It’s the Little Things – Some Studio Printing Tips

I had a great morning session of hand printmaking this morning. I realized as I looked at the completed images how the rhythm of printing and having a successful session depend on some  little things. These become like familiar friends. As I set up I get in printing mode

Acrylics on my worktable: I set out the colors I plan to use for the prints. I love these quart jars of acrylic paints with the nice wide, easy-access lids. Several years ago an artist  friend told me about Nova Color paints from California. I have been using them since, and they are also my primary source for matte medium and gel medium. (I buy these by the gallon.)  I limit my palette of colors kept on-hand and mix all my printing colors from these basics.

My favorite mixing palette: I tape down a sheet of white paper to the worktable and tape a sheet of waxed paper over that. I mix on the waxed paper. It’s economical and disposable. (And I can also monotype print from the colors on the palette at the end of a session!)

Printing plate: I print by hand from a soft gelatin plate. The plate I am using currently is in a commercial size cookie sheet about 18” x 22”. I mix my own, and use a recipe with glycerin so it does not have to be refrigerated. I have been using this one nearly a year. I also have a commercial gelatin plate I use when I want to have two going at once. Each has its own quirks, and you have to experiment with amount of liquid needed and amount of pressure.

Materials: Generally, I print on muslin, sheer polyester fabric (shown) and rice paper. The more delicate printing materials (the polyester and the rice paper) pick up more nuance and delicate image from the plate. The muslin will print with a more opaque appearance.

Hands on! I use my hands to press stencils and relief materials on the plate and then press my printing surface into the paint. Yes, my hands get pretty messy. But I’ve tried gloves and just don’t like working that way.

Here are a few of the images I created this morning. I’ll be incorporating these into a new art quilt.

While I incorporate monotype printed pieces into all of my large textile collages and art quilts, I’ve also been creating some smaller paper-mounted monotype collage pieces this year. A sample is below, and you can see them on my website HERE    

“Beyond the Thunder” 16 x 20 Framed Collage 2018

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Thanks for reading. I always enjoy questions and comments.

—Bobbi

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Can we escape the temptation of the photo?

Photos are just so darn tempting.

Beginning art students are often taught to draw by copying photos, and the criteria for determining if the drawing is good is if it looks exactly like the photo. Accurate rendering is surely a useful skill. But, by itself, it’s no guarantee that a completed artwork either 1.-communicates anything,  or 2. -is visually interesting.

In my recent presentation with a textile artmaking group in Florida, we talked through how to use photos for reference, maybe for inspiration, but not to be trapped by their lure.

The goal is to produce work that means something, with content that’s visually interesting, and to use the elements of good composition to further the purpose of the work. That almost always will demand going beyond the photo or translating it in some way.

The process I used for creating “Becoming One with the Night” is an example.

I knew that I wanted to depict a female figure, a young woman, and I knew that I would do it much better with a good reference photo. So, I invited my neighbor to pose for me. Here’s my original photo.

There’s a lot I liked here. Her body position suggests a contemplative or thoughtful mood, and I wanted that. And I like the architectural details behind her. But I did not want a final work that looks just like this photo.

First, I pulled it into Photoshop Elements to get a rough idea of incorporating the photo with other images. Yes, I liked that.

Then I tried a rough computer composition of the young woman with a field of blue – my ultimate goal. Yes, I liked that. (I tried out other manipulations here, too. The angle and perspective have been changed from the original.)

I used a grid to enlarge the manipulated image, and drew it onto my drawing paper full-size. Then I traced that image onto muslin. Painting the area behind the figure a solid, deep color was a composition choice designed to make her the focal point.

The blue background – representing night, dream, memories and experience, developed separately. Then it was time to put them together.

Using the monotype-printed sheer fabric as shadows across the figure was a serendipitous step, inspired when the fabric fell across my painting on my worktable. It was just what I wanted. Once that piece with shadows was collage din place, I did some more printing and stamping on it to integrate all the parts together.

Artmakers have many tools in our toolboxes. Photos are one. I feel like I will create better work when I think through how to make choices using a photo. It may change, and that may be a much better outcome.

Becoming One With The Night Textile Collage Bobbi Baugh 2018

For more information about this work, and to see it in a room interior, visit my website HERE

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ART. NOT ART. Does it matter?

I had a wonderful opportunity to be the presenter this weekend for a SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associates) group in Melbourne, Florida. We spent time thinking through the difference between — 1. ART, and 2. NOT ART. Is there a difference, and does it matter?

