To Save or Not To Save?

The first book I finished this year was Goodbye Things by the minimalist Fumio Sasaki. While I admire his creativity in eliminating a lot of his extra stuff, there is no way I could achieve the degree of clearing out that he advocates. So while I’ll keep chipping away at my varied accumulations, I’m resigned to settling for “good enough”.

Iris House

I come by my pack rat genes honestly and my studio is one space where I never regret holding onto something. It may take (literally) decades, but the day invariably comes when something I’ve put aside is exactly what I need. Materials leftover and saved from previous projects have often been the backbone of new pieces, including what I’ve been working on this month.

Leftover from my Covid Houses, willow branches and dried iris stalks, wrapped with embroidery thread, suggest the dichotomy of perilous rising waters with the stability of community.

First: two brick “houses” for “Water Logged, but Red Hot”, a flood relief fundraiser for Studio Place Arts which experienced significant flooding on July 10th. Damaged bricks from the building’s foundation were distributed among artists and the resulting art pieces are now part of a silent auction to benefit SPA in its flood recovery. See below for details.

Back side of above piece

With those pieces under my belt, this week I’ve been working on an invitational textile piece for an upcoming exhibition that is slated to coincide with the total eclipse this spring. Vermont falls along the prime viewing path, so it’s exciting to be a part of this event.

Somehow these beautiful shades were meant to go together, and I think they will beautifully represent the varying degrees of light during the total eclipse.

Sometimes it’s hard to know where to start, but there’s always inspiration to be found looking through what I have right here. Needless to say, having a selection of fabrics (who knows how old) and threads to choose from helps to get the creative juices flowing.

Discharged dye via stitched-resist suggests the corona of light created by the moon obscuring the sun. I’m still figuring out my next steps, but it will likely involve a fair amount of embroidery.

All too often I ask myself — do I keep this or get rid of it? It always depends, but if it’s studio-related, to heck with minimalism.

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FYI: The SPA Flood Relief auction runs from January 24 – February 3. Brick artwork will be displayed at Studio Place Arts and silent auction bids will be taken during this time, both in-person and on-line via the SPA website. Art will be sold and distributed at the conclusion of the SPA Art Social on Saturday, February 3. 100% of the sale will benefit the SPA Flood Recovery Fund.

Unexpected Treats

Isn’t it often the case that what you weren’t planning is what ends up being the most memorable of any excursion?

Dress and Portrait of Mrs. Charles E. Inches: Sargent

Evening Dress, Unidentified Maker, American, Silk velvet with silk plain weave lining. Worn by Mrs. Charles E. Inches (Louise Pomeroy) in her portrait, painted by John Singer Sargent, 1887

Last week we made a speedy trip to Boston to see “Fashioned By Sargent” at the MFA before it closes on the 15th. Even with timed entry on a weekday, it was very crowded and tough to dodge the many other viewers in order to truly see the paintings or read the gallery notes.

“Beetle Wing Dress” for Lady Macbeth, designed by Alice Laura Comyns Carr and Ada Cort Nettleship, 1888. Cotton, silk, lace, beetle-wing cases, glass, and metal.

Happily, the highlight turned out to be seeing some of the real-life dresses displayed near each of the portraits in which they appear, lending a better understanding of how Sargent rendered textures and draping. For anyone who sews, getting a close-up look at the detailed workmanship and needle skills of 19th and early 20th century clothing made waiting for the crowd to thin around each display case worthwhile.

Back view of Lady Macbeth Dress, Cloak

John Singer Sargent, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, 1889. Oil on canvas.

Comparatively, the rest of the museum felt enjoyably spacious and it was a treat to explore many of the other exhibits on view. There were three I can’t stop thinking about: Matthew Wong: The Realm of Appearances, Dinorá Justice: The Lay of the Land, and Toshiko Takaezu: Shaping Abstraction.

