Art Stew

A little of this and a little of that – in one big stew for you this week.
First, a story…

The first year my husband and I were married, we moved from one coast to the other and I took a drawing class at the local community college to get my bearings in a new state and town. In class, I became friends with a woman who was then probably about the age I am now. She was very warm and smart and, since she loved art as much as I did, we had much to talk about. She had a relatively thick accent and before long shared with me that when she was a child, she and her family had escaped from the Nazi invasion of Ukraine.

Aldona’s Amber

The school year ended and soon after so did my husband’s internship. As we prepared to move back across the country, Aldona gave me this amber necklace in parting. It was a special gesture of friendship and all the more meaningful as she said it had come from her homeland. It was a piece of her.

Over the last couple of weeks, as I’ve anxiously watched Russia’s horrific invasion of Ukraine, her gift has taken on even deeper meaning. I look at the hardened gems of amber in this necklace and think what an apt and sadly beautiful metaphor it is for the strength, resilience and resolve the people of Ukraine are exhibiting in the face of Putin’s threat to their sovereignty and their lives. I never dreamt this necklace would carry such significance beyond the memory of a friend from a specific time and place, but it certainly does.

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On a less somber note:
Except for framing, the piece I’ve been working on for the past 8 weeks is now complete. Once the portrait was finished, I decided to add the “x” purely as a design solution, not with any particular meaning in mind. It grounds the head so that it doesn’t appear to be just floating in space — an effect that had been amplified by the shibori-dyed background. ‘Head in the clouds’ was my working title for much of the process as it described her translucence as she took form. But now, with the added element of the “x”, Rooted in Dreams seems more appropriate.

Shopping Tip:
I recently learned about Swanson’s Fabrics in Turners Falls, MA from artist Cari Clement. It’s the kind of place anyone who works with textiles should know about. The shop’s mission is to offer affordable materials and sewing supplies while simultaneously aiding/encouraging sewing enthusiasts to release (or at least reduce) their overflowing stashes. With the added bonus of keeping all that extra fabric out of the landfill, Swanson’s is the definition of a win-win-win enterprise.

And finally…
With Daylight Savings starting this weekend, along with the recent spate of sap-running days, Winter has begun the first verses of its swan song. But before it fully releases its grasp (another 8-15″ possible on Saturday!), immerse yourself in a final taste of snow and ice at the Cultural Center of Cape Cod’s online exhibit “Winter Magic”. My piece Floe is included.

Floe, detail ©2015 Elizabeth Fram, Dye, Paint and Embroidery on Silk, 12 x 12 inches. Inspired by the pared down beauty of the winter landscape, this and its companion piece ,”Crystallized”, were meant to portray the essence of the season rather than an actual place. Read about the genesis of their creation in the post February’s Self-Restraint.

The following haiku, from another long-ago post on these two wintery pieces, bears repeating

Seamstress
Long needles of ice
Stitch the open water up
On a winter pond.

Face Value

Not to be too overly dramatic, but I long ago reached the point during this pandemic where any in-person human interaction has become the highlight of my week. Over these past couple of years I’ve come to appreciate my trips to the post office, the library and the grocery store in ways I never would have thought possible.

Dignity ©2022 Elizabeth Fram, Ink on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches My hardcover Daler-Rowney Classic sketchbook takes ink and pencil equally well. The 8.5 x 11 size is big enough to stretch out upon without feeling unwieldy. It’s a trusty workhorse.

So I’m not exaggerating when I say it was absolutely wonderful this past Saturday to attend the Artist Social at Studio Place Arts for the Face It exhibition. Plenty of (masked) people turned out and it was so fun, not only to chat with folks I haven’t seen other than on Zoom since last summer, but to even meet a few people for the first time as well. The lift I got from it has lasted all week.
On top of that, the previous Monday I attended my first life drawing session since March of 2020. Things are definitely looking up!

