The job of little girls. Figuring things out.

This week my mind has been filled with images and thoughts of little girls.

In my studio, I am slowly working my way through a large work that places two little girls in an environment that’s like a dream or memory: windows, doors, archways  and buildings connect with one another in ways that that could not actually occur. The girls are in a place where they must figure things out.

At the same time, since I’m enjoying more reading than normal as part of my stay-at-home-experience, I have read two thought-provoking and stirring accounts of real little girls.

“Becoming,” Michele Obama’s memoir, is warm and rich in details and experience. A lot of the story focuses on her pre-famous days as a girl growing up in Chicago. Clearly, she was smarter than the average kid. Not crazy-genius smart, but smart. And competitive, and motivated, and – increasingly as she grew – capable. She grew in an environment where love and support and nurturing were poured into her with abundance, and she gratefully accepted all of it. A strong and devoted chorus of voices told her: You are important. You can do it.

As an adult, she was able to look back and see how that formed who she is and formed in her the desire for the same opportunities for all little girls.

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” Maya Angelou’s memoir of her life up to aged sixteen, is a book I had read many years ago. It leapt off the bookshelf in a recent trip to our local used bookstore, an invitation to discover it again. What a wonder! Her story has so much to absorb.

Maya’s childhood was one of being thrown out into the world to make the best of it if she could. The chorus of voices she heard most loudly was telling her that she was not important and not anybody special. Somehow she discovered a love for books. That opened up worlds for her. She began the process of figuring things out and discovering her voice.

So, I’ve been thinking about little girls.

The two girls who inhabit my new (work-in-progress) art quilt are based on a family photo of myself and my sister when I was three and she was four. As the work progresses, I’ve been looking at them a lot. They have evolved.

(Just this week, when I thought that portion of the work was done, I collaged over the girls and changed them around). I repositioned their bodies and redid the drawing and shading.

Most of what’s left in this work will involve adding layers and depth in the environment that surrounds them. I’m working slower than usual and giving it time. I want to hear what the chorus of voices behind these two is saying. I’m still figuring it out.

Thank you for reading. I always enjoy questions and comments.
--Bobbi
bobbi@bobbibaughstudio.com

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The good life. That didn’t make any sense.

The good life. Except that it didn’t make any sense. And we’d go to Lord and Taylor for our new spring coats.

I finished this quilt about a week ago. It’s been an archaeological dig into childhood memories for me. There in the memory are two characters. The doll-like little girl. The elegant fashion lady. I have placed them side-by-side in a setting of symbols and contrasts.

The doll-like little girl is a variation on the young girl whose journey is at the heart of my recent work. I rendered her in a way that’s representational, but not real. She’s flat, much like a punch-out paper doll. But – boy oh boy – does she feel real to me. I remember standing in front of the forsythia bush each year to pose for the Easter-outfit-photo for our family scrapbook. I had a little purse, Mary Jane shoes and white socks just like this. When I searched online for some reference pictures of girls in their new spring outfits, I discovered row after row of family pictures just like ours. The brothers and sisters stand formally in their new clothes. Parents wanted to record the ideal image of their children.

The fashion lady image was also ubiquitous when I was a girl. Paper doll sets of grown up women had them shaped like an hourglass. Dress patterns and magazine clothing ads depicted women in this ideal shape. Women forced themselves into constrictive girdles and oddly shaped bras to conform to this ideal. (I remember thinking that someday I would have to do that too.)

Against this setting of ideals, I’ve inserted symbols related to searching for the good life in financial terms. The repousse spoons are my grandmother’s flatware, inherited by my mother and then by me. For my Mom, having beautiful silverware and a complete set of good china to complement a neat house with a picket fence was considered the definition of the good things in life.

But, in our family, something was seriously “off.” As a little girl, I tried to sort it out and make sense of it. An annual pilgrimage to Lord and Taylor (the fanciest store I had ever heard of) did not match our financial realities as a family; such extravagance was way beyond what we could afford.  I felt unreal and disconnected by the experience. So, in this artwork, there are things that are “off.” There is beautiful green spring foliage, but prehistoric fish with big, mean teeth are lurking nearby. Among the repousse silver fly large insects

I have a strong tug-of-heart for children. They are doing the hard work of figuring out the world and their place in it. Children are so perceptive. They know what’s good and right. They know when things don’t make sense. As an artist I work to tap into these experiences and do my own hard work of understanding and expressing what I uncover.

