The leaves were dancing

The other day I was driving home after doing some errands. I saw autumn leaves dancing in the street from the turbulence created by the cars driving by. They twirled, jumped and rained down from the sky.

For many years I have been collecting the final scraps of each project. I stitch them together to create garlands of scraps. They remind me of those beaded curtains we used to have in the 70s.

That day they reminded me of the leaves dancing in the street.

Each scrap reminds me of former projects.

That night I watched the news about the wars in Ukraine and Israel. The photos showed remnants of buildings, explosions from bombs, scraps of life. It’s so hard to process that horror. So many people affected. So many lives lost. When I got back to the studio the scraps of stitched fabrics became those scraps of life to me.

I made more.

And more.

The announcers on the tv were talking about collateral damage. How does that make any sense at all? When does it end?

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!