The process started with this simple drawing.
Summer abundance makes me want to dance all day. If it weren't for the 107 heat index I would be rollicking with the skinks and yellow jackets in my garden. For now I will stay indoors and wait for the moon.
Spent the day yesterday playing with pattern. Here is a little glimpse into the process.
I gotta tell you, the folks at American Craft magazine are amazing, and I'm not just saying that because they chose me for an article in their magazine. Not only do they share the work of Masters in their craft, but also seek out emerging artists and ideas, host seminars and workshops and support the work of many craft artists through their website, library and archives. Their mission simply: We champion craft. And they take that very seriously.
American Craft values:
A recent blog post gives artists insight into how the magazine chooses artists for their magazine. In it American Craft editor in chief Monica Moses gives me a high five for this blog. WOW.
Check it out here:
http://craftcouncil.org/post/how-artists-get-noticed-editors-view
Working on the last bits of a piece can be like standing in line at a government bureaucracy. Tedious buzzing calculations — how many more stitches for that one last line of stitching? Will the employee behind the counter tell me I am in the wrong line after standing (im)patiently for an hour in the first line? Can the exhibit use a staple gun to put my piece up instead of me having to stitch a sleeve to the back? Tedious buzzing reminders that this is a slow art.
Tying this piece every two inches with crochet thread has given it a new dimension as well as a blister on my left middle finger.
I start to question my sanity when I work on little details for days on end and then tear half of them away. Or when I decide to add another layer to an already complicated collage. Is this layering saying something about my state of mind? Short answer: yes.
Pollinators is an assemblage of details tied together with details.
The rewards? Meditation, escape, complexity, depth, and mystery. I let the thread lead me.
This piece on nuclear arms testing had to have some olive branches drifting to the edge.
Threw away the fence.
Tired of forcing it. Then I went to yoga and had a vision. 70 years of nuclear testing, 70 years of throwing radioactive junk into the atmosphere and water, 70 years of trying to figure out how we live in peace as neighbors.
So I spent the day throwing blobs of acrylic ink at it.
I'm feeling much better. Thank you, Japanese artist Isao Hashimoto (click on his name to see the video he produced).
The fence will come in handy somewhere else. For now I am focusing on finishing.
The completed tulle and silver thread fence for my refugee project is ready for final attachment to the piece -- which starts a new inner dialog. Is it too pretty? What the &%#! does it mean? And where do I go from here?
For some reason this simple cloth has challenged me at each stage (see other articles here and here). Should I do a map (again)? How does pretty influence meaning? What do other people see in the work? What did I mean by the piece in the first place? And the second place? and the third?
Have I lost the string?
The tulle and silver thread weaving creates the look I was after, a fence that supersedes the space it defines.
I think I am closer with this iteration. But I will still look at it with peripheral vision for a while just to be sure. I know this: It's too pretty. It may need to be three-dimensional. It may need to float in space. There needs to be strife. Meanwhile, some detail shots for your consideration. Tell me what you see?
These olive branches on the edges of the original tablecloth were part of the reason I used the cloth. I haven't yet figured out how they will connect to the primary image.
