Monomaking

I said yesterday that I'd talk about monoprinting a bit.  This is probably not the best example, but it's the one I've got, so... The reason it's not a good example, is that it is made using the last of the paint left over from earlier printing sessions, which had dried up a bit, and was therefore not printing as well as it might.  Usually, I would use fresh ink. 

The way we usually think of monoprinting is of a single print from a plate that has been carefully prepared for it.  But it can be done in a series of stages, as the print I'm going to show you has been done.  This one is a single print, which I took off in stages, allowing it to dry and then adding more ink.  Stage one looked like this.

It's basically brown, from the leftover paint, with hints of yellow I'd added later, and a red circle I'd added.  This is what the plate looked like before I printed again, with ink added in a specific pattern.

The previous layer does need to be dry before you do this; otherwise, you're likely to transfer ink back to the plate from the wet sections, and that usually isn't the plan.

A stage further on, and you can just pick up the red zig zag motif in the centre, though it has somehow printed more brown that red, probably because the brown on the plate is still wet.

And the final stage

I wanted to add something...a highlight colour...so I used the yellow.  It's interesting enough, but not overly so.  If I stitch into this, it will be by machine; there are now three layers of (admittedly fairly thin) ink on the cloth, and it would be unpleasant to stitch by hand.  I'm likely to add hand stitch round the edges, though, to add texture.

I'm really not sure why I'm bothering with this... perhaps I'm just lazy, and don't want to put in the work to improve my skills... perhaps I'm trying to hang on to this last vestige of painting, when really I should just let it go and concentrate on things that are not so tiring...  That said, I do think it could be a good way of adding colour and interest to the books.  The jury is definitely still out on that one.  And yes, I probably think too much.  I'm feeling my limitations today, and maybe that's all it is.

Trials...

...and the odd tribulation.  You may remember that I had some printing ink left over, so I decided to test print the two lino blocks I've managed to cut.  Test printing shows you all the little bits and pieces that you haven't cut back sufficiently, so they print, as well as the actual subject.  Just inking the block throws it all into sharp relief, allowing you to identify the areas that need to be carved away.

Here's the first of the blocks: the other one printed really well, no additional carving required.  This one, though, shows quite a bit needing to be done, mostly round the edges.  How did it print?  Well, I printed on some white cotton; here's the result.

It has printed pale; I think that's about my lack of energy.  I used the lower table, thinking it would improve the print...but it has made little difference.  Might not have used enough ink, of course, but don't think that's the case.  Should have used the press...or even stood on the block (I'm certainly heavy enough...). 

This is now sitting next to me on the sofa.  Overall, it's not a bad design or print, but I can see all the flaws.  I've trimmed a couple of the spear heads; I knew at the time that I didn't make that good a job of them, but the one on the far left is really unfortunate.  It's a bit better now, I think.  I also noticed that a couple of the individual spear shafts are wonky.  That's pretty predictable; I can't draw or cut a straight line to save myself. 

Are these things real problems?  They're irritating, certainly, but I'm not printing in order to make prints as standalone entities, but rather to use as the basis for stitch.  I can redefine any areas I'm not happy with by stitching carefully.

Incidentally, I looked again at the first of the monoprints I made last time, the one I said was irredeemable.  Here it is. 

It's not overly interesting on this side, which is why I rejected it on sight.  But as I went to throw it out, I turned it over, and found...

I had drawn into the ink through the paper with the end of the brush.  That doesn't show up particularly well on the darker side, but the marks have seeped straight through on the other.  I suspect that, stitched, these will make interesting book pages.  So I've set it aside, and will make some more in these stronger colours (stronger compared to the monoprints I showed you earlier, which were made on similar paper, in much lighter colours).

The jury is out on printing, though.  I will set up the press, but what I've always enjoyed about print making has been the directness of hand burnishing or rolling the print.  It's not the same, using a press; the immediacy is lost, along with the ability to print selectively, by choosing areas of the plate, and placing a particular area of the paper or cloth onto it, to take a small print.  I do that quite a bit with monoprints, I'll show you, tomorrow.  Looking at these results, though, I'm not convinced that the game is worth the candle.

Phew

Some things Just Don't Work...or at least, don't work as planned.  This mulberry paper book certainly didn't; I described it here .  Reader, I finished it.  And now, as I thought, the stitch has softened the paper to the point where it doesn't stand properly.  It lurches like a drunken sailor...

