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.

Packing light?

I pride myself on packing light when traveling. So in preparation for my 2 week stay at the Hambidge Artist Residency in Georgia starting next week I am sorting through what to bring. I have to admit it is keeping me up at night trying to decide. Clothing is easy, supplies for art not so much.

blank canvas

Should I be a minimalist and bring nothing but blank canvas and black thread?

a bag full of cut up quilts

Or, perhaps I should bring a selection of my cut up quilts to reconfigure?

raw materials

Maybe I should concentrate on the nature surrounding me at the retreat and build a new body of work focused on that?

My first impulse was to disassemble and reassemble two quilts into one piece. Cutting things up is always cathartic and revelatory.

extra time to read?

Two weeks of reading and hiking sounds glorious. Can I take a break from making art?

Or maybe this is the perfect time to sit down and figure out exactly why I do this work? No stitching allowed?

This may be one of those times when packing light won’t work. I’ll just bring fewer clothes so that there is room in the car for the toys. Ready or not…

I'm interested in how the earth pushes back

Every time it rains our driveway reveals cracks and crevices. They change over time as the sun dries them so sometimes the cracks are fat and overflowing and other times they are delicate and disappearing.

I have a huge photo library of these cracks. Sidewalk cracks, driveway cracks, parking lot cracks, with subsets of potholes and crevices. They have always intrigued me. They are signs that the things we lay down over the earth are only temporary. Just like us. They erode, corrode, wrinkle and are disrupted by natural forces. A little bit of rain can find the hairline entry, then grow to something larger.

I see these same lines elsewhere in nature.

Recently I started drawing these cracks and noticed that many of them end up with emerging characters. And now I am stitching them. I am interested in what the earth has to say about us. The storms, the waves, the droughts, the cracks all remind me that we are temporary. Just like these driveway cracks, just like that dead tree branch.

This summer I will have the opportunity to listen more closely to what the earth has to say. I have been accepted into the residency program at the Hambidge Center in Georgia. It’s a 600-acre sanctuary for artists, writers and other creative explorers to focus intently on their work. I will be focusing on what the earth has to say. Maybe there are even more cracks to explore.