This is an image from a cave painting at Lascaux, France, which may have been created as early as 20,000  BC.  This is ART. No question. And not because it evidences a lot of technical mastery or sophisticated materials. It is art because it has a specific expressive, communicative intent. This MEANS something. When I read descriptions of how hard it was to get down into the caves, how small the space, and I imagine a prehistoric person intentionally doing so for whatever ritualistic purpose this represented, I am in awe. It may have been considered magic. Or it may have been a rite of passage. But these were not created lightly or haphazardly. They have a meaning.

Sample decorative accessories from a major merchandiser.

These images represent mass-produced decorating accessories shoppers can find almost anywhere. They are NOT ART. That does not necessarily mean they are ugly, or that one might not enjoy using them for decor in a home. But even the original illustration that was done in order to manufacture these did not hold personal meaning in any way like the paintings on the cave wall. This is graphic design on-assignment.

I spent many years in my professional career working in commercial printing. I have created graphic design on-assignment. I have been involved in its production. It is not an evil or demeaning endeavor. But it is also not art.

In our time together this weekend, the group of textile artists gathered worked to think through the importance of original intent. And the process of developing a voice that is singular. And what techniques we can use to get beyond the creative traps that make us produce work that’s less than what we had hoped to create. We discussed the importance of all that happens before a specific work is even started.

We concluded that there is ART. There is NOT ART. They are not the same. And it matters which you are creating.

“Something Else Will Grow There” Textile Collage 2018 bobbibaughstudio.com

When I create my own artwork, it is my hope that I’ve done enough up-front work to make the piece meaningful. I want to have worked through what it is I am trying to communicate, and then use the studio time and the techniques at my disposal to accomplish the vision.

When a collector brings a work into a home, it is my hope that there is enough that’s interesting, personal and layered to provide new things to discover for a long time. For me, that’s the fulfillment of the time, thought and emotion that I put into my work.

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Life Unseen – Life Unexpected

I did some studio cleaning last week. And so I rediscovered a newspaper clipping I had saved in 2011.

It has re-appeared in my creative life at just the right time.

I remember being captivated by this little science snippet

“It will illustrate once again that somehow life finds a way to survive in the strangest and harshest places.” True for microbes. True for human beings. True for hopes and dreams.

When I first started creating textile pieces, I focused on natural scenes and images. What was most interesting to me was the concept of life beneath – life unseen – the mystery of what there is beyond the visible.

For the past year, as I have focused on works about home and memory, what interests me is much the same. What one sees from the outside is not all there is. Inner life is rich, textured, vibrant, layered, full of mystery.  It’s my hope that the works have spoken both to the reality of facades and the reality of resilience.

I have just begun the process of thinking through some new works. I am filling pages in my sketchbook. I am interested in images of water, and juxtaposing them with non-organic patterns and abstract shapes. It’s another way to get at the idea of there being more that’s real than what we see.

I have begun some transfers onto fabric of enlarged text from this news clip, to incorporate into the new pieces. Even if it becomes obscured , I will know it’s there.  “Scientists keep finding germs in places where they don’t expect.” We find life even where it does not seem it should be able to survive.

“Living Deeply” explores the unseen world beneath the surface. On my web site HERE

“Sometimes You Can’t See In,” (DETAIL) suggesting life that is hidden within the home. On my web site HERE.

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The old neighborhood... (and the CHAIR - Part II)

Looking through my studio files today I found myself looking at this work. This is where life started for me and it’s the place of my earliest memories: a neighborhood of row houses in Baltimore. My family lived there from the time I was born till I entered second grade.

For those who have not lived in row house cities — Baltimore, Philadelphia, Boston or others throughout the country — the neighborhood may need some explanation. It is not a tenement or slum. It is not a fancy affluent neighborhood of Brownstones or Townhouses. It’s just a family neighborhood. Each block has six to eight houses with no space between them, and then there will be one “end house” that has a side yard and a little bigger back yard. All the houses have street parking out front, no garage, and a small fenced back yard with a gate leading to the alley. The alley is where kids ride bikes and play ball.

As I worked to capture memories of home in my artmaking this past year, recreating the feeling of a row house neighborhood in fabric seemed like a good fit. I had printed a number of fabric pieces with lively colors and patterns, and they spoke to me of the varied lives and stories inside each home. I also created photo transfers of actual windows onto muslin, and I liked the mix of the photographic reality with the printed fabric. I added the suggestion of leaves and trees.