So...I ironed it.  And that made it worse.  No, you really don't want to see.  Here it is, flat.

I think it's boring.  It might have been better with darker thread, but I'm not even convinced by that.  I'm tempted to add darker purple stamped spirals to it, to balance out the colour...that might be interesting... but I'm not sure I'm ever going to like it.

I think my problem with it stems from the regularity of the stitched lines.  I don't do regular; it's not my style.  It seemed appropriate for this piece, given its size, but it has turned out looking like something someone else made.  Interestingly, while I had the iron out, I ironed this piece, which I finished some time ago, and which has been hanging round the workroom ever since, both here and in the rental.

It was inspired by old images of industrial Glasgow, though it could be any industrial city, really.  The base cloth is a section of a  piece of linen that I dyed a very long time ago, intending to make a jacket with it.  The shapes on it are of a heavy duty cloth that had been used as a clean up cloth by another artist.  I liked the colours, and begged it from her when she was finished with it.  The blues stand for the waterfront...the shapes, for machinery and buildings used for heavy industry. 

Like the book, above, this has fairly regular stitching....except that there's significantly more variety in the mark making, and whilst the stitch is important, it's not the dominant feature, which it is, in the book.  The stitch is part of a unified whole; it supports the applique units in telling a story.  The book has no story...and apparently, that's why I don't like it.

I like blogging; in talking to you folks about what I'm doing, I talk to myself about issues, challenges and how I feel.  What began as a way of connecting with other people, has become part of my process, a way of connecting with the work, and ultimately, myself.  It's really useful. 

Using It Up

So...what do you do with the ink left on the palette?  Yes, that's right, you monoprint.  The first one I took went straight in the bin; it was awful.  Too much paint, too much pressure, a brown yuk.  So I cast around for something else to print on, and spotted some very scrunched up tissue paper.  Hmm, I thought... and tore it into four.  Here's one of the resultant prints :

This was the last of the prints, so not quite as much paint on it as the others, and, because I used a brayer, the texture is somewhat flatter than the rest.  Nonetheless, it's still interesting, though it doesn't look like much in these images; better in real life.

Four prints?  For a mono?  Using ink?  Well...yes.  The scrunched up paper doesn't take the ink uniformly, so more than one print, in this case four, could be taken....actually, I think I could have got away with five, but I only had four bits of paper.  

So...what am I going to do with it all?  Good question.  I'm contemplating sticking some of it onto heavier paper or Lutradur XL, for an accordion book.  I'm not all that keen on fusing for it, because I'll lose some if not all of the raised texture of the paper...so perhaps spray adhesive.  And there's something about stitch, probably hand stitch, given the fragility of the paper; fusible interfacing, the usual go to for paper, isn't an option here.  I have some ideas in the back of my head, but for now, I suspect, it'll wait its turn.  There's still some ink to use up, and there's more scrunched paper kicking around...  but first, I need to clear some proper space, preferably on my sewing table, rather than my cutting table.  I think that part of the problem I had with printing pressure, yesterday, was to do with the height of the table.  Working on a lower table, and standing up occasionally, may well make all the difference.  We'll see.  

Notes To Self.

1. Don't try to work when you're overtired; it's going to end in tears.

2. You can never have enough clear workspace when you're printing.

3. Sometimes good things come out of bad stuff.


So... printing....  Seemed like a good idea.  Was narked about an online conversation I'd been having (should know better, really), and thought, I'll go play a bit.  I ignored the fact that I'd already brushed and washed the kitchen floor, which had taken most of my energy.  Yes, I'm an idiot.  Yes, I should have asked Robin to do it.  Yes, it looks better.  Just every so often I like to prove I can still do this stuff.

Had already looked out the stuff I wanted to use, so... and that was my first mistake.  Really, there wasn't enough room on that table top... but being me, I Just Got On With It. 

Mixed up the ink, new to me, printing ink for fabric... got sort of the colour I wanted, eventually, but mixed far too much... sigh. 

The palette knife came from a pound shop; the glass I'm working on is an old fridge shelf....it's an ideal size for the kind and scale of  work I do.  Did a test print on paper... which gave me a clear indication that this particular block is fine for printing.  I grabbed the first bit of paper I could find, some watercolour paper.  It was bone dry, so the print quality isn't great, but since I don't suppose I'll use it for anything, so who cares.