In hindsight, the Sargent exhibit landed like a heaping serving of eye-candy, whereas the Wong, Justice and Takaezu works were more main course fare. Interestingly, all three maintain their strong individual voices while unabashedly nodding toward and weaving in influences from art of the past and of their contemporaries. I walked out with a lot to digest.

Matthew Wong, Once Upon a Time in the West 2018 Gouache on paper. Wong gleaned inspiration from many sources, including films. This piece takes its title from Sergio Leone’s 1968 film of the same name.

Dinorá Justice, Portrait 36, after Manet’s “Olympia,” 2023 Oil and acrylic on canvas. Justice’s work references well-known paintings by 16th-19th century men which feature and objectify reclining women. Her point is to reorient the historical masculine gaze, empowering her figures by connecting them with their femininity and their environment through the decorative textile patterns and colors of her Brazilian heritage.

Toshiko Takaezu, Euphrosyne (Joy), 2000 Stoneware. Rather than painting on canvas, Takaezu employed full-body glazed brushwork on her large-scale ceramic pieces, keeping her in step with her abstract expressionist contemporaries.

The overarching connection I found between the three of them (and what I most enjoyed about their disparate work), was the mainstay of pattern. Cacophonous? Yes. Tranquil? Also yes. Satisfying? Definitely.

I think it’s natural to find a sort of pure, visceral joy in pattern. I’m sure it has something to do with survival, but leaving evolutionary science out of it, I googled “what makes patterns so attractive to humans?”. The answer was that we are drawn to patterns because they help us make sense of the world around us, satisfying our brain’s need to find order in chaos. Reading further about each of these artists, it’s not a huge leap to think that perhaps that definition describes a large part of what each of them may well have been/are seeking.

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One last unexpected treat the MFA had in store:
During the pandemic, I followed Eben Haines’ Shelter In Place Gallery on Instagram. Maybe you did too?

Eben Haines, Shelter in Place Gallery, 2020 Foamcore, mat board, acrylic and latex paint, balsa wood, redwood, plexiglass, adhesive backed vinyl, adhesive backed polyvinyl and aluminum

It was such a lovely thing to see at the time — ongoing exhibitions of artists’ “Large scale” work, placed and photographed in his miniature space, giving the impression of a full-scale gallery show at a time when no one could venture beyond their homes. It was a wonderful troupe d’œil illusion.
Coming across Haines’ miniature gallery, in the flesh, on view in the “Tiny Treasures” exhibit of miniatures last week, felt like running into an old friend.

Eben Haines Shelter in Place Gallery

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And finally,

A peek at the chaos that is my workspace this week. More on what’s cooking next time.

Mending Magic

Here’s a final recommendation to close out 2023.

Mending Life – A Handbook for Repairing Clothes and Hearts by Nina and Sonya Montenegro has been on my radar since it first came out in 2020. But it took having the perfect recipient this Christmas for me to finally buy a copy. Of course I had to ever-so-gently read it before wrapping it up to put under the tree.

Mending Life

If ever there was a book containing love, this is it.
Filled with gentle stories and charming illustrations that shine a light on the humble art of mending, you will never again think of repairing something with needle and thread as just a mundane chore.

The Montenegro sisters frame mending as an act of homage – to the clothes we wear, to those who made them, to the earth we want to protect, and to those who took the time and love to mend for us in the past.

Back Cover Mending Life

The easy-to-follow illustrated directions cover an assortment of ways to darn, patch or repair — perfect for beginners and seasoned sewers alike. The authors address sewing basics, as well as the more advanced Sashiko, needle-felting, crochet and needle-weaving, reminding us that an act of repair can also be a creative gesture (think Wabi-sabi or Kintsugi). The possibilities are virtually endless.

As I grew up, every woman in my orbit had a mending basket; it was as much a fact of life as any other set of household tools, completely unnoticed in its ordinariness. A skilled repair was meant to remain invisible. And even though I patched my jeans in high-school with contrasting fabrics, I never really thought of mending in general as a form of healing, let alone creativity.

