Second thoughts

I think I am done with this piece. Problem is I am not sure what side is up. While I was working on it I just let the stitch tell me where to go. It is a drop cloth that I stitched together to create a surface to respond to. I turned it East, then West, then North and South. Each time responding to what I had stitched in the former session. The composition was secondary but it did seem to hold together when I took a breath to look at it.

Zooming in

Each session brought new textures. The fabric is billowy and unstable. It was difficult to tame until I let it have its way with me—letting the billow billow. I think it might be an old poplin sheet. I used a wool batting and a cotton muslin backing to keep it light. The whole piece is 35” x 37” so it was easily finished in a couple of weeks. After free-motion stitching I added a tight textural filling with hand stitching to contrast with the open negatives spaces left unstitched.

When to call it done?

I might be done with the stitching part of this piece. Just not sure which end is up. Each configuration could be the right one. Here are the four for your consideration.

Number One. This one has a large face in it.

Number Two. This one looks like a vehicle of some sort with wacky wheels.

Number Three. Here’s a happy guy in the middle with his arm upraised.

Number Four. This one turns those two wacky wheels into two wacky heads.

Where to go next?

Another piece of fabric, some thread and a little batting.

Remember: It’s Process not Product.

OK, yes, it does take some time

I came home from my residency in Japan with a bucket of ideas. And a bad cold. Despite the sniveling, snorting and hacking I was intent on making progress on works that I had started as well as new works brewing in my mind. The cold won. And I floundered, frustrated. It was another lesson in expectations vs. reality.

The first task was to preserve the work I did in Japan. Like this 18.5 foot drawing on a rice paper scroll. I fused the paper to muslin and now I am considering a wooden roller for it. It’s tricky. I am moving slowly to resolve the challenge.

I left for the residency with a piece on the wall that was unfinished. It’s a challenge in pattern and color. (see previous post) And after six weeks thinking in black and white I had to put it in the “works-in-NO-progress” pile. It just served to frustrate me rather than inspire.

I’m not really good at giving up. But the minute I did that with that piece I felt a rush of adrenaline that gave me permission to think about new things. And open up that bucket to start fresh.

When I am in a quandary about how to move forward I wrap thorns from a black locust tree with discarded thread. Or I fold fabric scraps into neat piles. It serves to slow me down so that I can clear my mind of distractions.

Giving myself permission to fail is something that takes practice. My expectations are high. I am impatient. Judgmental. And distracted. There are not enough hours in my day to accomplish what I want to do. I need to go back to the idea that it is all about the process and not about the product.

Stream of consciousness stitching on found fabric.

After folding a couple of shelves of fabric, reorganizing my tool closet and wrapping some thorns I found this piece of drop cloth that I had saved from a particularly colorful day of playing with ink. It is an amorphous, non-figurative mush of color on a used and reused scrap of sheeting. It pleases me. And challenges me to play. So that is what I am doing. Playing. Responding. Giving my time to that space of no expectations.

Winter is here. A time to notice the shortened days. A time to pay attention to the skeletons of trees.

Join Me!

You might notice that I have a number of scheduled workshops here on this journal page. I’ll be at the Santa Fe Madeline Island School of the Arts in March. The Alegre Retreat in Colorado in April. The Columbia FiberArts Guild in June. Quilting by the Lake in Geneva, NY in July. The Woodland Ridge Retreat in Menomonie, WI in August. Stitch in Durango, CO in September. And the Stitchin’ Post in Sisters, OR in September.

Treat yourself to a workshop in 2025.
We need to play with each other more!

A Japan Residency

This line: “the long winged arrows of thought”
and this phrase: “heroic clutter”
and this: ”there are stories in the air as thick as birds.”

all come from the book Mink River by Brian Doyle. I wrote them down while reading so that I could come back to those thoughts while working.

I’m in Japan, having just finished a four week residency. Studio:Kura has three houses with studios in Itoshima. We were in House One. There were five of us: Ruby Silvious, Lucy Zhang, Nancy Yoshii, Caroline Kampfraath and myself. Each day began with a walk through the surrounding rice and vegetable fields. Then several hours of drawing or stitching in the studio. Lunch with fellow artists, another hour or two of work, then sunset at the beach. Ruby took on the role of chef each night, I was sous chef. Every so often we would go to the grocery store a couple of train stops away, or do some sightseeing with some local friendly guides. Other than those occasions we were all working artists.

