Category Archives: Exhibitions

Networking Reframed

I keep reading about the importance of regularly attending art openings in order to meet new people and to build one’s network. I appreciate the theory, but not necessarily the means. How do you feel about networking at openings? Are you good at it? Is it something you engage in consciously? Do you feel pressured to make an effort? I’m not referring to when you are the exhibiting artist; I think what is termed as “networking” unfolds naturally when you are in that mode. Rather, when you attend an opening as a viewer do you feel compelled (or follow the frequent recommendations) to reach out to people you don’t know in an attempt to create a connection for your work?

I have been dyeing this week. I will never tire of the patterns that emerge.

Irrationally or not, I find approaching someone in what is in essence a “cold call” conjures up negative images of self-promotional awkwardness. Is that because it’s work encroaching on what is essentially a social situation? Or is it just that generating conversations with folks I don’t know is challenging? Being caught on the other end of this scenario has likely flavored my opinion: it’s no fun listening to a person you just met who only seems able to talk about themselves and their work. There is a fine line between striking up a conversation with a person you don’t know that sparks a genuinely mutual discussion about shared interests, and purposefully approaching someone with business objectives in mind. I admire those who can do so successfully, but it’s a skill for which I have little aptitude.

dye2web

However, I’ve had a bit of an epiphany which makes me realize that, as with so many things, perspective is all-important. Perhaps I’ve been looking at this concept of networking at openings a bit too literally. I had a couple of lovely opportunities, in separate gallery settings, to exchange ideas with folks last week in such a way that it made me realize that an art opening is a celebration and should be enjoyed as such. Occasions to connect with someone outside your circle should be approached as a joy, not as a directive. It is an opportunity to learn and perhaps to help someone else with their goals. It seems to me the act of networking is best served if reframed from an action with an objective, to an interaction that simply makes the world a little wider.

Magic at the Kent Museum

I really don’t think I am exaggerating when I say it is the rare day that passes when I’m not struck by someone’s ingenuity or creativity, reaffirming my admiration for the human heart and mind.

Julia Zanes The Golden Game (House without Walls) © 2012, (left) The Golden Game II, (right) In her statement, Zanes says that her series of 5 Golden Game paintings (4 of which appear in this exhibit) are inspired by board games, formal gardens, alchemical engravings, Islamic, Persian and Indian art. She intentionally made them large enough that the viewer would feel on a scale with the image, “so as to allow (one) to step into the scene as a viewer and participate in the game”.

But it is unusual to encounter an exhibition that marries artwork with its venue in such a way that it becomes possible, however briefly, to step within an environment that is entirely removed from the stresses that currently dominate our world consciousness, finding oneself instead in the midst of an otherworldly place of dreams and color and light.

Julia Zanes’ and Donald Saaf’s current show, Parables, at the Kent Museum in Calais, VT is such a reprieve. Their work is luminous and fanciful, richly saturated with color, pattern and visual texture, telling stories that hang on the endings we privately provide. Saaf’s interest in memory and Zanes’ concentration on narrative serve up a world that, in the way of the Brothers Grimm, is both foreign and hauntingly familiar.

Paintings, sculpture, and marionettes seem happily at home displayed throughout the brick tavern that is over 175 years old and whose walls, some enlivened by exposed lath-work and others bearing the patina of wallpaper worn and torn with age, foster an imagination-nurturing symbiosis between art and environment. It is a full-on experience that is not to be missed.

Peak foliage is almost upon us, so a trip to the rural hamlet of Historic Kents’ Corner is much more than a mere drive from “here to there”; it bookends and wraps together an experience that will lift you up and sweep you away.

Since Parables will only be on view for one more weekend, I strongly urge you to make room on your calendar: Friday – Sunday, October 7-9, 10am – 5pm.

Julia Zanes © Puppets

Art in Embassies

This week I watched a huge and pristine art-shipping truck rumble back down my driveway after collecting and crating my piece “That First Peony”, then carrying it off to begin the first leg of its journey to Riga, Latvia.

In late March I was contacted by one of the curators from the U.S. Department of State’s Art in Embassies program, asking if I would be willing to loan this piece to the U.S. Embassy in Riga for two years. I was honored and beyond thrilled to say yes! And now the piece is finally on its way.

