Category Archives: Gardens

Montreal Melange

The closest “big city” to central Vermont is Montreal which, at only 2-1/4 hours away, is a virtual stone’s-throw and perfect for a get-away. We spent a couple of days and nights there earlier this month taking in some delicious meals, live jazz and plenty of fresh visual inspiration.

de Fil et De Papier signage

Most exciting was a visit to the current exhibition at MUMAQ – The Musée des Métiers d’Art du Québec (Québec Museum of Crafts). De Fin et De Papier (Thread and Paper) is an invitational show, curated by paper artist Marie-José Gustave; it includes the work of 8 artists, as well as her own.

One of the things I most appreciated about the museum itself is that everything is accessible and easy to see, often from several angles. And unlike the permanent collection, the work in De Fin et De Papier is not behind glass so it can be viewed closely enough to study the processes and workmanship of each delightful piece in minute detail.

Lâcher Prise, detail, Nithikul Nimkulrat. So wonderful to recognize the macrame knots we used to use to make plant hangers a million years ago reappearing to such beautiful effect in Nimkulrat’s etherial dresses

Ann Boscher’s work was by far my favorite in the show. I haven’t ever seen stitching on paper used to such effect…wonderful!

If you go, be sure to allow time to take in the permanent collection as well. There are wonderful examples of work made by numerous generations of Québequois fine craft and folk artists – in glass, ceramic, silver, wood-carving, textiles and more.

The museum building was formerly a new-Gothic church that had been dismantled stone by stone and then rebuilt at its current location when the land it originally sat upon was expropriated by the Canadian National Railway to make way for a new station. The building and collection together are a virtual treasure box.

We also visited the Montreal Botanical Garden. I realize it’s a bit ironic leaving rural Vermont, heading to the city and then spending a chunk of time wandering through gardens, but that’s who we are. In fact, because we covered so much ground across town this trip, I became more cognizant of how much care the city planners of Montreal have put into being sure to incorporate green space throughout their city.

If you’ve been before you’ll know the Botanical Garden is a stunner. But what struck me most this visit, despite the flagging fall blooms, was the thoughtful and diverse color combinations that are still vibrant. It would be lovely to spend an afternoon with a sketchbook making notes of the unexpected color blends for future reference.

Finally, Montreal is rich with public art.
Intrigued before our trip by reading about the Canadian Centre for Architecture Sculpture Garden, (designed by Montreal artist-architect Melvin Charney), I was anxious to see and walk among the (relatively) miniature buildings raised on columns. Surrounded by a lovely green space, the sculpture section of the park is compact and doesn’t take much time view.

Melvin Charney

The lasting impression is a lovely sense of harmony between its elevated art structures, sitting in a conversation of sorts with the neighboring high-rises. One doesn’t feel a giant amongst these small buildings, but because of them, nor does one feel dwarfed by the height of nearby towers.

Melvin Charney, Canadian Centre for Architecture Sculpture Garden

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I just watched “Grab a Hunk of Lightening“, a terrific documentary about photographer Dorothea Lange, via the Architecture + Design film series. It was a one-day event, but you can stream the film through Amazon, Apple TV or Google Play Movies for $2.99. For those who aren’t familiar with much of Lange’s work beyond her photographs of migrant workers during the depression, you are in for a treat.

Garden Brain

“If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

We’re back from nine days visiting family in CA & HI, and as I look over my photos, notes and sketches from the trip I can see that, subconsciously or not, plants and gardens took center stage. Part of that has to be because once the snow melts and May arrives, we all become a bit garden-obsessed due to Vermont’s short growing season.

The lush arboreal view of many colors, outside our aerie-like airbnb window in Berkeley

Our local hardiness zone is 5 (up from 4, due to climate change). But in Berkeley, CA it’s 10a, and Kailua, HI is an even more exotic 12b. Needless to say, the flora in both locales was a welcome sight and inspiration for winter-weary Northeastern eyes.

Here’s a bit of plant kingdom goodness I brought back to share with you:

The colors, shapes and textures at The Dry Garden on Shattuck Ave in Oakland were swoon-worthy

They also had a selection of hand-made tiles that, but for the fact that I was limited to carry-on, one or two would have found their way home with me. Apologies to the artist for not getting a name to credit.

