Tag Archives: stitching

Back and Forth

The more I juggle between stitched pieces and drawings, the more I appreciate the power of their influence upon each other.

I thought it might be interesting to see 5 stages of both a drawing and a stitched piece, side-by-side as they progress. The drawing begins with a very hard lead so I’m afraid it’s a challenge to see here, a fact amplified by its reduced size. You can see its details much more clearly in this post.

It’s definitely an ongoing challenge to give each its due in a given week, and I’m sure that fact delays my progress in each. But the strong similarity between the way an image is built in one discipline really helps me work through the hurdles I encounter within the other.

The drawing is 24 x 18 inches, whereas this stitched piece is about 10 inches square

The upside is it’s a two-way street: having two objectives may slow me down, but working both mediums in tandem ultimately seems to push me further than if I were pursuing only one.

I like working in layers because it lets me build up an image gradually.

I’ve written before about artists I admire who work across disciplines, but only by doing so myself have I been able to truly see the returns materialize.

There is definitely a lot to be said for the oomph of color that comes easily with dyes and thread. Yet I am also attracted to the subtlety of line which I feel conveys just as much, albeit with a quieter voice.

Advantages weave back and forth between the two, each lending a fresh perspective on the qualities that interest me: texture, color, value, pattern…and not to be forgotten, all-important composition – whether encased in an imaginary frame defined by the edges of the paper or within a framework of shibori pattern that is as much a part of the overall piece as the subject.

And then you reach a point where it feels like everything that can be, has been said.

❖

Summer Reading:
I love the premise behind this list of 20 books featuring seasoned female protagonists from Modern Mrs. Darcy. I’ve read and enjoyed a handful of them, so I know her recommendations are reliable.

My mother was a great reader and an inveterate article-clipper, as perhaps yours is, or may have been, as well. She never missed an opportunity to share something she found interesting or that she thought I should read. And it seems I have inherited that gene, as my kids will attest. But the happy flip side of that is they also share articles and book titles with me!
If you’re looking to liberate yourself by taking control of your devices, rather than letting them control you, check out Cal Newport’s Digital Minimalism, courtesy of my son. It’s a speedy read, but very wise and equally as worthwhile.

Another Week

I love reading about how other artists organize and manage their practice and in that spirit thought I would share the variety of things I’ve been working on Monday through Wednesday of this week. If for no other reason, it’ll show you that I usually toggle back and forth between several things at once.

Monday = life drawing and whatever else I can squeeze in.

I post this blog on Thursdays. It publishes immediately but is sent out through the wonders of Mailchimp to my mailing list at 4am on Friday mornings. This is why those of you who have subscribed can read it with your morning coffee every week. I have found that setting up and keeping a schedule is the key ingredient that has allowed me to post consistently each week for almost four years. And while my schedule of stitching and drawing is a little more flexible, it is the same devotion to consistency that results in a sense of accomplishment.

This week that “squeezed in” Monday project was working on the lobster piece

I try not to think too much about the next week’s post over the weekend other than to keep my eyes and ears open for new ideas. But each week unfolds the same way: Mondays are for entertaining various possibilities for that week’s post, Tuesdays I compose a draft, Wednesdays are devoted to polishing, and I publish on Thursday. Depending on the week, any of those steps can run very smoothly or be quite laborious, which makes it easy to see how blog-writing has become an all-consuming profession for some.

Tuesday = the start of a new drawing and the final touches on the lobster piece which will still need to be framed.

I started Eye of the Needle as a means of better articulating my practice and of opening the door to a conversation with other artists and with anyone who might be interested in what goes on behind my artistic curtain, so to speak. It has given back to me more than I could have imagined on both counts.

One unexpected discovery is that the time spent writing often spurs ideas for the practical side of whatever I’m currently working on, and while I’m stitching I can sometimes work out the wrinkles of my post that week. Drawing is in a whole different league though because it requires being constantly engaged in the process at hand, with moment by moment decisions necessary.

Wednesday = experimenting to create a shaped resisted area before folding, stitching and dyeing a new piece. The shape below is cut from cotton cloth, and I stitched a duplicate directly underneath it on the other side of the silk – hoping that since cotton won’t absorb the dyes I use that I might have at least the shadow of this shape remaining after stitching and dyeing the silk.

