Clearing The Decks

When I look back through the last 5 years of December posts, I can see a slow progression toward coming to grips with the fact that, due to all the extra chores surrounding the holidays, this has evolved into a month of reflection, reassessment, and planning ahead rather than business-as-usual production. And maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.
My 2017 post Don’t Forget to Check Your Rearview is a jumping-off point for how you might do the same.

Before

After weeks of juggling various projects, I finally devoted a full day last weekend to clearing the decks throughout my studio — a big job, but one that will help this coming January get off to an efficient start. It wasn’t until after I’d had my purge-and-organize session that I discovered Alyson Stanfield’s lastest Art Biz podcast with Fiona Valentine: 5 Simple Steps to an Organized Studio. If a studio clear-out is coming up on your calendar, give this a listen, keeping in mind Fiona’s counsel that a messy studio costs you time, money and productivity.

After

It may not look it, but this is an “after” shot too.

Value(able) Lesson

Important lesson from this week: color is flexible, but value needs to remain constant.

Problem:
How to convey two objects that are the same color, ostensibly sitting under the same light source, but depicted on backgrounds that are entirely different from each other in both color and saturation.
The best answer seems to lie in value. Look closely at the similarities and differences of these two knights to see what I mean. The highlight color is constant, but the shadow colors are not: shades of mauve and purple in the knight facing right, slate blue and navy in the knight facing left. Yet the overall impression of both is the same.

My January 2016 post, Benefiting from the Basics, points out how trimming back to thinking only in terms of value (while painting a monochromatic watercolor sketch) revealed an unexpected and beneficial parallel with my textile work, one that I continue to think about and use today.

As Carol Marine says in Chapter 4 of her book Daily Painting, “If you have the values down, the world will be your oyster”.

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Ok, I admit it, this is more than just a link to an archived post. Old habits die hard, but it’s a start. The good news is that I saved hours this week, all of which have been devoted to stitching (and making discoveries about value).

5 Candles

I’m trying to wrap my brain around the fact that this marks my 260th post and the close of five years of faithfully writing and posting to Eye of the Needle every single week since November 29, 2014. A huge shoutout to my son who encouraged me to take the leap; I’m not sure I would have ventured into the blogosphere without his gentle nudge.

If you’ve ever toyed with the idea of starting a blog about your art, or even some sort of writing practice, consider these benefits:

Practicing anything leads to improvement, and writing regularly has taught me an immeasurable amount about expressing my ideas — both on paper and verbally. And perhaps even more importantly, it has helped me appreciate ruthless editing.
Those who tout the advantages of writing about one’s art aren’t kidding — it really does improve the ability to pin down and coherently articulate your process and the ideas behind your work. This is key when talking to others, especially if what you make isn’t as readily understood as the art of an oil painter or a stone sculptor.
Writing impels one to structure and organize a thesis, a potentially tall order for those of us who think visually. Writing helps solidify the bigger picture (idea) behind your art, making the tricky decisions about which direction to take next, if not clear, much easier.
Without this blog I wouldn’t have discovered a fraction of the interesting artists, books, articles, and general information about art that I share. My research has led to a feeling of connection with the art world and its larger community.
Eye of the Needle has also created a sense of personal camaraderie. Your comments are always welcome and much appreciated. I thoroughly enjoy reading/hearing about your experiences and recommendations.
And finally, I never dreamed how much I would enjoy the process of writing (and rewriting) itself. Reading what writers say about their own art helpfully overlaps with other creative processes. Books like Stephen King’s On Writing, Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, and Eric Maisel’s A Writer’s Paris have provided info and ideas that have bled across disciplines into my own practice.

But (isn’t there always a but?) that said, I have had to come to grips with the huge amount of time (on average 8 hours per week) this commitment demands. I’d like to spend more hours drawing and on my textile work, neither of which could be considered particularly “speedy” activities. So I’ve decided to make some gentle changes. The transition will be a work in progress; please bear with me.

I am going to take the month of December off from writing but will still be uploading links to one post from my archives each week. If you’re anything like me, it may be as though you’re reading it for the first time. 😊 I will still leave the door open to the possibility of sharing information I may come across in my reading that I think might be of interest or of help to you.
All of which means you will still be getting your regular Friday email from me.

©Elizabeth Fram Next step: planning how to attack to smaller pieces flanking the queen while balancing all with the other side. It looks a little wonky now, but we’ll see what happens.

When January rolls around, I’m hoping to have a clearer idea of how to proceed. It’s likely I will trim back to 2 written posts per month, while keeping you abreast of my drawings and textile work as they unfold. We’ll see.

