Dye Ceremony

The day was beautiful. The setting perfect. The ceremony perhaps less of a ritual atmosphere than I would have liked (but as my friend Susan said, perhaps Izukura realizes how little tolerance and experience westerners have of ritual). We sat in the circle of the riverside gazebo, in this early spring wind and sun, and dyed beautful scarves, each woven in two weaves to give texture to the wisp of color that resulted. The dyes were from plants and insects (mine, a final soft grey) was dyed with cochinil. 

  

Sensei Akihiko Izukura

 

I went to church today, although it was Saturday, and the chapel was a gallery lined with chairs. The spiritual master who presented his message was textile sensei Akihiko Izukura, and, although he spoke in Japanese through a translator, the message of his personal presence was clear in any language. Izukura, born into a traditional obi-making family business, has welded tradition, history and innovation into his factories, his dye ceremonies (more on that after I participate tomorrow) and his garments that manage to be both ethereal and earthy.

 

His dye baths are used until the pigment is all transfered to the cloth; the dye materials are burned and their ashes incorporated into handmade paper and glazes for pottery. People in his workplace are as carefully matched, and he refuses to go to cheaper labor markets for his handmade clothing, keeping work in the rural communities of  Japan where women sit at looms to weave the silk garments -- the garments themselves designed much as sweaters are, without cutting and waste of fabric.

      

At the heart of his work is the idea of "not choosing."

"Using natural materials is using and borrowing their lives to make something new. All is appreciated. All the stages, all the the parts.  This is the basic thought: not choosing, not one thing over another as more beautiful. To appreciate all of the lives. This is what I call the aesthetics of consideration." 

I don't know how I can incorporate more of his zero waste philosophy into my own work -- in a way, my insistence on using thrift store fabrics and old clothing as the raw material for most of my work -- is my own version of that philosophy, if not as stringent and well conceived. I also like to use my dye liquids as much as I can -- throwing fabric into "exhausted" dye pots, to achieve background tints, if nothing else. Yes, I use commercial chemical dyes and probably too much of them. Today's lecture does inspire me to look more closely -- and yes, to get back to the recycling I gave up when it started seeming too hard to do from 30 miles north of the city limits. (I'll add photos of the exhibit and of Izukura when I get home and can download the pictures, so check back if they aren't here yet.)

The Southwest School of Art and Craft website says this about Izukura's philosophy and practise:

Through his nearly spiritual engagement with textile processes, Akihiko Izukura imbues his garments and artwork with beauty and a sense of peace. As one of Japan's most extraordinary textile artists, Izukura’s personal philosophy of natural harmony has led to an extraordinary zero-waste philosophy. For instance, he works mainly in silk, and every part of the silk cocoon – even parts considered waste –  is used in the weaving. Garments are designed and engineered as they are woven, eliminating the need to cut into the fabric, which would leave waste.

Izukura has pioneered a way of dyeing that doesn't pollute water. He uses only natural materials (nuts, betel palm, onionskin and so on) for colors, and then uses every drop of the dye liquid, so that color intensity changes from piece to piece. In fact, even the materials used to extract the dye are processed into a powdery ash that is then used for pottery glazes or papermaking.

Read more about Akihiko Izukura at his website, http://www.akihikoizukura.com/en/.

Simplicity

By no stretch of imagination can my work be called "simple," except perhaps in the -minded, sense of the word. No, I obviously, and sometimes regrettably, come from the  more is better, and even more sometimes school of work.

But, yes, some things about me are plainly simple: my haircut. for one.

 

And, in my ongoing search for business models and methods, organizational solutions that will work for me, I came across two  fascinating blogs from designer and author John Maeda: Simplicity and The Laws of Simplicity. Number one: "The simplist way to achieve simplicity is through thoughtful reduction" can certainly serve as a mantra for the desk pile clearing now in progress (or at least in process).

I promptly ordered Maeda's book The Laws of Simplicity and subscribed to both blogs, and suggest you take a look, too. A few pull quotes here can't do justice to the the rich subject matter and amazing links. (Be sure to go to the website for the Korean incubator art/craft marketplace Ssamziegil --Yes, I know it's in Korean, who needs common language!)

