embroidered story

Earlier this year I was going through some family photos and found a wonderful shot of my grandmother and her three sisters. When I scanned it in and added it to my iphoto library the face recognition function identified each of these ladies as "unamed". And the software was right. They were unknown quantities in my family history. My grandmother, Babi, shown here at the far left, emigrated to the US from the Czech Republic in the 20s. Her three sisters stayed in their home country.

So I never knew them. Or named them. In fact, I didn't really know much about my grandmother. She spoke English with difficulty, made the best dumplings and apple strudel this side of Mars and lived in Cicero, a couple blocks from Al Capone's headquarters. I remember walking up to the second floor of her brownstone building with the smell of pork, dumplings and sauerkraut wafting toward us. She had a walk-in closet that smelled of varnished wood and bath powder. And an attic that hosted many a broom-sword fight with my brothers.

I love that these ladies are all wearing white shoes. Their dresses look like they all came from the same store.

I love that these ladies are all wearing white shoes. Their dresses look like they all came from the same store.

She didn't talk about her sisters or her life before America. In fact she didn't talk much at all.

But she did go back occasionally and the family photos show these four women hand in hand through 50 years. They shared stories, played cards and worked on their gardens together. I have one photo where a couple of them are relaxing in a haystack. I wonder about those stories and gardens now. Now that it is too late to get the juicy details. It's clear that they loved each other and the bonds were strong.

I've been working on a piece featuring this image since then as a way to explore embroidery stitches. I'm calling it The Grass was Greener. Spending a little more time than usual with four strong Czech women seems worth it.

12 months

Another year. Faster and faster they zoom by. Still breathless.

Birds_PaulaKovarik

One of my favorite thinkers, Brian Andreas, writes this:

"She asked me when the season of joy was supposed to end
and I said I didn't really think there was an exact date.
So we left the tree up till June that year. "

refuge

The piece I was working on last week transformed before my eyes after several hours of experimental stitching. The cloth is an old circular tablecloth that I dyed with a spray bottle filled with watered down dye. It was going to be an underskirt for my nuclear testing piece that is languishing in the corner of the studio.
I pulled it out of the experiment pile last Friday and folded it in half, then cut it into two wedge pieces so that I could try some stitching ideas I had. The stitching exercise gave me some great textures. It started with random straight lines that went across the piece higgledy piggledy to anchor the cloth.

Then at each new bobbin I changed the color of the thread to add more interest. Eventually a wonky grid emerged. As the grid grew I noticed that at the junctions of the navy blue lines there was a sense of dominance. So I decided to reinforce that by starting a new line of thread (in black) that started at the juncture and traveled on in a wavy line across the piece. Letting the thread ends hang.

As the thread ends started to accumulate I had to figure out how to handle them. Bury them? let them hang? cut them off? Tie them together? I loved the extra texture the thread was giving me but the thread ends were obscuring the texture below so I decided to nail them down with a spiral of stitches and trim them off. It was then that I realized I had created a terrain of sorts with little focus points that could represent targets.

Laying the stitched cloth over the remaining wedge of fabric made me stop in my tracks. Suddenly it all made sense. This piece is about a land ravaged, surrendering to chaos and on the edge. The stitched piece created a shoreline over the second wedge.

The edges are raw. The threads are chaotic.

And now I am hand stitching trails, individuals and groups across the void. Moving them toward the calm and away from the chaos.

sometimes it doesn't have to make sense

The winter sun always casts awesome light. After several days of rain the sunlight adds a little extra joy to the day.

Who can resist the glow of gingko, the spark of maple and the dusky undertones in sycamore leaves?

My focus is omnivorous and indiscriminate today. Light, shadow, line, shapes they are all teasing me into running down alleys with cloth and stitch. Practice. Experimentation. Practice. There are a lot of what-ifs? What if I striate the cloth with lines and add new layers of texture with every thread color change? What happens if I add curves to line when I change colors? What if at each intersection I add a dollop of a thread knot? What if I let the threads just hang there. . .does it add meaning? The trick is to slow down enough to see. Slow down enough to let things happen. Slow down enough to make art without meaning.

It's the sphinx like shadow there on the lower right corner that made me move on with this practice cloth. What is he looking at?