In chatting with the executive director of SPA when I dropped off my work for the show, she mentioned how she felt the time had definitely come for an exhibit of portraits. She went on to say that she’d chosen the subject selfishly because she knew that working in the midst of them would be both comforting and normalizing.

It was a brilliant idea and, frankly, her reasoning is largely why I continue to draw, paint and stitch faces. Even though I often don’t know my subject, I still get a sense of human connection from studying and trying to execute something as personal and unique as facial features. Taking the time to really see someone else is something we’ve all missed, and I hope we won’t take the ability to do so for granted once the masks finally come off.

Face It closes on March 5th. Check out the Seven Days review to whet your appetite for a visit before the show ends.

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Speaking of connection – are you familiar with the word “pareidolia”?
It’s the formal term for the tendency to perceive shapes or an image out of randomness, such as seeing something in a cloud formation.

Lisette ©2022 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and graphite on paper, 12 x 9 inches I started experimenting with Strathmore Toned Mixed Media paper last year. It’s been a whole different learning curve to begin with a background that is medium-toned, rather than stark white. It comes in 3 colors – this is the tan. With a vellum surface that is akin to hot-press, it allows for erasures without damage. It is heavy enough that it doesn’t need to be stretched and doesn’t buckle from layers of washes – at least with the amount of water I use. It’s acid free and 30% post-consumer fiber; again, a good workhorse and convenient for traveling out of the studio. It’s what I brought with me to life drawing last week.

This brief article refers to it specifically as seeing faces in everyday objects, tagging the occurrence as an instinctual evolutionary hold-over geared toward protecting us from danger. I don’t know about that; I’ve always thought the images I tend to notice had more to do with my imagination compensating for boring moments.

But lately I seem to conjure more faces (as opposed to other images), which I attribute to all the portrait work I’ve been doing, figuring that I’ve become more finely attuned to the physical characteristics of the human face. Evolutionary phenomenon or not, it makes life a bit more interesting, don’t you think?

Work in Progress ©2022 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk Slowly but surely this piece is coming along. This week has been all about working with the hair. It needs more color, so I still have a way to go – plus, I haven’t even started with her shoulders. I’m having a bit of a love-hate affair with the background pattern & color. In the long run I think it will elevate the piece, but it has surely made the process more challenging.

The Secret Treasures of Pattern

I have been thinking a lot about the entity of pattern these past two weeks.
Mostly, that is because of this new piece I’m working on and my ongoing exploration of combining embroidery with an assortment of resist dye techniques, but it’s also due to a talk I listened to during the recent Surface Design Association online conference.

I left you last time having just completed the white-on-white embroidery of this piece. Look back to that post to refresh your memory as to where things stood at that point. It took me some time to decide how to dye this piece in the next step. Unfortunately, too many layers of material prevented the dye from seeping throughout as much as I had hoped, so the only answer was to take a second pass with a new layer of dye, creating an additional pattern. The blue grid you see here was drawn as a water-soluble guideline for the stitches that would be the basis for that design.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines ‘pattern’ as something that is regular and repeated within the context of design, behavior, or the way in which something happens. It also pairs the idea of pattern/design with the word decorative, a much-too superficial viewpoint, if you ask me.

Once the stitches were in place and tightly drawn up, the whole piece was dipped in dye. You have to appreciate unexpected amusements along the way …doesn’t this look like a brain?

During the SDA panel discussion mentioned above, the artist Chandra D. Cox opened the door to thinking about pattern in different and more consequential terms: as a means for expressing identity.