“We’d Go To Lord ad Taylor for our new Spring Coats” 2020 42” x 42”

Thank you for reading. I always enjoy questions and comments.
--Bobbi
bobbi@bobbibaughstudio.com

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Same view. Different Things to See

Rainy afternoons and naps go together so nicely. Today I’ve been able to enjoy a bit of both.

Before taking a little snooze I was in the studio working on some still in-progress collages.. Since I last posted about this new body of work, I’ve completed several pieces. I’m using collage construction, with ragged-edge image on white gessoed muslin, turned with a clean edge, and constructed as an art quilt.

Things I am discovering:

The different characters of fabric are an important of the design process. Acrylics on muslin are opaque. Not so good for nuanced detail, but great for solids. Acrylics on sheer pick up lots of subtle washes. Great for transparency. Acrylics on rice paper pick up magic little details. So, mixing up the materials in one piece reveals lots of interesting little visual bits.

Collage detail - acrylics on muslin

Collage detail - acrylics as transparent shapes

Collage detail - acrylics printed on rice paper.

I am drawn to the wonderful tones of yellow created when yellow mixes with black. (I already knew I loved these hues. Just discovering it again.) That’s how I created the hues of the rice paper section above.

I like a sense of motion. One of the things I try to work through with collage is the solidness of compositions. The physical act of cutting things out and gluing them down can get a little too solid. I work to break this up with thinner, more linear pieces that imply motion, and details of hand-drawn shapes in black.

I feel at home when I have a horizon. While I enjoy the abstract nature of these compositions, they are not completely non-representational. Even when I begin with another intent, I create an abstract landscape. I see land forms or water and a sky above. I don’t know if I will evolve to see the picture plane differently or not. It just seems to be how my brain works – at least for now.

Completed Collage/Art Quilt - “Summer Dances” 38”H x 26”W

Today a collector purchased one of my smaller matted collages from my Web site. (THANK YOU, collector!)  This is “Shoreline Excursions.”

“Shoreline Excursions” collage on watercolor paper, 16” x 20” opening, for frame size 20” x 24” Sold

As I pulled this artwork from the shelf to pack for UPS, I took a look again. “Shoreline Excursion” definitely has recognizable objects in the little birds. Beyond that, however, I see a similar view of water and sky and distance that I am creating in the new larger works. I guess this must be what’s inside my head — because this is what comes out. (In addition to the fact that I really enjoy little bubbles!)

The abstract landscapes I have created so far are on my web site HERE. (I hope to be adding  to the  gallery soon.) Meanwhile, I have just started two large quilts that are COMPLETELY different from this abstract landscape series: emphasis on photo transfer, deeper colors, interior storytelling. I hope to share some of that process soon.

Thank you for reading. I always enjoy questions and comments.
--Bobbi

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LIGHT. PATTERN. KEEP LOOKING

I love this photograph.

In the midst of creating a body of work involving windows, homes, and the complex relationship between inside and outside, this simple image has captured my imagination.

I can envision this composition re-created in a simply painted style, pale color blocks  suggesting the subtle light through the window.

This is a photo of my own home. I have moved within the last year and I snapped this shot as part of cleaning and moving out. It was a happy departure, a part of moving into a welcomed next chapter. Still, I loved this home while I was there.

This image lets the light in, but we do not see the window.

Sometimes windows reveal. Sometimes they obscure.

Windows are invitations to look in, to see what there is inside.

Windows are made for looking through and, therefore, are a good metaphor for time and memory: we look through our past, we look through our memories, to see what was there.

A window in an unexpected place is jarring. We have been culturalizd to know what windows are for, and immediately look at them or through them. But, in an undefined or ambiguous setting, they raise questions.

Finally, the window itself is a pattern. Here, the simple blocks create a geometric pattern on the floor. The neat lines capture the light.

Looking through the windows of remembrance may leave an imprint on our understanding in much the same way.

Keep looking.

Detail of windows: digital image on fabric, collaged with other fabrics using surface design techniques. From "So It Will Not Break in Two," art quilt. This work is on my web site in the "Home is What You Remember" Gallery, HERE.