If you are unfamiliar with Art in Embassies, I encourage you to visit their website. I believe the exhibition in Riga should appear on the site once all the work has been compiled and installed. In a nutshell:

The AIE program was established by the Museum of Modern Art in 1953, and formalized as a part of the Department of State by the Kennedy Administration in 1963. It is one of the United States’ premier public-private partnership arts organizations, with over 20,000 individual and institutional participants, and a presence in some 200 venues in 189 countries worldwide. AIE furthers U.S. diplomacy through the power of the visual arts by expansive, international cultural exchange initiatives.

As then Secretary of State Hillary Clinton affirmed during a recognition luncheon marking AIE’s 50th anniversary, “Advancing U.S. values and interests sometimes requires old-fashioned diplomacy, such as meetings with foreign leaders, or using new technology to reach out to people and ‘give them a voice’. But art is also a tool of diplomacy. It is one that reaches beyond governments, past all of the official conference rooms and the presidential palaces, to connect with people all over the world.”

To be able to participate in such a legacy is an enormous privilege.

❖

There was an interesting article about Chuck Close in the Times this week in case you didn’t see it: The Mysterious Metamorphosis of Chuck Close. Tucked in among Wil S. Hylton’s long descriptions of the changes that seem to be enveloping Close, his life, and his art, was the following statement, which I find to be brilliant:

“It seems to me now, with greater reflection, that the value of experiencing another person’s art is not merely the work itself, but the opportunity it presents to connect with the interior impulse of another. The arts occupy a vanishing space in modern life: They offer one of the last lingering places to seek out empathy for its own sake, and to the extent that an artist’s work is frustrating or difficult or awful, you could say this allows greater opportunity to try to meet it. I am not saying there is no room for discriminating taste and judgment, just that there is also, I think, this other portal through which to experience creative work and to access a different kind of beauty, which might be called communion.”

A Feast for the Eyes & Food for Thought

This past weekend we left the fireworks behind and ventured north for the Montreal Jazz Festival. I also had the ulterior motive of checking out “Pompeii” and “Toulouse-Lautrec Illustrates the Belle Époque” at the Musée des beaux-arts de Montréal.

They are both wonderful exhibits. The artifacts from Pompeii were extremely moving, not just for their incredible preservation and accessibility to a daily life we can all relate to, but also for the sheer beauty and, in many respects, almost contemporary feel in much of their design. Across the hall, I was in total awe over Toulouse-Lautrec’s facility with line and mesmerizing compositional skills. And because various states of many of his prints are on view, there is an enhanced opportunity for learning. To tell the truth, after being surrounded by so many posters of Parisian life, I left his exhibit feeling a touch of Paris-envy. (And how better to scratch that itch from far-away Vermont than with Paris Breakfasts? Carol Gillott’s world of patisseries, watercolors, and ‘la joie de la vie à paris’ is a visual confection.)

Now that I’m back at work, there has been a lot to think about, especially after a weekend exposed to such artistic mastery – both visual and musical. I keep a folder on my laptop of various quotes and passages — thoughts that resonate and, depending on the circumstance, often provide the perfect reinforcement in the studio when needed. As I’ve been stitching this week, humbly plugging away, the following two ideas keep running through my mind:

“Don’t play what’s there, play what’s not there.” – Miles Davis

And this from M.C. Richards’ Centering in Pottery, Poetry, and the Person:

“There are many marvelous stories of potters in ancient China. In one of them a noble is riding through a town and he passes a potter at work. He admires the pots the man is making: their grace and a kind of rude strength in them. He dismounts from his horse and speaks with the potter. ‘How are you able to form these vessels so that they possess such convincing beauty?’ ‘Oh,’ answers the potter, ‘you are looking at the mere outward shape. What I am forming lies within. I am interested only in what remains after the pot has been broken.’ It is not the pots we are forming, but ourselves.”

Wise words for keeping me on track. Can you relate?

Art, Fire, Music and Magic

I think it’s universal to want to believe in magic. Who among us hasn’t wished at one time or another to be able to return to the sense of enchantment that we remember from childhood? Our imaginations and the stories we had been told, or found within the pages of books, laid the groundwork for fanciful adventures played out in the woods, on the ledges of an island, or even in a tent made of bedspreads.

