I imagine painters go through this too: “if i cover this area again with white, and start again, i can focus what i want to say, i can change the feel, i can refocus the focus”.

Because i see a big fail here, as i worked on the mountain zigzag area! I want all of these elements to be strong, not strong in that they fight each other and there is no main voice, but i don’t want the story trailing off in a little falsetto either.

The centrepiece of this is of course the moon. (Background central stitching still be worked.)

The roots work.

The mountains i have started are NOT, how embarrassing. Because this area was to be cut out and backed, i tried a “colouring” in my photo editing program–i DON’T LIKE IT.

Actually it’s not the intended deep blue i don’t like, it’s those icky mountains. They’re weak, childish, less than what i can do and intended. I think they need to be somewhat similar to the moon fabric i used, a crackly indigo overdyed grevillea ecoprint. Fortunately there is JUST enough of that chunk left, and with fewer light areas–because they do need to be darker than the moon—so i’ll actually be covering that stitching now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is art/something/anything better because of the size? Can big be as intimate as the smaller work, the microcosm? Is it scale or portrayal that makes something demand to be large? Can small and dainty be transumed by changing scale and still be a communing with the subject?

One also has to define what “big” means to themselves though: is it actual size, the complexity of the technique used on it, or the point being made using this medium as the voice? Some may even question *my* “big”, but when each element may take 15-41 hours to create, and there are 15 of them to work, well, it FEELS big!

Most of my work to 2011 had been a “comfortable” size, usually within the 20-28″ range. It fit my worktable, it was easily portable, and it was finishable. I started questioning why i didn’t get “expansive and gestural”, feeling limited by the zone where it was easy to fit everything in, almost in a numbered fashion.

Subsequently most of my work since then has been much larger, not only in inches, but in complexity and duration of process. (Pieces have ranged from 30×40 to 36×43 to 40×54) I’ve come to realize i must find a happy medium, both in size and in practice, due to the fact that my work is extensively hand embroidered. I know there is no race or prize for having a certain number of pieces done per year, but when i see only 3 things done over 12 months, i wonder how a body of work can be completed in a reasonable time for exhibits.

I’ve tried doing small exercises that could later be incorporated into larger work, i’ve deliberately set sizes, but in the end, the background fabric determines, literally, the size of the finished piece. Because i was intentionally creating these fabrics for future work, they were larger than the previous comfort zone sizes. This summer i will again be doing a residency to make more of these fabrics, and this time will cut down consciously a few in motif and area so that i have a stockpile of possibilities that are within my zone! This isn’t a limit really, as pieces can always be incorporated into each other if i *do* want to go bigger again.

These are fabrics from past residencies, inspiration and jump off points this year.

 

 

Why did i title this one that? Because prurience makes for good blog hit numbers, as evidenced in my stats in the previous post……..Seriously, will you read this ONLY because it mentions nudity?

To the 28th of Feb, the blue moon for the Leighton inspired work looked like this:

I also decided i like this orientation better, on the vertical, rather than the horizontal. (Actually the original inspiration is also vertical.) I was also fortunate that the thread i had dyed at the same time as Christine’s hand spun, is almost identical in appearance and weight– even i can barely tell where one ends and the other begins.

As of March 1st, it looks like this. The final stitching in the last arc will be done this evening, and then onto the background. And i have to say that sometimes until i see a photo like this, with all the attendant texture and shadow, i wonder why i am doing things all by hand and so slowly. Well, obviously THIS is why.

I’m quite pleased at how the areas of grevillea ecoprint are accented, but not overwhelmed by the embroidery. And i love that almost granular texture, and am thinking of how that could be strengthened even more, used in other depictions, and wonder how it would be in a contrasting colour. This result is also why i never use a hoop! I feel the fabric is tortured and forced to remain still, unbreathing and static, a condition i cannot see or feel is truly loved. Do we not use fabric precisely because it is alive and soft?

I’m also thinking it might be an interesting experiment to try different weights or weaves of fabric this way—-the stitches may sit higher, or sink the cloth deeper. Scale could be thrown in there as well–how well would this work for large pieces?

And the(yellow/orange) colour added to the indigo overdyed ecoprint–i used to “paint” fabrics to use: why am i not doing more of this? Who cares that one is “Natural”, one “Synthetic”? Would you know if i didn’t tell you? While i doubt i will ever lose my love for the natural processes of rust, ecoprint and natural dye, small doses of colour i can’t do “naturally” (for whatever reason, from cost of material to expertise to conditional recipe), there’s no law that says i can’t mix. I AM a purist about natural dyes–the science behind it IS important to me—but no other art medium is so fraught with “you must not use synthetic/commercial with the natural—it commodifies, bastardizes, cheapens–” and the myriad other Rules set by close minded individuals.

BULLSHIT.

The Dye Police can go to hell. Follow your own rules. I’ll make my own, because in the end, the “average” audience doesn’t give a flying you know what at the moon, what the medium was, as long as they like the whole. And i never understood that “recipe” thing we have to do when we describe our textile work : “hand embroidered with gnat hair, naturally dyed with snipe leaves on organically grown banana skin silk and bathed in a seaside stream, while chanting/channelling Rumi.” On one leg in six feet of snow, uphill facing.

AHEM. There i go again, “defending” myself. But no, i’m not actually: we all have parameters we work within, and these are mine, trying to stretch and fly. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m in week seven of the Jane Dunnewold Creative Strength Training class, and have much to think about. Jane’s gentle but insistent style of guidance is the impetus i needed to really look and think about what i do, and why, and how.

Usually i am the student who rushes through things because i know it all already :), but i find now that i am taking time to do the writing, the analyzing (not that angsty kind i’m semi-famous for, though i’m pretty sure that will still come into play once in awhile, truthfully……….) and the internal debate without harsh self criticism. This is not to say intuition doesn’t still come into play: there is no way anyone worth their salt who spends time with cloth seriously, can tell me that Step A must lead to Step B must follow Step A, rinse and repeat. Nope, nuh uh, ain’t gonna work. This isn’t about “giving oneself Permission” either—who died and made Permission the Queen of the Universe? I/we do what i/we do because i/we must–there’s no allowance paid, or diploma handed out for toeing the line—- because Permission is Concession. Either do it or don’t.

 

 

On a side note, the body painters almost completely changed their designs. I’m not doing more damned sketches for it: my time is valuable too, and again within defined parameters of the changes, you’ll get what you get. This ain’t no damn game.