Seeing, Feeling, Expressing

Your vision will become clear only when you look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens. --Carl Jung

After enjoying hundreds of visitors who came to my studio last night for First Friday, I realize just how much of an equation there is between making art and sharing it. That exchange feels magical when what we make is well received by others. We encounter that energy in concerts, in live performances and sporting events. Athletes, actors, dancers, musicians all perform to audiences and whether small or large, our creativity comes full circle when shared. 

For many of us who are makers, our creative selves are always reaching. I’m feeling an internal desire now to focus on emotional content in new work.  What is it that makes some pieces evoke a deep emotional response?

Colors, shapes, lines and textures can communicate feeling, either what the artist feels internally or their responses to the world around them. The Abstract Expressionists of the 1950s believed the best way to express pure emotion was to create nonobjective or totally abstract artworks. They saw the use of colors, shapes, lines and textures as vital to expressing deep emotional states.

What feelings or emotions do you wish to express through your works? How do you choose color, shape, line and textures to communicate those? 

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen. ~Leonardo da Vinci

Resetting My Compass

What happens to you once you complete a very intense, creative project? For me, there's a period when that creative place inside feels almost too eerily quiet. Almost want to call "Code Blue, Code Blue" and get the cardiac arrest team here. After a period of such focused work, NOT being engaged to that degree feels almost like flatlining.

SOME people relax willingly. Me, I do it because my entire self goes on strike until I listen to it. So I spent the entire weekend -- amazingly -- away from both my sewing and surface design studios. Read the entire Sunday New York Times AND most of Art in America. Enjoyed a family picnic and played with my grandchildren.

When I walked back into my studio yesterday, I still wasn't ready to enter into that intensity of composing a new surface. Since "show up and do something, anything" is my motto, I played!


There are always painted samples lying about, so I grabbed a few small ones and treated them like sketchbook pages. I painted and silkscreened some details over whatever was already on the surfaces. When that dried, I added some foiling and then fused a sheer synthetic fabric to both pieces, leaving folds and ripples. A heat gun disintegrated the black sheer synthetic in interesting patterns.

To play without direction helps rekindle my passion for creating without worrying about success or failure. These are small, lively and fun. The top one will travel to the other side of the country as a "trade" with a fellow artist and the other one will go into my sketchbook for reference.

After I played, I could deal with cleaning up from the past few weeks. I washed all the containers and brushes and silkscreens and assorted squeeze bottles that had piled up. I'm turning to a fresh page, will mix new dyes for the next project and not try to recycle any of these.

But I have to confess I don't feel ready yet to really immerse in painting and printing another large surface. My inner compass is still resetting, searching once again for true north. It seems that I need to turn around and around, like a silly old dog, before I finally plop myself down in one spot. So while I'm heading back up to my studio today, I can't say for sure what I'll do once I get there.

Even just puttering in my studio makes me happy, though. And that's what living a creative life is truly all about, don't you think?

Live from the Front Lines

I honestly wish those of you who are reading this could have a studio right next door to mine. Then I could call you up and say, "Hey, come on over and talk with me about this." In lieu of that, I'd love for you to share your thoughts and comments as you watch the progression of this piece. I even promise to answer all comments if you do. If some of you disagree with me or each other, even better -- it could make for a good discussion!

First things first. I am wildly in love with the top third of this. I'm envisioning adding an accent or two of a rust/red tone along an edge, but that is all here. If you strongly disagree, here is your opportunity to tell me so.


So now we move down to the bottom. This is the newly steamed, washed and ironed fabric with the additions of rusty orange and a brownish green. I'm liking the colors. They can grow softer and lighter as they move up the surface of this piece. But now I have to decide how much and where to add the additional color and whether or not the letterforms add anything to the composition. Part of me likes the textures, lines and colors on the piece so much that the letters seem overkill.

The other part of me (I'm a Libra, these internal debates go on continually, what can I say) says that the whole IDEA of this piece is ancient letterforms, so I can't very well throw them overboard. Maybe the answer is to add them selectively and very sparingly to the surface rather than use as many as there are here in this sample area.

Since the test area for the orange and dark green is at the very bottom edge of this super long piece of cloth, I folded and pinned the bottom part up closer to the top on my design wall and took this picture. This gives me an idea of what these colors and textures will look like more towards the middle of the composition.

I'll sit here munching my apple, staring at the images on my computer screen and holding this debate in my head for a bit. Maybe I'll have an insight into what I want to do next.

I really am thinking I want to decrease both the amount and shape of the lightest areas in the lower half of the piece. I might sponge some resist on the surface and screen over those areas to soften the value shift and reduce the amount of that very lightest color. That could create a softer transition from the darkest areas at the bottom to the lightest areas on top. Or I can have hard edges in some places and softer transitions in others.

Or maybe a whole new idea will emerge. The day is young! If you have any thoughts about these options, yes I know it's the weekend and you're busy, but please know you are invited to comment!

Soon January Endeth

One of the new monoprinted silk pieces that dyed black instead of soft gray.

