Today's Blog...

...is brought to you from the sofa.  Robin's out, and we're expecting a couple of parcels.  Doubtless they'll arrive once he's back again. but if not, by the time I get downstairs, there's a real risk that the delivery man will have disappeared again.  So here I am.  It's more difficult to rest on the sofa; too much stuff that ought to be done, or wants to be made.  I'm resisting.  That said, I'm also contemplating this piece, which you'll remember from Saturday's blog on printing.  It said it wanted to be a book: I agreed.

It looks quite different in 3D, than it did lain flat...

The orientation change makes a huge difference, while the folds encourage us to read both the whole thing and the individual page.  I did contemplate hand stitch, but I really do think that machine stitch is preferable (really do have to ring the engineer this week, I NEED my machine back). 

And talking of needs, the piece needs a poem.  Of course it does, I hear you holler.  The poem will be written on the other side of the book, this time, before the stitch is added.  I think the effect of the stitch will be interesting; it should break up the text, even the individual letters, making the poem act like a piece of visual art.  Which is, I suppose, the whole idea. 

The poem is about interpreting visual marks.  I've got a thing about that...I talk about it here, to some extent.  I stitch, print and paint in this way, making marks, and to me, that reflects the natural world, where the elements create marks in and on, for example, stone, which our minds then attempt to interpret.  'Natural Graffiti', a quilt I donated to a cancer charity, reflects that them (see it here), but I've been stitching rune-like and other abstract and semi abstract forms into quilts since I started making, over thirty years ago (cough).

No, it's not written yet; I'm going to lie on the sofa for the rest of the morning, and see what we can come up with, my unconscious and me.  Seems infinitely reasonable.

Slowly, Slowly...

...may well catchee monkey, but when it's the only speed you've got, it's a pain in the bahookie.  I want to make another book,  a series of books, really, and decided it would be interesting to do it in lutradur.  The semi transparent nature of the cloth, and its natural stiffness in the heavier weights, make it an interesting choice.  And as luck would have it, I found some precut pieces in the lutradur box (this is lutradur 100), offcuts from the kits I used to sell. A bit of judicious trimming, and they were ready to take some background colour.

I chose Naples Yellow acrylic, in the end, a slightly dusky yellow that provides a good contrast to browns, but not overly dark.  I watered the paint to a watercolour consistency because whilst I want the colour, I don't want the semi transparent nature of the cloth to be hampered by the solid nature of undiluted acrylic paint; that will come with the prints I will add to the pages later.  And that's pretty much the extent of my activity today.  Fortunately, however, whilst I doubt I'll be able to do much more, I can at least think (well, for a while, anyway).

My process has always been to turn up at the empty page, or piece of cloth, and do what seemed necessary according to my inner artist, unconscious mind or whatever's in charge when I work.  That doesn't seem to work well with a book.  The writers among you (hi, Ann) will not be surprised by this, given the amount of planning, writing, rewriting and editing necessary to produce either a novel or a piece of non fiction (and don't start me on poetry...).  With a visual book, it's even more important that one's intention, at least, is clear, because, unlike a novel, the sequencing is not clear.  My intention for this particular book, is to use the spear/tree, shield/leaf motifs that I've been cutting from the lino (here's the one I'm working on just now)

And that's as far as I've got.  Because whilst I know these motifs are important to me, I'm not sure exactly why...and the why is the core of the art, both visual and poetic .  I'm not stuck, exactly.  I can poddle along with the mechanics of the making, the carving, the printing, the assembly.  I know what the centre of the book will look like, though not the cover (apparently this one needs a cover, who knew...) or the sequence of images before and after it.  And it needs a poem.  I think.  Or maybe it doesn't.  Maybe it needs random words, for now, and the poem will emerge over time.  I suspect that it's not one of these very short pieces I've been writing for the books, but rather a longer piece, that will extend across several books.  And perhaps those books will need their own case.  Or bag.  Yeah, bag.

And this is how my creativity works (you may have noticed).  It doesn't really matter if I can start with nothing, or not.  What's important, is that I keep asking myself the questions, and make, in response to the answers. 

Done And Dusted.

This morning, I finished off the maze book I showed you here, by writing and adding the poem. 