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Alone – with a lot going on around her…

I had not looked at this work in awhile. But today I travelled through all the details of it again and remembered why it speaks to me, and why I especially enjoyed the process of creating it.

A writer contacted me asking for permission to use this work as a poetry book cover. (How great is that!) It’s an honor to know that she has discovered the work, has taken time to respond to its content and felt drawn to it.

So, that’s how I came to look again at “Once She Could.” (I’ll be sure to post information about the book when it’s published.)

My hope in creating this textile collage was that it would combine a sense of innocence and possibility in the little girl with a complex environment, one that has a lot of layers.

To create the complexity of the girl’s world, I combined printed and painted fabrics with original photos that I transferred onto fabric. There are three photo transfer sections, and they all worked differently.

Beneath the girl’s feet is a section of complex, overlapping twigs. I am intrigued with the way they seem to suggest underground roots. I used a lot of transparent acrylic wash in this section to define and deepen the root shapes.

The watery reflections at the lower right came from a photo I took of a pond in Georgia. I did almost nothing to the transfer after getting it on the fabric. The picture came out clearly and I love the sense of mixed reality – trees, but upside down, and rippling, as reflected in the water.

The branches at the top right are a third photo transfer. I ended up doing a lot of opaque painting on this part. The white blossom-like shapes are suggested in the photo , and enhanced by direct painting. These white shapes are related to the white circle the girl is drawing. Are they her thoughts that have taken flight?

This work has a landscape composition with a strong center horizon line and a clear above-and-below. In the below-ground section, the photo transfers mix with other rich colors and textures.

She’s all by herself there on that limb.

All around her there’s a lot going on. Just like life.

This work is available, and posted on my website HERE.

And, if you’d like to watch a video I created of this work
which includes some original poetry, it’s on YouTube, HERE.

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A Chance to Talk About My Own Artwork (Oh No!)

Reading what somebody else has written about you is a bit like reading your own epitaph. Except you're still here! The whole process can be a little scary. But I always appreciate the chance to explain what my work is about to various arts publications. It's a good discipline to condense thoughts down to a certain number of words or meet other publication parameters. Many thanks to Artsyshark for this promo piece in May of 2018.

Artist Bobbi Baugh knows that everything has an inner story, one that isn’t visible from the exterior. Through her textile collaged quilts, she works to express forces beneath the surface. 

“Becoming One with the Night” Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 45” x 35”

Life experiences can come together in unexpected ways. As an undergraduate art student over forty years ago, I concentrated in watercolor and drawing. In my career before being a full-time artist, I worked in the printing industry, surrounded by the rhythms of platemaking, pulling an image, re-inking and printing again. And, from the time I created homemade A-line skirts on my mother’s sewing machine as a teen, I have enjoyed sewing. Now, I create textile collaged works and art quilts, using all of those experiences.

 So it Will Not Break in Two” Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 42.5” x 32.5”

Everybody has a story. Every thing has a story. Whether we are looking at a person, or a structure, or a part of the natural world, what we see is not all there is. There is always more going on. That’s what interests me.

“Saying the Magic Words” Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 43” x 34”

I’m intrigued with depicting a visible object along with the suggestion of its inner reality in the same composition. Looking at a group of houses, we see only the outside walls. But there are rich and varied lives within. Looking at a natural scene, we see the visible parts of plants and trees. But there are forcesand patterns playing out beneath the surface at the same time.

“Flight of the Magical Lawnchair”
Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 29.5” x 46”

Looking at a person, we see just the exterior. But there is a journey, and there are dreams and memories, inside and at work. My artmaking methods are a perfect fit with this interest.

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Every piece I create has four component phases. First is concept and composition. I work out ideas in my sketchbook to explore visual arrangements of my ideas. I enjoy working in a size of 36-48” in either dimension, so I frequently mock up the composition on paper at full size. It’s a test of the concept, and the beginning of a pattern for creating and assembling the parts.

Second, I create the fabrics that will be used in the composition. I begin with blank cotton muslin and blank sheer polyester. The fabrics are printed by hand as monotypes, or as relief prints, or handpainted, stenciled, stamped, or resist-imaged. I frequently mix up techniques on each fabric piece. I create fabric for a specific work. Generally, there is fabric left over. So, the leftover pieces from previous pieces may also be used in a new piece. My stash of printed fabrics is a favorite resource.

