Category Archives: Textiles and Drawings

Norway, Part 2

Time and exposure have taught me that the biggest gap in my art education relates to international art and artists beyond the expected European and Asian classics. A couple of years ago I was amazed when visiting the AGO Museum in Toronto at how many iconic Canadian artists I’d never heard of. That’s just not right. Therefore, one of the real joys of travel has become the opportunity to learn more about some of the major artists within the country I’m visiting.

Edvard Munch, Flirting in the Park, 1942, Oil on Canvas How many other paintings by Munch can you call to mind besides The Scream? Most of what we read about Munch concerns his obsession with psychological themes, but after seeing so many of his paintings, my lasting impression of his work is that he was an admirable colorist.

As promised, this week I’m going to take you off the streets of Norway and into the Munch and Kode Museums of Oslo and Bergen for a more formal view of Norwegian art. My picks tend to reflect the various concepts that were floating in the back of my mind at the time, due in large part to my questions and concerns regarding the piece I hadn’t quite finished before leaving for vacation.

Edvard Munch, Lucien Dedichen and Jappe Nilssen, 1925, Oil on canvas Talk about making color sing! The magenta underlayer of Dedichen’s blue suit, paired with the bright orange book cover and other objects on the table, in combination with the strong turquoise that defines the walls and corners of the room, elevate this painting of the physician Dedichen and writer/art critic Nilssen to an exhilarating degree.

There is plenty of ground to cover, so put your feet up and I will do my best to pull together the images that follow with the threads of what struck me as important about them. It will come as no surprise that portraits and use of color were utmost in my mind as I made my way through the various galleries of both museums. To a large degree, that was because of this piece I have been working on all spring.

First, although I haven’t written about it since the end of April (for a reminder click here), I have been chipping away continually at this portrait. My final challenge was figuring out how to set the relatively dark figure apart from its very dark background without obscuring the delicate luminescence of the unevenly dyed silk. My goal is usually to straddle a line between the image portrayed and the surface textures of which it is comprised. By stitching judiciously, while simultaneously exploring color in unexpected ways, I think I’ve come as close as I could hope in meeting that objective.

For those of you who have asked, here is the life drawing that inspired it.

I usually try to include more than just head and shoulders in my life drawings by squeezing in as much of the figure as possible, as well as bits of the surrounding area. I think this makes for more interesting compositions. Yet there are certainly instances where those rules can be broken.

Edvard Munch, Stanislaw Przybyszewski, 1894, Casein and distemper on canvas. This floating head portrait of the Polish novelist was one of the first pieces I saw in the Munch Museum. Aside from being intrigued by the ‘Wizard of Oz’ nature of the portrait, I couldn’t help but make a connection between the thin glazes of atmospheric paint and similar effects that are possible via variation in dye saturation on silk.

Although it’s usually the back story of the subject that draws me into a formal portrait, these pieces from the Kode Museum in Bergen were intriguing for their stylistic attributes.

Eilif Peterssen, Old Woman, 1888, Oil on Canvas What lies behind those icy blue eyes? There is so much personality radiating from this woman, accentuated by the somewhat mystifying background of restrained color. The tones of her skin seem so real. I was quite attracted to the contemporary feel of this more than 130 year old painting.

It’s unfortunate that these striking side-by-side portraits (above and below) were each titled “Old Woman” Seriously, couldn’t each artist have been a little more imaginative?

Jean Heiberg, Old Woman, 1909, Oil on canvas In a country famous for its knitwear, I was thrilled to come across this painting highlighting a pastime that must have long been ubiquitous, certainly in the early 1900s.

While the contrast and depth of color in this portrait is striking in its own right, it was the composition which caught my eye, bringing to mind my own penchant for asymmetrical placement of objects with shadows that have as much to say as the main figure.