Chandra D. Cox, Ashanti, 2003. Acrylic on wood, 72 x 18 x 5 inches. Photo: Michael Zirkle. Reference: Surfacedesign.org I find the pieces in this series incredibly moving. In her statement, Cox writes: “The concept behind these painted structures is meant to symbolize the end of one culture and the beginning of another…The forms are three dimensional, minimalist and ubiquitous. The silhouette recalls a “shotgun house,” a style of southern vernacular architecture with cultural roots tracing from Africa to the Caribbean and American soil…The portals placed on their sides suggest ships and allude to ‘the middle passage of human cargo’. The center is open representing a doorway. A narrow aperture recalls the arrow loops of a castle, through which, emaciated from starvation, newly enslaved Africans were forced into the belly of awaiting ships. This entryway becomes the site and repository of a history and memory, the threshold to a new beginning.” Excerpted from First Person: “I Remember Where I Come From”, by Chandra D. Cox, Surface Design Journal Winter 2021, pg 44 & 45.

In her series “The Doors of No Return – I Remember Where I Come From” Cox employs a variety of traditional African patterns to reference and pay homage to her ancestors. She writes: “The pattern designs (I use) serve as both aesthetic adornment and an emblem for African textiles as conveyers of identities and secret messages”. She goes on to note that “This ancient cultural practice of messaging through pattern (has) withstood centuries of enslavement by adapting and transmuting the encoding”. (Think of the quilts that were used to covertly point the way on the Underground Railroad). She further acknowledges adaptations of pattern as present-day signifiers of identity and territory in urban culture.

I’m much happier now that there is pattern covering the whole piece.

Considering that pattern is ubiquitous, I am fascinated by the deeper perspective of it existing beyond embellishment. I’d love to learn more about it as a marker of identity. If you are aware of any books, articles or links on the subject, please let me know. Examples that most readily come to mind include Scottish tartans and the knitted patterns worn by the fisherman of the Aran Islands, but there must be innumerable other instances.

Bringing the image to life. These very first steps are a chance to begin to play with color in tandem with the patterns of the background dye and the original embroidery.

Meanwhile, the Shibori patterns I use in my work are all adaptations and appropriations of the discoveries and artistry of Japanese masters. In that light, I’m interested to learn more about the patterns of my English ancestry, perhaps discovering a well to draw from in the future. What is there to uncover about the identities Anglo-Saxon designs portray beyond, say, the wealth (or lack thereof) expressed through the materials used to create them? Such an interesting subject.

White-on-White

It felt great this past week to get back to my embroidery frame and to begin a new stitched portrait. I had been casting around in the studio wondering who or what would be my next subject when, as so often happens, the answer appeared out of nowhere.

I start each piece by drawing the image directly on the silk. For those of you who are interested in such things, this is by far the best water soluble pen I have ever used. Other brands tend to dry out very quickly, but this one is going strong after almost a year. Part of this may be because the top snaps on quite tightly.

In an email from one of the many art organizations that regularly add to my inbox, I stumbled upon one artist’s brilliant observation in response to a general request for favorite art business lessons from 2021: what you create is “just the beginning”. On the surface that sounds so basic it’s almost silly, but when you stop to think about it, it’s pure gold.

This past week I have been making my way through the initial stage of the process: stitching the image with white silk thread on un-dyed raw silk. I tend to keep adding guidelines with the erasable pen as I go along. They act as a directional guide for the stitches, helping me to better describe the form I’m trying to represent.

She went on to clarify what a game-changer it was to realize that each piece she makes isn’t necessarily a one-off, merely to be archived, but rather just the first step in a continuum that builds upon itself.

In other words, pretty much everything we make creates a foothold for something else that will come later. In this instance, it was like a lightening bolt to realize that my quest for a subject was right here in my studio. I have a stack of pre-covid life drawings to pull from for this and maybe other portraits.

A variation in stitches distinguishes the hair from the facial features.

Whether sourcing drawings in my sketchbook, a particular stitch or dyeing technique used in the past, or some novel approach to layering various media together, every piece I make contributes something to my “toolbox” that I can reference in the future.

With the blue ink removed, the piece becomes a study in textures. The sheen of the silk thread is an important element that allows those textures to stand out. The next step will be to overlap the image with a dyed pattern. Come back in 2 weeks to see the progression.

The bottom line is none of the work we make exists in isolation, in fact, we just keep adding to our limitless creative bank accounts. And the beauty of that fact is they are always available to draw from when needed.