But this sweet book has changed my mind. Suddenly I’m scouring my closets, looking for something to mend. That is indeed magic!

Happy New Year!

Stick Season

I love Stick Season.

It’s prized by locals as the sweet period between fall and winter when pretty much everybody from away, stays away. But I’m more fond of it as the landscape’s last hurrah before the snow arrives.

It’s not as showy as September and October, but the russets, golds and olives of November have their own richness, especially when backed by a crisp blue sky or the drama of heavy purple-grey clouds.

Once again we become reacquainted with the structure of the trees that had been hidden by leaves since Spring. Lingering apples and the garnet red fruit in a stand of sumac brighten barren, grey branches like premature holiday ornaments.

In the early evening, the sometimes subtle, sometimes shocking gradations of a sunset’s colors can be viewed through the dark lines and silhouettes of leafless sentinels, often accented with an early star.

And before we know it, snow covers the mountains and a new season begins. Such is the beauty of Vermont.

Side Note: Can’t write about this subject without referencing Noah Kahan’s hit Stick Season, from the album of the same name

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For those of you who celebrate, I wish you a very Merry Christmas. And for those who don’t, may the weeks ahead be a period of cozy respite and peace.
As ever, thank you for joining me here.

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It’s that time of year and we’re all feeling it. Take a break from the holiday flurry; there are still two more weeks to visit Who Are We? Pieces of the Identity Puzzle at the Satellite Gallery in Lyndonville, VT. (Scroll down the page of the above link for more photos and information).

The Art of Noticing

This doesn’t happen all that often, but I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what to write this week. And then it occurred to me, perhaps that conundrum in itself is worth a few paragraphs.

The first pass of color literally sets the tone for what is to come

The challenge of finding something to share with you every other week, beyond just “I made this and then I made that” is a big part of what has sustained me in posting regularly for – can it really be? – nine years. Invariably, if I keep an eye open, something unexpected will spark an idea and from there it’s a matter of connecting the dots. My goal, of course, is that whatever that particular something is will be of interest to you as well.

Inspired by my sitter, drawing from my button stash was a no-brainer

So as I was driving to the grocery store several days ago, mulling over what I’ve seen, read, talked about with folks, and yes, been working on in the studio over the past couple of weeks, I was still coming up dry. But then it dawned on me: having nothing to write about is something to write about. In other words, running into walls is a given and finding a way around them is just as much a part of my (or any) practice as threading a needle and putting brush to paper.

The embroidery on this piece is relatively minimal. Not only does it encourage a viewer to slow down in her looking, but also to more closely considering the unique qualities of watercolor as the stitches and the washes work together. The hard and fluid edges throughout the work are another nod to the medium.

There’s no gliding through this game; every single detail is worthy of consideration. As Lorene Edwards Forkner of A Handmade Garden has written: “Noticing reveals the invisible”. So if I had to distill into a single element what it is that most feeds every part of my practice, both in and out of the studio, it comes down to two words: pay attention.

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While sewing the buttons on The Alchemist yesterday, I listened to a recording of Jeannet Leendertse talking about her work on Zoom. Leendertse forages seaweed (specifically Rockweed), that she sews into remarkable vessels and sculptural forms. As a native Mainer, I am intrigued by her use of this material that, as I grew up, was as common to me as grass.

Noting that she is highly aware of the materials she uses and the lasting impact of her creative process, Leendertse shared a link to Future Materials Bank, a resource that highlights sustainable materials gleaned from the waste stream and artists who incorporate them into their work. Check it out – you will be amazed and inspired.

Capturing the Essence of Time

Last week I visited the Julian Scott Memorial Gallery just in time to see Ken Leslie’s retrospective before it closed. It was a delight.