Ludvig Karsten, Red Hair, 1907, Oil on Canvas

Many of Munch’s works are thinly painted, often with the canvas showing through. It was a quality for which he was often criticized. But I was drawn to that aspect in a number of his pieces because it left such a clear path toward following his process, and it encouraged me in my decision to not fully fill in The Woolgatherer with stitches. The piece below is an excellent example. An initial view might lead one to think it is unfinished, but his signature in the upper right corner suggests otherwise.

Edvard Munch, Mrs. Schwarz, 1906, Oil on Canvas

Munch’s thoughtful use of color, even in this sketchy image of Mrs Schwarz, is a wonderful study in brevity. Henrik Lund’s portrait below, while more visually verbose, also provides much to consider in its use of marks and color.

Henrik Lund, Prime Minister Christian Michelsen, 1916 The use of color in this piece struck me: the green right sleeve contrasted with the blue lapel, and the various hues used to add depth and definition to elements throughout – the walls, chair, curtain, window sill and sash. It made me feel I’m not too far off track in my color explorations in The Woolgatherer, and serves as encouragement to keep experimenting.

If you are still with me, thank you.
I hope you too have been pleasantly surprised and inspired by this brief peek into these Norwegian masters’ work, admittedly from my pointed perspective.

Finally, my museum report wouldn’t be complete without a quick dive into one of the temporary exhibits that, quite frankly, was the main draw (for me) to Bergen’s Kode Museum. The dance between the classic and the contemporary made for a very satisfactory visit.

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The work of textile artist Kari Dyrdal and ceramicists Torbjørn Kvasbø and Marit Tingleff is nothing short of monumental in their exhibit “Forces”. To hear them each discuss their practices and processes, please watch these three brief subtitled videos, which convey their ideas much better than I could hope to do. I will leave you with a selection of my favorites from their work. Enjoy!

Kari Dyrdal – Pattern, repetition, color and material are all essential to Dyrdal’s computer generated tapestries. She is considered a forerunner in the field of digital textiles.

“I allow patterns to lead me like a compass, both the structures that are apparent and those that are not so easy to spot.”

Kari Dyrdal, Wall Sèvrres III, 2017, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Dyrdal purposely had this piece hung away from the wall so that visitors could observe the construction of the numerous panels from behind. This image gives a sense of the tremendous scale of the piece.

Kari Dyrdal, Red Sea, 2015, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Kari Dyrdal, White Waters, 2015, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Kari Dyrdal, Wall Sèvres II, 2018, Mixed fiber, digital weave

Kari Dyrdal, Wall Stone, 2015, Mixed fiber, digital weave I was really intrigued with this means of displaying this piece. Of course one needs plenty of space, but what a fantastic way to give the work its due.

Torbjørn Kvasbø – Kvasbø writes of his work:

“Disturbing and ambiguous, immediate and overwhelming, beautiful and repulsive. All of this combined to form a readable whole (…) in perfect balance: like a killer punch to the solar plexus.”

I was struck by the way this piece seemed to be woven together – a suitable foil for Dyrdal’s tapestries.

Torbjørn Kvasbø, Stack Terracotta, 2014, Teracotta clay, unglazed, electric kiln

Marit Tingleff – This part of Tingleff’s statement is particularly strong and thought-provoking:

“I live in an age where I’m not really needed. My pots don’t fulfill any utility function other than that they can tell stories about other times and other utility functions. They have acquired the utility that art possesses, i.e. they can open people’s minds and trigger wonder, joy and indignation.

Marit Tingleff, Deep Green, 2006, Earthenware clay, slips, transparent glaze. I wish there had been measurements on this and the following pieces, or some way to give you a sense of scale. They are enormous – probably 4 to 5 feet wide and 3 feet high.

Marit Tingleff, Black and Orange Dish, 2006, Earthenware clay, slips, transparent glaze

Marit Tingleff, Wall Object with Blue Flower Ornament, 2005, Earthenware clay, slips, transparent glaze

So tell me what you think. What aspect of all this work resonates most with you?

Norway, Part 1

Last week was a revelation. It goes without saying that I was hoping and expecting to see plenty and to enjoy much during our week in Norway, but I truly had no inkling just how many layers of discovery would be waiting for me.

