I had a glass of wine with my oatmeal last night

Comfort food and catnip. That's what it has come down to. My head is so fractured with focuses the threads careen forward with untrammeled exuberance. I have eight serious pieces in process and I flit from one to another like a ping pong ball on crack.

Must focus. Must breathe.

I think it was the time away from the studio that did it. Images flicker in my short term memory with such a radiance of immediacy that I am compelled to follow their paths.

Pollinators, detail, Paula Kovarik

Bifurcation. It's a word that floated to the top of my mind the other day. A word that ended up being my vocabulary word-for-the-day. Why? I have no clue. But bifurcate it did. It means "to fork or divide into two branches." So when I look it up on the web the standard rabbit holes show up on Google where scientists and mathematicians start explaining bifurcation theory. The diagrams look suspiciously like my brain on dual focus mode. And I start to study bifurcation diagrams thinking that maybe the answer lies in a mathematical model. STOP.

Lately my bifurcation looks like this:

Can too many ideas lead to fuzzy thinking?


Shiny things

It's risky to leave my studio. Inspirations can turn my head into a spinning whirly-gig. Traveling to art shows, through countryside that is new, or sleeping in a different bed can birth new ideas or make me lose focus. Sometimes it takes a long time to re-establish balance while focused on so many shiny things that pull my heartstrings.

A mural by Natalia Pawlus found at the parking garage adjacent to the Grand Rapids Art Museum inspired me with its sparse composition and dynamic line work.

The Meyer May house in Grand Rapids is one of the most completely restored Frank Lloyd Wright homes.

The Meyer May house in Grand Rapids is one of the most completely restored Frank Lloyd Wright homes.

And there are so many incredible artists, so many inspirations. My studio seems to mock me with a silence that comes with sorting out what I saw and what it means to my work. I may even question my medium: maybe I should become a weaver? a sculptor? a poet? Why am I focused on fabric and stitch when so many other mediums are full of promise? Would paint free the loose screws in my compulsive practice?

And what inspirations! World class sculptures in the Grand Rapids Meijer Gardens, world-class fiber work at the Muskegon Museum of Art's Extreme Fibers exhibit, a guided tour through a completely restored Frank Lloyd Wright home in Grand Rapids.

This sculpture by Laura Ford hides in tall grasses and pine trees at the Meijer Gardens in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I would go back there tomorrow to see this sculpture garden again.

These barns seem to be buriedby corn, a common image all the way home.

These barns seem to be buried
by corn, a common image all the way home.

Not to mention over 1500 pieces in the ArtPrize Seven show. Check out Hanna Concannon, Martha Bishop, Sayaka Oishi, Colleen Kole, Tamara Kostianovsky, Kazuki Takemura, Armando Ramos, MaryJo Fox Fell and many others on the ArtPrize site.

Even the ride home to Memphis inspired thoughts of doing pastoral compositions based on those horizontal farms with big skies.

Eventually I will find my way again -- re-familiarize myself with projects that are almost done and allow for some explorations into new frontiers. For now I will browse the photos and do more research on what I saw, felt and inhaled. Here are some links to new and old artists who inspired me this summer:

  • Maggy Rozycki Hiltner working with found fabric and retro imagery to explore childhood memories.
  • Jan Hopkins working with grapefruit peels, hydrangea petals, eucalyptus leaves and ostrich shell beads to create sculpture.
  • Laura Ford for her whimsical naturalistic bronze sculptures.
  • Kumi Yamashita for her way with warp and weft.
  • Natalia Pawlus for her haunting mural at the parking garage in Grand Rapids; and
  • Jim Triezenberg for his magnificent joie de vivre in his sculpture: Dino-Zar.

last day at the beach

Skies are sunny with a forecast of rain tomorrow. One more day to feel the sand between my toes, the rocks filtering through my hands and the lake wind rustling my hair. This solitary journey has brought new perspective, introspection and yes, I admit it, doubt. 