This past weekend I found the closest thing to a portal back to that world. Fortunately, there are artists, musicians and people of vision who have kept that place alive and have made it possible for us to visit as well. The gateway opens once a year. Unleash your imagination for a few minutes and let me bring you along.

❖

Imagine it is the perfect summer evening, the sun has set and there is a gentle breeze. The mosquitoes must be sleeping as they are no where to be seen or heard, there is only the twinkling of fireflies and the soft sound of crickets to remind us of the insect world. We are standing in the middle of an open field. A huge bonfire crackles and smokes in front of us, sending a spray of sparks upward. Eyes rise to follow the flickering dance and then drop down again once the sparks dissolve into the night. From where we stand a stripe made of dozens of brightly lit glass votives bisects the field, beckoning us to follow it from the bonfire toward the edge of the woods. Who could resist?

Stepping into the trees we are swallowed in their darkness, but the votives reassuringly continue in a steady stream, cheerily urging us onward. The walkway undulates underfoot but is mostly clear of roots and is surprisingly easy to navigate in such limited light as we move deeper into the forest. Any worry about our footing is replaced by curiosity when we suddenly become aware of the sound of acoustic music in the distance. Each twist in the path brings us closer until finally we reach a candlelit clearing where a gypsy-like couple are playing soft strains of Italian folk music on guitar and accordion under a ceiling of stars.

After listening to their song we press on, following the seemingly endless votives. Soon we find ourselves stepping onto a narrow bridge, only wide enough to allow a single-file crossing. The bullfrogs greet us with their throaty plunks as floating paper lanterns, shaped like little boxes and edged in silver, gently illuminate their watery grass homes. Reluctantly, we keep walking. Leaving this beautiful setting and the bullfrogs to their evening song, the path of votives spurs us on as we continue back into the trees. Eventually the path emerges into a walled area where dozens of tiny, flickering candles are tucked into the crevices of piles of stones. There are several small campfires at the corners of this open chamber, lending a sense of significance and arrival. The stacked blocks of rock emit an uncharacteristic coolness for such a warm evening; the residual temperature they hold is evidence of harsher winter days, preserved by dense crowding and the shade that envelopes the piles during the day.

The votives persist. Guiding us up a wooded slope, they seem to merge with the stars in a way that could only be termed as magical. In time, we reach a gateway of sorts, two carved columns whose cracked and crumbled appearance suggests they are the last remains of an ancient ruin. More significantly, they signal our approach to what might be seen as an enchanted hallway. Gentle candle and torch light enhances the sense of mystery and reverence in this place; a corridor of granite carved with depictions of the wildlife that inhabit these woods, and reliefs reminiscent of prehistoric symbols. A dinosaur, and even a troll whose face is squeezing through the stone in an effort to free himself (or perhaps to catch a glimpse of us?) add a sense of humor to the spell that has overtaken us. The artwork is masterful, a physical reminder of the continuing heritage of stone-carving artistry that still exists in this part of the world. And all the while a guitar duo plays softly, accompanying and elucidating the wonder of this place and this evening.

After fully absorbing the spectacle, we descend, the votives steadfastly and safely escorting us past deep and dark water. You can smell its damp presence, yet in the low light there is no sound or sight to confirm its existence. In the distance we hear the low moans of what could be a whale, yet which we soon discover is in fact a fantastical instrument. Comprised of metal pipes of all widths and lengths, it emits mournful and eerie tones when played with a belching torch of fire that is held at intervals beneath the array of metal tubes. Beyond that, the path continues downward on its final leg. We pass one more guitarist, this time completely enrobed in darkness, sharing only the lilting sound of his instrument as we prepare to end our journey. In a suitable farewell from these mystical woods, the ever-present votives usher us out along a narrow lane that gently turns past young trees studded with colorful paper lanterns hanging from their branches. And then, as seamlessly as it began, the adventure ends as we reemerge back into the quiet open field that rests under a canopy of stars.

❖

My retelling of our evening can’t begin to do justice to the magical experience that is “Rockfire“, a 2-mile walk / convergence of art, fire and music in Millstone Hill’s abandoned quarries above Barre, VT. Follow the above link to learn more and to see videos & photos of the event from previous years.

Words of Wisdom in 15 Digestible Bites

One of the few attributes of long travel days, despite the many hours spent in airports and on planes, is that there’s not much to do but read (and sketch, of course). How many days in a given year does one have the luxury of being able to sit with a book for hours on end?

