More than I want to count

How many decisions does it take?

I started a project about a month ago that included color. A great big pile of color all stitched up together. Rectangles nested, connected and spliced to create a whole. It is a process that demands patience, the power of arbitrary decision, and attention to detail. I can usually count on having two of three of those traits on any given day.

Decisions are endless, if I counted all the seams, snips and rearrangements I would have to seriously question my behavior. For example this little section took most of the morning to figure out. Which way should the red, white and gray composition attach to the orange white and gray section?

When I run out of patience I get distracted. Like: How cool are these wispy thread ends on the back of the piece? They seem to be blowing in the wind, or tangled with an inner confusion. And then I start studying the trimmings. Looking for the answer in chaos.

Stitching scraps together brings new meaning to the whole.

Leftovers reflect the effort of the choices I made.

And now I've turned the whole thing to the back so that I can study that for a while.

I started this piece with no clear goal. I vaguely wanted to create a playground for stitch. Something I could hop, skip and rollerskate over with my thread. And now I'm not so sure. I'll have to take some time to think about it some more, I'll have to find the patience to make some more decisions.

The Grass was Greener

I don't know these women, though they are related to me. The two columns of distance and language prop up our stranger-hood. My grandmother, pictured on the far left, emigrated to the United States from the Czech Republic in the 20s (she always called it Bohemia).

When I added this photograph to my computer library the software tried to identify each of my great aunts and my grandmother. It made me think about my original intentions with this piece.

Babi was an adventurous sort with definite opinions. She would launch into Czech when she wanted to make her point known to my father. He would nod and smile.

I've spent the past couple of months with their images, experimenting with embroidery. My fingers are punctured and calloused, my neck a little stiff, and my eyes a bit fuzzy from the strain of looking at all this detail.

I learned about the right needles to use (very sharp with larger eye), how the fabric reacts to hand stitching as opposed to machine stitching and which thimble I prefer (see below).

I regret not having a fatter batting in the sandwich, I may try wool next time. I tried to use an embroidery hoop but the batting and double layer of fabric was too thick and the frame got in my way. The inset linen frame around the edge was a supreme challenge that taught me a lot about how not to cut 45 degree joins when you have a limited supply of perfectly edged linen. (no need to go into detail, you get my meaning)

My favorite thimble has a silicone bottom and a metal top. The silicone clings nicely to my middle finger. I love that the photo program sees a little being in it.

So, now I am done with these women. They live in my memory as a strong and stalwart group.

I think that they, too, would put a bandaid on before applying the thimble so as to be sure that it stays on.

audience incognito

While working away on the first of many ideas for the Silent Witnesses project it occurred to me that we are all voyeurs these days. Checking into social media sites to see the latest meme or birthday event, following people we like (or don't like anymore), zeroing in on the salient details of excruciating terrorist events. — The blood, the body parts, the damaged child.

Don't get me wrong, I get a lot of ideas from those folks for easy meals after hard days. Simple ways to slice a watermelon. I even enjoy the occasional splash page from Spotify to tune me into new music. The blogs and postings by This is Colossal and the American Craft Council give me sustenance and joy.  Being plugged in results in a synapse symphony which probably takes my brain a bit longer to sort, study and dispose of each night in sleep.

So I admit it, I am a silent witness. Now actively so.

Silent Witnesses started with a pile of rocks with holes that I collected on a Lake Michigan beach.

I don't often speak up when political idiots test my patience. I don't rant about peace and war, women's rights, gun legislation or poverty (except to a few trusted friends over coffee). But I do process it. I do take it all in and parse it out and add it to my anxiety level. Those ripples of details fuel the ideas for my art, focus my energy toward understanding, fragment my feelings of hopeless angst. They distract, inform and poke at me each day in the silence of my studio.

We are all witnesses to horror today. The horror of hate and anger and terror. How do we change the flow to the positive? When will slicing a watermelon outweigh children carried on the backs of their frightened parents?

Silent Witnesses, Paula Kovarik, 2015

letting go

Two of my pieces left their spots on my design wall this past week. They travel to new eyes with an invisible thread to my thoughts.

Don't Go in the Basement, 17" x 16.25" ©2015 Paula Kovarik

Don't Go in the Basement was inspired by a drawing by Jeremy. The wide-mouthed, eyes-focused grin monster leaps out and anchors the lower right corner of this small piece. It is one of the first of my children's drawings projects and is dear to my heart. I know the new owner also loves the piece so I am satisfied it is where it belongs.

Move That Thing, 16" x 11.5", ©2015 Paula Kovarik

My friend Etta owns Move That Thing. These quirky, moving-parts bodies remind me to jitter along when I see it. The talented artist, Amelia, drew the wonderful fish-eat-fish pair at the bottom right. And that sun in the upper right is by the ever sunny Derin. These two artists inspire me to let the inner child out every so often.

I will miss these pieces. When people ask me why I make art I often say it is because I have to.
I am eager to create. I also like to show it, share it and let it journey on. This gives it a life of its own.

zooming in on inner sections

inner-sections, a work in progress. 2015, Paula Kovarik

inner-sections, a work in progress. 2015, Paula Kovarik

One of the best parts of any quilt is the fact that the closer you get the more you see. It's important to my art that people see a strong composition that reads from afar. But I also want to draw the viewer in to see details and depth.

This piece exemplifies that focus. The first layer is the piecing. The color scraps of fabric came together gradually to form this composition. It was done randomly, I knew only that I wanted a dark side and a light. (see more information about this process here)

Second, I focused on the intersections of the fabrics and stitched tangent lines at each seam in black and white across the piece. So, whenever two fabrics touched each other I separated them by stitching a line across the surface of the piece --black stitching on the white ground, white stitching on the black. My theory was that the overall composition would create hotspots of intersections where the seams would reveal invisible connections that a casual glance would not reveal. My theory seemed proven when I noticed nests of black lines between the two figures on the white ground.

Third, I decided to highlight the areas that formed triangles with green thread. This creates another level of dimension in the piece. Sort of like a floating superstructure.

zooming in reveals nests of stitching that are formed by the tangent lines and the floating green triangles that seem to hover over the piece.

Zooming in even closer reveals textural detail of the black on black stitching in the upper portion of the composition. This texture might be hard to see in this shot, very difficult to photograph. Adding this level of texture seems to complete the picture for me. I think I am close to binding this piece and trying another version.