I follow @gollyokate on Instagram because I love her perspective on embroidery, libraries and her quirky discoveries on walks through her Oakland, CA neighborhood. What a delight to feel I was stepping into her world (albeit up the street a bit) while rambling one morning, enjoying the street-side gardens in Berkeley. This one’s for you Kate!

And just a bit later, the sun came out over a different viewpoint. Such color inspiration — look at those incredible purple spikes, offset by the gold of the grass – all framing an azure sky over Tomales Bay.

The sculpture garden of Oahu’s Capitol Modern (formerly the Hawai’i State Art Museum) is a quiet retreat in the heart of Honolulu. This museum exhibits the work of contemporary Hawaiian artists both inside and outside the building. Considering the theme of this post, I’ll stick with its courtyard sculpture display.

Gaea (Mother Earth), detail, Bumpei Akaji, 1984, Copper Many of the pieces not only sat in the garden, but referenced nature as well. The curves of Akaji’s piece frame a view to the central lawn area.

The smooth, hard surfaces and rounded forms of pieces like Gaea, above, and Ceramic Tree, below, create an apt counterpoint for their organic setting.

Ceramic Tree, Toshiko Takaezu, 1990 Handbuilt ceramic, This work was inspired by trees that had been damaged by lava on the Big Island.

However, it was the humor of “Mr. Chickenpants” and the dogs of “Jax Bench” which stole my heart.

Mr. Chickenpants, May Izumi, 2018, Bronze

Mr. Chickenpants

Jax Bench, Fred Roster, 1990, Bronze

The Honolulu Museum of Art’s treasures reflect the rich multi-cultural make-up of the islands. Its architectural design, including lush open-to-the-sky interior courtyards and restaurant garden, are an ever-present reminder of the connection between art and nature.

Bark Cloth-Style Aloha Shirt, Tori Richard, 1960 Our visit coincided with “Fashioning Aloha”, an exhibit of aloha wear from the 1930s onward. This shirt was inspired by the traditional Polynesian practice and geometric designs of Pacific tapa (bark cloth), a non-woven textile made by pounding the inner bark of the paper mulberry tree into sheets, then decorated with designs.

Spring to Summer, Kanō Kōi, Edo period (1615-1668), Ink, color and gold on paper

This lovely pair of six-panel screens were created by Japanese artist Kanō Kōi (died 1636) who produced paintings for elite samurai at a time when they were seeking to revive the courtly grace and refinement of the Heian period (794-1185). It’s hard for me to think of anything more refined than a Japanese garden.

Late Summer to Autumn, Kanō Kōi, Edo period (1615-1668), Ink, color and gold on paper

While not technically garden-oriented, I can’t help but include this amazing piece by Noah Harders, made from fruits of the sea.

Looks Can Be Deceiving, Noah Harder, 2022, Ola, Hawaiian Spiny Lobster. Harders makes intricate sculptural masks and headdresses from found or gifted organic materials, reflecting his deep ties to the environment of Maui.

Looks Can Be Deceiving, detail

Finally, my artist mother-in-law has a wonderful art library and she never fails to introduce me to exciting global creators of all stripes. This visit it was the work of the Brazilian landscape architect Roberto Burle Marx (1909-1994) who was known as a modern nature artist and public urban space designer. Lots of inspiration for our humble garden here at home.

Roberto Burle Marx book

While it rained every day of our Hawaiian visit, it didn’t dampen our spirits since we used to live in Kailua and have logged our share of sunny days there. And the upside was the inclement weather allowed more time for museums, art supply stores and sketching.

I had a nice little studio set-up to work from most days.

We finally made it to the beach one day for a walk. It was grey and cloudy so the palette I used was definitely different from what I’d expected, but no worries, I still had exactly what I needed.

The little sketchbook I made beforehand worked out beautifully. It offered plenty of space for drawing and notes (24 “pages”, using both sides), yet it folded down to fit compactly in my small travel purse. I will definitely make another for next time.

Sketchbook

And now it’s back to my own patch of earth to tend and nurture. Here’s to a wonderful garden season ahead for all of us.

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On another note:
One link leads to another….can’t remember how I ended up here, but thought you too might enjoy this article about sitting for Alice Neel in Katy Hessel’s Substack The Great Women Artists.

