Time

I’m reading a book about geology (Annals of the Former World by John McPhee). In it McPhee writes about DEEP TIME and how the earth has changed over millennia. But I’m thinking about how time is moving too quickly. It’s eroding my sense of rhythm and progress. As a child the year seemed to move at a glacial pace. Now I’m rushing through thoughts trying to make them fit into the hours that I am able to stay awake. I am jealous of every minute spent away from my studio. It’s April already?

I wonder how long it took for this vine to get wider than the tree it is climbing?

I wonder how long it took for this vine to get wider than the tree it is climbing?

Aging brings transition. I am reassembling the priorities in my life—focusing on depth instead of flash and silence instead of dialog.

This might have been a cheery bathroom tile at some point in its life. Now nature is taking over. With time it will disappear and those little tiles will be artifacts buried in layers of time.

This might have been a cheery bathroom tile at some point in its life. Now nature is taking over. With time it will disappear and those little tiles will be artifacts buried in layers of time.

Every year I put a word up on my computer monitor that inspires a long thought, something that lasts longer than a moment, something that can morph over months. I started this about three years ago when I posted It’s Process not Product on my computer. That note is still there. Last year it was Patience. I learned how to say I Can Wait. This year I started with Curiosity because I am still avidly pursuing more detail in my life, more texture, more knowledge. I may add the word Transition to focus on how things need time to change.

What is time to a rock?

What is time to a rock?

An interview with Jane Dunnewold

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.

Nano-second update

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.

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.

Void

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.

My art sustains me. The work provides an escape, nourishes my fretting brain and propels me to greater depth.

I am grateful for health and hope.

Focus

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.

And, I am paying attention. I’m looking for a positive outcome to this turning point.