Tag Archives: snow

Snow Moon

This Saturday’s full moon (February 27th) will be 2021’s Snow Moon. It’s known as such because typically more snow falls during February than any other winter month…a designation I see as an attribute.

Planning for areas of snow in my next piece, it was necessary to keep those fabric sections free of dye. This is my first experience with “capping” (wrapping the areas meant to be protected in plastic)

I still get as excited about winter weather advisories foretelling heavy snowfall as I did when they held the promise of a day off from school. Now though, they signify a cozy day in the studio with multiple steaming cups of tea and the best possible natural light to work by.

So far, so good. The capping seemed to work pretty well. Note the “pleated” shibori area that abuts the plastic. It is purposely dyed a lighter color.

Admiring Carol O’Malia’s snowscapes at a local gallery several years ago, I was surprised when the gallery director mentioned that winter scenes are generally a harder-sell. I guess most people must favor warm and sunny settings, but my preference, if given a choice, is always a snow-covered landscape. The art cards I’ve saved and pinned to my studio wall through the years attest to that fact.

My snow gallery

I’m particularly fond of Japanese prints that depict snow scenes. So, with winter on the brain earlier this month, it was a happy discovery while poking through the Harvard Museums’ website on a completely different mission, to come across “The Armchair Traveler’s Guide to Mt. Fuji”. Just one in a series of video Art Talks, this guided tour of 3 paintings depicting Mt. Fuji centers its discussion on the mountain’s significance during the Edo period. Fascinating!

Eventually this will be part of a house that will be called “Snow Moon”. The moon is resist-stitched (kawari mokume shibori) just above the snowy horizon. (The blue dividing line is water-soluble ink that will disappear after I finish the embroidery that is yet to come. If you look closely, you can see the ink also outlines the roofline of the house.) This close-up doesn’t really show it, but the dye gets progressively deeper in color as it moves away from the moon (see previous picture). I dip-dyed the piece, moving farther from the moon area with each dip, in order to suggest its glow in the sky.

And, because nothing ever seems to happen in isolation, around that same time Carol Gillott of Paris Breakfasts wrote about an exhibit she’d seen last summer at Musée Guinet: Mont Fuji – Land of Snow. Her short post centers on snowy Japanese prints and the Prussian blue pigment which became integral to them after it was introduced to Japan by Commodore Perry in the eighteenth century. As always, she includes the added enticement of photos of Paris.

Getting ready to embroider, I have drawn trees for each section of the house, and chosen the thread colors that I’ll use for them and their shadows.

But if you’re looking for something a bit closer to home to satisfy (or convince you of) a love of art and snow, you’re in luck. Head up to the Highland Center for the Arts in Greensboro to enjoy their Open Air Gallery: Ski and Snowshoe Trail, which includes a wonderful variety of sculptures by Vermont artists on a 1.8 mile trail that begins at HCA and loops through the neighboring Wilson Farm.

Flags along the trail are a bright spot of color on an overcast Vermont day.

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Instagram of the Week

I guess you could say we’re all homebodies to some degree these days. Erika Stearly’s lush paintings celebrate the inside, making me appreciate my love of interiors even more than usual. I especially enjoy that she often shows a painting in 4 to 5 images along the way to completion.

Gesa Marie's Home in Munster No. 1010 by Erika Stearly

White on White

It seems that winter has arrived at the party early this year and decided to stay.

We got well over a foot of new snow on our hill this week, bringing with it the delightful perk that the light in my studio has been perfect. This is the kind of illumination that brightly shows colors in their truest form, but I am especially appreciating it while attacking the first stage of laying in the image for a new piece with white thread. It’s ideal for giving my stitches plenty of definition against their white silk ground.

Is it any wonder that being surrounded with all this snow has set me to thinking about great works of white art? Unsurprisingly, Malevich’s 1918 painting “White on White” was the first to come to mind. Here are a few others.

Louise Nevelson made numerous white pieces. Great images on Alabama Chanin’s Journal, including the uncredited textile piece at the end of the post.
Jasper John’s 1955 White Flag
Local artist Mark Goodwin
Photographer Scott Peterman’s ice houses

Because of where we live, it’s inescapable that I will write from time to time about the snow and the impact it has on my work. I wrote in a past post that “I’ve always loved winter, so a snow-covered landscape is a welcome seasonal perk…just because. But from an artistic and working viewpoint, there is a lesson in the snow: the importance of finding a balance between maintaining a certain boldness (via composition, pattern, and texture) while remembering to get my point across as simply as possible.”