Aurlandsfjord, near Flåm While natural beauty appears in every direction, this post concentrates on the man-made.

Don’t you find that a big part of travel is keeping your eyes peeled for the unexpected? Familiarity may tend to let such sights melt into the woodwork for locals, yet it’s exactly those choice visual details which elevate a tourist’s experience. Reviewing my photos at the end of each day, threads of connection begin to surface, and it’s something of a game to find the basis for future blog posts among them. In fact, I’ve learned that keeping my “week after” post in the back of my mind as we travel is an unexpectedly fortuitous lens for noticing and appreciating the nuances of new places.

This fabulous piece of digital video art, a silhouette of a man in constant, athletic motion, was in the baggage claim area of the Oslo airport. I took it as a good omen of what was to come.

This trip provided plenty to work with, to the point where I could potentially write a full month’s-worth of posts. The challenge is in paring down; I’ve compiled everything into a two-parter. This week highlights the fluid line that seemed to waver between the mundane and the monumental, and the indisputable fact that Norwegians seem to value living amidst art. The smallest details loom large, so that the measure of what one sees doesn’t hinge on size or function.

Vigeland Sculpture Park in Oslo is beyond remarkable, including over 200 sculptures in bronze, granite, and cast iron, all created by Gustav Vigeland (1869-1943). The huge scope is mind-boggling, yet it is the intimacy and depth of humanity his work portrays that stopped me in my tracks. Take a moment to look at the facial expressions and body language of the figures below; there is something of all of us there to recognize.

Vigeland Tower

Vigeland

Public art appears everywhere, on both broad and intimate scales. To me, it tells a side story about the communities who live with it, painting a more complete picture for those of us who are temporary guests.

Although it’s hard to see why from the angle of this shot, this series of side-by-side highrise buildings in Oslo is known as the Barcode. I was quite taken with the bold architecture throughout the city, the Norwegian Opera and Ballet building being among the most famous. A couple of days later there was still snow and ice in the mountains as we traveled by train from Oslo to Bergen, and in hindsight I wondered if shards of breaking ice as they begin the spring melt inspired the striking windows of the Deloitte building.

She Lies, ©2010 Monica Bonvicini This sculpture seemingly floats in Bjørvika Fjord in front of the Norwegian Opera and Ballet. It is an homage to Caspar David Freidrich’s 1823-24 painting The Sea of Ice, celebrating the power and majesty of the great frozen north.

Large and fanciful murals, to smile and wonder at, cropped up in unexpected places. See more of this artist’s work on Instagram.

Other street art was more serious. Although hard to see in this shot, the head is beautifully, if roughly, carved from wood, emerging from wall and painted body. While appearing spontaneous, this piece’s careful execution must have required plenty of forethought.

Deer Grazing on Yggdrasil, Dagfin Werenskiold Oslo City Hall, where the Nobel Peace Prize is presented each year, contains spectacular murals inside. But it was Dagfin Werenskiold’s 16 wooden relief carvings ringing the outside entrance area, depicting Eddic poems from Norse mythology, that captured my imagination with their confined compositions, textural effects, and imaginative colors.

Frøy and Skirne, Dagfin Werenskiold

Dykkaren (Diver), Ola Enstad There are numerous sculptures in the Aker Bryyge area, but this one, perched near the edge of the harbor, seemed most at home.

The manhole covers in Bergen Harbor speak to the pride the city takes and the beauty it assigns to every feature, even the most basic.

No explanation needed

This wallpaper, an unexpected bright spot in a public restroom, was anything but ordinary.

A trip to the Ski Museum and Tower at Holmenkollen held a special treat beyond the views. This exhibition of dresses created from repurposed traditional Norwegian sweaters set my knitting heart aflutter…to the same degree as peering down the steep ski jump.