A Thick Slice of Cake

If you’ve subscribed to my periodic newsletters, then you will already know that my latest Full Bloom portrait is finished.

This one was a challenge for several reasons: the glasses, the full-face angle and the need to subdue any competition between the model’s subtle skin tones and silver-ish hair vs her colorful clothes. That said, I’m very happy with the results — especially the way the subject and the stitched background ended up working, both independently and together.

Measured Response in process

After roughly drafting in the head, I sat with it for several days. There was a quality about it that, although incomplete, seemed to have a lot to say in a ghostly, disembodied sort of way. This is a great example of a point in the process when ideas start to flow for possibilities in future work.

Measured Response Watercolor Embroidery Stitching

Measured Response, detail

What was it about this particular image that made me hesitate in moving forward? Was it the straight-on stare speaking volumes on its own? Or perhaps simply that I tend to be drawn to art where elements of the underpainting/drawing remain visible? I find a sense of poetry in work where the hand and thought processes of the artist are laid bare.

Plus, backgrounds are a bit of – I wouldn’t exactly say nemesis, but definitely a puzzle for me, requiring another level of consideration because of the stitching. I want to create more than a mere backdrop, yet avoid having the piece appear overworked.

Measured Response Angle Watercolor Embroidery

There’s nothing like an angle shot for bringing out the texture of the stitching

In the end, I placed her head firmly on her shoulders, integrating her within space – although admittedly somewhat nebulous space. By pushing the color and pattern of the stitching while keeping it relatively sparse, I was able to hold onto the qualities that had stopped me in the middle, yet reach a satisfactory and full resolution. And, trite though it is to say, ultimately finding a way to have my cake and eat it too.

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While some of you live where your gardens are already coming back to life, those of us in Northern New England have a while yet to wait. But we can dream and plan. Here are a couple of ideas if you too are ready to get back to your plot of earth, but it’s not quite ready for you.

First, a shout-out to my mother-in-law who recently recommended Monty Don’s 3 episode series Adriatic Gardens on Amazon Prime or Acorn TV…it’s wonderful, so check it out.

Alice Fox Wild Textiles Book

And secondly, during the Surface Design Association conference in late January, UK artist Alice Fox spoke inspiringly about her practice using natural processes with found, gathered and grown materials. She made me long to collect the spent daffodil, iris and garlic leaves from my own garden to start creating with them. Granted, it will be a while before that can happen, but in the meantime I purchased a copy of her book Wild Textiles to learn more and to start the creative juices flowing while there’s still snow on the ground.

Summer Sampling

5-6 months out of the year our yard looks like some version of this.

Winter

So is it any wonder that when June rolls around, I can’t get enough of it looking like this?!

June 1

I am drunk with color these days.

June 2

It’s been a fun exercise this week to create color mixes that mimic what’s in bloom right now. This type of sampling helps me to understand color more generally, and my chosen palette more specifically.

June Colors 1

For those who, pardon the pun, like to get into the weeds of such things, I was a bit surprised at how many colors I used: 27 separate colors in making 28 samples of flowers, leaves and paving stones. To some degree, that feels very over the top and, considering 8 of those colors were only used in one color mix, there is definitely room to fine-tune if I were so inclined.

June Colors 2

Overall though, most of the colors I used got a pretty good workout, recurring in many of the mixes – most of which were made up of two and very occasionally three paints. The exception was the paving stones. They all required various combinations of three primaries to achieve their neutral tones.

These colors are the backbone of my mixes. The biggest surprise for me is how versatile (and “popular”) the Cobalt Blue Deep turned out to be.

I find it really handy to have color-mix samples like this for reference, so I keep a book full of them that I refer to regularly. I try to make time when I buy a new paint color to play around with it to see how it interacts old favorites.

Without question, if you live in Northern New England life is better if you actually enjoy the subtle hues of late November into deepest winter. But let’s face it, it’ll be nice to return to these samples when the garden is asleep again, as a reminder of the eye-popping abundance of June.