South Wall of Ken Leslie’s Retrospective, Julian Scott Memorial Gallery, Vermont State University, Johnson Campus

I have long been smitten with Leslie’s folded watercolor paintings that mark time through place and feature light and darkness as leading players. While standing and rotating on a singular spot, he portrays a location as a circle segmented into 24 sections, each describing an hour within a full day.

Ken Leslie, Uummannaq Equinox Cycle (detail), artist’s book, watercolor and colored pencil on folded paper, 2020, 1 page every hour for 24 hours. Created with support of Tuullik Art Center, Uummannak, Greenland

The progression captures both the mystery and the steadfast quality of the sun’s daily path.
In one sense, these works could be interpreted as an analogy for life itself, speaking to the nature of change: incremental, transformative and constant.

Depictions of Leslie’s home in Hardwick, as well as the eternal days and nights of Greenland and Iceland, meditate on the essence of the passage of time within the context of a single day.

Ken Leslie, Akureyri Winter Cycle artist’s book, watercolor and colored pencil on folded paper 2011/2012, 1 page every hour for 24 hours. Created with support of the Gilfélagið, Akureyri, Iceland

Equally stunning was a wall filled with one year’s Sky Journal and another year’s Night Journal — painted and conjoined views of morning and evening skies.

Ken Leslie, Sky Journal, 1998/1999, Watercolor on folded paper

A celestial log of sorts, these visual recordings are uncomplicated by forms other than clouds, the moon, and stars, revealing the unique quality of every day and every night.

Ken Leslie, Night Journal, 2009/2010, Watercolor on folded paper

Yet seen as a whole, there is a rhythmic, repetitious beauty that conveys a sense of comfortable cohesiveness despite the differences.

Ken Leslie, Sky Journal (left), Night Journal (right)

As the years speed up on us, don’t we all long for a way to slow down our days and to mark individual moments so that they aren’t all merged into a blur? Isn’t that one of the reasons people keep diaries?

Ken Leslie, Upernavik Summer Cycle artist’s book, watercolor and colored pencil on folded paper, 2014, 1 page every hour for 24 hours. Created with support of the Upernavik Art Museum, Upernavik, Greenland

How enlightening and apt these works are, depicting change melded into a circular whole rather than appearing in a linear succession with a beginning and an end. And how uplifting to witness and to be immersed in the sense of renewal this format suggests.

And on a different note:

Are you familiar with the Architecture + Design Film Series?

“The essence of design lies in its profound ability to affect how we think about and experience the world.”

You can attend Season 11, which occurs once a month from September 2023 through April 2024, for free in person in Burlington and Brattleboro, or watch virtual screenings online via the A+D homepage.
Here is a complete listing of screenings, dates, and information. The next event is Wednesday, December 13th.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Leap of Faith

Mind Palace 1

I might have called this finished.

Mind Palace 2

But instead, I held my breath and lifted as much paint as I could outside a house shape that I had superimposed over the subject’s central features.

Mind Palace 3

It was my intention that by embroidering outside the house shape, the painted and stitched areas would stand apart from each other, yet still work together.

Mind Palace 4

The embroidery blurs details, such that texture becomes the overarching descriptor. It’s a quality I quite like – especially when paired with the untouched watercolor.

Despite the variation, the finished product still reads as a whole and I’m very pleased with the added dimension the stitching contributes. That’s not to say there aren’t a number of kinks still to work out. Taking this shot in artificial light emphasized the house shape to a degree that isn’t as easy to see in natural light. But that’s a puzzle for the next time around.
Regardless, the leap of faith was worth it.

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It’s a new world out there – but check out the following and chalk one up for the little guy: artists fight back against AI.

Filling the Well

Before I get to the point of this post, here’s a quick peek at what I’ve been working on lately. I have a way to go with the stitching in the tree, but I’m getting there. Gaining a bit of distance by being out of the studio has helped to resolve a couple of lingering questions while simultaneously stirring up some new ideas.

