I use these Black Locust thorns as a meditation. Scraps of the thread that I have used over 10 years are tied together and then used to wrap the thorns. I have to concentrate when I do this because the thorns will leave scratches and pinpricks if I don’t.

I wrapped some more thorns last night

December 31, 2024

While wrapping I kept thinking about what I had accomplished in a year and what is still on the list of things I want to do. This morning I drifted through my 2024 pictures and compiled this short summary. I do this to remind myself about the directions I want to pursue further and the directions that didn’t work out as I had expected. I’m getting to the point that if I don’t make a note to remind myself it just doesn’t get done.

Top row, left to right: *Redbud*, detail; drawings at Hambidge, *Everything Seemed Fine until the Earth Pushed Back* detail
Middle Row: Driveway cracks, Dynamic Symmetry study, drawing with thorns
Bottom: Texture exploration, *Brood* detail, *Nonsense* detail

First up. I spent two weeks at the Hambidge Center for Creative Arts & Sciences in northern Georgia in a residency. While there I spent a lot of time hiking. I experimented with folded papers, studied Dynamic Symmetry and did a lot of drawing. My palette reflected the colors outside my windows. I need to go back to that geometry this year. It was intriguing to see how a simple rectangle could change the way a composition moved.

When I returned I played with the black and white fabric I designed and had printed at Spoonflower in a piece I call Nonsense. Then I finished Brood — two quilts merged into one. See this post to follow my process.

Brood, 65” x 65”, merged quilts, 2024, Paula Kovarik

Teaching Inspirations

I spent a lot of time teaching in 2024 • The Stitching’ Post in Sisters, Oregon • Shakerag Workshops in Sewanee, TN, • Women Who Run With Scissors in Greenbay, WI • Quilting by the Lake in Geneva, NY • Madeline Island School of the Arts in LaPointe, WI • The Front Range Guild in Denver, CO and • Design Outside the Lines in Taos, NM. Not only were these groups talented they were also fearless. We had the best of times. I am inspired each time I have the opportunity to participate as an instructor and wish I had more time to just be a student too.

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND taking workshops or attending residencies when you can. I seek spaces and people who inspire me. I look for opportunities to try something new and be in a space that is not my own nest. I like to be a little uncomfortable to change my perspective.

The beach was two blocks from my studio, The statues were at a shrine devoted to the Sleeping Buddha, my studio was a lovely open space just across from my living quarters.

A trip of a lifetime

In October and November I spent six weeks in the Itoshima Prefecture of Japan. The first four weeks were at a Studio:Kura residency. I lived in community with four other artists, had a studio to myself, a bedroom and a shared kitchen. The spaces were a bit raw but PERFECT for my needs. We were surrounded by rice and vegetable farms, mountains, and the sea was a two block walk from the studio. A 15 minute walk brought me to the local train station that would get me into the city. It was a spectacular experience. I’m still processing some of the things I learned. It was there that I started a drawing on a rice paper scroll. The scroll ended up being 18.5 feet long. It’s a stream-of-consciousness piece that is part journal, part imagination and part pattern. I’m not sure how I will ever be able to display it but at this point I like it for itself. A personal memory of a journey.

This year most of my time in the studio has been experimental. I’m attracted to layering and adding texture and detail. More is in fact more for me (though that Japanese aesthetic of simplicity is also calling me). I am drawing more, stitching less. Thinking about installations, moving to messier work. Edgy, layered, inventive. I still want to work in 3D but am running out of room in my studio.

I spent the whole year not doing work inspired by the news or politics. The subjects were just too painful.

Top row: Texture study, Playing with pink, texture study close up
Middle row: Scrap garlands, Grandson Fitz, texture study close up
Bottom row: Drawings from Japan, wrapped thorns, Japan scroll

The treasure at the end of this rainbow of a year is my darling, luscious grandson Fitz, born on December 21 weighing 7lbs, 7 oz. I love you so much my sweet angel.

Happy new year everyone. I yearn for peace.

stasis

March 21, 2024

I’m interested in how nature layers and transforms materials through growth, rot, erosion and rebirth.

And also in how we humans transform the same spaces.

