Category Archives: Exhibitions

What’s Your Line?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Piglet and Pooh, E.H.Shepard

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

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

Hundred Acre Wood, E.H.Shepard

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

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

Indomitable Self

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reclamation”

It’s been a while since I’ve been to an exhibit that really moved me. If you will be anywhere near central Vermont between now and September 8th, make a beeline to the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe to see the the current show Reclamation. I think you too will be mightily impressed.

Jenny Dubnau, “MK Pale Ground”, 2010, Oil on Canvas

Sylvia Maier, “Hawa Bah, mother of Mohamed Bah”, 2017, Oil on copper

Curated by three women, comprised solely of the work of women painters depicting only female subjects, Reclamation brings a sorely needed measure of recognition, not just to the historical lack of acknowledgment afforded to women artists and their valuable contributions over time, but also to the raw power of the work created by the all-female artists included in this show. Co-curator August Burn’s essay in the show’s gallery guide crystallizes and clarifies the strength behind the exhibition’s genesis, and in turn its success.

Daryl Zang, “Wonder”, 2007, Oil on canvas

Daryl Zang, “Roots”, 2008, Oil on Canvas

Most of the paintings are strikingly large, at times even enormous, yet they still manage to maintain a level of emotional intimacy that leaves one with a sense of connection. Despite the disparity between artists and styles, the work imparts an engaging commonality which speaks to viewers across age, life condition, and nationality.

Carol Offutt, “The Strength Within”, 2018, Oil on board

Aleah Chapin, “And We Were Birds”, 2013, Oil on Canvas

I can’t help but wonder if in this particular instance size might be interpreted as a device equated with the need to raise one’s voice to be heard, as women artists have so long sought to be recognized in an art world dominated by men. There are a multitude of perspectives from which one might absorb the work in this show but, without a doubt, accessibility is a crucial part of its charm.

Hung Liu, “Xinshi: Messenger”, 2016, Mixed Media

Kyrin Hobson, “Innocent”, 2016, Charcoal with Wolf’s Carbon on paper

I hope you will have a chance to see Reclamation in person to judge for yourself.

Post Residency Mishmash

Something I didn’t expect to face once I got home last week was how challenging it would be to re-adjust to reality after the luxury of centering my brain on largely one single thing for a span of 7 days. It’s made me even more acutely aware, not only of what a gift the week in Johnson truly was, but also of the hundreds of day-to-day concerns, big and small, we all regularly juggle just to keep our heads above water in daily life.
Therefore, if this post seems a bit all over the place, it is. But it is also a reflection of the rich and various arty things that have captured my attention as I’ve pulled myself back into my routine.

First, after working in that large, open, and mostly empty studio at VSC, I realized that despite packing up a full car-load of supplies, I doubt anyone walking into my home studio while I was away would have noticed anything was gone. In other words: time to clear out! In the midst of tackling that chore I found a stash of old drawings that I had totally forgotten.

A lot of water and art has passed under the bridge since I made this drawing in 1992 while sitting in the driveway of our house in Hawaii as our kids drew with chalk and rode a tricycle. It caught my eye immediately because I can (now) see in this jumble of boxes and beach toys, piled at the back of our carport, the roots of the sketches of the stacks of drying dishes I’ve been making for the past couple of years. Even all that time ago, without realizing it, I had an urge to distill an image into an abstraction of shapes and values, while moving outside of a self-determined frame. It’s just that it’s taken doing it many, many more times to get to the point of recognizing what I was attempting.

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A trip to the Vermont College of Fine Arts to see an exhibit of exceptional high school art was both exciting and humbling. Much of the work coming from these young artists was very strong. I took photos of the 10 pieces that stood out most to me, but I’ve narrowed those down to my favorite three which follow below (with a fourth thrown in…just because I can, and for reasons that most of you will guess). I see a bravery of perspective/vision and adventurous spirit in these works that is quite admirable and mature.

Sunset Journey ©Meredith Nicol, Lyndon Institute, Watercolor, pen and ink The detailed pen and ink work of this piece unfortunately doesn’t translate in this photo, but I was very impressed with the expressiveness and assured hand of this young artist.

The book I read this past week was Anthony Doerr’s Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World. I became very fond of Doerr’s writing style and his prowess with metaphors in All the Light We Cannot See. So paired with my own fond memories of Rome, Four Seasons landed squarely on my to-be-read and library waiting list a while ago. It was definitely worth the wait.
One word of caution: if you haven’t had kids, it might not be for you…too much talk about the messy realities of those first months. But for those of us who have had the privilege, and who know the life-altering joys and challenges that come in that first year, this book is a thing of beauty — especially when coupled with the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of Rome, which Doerr so masterfully conveys. His genius is in elevating both the simple and the monumental in such a way that they simultaneously evoke a sense of familiarity and awe.
And, although I didn’t plan it that way, it was a great read for Mother’s Day week!