These beautiful dresses were created by Karin Mertz Pladsen and Hanne Senstad of 2jinter. They sew wool dresses of old knit sweaters / cardigans and new woolen fabrics from Austria. In their statement they mention that when they were invited to exhibit their dresses at Holmenkollen, they quickly ended up using Lillehammer’s Olympic sweater from 1994 as the theme for the dresses, which was appropriate considering it is the 25th anniversary of the Lillehammer Games this year.

Come back next week for visits to the Munch and Kode Museums — a more formal view of Nordic art that is anything but stuffy.

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One final note: In a sense, travel is a forced interruption of work patterns that often leads to unexpected break-throughs in the studio after returning. It’s an effect that always seems to crop up for me in one way or another. Therefore, it was a sort of kismet to learn about Alex Soojung-Kim Pang’s book Rest: Why You Get More Done When You Work Less on a podcast during the flight home. I have it on hold at the library and will let you know what I find out.

First Blush of Spring

Our landscape is finally coming back to life. Each day there is something new to see as the browns and grays of mud season recede, making room for the richer hues of spring.

Spring 1

I have been watching for a solid couple of months as people who live elsewhere in the country — and world — post images on Instagram of their neighborhoods as they green up.

Spring 3

We in the upper Northeast may be the last to arrive at the party, yet there is sweet reward in the feeling of having truly earned the colors that are re-emerging after a long, hard winter of visual restraint.

Spring 2

For those of us who relish the cycle of seasons, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Spring 4

For now, our days are fluctuating between cold & rainy and warm sun, so the garden is unfolding slowly, making it possible to mark changes daily. I watch those details closely and am rewarded with a world of color in each square inch.

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For a dose of pure chromatic eye candy, Carl Holty’s Flowering brings the garden to the canvas. Read about him and see more of his lush work in this article in Art & Antiques.

Practice, Practice, Practice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On a completely different note _________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

In Stitches

While there have been other things to write about in my last several posts, I’ve still been busy with the stitched portrait I began a month ago. It’s time to bring you up to speed with my progress so far.

The eyes ground everything else.

As predicted, seismic changes are taking place as I feel my way along in the proverbial dark. Most notably the initial white stitching has been/is being replaced with threads of color. In some ways, it’s much easier to make a “reverse” image of white on a dark ground than it is to work “positively” on a dark area. As I wrote in a recent Instagram post, there’s a reason why people often begin with a light background.

The depth brought out with color made it a no-brainer decision to remove the rest of the white stitching.

With each step forward, I can see how heavily I am leaning on lessons learned through drawing, especially from my weekly life-drawing sessions. Watching form and pattern work together as equals is incentive to see what will happen next. And color almost seems to have become its own dimension, nursing other important lessons.

Even though the colors aren’t what you might call “natural”, I think they are what breathe life into the figure.

I am making a conscious decision to leave some areas un-stitched, letting one’s eyes and brain fill in the blanks. Doing so calls attention to the piece’s “stitch-iness”, and serves my aim to direct your eye back and forth between the image and the surface. Right now I am mulling over how to treat the background — exactly how much I will work and how much will be left alone. It should support the subject without distracting from the lovely fluctuations in color created via the dye process.

This appears at a weird angle because of the way my frame was tilted when I took the picture. The shadow of the hand helps to better define the face. If you look closely, you can see how I changed that shadow from the previous image. Also, the lips have been reworked and toned down.

So, there is still plenty to do, but it’s coming along.

Each new section covered pulls out the image more.

When drawing from life, I find I’m most interested in composing my drawings so that they include more than just the bust of the model. A more complete figure set within its background offers additional opportunities to play off some of the formal considerations I enjoy so much, whereas working with just the head and shoulders presents an entirely different set of concerns. This piece is an interesting stretch for me.

Can you see the area where I removed some stitches? Only a dozen or so stitches taken out makes such a huge difference.

I’m curious about your thoughts. In general, what is your impression of portraits of people you don’t know? Is there enough to draw you in and hold your attention? Or do you find you’re more attracted to images of people who hold specific significance for you in one way or another?

