rather than letting them control you, check out Cal Newport’s Digital Minimalism, courtesy of my son. It’s a speedy read, but very wise and equally as worthwhile.

Refuge

Last weekend I attended a symposium named “Art Meets History” at The Rokeby Museum. Overall, I enjoyed the discussions that evolved as the day progressed, but I left feeling a bit lukewarm about how well the presenters met the mark in aiding us to draw connections between our individual art practices and history.

Clementines ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 8.5 x 11 inches, Ink and watercolor on paper In an effort to add color to my sketchbooks I am experimenting with adding it in a limited way. I have been trying out a new sketchbook that I’m quite pleased with: 5.5 x 8.5 Stillman & Birn Beta Series, soft cover mixed media sketchbook with extra heavyweight, archival, white, cold press paper. I got it from my local art supply store, but Dick Blick also carries them.

But that isn’t the subject I’ve been mulling over this week. It’s not unusual to go to an event expecting one thing and to come away having gleaned something completely different. And that in itself can be worthwhile.

For me, the most important moment of the day was when another of the participants shared an experience of personal affront and crisis that was so overwhelming she couldn’t keep it to herself. It is not my story to share, but it led to a discussion and exploration of ways that art, as a form of expression and protest, can be a conduit for bringing awareness, catharsis, and perhaps even change.

These aren’t easy times and there are any number of worthy issues to dominate our consciousness, all meriting attention and consideration. Art provides one of the most salient platforms for bringing awareness and for expressing the myriad feelings and ideas that accompany thorny topics.

Vermonters are not shy about expressing their opinions and concerns; there is excellent work being made here that carries an underlying message — whether about the environment, our current political climate, or any other of a host of important issues. I often find myself feeling a bit out of step as I don’t approach my work with a cause to champion; my considerations are more home-centric and lean toward academic formalities.

My pieces celebrate day-to-day, run-of-the-mill household observations that often go unnoticed in the bustle of cellphones and busy schedules. Yet it is just such repetitive everyday sights which bring me (and I hope my viewers) pleasure and even comfort, offering a sense of constancy amid the tumult and distress that accompanies the unrelenting barrage of news.

Protest is important yet there should also be room in our consciousness for quiet statements that give us hope, reminding us of the good that surrounds us each day. We need to honor the moments that bring joy via their simplicity and their universality. We need refuge.

So, in a world of causes and points to be made, perhaps my simple tablescapes and dog shadows have more to contribute than I thought.

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This weekend marks the opening of the 2019 Rijswijk Textile Biennial which runs from June 18 to October 6th.

RTB Poster

I am so excited that four of my pieces (shown below) were selected to be part of the exhibit alongside the work of 21 other artists from across the world.

Artist list

While scheduling prevents my making it to the opening, I’m looking forward to getting to the exhibit this fall. Should you be traveling to The Netherlands before October 6th, please do consider a trip to the Rijswijk Museum, only 3.5 miles from The Hague.

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?

Shadow Play

I left off last week mentioning the work of Allison May Kiphuth, another “Small World” exhibitor at the Fleming Museum. But it wasn’t the size of Kiphuth’s work that intrigued me, it was the way shadow elevated one of her pieces.

Grand Canyon, Arizona 3, Allison May Kiphuth, 2018, Watercolor on hand-cut paper, sealed with encaustic

I enjoy work that operates on different levels, making for a greater impact than one might get from its surface value alone. The shadows of the trees, cast behind the piece on the wall, add such an interesting dimension.

I couldn’t get the image out of my mind as I was driving home and was reminded of other pieces I’ve seen that have integrated shadows to dramatic effect, sometimes as the basis of the work and sometimes as a happy, though unintended bonus. See if you agree.

Carmelo Midili exhibited this stand-out piece at the Brattleboro Museum a number of years ago. It caught my eye because I too have made work with uneven edges, knowing strong gallery lights would cast interesting shadows around the perimeter.

Sogno #9, Carmelo Midili, 2014, Wood, discarded painting on canvas panel, pumice

This piece by Janet Van Fleet is part of a series that capitalizes on shadows in such a lyrical way.

Janet Van Fleet, detail of a piece from her Circular Statements body of work, ca. 2010, buttons and other circular elements

Three other master manipulators of shadow are Kumi Yamashita, and Tim Noble & Sue Webster. It’s hard to imagine how they figure out how to construct these pieces. The detail is phenomenal.

0 to 9, Kumi Yamashita, 2011, Carved wood, single light source, shadow, Permanent Collection Le Meridien Shenyang, China

Dirty White Trash (With Gulls), Tim Noble and Sue Webster, 1998, 6 months’ worth of artists’ trash, 2 taxidermy seagulls, light projector

One final piece that has stayed with me – in fact, I still have the postcard on my fridge from the show where I saw it – is by Andrea Lilienthal. While I don’t remember that it was explicitly stated that the shadows cast by the piece were an intended part of the work, it was an element that certainly made an impression on me, as this photo I took emphasizes.