Here's the sidebar summary from Maeda's Laws of Simplicity: 

 

Whimsy

Tricky topic? The more I think about it the trickier it gets. To be taken seriously often compels artisans and artists to deny whimsy in their work. Pulling it off is ever so difficult. Here we confront the seesaw of public opinion: the weight of academia, our own adult considerations of fame and fortune and the Art World, capital letters, on one seat (it's a quite crowded seat); the universal  human appeal of play, for jokes, for humor on the other. Teetering along, and so few good role models.

I do, however, weigh  in on the side of playfulness and whimsy as studio practice, whether it makes it into the work or not. (It does in mine, quite obviously at times.) Out of self-permission to play, comes interesting discoveries in media, in imagery and, for some artists, a unique style of work. (One of the best examples I know is Pam RuBert.)

In answer  to a question on a mailing list that I read (TheStudioSalon), I came up with these personal must-dos.

 

• Dance, where no one can watch, clear a space, put on music and see what happens. Then draw, then dance. Or  paint to music -- use a cheap kid's watercolor set to keep the materials from feeling too precious.
• Buy the kind of art supplies you loved as a child (or always wanted as a kid) Try them out with no product
• in mind.
• Journal, think, daydream a bit, sit outside and see shapes in the clouds. Write about all the things you loved to do as a child. see if you can revisit some of those activities.
• What do you do when the inner critic says: you are silly, stop being so immature, you are wasting time, you should be ashamed at being so silly, you will  never be taken seriously if you act like this? Say, "thank you for sharing." and keep on doing what you are doing.
• Finish this sentence 25, 46, even 101 times:(from Julia Cameron)If it weren't too late I would ----or  --- If it weren't so silly, I would ... Then pick something and do it.
• Build a sand pile and play in it regularly. Also, wade in a creek, watch ants, dig in the dirt, plant beans and watch them grown, collect leaves and press them.  Does this sound like kindergarden? We're on the right track.
  

P.S. So what do you think of my new whimsical jean jacket? Fiber Artists of San Antonio's Runway Show is on the horizon and I really have no ability or interest in sewing garments, but I like cutting them apart, reassembling them and adding stuff -- this is the same me that loved paperdolls and making clothes for Barbie, back when one had only ONE Barbie, instead of a stable of clones. I am also teaching a course this summer at the Southwest School of Art and Craft called "ReTheads," and an altered denim vest, jacket, skirt or pair of jeans will be one of the class projects.

P.P. S. The jacket is now sans sleeves, they were way too short. 

One Thing Leads to Another

One thing leads to another. Well, that does go without saying. Still, pursuing the Quiltart list today (by the way, thanks to everyone who helped me master its usage given the amazing volume of discussion on and off topic), I was led to the amazing work of Nacogdoches artist Mary McCleary, and then, through her "news" link to the homepage of the journal Image: Art, Faith, Mystery. The serendipity of the internet answers me with such directness sometimes. (No doubt what people feel like when they open a Bible at random and sense that the verse gives them the answer sought.)

Here I sit this winter afternoon, confronted by sleet, by my own shortcomings in the organizing and business side of personal and professional life, by doubts and hesitation about going to the studio (the fireplace is so tempting), by haunting critique of my work ("hands and hearts are trite imagery"), by that nagging doubt that shows up when I look at my bank balance and how I chose to spend my time on this planet.

 Finding Image and digging into it, just for half an hour, was restorative and challenging, invigorating and thought-provoking. Just what I needed to combat the woe-is-me-what-am-I-doing-I'll-never-make-it glum that had me frozen to the windowpane.

Here's what the website says about it:

About Image

"Image, a literary and arts quarterly founded in 1989, is a unique forum for the best writing and artwork that is informed by—or grapples with—religious faith. We have never been interested in art that merely regurgitates dogma or falls back on easy answers or didacticism. Instead, our focus has been on writing and visual artwork that embody a spiritual struggle, that seek to strike a balance between tradition and a profound openness to the world. Here the larger questions of existence intersect with what the poet Albert Goldbarth calls the "greasy doorknobs and salty tearducts" of our everyday ."

I won't say too much, you can take your own stroll into its text and images, but be sure to look under RESOURCES at the Study Guide. That alone could keep me engaged for a month of sleet-bound afternoons. Leaving you then, with this quote from said Study Guide, (copying the guide is encouraged, by the way.)

