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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Looking to the right as you walk out of our driveway and head further up the hill, there is a sizable break between the trees. Framed by foliage on either side, it’s a window out into the distance — a lookout different from our own view, and a place from which to watch the weather come and go and to mark the changes, week by week, throughout the year.
Depending what sniffs are on Quinn’s mind and how anxious she is to keep moving, I often stand there for a moment, soaking up the colors and light of that particular time on that specific day. It’s never boring, no matter the season.
For the last couple of weeks we have begun to see evidence of the start of fall. It’s such an iconic moment to catch “the turn”, visible in the slightest touches of orange or red poking through all the green. It won’t be long until this hillside, except for the evergreens, is a fiery display of reds, oranges and yellows. Another episode of dog-walk TV, at its best.
There’s nothing quite like a wedding to put a shine on the world. We’re just back from Philadelphia where family togetherness, perfect weather and a healthy dose of art made for a very special long weekend.
First stop: Blick.
In my world, a trip to Blick is a major highlight during any city visit. With my very patient husband and daughter in tow, I made a beeline there to stock up. There’s no match for wandering the aisles and fingering the goods in person, and it was nice to have a few new things to try out in the hotel room between planned activities.
Nevermind the Phillies, Eagles, 76ers, & Flyers, IMHO one of Philly’s best claims to fame is that it’s home to one of the largest public art collections in the country. When we lived in Bucks County, 30 miles north of the city, life was too busy with raising kids to dive into the Philadelphia art scene as deeply as we might have – but what a pleasure to have a chance to enjoy it now.
The city’s 63 year old Percent for Art Ordinance mandates that any new City construction or major renovation project must include site-specific public art worth one percent of the total budget. So if you don’t have time to visit one of Philadelphia’s numerous stellar museums on your next trip, rest assured you’ll get an eyeful merely walking or driving from place to place.
Gratefully, this visit there was also time to check out a couple of museums.
The Philadelphia Museum of Art is currently showing The Artist’s Mother: Whistler & Philadelphia, a fortuitous discovery considering my current direction.
In addition to Whistler’s cornerstone painting, “Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1”(don’t miss this fun NPR piece about it), it was a treat to see other masters’ approach to portraying elder women. The emotional element between artist and sitter adds a bonus layer to each work.
If you’ve never seen Whistler’s painting in person, you should. She has the loveliest rosy cheeks and, much like the Mona Lisa, appears so much warmer than any reproduction seems able to convey.
And to cap it all off, my sister-in-law arranged for a fantastic docent-led tour for interested wedding guests at The Barnes Foundation the day of the big event. Founder Albert C. Barnes was a bit of an odd duck, as is evidenced by the way he insisted his collection be displayed into perpetuity. But there is no denying that the collection is spectacular, and it’s interesting to take into consideration his aims and perspective as you wander through the galleries. There were plenty of stunning portraits to absorb among the many other treasures.
And on a slightly different note, I was grateful for the chance to revisit this small watercolor by Charles Demuth – a painting that has remained a favorite in memory from my last visit to The Foundation over a decade ago.
I’m not sure how we did it, but when we planned this year’s trip to Maine last winter we somehow landed on what might have been the best week of the summer; we only had to pay one day of rain tax. Considering what a soggy season it has been across New England, that’s really saying something.
Before we leave, I usually have 1 or 2 specific shows in mind I want to see, but it never fails that unexpected creative treats pop up along the way. Here’s a bit of a tasting menu of what caught my eye.
Archipelago is a Rockland art & craft gallery filled with the work of Maine artists. Its mission is to support creative island and working waterfront communities. Currently, they are highlighting the work of Kelly Desrosiers: acrylic collage that looked (to me) like fabric.
Bird Island by Kelly Desrosiers, Acrylic Collage
The Farnsworth Museum is a gem that always has something terrific on view.
Edward Hopper, Haunted House 1926, Watercolor, gouache, pastel and graphite on paper
One of their current exhibits, “Edward Hopper and Andrew Wyeth: Rockland, ME”, blew me away. Beautifully curated, it finds strong parallels between works of two very different artists, made decades apart. The stars of the show are their subjects: Rockland, as a place, and the physical apparatuses of its historic industries. The overlap of the artists’ interpretations were both surprising and delightful.
Andrew Wyeth, Untitled (Snow House), 1983, Watercolor on paper
I always return to the fact that details are my kryptonite.
There is a world unto itself in the variation of color in each pane of glass Wyeth painted in this window.
This summer I’ve been experimenting in my sketchbook with layering assorted media, including gouache and soft pastels. So it was a treat to see how Hopper incorporated a variety of materials in this lyrically beautiful passage of grass in the foreground of “Haunted House”.