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Opening this week at Studio Place Arts: A world of portraits by 30 different artists, including yours truly.

Face It
January 26 – March 5, 2022
Studio Place Arts
201 N. Main Street
Barre, VT 05641

Gallery Hours: Wed – Fri: 11:30am – 5pm, Sat:11:30am – 4pm
Art Social: Saturday, February 19, 3:30 – 5pm (masks required) …..Hope to see you there!

Highs and Lows

If there is one word I feel best represents the month of January, it is “possibility”.
There’s much to be said for the mental high that comes with metaphorically flipping to a fresh page during the first weeks of each new year, don’t you agree?

In order to set that stage I’ve learned that, even though my to-do list in December is always overflowing, making time during the last month of the year to both reassess the past 12 months and to formulate a game plan for the next 12, pays off in spades come January. The resulting sense of a clear head is a treasured gift to myself.

Admittedly, it’s a bit of a regimented chore but, as one of my artistic heroes, painter Wayne Thiebaud, is quoted as saying: “Discipline is not a restriction but an aid to freedom”. I’ve come to realize that wisdom applies to all aspects of an art practice.

Hanger Diptych ©1986 Elizabeth Fram, Pastel on paper, 28 x 16.5 x 28 inches The images in this post reach pretty far back, which is obvious from the sketchy photos. In 1985-86 I began working with pastels, loving them as a source of saturated color. Having just moved out west, I soon discovered the work of Wayne Thiebaud and it became a huge inspiration, as is clearly evidenced in these ancient pieces.

Having put in the necessary work before the holidays, I can now move forward with a ready-made framework to lean upon that takes the guesswork out of where I’m headed in 2022. My mind is now freer and more receptive to the conceptual connections that are the meat of any creative practice…hence the feeling of possibility.

On a low note though, I was saddened to learn that Thiebaud died on December 25th at 101. It was his vibrant use of color that first grabbed me almost four decades ago, but my love affair with his work has remained constant ever since. As I’ve evolved as an artist, so have the lessons I’ve picked up from his work. Most recently I have been appreciating him for being, as his NYTimes obituary so aptly noted, “a virtuoso of the everyday and its deep, subtle symbolism”, — a subject that cuts close to my own artistic objectives.

I am envious of the students at UC Davis who had the opportunity to learn directly from him. Everything I’ve read and heard portrays him as a very generous teacher as well as a truly nice guy. It seems he worked through the highs and lows of his long career by always remaining true to himself and to his love of his work.
RIP Mr. Thiebaud, and thank you for your gifts which will continue to benefit us all.

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Two last notes before you go:

I’m so pleased to announce I now have a web shop up and running on my website. Please stop by and browse!
For now, the shop includes only the stitched-watercolor House & Garden series from this last summer, but I will be adding more pieces to it as the year progresses and time allows. That said, pretty much all my work is for sale if it hasn’t already sold, so please don’t hesitate to inquire if you’re interested in a piece you don’t see in the shop. Thank you!

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And finally, check out Glen Martin Taylor’s brilliant work. I know I’ll never look at a teacup or placesetting in quite the same way. @glenmartintaylor on Instagram.

Two Necessary Ingredients

I can’t think of a better way to end one year and to begin another than by acknowledging and giving thanks to the two constants of any art practice: the hard-to-define, yet oh-so-necessary element of “inspiration” – which (hopefully) hovers over one shoulder — accompanied on the other shoulder by its requisite companion, “hard work”. You can’t have one without the other, but the truth is, the former most reliably shows up as a result of the latter.

I will be thinking of both as I sit down this weekend to finish outlining my overall plan and goals for 2022. How about you?

3 Daughters of Maine ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and pencil on paper, 6 x 15 inches. Now that Christmas is past and the cat is officially out of the bag, I can share the portrait commission I was working on in Oct/Nov. Its significance to this post is that my dear friend, on the far right, exemplifies the essence of inspiration and hard work for many people. Especially those who look up to her in the running world, the state of Maine and beyond.

