Category Archives: Process

A Gift Across Time

December tends to get away from me.
I’ve learned to make peace with the fact that studio time will be limited considering all the extras that go hand-in-hand with this particular month. But I still try to squeeze in time around the edges for making art .

On December 1st I began a new little house, wanting to get just one more under my belt before year’s end. I also figured it would be something of an ace up my sleeve for the busy weeks ahead, knowing there would be times when sitting quietly to stitch would get me into a calmer headspace.

Finished dye work

The sticking point with this particular piece has been the open areas where the silk didn’t absorb any dye because it couldn’t seep through the many-layered folds. Without time to do anything but forge ahead, I tried to position the blank areas so as to play off the steep incline of the roof. But that still wasn’t enough – the empty spaces seemed to hang in mid-air like a half-finished sentence.

Even with careful placement, the blank areas were overpowering

Thanks to a dog-walk epiphany after reading an article on Jane Perkins’ art, I decided to dig into a collection of white buttons that has followed me around for the past 35+ years. Their glossy texture and variety of sizes proved a means toward transforming the undyed emptiness into areas that could hold their own against, and in alliance with, the bold shibori patterns. Not unlike a Japanese garden, they provide a rest for the eye that includes an element of visual interest.

A healthy variety to choose from…

When I was first married, my mother gave me a baggie filled with white shirt buttons so that I would never be without when I needed a replacement for one of my husband’s work shirts. It was a sweet gesture and so “of an era”. And even though at the time the idea may have raised my feminist hackles a tiny bit, I recognized it then, and certainly now, as an offering that was a perfect expression of my mother’s hallmark thoughtfulness, practicality, and organizational skills.

And while I didn’t use many of the buttons for their intended purpose, I’ve kept the bag through all our many moves, and have continued to add to it ever since.

Icy Breath of Boreas, alternate view

Not only has this turned out to be a satisfactory solution for making this little piece whole, the process has also contributed to making me feel a bit more whole during a holiday season when for the first time ever, like so many other people, my husband and I can’t be with family. It brings me comfort to work with these little white discs of shell and plastic, to be blanketed in my mother’s thoughtfulness (this will be our 9th Christmas without her), and to think of this piece as a holiday gift she is sharing across time and space.

Icy Breath of Boreas, alternate view

Wishing you a peaceful holiday…

Detours

Part 1 – Firestorm

There’s often no telling how an idea will evolve.
A piece may start with a specific destination in mind, but logistical snags invariably crop up and I soon find myself on a different path. The serendipitous twists and turns that result take me to a place I hadn’t imagined, but one where I am ultimately quite happy to have landed.
What follows is the story of one example of this phenomenon unfolding.

As the top sketch shows, capturing an idea often takes just a few quick lines. But the evolution of that idea invariably becomes much more complicated as one moves through the process. My initial idea was to make a house that was completely enclosed / cut-off from everything around it.

News of the devastating wildfires out west, paired with having a son who has been navigating dreadful air quality at home in the Bay area, has gotten me to thinking what a malleable canvas these little houses can be for making a statement beyond COVID-19.

Reporting on personal wildfire stories has stressed the horror of being surrounded by fire as it rages all around. While I can’t begin to imagine such a scenario, I wanted to make a piece that in some way expressed that sense of being enclosed or trapped.

Resist stitches in place before the dye bath

My original plan was to make a small house that would sit in the center of a larger, house-shaped shell, and to use a translucent fabric for the outer house. Silk organza would allow one to see the house within, while also being a worthy medium for portraying the amorphous nature of fire which I planned to suggest with dye. Unfortunately, organza’s porosity, a characteristic I expected to work to my advantage, was also a downside. When undoing the resist stitches I’d sewn before the dye bath, I discovered that the dye had seeped right through many of them, leaving only a faint pattern. That fact, paired with relatively weak color, resulted in a rather anemic appearance.

This suggests fire, but not as forcefully as I’d imagined

However, there are always ways to work around an issue.
While dyeing the unstitched areas of the fabric, I discovered a way to create an effect reminiscent of the striations of flickering flames (as seen in the top section of the silk in the photo above). So I dyed more organza, employing that process with stronger color, figuring that layering the two lengths of fabric, one on top of the other, would achieve the effect I was looking for. It worked rather well.

With the fabrics layered together, the color and effect is much closer to what I envisioned.

Not wanting to compete with the impact of the fire-inspired cloth, I decided to leave the inner house a blank slate, covering it with un-dyed raw silk and stitching with neutral-colored thread. Spent daylily flower stalks gathered from my garden, varnished and sewn to the house, enhance the effect of the natural coloring while providing support.

