On Travel and Nakedness

Some of my work is traveling. Quilts going out, quilts coming back. I say often that my art isn’t done until it goes out on its own to be seen. I threaten to embed a video camera in the work so that I can track its journey and see the reactions of those who attend the shows.

Imagine being thrust into a box, rolled up with some of your pals, moving along conveyor belts in the darkness and into trucks to be thrown onto the porch of the museum or gallery. The curator unwraps you to new light and then you are on display, naked to the public. Saying what you must say, being who you must be. Out loud.

A selection of my work will join others on Martha’s Vineyard at the Featherstone Center for the Arts. It’s a group show including fiber artists Alice Beasley, ​Michele Beasley Maloney, Earamichia Brown, Shin-hee Chin, Chiaki Dosho, Pamela Flam, L'Merchie Frazier, Sharon Havelka, Natalya Khorover, Karol Kusmaul, Susan Lenz, Caroline MacMoran, Wen Redmond, Linda Syverson Guild, and Jaleeca Yancy. What a roster! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be part of a round table discussion with all of these artists?

Scrap column-detail, Paula Kovarik

I spent last week working again on the scrap piece that is taking over my studio. These will travel to the International Quilt Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska in January as part of a solo exhibition in one of their galleries. The pieces are a sort of retrospective of the works I have created in the past 20 years. Morphing them into a column has been revealing. I have more black scraps than colorful scraps. I see repetition in the stitching from one to the next. I like them the most when they move as if alive (I wonder if I could install a small motor that would activate that jittery motion?). Frayed edges add life.

Some of my beasts will travel to the Blue Spiral Gallery in Asheville, NC as part of the Common Thread exhibit they will mount in September. I’ll need to name them and figure out what it means when a herd member is separated from its herd.

This collage piece is in Little Rock, Arkansas as part of the Delta Triennial exhibition. The Arkansas Museum of Fine Art has been completely renovated and enlarged recently (and it was formidable before this) so I am really looking forward to visiting this piece myself. I can’t wait to see what the other artists have contributed to this great show. What are they saying out loud?

Everything seemed fine until the earth pushed back, 29” x 25”, PAULA KOVARIK

The whole world’s watching, detail, Paula Kovarik

Edward Hopper once said “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.”

Art speaks. Out loud and naked. Go see some. You can talk back to it.

Done

Five months ago I started an experiment. I took two of my finished quilts and cut them up into pieces to merge them into one. Through the process I felt excitement, despair, confidence and doubt. I had to put it aside a few times to take the time to look at it sideways, upside down and cut in half. I stitched over it, under it and through it. Then I cut it up some more. And stitched again.

And now I am done. Here is the final result. A piece I am calling Brood (65” x 65”).

Brood, Paula Kovarik, 65” x 65”, collaged quilted pieces.

There are more stories about this process here and here.

“Such things become the hatch and brood of time.” - William Shakespeare, Henry IV

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.

stasis

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.

mend

I cut things up and put them back together.

It’s process not product right? So why do I save all these “products” in my store room when I can be inspired by them to create new pieces? My work is about transformation and discovery so what stops me from using what is at hand? Nothing. So, let’s get on with it.

I started with this piece. It’s called AHA! moments. I made it in 2010. It has traveled a bit, been shown a bit and has been part of my portfolio for these past 14 years. The fabric is printed with a black and white drawing I did and then enlarged, daubed with dye and stitched. I love this piece. It’s about how the brain organizes and stores ideas.

The second piece is called Layered Chaos. I made this piece two years ago in response to the chaos we are all witnessing in the news. My goal is to merge the two.

They complement each other in a way that inspires me. Those little orange dots in the white piece are reflected in the white dots and dashes in the black piece. They are part of my stitching vocabulary.

First I had to disassemble AHA! Moments from its secondary role as a beast in my installation called the Herd. See a story about that here.

I wanted to cut holes into the dark piece that would allow the white piece to show through. Here I am using white paper to experiment with where the holes might be. I wanted them to travel across the piece in a random fashion. I wanted the final white pieces to look like patches. I soon realized that I would have to cut the white piece in half vertically to show more of the drawing on each side in the final composition.

Then I had to start cutting. It was a scary moment, I’ll have to admit. I had to keep reminding myself that it is all about the process and if the end product didn’t turn out I would still have the raw material to create something else. Here’s the result of the first cuts. The middle image shows the holes cut into the black piece and the right hand image shows what happens when I cut the white piece in half I could show more of the drawing.

Then the fun begins. My basic concept with this piece was to convey the idea of mending and transformation. Nature does that, so why can’t we? As I stitched the white pieces into the black it felt active and purposeful. Like that darkness really needed some of those new ideas.

I love all this detail. The free-motion cross-hatching gives the piece a scratchy energy that appeals to me.

Still a work in progress. Here’s where it stands for now. I’m still thinking about how much white should overtake the black. The piece measures about 65” x 65” for now.

Mending. Transformation. Our backyard is full of examples of one thing taking over others. Rebirthing new miracles. Mending what is injured.