Like the neighborhood itself – the whole work is one large unified structure. But it’s made of all kinds of pieces. Lots of lives. Lots of stories

“Every One Has A Different Story” - Art Quilt - more information on my web site here:

bobbibaughstudio.com/home-is-what-you-remember-gallery/every-one-has-a-different-story

THE CHAIR – Part II

I’ve done a little more on my chair project to be auctioned at an event in January. (Chair creations by local artists will be a fundraiser for public arts projects here in DeLand.) Today I started some structural fixes. The seat had been cracked and glued back together. Extra reinforcement seems like a good idea. So I’ve sanded the bottom, cut a piece of plywood to fit the bottom, and will glue and screw it in place. I will probably cover all this with felt.  Next: Beginning the fabric printing of the upholstery.

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Working from the Outside in (Plus THE CHAIR – Part I)

Recently I decided to create some collaged works in a slightly new size: up from 16 x 20 to a 20 x 24 piece. It involved ordering some cut mats for a finished presentation.

I had the ideas, but just couldn’t get the wheels turning till I received the mats and saw the actual size. Then the ideas clicked.

It was seeing the frame. It was placing the concept in its picture plane.

I’m not sure if I’m sharing this as a handy tip or as a confession. Maybe it’s just a thinking-through of how ideas and compositions go together.

Arranging images in the composition

I don’t seem to come up with an image or an idea in isolation. When I start sketching or planning, it’s always the primary image or concept in context. As I sketch I work the object in the space, determining whether the overall composition should be vertical or horizontal, and how the image fits in that space. In addition to the focal object, what else will be in the composition? How will those parts interact? What’s the pattern of lights and darks?

As I looked back through my sketchbook, I saw that I always work out ideas by beginning with the perimeter. Or if I sketch the object first, I get a perimeter around it pretty quickly, to give it a place to belong.

I know that when I feel like I get it “right,” composition and concept are partners that reinforce each other. When I don’t work out the use of space as part of depicting the focal image, the piece will be lacking.

“Remember It In Pieces” is the finished work shown in progress above. It’s on my web site, HERE

And now for THE CHAIR…

This should be fun. I’m participating in a fundraiser sponsored by the City of DeLand: artists decorate chairs and they will be auctioned. Proceeds will fund public art projects in the City. The event is in January. I need to have this done in a few weeks. So, here’s the official “Before” picture. I want to use fabric. So far that’s about all I know for sure. Stay tuned.

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Speaking of Mary Poppins…

Thinking about my art talk tomorrow at Arts on Douglas Gallery, I remembered today the movie “Saving Mr. Banks,” a wonderful on-screen portrayal of P.L. Travers, the author of the Mary Poppins books. It is providing a vision.

In the screen version, one of the opening scenes shows Travers as a girl, a close-up shot of her lying in a field of grass constructing a tiny house out of twigs and grass. She was making a little home. The unfolding of the plot revealed how much she needed a make-believe home, because her real home life was so full of hurt and sadness.

Emma Stone portrays P.L. Travers as an adult during the transformation of her Mary Poppins books into Disney’s well-know musical movie version. It was a heart-wrenching journey for Travers, as her story became everything she did not want it to be. In one poignant scene, she leaves a stressful meeting and retreats to a place outdoors, sits on the grass, and begins to construct a tiny home. A refuge. I was sobbing and sniffling!

The Mary Poppins stories are not autobiographical. But their essence was informed by the author’s life. She took what she had experienced and translated it into her art: children’s stories. A few details were specific. An Aunt who came to visit and take care of her family was a non-nonsense umbrella-carrying woman. Mary Poppins? But, for the most part, the author’s works are a combination of dreams, memories, emotions and her artist’s craft to create a new reality.

This has been my experience in creating the series “Home is What You Remember.” It’s about home. And my experience of home, with an intentional memory of a child’s way of looking at things, has informed the images and the process. While not strictly autobiographical, it reveals realities I know to be true:

Outside and Inside do not always match.

It may or may not be possible to know what’s inside by looking from without.

Homes can be fragile.

Things change.

People experience home in time: as experiences unfold, and later in memory.

We carry our homes inside us.

The lives of the people in homes are varied, colorful, richly textured.

And, in all of this, I hope to use my artmaking methods and abilities to create realities that are interesting, pleasing to look at and discover, and offer new discoveries over time.