Having just returned from a two week trip to the deserts of Arizona I am filled with images and thoughts. I participated in a wonderful show at the 45th annual Yuma Art Symposium where I met some inspiring artists and teachers. I traveled through deserts and into mountains and canyon lands where I found extraordinary nature-made patterns and shapes. I studied native pottery, browsed through museums and took long hikes. I met up with a family of javelinas during a hike, watched crows chatter at hikers and studied the layers and layers of rock forms at the Grand Canyon—holding on for dear life for fear of being whisked into the canyon. (It is clear that my fear of edges is getting worse as I get wiser.)

And, now, I am a little frozen on next steps. How to take all of that in and then apply it to my own work? Should I just go back to what I was working on before I left?

For some reason I am not ready to stitch. And that is really odd for me. I am ALWAYS ready to stitch. So I took out my drawing tools and did some stream-of-consciousness drawings instead. I might want to stitch something that looks like these.

And, I am reading a lot. The Plague of Doves by Louise Erdrich, The Wager by David Grann, North Woods by Daniel Mason, Never Home Alone by Rob Dunn. I recommend them all. These stories take me to other places.

So, for now, I am working on the engineering part of my work. Knotting loose threads, adding edge bindings and hanging sleeves…all those details that bore me. I usually hate doing that part of my art. For now it gives me more time to think about what’s next.

Influences

October 13, 2023

It’s impossible to process

I hesitate to post these thoughts. Watching the horror on the news is too big, too evil, too dark. I feel the weight of Ukraine. I feel the weight of our dysfunctional political system and now…Israel and Palestine.

It’s dark. Overwhelming. I can fall into despair with each news segment.

While working on this piece for the past three weeks I started with the idea of those invisible things that happen in biological systems. Blood cells, bacteria, infection, growth, coded genomes, and bodily structures. And also the way soil has populations of organic matter full of life and motion. I wanted the detail and texture to represent the complicated environments within and without.

But then the news got more dire. A congress that can’t get their act together. People banning books. War in Ukraine continuing and winter coming. And then Israel and Palestine.

The piece got darker. and darker.

Incursion, 30” x 46”, canvas, ink, batting. Paula Kovarik

Breathe, breathe.

Start small

September 14, 2023

I have big ideas but small energy. The boot around my foot is like a concrete buoy. I float in and out of possibilities but feel like I can only bob in place. I can’t really stand up for long so cutting and ironing are on hold.

So I started small—A little hand stitching, a little scribbling, a little free motion stitching and I feel like I might be able to think about the big things again. One broken foot does not equal one broken brain.

Flight path is in response to the yellow swallowtail butterflies flitting through the Abelia bush next to the back porch. They are joyous in their feeding frenzy.

I’ll be able to make big things in the future. For now, small is the challenge.

Don't fall

August 31, 2023

Best laid plans right? I spent weeks thinking about what to bring to my residency at Hambidge, drove with a song in my heart to the lovely state of Georgia, spent a night with friends (who were so very gracious and delightful) and then break my foot.

In three places. No denying it. It was a stupid fall down three little bitty steps. I just wasn’t paying attention. So I drove home (without a bathroom break!) and have set up my alternative reality. I cancelled the residency, cancelled a workshop in Portland, cancelled a vacation with friends on the Pacific coast, and cancelled another workshop in Sisters, Oregon. I spent the day cancelling flights, rental cars and hotel stays. And now the slate is clean.

This is the view from our screened porch. The weather is perfect, the scene inspiring, there are no deadlines. All I have to do is figure out how to slow down. Stop. Rest.

Time is short. It’s not in my nature to fritter away each precious minute with rest, or contemplation. I’m not a napper. I am an active sort. Busy is better, the list is long, the tasks rewarding. I like to see results, progress and growth. So now I need to redefine what that is. How does this inactivity shore up an overloaded mindset? What is it I am trying to accomplish with my art? What needs to be sorted out? Simplified? Stopped?

AHA! Moments and Layered Chaos, Paula Kovarik

Two of my pieces (Aha! Moments and Layered Chaos) become one through disruption. I did this mockup (using Photoshop) prior to leaving for my residency.

Was this idea a precursor of what actually happened a week later? Perhaps. I am paying attention to the invisibles in life. The uncanny. Maybe I’ll get my rotary cutter out to put this piece together.

Don’t fall. There are other things that are much more exciting.