I took a running leap into January 2009 armed with strong theme words to set my intentions -- "confidence" and "flourish." So of course immediately I plunged into a week or two of total lack of confidence and self-doubt. As Christine Kane says, when you're planting seeds of intention, the first thing you do is dig up some dirt!

Happily, my energetic, inspired self has returned, stronger for the bit of cultivating. If there are more big clumps and stones under the surface as the sowing and planting continue, I can deal with them confidently!

Right now I'm diving into new work in the studio that builds on the previous Parables pieces. The first variable for investigation is refining the ground fabrics on each piece to increase the sense of depth.

I monoprinted two new lengths of natural silk broadcloth this week. On the first I mixed a medium dye concentration to print light and medium grays and used resist to preserve large areas of white space. Alas, the dyes penetrated all the resist work and came out dark, almost black. Totally my fault for not testing the dye concentration or making sure the resist penetrated the fabric well enough. So, what to do?



I'm discharging the surfaces; this is the first one in progress and the ground fabric is beginning to have the softer, smoke-drawing feel to it that I'm envisioning as a first layer. Hints of color will come next.

While I'd rather not admit I ever make mistakes -- so you'll think beautiful art flows from me like water from a faucet whenever I turn the handle -- I made a commitment long ago to be honest about my artistic process. Some ideas don't work out the first time. Or ever.

Other times they work out almost effortlessly -- and beautifully -- but to me those pieces are gifts that result from working through challenges on the others.

Taking risks and pushing past comfort zones put excitement in the creative process. You'll be amazed at how the slightest variation in your routine can immediately put you on the "edge." A new tool, a new material or technique can throw you into that unsettling territory where mistakes happen.

But it's those very mistakes that can generate amazing new directions and insights.

So back to my vision for muted gray and cream surfaces that look like smoke drawings. There are options, like removing color, that can alter these current surfaces in interesting ways. Maybe removing the color from these pieces will work out better than the original idea. Maybe they both will end up relegated to sample status eventually as stronger ones emerge.

Tomorrow after I finish discharging these I'll start hand painting shades of grays and hints of color on two new pieces with acrylic paints rather than dyes. It's another idea I want to test to create the muted first layer that I'm envisioning for new work in this series.

Uncertain results, new risks and possible pitfalls lie ahead. Makes me feel like an Indiana Jones of artistic practice; but it's the exploration and adventure that ARE the treasure!

Informing the Work

Linen wrapping with Etruscan writing from the Mummy of Zagreb

When you read about an artist's work that "X's work is informed by thus-and-such" or "references such-and-such", have you ever wondered WHY artists do research and how it contributes to the development of their work?

When I took a master class with Michael James in 2007 and told him I wanted to begin to explore language imagery, he advised strongly that I research and study more about art and language to "inform" my work. I took his words to heart and have been researching and learning ever since.

What do research and exploring references do for our art work?

When I selected one language, Etruscan, two weeks ago, to explore for six months, I was a bit worried. There are few surviving samples of this written language other than funerary inscriptions of names. Because of this, experts can decipher individual names and words and phrases but don't completely understand the meanings.

One of the largest surviving Etruscan texts I've discovered is a great stimulation to my imagination. Five linen wrappings on the mummified remains of what scientists have identified as an approximately 30 year old woman from between 150 and 100 BC are covered with 1200 legible words written in ink that appear to be a sacred, religious text. They call her the Mummy of Zagreb.

The images of these mummified remains and the fragments of sacred texts and names of gods and goddesses written on the wrappings are new images in my thoughts as I practice writing Etruscan language fragments daily with a variety of tools, paints and inks. While there is no full translation of the writing on these burial cloths, my imagination creates its own stories and explanations.



Each day as my writing practice with the Etruscan alphabet evolves through the assignments in my correspondence class with Laurie Doctor, I feel the act of writing more. I am becoming more attentive to the movement of my whole body in the act of writing, how similar it is to drawing and how the marks I make reveal much about my state of mind each day, whether I am present and relaxed, tense or distracted.

Slowing down and feeling the instrument in my hand, relaxing the grip and giving my full attention to the process are helping me connect more deeply with the gestural act of writing. Even while I don't know what impact this practice will have on my new work, I can sense a shift in my approach to working.

Finding Calm

Pages 3, 20" x 21", silkscreened, dyed silks. Reverse applique, raw edge applique, stitching.

Armed with focus, determination and an impressive plan for my artwork this year, I envisioned producing the next group of pieces in the Parables series in high gear.

Normally, when I start creating a new piece,I go to sleep with a question and wake up with an inner image in my mind of where to begin. That idea either works or leads me to one that does.

This time, however, the Mt. Everest of ideas surrounding language imagery felt like a tangled mess. My mind kept racing, ideas kept piling up and competing -- no clarity, no focus, no "seeing" a clear idea to begin the new work. Just more and more ideas competing for attention.

Clearly,a curious and troubling situation, but only in that one direction.

Work with the Seeds pieces bubbles with excitement, focus and productivity. The small work above, completed this weekend, investigated a number of new options.

Here were the "what ifs" it explored: What would colored threadwork look like on the black and white printed surface? What if I layered two fabrics on top of one another and cut through some of the seed shapes to reveal the fabric underneath? What will a strong golden yellow look like as a contrasting color? How would it work to add a single french knot at the center of each seed shape?