Musical Rage ©Finn Rooney, Hazen Union High School, Color pencil

Lastly, we are all rejoicing as spring has finally taken hold of this corner of the world. The trees have leafed out in a matter of days, so I guess it would have been better if I had thought to share this haiku with you last week. Despite being a bit late, it still resonates and I keep going back to its simple beauty.

Jewelry

Buds on silver twigs –
Purple, scarlet, green and gold –

Spring’s bright jewelry

From A Haiku Each Day, ©Abigail M. Parker

Untitled Self Portrait ©Aidan Lodge, People’s Academy, Digital Photography The unfortunate glare on the right panel of this striking photo is mine. Apologies.

So what do all these vignettes have in common? One of art’s greatest strengths, regardless of discipline, is it accesses and clarifies the deeper elements of what we already know.

Holy Trinity ©Julia Bamford, Essex high School, Acrylic

Exhibits of Spring

Did you hear the collective sigh of relief this past week as the sun emerged from hiding? It brought with it welcome warmth and cheer that seemed to put all of Vermont in a good mood.

I was so glad to finally pull back the burlap from one of my raised beds to expose the tiny garlic shoots that are valiantly making their way up and out of the dark. My arugula, lettuce and chard seeds are now planted between the rows of subterranean heads, and it’s reassuring to know that eventually the garlic’s leaves will shade the tender greens from the sun’s strength, so they will last far longer before bolting than if left unprotected.

Garlic Sprout

It’s been a great week for art viewing, with several shows to recommend for those of you in, or near to, Vermont. I was so caught up in each exhibit that I didn’t even think to take photos to share, which hopefully will only reinforce how good the work was. They all have less than a month left in their runs, so don’t delay.

First, the Fleming Museum has two excellent exhibits that exist independently, yet at the same time provide the perfect counterpoint to each other. Make sure you make time to see both if you go.

Self-Confessed! The Inappropriately Intimate Comics of Alison Bechdel

Honoré Daumier’s Bluestockings

Despite the obvious disparities between artists, eras of creation, and social messages conveyed, the pairing of these works, albeit in separate galleries, emphasizes their combined strengths, not the least of which is the technical beauty and finesse of each.

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A trip to the Northeast Kingdom for a sunny walk along Caspian Lake brought the unexpected delight of discovering a wonderful exhibit at the Highland Center for the Arts in Greensboro.

Muse, features the work of three artists, Jess Polanshek, Amanda Weisenfeld, and Kristin Richland. Their enchanting work, also technically stunning, is irresistible — especially to any animal lover.

Muse

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And finally, a reminder that my exhibit, Drawing Threads: Conversations Between Line & Stitch, at the Emile A. Gruppe Gallery, will close on May 6th. If you haven’t had a chance to visit yet, I hope you will consider making the trip to Jericho to cap off any other shows on your list.

Savoring Connection

This is my studio after the last-minute push to get all the details of Drawing Threads in place. It looks like a war zone but, despite the chaos, there is a satisfying sense of quiet hovering over it now that makes me smile. Studio On the other hand, there is no way I would share a photo of my desk…let’s just say I am working among so many precariously balanced piles in order to get this post written, that I am barely breathing in the hope I don’t knock anything over.
Next on the agenda: tackle the mess so I can get back to work in an open space, with a clear head.

Long Wall

The past week has been a wonderful ride. I am so grateful for the words of encouragement and support that came from far and near in the days leading up to the opening reception, and for all those who came out on a beautiful, sunny Sunday afternoon to celebrate with me.

The lasting gift of the event was enjoying the opportunity to discuss my process and incentives with non-artists and artists alike, answering their thoughtful, in-depth questions and hearing about the connections they drew from both the sketches and the stitched pieces to their own experiences and/or artwork. For one who often spends hours and days working in solitude, listening to countless podcasts or “chatting up” my four-legged studio assistant, it was an unparalleled pleasure to have every one of those discussions.

Snug / Pick Up Sticks

And don’t you agree that, above all, it’s a sense of connection we strive for, no matter what medium we choose? So when that often elusive aspiration hits home, the reward is immeasurable.

Treats

Interestingly, a recurring point many made was that, while my photographs are crisp and their colors true, seeing the work in person was was somehow different. I think that is often the case with the tactile medium of textiles.