As I post this on Thanksgiving Day, it seems particularly appropriate to say thanks so much for being here up to this point, and I hope you will stick with me as Eye of the Needle moves forward.

Downeast Alchemist

Don’t you love it when you come across the unexpected?

When visiting the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland, Maine last month, the last gallery I walked through held a wonderful surprise. As something of a temple to Maine art, artists, and the state itself, the Farnsworth is filled with works that express a love for the landscape, seascapes, people, and industry that make Maine the special place it is. For the most part, I would say the collection spans the early 19th century to the late 20th. In such a relatively traditional environment, happening upon Brian White’s piece Rose Arbor / Sea Street was a refreshing anomaly.

Rose Arbor / Sea Street, Brian White, 2006, Welded copper tubing, shells, Gaufrage velvet

Unquestionably, White’s piece is a confection; a dress formed of metal, covered in roses and leaves that one soon realizes are made of thousands of tiny shells. The work communicates beauty and strength, two characteristics that one might also associate with Maine. I tend to be attracted to work where the materials don’t necessarily jive with what is being portrayed, thus nudging the imagination via unexpected parallels. Take a look at Fraser Smith’s wood carved “textiles” for another example of this approach.

The gallery card adjacent to the work says of White: “his distinctive body of work reflects his sensitivity to materials and at the same time pays homage to the memory of people and events past and present, often referencing the sea”. I searched for more information on him and discovered very little. But check out John Ames “Frog Pond Journal” blog and the Peabody Essex Museum site to see others of his imaginative pieces and to gain a glimpse into White’s world.

Rose Arbor / Sea Street, detail

Having grown up on the Maine coast and logged my fair share of solitary hours on a rocky beach, I found depths to this piece beyond the obvious use of unexpected found materials. It shot me back through time, allowing me to indulge memories of childhood imaginary worlds created out of tide pool treasures and detritus washed up on the shore. What a gift of connection that is.

Read Paula Crown’s article Thinking Like an Artist – Translating Ideas into Form while keeping White’s work in the back of your mind as context. Both left me with an appreciation of the broad alchemy of art-making and how it shapes our world.

Living Color

If you had to choose one thing to work on for the next 6 months to a year, what would it be?

I’m still chipping away at my 2019 goal to incorporate more color in my life drawings.
Generally, what I think most about when drawing is line, so I’ve been using hatching to follow through on that plan. However, the more drawings I get under my belt, the more I see a glimmer of where further practice may lead.

The following quote pretty well encapsulates what pulls me into any drawing in the first place while outlining a worthy quality to strive for in 2020.

A line is a visual trail of energy that has been drawn across a surface, and is a manifestation of the life energy of the person that made it. ~Mick Maslen*

Rather than switching gears next year, I’m planning to build on the steps I’ve taken so far, while also working toward stronger color and deeper values. My experimentation with varying papers has shown me how much they contribute to the crispness and clarity of both line and color.

*I was interested in learning more about Mick Maslen since I wasn’t at all familiar with his name. Turns out he is a UK artist who taught drawing and painting for many years before retiring from teaching in 2008.

Through the wonder of the internet, I also learned he was a contributor to The Guardian newspaper’s 2009 Free Guide to Drawing, a treasure trove of interviews and tutorials with leading contemporary artists. Check it out! He, together with Jack Southern, wrote the book The Drawing Projects: An Exploration of the Language of Drawing, a major publication on contemporary drawing practice and theory. Boy, would I love to get my hands on a copy of that (!) – but an extensive search revealed it seems to be either out of stock or available at a too steep price. I will have to keep my eyes peeled for a copy in used bookstores — which may be a challenge outside the UK.

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If you’re interested in using learning more about colored pencils, this is a good place to start. The number of options may make your head spin, but it’s worth wading through the info to see what’s best for you.

Caran D'Ache Pablo

I started out with Prismacolor Verithin because I was drawing on vellum and wanted a pencil that was hard and would keep a strong point. But their colors are limited, and since I was moving to other surfaces, I bought a set of Caran D’Ache Pablo which are reasonably priced while giving me the most bang-for-my-buck, color-wise. The Caran D’Ache are much creamier and blend well, allowing for a strong build-up of color. The Verithin are best for seeing individual lines as you layer colors over each other, so I tend to use them in my life drawings where I want to see the hatching. They each react differently depending on the paper used, so lots of experimentation is worth the time.

Verithin

Last Hurrah of Color

One of the perks of living in a rural state is the beauty of the open land one passes on the way to pretty much everywhere.