That’s something to keep in mind as I tackle this next piece.

Less is More

Happily, the snow that has fallen this week has blanketed our woods again.

Getting out to walk on our trails with Quinn has provided a welcome reprieve from the relative visual cacophony of pattern and color I’ve been immersed in while working on this latest cup and saucer piece. I’ve long been an avid fan of the traditionally quiet Japanese aesthetic with its subtle contrasts and expanses of open space, which probably explains why a snowy landscape represents a such a welcome counter-balance, not just to working with pattern for hours at a time, but also, theoretically, to the hectic realities of life as we all know it.

A couple of years ago I wrote a post about February’s inherently restrained character and was gratified to hear from quite a few of my Vermont friends that they too welcome this season as a time for regrouping, of calm reflection, and as a period all the richer for its subdued identity. If you live with winter for a large chunk of each year, there’s an element of self-preservation in figuring out what gifts you can glean from it.

But in thinking more about the appeal of winter’s sparseness, I did a bit of research on the idea of unadorned beauty. I came across a fascinating lecture by haiku poet Madoka Mayuzumi entitled “Japan’s Culture of Silence”. It goes a long way toward explaining, especially in relation to haiku, the significance of an “aesthetic of reduction”. Haiku invites the reader into the poet’s world, relying as much on the blank spaces incurred through its brevity, as it does on the words which comprise each poem. Mayuzumi explains: “We tend to find the greatest beauty on (sic) what is left unsaid, in the rich possibilities of blank space”.

It’s a principle that can be applied to any of the arts.

Looking out my living room window, layers of fog not only mute any sense of depth, but also lend an openness to the landscape in much the same way as snow.

I’ve always loved winter, so a snow-covered landscape is a welcome seasonal perk…just because. But from an artistic and working viewpoint, there is a lesson in the snow: the importance of finding a balance between maintaining a certain boldness (via composition, pattern, and texture) while remembering to get my point across as simply as possible.

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If this subject interests you, you might enjoy this 2 minute video on the concept of “ma”, which discusses how this aesthetic of reduction is integrated within Japanese culture.

On a Different Note…

If you will be any where near Montpelier on Thursday, February 9, I would encourage you to attend mixed-media art knitter Eve Jacobs-Carnahan’s presentation Art as Action: Knitters Speaking Out. Inspired by the article What It Means To Be An Artist In The Time Of Trump, Eve will discuss and show examples of projects undertaken by art knitters to raise awareness about social and environmental issues.

Art as Action: Knitters Speaking Out
A presentation by Eve Jacobs-Carnahan
Thursday February 9, 2017 6:30 – 8 pm,
Center for Arts and Learning, 2nd floor
46 Barre St. Montpelier, VT 05602

Ice Cuts

Last week I went to see Eric Aho’s current exhibition “Ice Cuts” at the Hood Museum in Hanover, NH. It was strikingly beautiful. Entering the main gallery, I couldn’t help but feel very “human” in scale compared to the relative monumentality of the seven pieces displayed on three perimeter walls.

“Ice Cuts” © Eric Aho, at the Hood Museum, Dartmouth College

I sat on the bench in the center of the room, swiveling to absorb each painting in turn. The work proffered an overall sense of tranquility, a calming rhythm through repetition. Yet, far from becoming tedious, each piece is worlds apart from the others, focusing on the disparity to be found in varying textures of snow and the luminous colors emitted from the cut edges of the ice. Aho brings out the subtle differences that we who live with snowy landscapes know well, such that you can almost smell the cold in the air.

Whether viewed from a distance of 3 feet or 30, the nuances of detail come through loud and clear. And not unlike identical twins, whose individuality becomes apparent once you get to know them, each painting expresses a distinct personality. Varying details lend both a sense of solidity and ethereality, embodied in elements such as bold composition expressed through stark geometry, scars of over-cuts left behind after the block of ice has been removed, layers of depth conveyed within each void via subtle changes in the black paint that describes it, and beautifully diverse edges surrounding every hole.