The house constructed with the daylily stalks as stilts.

Once this stage was complete, I ran headlong into the problem of how to then create and support the organza casing that would surround it. I have a full page in my sketchbook with various brainstorming solutions, none of which ended up being right or feasible to execute. It became apparent that I was going to have to switch gears.

The “fire” would have to run up the sides of the structure rather than fully enveloping it. I was still undecided as to whether or not to support it so that it would hover above the roof and be held out from the sides as in my original plan, or lay it directly upon the roof, letting it fall naturally down the sides. If it hovered, the stalks’ prongs could be leveraged to support the fabric, but even if not, their physical resemblance to a flame still added significantly to the overall impact.

In the midst of deciding how to attach the fabric, I discovered that using both layers of dyed organza together (discussed above) was unworkable; the layers became just too thick and unwieldy. However, reverting to using the originally dyed piece alone worked beautifully. Layered upon itself as it was gathered and folded to fit the narrow roof space, the previously bemoaned lack of pattern and color suddenly came alive. Pressing folds into the silk to create a tactile pattern that is reminiscent of flames added to the overall effect.

Loosely pinning the fabric in place, one begins to get the impression of fire, the effect of which is emphasized by pleating and the jaggedly raw edges along the roofline.

Running my progress by the discerning eye of a trusted artist friend, she rightly commented that the house, left white, appeared “unscathed and disconnected” from a fire’s devastation. My decision to keep the house neutral was meant to suggest universality, but she was of course right — the piece appeared inappropriately light – even upbeat. The solution was charcoal.

Drawing with charcoal directly upon the raw silk, achieves the charred effect that is necessary for conveying fire’s impact.

In the end, I decided to leave the dyed organza resting directly on the roof rather than elevating it. The top edges of fabric have been left raw and uneven which not only suggests the upward movement of flame as it consumes a building but, with the bottom edges of the organza sweeping around the base of the piece, I could maintain the suggestion of the house being enveloped.

I’ve learned not to be surprised by the unexpected issues that present themselves as most of my pieces come to life, or the need to puzzle my way to a solution. It is the rare work, for me anyway, that runs a straight line from conception to completion. But to be honest, that is one of the perks of art-making — it’s what keeps each day fresh, interesting, and ultimately rewarding.

Part 2 – Isolation

The addendum to my blow-by-blow tale above is that going down a different path doesn’t preclude one from getting back to the original starting point. After finishing Firestorm, I was still anxious to find a way to make a piece that mimicked my original sketch. I thought of all sorts of options for how I might construct a wire structure to support an organza “envelope”, but in the end they were all a bust. Any wire I tried was too soft and flexible to hold its shape. What could I use that would maintain the stiff, straight lines I wanted?

Framework

It took my architect father less than a moment to offer a solution: coat hangers. We talked through the best way to form the frame and how to attach the various pieces to each other. In no time I had the structure I’d envisioned and after that everything came together very quickly.

Hard to believe because my thread drawer is brimming, but I had to dye some silk thread to get just the right color for this one. However, it was too dark to use to suspend the little house. But no worries, I had just what I needed in that notorious stash.

After making the inner house, I suspended it with clear thread so that it would appear to be floating. The next step was to make a house-shaped sleeve out of silk organza to tightly fit over the wire frame. I didn’t mind the idea of seeing seam allowances, in fact, that seemed preferable to me aesthetically. Joining the seams via the hand-stitching method used in Pojagi (Korean Quilting) was the best way to complete this step.

This is one of the more delicate ways to join two pieces of fabric; its effect is lovely

Now complete, the outer casing was stitched invisibly to the frame to keep it taught. The final piece appears exactly the way I had hoped. Whether describing the fraught emotions of being caught in a fire or isolated by the coronavirus, it strikes the note of removal and disconnect that I had originally intended.

Time and again, I’ve found that hitting stumbling blocks and being forced to rethink my approach allows for an idea to evolve into something greater than I might have come up with in one shot. The roundabout discoveries often provide a suitable proving ground for finding my way back to an idea that needed additional “simmering” before it could be realized. It makes the detours well-worth the time, and perhaps ultimately a sort of secret weapon.

Thanks so much for hanging in with me to the end of this very long post!
Ready for a visual palate cleanser? Check this out.

Drawing Things Out

I always look forward to Thursdays – especially on blog publishing weeks. I get an extra lift of accomplishment from clicking the “publish” button, knowing it’s another opportunity to connect with all of you, and also that the week ahead will be less about writing and more about making.

I have a system in place that allows me to get these biweekly posts out, making room for the time that blogging requires while still juggling the dyeing, drawing, and stitching that make up the practice I write about.