All the works in the series “Home is What You Remember” are on my web site, HERE.

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Peeking inside the neighbors' walls – imagining their stories and secrets

Can I peek into the inner stories of a household, and at the same time create images that form something pleasing and interesting to look at?

I hope so. That’s been my focus for a year, creating the series, “Home is What You Remember.” The story is the heart. But, in order to learn the story, there has to be a work that’s interesting and compelling.

I was looking again today at the work depicting a row house neighborhood inhabited by birds: “The Stories Contained Within.” I like the juxtaposition of simple houses with complex stories.

From a distance, this work has bold colors, interesting shapes, a child-like simplicity. From mid-range, you might start to be interested in the textures and patterns and might begin to notice the various surface design techniques. In this work, I mixed using direct painting, stencils, monotype printing and relief printing.

Close-up, the stories begin to pose questions.

I am interested in exploring visual methods to show the relationships between characters and their personal stories. I think about this subject a lot, and I want to keep developing imagery and symbols that dig into the concept. For this work, I chose birds and jars.

The birds and the jars are related to each other differently in each home. In one, a bird is inside a jar. In several, the bird is outside the jar. The birds are not shaped or positioned the same. We inhabit stories and secrets in different ways. And yet, all of this complexity takes place in a simplified neighborhood suggesting connected row houses, all the same from the outside.

Stepping back to provide more clues about the homes and their dwellers, I used an oblique baseline for the houses, and repeated it in the pieced shape in the purple sky. Things are askew.

When a patron invites a piece of work into their home, they plan to  “live” with it for a long time. I believe that unique elements and an authentic story can make every viewing a new experience. Peeking in from close up or from across the room, I hope the images compel a second look.

More information about “The Stories Contained Within”
is available on my web site HERE

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A Journey into Memory. Then Waffles. And an Exhibition.

This evening I’ll be standing in a beautiful gallery with my artwork filling the walls, watching visitors and patrons and engaging in conversation abut the work. It’s what artists work for, and it represents a year of creating this particular body of work.  So we started the day with waffles. Blueberry. And bacon.

I am thinking of the many stages in the process. I loved the side-of-the-road inspiration in rural South Carolina where I stopped, stood in the quiet of pines and looked into the heart of a small abandoned house. Its insides were filled with vines and saplings. The roof was gone. The door was rusted and peeling. It provided a strong inspiration for me for the body of work about HOME. I took photos. Those photos are actually transferred into the fabric that I used in several works.

I am thinking of the memories of my own childhood homes, and what it took to look deliberately at those memories and to make sense of the stories. Every artist draws on their own story, and I have drawn deeply from my own. But, I am not a fiction writer nor am I creating an autobiography. I have worked to translate personal story into interesting and thought-provoking images that will speak to patrons with all kinds of backgrounds. When a piece of my art is invited into someone’s home, I hope for it to provide new meaning and something new to see for a long time.

Art Quilt Every One Has a Different Story (Detail) inspired by my childhood row house home

I am thinking about all the logistics and practical aspects of creating a body of work. I started twelve months ago with a schedule and a series of sketches. I have addressed storage, transportation and shipping issues, and all the hands-on work of creating the pieces.

Now it’s there, on the walls. The waffles are gone, but I still have an invitation to offer. Please visit Arts on Douglas Gallery in New Smyrna Beach to view “HOME is What You Remember.” If you are not in Central Florida, I hope you will enjoy a visit to the gallery of these works on my web site, HERE.

Some in-the-works and sneak peeks below. I’m ready.

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Grasping hands with the future of the world

Have you stood before a thing so small, so inconsequential, so everyday as to be un-noticed, and grasped all at once that you were staring at the most important thing in the world?

The miniature kitchen play area filled me with memories. And the building blocks.  And the neat stack of sleeping mats for nap time. The smell of crayons and bread crusts.

In a preschool class everything is scaled to a size for three and four year-olds. Standing there as the visitor, I felt (quite unusually for me) tall. I quickly was more in place to be down on a blue child-sized chair with the children.

One of several guest artists in a program coordinated by our local museum, last week I completed my schedule of visits to HeadStart classes. While I was there I shared a piece of my own artwork for children to see and touch, and I led a little hands-on exercise of stencil painting butterflies on a cloth banner for the children to display in their classroom.

As I sat on my child-size chair, down at their level, holding little hand after little hand to guide the paint roller, I could not think of anything going on in the whole world at that moment more important than the experiences those children were having in class that day.

