I had the delightful opportunity to talk with Jane Dunnewold last month as part of her Creative Strength Training interview series. Jane has a robust and comprehensive variety of classes and lectures for artists that are recognized world wide. Take a moment to learn about her practice and her class offerings here. I just registered for one of her lectures today.
Here’s the video recording of our conversation.
Hello out there. I just noticed that it has been over a month since I last posted anything about my practice. Too much time in the isolation chamber I think. The silence can be like an extra layer of batting between brain cells.
My first Isolation chamber. A quilt that I made back in 2010 is repurposed for this piece.
It’s about this time of year that I do a little housekeeping and rearranging. And, that’s not happening. In past years, I might take the time to look forward to new challenges. And, that’s not happening either. New Year’s resolutions? More of the same.
I’m reading Annals of the Former World by John McPhee. In it he describes some of the processes of planetary formation and geological deep time. Deep time. Billions and trillions of years. Getting my head around that concept inevitably sparks a sense of inconsequential reality. On a planetary time scale we are but a nanosecond of reality. And how can I even think about the size and scope of NANO seconds? Smaller than a breadbox? My life is a micro micro nanosecond in the annals of time. The fact that I am trying to express how I feel, think and act through my art is ephemeral and inconsequential as it relates to the reality of the big stuff around me. So little in something so big.
Nevertheless, I persist. Because art is life. Life is precious. Time is short.
Below are some of the things I worked on this year. If you click on an image you can read a little about each piece.
I spent a lot of nanoseconds in the studio this year. And for that I am grateful.
We live in challenging times on a miraculous planet.
Stitched Dissent , a solo show, opened the year and traveled to 2 other venues.
We traveled to Montgomery, Alabama to visit the National Memorial for Peace and Justice dedicated to the legacy of enslaved Black people. A moving and unforgettable experience.
I continued exploring the possibilities of stitching a continuous line to tell a story.
The year started with a focus on cutting things up to repurpose them.
Pink Rivers is a collage of cut up quilts.
Masks made their appearance this year.
The Covid virus became a life threatening danger early in the year and continues into 2021. Contagion was made in response to that.
One day I couldn’t focus so I started cutting up fabric into 1” strips.
A series of black and white masks started with a quilt that no longer made sense to me.
Silos is in response to the separation of factions by media outlets.
I continue to explore pattern with stitch.
The Urban Arts Commission in Memphis, TN asked me to provide some art for a billboard. This is Decision Points, writ large.
3D forms took center stage in the studio.
Masks with character, made with quilts with no character.
I cut up a Quilt National quilt, The Secret Life of Stones, to produce this 9 patch of masks. It now has new life.
Suspicious eyes.
Who doesn’t love a sausage quilt?
Building isolation chambers has been on my to-do list for a long time. This was my first iteration.
More cut up quilts made into sections for another isolation chamber.
The inside of this chamber is lined with lace and has a continuous ribbon embroidered with the words Calm Down Calm Down Calm Down….
The pile of cut up pieces of quilts gives me endless variation for future assembly.
Pod lights can be turned on and off with a remote control.
Alone Together, made in response to the Quilts in Common group prompt of Isolation. The traditional Dresden Plate pattern is missing pieces.
My first isolation chamber kept collapsing so I cut it in half and made a porthole.
I packed up 26 pieces for a solo show at my alma mater, Southern Illinois University, this past week.
And then dropped them off.
Southern Illinois University Gallery in Carbondale, Illinois will exhibit Stitched Intent beginning in September.
The gallery was empty, the University was just opening for the Fall semester. I saw no students, no bustle, no gathering tide of excitement. Just some locked buildings with the promise of education within.
The show will go on. Some students will trickle in, social distancing will be a prime directive. Social media will be used to promote the show. And yet it seems a void—a fancy storage place for the work.
We are living history right now. People will ask us ten years from now what it was like to live during this void. Empty movie theaters, vacant museums, void concert venues, disabled restaurants, echoing university lecture halls, day care centers without children’s voices and on and on and on. Our president has declared victory. But I see risk and a profound challenge ahead.
It is artists we look to when searching for answers to questions that can’t be voiced. It is the artist who must translate the unspoken. Musicians, painters, dancers, quilters, embroiderers, actors and writers are all stepping up to fill the void. There is a force that propels them to translate, transfer and transport our minds.
I chop up old work to create new work. I think it is a way to renew my sense of beginnings. I can let go of expectations. Throw away the idea of permanency. Sometimes the process begets failure, other times it opens new pathways in my thinking. I think that could be the silver lining in this challenging time. We will all have to see with new eyes. We’ll need new leaders and new ways of communicating with each other.
This is what happens when I cut up old work.
I am grateful for health and hope.
On the news today I heard a commentator say that the definition of the word crisis could be described as a turning point.
In a crisis our feelers go up, vision sharpens, breathe quickens. We have to make choices about our health, our loved ones and our resources. We need to pay attention to things that normally we take for granted — electricity, food, cell phone service, access to healthcare, safety.
A week ago our electricity went out for 9 hours. That got me thinking. All the what ifs started. What if we didn’t have a communications grid? What if the water system failed? What if aliens landed (I don’t recommend watching War of the Worlds right now)?
Do you have all those crazy thoughts in darkness? I did that night but it passed. I’m not too worried even though I should be. All of those what ifs just put into focus how dependent we are on government services and how much our infrastructure can crumble without warning. It happens in floods, it happens with fires, it happens in earthquakes. And now it is happening to the world. Many leaders have been caught with their pants down and many have stepped up to find solutions. Its the latter category I want to support.
My work is meditative. I wind scraps of thread onto a spool. I wind 1” strips of fabric onto rolls. I sort the cloth bundles that are stored in the studio to build masks. The faces emerge from the scraps. They are my audience and my actors. They satisfy the part of me that wants to express my fear.
My family is fine. My city is handling this crisis well so far. The folks in my orbit are wearing masks and self-isolating. I have more time to read. I can sleep in if I want to. I can try new recipes. I used our stimulus money to support local agencies that are reaching out to people who don’t have as much as we do.
I’ve been watching the news a lot lately. Looking for hope, solutions and solace. I come away with anxiety instead. I enjoy an occasional good news story when I can find one. John Krasinski has started an instagram feed with his SomeGoodNews show that has lightened my spirits. I’ve finished two large jigsaw puzzles and I think that should be on every doctor’s prescription pad. Reading takes me away (I recommend Bridge of Clay by Markus Zusak and Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead. I just started Adam Bede by George Eliot but I am not sure why) . Yet, I still fall into darkness when I think of the effect of this pandemic.
My life is relatively normal compared to many. I spend a lot of time in my studio. I call and write to friends and relatives to be sure they are still OK. We gather at zoom meetings to say I love you again and again. And I make art.
The pandemic has wormed its dirty little fingers into that work.
Contagion, 28”x28”, Paula Kovarik
Contagion, detail.
Building these masks has been a challenge. I have a mechanism inside that allows their tongues to wag. Still debating about their bodies.
The studio is full of diversions. But I am questioning the reasons to pursue them.
It is a bright and perfect Spring outside. The garden is ablaze in color. Noticing that is a daily gift—a major miracle that reminds me that life is abundant and thriving.
There really aren’t any words I can find to process this experience. I feel it on my skin. It streams in my ears. The distraction of worry seeps into my core. And life is beautiful and abundant and hopeful at the same time. How will these challenges change the way we live life from now on?
What are your strategies for coping?