In a nutshell, I let ideas for writing simmer until the end of the day on the Monday of publishing week, write a draft on Tuesday, polish the draft on Wednesday, and finally make last-minute adjustments before going live sometime during the day on Thursday. Dividing all these components into small chunks allows me to also keep up with whatever else may be in the pipeline, practice-wise. Having such a set schedule may seem restrictive, but it’s become my tried-and-true method for achieving this task, without fail, for almost 6 years.

To underline this approach of manageable, consistent bites, James Clear’s Thursday 3-2-1 Newsletter last week drilled down on the concept. His title says it all: Scaling Down Your Habits, Obstacles, and Finding Time to Do What Matters. And while I have to continually remind myself to keep up with it, time and again I have seen the wisdom of adhering to this theory. Below is one of the key take-aways he offers:

“Go smaller.
Can’t learn an exercise? Reduce the range of motion.
Struggling to grasp a new concept? Break it down.
Failing to stick with a habit? Make it easy.
Master stage one, then advance.”

With all this in mind, I have a new house that is almost complete. There have been lots of unexpected decisions and mid-stream changes that have cropped up along the way. Chipping away at it in small bites has made for steady progress. Come back next time when I will share the process and the results with you.

Little Houses

For the time being, continuing to make these little houses inspired by the Sheltering in Place project seems right and appropriate. There is something reassuring about making work that directly relates to this unusual time and that has the power to add a positive spin.

The in-process piece I showed you two posts ago is now finished. Here all the sides are laid out and ready to assemble. I planned the imagery so that it would wrap continuously around the corners.

The ferns in detail

It has been exciting to discover needle-weaving as a concise (although slow) means of creating richly textured images. It also serves to make the most of the color variations found in variegated threads.

The corner images of this shot and the next illustrate a fuller idea of the piece as a whole

As the ferns turn the corner, the dogwood branches add to the sense of woodland.

In speaking with a friend who is a plant expert, I was bemoaning the fragility of the branches I’d collected in our woods to make “Cocooned”. I wanted to find something more flexible to use going forward.

Cocooned ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 20″H x 11″W x 14″D overall, house dimensions 9″H x 6″W x 4.5″D, Wrapped-resist dye on silk with foraged branches. I barely dare to take this out of the studio because the branches are so brittle.

I told her I had hoped to be able to use plant material from our property, but figured I was out of luck because we don’t have any willow trees. She suggested I try our red-twig dogwood. It was a great idea. The dogwood branches have made a world of a difference, resiliently bending and springing back as I manhandle the piece while stitching it together. Their lovely red color and the fact that my dogwood needed a good pruning was an added bonus.

Titles are often the last big hurdle to finishing a piece. I try to come up with something brief that conveys the spirit of the work while offering a window into what was going through my mind in the making. “Cultivating An Oasis” is meant to communicate how valuable it’s been to have a garden to tend in isolation.

Due to the overall repetition, and my struggle to come up with pithy titles, it made sense to choose a series name and then to number each piece within it. If that method was good enough for Richard Diebenkorn, it surely works for me.

After much thought, I decided to go with “Retreat” as an umbrella title for these latest little houses. After all, a retreat can be seen from two opposing angles: as a withdrawal from danger or as a quiet and secluded place of comfort.
And doesn’t that dichotomy speak exactly to our experiences at home these past months?

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It’s occurred to me that of the ten COVID selfie images I’ve completed so far, eight are those of artists. I feel very lucky to have found such a vibrant tribe of creative souls since moving to Vermont!

I’ve written about Michelle’s work before, ironically almost exactly a year ago. She is continually pushing herself and her process. I encourage you to check out her website and her Instagram account.

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And for those of you who may have missed this, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Making It Work

There has been so much to write about in the past weeks that I’m just now realizing it was all the way back on September 19th that I last made any reference to the piece that is currently in the works. Time to bring you up to speed.

Progressing from bottom to top

The various issues that were dogging me in the beginning have since ironed themselves out, so I’m at the point now where it’s more a matter of putting in the time to get the piece done. I will undoubtably be circling back to polish up this first side, but for now I’m roughly halfway to the finish line and hope that the piece as a whole will progress more quickly. But that said, hand-stitching is not speedy work.

I’ve used this stitch a fair amount. I like the way it fills a space without letting it become too static. For another example, look at my banner photo above.

As is often the case, fortuitous discoveries tend to develop out of necessity, and this piece is no exception. As I was methodically stitching the main figure of the chess king, it didn’t take long to realize that I wouldn’t have enough of the colors I’d chosen to complete the checkerboard pattern within it. Whenever my work is going smoothly and I’m on a roll, I really hate interrupting the process to go out for more supplies. Therefore, I’m much more likely to search for (in the words of Project Runway’s Tim Gunn) a “make it work” solution that will allow me to keep going.