The exhibit also includes smaller pieces, watercolor studies and open sketchbooks that provide a window into Aho’s process, adding measurably to the scope of the show.

Ice Cut I, IV (top), Ice Cut II, III (bottom) ©Eric Aho

An intriguing parallel that has come to me as I’ve thought about these pieces over the past week is that they evoke the monoliths from “2001: A Space Odyssey”. I’m not exactly sure where to go with that idea, but it speaks well to the power of Aho’s work that it also lends a sense of mystery.

If you live close enough, Eric Aho’s “Ice Cuts” will be up through March 13th.

The Essence of Spring

Color is returning to our landscape as the snow slowly melts and evaporates. It’s a lift for my spirit to see the vibrant shades of green and red that quickly reappear after having been buried for such a long time. There is much to see and absorb as the season changes.

Red-barked dogwood, moss and lichen

Contrasted with the earthy shades of stones that have just emerged from under the snow, the vivid moss that survived through months of subzero temps is a wonder in both its color and its resilient softness.

Stones and moss

With the remaining snow as a backdrop, textures become more noticeable and appreciated.

White Pine

The shadows plants cast against the smooth surface of rocks create interesting abstract patterns. I can’t help but think of arashi shibori (wrapped resist).

Shadows on Stone

Arashi Shibori

Wide swaths of white still cover large portions of the garden, offering a counterpoint and an opportunity to look at individual features differently than during the rest of the year. It’s easier to frame interesting compositions because everything is still pared down to essentials. Variations of tone carry new weight in their subtlety.

The areas of “empty” space created by the remaining snow, offer a compelling contrast to these characteristics, simultaneously creating both weight and breathing room. And because color is just reemerging, there is a sense of promise that is missing during late fall and winter.

Courtyard Garden

Seeing my yard and garden in this way reminds me of the visual elements of Japanese gardens that I find so irresistible. Spring calls attention to the essence of the garden. It provides a chance to appreciate the intrinsic nature of plants through their inherent structure and their understated textural variations that aren’t as easy to see once their leaves and the grass have filled in. Irregularities that will become hidden once the beds are back in full bloom, are now their pride.

All of these elements carry strong suggestions for new work. I don’t think of myself as a landscape artist, but there’s no denying that my surroundings have a strong effect and influence on my thought process. The ice pieces I began in February are mostly finished and it’s high time to leave the winter months behind and to begin to concentrate on what’s to come.

❖

PS: The photos above were taken yesterday, the post written right afterward. This is what we awoke to this morning.

It looks like I will have more chances to enjoy the essence of spring…proving once again the Power of Persistence.

February’s Self-Restraint

Last week I began the first stages of a couple of smaller pieces, looking forward to the learning curve that seems to come more rapidly when working in series and the pieces aren’t (hopefully) as time consuming to complete.

Winter Palette

I have been thinking about ice and snow – big surprise! – and the gentle depth of tones to be found in each. I love the pared down beauty at this time of year and watching for the subtle changes of color that take place in the landscape.

The winds were fierce on our hill earlier this week, leaving behind sculpted piles of snow that remind me of Isamu Noguchi’s work. The rounded forms seem proudly self-possessed, nestled comfortably within their environment. They have carved edges that are clearly defined but smooth enough to convey very subtle value changes. The effect is lovely.

So — how do I transcribe this idea surrounding winter’s visual restraint without being literal? These studies will not be landscapes, but I hope that they will tell part of that greater story. My thoughts revolve around the dissection of the landscape into basic elements; a process of subtraction that distills an image into its essence, with the idea of evoking memory and mood rather than portraying an actual place.

I recently came across this quote by painter Gerhard Richter which seems to cut to the core of the way I think about existing within my surroundings and the search for a way to express the emotional connection that results.

“Our connectedness to nature and our wish to commemorate life and our place in the universe compels us to describe our physical surroundings and, in doing so, ourselves. Landscape’s compositional and spiritual cues also contain the vital seeds of abstraction and beyond.”

Here’s to the hope that these seeds can be planted and will take root despite our frigid temps.

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And to continue with the idea of subtlety and understatement: let me share with you the beautiful photographs of Scott Peterman – a master of the restrained palette. Don’t miss this slideshow of his photographs of ice houses!

Elizabeth Fram

Eye of the Needle