It brings to mind the countless, excellent reproductions of the Mona Lisa and Whistler’s Mother I have seen through the years, yet when I finally saw them in the flesh, I was taken aback by the beauty they project in person; there is a warmth and vibrancy that somehow gets lost in translation with a photo. And that is just a reality we have to live with.

Peonies

So let me encourage you to go to your local museums and galleries. See the art in person. Even if you aren’t sure you’re going to like what you see, you may be pleasantly surprised. And the unexpected bonus you may find is a sense of connection that you didn’t even know you were looking for.

Sweet Dreams, Squirrel TV, & a Sneak Peak

The only souvenir I brought back from our recent trip was a small book purchased in the SF Moma bookstore. Angus Hyland and Kendra Wilson’s The Book of the Dog – Dogs in Art is a charming little collection of dog paintings that span from the 18th century to the present. As the authors note in their introduction, “the undying love of a dog is of course requited on these pages”, which is surely what snagged my attention in the first place. It’s not an exhaustive survey, but rather an eclectic collection of engaging pieces that celebrate the dog/human relationship and the ways that bond irrefutably changes us both. The artwork within is relatable without being sentimental.

Book of the Dog

When I think of my own trusty models, it is certainly true that the amount I have learned from our 3 beloved pooches, as they’ve patiently let me draw them over and over, is immeasurable.

Rather than writing at length this week, I spent most of my blogging time drawing.

©2018 Elizabeth Fram Our windows are Quinn’s TV. The squirrel channel is on at all hours. Many times I have but a fleeting moment to try to capture a quick outline before she dashes off to another window. You can see the ghost beginning of an abandoned sketch in the upper left corner of this one..

©2018 Elizabeth Fram It wouldn’t tell the full story if I only showed finished images. I have plenty of interrupted sketches that record my stops and starts as Quinn moves. For instance, she wasn’t holding her paw at this unnatural angle, I just had to abandon her head when she readjusted, opting to capture her foot instead.

Drawing Threads… Sneak Peak _______________________________________________________________________

I’ve reached the stage of pulling together all the various loose ends in anticipation of my upcoming show Drawing Threads: Conversations Between Line & Stitch. As I approach the finish line, one of my “icing on the cake” projects is figuring out how best to group the textile pieces with the drawings so that the conversation between them is apparent. This photo shows just a fraction of the work; our long hallway is great for this job.

Amuse-bouche…

The show will be on view at the Emile A. Gruppe Gallery from March 22 – May 6, 2018, with an opening reception on Sunday, March 25 from 2-4pm. Please join us!
Regular gallery hours are Thursday – Sunday, 10am – 3pm, or by appointment: 802.899.3211

Drawing Threads

Family Affair

My hat is off to Able Baker Contemporary* of Portland, Maine. Their new exhibition Circle Time – Children and their Artists, (running 1/26 – 3/3/18) cleverly pairs the work of “local luminaries” (as one notice termed them) with the art of the young people in their families.

With such a great subject to write about, how could I resist sifting through the pages of saved artwork from my own two kids, looking for pieces that speak to me with the same sense of “transcendent visual art” referenced by the Able Baker Contemporary essayist? With my kids’ permission, I’m sharing a couple of my absolute favorites from each of them.

The curator’s accompanying essay frames this exhibition as something of an homage to the freedom and integrity of “childlike” creativity, touting its fearlessness as both an example and an influence for the mature artist, and for all who think visually.

Yet I see this show as so much more. My process and resulting work was for many years largely informed through the necessities and demands of raising a family. The main reason I began to explore textiles as an art form in the first place was due to their non-toxic nature, making them safe to use in the presence of children, and the fact that I could pick up and put down work in a heartbeat, squeezing time for art in around the corners of all the other demands on a young mom’s attention. That’s undoubtedly why I find this exhibit a refreshing acknowledgement of the fuller picture behind the practices of the parent artists.

Design-wise, I am captivated by the balance of elements in this piece that is the back cover of a book made by my daughter.

So often the backstage lives of emerging and young career artists are largely ignored unless there is something “noteworthy” to grab our attention, i.e. an illness overcome or exotic place lived that has influenced the work. There is little attention paid to the nuts and bolts backstory of the many who are diligently making art while simultaneously juggling the the day-in / day-out routines and challenges of being a parent.

I see from the date that my son was two when he painted this sunset. We were living in Hawaii at the time. The colors say it all.