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I’m always interested in etymological tidbits. When choosing the title for this post I couldn’t resist looking up the history of the idiom “in stitches”. So much invariably comes back to Shakespeare.

in stitches laughing uncontrollably. informal
Stitch, in the sense of ‘a sudden localized jabbing pain’, such as might be caused by a needle, is recorded in Old English. It is now generally used of a muscle spasm in the side caused especially by exertion. Shakespeare seems to have been the first to describe stitches brought on by laughter; in Twelfth Night (1601) Maria invites her fellow conspirators to observe the lovelorn Malvolio with the words: ‘If you…will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me’.

~ from thefreedictionary.com

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And, to underline the general theme of this post, check out this very silly link. It will leave you in stitches…

The Dialects of Line, Color & Texture

A picture is worth a thousand words.
With that in mind and as promised, here is a sampling from the opening of The Dialects of Line, Color, and Texture, my current show with Elizabeth Billings and Frank Woods.

The Dialects of Line, Color, & Texture

The following photos were taken before any guests showed up. Once they did, things got busy. I am so sorry that Elizabeth hadn’t arrived yet to be in this photo with us.

In addition to line and color, “surface design” (coloring, patterning, and transforming materials with an eye toward textural qualities) is an undeniable meeting point between Frank’s paintings and my dyed and stitched work. Sharing wall space seems very natural. As you look through the following pictures, enjoy discovering the similarities, despite our vast differences.

Nimbus, ©Elizabeth Billings

Anyone who makes and exhibits art knows the thrill of seeing it hanging on a gallery wall. And while solo shows have their advantages, the magic of this exhibition lies in the undercurrent of “conversation” between our three separate voices, creating an interaction where the whole can be seen as greater than the sum of its parts. Kudos and thanks to curator Maureen O’Connor Burgess for finding the thread of that conversation and moderating it in such a way that makes our work shine — individually and together.

Vacuum Series

Dawn Patrol

Caught Red-Handed, Homer

Summer Stroll

Pick Me Up, Morning Musing, Side Kick

Ulysses' Wave

Evening Duet

Divide&Conquer, Cut Off, Sweet Bowl of Summer

Taking Pause

Without a doubt, the most rewarding part of an opening involves face-to-face dialogue with viewers. Not only is it a chance to explain the stories behind the work which has consumed so many hours, so much thought, and heart, but it is also an opportunity to get the work (and ourselves) out of the vacuum of the studio to see our ideas standing on their own. And when the work engages others in such a way that they can draw a connection between what you’ve made and a part of themselves you would otherwise never know, well, that is truly the cherry on top.

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I still haven’t sat down with a Louise Bourgeois biography yet, but I ran across this compilation of her thoughts on how to be an artist, and feel they are well-worth sharing.

Look to Art’s Formalities

Tuesday I loaded 25 pieces into a van and sent them on their way — all carefully wrapped, labeled, and ready to hang in the upcoming exhibit The Dialects of Line, Color, and Texture at the Highland Center for the Arts in Greensboro.

I am honored to have my work in company with pieces by Frank Woods and Elizabeth Billings, and I am very gratified to be part of a show that reaches beyond a specific medium or subject matter, instead highlighting how, despite the obvious contrasts, we all three gravitate to similar underlying formal structures to express our ideas.

I find this particularly pleasing since the formality of line, color, texture, shape, and composition is a major driving force behind both my drawings and my textile pieces. Perhaps, subconsciously, this explains why I was immediately attracted to both Frank’s and Elizabeth’s art when we moved to Vermont almost ten years ago.

I hope you’ll be able to join us for the opening on Saturday, or will be able to get up to Greensboro at some point during the show’s run (through May 26th). For those who can’t make it, I’ll do my best to have pictures to share with you next week.

Poster for The Dialects of Line, Color, and Texture

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This week textileartist.org posted an interview with Janet Bolton, another of my artistic heroes, whose work grabbed me very early during my own fledgling textile explorations. Attracted to her consideration of edges and the way she divides space, (again the formalities of art holding strong sway), I purchased two of Bolton’s books in the mid-90s: Patchwork Folk Art and In a Patchwork Garden. Hindsight reveals a predictable pattern of preference for these qualities, which resurfaced in my later inclination toward the work of Dorothy Caldwell, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Richard Diebenkorn, among others, and continues to attract me to artists today.
The dye, as they say, was cast.