A couple of other gems at the Farnsworth I couldn’t resist sharing:
Francesco Clemente, Robert Creeley, 2002, Oil on linen, Gift of the Alex Katz Foundation Any and every portrait is intriguing to me these days.
Lois Dodd, The Painted Room, 1982, Oil on linen The ambiguity of Dodd’s depiction of this room’s painted mural, framing the window, framing the real outdoors, sets the stage for all sorts of imaginings.
I was lucky that one of my Maine buddies alerted me in advance to the (Brunswick) Curtis Memorial Library’s exhibition of Robert McCloskey’s original illustrations of some of his most iconic and best loved books.
Forgive the reflections.
Most kids from Maine know all about Blueberries for Sal. For those of us who grew up in the state and summered in an old-fashioned, down-to-earth Maine cottage on the coast (not the fancy McMansion-type dwellings built by people from away), everything about this book is comfortingly familiar (except the bears).
When I look at art, it’s invariably with an eye toward what I can learn from someone else’s expertise. This detail from one of the illustrations in McCloskey’s Burt Dow, Deep-Water Man is a masterclass on being concise without sacrificing detail.
And finally, the cherry on top of the vacation cake was discovering this local exhibit of portraits by Abby Carter. Beautiful work honoring community.
One last Maine note: There’s always time around the edges to do a bit of sketching. I’ve been very happy to learn that soft pastels can be wetted and painted like watercolors.
I’m taking a bit of a respite this week to recharge and reinvigorate. But first, an update.
The portrait that I shared briefly at the end of my last post is now in its last phase. The paint work is finished and the embroidery is well underway.
First pass
I’m loving the variety of processes involved in these works – first, because there’s a certain challenge to pulling everything together, and secondly, because it’s so satisfying to see the piece materialize as each stage builds upon the one before.
In many respects this whole process is parallel to my my previous stitched-then-dyed-then-stitched work, it’s just that the scales are tipped more toward drawing/painting with much less stitching. The up side is that since these latest pieces move along so much more quickly, I can learn from, and then move on to the next piece to respond to, my mistakes – and my successes – without the huge lag time inherent in the textile works.
Happy accidents lead to fortuitous discoveries. Working on a dry run practice sheet for this section, I stumbled upon the fact that carelessly letting the paint extended outside the masked lines resulted in a flavor of batik. Hmmm, that opens the door to lots of possibilities. This is exactly the kind of discovery referred to above, which I can act on and explore more quickly because this piece is almost done.
And now my request:
I need of models for this series honoring the strength, wisdom and resilience of women of a certain age. If you (or someone you know) fit the bill, live in the central Vermont area and wouldn’t mind giving me 15-20 minutes of your time to take a quick series of head and shoulder photos of you to use as inspiration, please contact me. ehwfram@gmail.com
If you’re shy about having your picture taken, it may help to know that my painted results never turn out to be exact representations of my models – so it won’t be a portrait of you. Rather, your image would be a jumping off point. I’ve come to think of this process as something akin to literary historical fiction … based on fact, but with plenty of artistic license.
I would really like to continue with this series so thanks for considering, and I hope you’ll be in touch.
Oh – and be sure to come back next time for the full reveal of the finished piece!
I’m not sure I could ever quite do justice to the dramatic blue of the sky and circus tent stripes in Montreal a couple of weeks ago, but Winsor Newton’s Cobalt Blue Deep gave me a fighting chance.
One of the joys of living where we do is being surrounded by woodland neighbors. For the most part they are shy, so we only hear them or see evidence of their presence. It’s a lucky day when we actually catch a fleeting glimpse of one of them going about their business.
4:37 AM, 05.05.2021 My husband has a game camera that he moves from place to place in our woods. In the wee hours of an early May morning a couple of years ago, he captured video of a bear, fox, raccoon, fisher cat and porcupine, all making their rounds at different times during the same night. We loved that they all chose to cross one of his bridges, rather than keeping their feet on the ground. Owls and pileated woodpeckers are less quiet and less elusive, but no less thrilling to see.
It was hard not to think of the animals who share their homes with us while visiting master carver Dempsey Bob’s retrospective “Wolves”, at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. The beauty and skill of his work is beyond spectacular. His poetic use of line interweaves forms with deceptive simplicity, conveying both depth of character and a seamless alliance between the conjoined animals.
Each wooden surface is burnished to the sleekness of glass, its smoothness amplified by the textural attributes of the other natural materials he incorporates.
Eagle Transformation Mask As one moves around to the left of the above mask, a transformation appears.
