working the elements

There's been a lot whining here about the limitations and failures I've experienced working with fiber and sewing. Lately I've taken some good advice and started paying attention to what elements I like in a variety of other artists work and I keep coming back to the dimensionality of the machine stitched line in layers of fabric like Terry Grant's work. (Front Runner in progress , 48"x72") This time I'm going to compound the impact of the machine stitching on this piece one pass of stitching at a time and hope I recognize when basta! arrives. The stitching itself is lost on these failing eyes from just a few paces across the room but the shadows that are cast with natural light get my attention like claw marks in bark. For my own satisfaction, I'm thinking I have to find a balance between the broad strokes/energy of color and shape and the finer details of stitching and texture. I've come to accept that the problems of working large is finding ways to reconcile how a piece looks from across a room and what else goes on when you step in for a closer look. addendum - I just read this from Lanie and find a serendipitous parallel .

DOH!

That'll learn me. Braves threw it down the crapper in the 7th!

Front Runner comes to Batt

Front Runner goes to batt and the Braves baseball season is off to a wonderful start as they are two games into handing last years world series champions Phillies their asses. I start my mornings with some webwork, a cup of coffee and lately, two consecutive hours of some of the best TV drama ever written going on in the background while I putter, stop, and become engrossed. Because I worked the second and third shift for many years, I didn't get to see West Wing when it was on in prime time, so many of the shows are new to me. "Two Cathedrals" was just on and this one, like many, moved me to tears. I don't care what side of the political aisle you sit on, I just can't help but be moved by people who have made public service their whole lives and I'm not just talking about the elected officials. I also keep in mind what an amazing artistic collaboration this TV production was and wonder about how it came to pass. Nothing in government would work without the people who move the mountains with teaspoons and I wish that I had made a career in that arena but then I remind myself that the contributions I have made matter a great deal to many people who care about me and I hike up my suspenders and get busy with my own teaspoon.

Front Runner in Progress

Almost all of the fabrics for this piece were selected from the slush pile...the redheaded stepchilden headed for the overdye pot someday when the mood moved me. Pink flannel, fer crying out loud. Transparent Setacolor has started working it's magic. That and pollen, bug crap, cat feet and whatever else is out on the top deck after a long, hard winter. It's raining out there now.

Sweet Saturday

There's thread of communication here running through Alien Alphabet (left, made four or five years ago) and these recent random gridworks. The letters are starting to form. I wonder what the message will be?



It's wonderful to be easily amused. Homemade Bruschetta for lunch, a few scraps of fabric and thread and the last spring training game of the season on TV before Opening Day tomorrow. Go Braves.

starting place

Every piece has to start somewhere.

reply

dear ANT...forgive the public reply but after I finished writing you, I was fresh out.... No Yogi here...Of all the writers on that blog, I like Clairan best ( I used to follow the blog but lately there's so little time) it's just that after I read one of the posts, like this one, I heave a great sigh and think, just like you, "Meanwhile, Cy was off in a corner, toking on a bone and having a great laugh on the rube who just gave him six months rent for something he did while grunting over a tough bowel movement, damn that week-old fried rice anyway." Who KNOWS what an artist has in mind and if you asked them at the moment (or close to) of creation, would they tell the honest truth? "I was just dicking around with the new colored pencils...you know, the ones that still had sharp points and I was mad about the bitch on the third floor turning her pointy nose in the air when I dared smile at her in the lobby, I mean who the FOCK does she think she is anyway, the nasty twat, and thanks for asking but NOW the General Tso is giving me diarrhea. I think I'll take a canvas in the crapper with me and see what comes out...." I wonder what percentage of the entire AB-Ex (or any movement, for that matter) movement stems from so many people having private, personal and completely non-artistic moments with some art materials because somewhere along the way they got the notion that being an Artist was glamorous and some loving family member seized on the opportunity to encourage the little demon in a non-destructive direction. I mean, really, my gramma taught me cross-stitch embroidery to get me the hell out of her kitchen where I could be found at any moment eating a square of Bakers' chocolate (and swearing it was great!) or crunching on whole roasted coffee beans just to hear the noise. My memory of her kitchen and it's contents is photographic right down to which of her two parakeets would bite you to bloody and which one would ride around on your head, crapping merrily into your braids. Have I digressed? Go to the studio, you say? Last night a restaurant manager called to report an employee's slip and fall in the kitchen. I was required to ask "What type of tile is on the floor?" and before he could tell me, I offered "Butter Creme or Chocolate?" Also " A woman ran out of the establishment without paying claiming that the Devil sat down at the table opposite her and was making a racket with the silverware". The police were called to the scene but did not respond. Addendum - As I look around blogland, I see the wonderful work of artists everywhere who are working with their favorite stuff merely for the pleasure of doing it. Some of these pieces jump off the page and move the heart. Their work speaks openly and honestly of their motivations. To me, the joy found in the making of it is enough.