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Since we’re talking color… Have you been to the Vermont Arts Council Sculpture Garden in Montpelier to see the collaborative installation Elements of Shelter: Water, Fire, Wood, Earth, Metal? Spearheaded by Thea Alvin and Meg Reinhold, it’s a beautiful meditation on two of Vermont’s most immediate challenges: climate change and the housing crisis. The combination of paint with glass is particularly effective; the work absolutely glows in the sunshine. Plus, the craftsmanship of the pieces, including their timber frames, is gorgeous.
Read further about the installation and its creators in Seven Days. You can follow more of the creation process on Instagram: @theasunshine and @trilliumhandcrafts

Potluck

The past several weeks have been a bit of a smorgasbord of projects. Through them all, I can’t help but think I’ve been subconsciously influenced by our reawakened garden which, especially during this glorious month of June, has visually been like a rich shot of espresso after months of presenting as the equivalent of a weak cup of chamomile tea.

©2022 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye on silk A thank you gift for @gollyokate, whose Catch-and-Release Program contributed, via her art, to feeding hungry families, maintaining community safety nets and helping the planet.

Now that our show Tucked In: Resilience in Small Moments is closing at the Gruppe Gallery on the 19th (there’s still time to visit this weekend if you haven’t already!), I can move beyond the writing and back-end administrative duties associated with it to dip into a bit of artistic free-styling.

In process ©2022 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk This avian fellow was originally meant to be a chickadee, but took a turn toward a more vivid imaginary specimen after reading The Feather Thief and as color returned to our yard.

I look at our beloved perennials bursting back to life, each day’s view a bit different from the one before as they grow and bloom in a constant state of evolution, and I’m inspired. I think I’ll try to relax into that frame of mind in the studio for the next couple of months and see where it leads me.

Front Garden

Testing, 1-2-3

The thing about Shibori is it can be both mentally invigorating and relaxing, often at the same time. I’ve been looking forward to this week’s work, knowing I’d have the stimulation of a puzzle paired with the soothing calm of stitching row upon repetitive row of running stitches.

Quick notations capture possibilities and remind me of fleeting ideas

In teasing out an approach for the dyed background of my “letters from home”, I’ve thought of plenty of possibilities. The overall goal is to find an idea that is generally repeatable, yet with enough elbow room for variations that will allow each piece to hold its own among the others in the series.

I keep even the smallest amounts of dye on hand so that I can make mini-samples on the fly. For the process of Ori-nui, the cloth is folded and stitches are made parallel and close to the fold. It’s a good way to achieve definition. I felt the stitches I’d made in this sample were too far from the fold, so I adjusted that distance in my final, full-scale sample.

I also have to keep in mind how the embroidery-to-be will fit, so that it doesn’t become lost against the color and pattern of its dyed background.

Once I get to the stage of sewing the resist stitching, I can settle in and relax. Where to stitch, what direction those stitches will take, and where the knots will be placed have all been decided. So there’s nothing to do at this point but listen to a book or podcast and get to work.

It’s all well and good to jot down options in a sketchbook, but it isn’t until the needle actually pierces the cloth that reality sets in and decisions/questions begin to crop up in earnest. Should the striations of pattern all go in the same direction – or perhaps oppose each other? How best to keep a crisp line between areas of pattern and open spaces of dye? Can I balance those two while keeping in mind that the third crucial element of the embroidered imagery will be added later?

With the stitching complete, the fabric is ready to soak and then all the threads will have to be drawn up tightly and knotted before beginning the dye process.

An example of the many things to think about: an often overlooked characteristic of Mokume stitching is that even the point where one chooses to begin a row of stitching can impact the final appearance. I am quite fond of the little white dots left un-dyed by the knots at the end of my stitching thread, so I try to work out ways to incorporate them that will enhance the piece without distraction. It’s worth noting that beyond contributing added visual “zip” for those who look closely, those tiny spots are also a reminder that this process is very much hand-made.

Admittedly they are very subtle, but I think the marks left by the knots at the end of my thread elevate the pattern as a whole, so I try not to hide them if possible.

Last but not least, at this early stage everything must be worked within a pre-determined finished size to accommodate framing.
So yes, lots to think about and I have my work cut out for me. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And there you have it – the finished, dyed piece. The dye came out a bit like the Northern Lights, don’t you think?

If I go with a 12 x 12 inch final dimension as originally planned, this is about where it’ll end up.