My studio with the beginning of the paper scroll. The final scroll measures about 15 feet.

The isolation gave me the perfect opportunity to practice working without forethought in an environment that challenged my usual habits. Nothing was familiar. I felt detached, wandering. I spent the time not thinking about the day to day, not planning, not trying. My focus was on responding to what was around me. I was actively engaged in the process. I let fleeting images become concrete. I abandoned the sewing machine that was available to concentrate more fully on a paper scroll. In the end I could have packed all the supplies I needed in a small case. Needle, thread, some bits of fabric, a pen, and a paper scroll.

The bird at the top of the boulder was there every night during the sunset. Every so often he spoke to me.

The residency ended with a gallery show. This video shows the works of four of the five artists that lived in the same building. We had a great turnout.

I’m still in Japan, now touring Dasaifu and Fukuoka and the surrounding towns. The shrines, the food, the clothing, the graphic design aesthetic all pile up in my mind. I eat fish and rice. Sleep with new dreams. The stories in the air are as thick as birds.

I wanted to challenge myself

And, it worked.

Itoshima, Japan

A month-long residency in a rural area of Japan (Itoshima, Studio:Kura) has challenged, inspired and poked me into uncharted territory. I had hoped that the studio would have a sewing machine that I could use. And they do. But. It is a bit of a nuisance to use it and that blocks me from doing the work that I am most comfortable doing. At first I thought I could conquer any machine. If this one was going to be a brat I would tame it to my ways.

My Studio: Kura studio.

You know when children decide to put on a tantrum show it is best to just walk away until they calm themselves. It was me having the tantrum and I realized that this was the first step to being challenged during my time here. That’s what I did. I stepped away from the machine.

I’ve done some hand stitching with colors that are unfamiliar to my hands.

I’ve done some cut paper experiments based on the principle of Notan.

And I have a 25 ft. long roll of rice paper that I have been drawing on. The drawing is about 8 foot long today and continues to grow. The drawing takes me to another dimension and allows me to think.

A detail shot of the 8 ft long rice paper drawing done at Studio:Kura.

I’m almost halfway through the four week stay in this lovely and inspiring place. I thought I might come up with some grand revelations by now. Maybe tomorrow.

Today the scroll is 8 feet long. How long will it be in November? I am thinking about how time is condensing and life is short. I know that I will not see everything there is to see before my end. My art reflects the thoughts and images I cannot put into words.

This beach is about a block away from my studio. This is all I really need in life—a way to see the beauty of the earth itself. It takes my breath away.

Travel Plans

By the time you read this I will be soaring across the midwestern plains to land in Denver. Hurricane Francine notwithstanding. Though I love to travel and meet new people, see new things, breathe new air, I hate the insanity that flying is in these times. Long lines (usually at 5am if you’re from Memphis), cramped quarters, sneezing and coughing passengers. I wear a mask from the moment I get into the airport to the minute I leave the baggage claim.

I’m leaving this unfinished experiment in pattern and color on my design board. It is made from pieces of found fabrics and a discarded quilt top from an unknown artist. It reminds me of the way my mind collects flotsam while walking.

Nonetheless, I persist. This time in a marathon. First stop the Front Range Contemporary Quilters in Denver, then a side trip to Santa Fe, NM, then a week in Taos teaching with Diane Ericson at the Design Outside the Lines retreat, then home for a day to prepare for the next flight. To Japan for an artist residency at Studio:Kura in the Fukuoka Prefecture’s Itoshima Municipality. For five weeks.

I am leaving a beautiful season in Memphis. Fall, with its colors, crisp air and shortening days is an inspiring time of the year. I will witness this autumn in three different places this year. I wonder how they will differ.

Stay tuned for updates on this marathon. I will try to post pics as I travel on.

This is the first sort for my retreat in Japan. When I am at an artist residency my challenge is to bring less and respond to my surroundings with simple tools. I may edit some of this out.