A couple of weeks ago, while heading back and forth to and from California — after I’d had enough of my book, and the people I was drawing in the waiting area had all begun to look the same — I caught up on several months of articles I had saved to Pocket. Do you know about Pocket? If not, you should. It’s an app that offers a way to save all the items you come across on the web but don’t have time to read right away, making it possible to access them when you do have time — across all your devices…and it’s free!

Waiting 2 ©2016 Elizabeth Fram Most waiting travelers, regardless of age, are plugged into their devices. The advantage is they are oblivious to a lonely sketcher. The downside is there is little variation in body posture as most have nearly the same bend of the neck and hand placement while looking at their phones or tablets.

Aside from the ongoing slew of links that I stockpile, digest, and then discard, I have a few items saved in my Pocket that I’ll keep permanently. I hold onto them to reread from time to time because they’re just that good.

Entrepreneur and writer James Altucher’s excellent post entitled What I Learned About Life After Interviewing 80 Highly Successful People is one such piece. I am happy to return to it from time to time, not just as a means of giving me a bit of a boost when needed, but also to help me remember to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. It contains 15 short maxims; points that seem appropriate no matter where we stand as we strive to keep moving forward with our goals. It’s too lengthly for me to transcribe here, so please follow the above link. I think it’s well-worth sharing and hope you agree.

Do these ideas resonate with you as well? I keep coming back to “Many moments of small positive, personal interactions build an extraordinary career”… or, one might also say “life”… don’t you think?

❖

In case you can go: This month members of the Vermont chapter of the Surface Design Association are exhibiting at Frog Hollow, Vermont State Craft Center in Burlington, in a show entitled “Material Matters”. We have an active and motivated group across the state and the show reflects that commitment.

The term “surface design” was coined to identify “manipulations of textiles that go beyond woven constructions”. Legendary textile designer Jack Lenor Larsen explained the term best by expressing his opinion that surface designers are interested in fabric as geography, in providing unlimited options for dimensional and structural enhancements, greater possibilities for opening interior spaces, and more opportunities for experimenting with color, texture, and design.

Frog Hollow has created this catalog of the exhibit, which you can browse through at your leisure. It offers an idea of the breadth of work on view and includes information about the participating artists.

Collage in the Court

I am a sucker for details. I’m that person you see with her nose 10 inches from an artwork, studying each mark and line, searching for clues and tracks left by the artist. I want to feel his or her presence, to sit on her shoulders in order to get an idea of what it must have been like to make that particular piece.

A large part of my enjoyment in going to galleries is in looking beyond the finished work, in digging into the thought process of the artist so as to imagine how those works came to be. As a result, I prefer art that isn’t too polished; work that leaves evidence of the artist’s hand, allowing me to be swept up in their unique expression, their visible manifestation of time devoted to learning and effort.

Ships & Shadows

Collage, as a medium, is akin to Hansel & Gretel’s dropped pebbles, leading one back to the heart of an artist’s intent. Often consisting of mixed media, one can follow the artist’s footsteps through the physicality of the work’s layers.

The Vermont Supreme Court Gallery’s current exhibit of Arthur Schaller’s Ships & Shadows, which will be up through June 30th, is a collage tour de force. Color and pattern sing together to create a surreal marriage of space and shapes, bringing to mind a world of dreams. Breathing new life into what I assume are pictures torn from architectural, science and fashion magazines, one sees recognizable images and patterns which have morphed beyond their expected roles into a surprising and delightful reinterpretation that could be likened to a remarkably unusual meal, completely novel in taste despite familiar ingredients.

As a devotee of pattern and texture within my own work, I find Schaller’s dexterity in bending and molding both qualities enhances the depth and complexity of his images. The resulting pieces convey a sense of mystery, both above and below the waterline that bisects each work. Within the frame, the illusion of a ship in its watery environment grounds a viewer, but it is Schaller’s ability to enfold that representation within a celebration of abstraction that sweeps one away. From a purely formalistic viewpoint I love how, in an almost 3-D manner, he will carry a line across an area. Initially begun as image, the line persists by means of relief expressed through the edge of paper that lies beneath a new overlay which abruptly halts the aforementioned image section of said line. Using method and materials to their best advantage, devices such as this call to mind a conversation that, interrupted, drops to whispers yet still proceeds.