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Most of our fall yard chores are now complete, crowned, as always, by the all-important planting and securing of the garlic under its snug winter cover of leaves and burlap.
Time to get ready for garden dreaming in hibernation season by turning to books. After reading the article I mentioned in my last post, I picked up David Culp’s The Layered Garden from the library for his ideas on how to bridge the seasons in your garden. My favorite example of this idea is Jack Lenor Larsen’s Red Garden at the Longhouse Reserve.

I have a beautiful red twig dogwood and tend to leave areas of echinacea and bee balm for visual interest against the snow (and any late foraging birds). But I wonder what other ideas Culp might have. I was rewarded this morning, waking up to a frosted landscape that reminded me just how lovely every season can be.

Frost

Breathing Deeply

Working on the stitched watercolor garden pieces this summer has been just the break I had hoped for while simultaneously opening the door to new explorations. It’s been like taking a deep breath. There’s nothing quite as fun (or as good a stretch for the brain) as pushing toward some sort of new evolution and seeing where those explorations might lead.

Rounding the Bend ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches. I haven’t posted new pieces from this series since the beginning of July. Time to catch you up! You can revisit all the pieces on my website.

Coincidentally, in catching up on older podcasts, I recently listened to Alice Sheridan and Louise Fletcher of Art Juice talk about “Kickstarting Creativity by Taking a Break”. That doesn’t necessarily mean taking a rest from making art altogether (although it could), but rather creating an interruption by switching gears to something different.

Having now returned from their month-long respite, it’s worth listening to their follow-up episode, “A Time for Reflection”, as they discuss some of their realizations from their time away.

It’s an honest conversation about an artist’s life, dipping into elements and responses that are familiar to all of us.

For my part, I’m grateful for the sense of camaraderie that comes when others share about issues we may have in common. At the end of the day we’re all just trying to make a go of a creative life – why not travel together?

In considering my own, shall we say, intermission from the work of last year, not only has the painting itself been equal parts challenging and rewarding, but the incorporation of the embroidered houses has provided a welcome sense of grounding and continuity while still allowing me to find new ways to play around with the idea of something “hidden in plain sight”.

I’ve completed a dozen of these little stitched paintings to date and expect to keep going in some form or another. I took a first stab at what moving beyond the “safety” of the houses might look like in this little close-up of my daughter’s Maranta leuconeura. The question that is floating around in the back of my head now is how might I let the stitching on paper branch into portraits.

Basically, texture is at the root of my interest. It’s the textural effects of the stitching, together with the visual texture of the paint on paper, that most intrigues me.
Meanwhile, I’ve begun a new shibori piece and expect to be back at my frame embroidering on cloth in earnest, just as soon as the dyeing is complete.

Marking Time

If there’s such a thing as visual euphoria, it’s the garden coming back to life again in all its glorious colors and textures. The early season vibrance of azaleas is beyond stunning after a long Vermont winter.

For those who have followed me faithfully here, you will recognize color as a recurrent early summer theme. How could it not be? With the lupines now out and irises just beginning to pop, I am reminded of this post from a couple of years ago, exalting a landscape immersed in purple and blue – my favorite.

Lately I’ve been noticing that the variety of greens on the hills and mountains that surround us are more vivid than ever. As summer wears on, the leaves will mature, becoming increasingly monochromatic, but for now their wide spectrum from warm to cool, offset by scattered reds and pinks, is pure visual pleasure. The sight is a post-winter reward.

May 18, First Color ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitch on paper, 5 x 5 inches. I have been meaning to get back to watercolor for ages. This is a rusty first stab after a long break but, as with everything, practice is all. It’s such a pleasurable activity; time just melts away in pools of color.

Digging deeper, it is the constant change of the seasons upon a set structure (mountain) or template (garden) that I find endlessly interesting.

May 18, detail ©2021 Elizabeth Fram One can only learn by doing. By matching the colors of thread in the stitched house so closely to those of the paint below, I think the image melts just a bit too much into the background. The aim was to have it be like a good conversationalist, holding its own without either monopolizing or fading into obscurity. The results seem to lean more toward the latter the further you get from the piece. But maybe that’s good? An unexpected surprise upon close inspection?

With that in mind, I’m beginning a new project this summer, both as a break from months steeped in COVID-centric houses (although I haven’t released the house shape yet), and also as a creative stretch. I’m looking to combine paint with stitch, and what better inspiration could one ask for than the ever-evolving flora that has suddenly taken center stage once again?

