Category Archives: Textiles and Drawings

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

Please note all work is ©Jackie Abrams and Deidre Scherer

“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.

©Elizabeth Fram, work in progress

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.

Tell Me Again

Occasionally a poem is just right.
I eagerly recommend Mary Oliver’s 2013 compilation, Dog Songs, to any pooch lover — especially anyone who has had the honor of sharing their heart with a rescue.

Feb 23

Here the poet herself reads one of my favorites: Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night.

Which of course reminds me of our Quinn.

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I just discovered Hilary Pecis‘ work. Orchestrating the ordinary into the lyrical, her paintings are bouquets of pattern, color, and familiarity. Her work encourages a recognition of our own individual worlds through the expression of hers. To me, the unexpected prominence of books in many of her pieces, appearing in neat stacks or filling walls of shelves in the background, add to the comfortable sense of “home”. As Tamsin Smith and Matt Gonzalez wrote in their October 25, 2018 review of Pacis’ work for Juxtapoz “…beauty is a matter of looking closely. It is the eye, not the object, that holds the power.”
I couldn’t agree more.

Bird’s Eye View

It’s a sure sign that winter is waning when the warning for Town Meeting appears.

Town Meeting Sketch 1

Each year, the first Tuesday of March brings us all out of hibernation and back into the folds of community. Town Meeting Day is set aside for every municipality in Vermont to come together in order to vote on budget items, to elect local officials, and to discuss town business. It is a venerated civic tradition that has been going strong for more than 200 years, and it demonstrates democracy at its finest.

Town Meeting 2

Aside from those attributes, I love the opportunity to sit up in the balcony of our primary school gym, listening to the discussion and voting “from the floor”, while drawing a vast array of the community members sitting below. Being up high skews my perspective to some degree, but it works to my advantage as I can see a lot more than just the backs of heads.

Town Meeting 3

Unlike airports, where everyone seems to have have their neck bent and head bowed toward their phone, people at Town Meeting are engaged — paying attention to the speakers and select board, or chatting with their neighbor. Within the crowd there were quite a few knitters, children playing quietly near their parents, and a sign language interpreter. So, lots to look at and to think about in attempting to capture an image.

Town Meeting 4

The added advantage is I can happily sketch for as long as I want without calling attention to myself or making anyone feel uncomfortable or self-conscious. It’s a wonderful forum for practice; too bad it only comes around once a year.

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Many thanks to my good friend and fellow artist, Dianne Shullenberger, who alerted me to Sketchbook Vol. 1, an exhibition of 14 contemporary artists’ sketchbooks at Sugarlift in Long Island City, NY. The work is mind-blowing; check out the particulars here and here. You can follow-up by visiting websites or Instagram accounts to see more of each artist’s amazing work.

SF MoMA, Part 2

There’s something to be said for visiting a museum with an agenda in mind, and yet wandering from gallery to gallery, exploring as the spirit moves, can be just as rewarding. A couple of weeks ago, with my pilgrimage to Wayne Thiebaud’s paintings and drawings securely under my belt, I had the remainder of the afternoon to roam freely throughout the rest of the museum.

Looking back through the pictures I took, these are the pieces that stood out.

#1 Rope ©Jackie Winsor, 1976 , Wood and hemp

Jackie Winsor, born in St. John’s, Newfoundland, is descended from a long line of Canadian ships’ captains and farmers. One might infer from her choice of materials (wood and hemp), that her family’s history has had a strong influence on her work.

The repetition of spheres and verticals in this piece leave me feeling of grounded, its form projecting a sense of steadiness and reliability. Contrasted with its shadow which, to my eye, somehow reads as almost whimsical, I couldn’t help but think of cartoons where a figure’s shadow projects a different personality from the character itself.

Geoffrey Hendricks and Brian ©Alice Neel, 1978 , Oil on canvas

Alice Neel, detail

Looking at portraits has become a more nuanced experience since I started regularly attending life drawing sessions, 14 months ago. This Alice Neel portrait of Geoffrey Hendricks and his partner Brian first grabbed me with the comfortable sense of familiarity it radiates. Looking more closely, it is the wonderful halo of green surrounding each man’s head and the general use of color overall that locks me in place.