Reader, I rather liked it.  So I decided to use it to print on one of the hand made books I've made recently, which I'd been mulling over.  The block is slightly narrower and somewhat longer than each page, but hey, I thought, it'll be fine.  And it would have been, had I followed points one and two, above.  First page printed, no problem.  In order to print the second, I had to move some stuff...and realised that I'd dipped the first page into the ink, inadvertently.  What an idiot.  Fortunately, it didn't look too bad, and I simply extended it along the rest of the pages...but it could have been a perfectly decent book, written off.  I really am an idiot. 

So... printed, it looks like this.  Because Lutradur XL, like all the lighter weights, is semi transparent, you can actually see elements of the other side. 

Stand it up against the light, and it's even more obvious

I'm really pleased with this.  Not bad for a handful of scraps and a printing block...

I did a bit more printing, which I'll show you tomorrow, swathed the remaining ink with cling film and hoped for the best.  Should be okay til tomorrow.  What did strike me is that I need to start using my press if I want even printing results.  I like the way this has turned out, but it won't be appropriate for every project, and I'm not getting enough pressure, sitting down.  You live and learn.  And now I need a sleep.

Plodding Along...

...with the paper stitched book, Purple Rain II, which I showed you here .  There's a bit of progress, not as much as I would like.  A page and a half.  More or less.  It's slow work, possibly because I tend to pick it up only when I'm too tired to do anything else (like today).  To be honest, it's also a bittie tedious, possibly because I know it's not going to do what  I wanted it to do, designed it to do (ie stand up) unless I alter it quite significantly, either by stiffening it, or by cutting down on the amount of stitch.  Neither appeals, and I'll have to wait for it to be finished before making a decision.

What is pleasing me, though, is the texture that the stitch is producing, which you can see fairly well in the close up image.  That texture, of course, is what's giving me the problems...sigh... as the paper softens with handling, and stops being able to support itself properly.  I need to remind myself that every process is primarily about learning, not the final result.  This piece would be best seen as a sculpture, but there's not a great deal lost if someone has to pick it up and open it out to see what's going on in it.  In some ways, that might be better, in fact.  Books are made to be read...but they are also made to be handled.  And this piece is becoming decidedly tactile.

I wanted to print, today, given that my new apron has arrived, and I also found a tshirt that I've used for painting before..but just not got enough energy for that.  Maybe tomorrow.  Or, more likely, the next day.

Scavenging...

is difficult when you can't walk far.  Beachcombing is out of the question, and a deliberate walk anywhere just isn't going to happen.  Leaning out of wheelchairs to pick things up is a dodgy thing to do; you risk an inelegant three point landing on your nose.  However...we were in the park with Cara on Saturday, when we spotted a bouncy castle.  When you're four and a half, a bouncy castle is the epitome of play, so we bought a ticket.  There were plastic chairs for people who were too large to fit on said bouncy castle, so I transferred to one of those.  And after a while, I reverted to type, and scanned the grass.  I found this.

Yeah, okay, there's not much of a difference between the two sides, but I'm nothing if not thorough. What caught my attention?  Firstly, the colour, that beautiful transition from green to yellow to blush pink into salmon.  And the form, also, these beautiful curves.  It made me wonder about how I could use that shape, that form, in a piece of work.  Possibly in three dimensions.  Nature is such a clever designer, with an eye for aesthetics.  Things work perfectly, and look good, to boot: this acer seed is a tiny piece of perfection.  My art work won't meet those standards, but that won't stop me trying.

Picasso said 'Inspiration exists, but it must find you working'.  Increasingly, I realise that I don't ever stop working. My eye and my unconscious mind work together to find things that my curiosity can't resist.  As I keep saying, ideas are ten a penny; you just have to look.  Not as elegantly expressed as Picasso's sentiment, but along the same lines.  Try it: you won't be sorry.

The Grunt Work

Cara is coming for a sleepover, today, so I'm not gong to get a lot done.  So, before she arrived, I decided to do a little carving on one of the lino blocks.

The one on the right is finished, more or less, ready for a trial print.  I've never particularly enjoyed carving lino, and I like it even less now that I don't have much energy.  I can carve for about twenty minutes at a time; once upon a time, I would have carved something like this in a single sitting.  So it's taking quite a long time to get these blocks ready to print, because if I do something else, like work on a book, that's the energy used up, so the blocks have to wait.  What I really need is a slave...cough...assistant...but that's not going to happen.  These will be the last carved blocks I make, I think.  Mono printing will be my method of choice in future, and I intend to try collagraphy, which has been on my to do list for years, but I've never actually done.  Must try to find a workshop, locally.  Or an online course, perhaps. 