Vermont Vessels

We are lucky in Vermont to have such a strong and active membership of the Surface Design Association — a vibrant, international organization whose stated mission is to promote awareness and appreciation of textile-inspired art.

This week, eight SDA members from Vermont, as well as several from New Hampshire and Massachusetts, made our way to the bottom of the state in order to meet Jackie Abrams and Deidre Scherer, and to see their collaborative exhibit Jackie Abrams and Deidre Scherer: Connections at the Brattleboro Museum. Both artists greeted us at the museum and generously shared their insights during a personal tour, answering our myriad questions.

Jackie, left & Deidre, right

Rather than attempting to reinterpret this wonderful show, I’m going to let the artists’ words and beautiful work speak for themselves. Enjoy.

Age, wisdom, the accumulation of experience, and their imprints on the vessel we call the human body have interested each of us for decades. The fabric-and-thread portraits of elders and the sculptural baskets representing aspects of women’s lives made it seem natural for us to collaborate on a series of three-dimensional objects that reflect the human form.

To create each object, we agree on the general shape and size of the vessel. An image of the original fabric portrait by Scherer is printed onto heavy cotton paper. The printed image is cut into strips and carefully woven back together by Abrams as a three-dimensional vessel. Sometimes other materials, such as copper wire or transparent plastic film, are incorporated into the weaving. The resulting vessels’ strong forms and subtle textures reflect the character that the human body acquires with experience and time.

— Deidre Scherer and Jackie Abrams

“Couples”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, plastic film, waxed linen thread, 9 x 11 x 11”

“Faces: Woven Vessel II”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2017, print on cotton paper, wire, 12 x 8 x 8″

“Staggered Gold”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, wire, 12 x 8 x 8″

“Connecting #1 and #2” (diptych), collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2019, print on cotton paper, wire, waxed linen thread

“Garlic”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, plastic film, waxed linen thread

“Hands of Light”, collaboration Abrams and Scherer, 2018, print on cotton paper, wire

As is to be expected, there’s no way my images do justice to these beautiful pieces. Please see the work in person if there is any way you can swing it. And note that the artists will be giving a talk at the Brattleboro Museum on Wednesday, April 24th at 7pm.

Lifeblood

Have I got a great book for you! …Handywoman by Kate Davies, a recounting of transformation through creativity.

In a series of essays Davies wrote in response to the paralyzing stroke she suffered at the age of 36, this book offers a fascinating look deep beneath the surface of an unexpected, life-changing event. Davies discusses at length the ways that her stroke and disability have transformed how she sees not just herself, but also her community and the world around her as she relearns to navigate within all three.

A special thank you to my friend, mixed-media/knit sculptor Leslie Roth, who introduced me a while ago to Kate Davies, her designs, and her blog …and for loaning me this wonderful book. Watch Davies’ Tedx Talk about her experience.

What most engaged me is the tenacious thread woven throughout the book relating how creativity and her drive for “making” opened a pathway toward healing when she was at her lowest points. That drive has continued to be a mainstay as she has learned to redefine herself.

Davies acknowledges in detail the advantages the creative foundations she had built in childhood provided her in moving forward from the dark days when she realized she could no longer accomplish the most basic tasks by herself, such as braiding her own hair — a daily ritual that had been part of her identity for years. One essay delves into the history of braiding as the precursor to all textile arts, carrying with it early and strong symbolic and spiritual associations. Recognizing the dichotomy of both the feminine and the mysogynistic connections that are attached to braids, Davies highlights a skill we often think of as simple (my mother set me to braiding yarn before she felt I was ready to learn to knit), and yet when dissected from the vantage of point by point coordination and movement, it is, as Davies explains, a “dexterous performance of remarkable complexity”. Relearning to braid with thick yarn was the beginning of regaining strength in her left arm so that with three months of hard work she was once again able to take care of a very personal grooming routine, regaining, to an integral degree, a sense of herself.

