Category Archives: Textiles and Drawings

Engaging With The Ancestors

I’ve been thinking lately about how summer should be a time that follows a different rhythm. If not slower, then it should at least be restorative — a chance to enjoy the extra daylight hours and the delight of walking out the door unfettered by the extra layers we have to cope with much of the rest of the year (not counting, of course, the long sleeves and netted hood I’ve been wearing in the garden as defense against this year’s burgeoning black fly population). Beyond that, and perhaps more importantly, summer should be a time to keep computer work to a minimum, which is what this post is really about.

The beginnings of a new piece, all tied, knotted, and ready to dye

With that in mind, bear with me as I sort through things over the next weeks. The blog and I will still be here each Friday, but I am going to try to write less — an effort to free myself from the laborious editing and polishing that consume so much time. Hopefully that will lead to gaining more hours for the actual stitching and drawing I write about. It will be a way to cut myself some much-needed slack while still sharing what’s going on behind the scenes in my studio, what’s on my mind, and the various miscellanea I run into that I think will interest and, hopefully, inspire you.

As you can see compared to the seam ripper, this is a small piece – the fabric is only 15 x 15 inches. Even so, it took me almost 3 hours to sew and knot the threads. The dye process, however, only took a mere 20 minutes.

I look forward to, and encourage, your continuing comments and emails when something you see here resonates with you. And please let me know how you switch gears to allow for extra elbow room during the summer months – I welcome new ideas.

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Apologies to those of you who are also on my general art mailing list; this will be something of a repeat…

Carefully snipping the knots and removing the threads is sticky and laborious business, taking another hour to accomplish. But the thrill of revealing the pattern makes it all worth it.

I was really happy to receive a link this week to the museum-produced trailer for the 2019 Rijswijk Textile Biennial. It has made me all the more excited to go see the show in person this fall. I’m also looking forward to seeing the illustrated catalog of the show, written by Frank van der Ploeg.

Searching the web, I was gratified to find that Textile Forum blog has written about the exhibit, using one of my images, among others, to illustrate the article. Notice of the show was also picked up by TextileCurator.com

The experiment this time was to break the frame down into smaller sections – a pattern within a pattern, so to speak. Also, I wanted to try this arched shape, rather than keeping all lines straight and square.

For those of you who remember Textile Forum as a print magazine, publication was halted at the end of 2013. Since then the former publisher, Beatrijs Sterk, has continued to “report on themes of textile creation, education and textile cultural heritage via (the) blog, addressing all those interested in textile culture”.

If you are looking for in further avenues to learn about the world of textile art, Textile Forum blog, TextileCurator.com , and Textile Is More! are all sites that look to be fruitful resources. Another site I would love to be able to read is Textiel Plus, but unfortunately it appears to only be published in Dutch.

The finished size of this piece will be about 10 x 10 inches. While it’s interesting to see how the dye interacts with the outer edges of the pattern, I prefer cropping the pattern with clean edges along the perimeter, the way they will appear once the finished piece is stretched and framed.

One final resource is The Woven Road – another site learned about through Instagram. What caught my eye was a quote that was attributed to The Woven Road, and which seems a suitable sentiment to sign off with.

“When we engage in fiber arts, we are creating something, but we’re also participating in historic traditions tens of thousands of years old. You are not only making art for your soul and for future generations, you are embodying the work of our ancestors.”

Palm Reading

Life drawing has plenty of challenges, but capturing hands has been one of the biggest for me. That said, I really feel that including them in a portrait tells a much fuller story than head and shoulders alone. In many ways, they can be seen as a portrait (or self-portrait) unto themselves.

Several resources that have helped me begin to understand the basic, universal structure of a hand and the intricacies of all its joints and angles, are:

The Human Figure, Life Drawing for Artists by John H. Vanderpoel ©1935
How to Draw Hands – The Ultimate Guide by Matt Fussell, online article
and my personal favorite: The Hand, by Jon deMartin, Drawing Magazine, Winter 2015, order a digital copy here

As with most things, there’s no substitute for practice. And beyond keeping the basic building blocks of palm and fingers in mind, I find the most helpful approach, once the overall gesture and contour have been blocked in, is to forget altogether that I’m drawing a hand and to concentrate instead on breaking down the whole into smaller and smaller components, constantly comparing shape to minuscule shape, while repeatedly looking back-and-forth between multiple landmarks of both positive and negative space. There is just no substitute for comparing placement and size to other elements already drawn. Even though it’s natural to get ahead of yourself, thinking you understand what comes next and where it should be, invariably if you don’t double-check, your work will need to be readjusted.

That’s not to say I don’t have a good kneadable eraser that gets plenty of use, but it’s a strategy that does seem to help achieve a more successful outcome.

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There is still time – barely – to go see Janet Van Fleet’s exhibit “Vanishment” at the Vermont Supreme Court Gallery in Montpelier. It closes on June 28th (today if you’ve received this post via email). If you can somehow squeeze in a visit, you won’t be disappointed. This particular body of Van Fleet’s work addresses the dire impact humans are incurring on other species. Profound yet accessible, it is also visually striking. Read Pamela Polston’s comprehensive review in Seven Days for an overview.

