An artist residency

I spent the last two weeks at the Hambidge Center for Creative Arts & Sciences, an artist residency program in northeast Georgia in the beautiful Blue Ridge mountains. The center is intentionally rustic, each of eight studios have no wifi and no cell service. There were writers, musicians, painters and ceramic artists there while I attended. We ate together at the Rockhouse pictured here.

My studio, the Son House, was located down the road from the main facility, surrounded by the forest.

I woke up every morning to the pecking of a woodpecker outside my door. My daily schedule included reading, hiking and experimenting. During the first week I spent most of my time hiking. The Center has a number of well marked trails through the woods with streams, waterfalls and overlooks. Just splendid. My phone served as a record keeper of the fantastic textures, details and drama I walked through each day.

We had two days of rain when I was able to focus on my work instead of ambling around in a daze. I did some painting, some origami, some stitching, some drawing, some wrapping. I learned a little about Dynamic Symmetry—the law of natural design based upon the symmetry of growth in man and in plants originally theorized by Jay Hambidge back in the early 20th century. I used his dynamic rectangle diagram as a starting point for these drawings.

I brought my black locust thorns project with me as a meditation. These thorns are very sharp and require concentration and calm when I wrap them. The thread comes from my work. I wrapped a thorn each day. I think I have accumulated about 30 wrapped thorns so far.

Here’s what I learned from this residency:

  • go with no expectations

  • pay attention to the silence

  • work if you are inspired but don’t work if it feels forced

Most of the stitching I did while at Hambidge was a mess. I had to let go of my goal-oriented mindset to be able to find a new rhythm.

I’ll miss the silence in these woods, the fresh mountain air, the emerging life. The experience was a gift to my cluttered mind. It opened up some fresh thoughts.

Books I read while there:

  • The Pioneers: The Heroic Story of the Settlers Who Brought the American Ideal West by David McCullough (18th century pioneers travel down the Ohio river. The politics and policies behind the expansion to the west is told through diaries)

  • The Dry by Jane Harper (a mystery set in drought stricken Australia about an unsolved death of a teenage girl.)

  • Gilead: A Novel by Marilynne Robinson (a moving and intimate letter from an Iowa preacher and father to his son as a last revealing message before he dies)

One of several new forms I made while experimenting with shape.

Experiments in texture

Since I am unable to stand for very long while my foot heals I am focusing on things I can do while sitting. And, luckily, sitting at a sewing machine is one of them. I am using this time to do a little experimenting. Experiments in texture.

I use prepared quilt sandwiches that are always sitting at the side of my sewing machine. These 14” x 14” squares are easy to manipulate, unintimidating and always available. I can stitch on them without the feeling that they have to be masterpieces. I can twist and turn on them, splash paint on them or add new layers to them. I can even cut them up to make something new.

I started with this experiment:

I used a lightweight cotton canvas, wool batting and black thread to stitch these rectilinear forms in clusters. Each form is a simple wonky square or triangle that spirals into the center. The thread stops and starts in each form. Normally I would knot and bury the threads at the end and beginning of each form but with this experiment I just clipped them. Leaving the center of the spiral blank left little textural crowns in each form.

I have a lot of batting in my studio. These are three I used in these experiments. The two at the top are wool, my favorite batting. Sometimes I use two layers of wool batting or one of wool and one of cotton to a piece if I want the texture to be more defined. The one on the bottom is an upholstery batting used to cushion arms and seats on chairs. It’s almost one inch thick. I used it for the next experiment.

Notice that the “crowns” are even more defined using this batting. And the rippling that occurs when I stitched the horizontal lines coming out of the forms is very strong. This fat batting actually caused the square to warp and cinch into the middle. It gave me the idea for another experiment: How can I use that cinching to my advantage? Hmm…more on that later perhaps.

Next step, how does a patterned stitch affect the bumpiness of the surface? Notice how the closer I stitch the flatter the fabric. The open repeat pattern in the lower left has pronounced bumps while the sitched repeat patterns at the top right are flatter and more subtle.

I love the bumps, who doesn’t love bumps? The challenge is how to add those bumps in a way that makes sense. Bumps can be heroes or pimples on a flat. They can be intentional or accidental.

In my piece, Stream of Consequences, I used the idea of bumps to define the clouds in the composition. The transition from the flat repeat horizontal lines at the top left to the cloud like bumps at the right shows how controlling your bumps can define the message of the piece.

I start with these questions with each piece that I work on: What combination of fabric and batting is appropriate for my message? How does the patterned stitching I use add to or detract from the whole? How close should my stitching be? What color of thread works for the message I am trying to communicate? How big should the bumps be?

Second thoughts bring primary focus

I’m not known for my color expertise. I look fondly on work that bursts with saturated color and sigh most of the time. Rousseau, Gaugin, Pauly, Hilma af Klint, Butler and Kusama all stun and amaze me. As a designer I tend toward khaki, gray, muted pastels and black and white. As an artist black thread on light cloth just makes sense to me. If you are drawing lines you need to see them right?