Unless you look closely, you may not see the difference.  Here's the book laid flat :

I didn't want to make it too easy to find the poem so the words are scattered over the pages in different places.  The poem reads:

stone trickle
spread wide
across the barren land.

I'm contemplating adding a couple of lines of stitch to hold the book in place, although it's doing better than I thought it would with standing upright.  Books made from paper have crisp folds; I've been trying to match that, but actually, it's foolish.  Textile books will never have that crisp effect; it's not possible with layers of fabric, and with the nature of fabric itself.  The folds are rounded, and that's okay. 

This was a genuine experimental piece, made to answer the question, 'is it possible?'.  Turns out it was.  Often, with experimental pieces, I find that they fit into one of my themes.  This is a landscape piece, certainly, possibly even an inner landscape piece, a theme I followed for a while in paint and mixed media.  I don't think I ever know for sure what I'm making, and what it's about, until it is finished, even when I start out with the intention of making something that fits into an existing series.  The work, and my unconscious, usually have plans of their own, and they don't always consult me about them.  I like it that way.  Ultimately, it's all about process....trust the process and you won't go wrong. 

So Many Ideas...

so little energy... so how to choose?  Good question.  There isn't a right way to do this...I tend to go with a combination of what my gut tells me is important, and what kind of technique I feel like using at the time, and which fits with the theme.  So, for me, I suppose, work roughly divides into two categories;  experimental and expressive.  Experimental is all about the technique, really; the theme comes second.  Expressive is about having something to say, and finding a way to say it; the theme dominates, and the technique is subservient.  The latter, for me, is the real work; the former, though, can inform and feed that real work, encourage it to develop. 

This, the first of the ME pieces, is a classic example of expressive.  I have a theme, the way ME affects my life, and I'm making work that explores that, through metaphor and hidden meanings.  I already know what the second piece in this series will look like, have bought the base fabric, a deep grey, and now need to do some experimental work with the cloth, to see if my original thoughts on what to do and how to do it, are actually possible.  So, as you can see, the two categories are very loose; they interact.  I usually don't know if a piece is expressive or experimental until I'm half way through it.   What do I mean by that?  Well... lots of artists make sketches and trial pieces; not me.  Everything I make is intended as a finished piece, not as a sketch, although I do finish things, sometimes, and think, ok, that's a sketch.  That's about process, more than anything.  It's why, although I have a sketchbook, I don't create fully fledged artist's sketchbooks as, for example, for City and Guilds.  I work things out on the piece, not in the sketchbook.  I might take notes, to remind myself of what I did, but I don't work out what I'm going to do in the book, first.  I feel that stifles spontaneity, and spontaneity to me is an essential part of my process.  

Experimental, though, is slightly different.  Experimental is usually answering a particular question, such as 'what will happen if I just...'.  Lots of my work evolves from questions like those.  Often they arise when making an expressive piece, and lead to a series within that expressive theme.  If not, then that question may lead to a different series of expressive work, with a different theme.  I'm not doing much in the way of experimental at present; rather, I'm finishing off bits and pieces that I started in the rental, utilitarian pieces, like a cushion for Cara and a small quilt for my sister's dog.    Though 'Flow' was an experimental piece,  

an experiment with constructed cloth, something that has been on my mind for a number of years.  This one had been put together differently to the other constructed cloth I'd made, and the stitch was also different.  So, as well as the reasons I had for making the piece, which I described here, there was a whole raft of experimental thinking going on, testing of hypotheses.  Worked fairly well.

I try to stick with themes.  The ME pieces need to be made, because the ideas are there, but also because I need to work through my feelings about the illness, and come to some sort of conclusion.  I don't perceive it as therapy, and I hope above hope that they are not seen as pieces only made to make me feel better, because I think that attitude diminishes them, and me, somehow.  I feel the same about ME as I did about depression, still do, come to think of it....that something positive has to come out of all this darkness.  I have a real interest in trees and flowers.  I can't really see myself making representational floral or tree pieces; however, I am developing something based on another piece I made recently, an example of an experimental piece being a catalyst for an expressive piece (I'll talk about that tomorrow).  And then there's the fun stuff, the stuff like Cara's cushion, that will give someone else pleasure, and I'll enjoy making them.