The genius of Circle Time, beyond acknowledging the enviable freedom and beauty to be found in a child’s art, is the celebration of the layers of life that contribute to and have sway upon the resulting work of the mature artists exhibiting alongside their children. Recognizing this bigger story as a necessary component in the evolution of the work and careers of these artists makes for a much deeper and more accessible experience for the viewer.

As a native Mainer, I never met a lobster I didn’t love. This one takes the cake. There is something about the blue water that makes this piece sing for me.

I regret I probably won’t be able to swing a trip to Portland before the show closes on March 3rd, but I will be watching, and encourage you to follow, as the gallery continues to share images through Instagram.

*Able Baker Contemporary presented Selvedge last summer, an exhibition I was so glad to be part of, exploring the work of artists who embrace the history of painting via textile techniques.

Pulling it all Together

The countdown is on.
This is the first I’ve mentioned it here, but I am in the midst of preparing for a solo show that will run for 6 weeks at the Emile A. Gruppe Gallery starting in late March. It’s exciting to be in the organizational phase of pulling together everything that I have been working on for the past year. Every opportunity I have to show my work reflects the privilege I feel at being able to share my interpretations and insights, and with that comes responsibility.

As you well know, it’s not at all unusual for tendencies toward creativity to be squelched at an early age by rewarding only those who are able to render a realistic likeness or by shaming those who color outside the lines, both literally and figuratively. It’s so important to encourage all young people, as I was fortunate to have been, rather than deterring them in their creative explorations.

Years ago, when volunteering for an art project in my daughter’s second grade class (they were making cornucopia placemats in anticipation of Thanksgiving) I was surprised when her teacher insisted that they paste the cut-out fruits and vegetables in a specific way, and then appalled at witnessing her anger upon discovering some were ad-libbing the prescribed process. This was an art project, for heaven’s sake, to make placemats for their upcoming classroom Thanksgiving party! It was even more upsetting to me when she proceeded to single out one child as “the artist” in the classroom, announcing that that person was completing the project correctly and her example should be followed. How demoralizing! This must surely have sent the message that creativity wasn’t valued and that the artist “slot” had already been filled.

The next month all parents were invited to sign up to come into the same classroom to share a family holiday tradition. Our family used to make gift wrap by stamping craft paper with sponges lightly dipped into acrylic paint, covering the paper with colorful images. I brought in supplies for everyone and we rolled up our sleeves to get to work. It distressed me how many children in that classroom were concerned that they were “doing it right”. In fact, they almost seemed fearful they might make a misstep. Remembering the Thanksgiving placemats, I felt it was my duty to assure them that there was no right or wrong way to make art…that was the beauty of it. I wanted them to hear from another adult that they were fully in charge of their own work; it was meant to be fun. Period.

Which brings me back to responsibility. For those of us who have found our way to spending our time making things and expressing our ideas creatively, I truly feel it is our job to pay close attention to the world around us and then to share what we’ve learned with others via that work. This opens a door not only to connection, but also to varying perspectives. What we make may or may not resonate with anyone else, but it’s important to bring it out into the open. It is powerfully rewarding when someone approaches me to say they have found a personal connection between their own life experience and what they see in my work. As Degas said, “Art is not what you see, but what you make others see”.

My upcoming exhibit will include both Shibori stitched pieces and drawings from my daily sketch practice. The basis is to show how each discipline has influenced the other and to honor the “every day”. These works are not political per se, yet my goal is to highlight that the quiet moments of our lives are just as important as the outwardly momentous ones, and perhaps more so in times of uncertainty and upheaval.

Having decided on a title, I feel I have checked off one of the more challenging preparatory elements of any show (aside from making the work itself). Also, I want to share the many resources that have made this organizational phase much easier to navigate. Alyson Stanfield has a terrific customizable exhibition checklist that is well-worth bookmarking. For more helpful resources, check my posts Behind the Scenes and It’s Not Just About the Art.

In the weeks ahead, as I continue to pull everything together, I expect to return from time to time with other behind-the-scenes aspects of preparation. But in the meantime, I hope you will put Drawing Threads: Conversations Between Line & Stitch on your calendar. It will open March 22, 2018, with an artist reception on Sunday, March 25th.

Drawing Connections

I know it’s a crazy time of year to suggest it, but if there’s any way you can get to the MFA in Boston before December 10th, do it!

Rembrandt van Rijn, Portrait of Aeltje Uylenburgh, 1632, oil on panel It’s hard to connect with many centuries-old portraits because they give such a stern and removed impression, making it hard to imagine the subject expressing any emotion beyond stiff disapproval. Yet Rembrandt’s painting of Aeltje Uylenburgh, despite its dark and limited palette, presents an image so approachable that one can feel the warmth of her humanity. I find the blush in her cheeks and the kindliness in her eyes quite endearing.