I began by asking each child what color they wanted to paint. “Red, or yellow, or blue?” It’s a big decision. They made their decisions seriously.

Each day, these little minds are absorbing, processing, understanding, gaining skills, negotiating the world around them. Loving and educating children is the single most important thing we grownups do to determine how tomorrow will turn out.

To the teachers who are there every day – singing “The wheels on the bus,” teaching colors, reading stories, holding during sad times, correcting and leading… I wish to shout “THANK YOU” from the rooftops. As one very very small part of the process —just a guest visit — I could not have been more honored.

Sweet little children held out their hand to grasp mine and a paint roller for a few short minutes. That’s as good – and as important – as anything can be.

(Left) Our butterfly banner - created by the children in the classroom with foam rollers, tempera paint and cotton kitchen towel. (Right) I discovered the importance of being organized. These plastic boxes served as roller trays for the paint and were easily packed up to take to the next class. Well worth the $1 each they cost!

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News from the Front Lines – my weekend at an outdoor Art Festival

I’m home — at last! — this evening after two days meeting with interested art customers at an outdoor Festival in Winter Springs. I try to exhibit in Festivals at least a few times a year for the benefit of meeting people face-to-face, seeing how people react to new works, learning from other artists, and challenging myself with deadlines.

First the bad news: foot traffic was a little light at this show, and my sales were not strong. And, alas, no award ribbon. And I got a bit of a sunburn.

Here’s my booth set-up at Winter Springs Art Festival. I was showing a number of new works for the first time.

But, now for the good news: talking with people about my work is invaluable to me. It’s the best way to understand what questions people have and what interests them. And, as I take time to explain the meaning of the works and the techniques used to create the works, my own understanding of the process deepens. When I am in the studio working, I am immersed in the art. It takes on context and fulfills the whole purpose of creating it when I share it face to face with real people.

 And some funny and unusual things happen at festivals. I had my palm read by a funny old man. I saw a couple with a stroller walking their pet parrot (in a cage in the stroller.) And I was interviewed and filmed by a bearded realtor wearing a kilt — a first for me!

My interview with James Evans the Kilted Realtor

I had great camaraderie with the artists in booths near mine. The informal networking with artists is one of the best things that happens at Festivals.

Finally, I learned again how hard artists work who exhibit at street Festivals regularly. The weekend involves setting up a tent and a display, being “onstage” for two full 8-hour days, breaking down the exhibit and packing up at the end of the weekend, and then a drive home – just to unpack it all again. So, when you have the chance to attend an outdoor Festival, be kind and appreciative to artists who are exhibiting: they work HARD!

Now that I’m back in the studio I look forward to creating new work. I’ll show it to you and talk about it soon.

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Monotype Printing on Rice Paper and Fabric… What a great Sunday morning of printmaking!

All week I’ve had some monotype concepts cooking on the creativity back burner. Today was the day to jump into some spontaneous monotype printing — mostly on rice paper, some on fabrics, and all with acrylic paints. Among the many things I like about printing monotypes is that the results are just about always useful, even when they don’t fulfill the vision with which I begin. I can incorporate rice paper into abstract collaged paper or textile works and art quilts. This freedom means I begin a several-hour printmaking session with a nice feeling of enthusiasm.

Today I am inspired by a grey-yellow-white palette. Two pieces I recently created in fabric for my “Home is What you Remember” series used this palette. It’s not a combination I have focused on much before, but I really enjoy it. Mixing yellow and black yields some wonderful olive tones. Adding the white brings them into a subtle range of celery to gold to cream. And the delicacy of monotype printing lets those colors hold detailed textures.

Another thing I like about hand printmaking: it’s very low tech, but not limiting. It is possible to make work that’s gaudy and un-artful printing by hand. It’s also possible to create work that’s interesting and well executed printing by hand. It’s never really about the method.  The same is true, I believe, regarding oil painting, acrylic painting, quilting or drawing with crayons. It’s not the medium alone that dictates the value or content of the outcome.

This morning I ripped to size 8 sheets of rice paper. I am experimenting with creating more of the overall composition through multiple hits of a sheet on differently inked plates. Acrylics dry so fast! It’s not hard to put a sheet back down for a second hit almost right after printing the first.

At the end of my morning I had created a nice stack of images. Now I think I”ll let these simmer for a few days in the creativity cooker to see what mark-making, collaging, sewing — or something else? — comes next.