I'm not sure if I'm making a lot of sense at a thought level, but I've just read this over, and it feels at an emotional level to be a reasonable explanation of what's important for me to make just now... basically, meaning comes first, then theme. then everything else fits in behind.  

It Was Just Lying Around...

...honest, Guv...  just bits and pieces found when going through bags and boxes of stuff... 

I've got very little of this kind of fabric, the odds and sods you gather when you make a lot of work, as I used to do.  A couple of pieces of hand dyed cotton velvet.  A bit of hand dyed linen, very frayed on one side.  Fragments of rust dyed silk.  A lacy doily, found in a charity shop, I think.  And then a collection of paper, with some woven plastic, which has been a net of some kind, vegetables, perhaps, I don't know, it was given to me a long time ago with no explanation.  So, given I don't have much of it, I've been collecting it together to put in one place.  Yesterday, though, while putting yet more stuff into boxes, I came across some Lutradur XL, already cut into small bits, mostly either postcard or Artist Trading Card (ATC) sizes, though there are some squares.  And I thought... I don't want to keep working on UFOs...I want to make something original.  Putting the two together seemed like a good idea, given that whatever I do is likely to be hand work.  Whilst you can actually see the floor in the studio, it's still not in a state that would let me set up the sewing machines, much as I'd like to (sigh). 

Sadly, I'm not able to work today; just having the idea is going to have to be enough.  I didn't sleep well last night, had a shower today in preparation for going out this evening, so I need to do as little as possible, to preserve the energy I have left (you'd be surprised how much energy it takes to have a shower). But that doesn't stop me thinking about how to approach this.  I enjoy working in series: it's a great way of exploring a small cache of materials like this, or a particular theme, and is also good if you feel stuck, and want to work your way out of so-called 'creative block'.  I've talked about series elsewhere on this blog, notably when I talk about the 'Meditation in Purple and Gold' series (one of the posts is here, if you're interested in that).  

In the meantime, though, I've just added a bit of lilac silk organza and some silk carrier rods to the mix...watch this space... did I say, I think it's going to be fun...

Mixing It Up...

For a long time, I tried to keep things in little boxes, when it came to art.  For someone who prides herself in working outside the box, that has never really sat well with me.  My drawings didn't seem to relate to the textiles, or the paintings.  But recently, I've been pushing myself to let go of those false barriers, and I finally found a theme to work to, that allows me to do that.  I thought I'd show you several  examples of work in the same theme.  That theme is 'Linescapes'.

I've been making drawings for years that simply incorporated a minimum of three lines, or three lines and a curved shape of some kind, usually an egg shape.  It struck me recently that they are 'linescapes', and that they are a way of expressing space and shape.  Some of them are abstract landscapes; others are not.  The images, I hope, will show you some of the potential this approach has.

These are postcard sized pieces which I drew while waiting for a doctor's appointment; Linescapes at their simplest, single colour, three simple lines and the relationship they have to each other, and to the surrounding space.  I will probably add some background colour...or not... it will be interesting to see how the additional colour changes the nature of the individual pieces.  The marks were made with crayon, so that I can paint over them with watercolours, but still retain the original colour of the lines.

This rather peculiar image shows a textile variation of the same theme, Lutradur XL with yarn stitched into it. It's not finished yet, I know, though I'm not entirely sure how it will progress.  I know that text will feature...but that's about it.  Currently, it is sitting on the window ledge in the dining room so that I can see it (and puzzle over it).  The colours feel like the Scottish Highlands in late summer and early autumn.  Perhaps a haiku... or two...

This is a Linescape of a different nature; far more lines, much less space.  It is made using layers of transfer dyes on Lutradur XL, which were then stitched into,.

Finally, a painting.  Acrylic on board, and the largest piece of work in this series so far... accompanied by the smallest, a textile ACEO.

The ACEO features yarn, hand stitched onto Lutradur XL, with a watercolour background.

I hope this selection of work gives you an idea of the potential I think this approach has for my work.  I love working in series, but I've never before felt that I had found something that I really wanted to explore, and that had so much potential.  This is the tip of a very large iceberg, I think... I'm going to have fun!