stash

I've been at the computer for a while rebuilding the Fiber Fandango website and digging through my files to find the images that go along with the pieces from my stash that will be on the block...I really don't want to have to reshoot these things. I'm finding things that are speaking to me in ways I wasn't paying attention to back when they were first created.

casting about for direction

We had a solid week of gray weather and rain here. I've been hard put to think about any larger creative issues beyond what I could hold in my hands under the lamplight. I spent most of yesterday torturing this little piece of black wool. Now I wonder what will become of it if I try to iron/steam it flat. Last weekend's dyefest took a lot out of me and now the pile of bright colors mock me from a corner of the studio. I started another one of these at the office the other day but the fluorescent lighting was giving me a headache. It's one of those cube farms where you sit wherever when you get there, our schedules vary day to day, and I made the mistake of getting used to a particular seat and the lighting there. Several days last week I had to sit in strange places with bad chairs and worse lighting. Now I have to take the time to go to my doctor so she will write me a note saying I have to have an ergonomically correct chair and have it committed to a seat where the lighting suits my needs too. Whine, whine, whine. Next!

gross commerce

It's hard to see due to the color scheme but this is a little bag I crocheted from ribbon for my tarot cards. I started it at work and finished off while we watched "Wall-e" on Sunday. Of course, I wept. A lot of folks have been asking about the sugar dyed damasks so I went through what was left in my stash and put together some sample bundles. They are for sale on my resurrected Fiber Fandango (Raw Materials for Fiber Artists) page where I sell the fabrics I make that I don't hoard for myself. Not much to show these days.

Opening Day at the Lawrenceville Frankenstein Dyeworx

It's a good thing I have really tolerant neighbors. All they have to do is step outside and look left or right to see what I'm up to but in all the years I've been doing this there's been nary a peep, bless 'em.The deck reminded me of a few scenes from "Slumdog Millionaire". This stuff is all wet of course but since these pictures were taken, the sun has set and the dryer has tumbled and everything is very nearly as bright and intense as you are seeing it here. Not everything was perfect as is (see some murky looking buggers up there) and other "things" will be happening to even the perky colors. I'm not in an entirely perky mood design wise but I'm grateful to have all of these as a starting place. The Chino came out wonderful after I gave it a healthy dose of Golden Yellow. Jude sent me a piece of gauze like cotton weave that came out glorious with that blend. I even overdyed a blouse from last year that was disappointingly and unbearably minty...now a rich leaf green.

Oh Baby!

Linda look! These are still wet, but Yowsa! Even though these dye powders were over 5 years old, they still seem to have most of their steam. I rinsed and washed these little tests by hand but won't commit to larger pieces until after a good thrash in the washing machine. The Scarlet is the first red I have ever dyed that I really liked. Follow-up. Here they are after machine, dry and iron. Very tasty.

What we need & when we need it.

