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.