My main reason for visiting was that I was anxious to see the newly acquired collection of Dutch and Flemish paintings, a grouping that will serve to further distinguish this museum from other major art institutions in the country. Including an assortment of Golden Age still lifes, landscapes, marine paintings, portraits, genre scenes, historical and architectural paintings, the MFA is rightfully proud of this exceptional gift that offers something for virtually every taste.

Yokokawa Takejiro, Fashionable Firefly Hunting, 1860 Kunisada and Kuniyoshi’s woodcuts are spectacular images of detail, pattern, and color. There is so much to be seen in each image that making my way through the 100 prints was almost overwhelming. I am struck by a few basic similarities between this portrait (of a male actor in character for a female role), and Rembrandt’s portrait of Aeltje Uylenburgh above. Both images are relatively dark, yet despite their obvious differences, they share an accessibility that is expressed in both their faces and their clothes (the crisp white cap and collar, and the fur around the neck soften the austerity of Uylenburgh’s environment, while the patterns and colors of the kimono bring life to the stark and minimally defined face in the portrait of the actor Sawaura Tanosuke III).

It was just blind luck that there are several other equally exciting exhibitions simultaneously on view – among them a remarkable collection of one hundred Japanese woodblock prints by rival masters Utagawa Kuniyoshi and Utagawa Kunisada, a series of Rothko paintings, a selection of Inuit art prints, and an eclectic pairing of contemporary painter Takashi Murakami’s bold, cartoon-like works alongside classics of Japanese mastery, handpicked by Murakami and Japanese art historian Professor Nobuo Tsuji from the museum’s permanent collection.

Pieter Claesz, Still Life with Stoneware Jug, Wine Glass, Herring, and Bread, 1642, Oil on panel Pieter Claesz was celebrated for his “breakfast pieces” that present the viewer with an almost literal taste of foods, both local and exotic, during the 17th century. His artfully arranged still lifes have surfaces and textures so articulately described that one can almost smell the display and feel the smooth, cool surface of the glass. Whenever we’re on the road, the one time I can usually count on squeezing in a quick sketch is during breakfast. While the only safe comparison I can make between my sketches and Claesz’ masterpieces is our shared penchant for making images of the first meal of the day, seeing his paintings gives me an enjoyable sense of camaraderie.

As diverse as these exhibitions are, connections between them can’t seem to help but bubble to the surface in hindsight as I’ve let the experience simmer this past week. Perhaps it’s just human nature to try to make sense of what we see by attempting to braid together assorted impressions into a whole, but the sub-conscious must definitely play its own part as well.

Utagawa Kuniyoshi, Shimosuwa: Yaegaki-hime, No. 30 from the series Sixty-nine Stations of the Kisokaido Road, 1852 Images of animals are very hard for me to resist. These sacred foxes act as protectors for this mythic princess, running ahead of her over the ice to show where she can safely walk.

Kuniyoshi, Hayakawa Ayunosuke from the series Eight Hundred Heroes of the Japanese Shuihuzhuan, about 1830 Although the subject of this piece is the legendary warrior Hayakawa Ayunosuke, it’s the tiger that caught my eye.

Pudlo Pudlat, Proud Hunter, 1987, Stonecut I am always fascinated by pattern. The graphic quality of the marks in this piece create a sense of pattern that is just as striking as the intricate depictions of printed cloth within the Japanese prints.

For years, when traveling I used to try to go to locally owned fabric shops to refresh my “palette”. It became amusingly uncanny that, more often than not, despite choosing fabrics at random with only an eye to diversifying my stash as much as possible, once I had a chance to go over my spoils later, the fabrics seemed to work together in perhaps a deeper and more meaningful way than if I had purposely intended it.

Gerrit Dou, Dog at Rest, 1650, Oil on panel I love this little painting for obvious reasons. But I was also struck by the differing means of convincingly portraying fur in this piece, as well as on Kuniyoshi’s tiger and in the sealskin coat and wild prey in Pudlat’s print, both above.

Much of the fun of experiencing something new is the fact that it is just that: a novel occurrence. But the unexpected connections that arise later enrich and personalize the experience, making it all the more enjoyable while lending an undeniable staying power to any lasting impressions. I don’t doubt that you can think of examples when this has been true for you as well.

Eventually everything connects – people, ideas, objects. The quality of the connections is the key to quality per se. ~ Charles Eames