Below is a handful of the many guiding lights I’ve gleaned inspiration from this past year — some for their artwork, some for their business acumen, a few for both qualities. But without a doubt, hard work is an ingredient common to all. As my parting gift for 2021, I hope that one or two of these resources might prove insightful for you as well.

Lissa Hunter
Linda Clark Johnson
Gimena Romero
Maru Godas
Felix Scheinberger
Making it as a Maker – Rebecca Haas and Becca Webb
Anita Fields
Lois Dodd
Takahiko Hayashi
Joe Ciardiello
Pascale Simon
Tom McKendrick

Finally, I’ll sign off with a quote Lissa Hunter offered during a talk she gave last March — wise words from her former drawing instructor, Larry Thomas:

“Don’t look for something important to draw, make it important by drawing it.”

See you in two weeks…
Happy New Year!

State of Wonder

I’m always glad when a new American Craft comes out, but I feel the Winter 2022 issue, which surrounds the idea of “wonder”, covers an especially timely and even necessary topic. In the first sentence of her opening letter, Editor-in-Chief Karen Olson quotes Marian Bantjes: “We need wonder in order to keep moving and growing – to stay alive in the world”.

This began as merely an experiment to see whether or not the paper I was hoping to use would be able to stand up to stitching.

Solidifying that notion, Olson further states that wonder, as an entity, brings meaning to our lives and, further, makes us human. How true.
That sentiment is often brought to mind at this time of year but, in broader terms and considering world events, it is more important than ever to make an effort to incorporate wonder into our regular day-to-day throughout the full year.

One thing leads to another. Since the stitching seemed to work, why not add some paint?

On that note, I was quite taken by Deborah Bishop’s article within the magazine entitled “Metamorphosis”. It centers on the work of Melissa Meier, specifically her ongoing series called Skins. Using a variety of organic materials (moss, eggshells, grains of rice, popcorn, porcupine quills, etc.), Meier creates hauntingly beautiful garments which evoke fantastical beings. These creations simultaneously highlight Meier’s desire to convey both her sense of connection to nature and to the natural cycles of life and death. The inherent ephemeral quality of her pieces underline her point.

Walking at Martin Point Preserve in Friendship, Maine, we happened upon this little “shrine” just feet from the shore. The color of this bleached shell is so lovely and a wonderful contrast to the craggy seaweed. Obviously someone else was also taken with these gifts from the sea.

When I look at my list of potential future pieces in my fledgling Letters from Home series, I see a similar thread. The gifts of our natural surroundings often offer the strongest emotional representation of and connection with a time and/or place. How remarkably powerful that something as simple as as a hank of seaweed and a lobster claw shell, washed ashore and sun-bleached, carry with them the capacity to evoke memories that are central to what I think of as part of my core and my sense of belonging.

Unexpected Relic © 2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor, pencil and embroidery on paper, image size approx. 6″H x 5.5″W Thanks to my monthly critique group who encouraged me to follow through on my inclination not to fill in the envelope completely, instead leaving space for a viewer to mentally complete the flaps of the envelope themselves. I think it makes for a much more intriguing result.

As you move through these last weeks of December, may the wonder of your personal connection within the world and to those you care about bring you much joy and meaning. Wishing you very Happy Holidays and much gratitude for the time you spend here with me all year long.

Gathering Loose Threads Together

Several seemingly unrelated items have been swirling in my head since last time, their connections becoming more apparent as I write.

On a recent episode of the “A Brush With…” podcast, Ben Luke talks with Billie Zangewa, an artist who hand stitches imagery that straddles the line between the highly personal and decidedly universal. Having grown up in Botswana, now living and working in Johannesburg, South Africa, Zangewa’s goal is to challenge existing representations of Black women. Yet her brightly colored, intricate compositions of silk and stitching also explore overlooked aspects of many women’s lives (she refers to this as “daily feminism”). Her perspective is very relatable, especially to those who try to juggle a creative career with family and home life.