Wolf, Frog, Bear, Eagle, Hawk, Raven, Shark, Killer Whale, Salmon and Beaver are all central characters in the cultural stories Bob’s pieces relay. The incorporation of sea lion whiskers, fur, hair, abalone and operculum shells — gifts from the animals themselves — add to the stunning beauty of these pieces while underscoring the native stories they reference.
As a viewer, I couldn’t help but feel reverence — for the work as well as for the creatures depicted. Intentional or not, Dempsey Bob’s art is a reminder of the essential role all creatures play in our collective histories and futures, and of the respect we owe them.
For more depth, this hour-long interview is filled with humor and history. Plus, in a segment that particularly resonated with me, Bob talks about the importance of drawing as a foundation for seeing and for making any type of art. To my mind, that’s the secret that says it all.
The learning continues, thanks to Summer’s slower pace. This month I’ve found myself taking a bit of a detour to focus on composition and value.
My impetus was a Substack entry from Urban Sketcher Suhita Shirodkar, linking to an Ian Roberts’ video about working outside your comfort zone. Watching it reminded me that I have a terrific book Roberts wrote called Mastering Composition. I pulled it out to flip through again and decided to take a stab at his “composition a day” exercise. Refreshers never hurt.
My sole tool has been an HB graphite pencil, making value an integral part of each composition. Repetitively sketching this way for a couple of weeks has made it glaringly obvious the degree to which I gravitate toward, and get caught within, a middle range of values. It’s clear I need to concentrate on pushing for darker darks and blacker blacks.
As an experiment, I converted images of my latest life paintings to black & white in Photoshop. It confirmed, as you can see below, that I need to pay closer attention to my values.
On the bright side, even if this is the only thing I learn this summer, I will consider the season a success.
✷
My latest art-related treat has been watching videos by artists Sandi Hester and Frances Ives who cover various aspects of their practices on YouTube and Patreon. One of the aspects I most enjoy is they each spend a fair amount of time talking about, experimenting with and swatching new materials, taking a deep dive into the differences between brands and applications.
A screenshot of Sandi Hester’s video “Favorite Color Pencils & Markers”
Regular hauls from Blick and Jackson’s (the UK equivalent to Blick) include all sorts of goodies. I fully acknowledge that for most, watching someone swatch a couple of fistfuls of colored pencils while elaborating on their minute differences might feel akin to joining Edmond Dantès at Chateau d’If (can you tell I’m reading The Count of Monte Cristo this summer?). But for this art nerd, it’s indescribably entertaining. I’m all for learning about the specific details and layering possibilities of unfamiliar materials before buying.
Needless to say, I just placed an order with Blick last weekend.
5-6 months out of the year our yard looks like some version of this.
So is it any wonder that when June rolls around, I can’t get enough of it looking like this?!
I am drunk with color these days.
It’s been a fun exercise this week to create color mixes that mimic what’s in bloom right now. This type of sampling helps me to understand color more generally, and my chosen palette more specifically.
For those who, pardon the pun, like to get into the weeds of such things, I was a bit surprised at how many colors I used: 27 separate colors in making 28 samples of flowers, leaves and paving stones. To some degree, that feels very over the top and, considering 8 of those colors were only used in one color mix, there is definitely room to fine-tune if I were so inclined.
Overall though, most of the colors I used got a pretty good workout, recurring in many of the mixes – most of which were made up of two and very occasionally three paints. The exception was the paving stones. They all required various combinations of three primaries to achieve their neutral tones.
These colors are the backbone of my mixes. The biggest surprise for me is how versatile (and “popular”) the Cobalt Blue Deep turned out to be.
I find it really handy to have color-mix samples like this for reference, so I keep a book full of them that I refer to regularly. I try to make time when I buy a new paint color to play around with it to see how it interacts old favorites.
Without question, if you live in Northern New England life is better if you actually enjoy the subtle hues of late November into deepest winter. But let’s face it, it’ll be nice to return to these samples when the garden is asleep again, as a reminder of the eye-popping abundance of June.
Since we’re talking color… Have you been to the Vermont Arts Council Sculpture Garden in Montpelier to see the collaborative installation Elements of Shelter: Water, Fire, Wood, Earth, Metal? Spearheaded by Thea Alvin and Meg Reinhold, it’s a beautiful meditation on two of Vermont’s most immediate challenges: climate change and the housing crisis. The combination of paint with glass is particularly effective; the work absolutely glows in the sunshine. Plus, the craftsmanship of the pieces, including their timber frames, is gorgeous.
Read further about the installation and its creators in Seven Days. You can follow more of the creation process on Instagram: @theasunshine and @trilliumhandcrafts