And here’s a little gift: I am counting down the days till my solo exhibition at Arts on Douglas. It represents a year of concerted thought and artmaking. To celebrate, I’ve created printable note cards using images of some of the quilts in the exhibit. They are FREE and the download is easy. I hope you enjoy using them. Just click HERE.

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On the Other Side of the Ugly Stage… at last!

I wrote about this piece a few weeks ago when it was in an early stage of development and when it was – well, ugly seems harsh, but definitely not working for me.

Some pieces seem to fly together. This one has not. But, I completed almost all the surface design this afternoon and I’m pleased at how it has come together. At last! Phew!

Some lessons. First, a work may not go in the direction you originally envisioned. In this one, it changed from being all about the twigs. That’s what drew me to the reference photo. Those were the patterns I wanted to explore. But, when I had laid down the first stencil layer of twigs and branches, the pattern seemed awkward, not fascinating.

But, second lesson, auxiliary ideas may arise. For awhile, I left the twigs to let them simmer, and worked on other more abstract branch shapes. Some are straight, some have a gentle curve. They are definitely graphic elements, not pictures of twigs. But I like them a lot. I like that the piece is big enough that I could play with positive and negative variations with this linear pattern.

Third lesson – hold on to the things that you like and seem to be working. I have been very drawn to this teal and purple palette. I like the fabrics I printed. It seemed to me there was something good in there that should work. So, I hung in with the project.

Fourth lesson – scale. I had originally drawn this composition with just two small birds. But, even though finding the birds among the twigs and branches was part of what interested me from the get-go (in other words, I did not want giant-sized immediately obvious birds) two birds in this space just got too lost. So I added more. There are now five birds. And as I added more, lesson two – auxiliary ideas – came into play. The positioning of the birds implied an overall arc through the quilt. This became the composition solution I was looking for, as I developed up a pattern of foliage.Almost done. I need to stitch a few sections for texture. (Previously learned lesson: Don’t sew the same day you collage. Wet glue is generally not like by your sewing machine.) Once it’s bound I’ll be able to look for final details that may need a little paint tweak or two.

I’m glad I stayed with it. I’m glad I have a piece I like. I’m glad they are not all this hard!

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The weight of carrying untold truths.

The gut punch of riveting Senate testimony this week has caused me to feel and to think about what it costs to carry untold truths inside.

Not just me. I believe that every woman listening – those that are able to look inside and to see what’s there-- has remembered her own story. Some are as horrific as Dr. Ford’s. Some are a different sort of story. Histories of being invisible. Histories of expectations. Years of not being able to give voice in any way to experiences.

I am almost afraid to see and make comment about our common threads of experience, as if to diminish the frightening life-changing reality of the worst events. I do not mean to be glib. But that common thread is what makes the worst stories so much a part of all of our lives, even if that was not our exact experience. Women’s experiences are connected. Human beings’ experiences are connected.

Looking at truth and giving voice to it has costs. Always.

And yet, that painful process is the path to being whole.

Haven’t you heard this truth of emotional wholeness expressed in the lives of artmakers? So many stories include a process of overcoming.

 ”I was told I wasn’t good at this so I didn’t try.”

“I was afraid I would fail and nobody would take me seriously.”

”I did not feel worthy.”

“I always knew there was an expressive being in me, but my work – life – schedule - childhood fears – physical limitations – kept me from making the leap.” And always, overcoming the obstacles is worth the price.

We will be hearing more gut-punch revelations in the coming weeks. There will be posturing and pushback and tribal alignments.

But at the heart of this is the powerful, undeniable truth that we cannot both carry untold truths inside and be well and whole. Wherever each of us is in this process, my deepest hope is that we will choose to fight the fight. Truth does set you free.

(The image on this blog post is a detail of my art quilt, Neither Here nor There. On my website, Journeys and Stories Gallery. I worked to capture the in-between stage of being a young woman-girl, and its accompanying sense of invisibility.)

Morning in the studio… and thoughts about the process

This morning I found my way to the studio early. I’m most productive early mornings and I enjoy the quiet of working before there are house sounds, the news, and interruptions.

I was stitching some house shapes to incorporate into a new “Home” piece – lots of photo transferred windows next to monotype printed muslin. As I watched the pieces come together, it was something magical. Before the stitching, the pieces I had loosely collaged in place looked random. The edges did not lay flat. Nothing was cohesive. But, line by line, the stitching pulled this loose assortment of shapes into a meaningful image. Each piece began to have its own elements of interest. A plain blue rectangle came to life with criss-crossed stitched lines.