There's a lot of grunt work in textile art...all the preparation for dyeing, for instance, scouring the cloth, mixing the dyes, rinsing (my personal favourite, not...), and finally...ironing...groan...  I think that people who don't do this stuff, don't appreciate that... I think they think we all sit around in a genteel manner, hand stitching... well, okay, sometimes we do...but sometimes we lug gallons of water around....

So...that's it for today.  We'll doubtless go out, so I might be able to get some photographs...here's hoping...

Waste Not...

...well, yes, I have a thing about not wasting paint.  And there was some left over from the painting I did on the last piece so...reader,  I made monoprints.  Well, technically, one monoprint and one ghost print.  I had been given some interesting paper, just the right size for the inside of a pamphlet book, so...

A ghost print, if you're not familiar with the term, is the second print from any given monoprint plate. There isn't anything like the amount of paint left, hence the term 'ghost'. The texture of the second piece of paper, which holds the ghost print, is quite interesting.  I think, for once, I'll leave the white as it is, it works fairly well.  I don't have any more white at this size, which will make the book more interesting, I hope, though I will stick to pastel colours.  And because of the nature of a single signature pamphlet book, I will only add perhaps another two sheets, three at most.   There's a fair amount of work to be done before they are made into a book, though.  Firstly, and perhaps most obviously, there needs to be another monoprint made on the other side of the paper, because books are three dimensional (yeah, I know, I'm repeating myself...). And then the same with the other pages. Interestingly, fortunately and completely coincidentally, there's clear space on both sides of the print, allowing me to add words....hurrah... and that will have to be repeated throughout the book. 

So now, I need to work out how many pages, what the theme is (landscapes, I suspect, and possibly  Norfolk landscapes, more specifically), what the words are (I may already have a poem...but I think I have a different idea...so perhaps a new one).  And what the cover will be.  But it's a good start...and all because I didn't want to waste some paint.  See what I mean about ideas?  They're ten a penny.  All you have to do is pay attention.

Life's A Beach.

Well okay, these days, not so much.  But I decided to keep going with the piece from a couple of days ago, which made me think about the beach. A specific beach, in fact, the beach at Cramond.  When I was nine or ten, my mother was lent a flat right on the edge of the River Almond, and we spent the summer there.  My mother worked, so my sister and I were alone most of the week.  It was magical.  Actually, it was probably dangerous, my sister can only have been about six, and I had sole responsibility for her...but nothing untoward happened. 

Cramond is beautiful; I'm pretty sure that my love of beaches and the sea came from that summer.  So...this is a memory piece, and here's the memory :

endless summer

day on day the beach

sand between our toes

And here's the poem added to the piece, and some lutradur lace the colour of sand.

You know I don't like white... and this is just too stark.  Plus, I felt that the words were too dark, too stark a contrast against everything else. So, a little painting seemed to be in order.  First, I stamped some gold spirals into the centre of the 'sun', then dabbed three colours of metallic acrylic paint onto the background, giving this : 

Better?  Umm.  Different.  Possibly a bit cluttered, but it's too late to worry about it now.  And I'm still not happy.  So I stitched the words.  I'd been debating doing that ever since I added them, and finally succumbed.  It didn't take anything like as long as I thought it would, it adds a bit of texture and seems to somehow soften the overall effect of the writing, though the pen is still evident underneath. 

I've avoided writing on work for a very long time.  I started to learn calligraphy because I've been told so many times that my writing is abysmal.  It's a sort of cross between Russian and English handwriting, and not in a good way.  Finally, though, I decided that, like every other mark I make, it is authentic.  It's me.  And I do my best to be legible, on textile work at least.  Perfection is not required.  In fact, perfection is boring.  Hold that thought. 

And here's the finished piece.

The starfish was added for balance, and picks up some of the paler colours in the piece.  Am I happy now?  Meh.  It's not the best piece I've ever done, but I like the poem.  I'll put it away, now, and come back to it, see whether absence works its magic.  Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't.  And if not, I'll throw it out...but I will keep the poem.

The Poppy Photo

For once, the image I'm talking about today wasn't taken by me.  I very rarely use other peoples' photographs, but this one is a definite exception to the rule, .  It was taken by my friend Margaret McLaren, and I'm sure you'll agree, it's very beautiful.  Margaret has kindly given her permission to share the image with you.