Unfortunately, I never received a response to my request for permission to use his website images as illustration here – so you will have to follow this link (and please do) to view more of his collages for yourself. But by all means, go see the work in person if you can get to Montpelier in the next month.

Finally, I can’t help but give a shout-out to the security guard at the Supreme Court for his warmth and enthusiasm in greeting visitors. In fact, many gallery directors could learn a thing or two from him. He obviously enjoys his job, happily sharing a great deal of information about the exhibiting artist’s background and work, in addition to relating the story of how the Vermont Supreme Court Gallery came to be. The gallery is the brainchild of Justice Marilyn Skoglund, a Southern Illinois University alumna with a B.A. in Fine Arts, who persuaded the other justices that the tall white walls of the court’s public lobby would make a wonderful art gallery. She was so right — and we all benefit from her vision.

Onion © 2016 Elizabeth Fram This sprouted onion, pulled from my pantry, has been drawn and painted over and over this week. This little sketch was made with Tom Norton’s water soluble Walnut Drawing Ink, the perfect medium for capturing that “oniony” feel.

Lessons from Canada

While out of town last week I read Gabrielle Zevin’s novel The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry. An entertaining read that surrounds the redemptive power of books and writing, I think it would appeal to anyone who is drawn to pass a leisurely hour or so exploring the shelves of an independent bookstore. Among other themes, it delves into the way certain books seem to speak directly to our deepest selves at a particular time in our life. Yet, when revisiting those passages years later, we marvel that they ever resonated so strongly, instead finding significance in completely different sections that garnered no notice on the first pass. It’s an inspiring affirmation of the way personal life experience is reflected back to us through art.

Uniform Measure/Stack Stephen Cruise, 1997 Toronto

We were in Canada, and as I go over the photos I took in Toronto’s Art Gallery of Ontario, I’m realizing in hindsight (and probably because I’ve been mulling over Zevin’s book) why the work of particular artists grabbed me. Whether through a shared affinity for composition, color, shadows, subject, or a sketch-like approach, many of the works were remarkably accessible and struck a parallel with issues I am challenging myself to develop within my own work.

Rooftops A. J. Casson, 1924

My education, for the most part, covered European, Asian and American art; I don’t remember any discussion about the work of Canadians. How can that be? So the time spent at the AGO opened my eyes to some spectacular work while broadening my exposure to the scope of Canadian art history.

Gehry Staircase in the Walker Court, Art Gallery of Ontario

First, let me say that the AGO is a gem of a museum, impressively renovated by Toronto native Frank Gehry. The galleries are warmly infused with light and provide seating (also designed by Gehry) that is unusual for its design and comfort — definitely not your average museum bench!

Gehry designed gallery seating

I was swept away by the work of Clarence Gagnon (1881-1942). Many small oils (approx. 8″ x 10″) filled one of the galleries, intimate in scale yet monumental in brushwork and descriptive power — many portraying rural Quebec landscapes, mostly in winter. His subjects surround every day occurrences, providing a contemporary feel despite depicting scenes of close to 100 years ago. Their small size captures the intimacy one finds flipping through a sketchbook, including a sense of immediacy that can be lost in a larger, more considered painting.

Horse-Racing in Winter,Quebec Clarence Gagnon, 1927, oil on wood, 22.2 x 28.2cm The Thomson Collection © Art Gallery of Ontario

Lawren Harris‘ (1885-1970) early pieces also caught my eye with their lyrical study of color, light, and snow. I was intrigued by and drawn to his treatment of shadows as subject, not merely support.

houses-on-gerrard-street-by-lawren-harris

Houses on Gerrard Street, Lawren Harris, circa 1918, oil on board , 10 5/8″ x 13″

My favorite piece of the day was Chickens on Lace by David Milne (1882-1953). This composition, with the objects arranged toward the perimeter of the piece, struck a particularly strong chord. I would have happily included it in this past post about my own inclination to use that device. His work is firmly rooted in the world around him as you can see and hear in this short video, prefaced by his no-nonsense statement “I paint what I see…at any hour of any day”.