Third, I collage. I use acrylic-based medium for collage so that the artwork is archival and everything is compatible with acrylic paint. Sheer pieces are collaged to a heavier backing to be stabilized. Cut pieces are collaged as applique.

Finally, I machine stitch. I use stitching as a method of joining sections together. And on almost every piece I add patterns of machine stitching for texture and depth. The finishing is also done by machine stitch; sewn strip binding is turned for a finished edge, and the assembled work is fabric-backed with a rod pocket for hanging presentation.

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I have created and experimented with other artmaking methods. Working with textiles and collage is where I find the best expression for my ideas and where I am most at home.
 

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Creating a portrait that tells a story

Portraits are tricky. At a minimum, a good portrait should look like the person being depicted, or at least capture their gesture or something characteristic about them. Portraits with a photo realistic quality concentrate on exact likeness, and frequently are duplicates of a photograph. (And I admit to being biased against many works like this. Producing an image that is an exact duplicate of a photo is not very interesting.)

When I created this portrait of Lillian -- my grandmother -– I was intrigued with trying something different. I wanted to create a portrait that suggested something of her life story. It helped that I created “Lillian’s Expectations” to submit to the SAQA “Balancing Act” exhibit. (It was juried into the show and it traveled for two years.) The concept of depicting balance – or an attempt to balance things – gave me a starting place.

I have a photo of Lillian seated in a wicker chair like the one I depicted. She is the essence of a strong and self-possessed woman –- completely confident and assured. I was really drawn to the gesture of the single finger supporting her head. The colors closest to her are also calm and soothing.

But, all around her, things are off balance and chaotic. Two large rectangles are askew. The patterned squares across the top are on an angle. The colors are hot. Knowing Lillian’s story, I knew she had to balance strong and opposing forces in her life. Her ability to stay in command in the face of that is the point of the story.

Well, and then there are those birds flying out of the jar. Some things are beyond being controlled. Forces become unleashed. People’s stories and events can just spill out, tossed about like a small bird the wind.

I rediscovered this artwork today as I was going digital through images of my work. Much like discovering a faded family photo in an album, finding Lillian’s portrait caused me to remember. I remember the process of creating this piece. I remembered all the sketches I created before I began, working out the relationship between idea and composition. I remember printing these fabrics. I remember drawing the figure.

And I remember Lillian. I hope my work does justice to her interesting and complicated story.

For more information about this work,
visit the stories-and-journeys gallery of this website, HERE

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What the child saw, what the child revealed

I was organizing works-in-progress in my studio this afternoon and picked up the piece that includes this crouching child drawing on the ground. Where had I just seen this child?

Aaahhhh…  the beach. I was in New Smyrna this morning to deliver some work to Arts on Douglas Gallery. Beforehand I gave myself the treat of some morning beach time and a nice walk in the water. The weather was perfect and it felt wonderful.

From my post on a sandbar I looked back at the beach to watch the earnestness of a toddler, crouching, just like the pose in my quilt sketch. She was wearing a bonnet. She had beautifully chubby little legs. She squatted so that her bottom was touching the cool water, and she was completely absorbed in… something. It might have been watching ripples. It might have been a mark she made in the sand. It might have been a little crab. Or maybe the simple delight of wiggling toes and watching the sand move. From my position on the sandbar, I could not tell.

It made no difference. It was something important to her. She had discovered something and decided it was fascinating and worthy of her full attention.

I remember. In fact, as I call upon my own childhood the memories that are most real to me are times of independent absorption like that. I loved to work with crayons. I cut out and played with paper dolls. Outdoors, I would make small creations of twigs and grass and stones to make houses.

As I have drawn on memories and dreams to develop my current body of work dealing with home, the crouching child, absorbed in her drawing, seemed a perfect symbol to include. Incorporated into a composition of house and tree forms, she is a vehicle to lead a viewer to remembering. Just as I could not determine the exact task of my little friend at the beach today, the exact purpose or subject matter of this crouching, drawing child is unspecified.

But through her, we can wonder. And we can remember.

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I STILL wonder about the people across the street. Do you?

Do you still carry with you – as in your pocket - images from childhood?

Thinking  about one of my earliest art quilts, “Wondering About the People Across the Street,” I discovered this wonderful quotation from Robert Penn Warren about the strength of childhood memories:

“When you are nine years old, what you remember seems forever; for you remember everything and everything is important and stands big and full and fills up Time.”