©Elizabeth Fram, in process

With that in mind, how do I encapsulate all the rich visual inspiration gleaned from a week in Lisbon? As I revisit my photos and sketch journal, it’s hard to miss the synchronicity between the many varied elements that caught my eye.

Here’s a small taste of what I saw.

Light

Targus Looking East

Color

Pink Street

Light & Color

Sunset

Patterns

Mosaic Path

Black and White

Passageways

Red Wall

Tiles…
ancient

Azulejos with textile motives, Cuerda Seca technique c.1500-1525

and contemporary

Textures

The Burel Factory is “a Portuguese brand, born in Serra da Estrela, dedicated to the preservation and regeneration of the industrial heritage, the deep knowledge of the wool industry that crosses generations, and the unique culture and traditions, its people and its history, that punctuate that same place”. It is a space where history, design and innovation come together, sustainably creating wool fabrics, garments, wall art and items for house & home. Words can’t express the beauty to be found there.

Murals

Fado

Spray Can

History

A distaff, needles and a pair of scissors on display in the museum of the Castelo de São Jorge. These archeological items were unearthed in the area surrounding the castle, a sign of the women who lived there.

Sculpture

And so many
Details

Keyhole

Finally, Innovation

I have never seen such an innovative way of making art accessible to the sight-impaired. This and the following photos interpret the above tile painting, “The Dancing Lesson”.

Textures interpreting the figures within 3-D space

And describing the dancers’ elaborate costumes

It never fails, being immersed in a new environment tends to shake out of the brain. Given time and distance, the creative well always refills.

Something To Set Your Sights On

I have my eye on a bit of time off this week…

Latest Eyes

but first, two recommendations for you to consider:

Life in Five Senses

Gretchen Rubin’s book Life in Five Senses: How Experiencing the Senses Got Me Out of My Head and Into the World.

How To Academy Podcast

And, in an unexpected but interesting intersection with Rubin’s book, Susan Magsamen and Ivy Ross discuss “Your Brain on Art” on the How To Academy Podcast.

Enjoy, and see you in two weeks.

Eyes Ready

Fertile Ground

In addition to pumpkins and apples, changing leaves and crisp temperatures, a much-anticipated harbinger of fall in central Vermont is the beloved annual Art at the Kent exhibition in Calais. If you aren’t familiar with it, follow this link to acquaint yourself with the curators who accomplish this massive feat each fall, the distinctive venue which is as much a part of the show as the art itself, and specifics about this year’s exhibit, “Traces”.

I took very few photos when I visited last week, so this post is not a virtual tour. However, I can’t encourage you more strongly to go see for yourself; think of it as a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow — a beautiful drive through a lovely part of the world, arriving at a unique treasure of an exhibition.

What I keep thinking about in hindsight is the artists who had work in multiple mediums on display. I found it enlightening that the curators chose to represent the breadth of their practices as opposed to showing only pieces from a single discipline. Creative ground is fertile. As a viewer, I enjoy considering the potential expansion of an artist’s thought processes as one medium feeds another. Or perhaps, that’s not the case. It’s entirely possible that the only way to say what needed to be said was via another language. Either way, it added to my experience to see the variety.

Many of us branch out in our work, for any number of reasons. Cross-pollination deepens our discoveries, ultimately enriching both our experiences in the studio and our results. Diversification gives us more substance to draw from in future work.

The path from Point A to Point B is often circuitous, inconsistent and complex, but it usually ends up being well-worth the ride. Pay The Kent a visit; I’m sure you will agree.

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My friend and sculptural knitter Leslie Roth introduced me to Scottish knitwear designer Kate Davies a number of years ago. I have since knitted from Davies’ patterns and also read and been moved enough to write about her book Handywoman. While I’m not a regular follower of her blog, I dip into it from time to time, always enjoying what I find there. Her recent post “September Feeling” is one to share…its sentiment is as lovely as the accompanying photographs. If you feel a strong sense of connection to the place you call home, I think you will be able to relate.