Margaret has caught the moment perfectly.  I saw this image first thing this morning on my FB feed, and felt the need to respond to it, other than just raving about it.  So I wrote this haiku :

Poppyland at rest

           bathed by the setting sun

crimson to fuchsia

I don't think the poem is anything like the beauty of the image, but that's okay.  What it does, though, is to remind me of the beauty of the image, and that's enough.  When I look at the image, I'm reminded of pictures of poppies that I have taken over the years, like this one, places where I have seen poppies, walks in the country, all sorts of memories triggered by this one image.

This isn't the first time I've written about poppies, either; there's a post here, and another haiku.

The haiku I wrote for the photograph, though, has its own allusions, for me, at least.  Mostly, it reflects Margaret's image...but the word Poppylands comes from my childhood.  I was in a choir, as a child, and we put on a show every year....and one year, I was the Princess of Poppyland.  It's an odd reference, really, doesn't sit with the image itself, but it is hugely personal, and has meaning for me, and nobody else.  And that's the thing about images; if we allow them to, we can find all sorts of allusions to all sorts of things, memories, ideas, dreams.  

I'm a visual artist, but I find that poetry and writing in general help me to access my visually creative side.  Writing is very direct; I'll often write about something I'm contemplating making work about, to explore it.  Mostly I'll write in haiku, short and disciplined; sometimes, though, I'll write text.  I tend not to tell stories, but rather to write descriptively, write down what I see and what it makes me think of.  That process usually produces several ideas.  Were I writing about Margaret's image, I'd be writing about a wide range of things.  The first thing that draws me in is the colours and the light; working in those colours would be an interesting thing to do...particularly in abstract.  There's the structure and balance of the image, which is remarkable in itself.  It could be used directly to produce a representational textile image, or printed off as is, and stitched into.  The shape of the tree, and the way it sits slightly off centre, the relationship it has with the position of the setting sun...all of these things could be explored.  And then there are the poppies themselves, so many of them, so beautiful, so fragile.  They memorialise the war dead of so many nations, and yet are full of life for their incredibly short existences.  

All of that, and far more, from one beautiful image.  People talk about creative blocks, but I have never been a great believer in them.  'Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working', Picasso said, and he was right.  One way of making sure you have more ideas than you can comfortably deal with, is to stop worrying about creative blocks, or the muse (who doesn't really exist, trust me), and to sit down with a photograph or other image, and really look at it.  Let it tell you stories, and write those stories down.  Those stories are really ideas: let them come, and allow yourself to explore them however you wish.  Better still, take your phone or camera out with you into the natural world, go for a walk and see what you can find...and then use the photographs you take as the basis for new work.  Or go to a public gallery, sit in front of a painting and really look at it.  Take notes.  You know you want to...have fun!

A Less Than Perfect Day

...and it's only 2pm.  First, we discovered the bath plug doesn't work.  It's the type that you press to close, and press again to open...except that it doesn't close properly.  This wouldn't be a big deal...except that having a bath takes a great deal of energy, and it took ten minutes to get enough water for a small child, much less me, making things worse than usual.  Then the gardener broke some bit of equipment or other, and will have to come back tomorrow, meaning I'll have to be up early, as Robin has an appointment. And then, to cap it all, while finishing off cutting one of the more complex lino pieces I'm making, the knife slipped and damaged the adjacent section.  Just Great.  Hours of work ruined.  Well, okay, I can paint over the relatively small area, once I've printed it, but that's really not the point. 

So I thought I'd play with some fabric, and ended up with this.

Piece of evolon, with elements of rust dyed silk and paper.  Small element of stitch, but really, I wanted the fabric to do the talking.  I'm tempted to now add some hand stitch, to emphasise the verticals, but it would need to be very fine variegated thread, possibly silk, and to be honest, I'm not sure the piece is worth it.  Did it make me feel better?  Not really; it took me three goes to upload this image, so I think I'll just go and sulk somewhere quiet, and drink my coffee.  Which I'll probably spill.  Sigh. Definitely One Of Those Days.

In A Bind.

Reader, I finally did it.  I bound the first of the ME pieces, described here.  I used the feather fabric I found, kindly donated by a friend among some scrap she gave me from her stash. 