Hard reality sets in as I begin to see that color is going to be key in defining different areas. The white “reverse” stitching is okay to a point, but it doesn’t go far enough. At this stage I’m beginning to see the challenge of choosing colors that can both coordinate with and hold their own against this dark background.

Her stroke wasn’t diagnosed for a crucial 36 hours because the attending physician didn’t think to look for it, assuming she was just a stressed, hysterical woman. And those caring for her during that interval callously shunted her aside as spoiled and privileged. She takes a hard look at those uglier realities of the medical system and of some who work within it, while simultaneously noting the many kindnesses and intriguing science that facilitated her as she worked her way back to mobility during the time she spent in care.

She writes at length about the liberating impact of good design in the tools that aided her progress as she reattained her independence. The depth of her research and engaging writing style are a testament to her former career as a literary academic, bringing the reader along toward greater understanding of a wide range of topics as she uncovers the layers of complexity and far-reaching effects of brain injury.

It’s time to leave reality and move toward “oomph”. The variegation of this thread starts to show the possibility of using color to define form.

But beyond those topics is the unfolding of how she found strength, healing, and community through knitting, making her way on a new path as a knitwear designer and author, building a career that accommodates her slower pace and new reality. As noted in the synopsis on the back of the book, this is not a story of triumph over adversity, but rather “part memoir, part personal celebration of the power of making…redefining disability as in itself a form of practical creativity.

I think I have most of my palette nailed down, so now I need to keep plugging away, stitching and (undoubtably) undoing stitches, as I find my way. There will be a lot of changes in the days ahead!

And for anyone who is a maker of any sort, you will be uplifted and reassured in what you undoubtably already know: making and creativity are indeed lifeblood.

It Was Just A Matter Of Time

A couple of years ago the collector who bought “3 Pears” suggested I should consider people as subject matter. I’m not sure if he meant portraits, but at the time I didn’t give it too much thought because I was just beginning to find my way in translating still lifes with thread and felt completely unqualified to attempt a human.

I’m revisiting a mokume framework for this piece for its simplicity. There will be more than enough to think about without sparring with a dyed pattern underlying the stitched image.

I’ve done a lot more drawing since then – with ink, graphite, and thread too. And as you know, I’ve landed in a wonderful weekly life drawing group that provides lots of ongoing practice with models. The many benefits of those sessions are beginning to take root, to the point where not only do I feel more confident in portraying people but, as with my daily sketches, I have begun to see an element of reciprocity between the marks that build up in rendering those figures and the patterns of stitches I incorporate in my textile work. To some degree, this phenomenon reminds me of when one is learning a new language and it is suddenly spoken within their dreams.

The row of dots that run up the right side of the mokume shibori pattern are the result of the knots of the resist threads which create that pattern. They too resist the dye. It may be a very subtle detail, but I plan for their inclusion because, not only do they add an unusual graphic quality but they also underline the fact that this process is done by hand.

So, I’m ready to take a leap of faith by attempting to stitch a person. It’s going to be a big “we’ll see”. There will no doubt be plenty of groping in the dark, but I’m ready for the challenge and eager to dive into the lessons ahead. I’ll be bringing you along for the ups and downs.

In return, I’ve come across several items this week that I’d like to share. I hope you’ll find at least one of them useful.

First, a friend emailed this link about the power of art to influence in unexpected ways. Are you a fan of Mario Puzo’s The Godfather? Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, I think you will appreciate this story.
I’m always on the lookout for sketchbook suggestions. While you can never know for sure if one is right for you until you begin to use it, this review offers seven to choose from. I like the idea of the ILLO 8″x8″… perfect for Instagram posts and its 122-pound paper seems like a good option for wet media.
And for anyone trying to start a sketchbook habit, often the hardest part is deciding what to draw. Here are 75 suggestions to get you off and running.