Roundabout, Andrea Lilienthal, 2014, White birch and acrylic paint

Practice, Practice, Practice

One of the more challenging “duties” that goes hand-in-hand with making art is the Artist’s Talk. And while I know a few people who seem to be naturals at it – their off-the-cuff words flowing easily and coherently – that’s not the case for many. The rest of us have to really work at this necessary and important part of our job. The upside is that giving a talk can ultimately be very rewarding, especially once it opens up into a conversation with the audience.

Granville Dog ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 5.5 x 8.5, Ink on paper I purchased this raku-fired clay dog on Granville Island in Vancouver several years ago. It’s a favorite object for sketching since it has a ton of personality and holds a pose much more reliably than my friend Quinn.

This was the gist of a recent lunchtime discussion among a circle of artist friends, one of whom was bucking against an upcoming talk she is required to give. She would prefer to let the viewers be in the driver’s seat in terms of what they take away from her paintings, feeling she’s done the hard work of creating and now it is up to those viewers to ferret out meaning for themselves. If I understood what she was saying correctly, she gets lost in the making and isn’t necessarily thinking in the same terms as the questions that are often posed regarding the significance of certain objects or circumstances within her work. Therefore, she feels awkward in responding to such questions or in explaining her motivations. She would rather others assign their own interpretations to what they see.

The general consensus of the discussion, however, was that artists’ talks are crucial for connecting with viewers on a deeper level, while affording one more control regarding how the work is perceived, and thus received. Not only do talks offer a means for inviting viewers to better understand how you work, but also why you work. Most people are genuinely interested in hearing about the incentives behind art that intrigues them. Many of the artists’ talks I’ve attended have opened unexpected doors, invariably giving me some nugget of information that expands my appreciation of what I’m seeing within a greater context and to an extent I never would have gleaned on my own.

Preparing for a talk is a lot more work for some of us than it is for others. I find it incredibly time-consuming and an exercise that requires digging deeply in order to articulate ideas and objectives as clearly as possible. It is not fun; there is so much writing, rewriting and editing that occurs behind the scenes. But that said, there are positive take-aways. As much as I’d rather pass, I can’t deny that distilling my ideas and objectives in advance of a talk has not only allowed me to (hopefully) convey them fluidly to others, but it’s an effort that circles back to the studio, reinforcing and feeding the core of my hours spent there.

Believe me, I am no expert. But these two books have been extremely helpful to me as I’ve worked my way through this challenge, especially the one by McGowan.

10 Days to More Confident Public Speaking by The Princeton Language Institute and Larry Laskowski

Pitch Perfect: How to Say it Right The First Time, Every Time by Bill McGowan

If you have an upcoming talk, I promise they will help. That and the one other indispensable ingredient: practice, practice, practice.

On a completely different note _________________________________________________________________

“When you lose someone you love, you start to look for new ways to understand the world.”

So begins the trailer to 306 Hollywood, a wonderful episode from PBS’ POV series that is part documentary, part art film, part love letter to a beloved, deceased grandmother. The trailer’s synopsis describes it best: “306 Hollywood is a magical realist documentary of two siblings who undertake an archaeological excavation of their late grandmother’s house. They embark on a journey from her home in New Jersey to ancient Rome, from fashion to physics, in search of what life remains in the objects we leave behind”.

It’s both a gem and a visual delight for anyone who knows the loss of a beloved family elder and the challenge of deciding how to negotiate the objects that speak to who that person was and the marks they left on their loved ones and on the world. Check your PBS station or rent it on iTunes.

Bird’s Eye View

It’s a sure sign that winter is waning when the warning for Town Meeting appears.

Town Meeting Sketch 1

Each year, the first Tuesday of March brings us all out of hibernation and back into the folds of community. Town Meeting Day is set aside for every municipality in Vermont to come together in order to vote on budget items, to elect local officials, and to discuss town business. It is a venerated civic tradition that has been going strong for more than 200 years, and it demonstrates democracy at its finest.

Town Meeting 2

Aside from those attributes, I love the opportunity to sit up in the balcony of our primary school gym, listening to the discussion and voting “from the floor”, while drawing a vast array of the community members sitting below. Being up high skews my perspective to some degree, but it works to my advantage as I can see a lot more than just the backs of heads.

Town Meeting 3

Unlike airports, where everyone seems to have have their neck bent and head bowed toward their phone, people at Town Meeting are engaged — paying attention to the speakers and select board, or chatting with their neighbor. Within the crowd there were quite a few knitters, children playing quietly near their parents, and a sign language interpreter. So, lots to look at and to think about in attempting to capture an image.

Town Meeting 4

The added advantage is I can happily sketch for as long as I want without calling attention to myself or making anyone feel uncomfortable or self-conscious. It’s a wonderful forum for practice; too bad it only comes around once a year.