Is it my imagination or is a certain famous brand of crayons seriously lacking in pigment these days? Maybe it's the smoothness of the paper in my Picadilly but there are three or four layers of color here trying to reach for the kind of intensity I like best. Still, this one was enough to ring the bell and remind me that life is short and since when did ever I wait for perfect anything, especially when it comes to dyeing fabric. The first load is in the washer getting prepped with Dawn and tomorrow it will go into the soda ash solution for at least a 24 hour soak. Saturday, I'll go with the colors on hand, fresh mixed and if it's not warm enough I'll be bagging stuff into a black trash bag greenhouse. I almost forgot, "Hope Rising" is home safe from the exhibit and I have a page in this book.

scribble Wednesday

I keep dreaming about great floating drifts of fabric on the wind. Great flags of fiber flapping and snapping. Elizabeth has recently written about knowing one's own taste in art. Her posts always provoke me into paying attention to my thinking (or lack thereof) about my work and I traced my notion of motion series back to my very first visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art when I came around a corner and was knocked flat by "The Horse Fair" by Rosa Bonheur. I almost hesitate to link to it because nothing you can see here on a computer can compare to the incredible reality of it. Over 16 feet wide, it's a river of motion and vigor.I might have been 12 years old at the time and I think I've been looking to capture the motion of life in my art ever since. It's a wonder I didn't become a sports photographer. In place of getting Zone A work into play, I'm lucky to have the time, materials and headspace for the Zone B stuff like crocheted scrap rugs and free pieced lap quilts in simple, MARKETABLE color schemes all set for some Art fair someplace in the future when folks are out stimulating the economy, buying local and appreciating slow cloth (well, slower than store bought) and hand made by artists.

still fiber going on

Yes, I'm still farting around with these little make believes but that's just how it's going to have to be for a while. I don't think I have a piece of hand dyed fabric that's big enough to wrap a grapefruit anymore. Until I can rev up the wet studio, I'll be composing with scraps...hey, just remembered that's how I got started with fiber in the first place. Some excitement - this piece that I made for an early Quilt Art Challenge has been requested for a Day of the Dead exhibit planned for later this year at the Everhart Museum of Natural History, Science and Art in Scranton, PA Guess I better get busy and finish the edges somehow and get a sleeve on it. And tack it down a few places on the skull. Finish the thing for it's public appearance.

The Bicycle

Back before people were asking "What would Jesus do?" or "What would Buddha do?" I was asking my self "What would Jiminy Cricket do?". I am part of an entire subset of Baby Boomers who relied on the Disney insect for their common sense training and the development of a healthy sense of self-preservation. Even before it was trendy, I has a suspicion that my parents were clueless but I would listen carefully to the bug. That being said, here's my new-to-me beach cruiser and me with no beach. Still, I'll wear out the neighborhood and my knees on it now that we can step outside without drowning. Nifty, eh?

The song may be "I'm no Fool" but that was the card that fell from the deck in the full moonlight last night and I find it happily appropriate.

still Babu to me

Here he is, Dallas , the star of the show and serene in the love and protection of his family. Mom  and Dad  are doing fine.

some history please

I fell asleep thinking about the fact that this "new" fabric that I brought home has almost no history unlike the vintage damasks that have taken over my studio in the past year. The label says that it's imported which means it's traveled further than I have but it hasn't lived anywhere or done anything, yet. Fabrics that gets made into garments or other things of utility get to make some history but once we take fabric and make it part of art, things slow down too much. I'm half inclined to drag this piece around with me for a while. Lay it in the parking lot at work. Stuff it in the mailbox. Slam one end in under the trunk lid of my car and drive downtown at night dragging yardage behind me. Colin and Voodoo helped me with these pictures. I just went over to Judy Martin's blog and decided to add this last photo:

SCORE!

Just got back from OHCO in Covington, GA where I rescued these poor fibers for a mere $1.50 per yard. I had to wait in line for a parking space! Once I started figuring out how much fabric I could buy based on the money I brought with me, I had to stop and recalculate based on how much I could actually carry. The piece on top was unmarked so I only gambled 10 yards worth.A burn test since I got home confirms it's 100% cotton. The rest have 2 to 3 yards on each bolt. I have dyed these in the past and they Love the Color! Although dingy around the edges, everything was dry and mildew free but I will be taking the whole lot to the commercial lavanderia up the street rather than give my tired old Maytag a breakdown.