Cotton resist basted in place

Piece folded, stitched, and dyed. The lighter area is the cotton which has barely absorbed any of the dye

The results didn’t turn out anything like I hoped – let alone expected. I’m thinking now about my next move.

The images of this week’s work are an example of the variety of things I’m juggling at any given time. Believe it or not, they all feed into each other, although sometimes I wish my various disciplines developed in a straighter line. As you can perhaps imagine, sometimes my practice feels a bit disjointed, but I have come to understand and trust how the three legs of the stool – writing, drawing, and stitching – have become equally necessary to each other.

My son just gave me a copy of the book Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less by Greg McKeown. I’m looking forward to seeing what ideas it may have to help me to pull these elements together more tightly.

Art from the Needle Lives On

I recently treated myself to a copy of the catalog from the Museum of Arts and Design’s 2007 exhibition “Pricked: extreme embroidery“. As is to be expected, the show is thought-provoking, engaging and, as noted by former Museum of Arts and Design director Holly Hotchner, “celebrates the work of the artist’s hand in the twenty-first century”.

“Pricked” represented international artists of both genders whose art not only pushes forward into new realms via concept and unexpected materials, but which references the traditional in unexpected ways. The exhibition was so popular that it was extended an additional 7 weeks.

“Death of Blinded Philosopher” (2006), embroidery on silk shantung, by Angelo Filomeno Photo Credit: Michael Bodycomb

It’s well worth noting the remarks of David Revere McFadden (Chief Curator, Museum of Arts and Design at the time of the show) that it “is not by any measure an exhibition about embroidery, but rather an exhibition of contemporary art made by artists that use embroidery as a medium to communicate their ideas and visions”.

I have been thinking lately about the fact that regardless of whether for utilitarian purposes or as a means of artistic expression, the use of needle and thread is a discipline that crosses many boundaries: historic, economic, geographic and cultural. Recently that fact hit home on a more personal level.

Our family has a treasured sampler that has made its way down through the generations to one of my cousins. It was made by my great, great, great grandmother at the age of 12 in 1806. It’s an object that was respected, but in recent times I don’t think much was thought or known about it beyond being something of another era.

Pamelia was originally from Massachusetts and my father, who is deep in genealogical research surrounding the life of her husband, couldn’t figure out why she was in Portland, Maine where she made this sampler at such a young age, and how she happened to meet her eventual husband, the subject of my father’s research.

Pamelia circa 1870’s

Interestingly, I recently received a group email from my SAQA regional rep that included a link to a video about an exhibition at the Saco Museum, “I My Needle Ply With Skill”, that showcases Maine schoolgirl needlework from the Federal era. That led to further information that allowed my father to ferret out why Pamelia was in Maine (another story), and also the fact that she attended the same needlework school in Portland as my great, great, great grandfather’s sister. This is undoubtedly how the two met – and perhaps one of the reasons that this sampler was cherished and so well-preserved to be passed down in such beautiful condition.

I’m proud to see the way that Pamelia’s work was honored by the elegant frame that surrounds it. And I can’t help but be reminded that needlework has become central to my art-making. It’s cause for celebration that “hand-work” has expanded beyond the sphere of the relatively limited education accessible to girls of 200 years ago, to become a valid contemporary art form, recognized through an exhibition at in one of our most important museums.

And I find it uplifting to remember that we are connected via the things we make — even across time and place.

Expect the Unexpected: Revisiting Process, Part 1

This piece, Ulysses’ Wave, is about change — and more specifically, coming to terms with the aging and the loss of a parent. It seemed a worthy candidate for sharing a look into my process, which is largely intuitive and does not involve much preparation other than a vague idea of where I am headed.

Almost daily my dog and I walk the same path in the woods, and as a result I’m sensitive to the subtle differences I see from day to day. My observations have prompted me to think about the slow changes that occur as one season merges into the next, which in turn led me to consider the idea of such a progression in wider terms.

Even though one is fully aware change is coming, there can suddenly be a moment when the realization strikes home that the exchange has already occurred — almost like the silent flip of a switch. The most apt metaphor I can come up with is an invisible line that one day you are a bit surprised to find you have already crossed. In a nutshell, that’s the concept behind Ulysses’ Wave.