This small work excites me with even more new options. So it isn't my creativity that's suffering, it's something else that's going on with the language imagery.

Eventually I recognized yesterday I needed to take all that unpleasant and distracting burble of ideas in my head and spill it out on paper.

As I wrote, my inner churning and chattering began to quiet.I began returning to that inner balance point that is so crucial for me. I need calm.

I think I revved up my inner engines to take on 2009 and create new language pieces like a racer in the Indy 500. But all I started doing was spinning my wheels and overheating in the pit.

I'm throwing out the whole idea of speed and action. Instead, I'll visualize a quietly flowing stream and me moving along with it. If new Parables pieces aren't ready to emerge, I'll give them the time they need.

We all talk about trusting our process. Right now I have to live it.

Anchors and Sails

The idea of anchors and sails popped into my head this morning in relation to my artistic process. What makes these images a good metaphor for artists?

Anchors are those artistic practices we engage in daily. Whether we journal, draw, stitch, carve or throw pots on a wheel, practice builds an instinctual connection with our tools and subject. Draw a tree over and over; with each enounter the eye will see more clearly and the hand will respond more intuitively.

Our awareness grows through attention and repetition.

This year I'm making a commitment to a six-month correspondence course with Laurie Doctor to help refine my own work with language imagery. One of the anchors for this study is choosing one language to work with over the next six months. I chose Etruscan and learning about this language is an added bonus (more about that another time):


Each day I prop up a sample of Etruscan writing in front of me, open a sketchbook and take a pencil in hand. Then, without looking at the page, I draw the letters onto it.


Although I've only been doing this exercise for three days, I am noticing that every day the practice evolves and I engage in it more mindfully. The act of drawing blind opens me to feel my movements, see each individual shape and consider the relationships in spacing and lines.

Shutting off one sense intensifies others amazingly quickly. In this case it particularly increases my awareness of my movements (flowing or constricted,spontaneous or deliberate,calm or impatient). Even after engaging in this practice for only three days, my senses and concentration on the forms and shapes are heightening, much as I grow more aware of an object in a blind contour drawing exercise.

An intuitive urging led me to contact Laurie about working with her; some part of me sensed a need for a structure to my investigations that I hadn't been able to create for myself. Laurie's immediate response with a very limited set of variables and daily practices is informing me in new ways. It fills me with excitement and anticipation for how this study is going to translate to my body of work.

Even as I anchor myself to repeating this practice each day, I feel sails unfurling and billowing.

What holds us steady in one place is intricately connected to what propels us forward.


"Seeds of Change",42"w x 44"h, silk habotai, monoprinted, layered, stitched.

This piece, almost complete, relates well to my growing understanding of the merits of repetition. The elements repeat -- and yet they are also unique and individual.

What used to repel me about repetition -- the idea of sameness -- now engages me, because the smallest variations stand out and draw the eye.

Everything Connects

These are BillDings, one of my favorite toys when I was a child. And yay, they're back again in the toy market.

Note the amazing feature of this simple stacking toy -- the slots allow them to connect in multiple, unexpected ways.

Oddly enough, even just looking at this image of them again makes the child inside me hugely happy. These clown like figures have huge smiles on their faces as they hang upside down and balance on each other's shoulders, arms and legs. These little guys inspire creativity!

And they have real life counterparts!

This weekend my husband and I attended the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra's Pop Series performance, "Cirque de la Symphonie".

Fortune smiled on us with tickets in the second row while former Cirque performers joined the orchestra onstage and performed stunning acts to each musical selection. Being so close allowed us to see and appreciate their tremendous focus, concentration and physical prowess.

Alexander Streltsov's stunning, aerial moves on silk were one of the many excellent performances of the evening. Watching him soar as silken fabric rippled and billowed around him and the orchestra played a "Star Wars" piece felt magical.

Each act and performer drove home the same message to me. Every art form takes discipline, patience and practice. The artist repeats moves and gestures over and over and over until the sheer force of repetition burns them into memory.

Watching the tremendous concentration and focus in the performers' eyes and faces even as their diaphragms heaved and muscles trembled from exertion, I can appreciate the practice that goes on daily behind-the-scenes to create that seemingly (unless you ARE in the second row!) effortless defiance of gravity.

What do Cirque acrobats performing with our area symphony offer me as inspiration for my daily artistic practice? First, stimulation. Our artistic selves thrive by watching, listening to and appreciating other artists.

Second,the recognition that the ingredients to accomplishment are the same. Desire and practice build our expertise in our chosen field, whether that is playing the tuba, juggling or oil painting.

Third, putting something out into the world from our creative centers is not a matter of how large or how small the rewards are. The concert program, by Cirque de Soleil standards, was tiny, with just one or two performers on stage at a time. Yet I was entertained and satisfied and delighted with this "bite size piece" of Cirque's dazzling choreography and physical artistry.

This means that practicing our art form, whatever it may be, from a place of passion and attention can have as much worth and impact on a small stage as in a large, lavish production.