I can still remember houses on the street where I lived. I remember walking past them in the evening and looking in the windows. I believe it was part of the process of sorting out my place in the world.

Was my family the same as other families?
What would it be like living in somebody else’s house?
How did I feel about my own home and my place in it?

I created “Wondering about the People Across the Street” in 2014.  I had not begun the current series about home, but certainly the memory of childhood was in my mind and urging me to create something. I was drawn to bold coloring book colors to emphasize the childlike quality of the memory. And I wanted the figure on the porch to be a simple silhouette. She is both my childhood self and every other child.

Today, I am still interested in what’s behind windows and inside homes. As Robert Penn Warren wrote, “What you remember seems forever.”
 

Here’s a detail of a work in progress in my studio now that reveals my ongoing wondering  about life beyond the windows.

Here’s the completed work form 2014, "Wondering about the People Across the Street.” It’s in the journeys and stories gallery of my website, HERE

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A Back-and-Forth Dance – Between Painting and Quilting

Almost finished this one! (Pause for a celebratory sigh of accomplishment.)

As I’m working on my 2018 series, “Home is What you Remember,” I’ve been doing a lot of process experimentation. And it seems to fit what I’m after in the meaning of the works.

“Home” is a rich, deep, resonant, layered, emotional word. Everyone feels something about their home. In this series, I’m intentionally turning the word over and over to discover new ways to address the concept, new ways to get to the memories and meaning. So, playing with different methods has felt like a natural way to go.

Some of the works I’ve created so far are heavy on collage and applique. They tend to be thicker, with lots of texture. Some have been more painterly, flatter, working on gessoed muslin or sheer fabric.

This one turned out to be more painter-like. I did not work in sections – but on whole cloth. (A little more challenging for me because I have a small-throat regular sewing machine.) I used some wet-wash paint layers, some stencils, and some direct painting.

I kept the camera handy to record progress. I hope you enjoy.

(In case of any technical difficulties with loading or seeing the video, you can follow this link to see it on You Tube.)   https://youtu.be/19DzsTFFtPE

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Thinking about nest-building

Recently I watched a video of a bird weaving a nest. I was mesmerized. The process is one for which I truly do not have adequate words. Wondrous. Intricate. Detailed. Elaborate. Complex.

On my worktable today I have been looking at the image of a bird nest that I am working into an art quilt – not yet  named – but part of the series “Home is what you remember.” I found a beautiful nest several years ago and photographed it. I have transferred the photo onto fabric and I am allowing the delicate woven patterns to take center stage in this composition.

It is the perfect visual metaphor for home. In my own life journey, “home” and all its meanings are as complex as the intertwined twigs in this image. I believe most people’s feelings about home are very complex. Most of us have some fondness for a home – maybe our original home, maybe one we chose later in life. Those feelings are sometimes mixed with intense longing. Or, the memories may be confusing. Or difficult. Or hurtful.

I have worked with a photographic image of a nest in several previous pieces, using detailed stitching to define the twig shapes. I discovered two things.

First, awe. Tracing the patterns of this object created by a bird is inspiring. As I follow the line of a twig, then start and stop at points of intersection, I am experiencing the deep complexity of the construction.

Second, the sweep of memory. Immersing myself in the sound of the sewing machine chug-chugging, tracing the lines comprising the nest, feeling the rhythm of the image; these actions create an almost trance-like absorption in the process. It allows me to travel to memories and dreams of home and all that it means to me.

This series about home is tapping into some of the deepest parts of my own life experience. I hope that the details and patterns will speak deeply to those who look at the art as well.

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A chicken or the egg kind of question… and does it make a difference?

If the order of making gets changed around… does it make a difference?

As an experiment in artmaking with textiles, I recently tried reversing the order of the whole process. It's been  revealing and interesting

My textile works have some of the characteristics of a painting and some of the characteristics of an art quilt.  I always start with blank fabric, creating my own fabrics with acrylic paints. I monotyope print, stencil, stamp, use relief printing and paint directly. But, generally, I am making batches of fabric, then cutting them up and incorporating them into a collaged and stitched composition.

There’s a lot I like about this way of creating. But sometimes, by starting with individual pieces, I feel like I lose sight of the overall composition, especially big shapes and values. If there are things I need to correct, I don’t always see it till I’m pretty far along.