The painting before stitching; the marks that outline the house are visible underneath the painting.

The core idea I am grappling to articulate relates to structure, within the garden or even, perhaps, in the larger landscape. Inspired generally by Piet Oudolf (designer of Manhattan’s High Line and Chicago’s Lurie Garden in Millennium Park) and particularly by the Red Garden designed by Jack Lenor Larsen at his LongHouse Reserve, I am thinking about constancy amid change – and even the constancy of change. I don’t quite know yet how this will pan out, you are seeing my very first steps. There are bound to be lots of stops and starts as I figure out where I’m headed, but for now it’s enough to embark on something fresh.

And since I’ve brought you into a garden headspace, here’s another resource, especially if you’re out and about in the area:
Elizabeth Billings is currently doing an artist residency at three of the Nature Conservancy’s natural areas in Vermont. She is creating intentional contemplative spaces under the title “Together: Nature Unites Us”. She has been posting about it on Instagram.

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Summer reading:

Oudolf Hummelo – A Journey Through A Plantsman’s Life

Four Ways To Add Color To Stick Season

I think it’s safe to say that the last gasp of summer is now behind us. That fact, paired with the latest COVID restrictions on social interactions here in Vermont, point to more time for reading and digging into creative outlets, online and otherwise.

November Trees

It’s a time when we can all use a bit more color in our day-to-day, so I thought I’d share a few of the things that have brightened my outlook:

I’ve been enjoying the American Craft Council’s weekly post “The Queue”. It’s a series of interviews with 2020 ACC Awards honorees, often including a short video of the artist. The ACC is a wonderful resource; I encourage you to spend some time exploring the Stories section of their website. The satirical sculptures of recently featured Bob Trotman caught my eye several years ago, so I was happy to become reacquainted with his work on a deeper level via “The Queue”. With a background in philosophy, not art, Trotman was originally most interested in studying the idea of the individual. But as he developed an art career, his concerns turned toward examining the machinations of society. As a result, his artistic commentary is largely aimed toward money and power in America.
Considering the unprecedented behavior we have been witnessing from our out-going president and his enablers, Trotman’s powerful voice is more resonate than ever.
Another resource that delicately walks the line between delightful and educational is Vermont painter Susan Abbott’s Painting Notes Blog. Always enriching without being didactic, Susan shares her extensive knowledge of art history from both a visual and personal angle. She shines a contemporary light upon the artists and works that have gone before us, and who have laid a path for us to follow. If you’re interested in book suggestions from Susan, look for her generous response to my question at the very end of the comments section of this post.
Beginning with the lock-down last spring, several major textile organizations joined forces to offer weekly “Textile Talks” — video presentations and panel discussions that surround a huge variety of subjects related to textile art.
All can be accessed via YouTube.
The recent “creative discussion” between color icon Kaffe Fassett and his niece Erin Lee Gafill covers their personal history as well as the habit they’ve developed of painting side-by-side. They’ve recently released a book of these parallel works called Color Duets. Anyone who knows and admires Fassett’s work and his long, illustrious career will enjoy the conversation. Particularly inspiring is the way Fassett straddles different media while maintaining the consistent thread (sorry for the pun) of color.
And finally, if you too are a student of color, you know it’s hard to beat a garden – flower or vegetable – for the lessons it can teach. Our beds may be all buttoned up for the winter, but even as the snow flies we can dream about next year’s glory…while learning a thing or two along the way. Two resources that will be scratching the color itch for me this winter are Darroch and Michael Putnam’s Flower Color Guide and the Floret Flowers website. There are plenty of lessons to be gleaned from each, but perhaps more importantly during these crazy, stressful days, they both offer pure, visual delight.

Flower Color Guide

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With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I can’t let the occasion pass without saying how grateful I am that you choose to join me here every other week, sharing your ideas and comments along the way. Please accept the suggestions above as a token of my gratitude. Be well and wear your mask. We’re all in this together.

Linda ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink, graphite, and colored pencil on paper, 11 x 8.8 inches. It’s always fun to see what each person chooses to include in the selfie they send me, because it’s a further window into who they are. Linda made the paper batik behind her and I think it’s an apt reflection of her bright spirit. All 13 pieces in my COVID-19 Selfie series can be seen together on my website.

