On collecting.

My studio is a hive of fabric and images. There are usually 3-4 pieces in process on the walls or tables, notes to myself stuck on various surfaces and a 12 foot bulletin board with paper flotsam pinned in layers. But more than that, I have collections of debris everywhere.

I have become a magpie, collecting shiny objects for the pile.

At the end of each project I wrap the trimmings into these textural balls as reminders of the raw and unfinished.

I collect rocks with holes in them for their animated messages.

I wrap tubes with strips of fabric. I don’t know why.

I stitch down trimmings.

I save thread ends, tie them together and wrap them onto spools or stuff them into holding cells.

I save all found rust. Especially the curly ones.

The bulletin board has 10 years of layers on it. I may have to edit soon.

Scraps from cut up quilts are great raw material for new work.

The fabric rainbow gives me great joy every time I see it.

The mask table is getting full. I may have to figure out some other way of keeping these soon.

I won’t go into the insect exoskeletons, broken shells, animal bones and feathery bits that turn up in my drawers. I think this habit of collecting drives my creativity. The rich raw materials that surround me take me beyond the mundane.

speechless

Pandemic, murder, demonstrations, voter supression, police brutality and…coming around the bend….climate change. The stress load is heavier and heavier. I’m not sure I can even line up two or three sentences that parse how I am feeling. I’m speechless.

I can only show you what I am working on. This piece is called Silos. Silos as in we are all separating into our own narratives. Silos like how we store up for the future. Silos like when there is a surplus. Silos as in dysfunctional business environments. Silos like media streams that only speak to the loyal. Silos as in isolation.

It started with masks.

silo_mask_PKovarik.jpg

And a quilt I no longer wanted.

She Didn’t Have the Password. 2020.

That got cut up.

silos_cutup_PKovarik.jpg

Into head shapes.

And added to a newly created background.

Maybe next time I post here I will figure out what to say.

What are you working on?

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.