I'm interested in how the earth pushes back

Every time it rains our driveway reveals cracks and crevices. They change over time as the sun dries them so sometimes the cracks are fat and overflowing and other times they are delicate and disappearing.

I have a huge photo library of these cracks. Sidewalk cracks, driveway cracks, parking lot cracks, with subsets of potholes and crevices. They have always intrigued me. They are signs that the things we lay down over the earth are only temporary. Just like us. They erode, corrode, wrinkle and are disrupted by natural forces. A little bit of rain can find the hairline entry, then grow to something larger.

I see these same lines elsewhere in nature.

Recently I started drawing these cracks and noticed that many of them end up with emerging characters. And now I am stitching them. I am interested in what the earth has to say about us. The storms, the waves, the droughts, the cracks all remind me that we are temporary. Just like these driveway cracks, just like that dead tree branch.

This summer I will have the opportunity to listen more closely to what the earth has to say. I have been accepted into the residency program at the Hambidge Center in Georgia. It’s a 600-acre sanctuary for artists, writers and other creative explorers to focus intently on their work. I will be focusing on what the earth has to say. Maybe there are even more cracks to explore.

grid interrupted

Grids are elemental. They anchor, organize and subdivide space. They add order to chaos. They bring structure to cities. They show up everywhere: cages, tiling, supermarket shelves, architectural structures. So when I started this project I aimed to break the grid. I had two projects that were not successful up on my design board that I could use as raw material. Those two, added to the multitude of other scraps I have from unfinished pieces, provided a varied and textural group to work with.

I started by cutting the quilts up into 1, 2 and 4 inch squares. These were the tiles that would fit together conveniently when I butted them up against each other. I use a stitch that looks like a ladder to stitch the tiles together–raw edge to raw edge.

Each tile had its own story left over from previous incarnations. At first blush I liked the combination of the brilliant colored tiles against the neutral black and white canvas tiles. And though there is an implied grid here, it is not regular or confining. The piece could grow in every direction.

I could also use these base tiles to add even more texture and information with layered stitching. I admit I am a bit compulsive. I love traveling across a piece to find ways of joining disparate elements with stitch.

The end result satisfies my goal of interrupting a grid. There’s more to it than that though, the piece satisfies my interest in the mysteries of life—the crazy, cacophonous reality in which we live.

Grid interrupted, 57” x42”, Paula Kovarik

flailing

When I examine my progress these past few weeks I can discern a pattern of behavior. Flailing. Boomeranging. Ricocheting. I am lacking the stick-to-it focus that comes when I am inspired. So I dabble, hoping that something points me in a new direction.

Shall I do something political? emotional?

Maybe an experiment in color and texture? (ultimately I cut this one up into smaller units. It’s what I do when I am not happy with results.)

What could I do with patterned fabrics and stitch?

That’s on the cut up table too. You can never have enough little zippered bags right?

Perhaps I should focus on make believe? Love those ink stains.

Or, add a few more 3D forms to the menagerie?

Flailing, ricocheting, boomeranging is for me a purposeful exploration. I may not be satisfied with the results but I sure do get some extra practice and there is really nothing better than the buzz of the sewing machine while I guide the fabric through it.

Heart, Rock, Star

I taught a stitching class in Atlanta recently. They were creative bunch of Studio Art Quilt Associates stitchers who inspired me with their work. I learn something every time I teach and this class was no exception.When I was talking to Christine about her work she mentioned a critique method her art group uses and I thought I should definitely share it here. It is based on three words: Heart, Rock and Star. They break down this way when you are in a position to react to a piece of art, or writing, or whatever else comes your way.

Heart: How the work makes you feel, how it speaks to your emotions
Rock: What bothers you about the piece, what is off about it?
Star: What is the star of the piece, what makes it a strong work, what sets it apart?

What a great idea! I look forward to trying it out the next time I meet with my critique group.

Thanks Christine!

the uncanny

A while back I was driving down a long highway listening to a podcast about the iconography of halos in history and art. The halo, a perfect circle, often glowing, is situated above a person’s head. It’s a signifier of holiness, otherness and mystery. But then, as my mind wandered over the ideas of perfect circles and mystery, a car drove by towing another car that had the words broken halos printed on the back.

That’s what I mean by the uncanny. There are messages buzzing through this universe that, if I pay attention, if I concentrate on the now, if I notice what is odd or exotic, I may get a glimpse into the magic of being in this universe.

Gestation, Paula Kovarik, 2023

Have you seen those photographs of the universe lately?

I’ve been thinking about species and the vast number of them that are disappearing. I’ve been thinking about politicians and how they are lured into power vortexes where progress and empathy for the other is thwarted. I’ve been thinking about our species and how we seem to be pre-disposed to war. I’ve been thinking that life is short—too short to answer any of my questions with reliability.

I’ve been thinking. What if we are just another Petri dish in the grand experiment of the universe? Which vectors will finally bring us to nothingness? What will be left? Will new species emerge?

Sniffer skin, Paula Kovarik

Sometimes I just have to shut it all down. The questions are too big. They bring anxiety, anger and worry. Stitching helps. If I consciously tap into the motion and method of stitch I come closest to BEING HERE NOW. I think that all artists, writers and musicians seek that motion. Maybe the politicians, judges, generals and bosses would benefit from a little stitching. A little ripping out. They could get their own perfect circle hovering above their heads.

A new species

A litter of sniffers, Paula Kovarik

I created a new species this week. Using the stitched canvas shown above, these little guys emerged from the ooze. I’m naming them Sniffers. I have a litter of eight. The little slideshow below introduces each one of them.

Sniffers, a slideshow of fiber art by Paula Kovarik

If I place them just so, they create a perfect circle. Sniffing the air for answers. Big questions or small, my focus is on noticing. Change. Mystery. Differences. Words. Species. Developments.

The Uncanny.

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.