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.

fraud, fallout and fervor

I spent last week full of imposter-syndrome doubt. Looking around the studio I saw past efforts, early experiments and final failures. The cacophony of the surroundings not only confused me it also impeded my thought process. I kept staring blindly at the design board and finding ways to avoid anything at all having to do with making art. I walked out and sought solace in distractions. Database cleanup? yup. Instagram surfing? too much. Fabric folding and organizing? Ad nauseam. Asking questions like “what’s the point?” oh yes.

Fallout

I am a determined artist. I believe that process will bring insight and stalling is part of it. Though those gaps in activity engender a feeling of inadequacy I must try, discard, try, discard, try, discard. I have to be relentless. When I could find an opening in the doubt cloud I worked on this piece called Surge. It’s about deterioration as well as growth. Inspired by rotting wood, colonies of organisms and pathways of growth, it gave me a map to follow in my panic. Yes, it is a kind of panic for me. A feeling that I can’t come up with something original, something that transcends the obvious.

Surge, Paula Kovarik, 2022

Fervor

Nature has it right every time. As an example I have this magical driveway. Every time it rains the cracks in the surface are revealed. They fascinate me. The organic shapes and fissures tell stories. It’s like the earth below is trying to burst out. They beckon me with the mystery of that transformation.

I have begun the process of interpreting these magical messages—it’s a start for a new map. I don’t know where it will take me but I feel the fervor again. Reminding myself that it is process not product that is important.

I will start again.

Second thoughts bring primary focus

I’m not known for my color expertise. I look fondly on work that bursts with saturated color and sigh most of the time. Rousseau, Gaugin, Pauly, Hilma af Klint, Butler and Kusama all stun and amaze me. As a designer I tend toward khaki, gray, muted pastels and black and white. As an artist black thread on light cloth just makes sense to me. If you are drawing lines you need to see them right?

Settling back into a daily practice after five weeks away turned out to be harder than I expected. My mind was so filled with inspirations that it was hard to sort through what my next step would be. I decided to just put colored pieces together. Primaries first.

Starting a piece without a specific idea is all about process. The underlying meaning doesn’t exist so I am only cutting, sewing, cutting, sewing and cutting again. I trust that at some point the compositions will tell me more than I think I know. There was a lot of cutting and sewing and cutting and sewing in these pieces. So much so that I thought that I might instead focus on this wonderful pile of scraps instead of the structured pieces that were being created.

As I started to put the scraps together nothing worked. The compositions were uncomfortable and the light yellow patchwork squares were distracting. It just made me feel weary. Though I wanted the piece to have a joyous exuberant burst it started looking like a carnival gone wrong. Blech! The next day I stitched the pieces together into random rectangles and then cut those into seven inch squares.

There is just something about cutting things up that clarifies things for me. New beginnings restart my thought process.

At all times I know that I am willing to throw it all into a bin if it doesn’t work out. It focuses me on the process rather than the product. And, sometimes, the pieces make more sense than the whole.

After reassembling the seven inch squares into a new composition I ended up with a stronger composition and a playground for stitch.

Second Thoughts, 32” x 25.5”, 2021, Paula Kovarik

There is color. There is energy and there is meaning in it (for me). I call it Second Thoughts for the way it made me doubt my direction. Second Thoughts for the way doubt can play havoc with progress. Second Thoughts for that moment in time that allows me to let go and start over.

Detail, Second Thoughts

Detail, Second Thoughts.

Where do your second thoughts lead you?

I wrote a book

At Play in the Garden of Stitch

At Play in the Garden of Stitch—thoughts that come while eyeing the needle. 

Published! Available Now.

I put it on paper. It’s now in book form. This is not a quilt.

I spent part of my Covid year writing, analyzing and illustrating my techniques and artwork. After fifteen years of creating and teaching, it was time to tell my story and share my process in a more formal way. 

This is a book of ideas and exercises for those who use stitch in their artwork. What seems like magic are merely (some simple) step-by-step exercises that will lead you to your own creations. 

This is the story of how I work and think as I make new quilts. It contains both successes and failures as both results can lead to finished quilts. One of my favorite exercises is to chop up a finished quilt to re-arrange and re-imagine a new piece working with elements I like and scrapping those I loathe.

As the great Miles Davis says: do not fear mistakes; there are none.
As I like to say: Art is found in the process. And stitching can take you there.

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The book contains lavish illustrations of quilts from my students and myself. For many of these, I demonstrate approaches to using stitch as an element of design and art. To understand my process, I include essays from this journal that reveal how I follow the thread or pursue an idea. 

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Order “At Play” from any number of bookstores including Barnes and Noble, Target, Indiebound, Discover books and more—such as Amazon. And, if you do find that this book has inspired you to try some new ways to create in stitch, please let me know by leaving a review or sending me an email. I would really appreciate it.

If you are interested in stitch and how to express yourself through free-motion quilting, this book will lead you gently down your own creative path. The secret is starting simple and staying at it.

I want to send out a bucket of thanks to my friend, Kathleen Loomis, for her help in making this book a reality. Her patient review of the content clarified my thoughts and made it a better book. Thanks so much Kathleen.

They say

It’s never easy, they say. Struggle comes with rewards, they say. It will all come clear with focus, they say. Put your head down and work harder, they say. Trust your gut, they say.

Get out the rotary cutter, I say.

About two months ago I was between projects and didn’t know which way I was going as a next step. I had this ragged piece of thin cotton that I kept trying to iron flat . For some reason the wrinkles wouldn’t go away. So I decided to stitch them in permanently.

I just kept adding texture and color and pattern with stitch until I had a piece that was about 3 x 4 foot that made no sense at all. It was chaos and wrinkles and pretty little textures. A study in thread on a wrinkled piece of fabric. Ho hum.

Then I dreamed about pink rivers. Don’t know why. Just did.

The textures in the cloth reminded me of topographical maps and gridded land masses. The wrinkles stood in for the rivers. So I got out the rotary cutter and sliced and diced and added pink to the stitched cloth. I layered those squares with organza over a vintage tablecloth full of flowers because I had decided that I wanted beauty in my life that day, not worry. (I’m so tired of bad news.)

The squares looked great on the tablecloth and the organza gave me the opportunity to let the rivers flow underground. But when I stitched it all together it was a mess. The organza didn’t want to be layered, the tablecloth was wobbly and the squares of texture ended up looking like a bad craft project gone wrong. YUK.

The wrinkling, wobbling layers did not match my vision of a unified surface.

Enter the rotary cutter. Because within each disaster is a masterpiece. They say.

I took the squares with me on vacation and added hand-stitched details. And, I really do like the way they look. They are intimate, abstract and multi-layered.

Upon return to the studio I saw the leftover piece of textured wrinkled cloth and decided I would combine it with a quilt I made (and never finished) 15 years ago. The combination of the white textured cloth and the subtly colored quilt was intriguing. Using both as raw materials I cut them, combined them, stitched over them and sewed it all together. One day it seemed great.

But the next day I realized it was all wrong.

Though I really do love all that texture, it was hard to focus on this piece. No center of interest, no pathway for the eyes.

So I got out the rotary cutter again.

Now I have these little “masterpieces” that are traveling across the design board asking for a home. I have some new ideas for them this week, and probably will have more ideas for them next week.

They say if the fabric is ugly, cut it up into small pieces.  If it’s still ugly, you haven’t cut it small enough. I don’t think these fabrics are ugly. But I do know that they haven’t found their permanent home yet.

It’s all about the process, they say.