Untitled ©James Weeks, 1953, Oil on canvas

This piece by James Weeks, also a force of pure color, is such a beautiful and exuberant expression of abstraction via shape and composition. I love the way the colors around the edges are channeled into and through the figures, keeping your eyes swirling throughout the painting the way I imagine the music of these musicians is filling the room where they play. Still, the composition remains firmly balanced by the strong verticals and horizontals, an assertive structure that holds the piece together.

Noel in the Kitchen ©Joan Brown, ca. 1964 , Oil on canvas

Joan Brown’s work is not delicate or subtle. The paint is built up so thickly and unevenly that this painting is as much a tactile experience as a visual one. What a perfect expression of the early years of motherhood: messy, loud, and unpredictable. Yet it also stirs a tenderness of memory for those of us who have seen this sight, or something quite similar, in our own kitchens.

Spider ©Louise Bourgeois, 2003 , Stainless steel and tapestry

I was happy to get to the top floor to see the grouping of Louise Bourgeois’ spiders. This example that inserts an element of empathy by including a human form comprised of tapestry, was especially resonant. Enjoy what Bourgeois has to say about her work in this short video.

I am quite taken with Cloth Lullaby, an illustrated biography of Bourgeois, written for children. This year I would very much like to read an account of her life meant for adults. There are so many Bourgeois biographies available that it’s hard to choose. Can any of you recommend one that you thought was particularly good?

Fire ©Teresita Fernández, 2005, Silk, steel, and epoxy

Of all the wonderful work I saw, there was one piece that stands out. Looking up from Thiebaud’s work to the next gallery, this view took my breath away. This piece has a presence that is absolutely spectacular. If you can spare three minutes, this wonderful museum video provides insight into the work and its origin.

Fire ©Teresita Fernández, 2005

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Finally, seeking out bookstores is an important part of any trip, don’t you think? If you have time to spare while in the neighborhood, there are two that are well-worth a visit within a stone’s throw of the SF MoMA.

I couldn’t resist this wonderful little book. As I suspect is also true of Alexander Book Company where I found it, you can dip in and out of this book and still find something new each time you crack it open.

And for contemporary art books, don’t miss 871 Fine Arts on Hawthorne Street, an establishment that carries only art books — thousands of them. It has an adjoining gallery as well. Complete the triangle with a visit to the MoMA’s bookstore, and I guarantee your inner bibliophile will end the day fully satisfied.

Golden Gate Art, Part 1

I didn’t realize it at the time, but the back-end advantage to the relatively nomadic life my husband and I lived during our first decade of marriage is that we now have a handful of very special places (and people) to revisit across the country.

Untitled (Neapolitan Pie) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca.1990, Pastel and graphite on paper

Untitled (Two Ice Cream Scoops on Plate) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca. 1985, Watercolor and graphite on paper

Over the years, my artistic sensibilities were unquestionably influenced by the various places we’ve lived, as well as by many of the artists who are iconic to those locales. At one point or another I’ve called Maine, Washington, Virginia, California, Hawaii, Pennsylvania, and Vermont home, and I’ve collected my fair share of artistic heroes along the way.

Untitled (Bakery Case) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca.1963, Felt-tip pen on paper

Untitled (Bakery Case with Wedding Cake) ©Wayne Thiebaud, ca. 1963, Felt-tip pen on paper In 1962 Thiebaud stated, “At present, I am painting still lifes take from window displays, store counters, supermarket shelves, and mass-produced items from manufacturing concerns in America.” Responding to the postwar manufacturing boom, commercial developments such as the Nut Tree along U.S. Route 80 offered unprecedented visual experiences surrounding the ritual of food, including seductive confectionary cases like those seen here. Although a wedding cake seems to promise fulfillment, the lack of human presence evokes a sense of emptiness.

Wayne Thiebaud is right up there at the top of my list, so I have been looking forward to seeing the current exhibit of his drawings and paintings at San Francisco MoMA for months. It was a thrill to finally get there last week.

©Wayne Thiebaud, Untitled sketches, Ink on paper

Pairing Thibaud’s work with the companion exhibit “Artist’s Choice” (pieces from the Museum’s collection that Thiebaud hand-selected himself) rounded out the experience beautifully. Each painting in this concurrent exhibit is tagged with Thiebaud’s notations, providing not only a window into his thought process in choosing a particular piece, but presumably identifying various factors that contribute to the way he approaches his own work as well. They are words of wisdom from a teacher I wish I had had.

