the uncanny

A while back I was driving down a long highway listening to a podcast about the iconography of halos in history and art. The halo, a perfect circle, often glowing, is situated above a person’s head. It’s a signifier of holiness, otherness and mystery. But then, as my mind wandered over the ideas of perfect circles and mystery, a car drove by towing another car that had the words broken halos printed on the back.

That’s what I mean by the uncanny. There are messages buzzing through this universe that, if I pay attention, if I concentrate on the now, if I notice what is odd or exotic, I may get a glimpse into the magic of being in this universe.

Gestation, Paula Kovarik, 2023

Have you seen those photographs of the universe lately?

I’ve been thinking about species and the vast number of them that are disappearing. I’ve been thinking about politicians and how they are lured into power vortexes where progress and empathy for the other is thwarted. I’ve been thinking about our species and how we seem to be pre-disposed to war. I’ve been thinking that life is short—too short to answer any of my questions with reliability.

I’ve been thinking. What if we are just another Petri dish in the grand experiment of the universe? Which vectors will finally bring us to nothingness? What will be left? Will new species emerge?

Sniffer skin, Paula Kovarik

Sometimes I just have to shut it all down. The questions are too big. They bring anxiety, anger and worry. Stitching helps. If I consciously tap into the motion and method of stitch I come closest to BEING HERE NOW. I think that all artists, writers and musicians seek that motion. Maybe the politicians, judges, generals and bosses would benefit from a little stitching. A little ripping out. They could get their own perfect circle hovering above their heads.

A new species

A litter of sniffers, Paula Kovarik

I created a new species this week. Using the stitched canvas shown above, these little guys emerged from the ooze. I’m naming them Sniffers. I have a litter of eight. The little slideshow below introduces each one of them.

Sniffers, a slideshow of fiber art by Paula Kovarik

If I place them just so, they create a perfect circle. Sniffing the air for answers. Big questions or small, my focus is on noticing. Change. Mystery. Differences. Words. Species. Developments.

The Uncanny.

the fall

I love fall. The colors speak to me. They reverberate with spent energy and herald the coming darkness of winter. This one coming up feels darker than most.

Burying my head in the sand will not be an option in the coming years.

Though I have always maintained a non-partisan stance in this journal (I am an independent) I feel compelled to speak out now. The election brought sadness for me and many around me. I am worried for my immigrant friends, alarmed at white supremacist rhetoric, concerned about the relaxation of environmental standards and angry at the misogynist drooling. It's a gut punch. Each day brings another announcement of the leadership of thugs.

Thugs, Paula Kovarik

I know that all Trump voters are not bad people. Some of them are family members, some truly believe that drastic change (no matter what the cost) will fix our broken system, some focus on one issue when they vote. The task at hand is what to do next? Do we continue the vitriol or fix what is broken? Do we take sides or bridge the gap?

There are plenty of gaps to bridge. We all know that.

So what I look for in a leader is someone who is smart, open and determined to be fair to all. And as a citizen it will be my responsibility to be vigilant. I will support a free press, speak out at injustice and find ways to further the causes I consider important.  

I will not bury my head. Or lapse into cynicism.

rising, Paula Kovarik

I had a glass of wine with my oatmeal last night

Comfort food and catnip. That's what it has come down to. My head is so fractured with focuses the threads careen forward with untrammeled exuberance. I have eight serious pieces in process and I flit from one to another like a ping pong ball on crack.

Must focus. Must breathe.

I think it was the time away from the studio that did it. Images flicker in my short term memory with such a radiance of immediacy that I am compelled to follow their paths.

Pollinators, detail, Paula Kovarik

Bifurcation. It's a word that floated to the top of my mind the other day. A word that ended up being my vocabulary word-for-the-day. Why? I have no clue. But bifurcate it did. It means "to fork or divide into two branches." So when I look it up on the web the standard rabbit holes show up on Google where scientists and mathematicians start explaining bifurcation theory. The diagrams look suspiciously like my brain on dual focus mode. And I start to study bifurcation diagrams thinking that maybe the answer lies in a mathematical model. STOP.

Lately my bifurcation looks like this:

Can too many ideas lead to fuzzy thinking?