The binding is far from perfect, and perhaps that's not surprising; it's probably the first time in over twenty years that I've chosen to bind a piece. I don't like binding, but this piece seemed to need it.  And, imperfections apart, I don't like the binding on here, either, but it does add another layer of meaning.  It speaks of limitation, which is the core issue of ME.  I've always thought that binding on an art quilt limits the eye.  By that, I mean that it stops any movement contained in the quilt, at the edge.  I like to encourage the eye, and the mind, to wonder about what's going on outside the edges; the binding stops it dead.  How does that meaning, that movement, continue?  Does it stop, or does it continue into infinity?  I'm not all that fond of mounts and frames, either, but I think they're better than binding.  This piece, though, didn't seem to want to be framed; it's too tactile for that. 

I've said that limitation is a key element of ME: let's continue that theme.  Robin brought in a postcard-sized piece of Lutradur he found in the car...no, I have no idea how it got there.  This is what I've done with it :

It is made from some bits that were lying on my side table, left over from previous projects, plus a starfish from my bead and bit collection.  I started by stitching on the blue hand dyed silk organza, and then added the strip of fabric.  At that point, I realised what I was making.  This is a postcard from another lifetime, my pre ME lifetime, when I could do what I wanted, when I wanted.  I love the beach, and for the first time in our married life (39 years this year) we live near the sea.  In particular, I love beach combing...but I can't do it any more.  I can't walk far enough, and the number of wheelchair accessible beaches are very, very minimal (you need a special wheelchair.  Turns out there are two in Scotland).  Either way, though, I don't see myself visiting the beach any more...so this is a postcard from my previous, beach combing existence.  It's very simple; the sea, the sand, the starfish.  It was photographed on top of my laptop, so that you could see it clearly, but I need to think carefully about what I'll put behind it.  I think this is probably the first piece in a series, and unlike the quilt, it will happily take to small frames, probably box frames....the ideal would be to make frames from driftwood. 

I feel the need to say that this is not about self pity; it is about making something meaningful out of a bad experience.  The ME is unlikely to just go away, so I need to find ways to live with it that are meaningful for me...and this is it.  I have been contemplating a blog specifically 'about' ME, but the jury's still out.  There are a lot of ME blogs around, some more useful than others, and I'm not sure that I'd be adding any value.  Mind you, there's a lot of art blogs around to, but that fact has never stopped me blogging...

I'm pretty sure I have some more postcard sized bits of lutradur around, so I dare say I'll be making some more of these.  I think perhaps the frame needs to have a luggage label attached, with a personal story.  Clearly the making of books, and their associated poems, are having an effect on the rest of my work.  We'll see.

Unexpected Changes, or Feline Intervention

I thought it was time I finished the stitch on Borderlines, so that was what I did this morning, until the birthday boy swept me off for breakfast (yummy pancakes and fresh fruit).

I'm quite pleased at the way this is turning out; only one fair sized section to go, and the stitch will be complete.  The nature of the piece has changed, somewhat. however, as I discovered when I picked it up to start stitching.  Part of the paper block on the left hand side of the quilt is no longer as it was when I started.  Here it is now...

Yup...it's frayed, distressed, nay, disintegrating in parts.  What can have done this?  Well, that's where the feline intervention comes in.  I have the habit of putting whatever I'm stitching behind me, on the back of the sofa.  Turns out Merlin has been sleeping on it.  I said early on that the paper was quite fragile, and here's the proof.  Some of it has just disappeared, although by and large, it's hanging on in there, thankfully.  Also thankfully, I like the result.  Just as well, really, as it would take an inordinate amount of work to replace it.  And fortunately, the books are too small to treat like this, so we won't be having a repeat performance, though if anyone wants an alternative method for distressing hand made paper, here it is, help yourself.  Just keep your fingers crossed that your cat doesn't attempt to shred it (Mollie probably would have).

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. 

Small Things And Coincidences.

often lead our minds to remember significant things, and by that, I mean things that are significant to us.  We have no garden in this new house; the garden space is under dispute, and we can't do anything with it until that is resolved.  There are no plants to admire, and I had not been aware of how much I rely on plants for inspiration.  Given that this is a new estate, there are no established gardens to enjoy, either, just a couple of cherry trees that have been planted either side of our house by the builders.  To my surprise, though, I found this leaf the other day.  I have no idea where it came from, blown in on the high winds we had last week, no doubt.