As I watched the story take shape, I thought of the pleasure of process in creating textile artwork.

Other steps had preceded my morning sewing session. I create the surface designs on all my fabrics, transforming blank yardage with acrylic paint: monotype printing, direct painting, relief prints, resists  and stencils.  And I had already handled the photo transfers through multiple stages: shooting the image, the computer work of sizing and selecting, and the manual process of making the transfer onto muslin.

Outdoor sessions creating fabrics. Pouring wheat paste to create resist prints and some completed fabric painted with hand-cut stencils.

And more steps will follow my morning sewing session. Once I have created the parts, I will combine them together on a large backing. At this point I will begin to feel more accomplished and will begin to see the whole picture.

Finally I’ll get to the stage of backing and binding. This handwork is more tedious, and not my favorite part of the process. But I approach it with deliberation, put on some music, and find a sense of closure as the work is completed.

For today, I am still creating and assembling parts. Parts of this particular quilt – parts of the process – parts of the journey of making.

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Working through the ugly stage… a work in progress

Maybe ugly is too strong a word.

I’ll go with “isn’t-working-for-me.” Yet.

There’s a lot I like about this work-in-progress. I think the sketch and composition are strong. I was inspired by a photo I had seen from a bird watching group. A single song bird among an intricate thicket of twigs and branches created a strong silhouette. I envisioned those twigs creating an abstract, linear background in which to discover the bird. I flipped the bird mirror-image to add another one. I like the addition of the leaves as solid abstract shapes. Here’s the sketch at full size on my easel (about 36”H x 45”W)

I also like the palette a lot. The background teal-violet of the washed-in trees was painted wet-into-wet on sheer fabric. I like the patterns and colors.

And to accompany the background fabric, I have printed new fabrics to put into the composition. The monotype roots pattern in shades of blue is especially pleasing to me.

Here’s what I have assembled so far (collaged and stitched) on my easel.

I am going to complete the stenciled images of the two birds and the balance of the twigs as I have sketched.

Then I think I will have to sit back and ponder this awhile. My hunch is that the branch and twig shapes I liked in the sketch don’t recreate sufficiently the complexity of what I loved in the photo. I can add more, finer twigs and increase the abstraction. I may also be able to relief print some organic twig shapes from the same bundle of roots I used to monotype print the two-tone roots at the bottom. (Those were done as stencils in multiple passes on a gelatin plate.)

And, somewhere, I’ll need at least a splash of something that’s not blue so this is not so monochromatic.

This is going to work. I am telling myself that, believing in what I see already working.

I’m just not sure how to do it yet!

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Well, how would YOU go about drawing seven sheep?

There’s so much to learn in first grade! Not just for the students. But for me.

I see little minds putting together ideas and giving voice to their imaginations. In the time I spend one-one or in small groups I come away filled with stories. My several hours each week volunteering in a first grade class fill me with wonder.

Last week we were responding to the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. Students identified what happened at the beginning: the boy was under the tree, bored, and thinking of how to play a trick on everybody. After writing a sentence, students drew a picture. I was with two wonderful little girls, each of whom wanted to draw the boy with his sheep – all seven of them – because seven were depicted in the storybook.

The first girl delighted in the creation of each sheep individually. She sang a little song (“Sheepie, sheepie, la la la”) as she drew. Each animal was lovingly drawn in full: fluffy body, bump for the head, two more bumps for ears, four sticks for legs. A delighted flourish of her hand, and then on to the next sheep.

The second girl also enjoyed this project, but went about it completely differently. She created a sheep assembly line. First: the body. Seven bodies in a row. Then the head: seven heads in a row. Then seven sets of ears and seven sets of legs. Done. She is a very serious little girl.

Since last week, I have thought a lot about these two wonderful girls. Where did those two completely different plans of action come from?

How amazing that each came to the project with her own perspective, that each created her own plan of action, that each found pleasure in the task and the way she was pursuing it.

When children draw, it is a way to order their experiences, to give voice through imagination to what they wonder about. I believe it is one of the ways they make sense of the world.

And I remember doing that.

(The artwork in the heading of this blog post is a detail from my textile collage, “Find Something Real to Remember.” It’s on my website, HERE)

Revisiting the Night

I recently submitted this work for an exhibit. That process caused me to look at it closely again, as it was on my computer screen in detailed enlargements. I remembered the process.