So, with a piece that’s still a work in progress, I started with the big picture first. I cut a large piece of muslin a little bigger than the finished size, (about 36"H x 48"W) then ripped it into five random sections. I taped them back together (on the back) so that I again had one large piece. I gessoed the fabric to stiffen it up then treated it like a painting canvas. Using hand-cut stencils in the shape of houses, I painted with a roller to get the overall composition roughed in.  It felt quite different – working more like a painter and less like a quilter. At this point, I could see the finished composition. I knew what was successful ad what was not right from the beginning.

THEN I untaped the sections and worked on them individually. I added some texture with paint, collaged in some new fabrics, and added stitching for texture over the whole piece.

THEN I sewed the sections back together again to recreate the whole. Now, I felt more like a quilter.

For me, this has been like adding a new language to my studio vocabulary. I will continue to work in the reverse order on some pieces, and sometimes combine the two procedures.

My studio “note-to-self” this week says “Creativity demands experimentation.” Yes.

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Abandoned… Rediscovered… Remembered…

Discovering this abandoned house in South Carolina was an art inspiration. I blogged about in January, writing that the experience of finding this spot was a gift discovered by taking the long way, the off-the-highway path driving home to Florida.

Since then the house stayed on my mind. A work-in-progress in the studio now is beginning to take the images and create a new reality. (Video below in this blog post.)

What was so compelling, standing there by the house, was looking through the door and the broken windows and seeing trees and vines growing up inside the house, filling it. In a strange way, although the growth filled the space, it emphasized the emptiness. Homes are expected to hold people and life, not overgrown vines.

What interested me was this feeling of unreality. Instead of depicting the house realistically as we discovered it, I wanted to translate it into a dream-like memory.

Photos of the paint-peeled door and the overgrown windows have been transferred onto muslin. (I use a gel medium transfer from a laser color printout, pieced together to fill the size I need. These are tedious, but I like the final effect.)

The photographic images are being placed in a childlike, two-dimensional house shape, along with other fabrics, colors and textures. I will be adding tree forms behind to recreate the sense of loneliness the place held for me.

As I work on all the pieces in my “Home is what you Remember” series, I am trying to listen. To the images. To the memories. To what they stir inside me.

                  What happens when the people leave the house?
                  Something else will grow there.

You can watch the process unfold in this video.

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Gotta Keep Creative… Here’s What I’m Trying

Welcome to Wonderful Wednesdays!

It seems strange to confess to a need to keep creative. Creating is what I do all day! I’m a disciplined studio worker. I pour my morning coffee, walk ten steps, and there I am in the studio – at work!

(Hmmm. That first sentence may have revealed a lot. Work. Not. Play.)

Mostly, I am creating larger works, art quilts. I enjoy the challenge of working in a range of 36”H to about 48”W. I feel at home in that scale. Right now, I have six different pieces in progress in the studio.

BUT... larger works take longer. I enjoy the process. But sometimes it’s like a cross country trek – step after step to be completed. Parts of the process are a bit of a slog.

Recently I pulled out some rice paper pieces I had printed a while ago, found some watercolor paper, and built a few collages. It felt wonderful!  Not TOO small; miniatures just don’t seem to speak to me. These will fit a 16 x 20 frame. But the smaller scale is manageable to keep fresh through the whole process.

Also new for me is that these are abstract compositions. Recently, I’ve been creating representational larger works. The abstracts allow a laying down of items intuitively, turning them upside down to find an intriguing angle and discovering the composition as I go.

I’ve created a few already and I like what I’m discovering.

I’ve experimented with some palettes that are not-my-normal choices

I’ve added some layers of overprinting I did not expect.

I look forward to finishing a new one once a week and introducing it on my web site as Wonderful Wednesday Collage.  The first one will be posted tomorrow morning.

I hope you’ll take a look and enjoy the journey with me.

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as well as FIRST LOOKS at new works and members-only discounts,
I hope you’ll become a Studio Insider.
You’ll hear from me by e-mail every two to three weeks.

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Half awake… and what was revealed.

Half awake, half asleep, I was thinking of tangled tree limbs seen through broken windows. I knew they were waiting to be revealed.