There was an entire aircraft hangar sized building where it looked like someone had used a bulldozer to push piles of fabric into long rows. That stuff was being sold by the pound (1.50 per) and I got about 40 feet of 300 count, king sized sheeting, white, printed with a .50x 1.50 beige grid...BACKING fabric for the straight-line challenged! There was also a huge piece of sanded cotton duck and another damask tablecloth.

I'm especially excited about the giagunda dimensions of some of these pieces. Big things in the works.

I dreamed that I was working on a piece that was very large - feet by feet large - and someone was telling me that I was committing Fiber Art Career Suicide by working that big. My reply "What career?"

Welcome Babu Coconut

Welcome Little Babu Coconut! I have a new nephew. This picture is to hustle his dad into taking and sending a picture to me so I can make a proper announcement!

a distraction

I spent most of the day in the studio yesterday trying to put my feet on the ground and get something going while the Notion of Motion series takes the back burners but I kept looking out the window at the freakish snow. It fell relentlessly all day long but never added up to anything more than a cold headache this morning. It will all be gone by noon. I've been hoarding these pieces of cotton for ages. Some time last summer I folded, stitched, waxed and dyed several pieces and sold all of them except this one. Once I cut the grid apart I was lost. So here is the grid again, reorganized. From here there will be more wax resists and over dyeing. For the moment, I'm just satisfied (for the first time) in the layout. (51"x24")

Something you don't see every day in Georgia

Jim hasn't lost his touch. This snow has not yet amounted to anything much more than pretty frosting even though it's been coming down fat and crazy all day long. There was deep and distant thunder too a few times. The sound reminded me of the noise that the town plows made when they were coming through the park on a winter night. The sounds were glad tidings that meant there would be no school the following morning. Yesterday I had the pleasure of a phone call inviting me to be a vendor at the Norcross Fall Art festival this coming October. I had just finished looking a some old jpegs of the velvet scarves I had for sale at the same festival back in "05 and thinking I might be up for doing it again. Is that serendipity or what?

the Anonymous Experiment....

....was a resounding success. Thank you all. I'm deeply grateful to all those who took the time to comment publicly and email me privately on the current series. I learned a great deal, had some ideas confirmed, scraped some doodoo off my shoes and was given much to think about . I would encourage anyone who keeps a blog and is serious about their art to take a chance on your readership and have an ANONYMOUS COMMENT FESTIVAL. found in a recent fortune cookie "You will be richly rewarded"

time to stop

I know it's time to stop making these pieces when I'm playing Freecell in the last 15 minutes of my shift. Now I have to spend some time going through my existing stash and planning for what materials I'm going to need to bring something like these studies to life full sized. And, Elizabeth! Who said you could be peeking over my shoulder when I am scribbling in my sketchbook? I am also reading a novel with a thrilling description of a horse race. The note says "horse parts lines".

nomo #3

Time to restuff and restock the little ragbag that I take in to the office. Last night I went in there with no pins and no thread, but still got this one was composed flat and rolled tight so things would be in place when I got it to the machine this morning. I've been dreaming about how these are going to be made full sized- the layers, the colors, the stitching - an hoping that over dreaming a piece doesn't do for me what putting it down in a sketchbook does..*poof*

more trial balloons

"notion of motion #2" and now to take my cold for a nap.

kindling

I got an email announcement yesterday that one of my favorite painters, Hollis Heichemer ,would be having a gallery show in NY. I was almost afraid to look at the newest work, sponge brain that I am - it both inspires and baffles me. My problem remains how to create this kind of immediacy and energy with a medium that, at best, is slow as dirt?? Last night at work I fiddled with the notion of motion and came up with this. I had to machine stitch it to keep the scale in order. I'd like to think that this is a tiny study for some much large things to come in the future. And another delightful email - Del Thomas letting me know that she was highlighting "Parking Magik" (2003) on her blog about her quilt collection. It was a treat to see it again as I have misplaced the original digital files. Thanks, Del!

In the Show!