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Many thanks to my good friend and fellow artist, Dianne Shullenberger, who alerted me to Sketchbook Vol. 1, an exhibition of 14 contemporary artists’ sketchbooks at Sugarlift in Long Island City, NY. The work is mind-blowing; check out the particulars here and here. You can follow-up by visiting websites or Instagram accounts to see more of each artist’s amazing work.

The Wisdom of Orchids and Octopuses

I had so hoped that this guy would be finished in time for this week’s post, but it’s been too short a week in the studio and I’m just not quite there yet. You will see the reason for this next week, but in the meantime, I’m reassured by some unexpected wisdom, surprisingly learned from my five orchids.

It wasn’t until we moved to Vermont that I could even keep an orchid alive. I’m sure a good part of that new-found luck is due to the wonderful light we have in this house. Because they seem to be happy in this environment, I’ve been able to watch my orchids pass through several cycles of their various stages of growth.

I guess you can find a parallel for anything if you take the time to notice. As I was watering said beauties on Sunday, fretting about how little time I would have in the following days to finish up this piece, it occurred to me while looking at the tiny buds that will gradually develop into a spray of beautiful, long-lasting blooms, that there is much to be valued in things that evolve slowly.

Too often we’re in a rush to get “there” — for the art to be finished, for the flower to bloom — rather than savoring measured growth by relaxing into the various layers of process along the way. But there’s no hurrying with an orchid; it isn’t in a hurry to arrive, and it isn’t in a hurry to leave, which is another characteristic that makes it so special.

Hindsight is teaching me that unless there is a looming deadline, it is often best in the long run when circumstances are such that I can’t charge ahead full-speed. Forced “intermissions” provide time for reflection and the distance necessary to see aspects of a piece I might otherwise have missed.

Orchid

So with that in mind, I’m easing up on any negative sense that I am lagging behind on this piece and instead am learning to embrace the deliberate advantages to be found when things unfold more slowly.

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I’ve been so happy to see that Susan Abbott is posting to her Painting Notes blog weekly. Her posts are a wonderful combination of art history, art theory, personal studio experiences and gorgeous art — her own and that of a multitude of masters. Susan’s teaching skills (which I happily benefitted from in a sketchbook workshop last fall) shine through in her writing. Without being didactic, she shares her wide knowledge while humbly managing to sprinkle in plenty about the challenges she regularly faces as she works. It’s a great reminder that we’re all in the same boat. I guarantee you’ll not only be inspired, but you’ll walk away feeling all the richer for what you have learned.

Back to Normal

Things are starting to feel like normal again, now that all the holiday trimmings are packed away, the thank-you notes are written, and the extra cookies are safely frozen — out of sight and mind.

©2019 Elizabeth Fram It’s a big milestone passed once the general outline of the image is stitched in. Eventually this piece will be 18 x 24 inches; the rectangular area is 9 x 12 inches. (Not sure why there is a reddish tint to this photo – it’s a trick of the eye, not part of the work).

As I sit down to stitch this week, it feels like forever since I last had my needle in hand. This octopus piece, that was begun in early December, got sidelined when I ran out of silk thread and my local supplier was closed for an indeterminate amount of time. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be to replace my depleted stock, but in case you’re ever in a similar predicament 123Stitch.com in Utah turns out to be a speedy and reliable vendor. Not exactly local, but great in a pinch. And, I certainly learned a valuable lesson about keeping one step ahead of my materials.

©2019 Elizabeth Fram This time around I’m making a concerted effort not to lay the stitches in too tightly, knowing that I will likely be restitching the whole thing once it’s been dyed in order to pull the image out from the dye.

Meanwhile, as December got fully underway, I began to realize that there are only so many balls one can have in the air at once. So this piece took a back seat while I gave in to holiday preparations. I still kept my head in the game though by reading The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery. It’s a fascinating book that has given me plenty to think about regarding these amazing creatures.

And once again, I’m grateful for my sketchbook because, despite all the other stuff going on, I could manage to squeeze time for drawing in around the corners of everything else. So December turned out to be a relatively productive month art-wise after all and, in hindsight, the change of pace was probably a good thing.

But now, in these expansive weeks of January, it feels great to be back to a normal routine and to start to see this fellow take form.

On A Different Note______________________________________________________________________________

I am honored that my piece “Crescendo” was featured in Alyson Stanfield’s Art Biz Success blog post on writing artist newsletters this week. I hope you will check out the post, not just to see my piece, but because, as usual, Alyson offers terrific ideas and tips. Over the years Alyson has been one of my best resources for learning about the business side of art. Aside from her blog, her book I’d Rather Be In The Studio is a must-read for any artist.

Reminder for subscribers: Despite best intentions, sometimes technical glitches occur. Last week was another of those times. FYI, I always publish my blog on Thursdays, and if all goes as planned, it is delivered at 4am the following day into subscriber inboxes. If, for whatever reason that automatic delivery hasn’t happened on a given Friday, I will send out another email with a link to the current post. Yet you can also always head directly to the site (https://elizabethfram.com/Blog) on your own. Thanks so much for your continued interest!