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 work in progress

I watch the road beneath my feet for inspiration as I walk. Asphalt cracks mended with black tarlike paint strokes, crabgrass breaking the surface of sidewalks, crumbling edges being eaten by the undergrowth, worms crawling across the surface in search of water and safety. My phone pics have an endless catalog of the earth pushing back and the impermanence of our effect on nature. Here’s a couple of pics I took on my morning walk of some roadway paint wearing away. The forms and line were the inspiration behind this month’s experiments.

Starting with a blank piece of cotton canvas I stitched in some of those lines I saw on the street. The wool batting beneath that top layer of canvas gave me a billowing effect. It seemed to swell the fabric. I emphasized the swelling with tight parallel lines of stitching in thread that matched the fabric color. Then I added a strong double thick line of stitching around the billowing forms.

The tightly stitched surface gave me space to add active linework, color and cartoon. I used watered down India ink to emphasize the red and yellow dotted elements. The contrast between the tight stitching and the billowing foreground added depth. This shows the ink in a wet stage. It dried lighter overall.

Several stages of layered stitch later I have detailed, complicated patterning. When I added the pale blue boxes as a new layer of information they didn’t stand out enough so I added fill and a black outline to reinforce them.

Below is a progression series showing the layering of stitch that transformed the surface of the cloth.

At this stage I am wondering just how much more I can add before the needle won’t go through the cloth properly. I may have to wait a bit to decide. I may stuff the billowing parts even more. I may do more hand stitching. All in all it was a good experiment and I may do this again on a larger piece.

It’s a study in what lies beneath.

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.

scraps and colonies

I work on many projects at the same time. If not, I get bored. I like how pieces morph and talk to each other as they progress. I can sometimes see similarities other times big differences. Techniques can change while concepts are basically the same. I am influenced by my readings and by the news, and by the walks I take to catch a breath. Lately I use my art to distract myself from the feeling of dread when I watch the news.

Two works in progress, Nonsense on the left and Letting Go on the right.

Play

Sometimes I just like to have fun. The piece on the left in the picture above is done on a piece of whole cloth I designed and had printed at Spoonflower. The cartoonish figures gave me a playground for stitching.

I like to layer my stitching to create a sense of movement or depth.

I’m always looking for surprises. Check out this dude peaking out from behind the black squares.

Nonsense, 49.5” x 35”, Paula Kovarik

Parts are smaller than the whole

Over the course of ten years I have accumulated baskets of scrapped quilted pieces. They are not only offcuts but also pieces that I cut up after being disappointed with the results of a composition. About seven years ago I made some garlands of the scraps that reminded me of the beaded curtains that were so popular back in the day. Those curtains always seemed to signal a mystery behind them. They obscured an opening while also creating a gateway that was easy to traverse. They were a little mysterious but also enchanting and magical. So, as I accumulated more and more garlands this scraps piece has evolved to be more than its parts. These scraps represent my process, my trajectory and my history as an artist. They also stand witness to the mistakes I defined, the trial and error that I experienced, and the idea that I just have to let go. It’s a work in progress and morphs every day.

I’m starting to curate the scraps. There are days when I look around at other pieces I have created and wonder if they too should be cut up and strung together.

Colonies

We talk about colonies in space, colonies on land and colonies of bacteria. Each type of colony has an intrinsic architecture that fastens the parts to the whole. That architecture is something we have in common with other species.

Once I had the opportunity to follow the trails of leaf cutter ants from a tree that they were dismantling scrap by scrap to their colony in a dirt bank down the road. I was mesmerized. Not only were they a little army of workers but also they had guards, emergency crews, dancers, choppers, lifters, slackers, and buried somewhere deep within, a queen. Their trails, structures and actions are mirrored in our own cities, countries and families.

In the NPR series Searching for Meaning: Our Quest for Meaning in the Age of Science Alan Lightman says that “Meaning must be found in the moment even as we yearn for immortality.” I was totally in the moment, filled with awe, while studying that leaf cutter colony. The focus from macro to micro made me a conscious witness to a separate reality.

Colonies, a work-in-progress, Paula Kovarik

“Colonies” could represent microscopic detail but also resembles aerial shots of land and developments. I am somewhere between those two ideas for now.