There they are! I have five pieces in the World of Imagination Showopening March 6 at the APW Gallery in Long Island City, NY. It feels good to have something out there where folks beside my cats can look at it. It may look like a cattle call but..MooOOO!...I'm fine with a great, brawling art event.

sea change

The B&W versions were all composed and assembled (if not finished) at the office but last night, as I poked through the scrap bag, the Crayon People took me over and color just had to have it's way. I've been hand stitching on the color one this morning. The sun streams into my studio right over my shoulder, Jinx and I share the sewing chair, enjoy CBS Sunday Morning and a second cup of coffee and lots gets accomplished. I've decided that I'm going to finish these four pieces by mounting them on canvas and then mummifying the fabric with a thick soaking of clear acrylic medium. I've done this before with smaller pieces and I like the outcome. Of course, the hand of the fabric is lost but that's not an issue with this sort of piece anyway.

steeping

For the first time in ages I am dwelling on my work. It's a total luxury to be able to have it with me at all while I'm at the office. I pin the piece up on the wall of my cube and just look at while I'm taking calls and think about what's going on with it. Then, between calls, I can cut, adjust and stitch, slowly. thoughtfully. only this time I'm not thinking all that much about process or technique. With this kind of time on my hands what could be simpler than honoring the grid and attending to good design elements, each one a wayward and willful sheep? I'm thinking about the cloth and the spirits in it as if possessed. The ground, of course, these antique damask tablecloths that I have rescued from rag bags and dyed, are each full of mystery and history. They came to me mostly white but I feel as if the colors that I have given them reflect something of the character of their lives and service. Some are worn through in places, evidence of what? Years of happy Sunday family gatherings? Years of straight laced enslavement to social requirements? Was this tablecloth washed, ironed, folded and fussed over by a young, Irish immigrant girl brought to New England as an indentured servant before the turn of the century? Did this tablecloth cost more than her family could earn in a year? Did her heart ache as she stood back and watched dinner guests spill wine and gravy on it without a thought? The grid elements are refugees too, all snips and bits taken from here and there. The black here is a messy-when-cut expensive linen taken from a pair of designer label slacks that were incredibly a size 2. Not much fabric here. Each piece of cloth I'm handling is speaking to me of it's origin, it's use, it's history. I hope the finished pieces will convey the fabric's wishes as much as my own.

juicy days

Yesterday was a fine day in the mines! They's choking at Chucky's, puking at PF's and boffing in the bathrooms at El Toadies. (The names are all changed to protect the guilty, of course) . I may never eat out again! All this goes on and on and I get to be the electronic priestess listening, nodding, murmuring agreements and keying it all into the void and all the while struggling to keep a straight face and not bust out howling with laughter. I'm sorry but tales of guests stabbing one another with forks for dibs on the waitress is right up there with Craig Ferguson's best stuff. If you can stay up that late, you deserve giggle fits. I kept my self-promise to wallow more in the music and wore my Ipod headphones on the drive over to the office (arrest me) and got a great dose of Box Scaggs and John Mayer, both live. Add a dash of Joni Mitchell and for dessert, some Sting. Music like that makes me miss a longer commute. Things were slow when I got there - the river of Whining was running slow as sludge so I was able to get a new small piece of hand work underway and it's developing in a very satisfying way. If you've ever worked in a cube farm you know how it can be very self-contained and isolating but I've chosen a seat in a corner lot that no one else seems to want, the southern light filters through pines and a wall of glass over my right shoulder. It's not like working in a dungeon when I can sit there. It's interesting working on a piece when you are sitting on the corner of Main and Exit. Folks pass by, watch for a moment. Not the place or time for discussion but I can tell they are wondering what I am up to. With a tip of my pointy hat, I'll call it "jude scratchin'#1". Until I can work arms thrown wide again, I'll have this personal investigation into the nature of cloth, the grid, of course, and the spaces left where the warp and weft do their dance. So's not to rush a good thing, I set it aside at the stall point and started a new book."The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy that appears to have been written with the artist's eye in mind. Just wonderful visuals at every turn and I've hardly gotten to know the players. This day has been a feast for the senses. Not bad for a cube rat.