Blueberry leaves in the fall are glorious – as these few stragglers attest

Each season lends its voice to the ever-changing flora, with color combinations that are sometimes prominent, sometimes subtle, but always there to enjoy. The sight of a well-known field as it reliably cycles through the year’s seasons is a both a source of comfort and of inspiration.

The azaleas also outdid themselves this year

Driving the back roads through the Northeast Kingdom to the Canadian border last week was a chance to enjoy the final gasp of what has been a gorgeous Vermont fall. Of particular note were the deep russet and rust hues interlaced between the ochres and dark umbers of the grasses and foliage in the marshes and bogs we passed, their impact heightened by the gloomily overcast skies. As various plants decline toward winter their colors differentiate, allowing their individual shapes to show in a way that isn’t visible amidst the lush blend of summer’s myriad shades of green.

This shrub is a voracious creeper that requires constant and merciless pruning. But all is forgiven when it puts on this stunning ombre display.

There wasn’t time to stop to take photos, but after getting home, I circled our yard to record the last legs of our own foliage. And good thing I did; strong winds and rain over the following 24 hours swept down the last of the leaves. For one final afternoon though, the striking color took my breath away.

The sight of crabapples and winterberry ease the transition when leaves drop

Not being a landscape artist, it’s hard to gauge how these impressions will surface in my work, but I know that somehow they will. It’s part of the wonderful, ongoing homework of making art. Paying attention to the colors that surround us, gleaning what we can in order to reinterpret them in a meaningful and personal way, is one of the many privileges of what we do and a major component of what attracts me to the work of others. The paintings below, seen recently at The Farnsworth Museum in Rockland, Maine, are a perfect example.

Six Cows At Lincolnville, Lois Dodd, 1961, Oil on canvas

Untitled (View from the Ruohomaa homestead on Dodge’s Mountain), Kosti Ruohomaa, 1935, Oil on panel.

To frame this idea from another perspective, consider color not necessarily as subject, but from the angle of its impact on us as a backdrop. Research abounds on how wall color affects mood and behavior in prisons, schools, and hospitals; it is certainly true of our outward surroundings as well. Museums and galleries play on this theory too — the variety of colors that grace their walls add immeasurably, although perhaps subconsciously, to the way one sees and experiences the art on display. Is that not also true of our outdoor environment and its effect on us? What better reason to celebrate a field sporting its last hurrah of color on a grey and drizzly morning than for witnessing its inherent beauty and the way the sight of it flavors the rest of our day as we move forward.

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I found a couple of interesting articles about the thought that goes on behind the scenes in choosing wall colors to enhance an exhibition, thereby heightening the viewers’ experience. In one, individual curators talk about what inspires their choices, and in the other, how color designers/colorists often create new colors to best highlight the work on exhibit.

©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 18×24 inches, Graphite and colored pencil on paper Perhaps resurfacing more quickly than I would have thought — reds and golds in a quick study from life drawing earlier this week.

And for those interested in getting even further in the weeds on this subject, enjoy this fascinating article from the Metropolitan Museum on “Color and Light in the Museum Environment”.

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One final note and announcement:
At the end of this month, I am going to be making a bit of a change with this blog in order to reclaim some much-needed time for other areas of my practice. It won’t be disappearing entirely by any stretch, but it will begin to transform. I’ll let you know more at the end of November. In the meantime, I am ever so grateful for your ongoing interest and support, and I hope you will stay with me and keep reading as Eye of the Needle moves forward to its next chapter.

Persicaria

Making It Work

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

Progressing from bottom to top

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DIY

Whenever we travel by car I feel pretty unconstrained in terms of how much I bring along, but if we’re going by plane I try to travel as lightly as possible. That definitely includes art supplies.

This is what I brought with me earlier this month: a water brush, .01 Micron pen, Water-soluble pencil, .05 mechanical pencil, kneaded eraser, tiny watercolor palette and spray bottle. It all fits neatly in the 8 x 3 inch bag I got at the Munch Museum in May. Check out the Pocket Palette by Expeditionary Art , only slightly larger than a business card.

For Belgium and the Netherlands I trimmed my kit to the bare essentials and it worked really well. However, the one item that’s absolutely non-negotiable and that goes with me everywhere is a sketchbook. I’ve tried all sorts of options in the past, but even the smaller ones end up feeling bulky and heavy, taking up more room in my handbag than I’d like.

I can’t resist bringing museum brochures home but they eventually get recycled. Adding them to the cover of a sketchbook is a much more satisfactory solution. Note the elastic that keeps this sketchbook closed. It’s an extra step in the process that was well-worth the time.

