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.

a studio visit

Anybody out there?

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?

May we all rejoice in small miracles and find the strength to fight large beasts.

isolation

I am watching the news with ever growing anxiety. I worry for my family, friends and neighbors. I look for evidence that our government has a plan that will get us over the challenges we face today. Economic collapse, healthcare systems in chaos, supply chains disrupted — we are in one heck of a mess.

Knowledge Has Raw Edges, detail. Paula Kovarik

My natural mode is self-isolation. I prefer to be alone. But I can imagine that others who are forced to do this will have a hard time adjusting. Bills are already piling up. Grocery shopping requires a battle plan. Visits with friends are relegated to that little screen in our hands. Text messages are replacing hugs. Sniffles feel like serious threats instead of seasonal annoyances. We need to reconfigure.

Un-Disrupt.

The toxicity of anxiety will only make things worse.

Here are some of my diversions for joy:

Browse

Hyperallergic.com has a list of museums that have virtual tours of their collections. The Guggenheim, The Rijksmuseum, The National Gallery of Art, The Louvre, The Pergamon Museum, among many others. Totally amazing.

The Moth has hour-long stories that can make you feel like you are human again. A personal favorite is this one sent to me by Kevan Rupp Lunney, about Joy

Want the real scoop on data? One of my all time favorite websites is Information is Beautiful. They have a wonderful series of infographics that will awe and amaze you. Here’s one about the Coronavirus.

Send me your favorite browsing places

Read

Cozy armchair, cup of tea, soft light and a book — the ultimate comfort food. While the beans are brewing on your stove take some time to nourish your soul. Here is a list of some of my recent excursions along with some of my all time favorites.

Mink River by Brian Doyle, The Other Wes Moore by Wes Moore, Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward, Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel­, A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towle, The Overstory by Richard Powers, The Book of Delights by Ross Gay, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley, Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Stroutt, Life After Life by Kate Atkinson, The Glory and the Dream by William Manchester, The Lives of a Cell by Lewis Thomas, Silent Spring by Rachel Carson and any Dr. Seuss book you can cuddle up with.

Send me a list of your favorites

Such a lovely thing that nature creates. This little weed of privet gives me a new direction for thread.

Act

If our leaders decide to send you $1000 (per month?), and you can afford it, donate it to refugee organizations, local bartender and restaurant employees who will struggle, homeless shelters who need more safe beds. We need to pull together.

Start a journal.

Nap. When do we ever have enough time to nap?

Plant seeds. Spinach, lettuce, greens, radishes, peas can all go into the ground in many places right now. The seedlings bring a ray of hope at every stage.

Rest, drink fluids, make stew.

Walk. Outside. With no specific goal in mind.

Make art with joyful color and expressive line. Get out the finger paint and make a mess.

This will pass and we will be better for it.

They say

It’s never easy, they say. Struggle comes with rewards, they say. It will all come clear with focus, they say. Put your head down and work harder, they say. Trust your gut, they say.

Get out the rotary cutter, I say.

About two months ago I was between projects and didn’t know which way I was going as a next step. I had this ragged piece of thin cotton that I kept trying to iron flat . For some reason the wrinkles wouldn’t go away. So I decided to stitch them in permanently.

I just kept adding texture and color and pattern with stitch until I had a piece that was about 3 x 4 foot that made no sense at all. It was chaos and wrinkles and pretty little textures. A study in thread on a wrinkled piece of fabric. Ho hum.

Then I dreamed about pink rivers. Don’t know why. Just did.

The textures in the cloth reminded me of topographical maps and gridded land masses. The wrinkles stood in for the rivers. So I got out the rotary cutter and sliced and diced and added pink to the stitched cloth. I layered those squares with organza over a vintage tablecloth full of flowers because I had decided that I wanted beauty in my life that day, not worry. (I’m so tired of bad news.)

The squares looked great on the tablecloth and the organza gave me the opportunity to let the rivers flow underground. But when I stitched it all together it was a mess. The organza didn’t want to be layered, the tablecloth was wobbly and the squares of texture ended up looking like a bad craft project gone wrong. YUK.

The wrinkling, wobbling layers did not match my vision of a unified surface.

Enter the rotary cutter. Because within each disaster is a masterpiece. They say.

I took the squares with me on vacation and added hand-stitched details. And, I really do like the way they look. They are intimate, abstract and multi-layered.

Upon return to the studio I saw the leftover piece of textured wrinkled cloth and decided I would combine it with a quilt I made (and never finished) 15 years ago. The combination of the white textured cloth and the subtly colored quilt was intriguing. Using both as raw materials I cut them, combined them, stitched over them and sewed it all together. One day it seemed great.

But the next day I realized it was all wrong.

Though I really do love all that texture, it was hard to focus on this piece. No center of interest, no pathway for the eyes.

So I got out the rotary cutter again.

Now I have these little “masterpieces” that are traveling across the design board asking for a home. I have some new ideas for them this week, and probably will have more ideas for them next week.

They say if the fabric is ugly, cut it up into small pieces.  If it’s still ugly, you haven’t cut it small enough. I don’t think these fabrics are ugly. But I do know that they haven’t found their permanent home yet.

It’s all about the process, they say.