"One of the perennial tensions in the Judeo-Christian tradition is how the inwardness of faith relates to outwardness of culture. Believers often withdraw from culture on the grounds that it is worldly and dilutes or corrupts religious truth. But from the moment that John began his gospel with "In the beginning was the Word," a statement that would speak to the wider Mediterranean culture of his time, it can be argued that the church was committed to incarnating faith into creative language, story, and image. The tradition of Christian humanism holds that faith becomes abstract and meaningless unless it engages culture, seeking not only to preach to the world, but to listen to and assimilate what the world is saying. The material covered under this theme heading can be said in some way to grapple with this tradition."

Professionalism

What makes a professional artist?  (Let's just leave aside the bigger and plagued-with-over-opinion, "What makes an artist?"). If you follow the thinking presented today by Jane Dunnewold at our Saturday FASA meeting, the answer is not too far from what makes a professional physician, or engineer. Using studies and surveys from these fields Jane found parallel qualities, beliefs, values and practices that, whatever the field, can furnish guidance to us as we work and relate to our peers, our collectors, the galleries, schools and museums, and -- perhaps most telling of all -- to our own psyches.

Dunnewold's talk, which was first presented at the opening of the Visions exhibit in San Diego, looked at the quantifiable qualities that professionalism entailed in one of the studies (that for the medical field) and then, with her experience as a teacher, maker, juror, curator, extrapolated the three areas -- interpersonal professionalism (between artists), social professionalism (between the artist and our world of interaction), and intrapersonal professionalism (within ourself). There was much worth pondering, including the practice (or lack thereof) of whistle-blowing when needed (how many times have you let an unsafe studio behavior go by unmentioned?); the thin line between being influenced by our teachers and being copyists of their work, when we should have moved on into our own; the necessity of practice as well as philosophy to guide us; and the necessity to confront our weaknesses, whether they be technical (drawing, for instance) or procedural (keeping good records), and doing some study to advance our skills.

 But most of all, I left the program with two questions in mind, those that Jane shared at her conclusion.

To paraphrase: As you do the work, you should be able to answer these two questions with a yes -- 1. Did I do the best work I could at this particular time? and, 2. Did I learn something from doing it? It is these affirmative answers that move us along as professionals, artists, doctors, retail merchants, human beings.

Desperate. To-Do List

Hmm, you say. (In a rather ego-driven part of my brain that supposes you've noticed at all) she certainly hasn't posted much lately. And thus one of the truisms of blogging. Insidious doubts arise upon not turning up at the page (electronnic or otherwise). The holidays were one good excuse after another. Continuing computer gliches and slow as molasses satellite connection speeds another. But mainly its a matter of momemtum. AND that, my friends, applies to more in life than blogging.

 

  

 

Despite my on-line absence, a few notable accomplishments in the studio this month: Rearranging the studio (see photos before and after), playtime with my sister and cousin making stuff, embellished jean jackets (expect to see them entered into the FASA Runway Show) a lot of thrift store fabric and table linens purchased and ready to use, a good cleaning and mopping, and planning for the next series of El Cielo Studio Workshops:

First -- Artist Journal/Artist Journey, an art journaling retreat that kicks off the studio season next weekend (only one place left if you are interested), then

FEB. 17-18 Fool Moon/Full Moon -- Using lunar energy, lunacy and the power of the feminine to inspire work. Taking chances and stepping into the unknown. Textile techniques will include shaving foam dyeing, "automatic" dyeing, and other improvisational techniques.

MARCH 24-25 Field Guide to Color -- Color theory made fun, with hands-on application of the "rules," and when and how to break them. Using a variety of source material, exercises and media, including dye, watercolor. collage and egg tempera.

APRIL 13-14 Calling All Archetypes -- using your inner crew for work and support. Exploring archetypes,inner voices and their influence. Make an artist's altar  -- fabric and mixed media -- to remind you of a most sacred part of your life.

JUNE -- TBA dates for a 5 day retreat 

JULY 28-29  Burning Woman Workshop -- Using heat, passion and even hot flashes to fuel our work. Sun printing, burning and rusting; rituals and bonfires to keep our inner creativity burning bright. (Probably repeating in August).

Watch the link on the right sidebar  (WORKSHOPS) for details or email me for details or to reserve a space. All of them (except june's) start on Saturday  morning and conclude early afternoon Sunday. Private bedrooms with baths are available on a first-come basis ($15 to $30 per night, with arrival Friday night optional).