What I would have given to hear this podcast 20 years ago when I was always on the lookout for mentors who were able to balance motherhood with their art, without the benefit of hired help. So many young women are very successfully doing just that today; I am learning from them in hindsight. Yet even if that particular subject isn’t your concern, I think you too will enjoy listening to Zangewa ebulliently discuss her practice, her influences and her art.

Along the same lines of life and art overlapping, the other gem that grabbed me was a quote from the book Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell. If you haven’t read this novel (again, with a woman at its central axis point), put it on your list! I’ll let you discover its premise, but suffice to say it’s beautifully conceived and written, touching on a subject appropriate to our current time.

Maple Pecan Pie ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and Pencil on paper, 5 x 5 inches I couldn’t stop thinking about sketching while I cooked and baked for our Thanksgiving meal. My counters became an ever-evolving still life.

My greater point, though, is that a skilled writer can conjure images that are so relatable that even mundane impressions become solidly locked into place in new and elevated ways, leaving one marveling with a deeper understanding. For me, often immersed in the art of embroidery, the following analogy is brilliantly applicable to a variety of things that belie their surface appearance.

It is so tenuous, so fragile, the life of the playhouses. He often thinks that, more than anything, it is like the embroidery on his father’s gloves: only the beautiful shows, only the smallest part, while underneath is a cross-hatching of labour and skill and frustration and sweat.”

It makes one think of the proverbial duck who seems to glide across the pond, yet whose feet are furiously paddling beneath the surface, not unlike a busy mother. And, I can’t help but think of the work of Cayce Zavaglia, master embroiderer, who lately has been exhibiting the backs of her larger-than-life, super realistic embroidered portraits (versos) and her paintings of the same. Her intent is to highlight the “divergence between our presented and private selves”.

With all the above said, this past Tuesday as I looked at the calendar I realized that this very week marks Eye of the Needle’s 7th anniversary of uninterrupted weekly, and for the past two years, bi-weekly posts. In fact, this is #315. I have always seen this blog as source of connection – both with the greater art world and with you.

But what I have come to most appreciate and to value about this practice (and I do think of it as a practice) is it has allowed me to be more deeply engaged in my day-to-day, paying closer attention to underlying connections which most often arise unexpectedly. In many respects, this is a space to pull those loose threads together. Through the act of writing I become more cognizant of what I think and feel about the many, often humdrum things which somehow end up influencing my ideas, and in turn manifest themselves in what I make. And that is really the meat of this particular post. I hope that by sharing my relationship with those moments, you too have had cause to reflect on new perspectives – or to reconsider old ones – in a fresh light.

Time for Regrouping

You gotta love a sense of completion!

For the past several weeks I’ve been chipping away at a watercolor group portrait commission that came out of the blue. Best done in steady, measured sessions, it has been the perfect mix of challenge and, in the end, satisfaction. Now that it is en route to its new owner, I’m relieved, excited and frankly a bit spent.
I’m sorry not to be able to share pictures with you here – at least for a while – as it’s meant to be a Christmas surprise.

But what I can share with you is the color test sheet I used along the way. It’s not exactly a thing of beauty but it still has a certain charm. If the paper hadn’t already had something on the back I would have squared it up and used it for the note I include when sending a piece off to its new owner. I guess that’s an idea I’ll have to remember for the future.

Now that the painting is out of the studio, I’ve been working around the edges of other business-y chores while getting back up to speed. And frankly, I’m glad for a bit of a break. For the most part I’ve been becoming reacquainted with my mat cutter, submitting to a couple of shows, and starting the planning process for 2022. Did you realize that there are only 6 weeks left this year?

©2021 Elizabeth Fram Walnut ink on paper, 5 x 8 inches While Quinn may be the one who’s actually logging the zzzz’s, taking some time with my sketchbook makes for a relaxing and satisfying mid-day break from the computer for me.