I read many books while here. Random choices, nothing like what I expected to read. Sacred Sands by J. Ronald Engel, Isaac’s Storm – A Man, a Time, and the Deadliest Hurricane in History by Erik Larson, Native Tongue by Suzette Haden Elgin, parts of Pulphead Essays by John Jeremiah Sullivan, parts of The Forest Unseen - A Year’s Watch in Nature by David George Haskell, and An Invisible Flower by Yoko Ono. Funny how living without a tv focuses energy toward depth. 

Maybe it was because I was by myself 90% of the time but each of these books gave me insight into how we are so small on earth — each tied to the other by the slimmest of evidence.

A lot of my art focuses on connections. How we talk to each other, how we are surrounded by message, how we live in a limited reality. Stories of others pass through consciousness seeking a berth to understanding. Sometimes it works, most times we are oblivious.  

But back to that doubt thing. What is it about introspection that brings me this feeling of malaise? As if I am not quite there yet. Not quite ready for prime time, not quite authentic? I think it might be that my head races in so many directions and accumulates so many ideas that I feel a frantic instability when I try to settle on just one. Too much fun floating among the might have beens rather than focusing on the here it is.  Or maybe I just don’t trust myself to reach the real. Too many years spent doing designery things. Making the picture balance without angst.

Those rocks I collected are silent witnesses for me this week. They remind me to remember the silence and dialog within. To channel the sense of being small in the universe. To remember the way silent witnesses spur me onto truth. 

today's catch

So I just want to know. Do women really change their tampons at the beach or is it that these tampon applicator mini-missiles float to the top of the waste stream and are carried as if on a carpet of magic to the beaches of our lives? 

I went off a beaten path today and wandered down an area of the beach best remembered as the outer limits. You know...exploring, beachcombing in hopes that the outer limits might show me a different side of the edge between land and lake. OK, there were some signs saying I shouldn’t be there. Some fences with barbed wire, the usual territorial hoopla. never mind...

This guy brightened my mood. 

This guy brightened my mood. 

Wandering today brought me to the conclusion that either women are just plain inconsiderate or they need to lobby the tampon industry to make the applicator torpedoes biodegradable. Because after about a mile of wandering the strand of sand I counted at least 10 of them. There was some evidence of a celebration -- spent balloons on ribbons, cigarette butts and empty spirits bottles. But nothing that indicated that the celebration debris was anything but ordinary accumulation. 

Was the moon especially strong this week? Was there a convocation of menstrual maidens in the area? Or did Playtex, Kotex, and Tampax decide they want to be sure that their product has long life and happiness on the beach of their dreams (wait....what is it with the ex in these names anyway?). 

Ladies, please, if it’s you, dispose of these mini missiles appropriately. Or, maybe, just maybe, consider using something that will not live on into the next century. Natural is as natural does so to speak. And shame on the tampon industry, creating a product that does not disappear. Use it one time and discard right? And make sure it is plastic so it floats. Yeah...that's it!

On a more pleasant note.

I found these today. New folks to join my collection of rocks with faces. Man I love these guys! I want to do an installation of them in the future. They just speak to me. 

Check out that guy in the upper left corner. Sculpture! right?

And here is the piece I have been working on with their cousins. I took it to the beach for a little dunk in the lake and some sun today. 

Rock Collection, Paula Kovarik, 2015

edges

Yesterday I spent most of the day walking the beach and dunes. Meandering through the sand hills at the lakeside started me thinking about edges. How edges define space and separate reality. How edges can offer opportunities for growth. How they keep people out. How they keep things in. They define borders and populations, they define differences.  

On this side of the shore the dunes ramble into the water, on the other side the city builds its muscle. 

On this side of the shore the dunes ramble into the water, on the other side the city builds its muscle. 

beachcombing

Edges create tension and stop the blurring of lines. They offer entry into newness and sharpen the soft. They show the worn and messy. They collect the extraneous. They repel the unnecessary. They expose what might not be seen otherwise.

Dunes restoration fence