if at first …

trying trying again …

I had this idea long ago that I could create floating globes that would hang in space and allow viewers to insert their heads into them for a different sensory experience. (See It didn’t work for another go at this idea.) For the past few weeks I have been thinking about meditation and isolation and how important alone time is to me. Sometimes I have to shut it all off and just breathe. What if I could create a globe that would isolate me from that emotional and physical noise?

This second try started with a reworked piece that didn’t work. I had all these scraps that were aching to be put together. But the result was just cacophony not simplicity.

I didn’t want the isolation chamber to be all chaos so I created some new raw materials with canvas and black thread. The black thread story line added more narrative to the piece.

The new black and ivory canvas wedges were too stark so I added stitching to them to complement the triangle wedges.

I lined each panel with lace to obscure the chaos outside with a calmer feeling inside.

I sewed all the wedges together and ended up with a loopy globe.

When I reinforced the top and bottom edges with a pvc pipe insert it hangs fairly evenly.

I’m still working out some details. I embroidered a strip of fabric on the inside that says calm_down_calm_down____calm_down__calm_down. And I am rigging the globe so that it can hang from a hook at head height.

So, now, if the news is making me crazy, or my thoughts are too scattered, I can retreat into my own little isolation chamber. A quiet space.

Do you find that you need a space to escape?

It didn't work.

I’ve had this idea for years that I could build a quilt in a globe form and make it into an isolation chamber. And boy, are we isolated. My dreams had a room full of these things that people could put their heads into. They might see the inside of the outside idea. The undergrowth of the wild surroundings.

So I studied globes, brushed up on my geometry, ordered some paper globes, cut out patterns, and experimented with stiffening substrates. I sewed the substrates into fabric. Glued stiffeners to the underside of pieces. Experimented with zipper and hook and eye closures. Built stainless steel rings for support. Developed a pattern big enough for a head.

This quilt, Stream of Consciousness, seemed like the perfect candidate for my isolation chamber. The quilt is a series of 4” squares with drawings that I did with a fabric pen in one sitting. I then sandwiched those drawings with colorful fabric and quilted them all together.

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Here’s what’s left of the quilt after cutting out the orange peel sections.

Then I thought I had it. The patterns worked in muslin. I was ready for prime time. I sliced up the Stream of Consciousness quilt for the body of my first isolation chamber. Sewed it all together, tore it apart, sewed it all together with some interfacing, tore it apart, sewed it all together with some Buckrum, tore it apart and started building cages.

I’m not good with metal. And, by this time, I am getting frustrated. So I set it aside. And used it as a punching bag for a couple of weeks.

Today I realized I have to give it up. Start fresh. Do another one with studied engineering solutions. This one is just too overworked.

The globe hangs in the middle of my studio in its unfinished form. I use it as a punching bag on bad days. It’s quiet inside. Stops the whirring in my brain.

I’ve been adding more stitching with each iteration of assembly. I’m loving this layering of detail.

I do have some pretty strong ideas on what I will do with the next one though.

There were days when I felt deflated. Here’s what happened to the muslin version of the globe. She looks much calmer than I feel.

It’s process not product, it’s process not product, it’s process not product.

Up and ready

Stitched Intent is currently on display in the Mitchell Gallery at Southern Illinois University-Carbondale campus. The show will run until November 6, just in time for voting. Masks are required and social distancing will be enforced. Museum hours: Tuesday-Friday: 10am-4pm, Saturday: 1pm-4pm. Carbondale is about 6 hours south of Chicago, 1.5 hours east of St. Louis and only 4 hours north of Memphis. Looking for a road trip? Stop by and leave me a note.

I love a dark passionate red, don’t you?

SIC-C is my alma mater. I studied design there and started my life with my husband in the surrounding countryside. We farmed tomatoes and peppers and squash on our 10 acre plot. We designed and built a passive solar home, studied organic farming, and tried to live off the land. We were very poor. But the optimism we had for a better future was never stronger. In those days the topics of solar energy, organic food, conservation and environmental protection were getting some traction. The EPA passed laws protecting our land and air and water. The White House had solar panels on its roof. Education was still affordable. And people started thinking that spraying pesticides and herbicides was not really the best idea for our health.

The space in this gallery is wonderful. Each piece has its own environment.

The space in this gallery is wonderful. Each piece has its own environment.

Things have changed. My show reflects some of the angst I feel about how things are going.

I Watch Too Much TV News will play on a loop while the show is up. 14.5 feet of media madness in one little box. Take a seat and rest awhile.

Galleries are better when there are people in them. I’m hoping that at least some take the time to see the show. The museum staff has been very helpful by posting a comprehensive online version on their Facebook page. But nothing beats being up close and personal to works created with fabric and stitch. These works have intentional meanings. These works left pin marks on my fingers. These works call for action.

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Void

I packed up 26 pieces for a solo show at my alma mater, Southern Illinois University, this past week.

And then dropped them off.

Southern Illinois University Gallery in Carbondale, Illinois will exhibit Stitched Intent beginning in September.

The gallery was empty, the University was just opening for the Fall semester. I saw no students, no bustle, no gathering tide of excitement. Just some locked buildings with the promise of education within.

The show will go on. Some students will trickle in, social distancing will be a prime directive. Social media will be used to promote the show. And yet it seems a void—a fancy storage place for the work.

We are living history right now. People will ask us ten years from now what it was like to live during this void. Empty movie theaters, vacant museums, void concert venues, disabled restaurants, echoing university lecture halls, day care centers without children’s voices and on and on and on. Our president has declared victory. But I see risk and a profound challenge ahead.

It is artists we look to when searching for answers to questions that can’t be voiced. It is the artist who must translate the unspoken. Musicians, painters, dancers, quilters, embroiderers, actors and writers are all stepping up to fill the void. There is a force that propels them to translate, transfer and transport our minds.

I chop up old work to create new work. I think it is a way to renew my sense of beginnings. I can let go of expectations. Throw away the idea of permanency. Sometimes the process begets failure, other times it opens new pathways in my thinking. I think that could be the silver lining in this challenging time. We will all have to see with new eyes. We’ll need new leaders and new ways of communicating with each other.

This is what happens when I cut up old work.

My art sustains me. The work provides an escape, nourishes my fretting brain and propels me to greater depth.

I am grateful for health and hope.