Now that I’ve told you my secret about the color variety in this central figure, don’t be surprised if you see me using the same device again.

So what you’re seeing above are the results of that hiccup. Rather than just the two thread colors originally planned, I’ve used a variety of six. And frankly, I think doing so has brought life into the figure that would have been missing otherwise.

Onward and upward — the queen will soon be appearing within the blue arch.

You can’t arrange for these kinds of issues / solutions ahead of time, but they do seem to regularly present themselves. Invariably that’s a good thing. To a large extent that explains why I try not to plan a piece too far in advance or to be too married to a particular outcome. Kismet is often much smarter than I am.

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Words to live by:
I just started reading Carol Marine’s Daily Painting. Although I haven’t gotten very far into it, I like it very much so far. In Chapter One she talks about writing a letter to portrait artist Michael Shane Neal for advice. He wrote her back with a lot of helpful information, but finished the letter with what Marine characterizes as the best advice she’d ever receive.

“The best way to improve your skills is to do some kind of art every single day.”

The Missing Ingredient

It’s been a frustrating week with this latest piece. In my effort to get it off the ground, the easiest (and most fun) part — aside from initially making the stitched-resist arches — was going to my favorite thread store to choose colors.* But doing that was a bit like having dessert first, and everything beyond that step has been an ongoing struggle.

Thread Choices

My first problem has been size. The chess pawns that will appear in the background are so small that it took me until Wednesday to figure out how best to stitch them so that they didn’t just look like amorphous blobs, completely losing their definition once one stepped back from the piece.

The second issue has been color. It should be a no-brainer to stick with light-valued thread so that the image has contrast and definition against a background of red and black squares. But the pawns on this side of the piece are going to be black, and I quickly discovered that simply using black thread not only zapped all the life out of them, but they soon became lost in their equally dark background.

I had hoped to keep things simple with just a running stitch outline. But it was too simple, and though I don’t have a picture, once I stitched in black behind this pawn, it became completely lost.

It took me a while to figure it out, but compromise was the missing ingredient. All week I’ve been trying different stitch patterns and different colors, wondering how in the world I was going to get these pieces to sit confidently in their red and black background while conveying that they are the darker half of the chess set.

Another failed attempt – but I’m getting closer by branching out to other colors.

The answer is twofold: artistic license and letting go.
Using a deep blue, which has more richness than mere black, has been both an escape hatch and my saving grace. Pairing it with a variety of other colors has allowed me to make a stab at fine-tuning the definition of a pawn, breathing some life into this tricky part of the image while still conveying the impression that these are the darker pieces of the chess set. The other solution is to let the red dye stand in for the red squares and only stitch the darker squares. Why bother to restate the obvious?

Here is my solution after countless stitched and re-stitched attempts.

I’ve only just begun, but it feels like I’m finally on my way. Time to leave this hurdle behind me in order to get ready for the next one.

*The Wooden Needle in Stowe, VT has a vast selection and variety of beautiful threads. It is really worth a trip if you’re in our area.

Safety Net

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

Work in progress © Elizabeth Fram

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wisdom of Orchids and Octopuses

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

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

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

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

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

Orchid

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

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

Out of the Deep

The base stitching is finished. From this distance, it’s hard to make out the image in the midst all the pattern, but if you zoom in you will see it.

Every new piece brings its own discoveries. When it was time to dye this one, I decided to work with high key colors rather than the deeper tones one might associate with an octopus’ habitat. The next days will be spent figuring out how to merge the two (background and figure) so that neither overpowers the other, or gets lost.

Folded, with resist stitching in place, the dyed piece looks darker when it is still wet.

This is the exciting part: seeing how the dye and pattern are absorbed into the embroidery.

These photos are a log of this past week’s progress. I can’t stress enough how many decisions take place as I go along. There are constant questions and challenges to each choice (is the outline too dark? How can I keep the stitched rectangle background obvious without overdoing it? How much of the shibori pattern can, or should, remain within the figure of the octopus?)

I am planning to use red tones to define this guy, but it will also have to include some of these other colors so as to play on the camouflage effect.

Now that the piece has been completely outlined, the real fun of blending and playing with color can begin.

Every hurdle presents a puzzle and the potential for new revelations to add to my “toolkit”. The fact that the road ahead is uneven is a big part of what brings joy to this work.

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Who, besides yourself, are you trying to please with your work? Once again, Danny Gregory lights the way in his recent blog post How Not to Give A Damn.

Back to Normal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On A Different Note______________________________________________________________________________

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

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