Orange Sweater Elmer Bischoff ©1955, Oil on canvas Thiebaud notes: “You can almost feel, since it’s a library, that it’s a very quiet place. Beautiful light coming in from several directions. There is a nice color relationship between the green and the little tiny bit of orange shadow over her sweater. But it’s also a very good geometric abstraction: the way those horizontals and verticals work and that terrific angle. This is really beautiful — the way this pattern of light coming down from the top and across in a nice L-shape forms one illumination.”

Jockey James Weeks ©1962, Tempera on Board Thiebaud: “Isn’t that sweet? This marvelous intuitive placement where this little white structure holds the whole thing beautifully centered. His paintings are normally big – or the ones I knew him for. He went back East at one point, back to Boston. But he was here, it seems to me, with some power and some effect.”

Scéne due rue (Street Scene) Pablo Picasso ©1900, Oil on Canvas Note: Picasso reused a canvas for this painting. Just beneath the surface is a cancan scene. Thiebaud: “Well, he sure settled that down. His mother must’ve been overseeing it. He’s such a strange fellow but this feels so authentic and so real. I’ve had a long, long association with it. I think I made some drawings of it.”

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And while it’s fun to return to old haunts when going back to a former home, the lure of discovering something new can be even more enticing. With a bit of pre-trip research, I discovered the San Francisco School of Needlework and Design, a non-profit organization devoted to preserving and promoting the traditions of hand embroidery and bringing a modern creativity to an ancient art form.

Lucy and Annalee of the SF School of Needlework and Design

Conveniently located on the north side of Union Square, I was warmly welcomed by Program Director, Lucy Barter and Director of Community Engagement, Annalee Levin, who shared the wide scope of what SF SNAD offers: classes, lectures, exhibitions, an extensive library, a shop with supplies, and free weekly stitch-ins that are open to all). It’s an enviable resource; be sure to check their events calendar and stop in the next time you’re in the Bay Area.

SNAD’s library contains over 3000 titles, including an antiquarian collection.

And, if you are an embroiderer, consider contributing to their ongoing “World’s Longest Band Sampler Project”. Full information on their website.

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Lastly, a hearty thanks to those of you who have been hanging in with me (and the octopus) for the past weeks. Thousands of stitches later, it’s finally finished.
Here’s a taste of how far we’ve come.

January 8, 2019, in process, Silk thread on raw silk

And now, I’m ready to move on.
More from San Francisco next week.

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.

Two-fer

If you’ve been paying attention to my sketches and what I’ve written about them over the past several years, it won’t surprise you that I think a lot about composition. It’s the glue that holds all other elements together, as well as contributing an accessible pathway toward new discoveries.

Hiding ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 11 x 8.5 inches, Ink and colored pencil on paper. If you haven’t been following my sketches, you might not realize that lump in the background is Quinn, snuggled up in her bed at one end of the sofa.

Lately I’ve been playing around with the idea of including two focal points within a composition. My first stab at this approach was serendipitous, not intentional. Initially I just wanted to record a fading candy-striped amaryllis, but it soon became apparent that the flowers didn’t hold enough weight on their own for the drawing to feel complete. The decision to bring Quinn into the background not only added much-needed muscle, but by limiting color to within the amaryllis alone, an interesting tension arose between the foreground and the background.

Thinking about that sketch afterward, and the way its various elements came together, made me realize there is something deeper to be mined in a drawing that balances two subjects. And, by including a bit of healthy competition between color (as an entity unto itself) and pattern (or marks), I think the overall effect has the potential to become even more compelling.

Frida Twins ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 18 x 24 inches, Graphite and colored pencil on paper. One of our regular models occasionally brings her twin sister to sit with her. This day they were both fully decked-out as Frida Kahlo, and drawing them from this angle became my “aha” moment.

It was pure luck that we had two models instead of just one at life drawing a couple of weeks ago. That session, on the heels of the first sketch with Quinn and the ones that followed it, cemented the idea that this is an approach I should investigate further.

Alexis Too ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 18 x 24 inches, Graphite on paper This week, looking beyond our model, I experimented with including another member of our group. The fact that she was concentrating so deeply made it easier to capture her. The contrast between the more detailed figure and the sketchy one make for a more interesting drawing, I think.

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I really enjoyed discovering Kate Park’s work and website this week. Maybe you will too.