Some things went as planned. Some things I had not expected.

From the beginning, I knew I wanted the feel of nighttime. I wanted to recreate the sensation of being outside on a cool evening, dipping one’s toes into the night air.

I had a nice reference photo to work from. My neighbor, a lovely young woman, had come over to my house to pose for me. The porch is my porch. But, in the process of creating the composition, I did some angle adjusting and some perspective playing, making it more interesting than the original photo had been.

I worked almost exclusively with sheer fabrics as I printed the images. This created a watercolor-wash feel that worked well with the feel of dream and memory I hoped to create.

I worked this piece in squares. That’s not my normal way of constructing pieces. But it created some tensions that I found interesting. I don’t think the squares jump out immediately, but they are there, as a background architecture behind the trees. The trees overlapping the grid and working in relation to it create a nice tension of foreground and background. And, because I did not use squares in the section with the young woman, she is in a reality somewhat separated from everything else.

Finally, as I look again closely at this work I think of the woman it depicts. What is she thinking? What is she remembering? That is the mystery of the work

Becoming One With The Night  2017  35" x 45"
In the Journeys and Stories and Galleries Gallery, HERE

LIGHT. PATTERN. KEEP LOOKING

I love this photograph.

In the midst of creating a body of work involving windows, homes, and the complex relationship between inside and outside, this simple image has captured my imagination.

I can envision this composition re-created in a simply painted style, pale color blocks  suggesting the subtle light through the window.

This is a photo of my own home. I have moved within the last year and I snapped this shot as part of cleaning and moving out. It was a happy departure, a part of moving into a welcomed next chapter. Still, I loved this home while I was there.

This image lets the light in, but we do not see the window.

Sometimes windows reveal. Sometimes they obscure.

Windows are invitations to look in, to see what there is inside.

Windows are made for looking through and, therefore, are a good metaphor for time and memory: we look through our past, we look through our memories, to see what was there.

A window in an unexpected place is jarring. We have been culturalizd to know what windows are for, and immediately look at them or through them. But, in an undefined or ambiguous setting, they raise questions.

Finally, the window itself is a pattern. Here, the simple blocks create a geometric pattern on the floor. The neat lines capture the light.

Looking through the windows of remembrance may leave an imprint on our understanding in much the same way.

Keep looking.

Detail of windows: digital image on fabric, collaged with other fabrics using surface design techniques. From "So It Will Not Break in Two," art quilt. This work is on my web site in the "Home is What You Remember" Gallery, HERE.

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Alone – with a lot going on around her…

I had not looked at this work in awhile. But today I travelled through all the details of it again and remembered why it speaks to me, and why I especially enjoyed the process of creating it.

A writer contacted me asking for permission to use this work as a poetry book cover. (How great is that!) It’s an honor to know that she has discovered the work, has taken time to respond to its content and felt drawn to it.

So, that’s how I came to look again at “Once She Could.” (I’ll be sure to post information about the book when it’s published.)

My hope in creating this textile collage was that it would combine a sense of innocence and possibility in the little girl with a complex environment, one that has a lot of layers.

To create the complexity of the girl’s world, I combined printed and painted fabrics with original photos that I transferred onto fabric. There are three photo transfer sections, and they all worked differently.

Beneath the girl’s feet is a section of complex, overlapping twigs. I am intrigued with the way they seem to suggest underground roots. I used a lot of transparent acrylic wash in this section to define and deepen the root shapes.

The watery reflections at the lower right came from a photo I took of a pond in Georgia. I did almost nothing to the transfer after getting it on the fabric. The picture came out clearly and I love the sense of mixed reality – trees, but upside down, and rippling, as reflected in the water.

The branches at the top right are a third photo transfer. I ended up doing a lot of opaque painting on this part. The white blossom-like shapes are suggested in the photo , and enhanced by direct painting. These white shapes are related to the white circle the girl is drawing. Are they her thoughts that have taken flight?

This work has a landscape composition with a strong center horizon line and a clear above-and-below. In the below-ground section, the photo transfers mix with other rich colors and textures.

She’s all by herself there on that limb.

All around her there’s a lot going on. Just like life.

This work is available, and posted on my website HERE.

And, if you’d like to watch a video I created of this work
which includes some original poetry, it’s on YouTube, HERE.

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