I find it beautiful.  A small thing, but it carries the memory of the plant it came from.  I'm not a gardener, so I have no idea what that might be, but it doesn't really matter.  It reminded me, though, of a poem I found while looking for something else (which is the way of these things, really).

The Vine Leaf
I know these lovely yellows and these greens,
These blues and all the moments in between;
Summer is full of them.  This, though, is the tipping point
Where green begins to turn to browns and golds, crimsons,
Aubergines, all the rich and fruitful tones of autumn. I find them
In a single leaf, a newly gifted vine, growing
Fair and unfettered in my Norfolk garden.  No grapes this year
(the plant is far too new); its tender leaves suffice
To capture this single brightly balanced moment
Between burgeoning and the slow slide into sleep.
For now it is enough, for both of us.

And when I read it, I remembered standing by that vine, admiring the colour of the leaves as they turned, taking photographs (I'm pretty sure I probably still have them somewhere), feeling that change in the weather that presages the shift to autumn.  Here's an image of the vine taken a couple of years later, in the early summer.

I'm not much of a poet, really: I'll never be published, certainly.  I don't write often enough, and I'm not terribly disciplined about it, either, as you need to be if you take it seriously, just like any other form of art.  And I've always thought of it as completely separate from the visual art...but this poem shows just how silly that is.  It is full of visual imagery.  In some ways, it is a better aide memoire than any photograph could be.  A photograph is a record of the way something looked in a particular moment; a good photograph suggests emotion.  This poem, though, contains a miniature universe of emotions, sights, smells, textures.  There's at least one textile book in there...perhaps an entire series.  All that, from a moment, a leaf and a handful of words.  Isn't that wonderful?

A-mazing Books

I managed to finish the stitching I was talking about here, before I took my machine for a much-needed service; here it is, complete with ironed-in folds.

It clearly takes creases well; my hope is that it will also be firm enough to stand under its own steam (as it were).  I want to make a book in the same way as I made the last one.  They're called 'maze books'; I found them in Shereen LaPlanz's classic book on book binding, 'Cover To Cover'.  I've made quite a few of them before; there's a variation of a maze book in my studio, made from hand made paper which has been painted with encaustic paints.  And here is the book, cut and folded :

And yes, it stands by itself.  Phew...given that I'd made the cut, and the creases, so it was irredeemably a book, though I could have turned it into a series of very small pieces, like a jigsaw...that would have been interesting too (hold that thought). This one has been made to stand in a different way to the one you saw yesterday, a bit of variety is a good thing, and somehow, this one is more mysterious than the other, and needs this structure to reflect that.  Now, though, I have to decide what else to do with it; it has a distinctly unfinished feel to it.  I think there's a need to add words, I'm just not sure what they are, though I think they will be snipped from book or newspaper text, small in size, one to a page.  Does it need more than that?  I don't think so.  It's interesting to look at it from different angles.  I said in the earlier post that I thought it would be more interesting like this, than as a flat piece of stitch, and I think that's the case.  I think it's a landscape piece... the words will reflect that...perhaps a poem, word by word, that reveals itself as you contemplate the piece.  Now, all I have to do is find the words.

Sometimes...

things just work out.  That book I showed you yesterday is now complete, though I had thought it would take a while to work out what to do with it.  I sat down to add some more stitch to the single line that was already there.  After  three lines on each side, I wondered if I did indeed want to continue to stitch that area, which was my original intention.  I was stitching in that colour to link the respective areas to the colours of the rust in the middle, 'secret' section.  It didn't seem to be right.  So what would?  This piece is about disintegration, and indirectly, about suicide and death.  What could I put in the four areas demarcated by the stitch, that would suggest disintegration?  Lutradur lace.

And as luck would have it (pure luck, definitely not judgement), I had a piece of lutradur already stitched, ready to be burned out.  For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about... here's the lutradur, complete with stitch.

And here it is after heating it with a heat gun....

Disintegration?  Hell, yes.

And then there's the poem.  Again, wanting to link the poem to the colours of the rust, I used a Posca marker pen in a light brown colour, on the reverse of a yellowish paper bag with grey stripes.  I had originally intended to use the front, but it just didn't seem to work, but the reverse was reasonable.  And I wrote a second poem for the reverse side ;

Consuming itself
through a change of condition;
a natural death.

So...here's what it looks like.

The white blobs have disappeared now; they were wet glue in the lace, which has now dried.  Overall, I'm pleased with the piece, and will make more books using this construction method.