“A Blue As Of The Sea”

In spite of late snows, relentless rain, and cool temps, my garden in June is a reward to be depended upon like a fairy tale’s happy ending. Spring has seemed so late to arrive the last couple of years, and yet checking past entries in my garden journal proves that everything seems to bloom within several days of the same date each year. Nature appears to have a schedule that won’t be denied.

Our back garden

The colors of azaleas, rhododendrons, phlox, and poppies can make one a bit giddy after so many months of deep greens, grays, and brown. But it won’t surprise anyone who knows me that my favorite landmarks for breaking the color fast of Mud Season are the lilacs, lupines, and irises. What could be better than to see a landscape filled with all shades of purple?

Each year we scatter more lupine seeds in our wildflower field below the house. They are at their gorgeous peak right now.

Wild iris are also spreading, adding to my delight.

For sketching purposes, one couldn’t ask for more than an iris provides: each bloom presents a rainbow of colors, fantastical shapes, varied textures, and intriguing patterns. And how great it is to be able to look to the garden rather than just my kitchen counters for a suitable subject.

In the 1980s I visited Van Gogh’s striking “Irises” many times at the Joan Whitney Payson Gallery of Art in Westbrook, Maine. Ownership is too strong a word, but I think many Mainers would say they also felt a particular sense of personal attachment to the piece, considering its easy accessibility in such an intimate setting. It was heartbreaking to learn it was going to be lost to the collection in 1987 for financial reasons. It’s now part of the J. Paul Getty Museum collection in Los Angeles – which seems so very far away.

Vincent van Gogh, Irises, 1889, 29 1/4 x 37 1/8 in., Oil on canvas Collection of J. Paul Getty Museum

On a happier note, I always loved William Carlos Williams’ poem “Iris”, from his Pictures from Brueghel collection. He caught the essence of the bloom’s exuberance so well.

Iris

A burst of iris so that
come down for
breakfast

We searched through the
rooms for
that

sweetest odor and at
first could not
find its

source then a blue as
of the sea
struck

startling us from among
those trumpeting
petals

Garden Iris

Refuge

Last weekend I attended a symposium named “Art Meets History” at The Rokeby Museum. Overall, I enjoyed the discussions that evolved as the day progressed, but I left feeling a bit lukewarm about how well the presenters met the mark in aiding us to draw connections between our individual art practices and history.

Clementines ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 8.5 x 11 inches, Ink and watercolor on paper In an effort to add color to my sketchbooks I am experimenting with adding it in a limited way. I have been trying out a new sketchbook that I’m quite pleased with: 5.5 x 8.5 Stillman & Birn Beta Series, soft cover mixed media sketchbook with extra heavyweight, archival, white, cold press paper. I got it from my local art supply store, but Dick Blick also carries them.

But that isn’t the subject I’ve been mulling over this week. It’s not unusual to go to an event expecting one thing and to come away having gleaned something completely different. And that in itself can be worthwhile.

For me, the most important moment of the day was when another of the participants shared an experience of personal affront and crisis that was so overwhelming she couldn’t keep it to herself. It is not my story to share, but it led to a discussion and exploration of ways that art, as a form of expression and protest, can be a conduit for bringing awareness, catharsis, and perhaps even change.

These aren’t easy times and there are any number of worthy issues to dominate our consciousness, all meriting attention and consideration. Art provides one of the most salient platforms for bringing awareness and for expressing the myriad feelings and ideas that accompany thorny topics.

Vermonters are not shy about expressing their opinions and concerns; there is excellent work being made here that carries an underlying message — whether about the environment, our current political climate, or any other of a host of important issues. I often find myself feeling a bit out of step as I don’t approach my work with a cause to champion; my considerations are more home-centric and lean toward academic formalities.

My pieces celebrate day-to-day, run-of-the-mill household observations that often go unnoticed in the bustle of cellphones and busy schedules. Yet it is just such repetitive everyday sights which bring me (and I hope my viewers) pleasure and even comfort, offering a sense of constancy amid the tumult and distress that accompanies the unrelenting barrage of news.

Protest is important yet there should also be room in our consciousness for quiet statements that give us hope, reminding us of the good that surrounds us each day. We need to honor the moments that bring joy via their simplicity and their universality. We need refuge.

So, in a world of causes and points to be made, perhaps my simple tablescapes and dog shadows have more to contribute than I thought.

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This weekend marks the opening of the 2019 Rijswijk Textile Biennial which runs from June 18 to October 6th.

RTB Poster

I am so excited that four of my pieces (shown below) were selected to be part of the exhibit alongside the work of 21 other artists from across the world.

Artist list

While scheduling prevents my making it to the opening, I’m looking forward to getting to the exhibit this fall. Should you be traveling to The Netherlands before October 6th, please do consider a trip to the Rijswijk Museum, only 3.5 miles from The Hague.

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.

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.