For this latest trip though, I happened upon a new solution that worked beautifully: I made a sketchbook myself. By doing so, its overall size, type of paper, number of pages, and weight were exactly right. The binding isn’t at all bulky and, since it is hand-sewn, it opens completely flat, making a double-page spread possible if wanted.

There are numerous ways that you can bind the leaflets together, but simple is best for my needs.

As a matter of routine, I cut my 20″x30″ drawing sheets down to 18″x24″ so they fit the drawing board I bring to my weekly life-drawing sessions. That has left me with a slew of 6″x20″ strips in a variety of high-quality papers. By trimming 6 inches off the end of some of the strips and then folding each remaining 6″x14″ piece in half, I ended up with the very workable sketchbook size of 6″x7″.

Adding the elastic is simply a matter of making a couple of slits in the back cover that are as wide as the elastic itself, and then using a sturdy glue, such as PVA, to hold the ends in place.

One thing to think about is how many pages you think you’ll need for the time you’ll be away. I used 4 of the 6″x14″ strips and hand-bound them within a slightly larger “cover” of watercolor paper, giving me 16 (6x7in) or 7 (6x14in) pages — not counting the cover which can be additional pages if needed.

It was perfect! Lightweight, easy to slip into my purse, and especially versatile considering the variety of papers I had included.

Seeking out art supply stores in any new city is always fun. However, since everything has become so globalized, it’s a challenge to find something you can’t get at home. I haven’t seen this brand of pen before and it’s charcoal-colored ink sealed the deal for me. It was a great choice and souvenir for less than €3.

Google around to see if there’s a particular method/type of handmade sketchbook that’s right for you – there are a ton of tutorials on the web and Youtube. Or, follow these links: DIY Sketchbook & DIY Binding for a pretty comprehensive overview of the process and binding technique. The bottom line (and beauty) of this method is it’s completely flexible so you can adapt your book to your own particular needs.

Finally, here’s a taste of how I filled the sketchbook that I brought to the Netherlands and Belgium..

Traveling Shoes ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, 7 x 6 inches, Ink on paper. Note that this and the above drawing are on toned paper, while the one below has deckle edges. Variety is the beauty of a DIY sketchbook.

Art is in the Details

Before I began my journey with shibori, arriving at the point of personally dyeing all the silk used in my work, I regularly visited fabric stores to restock my palette. Rarely was I looking for anything in particular. Rather, I would just choose whatever “spoke” to me at the time, knowing at some point each selection would be just the right thing to fill some gap in a future piece.

Unwrapping my spoils after these outings, it was always amusing to see how beautifully those random choices worked together — often in unexpectedly delightful ways — despite the fact that there was no intent to ever use them side-by-side.

The Brugge coat of arms on the City Hall. The golden lion represents Belgium, the brown Bear represents the city of Brugge. The shield is the flag of Flanders.

In many ways, the images I capture when we travel have the same effect. Subconsciously, a theme of sorts will invariably surface. I’ve learned that once I become aware of what that subject may be, it lends a new sense of attention overall and, to some degree, the flavor of a scavenger hunt to the rest of the trip.

Our recent journey to Belgium was no exception. The fine craftsmanship and acute eye for detail, hallmarks of the country’s aesthetic throughout the centuries, made for a visual feast. What follows is a categorized sampling of the intricacies that caught my eye.

Lace
Although we didn’t make it to the Lace Museum, it was fun to see the influence of lace in unexpected places.

This example of a loosely woven bag metamorphosizing into lace intrigued me for it’s modern take on the medium, as well as its unusual colors.

There isn’t a much more iconic site in the Flemish world than a windmill. But in this instance I was more interested in the fence. Zoom in and look closely to see the lace pattern woven among the chain links.

There was a wonderful, life-size, hand-carved wooden sculpture of a quartet at the Musical Instrument Museum in Brussels. But it was the violinist that caught my eye.

Look closely

Lace!

Chocolate
With a shop on virtually every corner, we did our fair share of sampling. Some of the creations seemed almost too pretty to eat, but we got over that silliness in no time.

There is something for every interest…

Death by chocolate never looked as sweet

Even the boxed chocolates were like jewels. These are from Pierre Marcolini

The chocolates made by Galler were among my favorites, if there could be such a thing. I never had a chance to go back to ask about this architectural detail above their window. It looks old, but maybe not? There is definitely something on her tongue, but from the look on her face, it couldn’t possibly be a Galler chocolate — unless she just realized it’s the last one.