I know this is not the stuff of which inspiring posts are written, but I think it’s worth sharing all the same. There is much that goes on “behind-the-curtain” in any studio — necessary tasks that aren’t glamorous, but which need regular time and attention and are just as crucial as the drawing and the stitching. Plus, I think it’s important to recognize how necessary it can be to regroup before jumping back into the making again.

See this for more resources on artistic business practices.

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While I haven’t had much time to explore it yet, Sarah Homfray’s YouTube embroidery channel looks like a wonderful place to learn — whether you are a beginner or an expert.

Testing, 1-2-3

The thing about Shibori is it can be both mentally invigorating and relaxing, often at the same time. I’ve been looking forward to this week’s work, knowing I’d have the stimulation of a puzzle paired with the soothing calm of stitching row upon repetitive row of running stitches.

Quick notations capture possibilities and remind me of fleeting ideas

In teasing out an approach for the dyed background of my “letters from home”, I’ve thought of plenty of possibilities. The overall goal is to find an idea that is generally repeatable, yet with enough elbow room for variations that will allow each piece to hold its own among the others in the series.

I keep even the smallest amounts of dye on hand so that I can make mini-samples on the fly. For the process of Ori-nui, the cloth is folded and stitches are made parallel and close to the fold. It’s a good way to achieve definition. I felt the stitches I’d made in this sample were too far from the fold, so I adjusted that distance in my final, full-scale sample.

I also have to keep in mind how the embroidery-to-be will fit, so that it doesn’t become lost against the color and pattern of its dyed background.

Once I get to the stage of sewing the resist stitching, I can settle in and relax. Where to stitch, what direction those stitches will take, and where the knots will be placed have all been decided. So there’s nothing to do at this point but listen to a book or podcast and get to work.

It’s all well and good to jot down options in a sketchbook, but it isn’t until the needle actually pierces the cloth that reality sets in and decisions/questions begin to crop up in earnest. Should the striations of pattern all go in the same direction – or perhaps oppose each other? How best to keep a crisp line between areas of pattern and open spaces of dye? Can I balance those two while keeping in mind that the third crucial element of the embroidered imagery will be added later?

With the stitching complete, the fabric is ready to soak and then all the threads will have to be drawn up tightly and knotted before beginning the dye process.

An example of the many things to think about: an often overlooked characteristic of Mokume stitching is that even the point where one chooses to begin a row of stitching can impact the final appearance. I am quite fond of the little white dots left un-dyed by the knots at the end of my stitching thread, so I try to work out ways to incorporate them that will enhance the piece without distraction. It’s worth noting that beyond contributing added visual “zip” for those who look closely, those tiny spots are also a reminder that this process is very much hand-made.

Admittedly they are very subtle, but I think the marks left by the knots at the end of my thread elevate the pattern as a whole, so I try not to hide them if possible.

Last but not least, at this early stage everything must be worked within a pre-determined finished size to accommodate framing.
So yes, lots to think about and I have my work cut out for me. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And there you have it – the finished, dyed piece. The dye came out a bit like the Northern Lights, don’t you think?

If I go with a 12 x 12 inch final dimension as originally planned, this is about where it’ll end up.

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Most of our fall yard chores are now complete, crowned, as always, by the all-important planting and securing of the garlic under its snug winter cover of leaves and burlap.
Time to get ready for garden dreaming in hibernation season by turning to books. After reading the article I mentioned in my last post, I picked up David Culp’s The Layered Garden from the library for his ideas on how to bridge the seasons in your garden. My favorite example of this idea is Jack Lenor Larsen’s Red Garden at the Longhouse Reserve.

I have a beautiful red twig dogwood and tend to leave areas of echinacea and bee balm for visual interest against the snow (and any late foraging birds). But I wonder what other ideas Culp might have. I was rewarded this morning, waking up to a frosted landscape that reminded me just how lovely every season can be.

Frost