So, while I usually enjoy any chance to see unfamiliar art because new lines of thinking and inspiration are often opened, this visit was special. In the same way that life circumstances draw us to certain passages within our reading, I think I connected with the work of these and some of the other Canadian artists on view at the AGO because it helped spur a greater understanding of the directions I am currently pursuing. But I wonder, would this work have resonated so strongly 5 years ago? And in another five years, will it hold the same sway? I’m not sure that it matters; what is important is the connection experienced now.

❖

The Audience, Michael Snow, 1989 Toronto’s Rogers Centre

Beyond the walls of the museum, I was truly impressed by the amount and quality of public sculpture in both Ottawa and Toronto — prominent reminders of the respect and importance with which Canadians hold their history, their environment, and the Arts. Coincidentally, Hyperallergic posted this article last week covering the Canadian government’s pledge “to invest nearly CAD 1.9 billion (~USD 1.4 billion) in the nation’s arts and culture over the next five years to promote Canadian creativity both at home and abroad”. That’s close to twice as much as the $148 million the US Federal budget has earmarked for the NEA in 2016! What I really love is their understanding that “Investing in the Canadian cultural sector helps to create jobs, strengthens the economy and ensures that the unique Canadian perspective is shared with the world.”

The Famous Five, (detail) Barbara Paterson, installed 2000 on Parliment Hill, Ottawa Louise McKinney and Henrietta Muir Edwards, two of five women celebrated in this statue for petitioning in 1927 to have women legally considered persons so women could be appointed to the Senate.

Ice Cuts

Last week I went to see Eric Aho’s current exhibition “Ice Cuts” at the Hood Museum in Hanover, NH. It was strikingly beautiful. Entering the main gallery, I couldn’t help but feel very “human” in scale compared to the relative monumentality of the seven pieces displayed on three perimeter walls.

I sat on the bench in the center of the room, swiveling to absorb each painting in turn. The work proffered an overall sense of tranquility, a calming rhythm through repetition. Yet, far from becoming tedious, each piece is worlds apart from the others, focusing on the disparity to be found in varying textures of snow and the luminous colors emitted from the cut edges of the ice. Aho brings out the subtle differences that we who live with snowy landscapes know well, such that you can almost smell the cold in the air.

Whether viewed from a distance of 3 feet or 30, the nuances of detail come through loud and clear. And not unlike identical twins, whose individuality becomes apparent once you get to know them, each painting expresses a distinct personality. Varying details lend both a sense of solidity and ethereality, embodied in elements such as bold composition expressed through stark geometry, scars of over-cuts left behind after the block of ice has been removed, layers of depth conveyed within each void via subtle changes in the black paint that describes it, and beautifully diverse edges surrounding every hole.

The exhibit also includes smaller pieces, watercolor studies and open sketchbooks that provide a window into Aho’s process, adding measurably to the scope of the show.

An intriguing parallel that has come to me as I’ve thought about these pieces over the past week is that they evoke the monoliths from “2001: A Space Odyssey”. I’m not exactly sure where to go with that idea, but it speaks well to the power of Aho’s work that it also lends a sense of mystery.

If you live close enough, Eric Aho’s “Ice Cuts” will be up through March 13th.

Icing on the Cake

I feel pretty darn lucky that I am able to spend most days with my head fully immersed in art, whether in the making, facilitating through volunteer commitments, or learning from the vast reservoir of creativity that has gone before and continues to forge ahead.

The challenges are continual and at times a bit overwhelming, but I’m surely never bored; there is always another stone to overturn, another solution to seek, another visual metaphor to tease out. It is a means for finding connection on both a personal and a general level — providing the basis for some of my strongest friendships, while at the same time satisfying my need for independence.

So while I happily do what I do for the personal satisfaction of it, the icing on the cake is in getting the work out there to be seen and shared.

Gallery View

Last Friday was the opening reception for Intimacy + Materiality at the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe, VT. Presenting an eclectic and probing mix of work by a selection of artists from Chicago, Brooklyn, NYC, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts and Vermont, curator Rachel Moore has created an exhibit that is cohesive, yet which also celebrates the breadth and diversity of expression to be found in the art of contemporary textiles.

These images are just a sampling from the show, which will be on view until April 10th. If you’re in the area, I hope you’ll stop by to check it out. I’m sure you will find something intriguing to reflect upon as you leave.