Dogs
It didn’t take long for the pooch-lover in me to notice that dogs are a valued part of the Belgian family, both now and in the past. We saw plenty of the live version out and about with their owners — in shops, restaurants, and generally on the streets. But I was also delighted to notice that they are well represented in museums, government buildings, and in advertisements.

Lush fabrics and a pampered pet in a Biblical allegorical painting

Housed upstairs in the Museum Arentshuis are the paintings and drawings of artist Frank Brangwyn. His drawings were particularly lovely. Note that he didn’t neglect the two dogs that joined the festivities in this quick sketch of the opening of the Brangwyn Museum (now Museum Arentshuis) in 1936.

Brugge’s Stadhuis (City Hall) is spectacular. Its vaulted Gothic Hall is a masterpiece of intricate architectural carvings and 19th century murals. The murals painted around the perimeter of the cavernous room by Albrecht De Vriendt depict the history of Brugge and Flanders, but not without the appearance of several Great Danes, as seen in the center foreground of this example.

A dog caps the tower atop the Damme town hall

I guess it’s never been unusual for dogs to accompany their owners to shops, as shown in this larger-than-life relief advertising shoe repair, carved by Antoine Vriens c.1935.

Frank Brangwyn’s painting The Afflicted Ones from 1923 demonstrates it isn’t only humans who suffer during difficult times.

Having lived with and loved two Greater Swiss Mountain dogs, it was a treat to find this Swissie hiding under the table in a painting at the Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts in Brussels.

And, to bring this to a close, what dog could be more Belgian than Tintin’s companion Snowy?

The next time you travel, consider finding some sort of “theme” to be on the lookout for. It’s remarkable what you’ll discover that you might not otherwise have noticed.
With that in mind, I have to chuckle at this caution from publisher and author William Feather (1889-1981)… “Beware the person who won’t be bothered with details.”

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I recently discovered James Clear’s (author of Atomic Habits) 3-2-1 Thursday newsletter which consists of 3 ideas, 2 quotes, and 1 question. It’s food for thought that makes the week a bit richer.

2019 Rijswijk Textile Biennial

How wonderful to have had the privilege of traveling to Rijswijk, Netherlands last week to view the 2019 Textile Biennial at Museum Rijswijk. Since then, knowing I’d want to recap the experience here, I’ve been trying to think how best to describe the exhibit. Words just don’t seem to adequately convey its full impact and impressive scope, so pictures will have to do.

Museum Rijswijk Note the bike parked to the left of the entrance, complete with front-end child carrier…a ubiquitous sight.

The museum is housed in a beautiful c.1790 mansion, saved and restored by the town of Rijswijk after realizing that the 1950s’ eye to modernization, which resulted in the wholesale demolition of many historic buildings, may have taken things a step too far. A beautiful modern annex was added in 2012.
The museum’s permanent collection consists of paintings, drawings, and prints by Rijswijk artists, dating from the 17th century to the present.

The biennial was woven throughout the museum, at times integrating pieces from the exhibit alongside work from the permanent collection, as the photo above illustrates.

I am quite fond of winter imagery, so was pleased to find Alone Together and Respite nestled, so to speak, in the snow.

Espresso & Peanut Butter between bouquets

Laurence James Bailey’s work appears in the center panel

An upstairs gallery

Mirjam Kruisselbrink, foreground; Kata Unger, left; Katherine Entis, right

My fourth piece, Poseidon’s Garden

Mirjam Kruisselbrink, foreground/left; Elizabeth Fram, center; David B. Smith, right

Josefina Concha

Josefina Concha again. I was so taken with her work that I had to share another of her installations.

Kayla Mattes

Kristine Fornes

Ana Teresa Barboza

Anna Astapova

Lawrence James Bailey

Lia de Jonghe

Monika Supé

Mark Newport

Noora Schroderus

Nigel Cheney, far left; Paul Yore, middle left; Ana Astapova, middle right; Marianne Thoermer, far right; Higi Jung, foreground

Kata Unger, left; Max Colby on pedestal; Bhakti Ziek, right

A head-on shot of Bhakti’s lovely series. It was such a treat that there were two of us from Vermont in this show.

Higi Jung

Max Colby

Nigel Cheney

Paula do Prado

Paul Yore

Each artist had numerous pieces in the show. I’ve done my best to see that everyone is represented at least once in these photos. But that said, these images barely scratch the surface of the impressive whole. What an honor it was to have been included.

The lovely catalog includes an essay on each artist accompanied with photos of their work