And so in this morning’s quiet I began the process of removing and revealing. There are gentle sounds associated with this studio work. The spray of water from the hose onto outside concrete wetting the paper. A gentle breaking of the surface of the vinegar- soap solution with the dipping of my cloth. And the rhythmic rubbing. Rubbing. Peeling away the paper to reveal the image on the muslin below.

Discovering the images as they emerge is itself a new way of seeing. Before I transferred, the paper copy was a mirror image of what will finally be revealed. Rubbing away the paper film is a discovering of the shapes that interested me from the onset, but now reversed, patterned in a new way.

As I rubbed, discovered, revealed I remembered the experience of shooting the photographs. We were in rural South Carolina, and an abandoned, roofless, vine-filled house was waiting for me. The walk to the house was through a thick bed of pine needles. Wind whispered in the pine trees. The photos I recorded capture that feeling of stillness and loss.

Who lived there? How did the house become abandoned? How long has it been decomposing? Does anyone visit this place? What memories might it hold?

Once the images are assembled as part of a large quilted work, I want the composition to invite the viewer in by conjuring up questions. The questions will become another layer. Memory layer. Captured photo layer. Composed layer. Fabric layer. Dream layer. All held within the tangled tree limbs and broken windows.

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... but then I was wrong!

You have a great idea for your next artwork. Now what?

I was preparing a workshop for Arts Etc., the surface Design group in which I’m a member. It was my turn to teach this past month and this was to be my lesson.

And I felt good about my plans. I spend a lot of time on developing concepts for my work. I sketch. I try them out in Photoshop. I enlarge manually to be sure the vision works at full size. I’m competent at the math of proportions so I get the image to fit right. And I’ve developed a few personal tricks to help me “see” the concept as a composition and to make good cropping decisions.  All good.

Feeling well prepared to teach the lesson, I had – for a little while – gotten into the happy thought that I had pretty much conquered this topic, and that what I was going to teach was THE composing method textile artmakers would need most.

Then, the night before the workshop, I visited a thought-provoking exhibit of work by textile artist Lauren Austin, exhibiting at the Yvonne Scarlett Golden Center in Daytona Beach. What a wonderful body of work. The mages are still inside my head. Her works are lyrical, and spiritual, with a meaningful array of images that repeat throughout the body of work. And, it was obvious from absorbing these works how intuitive she is in her making. The compositions are strong and interesting. They seem to come from the images, not to dictate them.

Shaken to think in a new way (one of the great things that can happen when interacting with another artist’s work) I realized – of course – that there are different ways to get your idea down on the fabric. There are as many ways to handle the nuts and bolts of artmaking as there are artists and art ideas.

I did teach the next day. I do believe it was a good working class and offered some helpful ideas. But I shared with the group that my guideposts to traveling from idea to artwork are just my way. But not the only way.

And my way, I hope, will also grow and change.

More about Lauren Austin….. https://thatblackgirlart.com/

The artwork shown above is “Becoming One With the Night”
In the Journeys and Stories Gallery HERE

Being a Citizen… From Inside my Art Bubble

This morning in the studio I was sewing on a new art quilt with NPR news on in the background. As I stitched, I thought what a strange juxtaposition this was. Here, in my self-contained world, in a room in which I have a fair amount of control over outcomes, I am creating. Meanwhile, stories that are big and important, over which I have very little control are unfolding and being reported. Meaningful immigration debate has evaporated – at last for now – in a slew of ugly, racist words by the President. Other countries are reacting. A US ambassador has quit in protest. And the list of important issues facing our country remains a large stack of untouched “to-do’s” in the congressional inbox.

And I am merrily sewing along.

Each of us, as we go about our chosen work, is faced with this same juxtaposition and decisions about what to do.

After setting up this situation, I realize, of course, that I have no magic answer or prescription to offer. Living in a complex world is hard. Living in a country that allows tremendous freedoms along with tremendous responsibilities is hard. It is tempting to retreat entirely into the bubble of what I can control or what I enjoy. But it’s not a solution that would be right for me. Living so deeply in the world of external events that I become unable to create artwork would also not be right for me.

For now, I do what I believe most caring, thoughtful citizens do. I engage in the greater world to the best of my ability: as a volunteer, a giver of what money I can donate, a voter. And I continue to create work that is meaningful to me.

Is it enough? I feel the need to keep asking that question.