Settling back into a daily practice after five weeks away turned out to be harder than I expected. My mind was so filled with inspirations that it was hard to sort through what my next step would be. I decided to just put colored pieces together. Primaries first.

Starting a piece without a specific idea is all about process. The underlying meaning doesn’t exist so I am only cutting, sewing, cutting, sewing and cutting again. I trust that at some point the compositions will tell me more than I think I know. There was a lot of cutting and sewing and cutting and sewing in these pieces. So much so that I thought that I might instead focus on this wonderful pile of scraps instead of the structured pieces that were being created.

As I started to put the scraps together nothing worked. The compositions were uncomfortable and the light yellow patchwork squares were distracting. It just made me feel weary. Though I wanted the piece to have a joyous exuberant burst it started looking like a carnival gone wrong. Blech! The next day I stitched the pieces together into random rectangles and then cut those into seven inch squares.

There is just something about cutting things up that clarifies things for me. New beginnings restart my thought process.

At all times I know that I am willing to throw it all into a bin if it doesn’t work out. It focuses me on the process rather than the product. And, sometimes, the pieces make more sense than the whole.

After reassembling the seven inch squares into a new composition I ended up with a stronger composition and a playground for stitch.

Second Thoughts, 32” x 25.5”, 2021, Paula Kovarik

There is color. There is energy and there is meaning in it (for me). I call it Second Thoughts for the way it made me doubt my direction. Second Thoughts for the way doubt can play havoc with progress. Second Thoughts for that moment in time that allows me to let go and start over.

Detail, Second Thoughts

Detail, Second Thoughts.

Where do your second thoughts lead you?

I'm a little worried

Being away from the studio can disrupt the momentum I have in my work. Having just returned from teaching in San Diego and about to leave again for the East Coast, its hard to think about big projects. So I have been doing little things in preparation of the upcoming trip—experimenting with texture, stitching a series of mandala shaped studies (see my previous post here), organizing paperwork, scheduling next year and doing some research. It all feels very minimal.

These lovely bubbles animated the coast while I was in San Diego.

These lovely bubbles animated the coast while I was in San Diego.

I’ll be driving around the Eastern seaboard in the next 5 weeks. Breathing in sea air and exploring new spaces. I get to teach again in the mountains of Tennessee for a week. That always brings inspiration and ideas. I have decided to bring a sketchbook this time. I don’t normally work in a sketchbook. I have several laying around with the first few pages filled and then nothing. Maybe I can build that practice during this trip.

I’m still a little worried. Breaking momentum tends to loosen the strings of ideas. I flounder, get inpatient and ping pong around the studio. I like being isolated in my studio for hours. And, I like traveling too. Both contribute to my stream of consciousness. Both bring insight and energy to my work.

bubbles broke - 1.jpeg

I think worry is a baseline in my personality. High expectations, subliminal doubt and a sense that I can’t control everything contribute to it. I’m saying it out loud here so that I don’t dwell too much on it during my absence from the studio. Maybe that will work.

Click on the book cover for a link to Alibris booksellers.

Click on the book cover for a link to Alibris booksellers.

Thank you to all of you who have purchased my book. I’ve had so many people comment that they have enjoyed reading it. It’s a real boost to me to think that I can inspire people to try new ways to stitch. I love teaching these techniques. If you are interested in checking it out you can purchase it online or order it from your local independent bookstore. At Play in the Garden of Stitch provides new ways to think about using stitch in artwork and includes exercises, sewing tips and quilt stories.

At play in the garden of stitch

Three weeks, three pieces, three inspirations. My weeks have been full of obligations and distractions so I haven’t been able to concentrate on much of anything in my studio. The distractions were also inspirations. So my art shows it.

Those who follow my work will know that I tend to avoid patterned fabrics. Since my focus is on the stitching I like a background that is open and structured. This piece is exemplary of that technique.

Whispered nothings, Paula Kovarik.

These detailed stitch drawings bring story to shape. In this case the story is about the media and how we get our news. The texture that develops can add another layer of drama.

Detail stitching both by hand and machine betray my tendency to believe that more is, in fact, more.

But what now? After a workshop with Pamela Allen I did some hand stitching. This time patterned fabrics were part of the composition — foreign territory for me. I am not a patient hand stitcher so I started machine stitching after awhile.

Patterned fabrics add a sense of mystery to this composition. Stitching adds texture.

This one will stay on the board for awhile until I have the patience to stitch on it some more.

And then I spent a few days with Maria Shell building a community quilt with some folks in Memphis. Her fabrics added a sense of joy and energy to our community quilt that challenged my vision of how things go together. I mined the garbage can to come up with some scraps that I could experiment with on my own.

The scraps are ironed onto a navy blue background.

Added some stitching

And some more stitching.

Then some more stitching. I want to call this “We don’t know what’s down there” because it reminds me of a National Geographic special on the ocean that I watched last week.

I’ve been so happy to have the time to work on these experiments. And happier still to have the opportunity to learn from other artists. Thanks to Michael Brennand-Wood, Pamela Allen and Maria Shell I have a new box of toys to play with.