In my work, I’ve been developing a process for a couple of years now that brings together my interest in color, texture, and the organization and arrangement of shapes within an image. I aim to capitalize on the qualities that make working with textiles unique through the shifting of one’s focus between the surface of the work and the image portrayed. Along the way, I’m learning to become comfortable with the fact that no part of the process is entirely predictable; the final piece will evolve as it does, which is the result of lots of starts and stops along the way.

In beginning Ulysses’ Wave, I first dyed strips of raw silk in a gradual progression from a bright, clear green to a subdued, faded neutral.

Each segment was then stitched so that once the threads were pulled tight and the strips put in a second dye bath – each progressively more muted – the resulting shibori pattern created connections and continuity between the strips, but maintained distinct characteristics.

With the dyeing completed and the segments laid out in order, I realized a counterpoint was needed to offset the uninterrupted rhythm of the piece so far. I painted and inserted a strip of dupioni silk to provide some breathing room.

But as the process of embroidery began in earnest, something didn’t seem quite right…

The painted section was too wide and disruptive

And here it seemed too thin

Finally…a width that feels correct.

The next part of the process is one that I really enjoy — auditioning thread for color and placement. One of the great things about thread is that you can get your hands right into the color (it reminds me a bit of playing in my mother’s jewelry box when I was little).

Then comes the largely intuitive job of using stitch to play off the pattern, color and shapes created by the dye.

At this point the embroidery, for the most part, seemed complete. I had spent weeks on the challenge of harnessing visual movement so that it flowed around and through the piece, rather than traveling to one side and dropping off the edge. But unfortunately, it’s not uncommon to get this far and to discover after pinning the work to my design wall that I can’t get past a niggling feeling that part of it isn’t working. Thus begins something of a waiting game – one of holding back and taking time to consider, anticipating an eventual solution which will set me on the right path.

So this is where I’m going to leave you until next time — considering, as I did, how to bring this piece to a place where it could convey a sense of the transformation that comes with change, while maintaining, as we all must, some form of continuity.

Enjoy your week…

The School of Color (where homework isn’t a dirty word)

Color is like gravity: an inescapable and powerful force that pulls you in and won’t let go. When deftly handled it’s hypnotic. Working with it is an oh-so-sweet challenge that requires lots of time and practice.

In an effort to learn more, I keep index cards with scraps of different fabrics glued to them and sketchbooks filled with reference material. Both highlight unexpected color combinations that I find particularly beautiful or intriguing. I return to these sources over and over — for ideas or even as a sort of visual vacation when I need a break.

In my latest work I’ve been combining processes that are inherently different, but which complement each other and lay the groundwork for chromatic lessons.

The first step is to dye raw silk after painstakingly covering it with running stitches and then gathering them so that the dye can only access certain parts of the whole. Some areas, such as the figures below, are left unstitched, so the different colors of dye are allowed to fill those sections freely. Overall, this creates a textural pattern that serves as a base. Next, textile paint is applied relatively quickly; broad strokes of pigment that bleed into the fabric and mix impulsively.

Then those base layers of color are covered with stitches of many different hues, playing off the coloration of the dye and paint. The density of the stitching provides a way to learn through the push and pull between the colors as they react to each other. Each stitch/mark is similar to the dots from a pointillist’s brush, providing a means of examining the nuances of how one hue affects the next, with the result that I’m able to expand my understanding of color theory while exploring its intellectual and emotional power.

The slow and methodical pace of the process gives me an opportunity to resolutely consider each mark and I often go back to pull out stitches/colors that don’t seem to have been placed correctly. There is definitely an intuitive element which kicks in that has evolved with practice. It comes from watching closely as the work develops and from seeing how the colors affect not just each other, but the artwork as a whole.

Color is a school with no mandatory prerequisites that’s open to all of us. As you move through your day, keep your eyes peeled for what grabs you; the combinations that make you pause. The beauty of the process is you can write your own curriculum.

If you’re interested in adding to your syllabus, here are a few suggestions. There’s some really good meat to their texts, but it’s also fun to just flip through the pictures.

Color in Contemporary Painting; Integrating Practice and Theory by Charles LeClair Painting What You Want to See by Charles Reid Glorious Color by Kaffe Fassett
Susan Sargent’s The Comfort of Color