The Comfortable Reliability of Change

A friend, who understandably seeks mid-day breaks from her job’s unrelenting stream of Zoom meetings, recently asked me if I found what I do equally challenging because I seemingly need to sit in one place for long periods each day. My quick answer was no.
While there are plenty of long stretches when I am stitching or drawing, there are so many other elements to what I do that I can easily stop at any time and move into another phase of the work (or, for that matter, to take Quinn for a walk, do a bit of weeding, throw in a load of laundry or do the breakfast dishes, etc.). The ace up my sleeve, aside from the fact that I am in charge of my own schedule, is change – it keeps things fresh and it keeps me interested.

The color combo of these daylilies and liatris makes any trip to the veggie garden or compost bin pure pleasure.

That fact is just as true for living in an environment where the landscape is in constant flux because of the seasons. Those changes set a rhythm and a tone, not only shaking things up, but also offering a sense of reassurance in their constancy.

When the view out the window is subdued for many, many months, one can’t help but revel in the variety of tones and the lushness of texture to be found in a composition of greens.

Personally, I find contentment in the muted colors of November through March, enjoying the visual calm after the fiery hues of fall. In a strange way, the lack of color outside during that time of the year, makes my work with color inside all the more inspiring. And not to be discounted, there is no truer light in the studio than on a snowy day. But I also look forward to the rejuvenation that comes with the early blush of maroon and lime-green as trees flower and begin to leaf-out across the hills in April and May, knowing that there will be a fuller and brighter spectrum to follow.

In 2012 I built a stone herb spiral that is usually reserved for herbs and flowers. This year I had a few leftover Rainbow Chard seeds that I took a chance would sprout there and that I hoped would be ignored by the critters. Success on both counts! But even more rewarding is the jolt of color in the magenta central stems and veins of the chard leaves, humming alongside the singing petunias.

On a visual scale, summer is its own entity. This is the one short season when we have a measure of control and can choose for ourselves, via our gardens, the colors that surround us. Is it any wonder that so many artists garden and so many gardeners are artists? There is a Monet quote: “I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers”. I think every artist carries within them a bit of that sentiment. One of my earliest posts celebrated the garden of artist David Stearns. It remains one of the loveliest home gardens I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting.

If there is one plant I eagerly await each year, it’s this delphinium. It adds so much to my front bed in height, shape, and glorious color. It’s situated so that I can enjoy it from inside as well. And each winter, when the snow slides off the roof in that spot, piling up to just about the same height, I think of this beauty that lies in wait for mid-July.

This year my garden has been a refuge unlike ever before. The bright colors and gentle scents are a salve during a point in time one might metaphorically equate with winter. While it’s been hotter and drier than usual and some plants are doing better (and others worse) than last year, I am always amazed to know I can expect each plant to reappear and then come into its own within 3-5 days of the date it did every summer before. Heck, I can even count on the Japanese beetles to show up around the same week each year. Good or bad, I find a great deal of comfort in this reliability — especially now, when so much in the world seems out of control.

Work in progress: This new house I’m currently working on is a reflection of the joy our yard and garden are bringing to me this summer. It celebrates the myriad colors that surround me and the sense of home and hope that comes from watching all our plants cycle in and out, the same as they do every year.

But just as dependably, the seasons come and they go. The bright colors that are so enjoyable now, will transition to deeper shades before fading altogether. So, I find it worth thinking about and appreciating the oxymoron of the consistency to be found in change, and how that lends the gift of both excitement and stability to our day-to-day existence.

The Artist's Garden

Maybe you aren’t as interested as I am in getting your hands dirty, or perhaps you are. Either way, two books I’ve been enjoying this month are The Artist’s Garden: The secret spaces that inspired great art by Jackie Bennett, and Spirit of Place: The making of a New England garden by Bill Noble. Both are a testament to the joy that is possible right outside your doorstep.

Spirit of Place

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Update

I had so much fun with this latest addition to my “selfie project”. Hard to believe as I look at it now, that the leaves hadn’t even fully budded when the photo sent to me was taken. But generally, the image struck me as very hopeful and joyful – a mini-celebration of the fact that spring was on its way, despite our all being confined to home at the time. I’ve tried to use color to help further that feeling.