And, so I am back in the studio, a no-car day at last, facing the mother of all to-do lists. To keep myself on track, I pledge an entry a day, at least, action that will help my momentum, and give me a little reward in terms of design and writing time as I slog through end-of-year finances (after some glitch in my Quicken files between backups and losing my hard drive seems to have lost ALL of last years entries). Also on the table: preparations for next weeks exhibit at the state capitol building, a benefit of being selected one of the state's "Texas Originals."

Pachyderm

I ought to ask -- does "Pachyderm" arise from the trunk of goodies therein?

Somewhere in my circus performer's tent, lives a secret geek. I love to play with with intuitively designed software -- the programs that feel and act like building blocks and/or collage layers are the best match for my brain. Don't get me wrong, I avoid anything that looks even like html code -- OK maybe a few little sideways bracket triangles (you know you can't make those show up by typing them here ) are sneaking into my tool box -- but I lean toward programs that put everything into WYSIWYG and let you wiggle it all around. I'll never give up the tactile pleasures of cloth, but I find the architectural limitlessness of the digital world quite seductive.

I am at a 3 day users conference for a presentation (think web page and/or powerpoint -- but different) interface that is spreading through the world of museum professionals across the state, thanks to a project funded by the Edward and Betty Marcus Foundation that puts Texas museums into the loop. Pachyderm has been developed with the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and the New Media Consortium, with support from the  Institute for Museum and Library Services, this software/project/interface  has amazing potential for all manner of  creative artistic play -- not to shortchange its impact on digital education and storytelling for museums.

You can follow the links above to find out more. Be sure to poke around on the pages published as examples and don't miss the SFMOMA "Making Sense of Modern Art" site. If you want to play too you can inquire about trial access to the nmc.org server where the open-source software to do the authoring lives and breathes. For now, its free, though eventually  one will probably need a membership to get into the playpen.

Somewhat like the Squarespace architecture and authoring that underlies this site (and is the reason I pay a small fee monthly rather that using Blogger or one of the other free blog publishers) Pachyderm is a highly flexible set of templates that can be EASILY linked, loaded with ones own pictures, movies, audio and graphic images --then adds some nifty special stuff like sound cues for accessibility.  What you end up with is a Flash presentation that can live on a CD, on  your computer or be uploaded to a hosting web server. Believe me, I know nothing about the tech geekie level of all this -- though you can apparently get involved as a developer if you lean that way -- but as a new convert I can't wait to play. I can see immediate application for a museum/library/family art program that I'm working on for the summer in conjunction with the Botero exhibit that's coming this way.

If you want to play hands-on: 

"Pachyderm 90-day trial authoring accounts are currently available on request for those who wish to take Pachyderm for a test drive. For more information, please see About Pachyderm. To request an account, please send email to info@nmc.org."

Watch this space for further developments. 

 

 

Familiarity

Now this is what I meant to say when someone asked me why I do what I do:

"The medium of fiber appeals to a broader audience because it uses familiar materials and techniques and thus provides a more accessible and understandable art form. How many people sleep between paintings or put on metal pants in the morning?"

Susan Taber Avila is one of a number of San Francisco Bay fiber artists  whose work appears in the on-line gallery www.fiberscene.com. (She's also a co-founder of the website.) This excerpt from her artist statement took me from surfing  dead stop. Sometimes I wonder why I don't paint or sculpt or do something else -- and I'm not even sure about whether I think the familiar materials do make fiber arts more accessible and understandable to the general public -- but I know I connect in a way that I don't to painting and more traditional art disciplines or media.

I sometimes feel really stupid about my work, with its narrative and folkloric content, with its purposeful naivete. I mean, I did go to art school. Shouldn't I do something more sophisticated or important or serious.  Do I sound whiny again? Perhaps its about the familiarity of storytelling. Or maybe I need to let myself try something serious.

Thanks, Susan, for putting it so well.  And letting me mutter about this.

Moving Sound/Sound Movies

 

First, moving sound. And something, too, about our use of carbon fuels. Changing worlds. How to make it come clear. 

Two movies engaged us this weekend, on DVDs of course (I keep forgetting to go the real movies when I am in town). About the first, I won't say much, except, forget what ever prejudices you may hold for or against Al Gore, and see "An Inconvenient Truth."  I resisted it, fearing that I would only become more depressed about the future of the environment, but, he makes a compelling case that, should the political and cultural will be found, the scientific solutions are already known.

 

 On a lighter note, but no less profound for those of us fascinated with human perception, creativity and the power of the individual who finds her/his true path -- "Touch the Sound" -- a documentary unlike any other, hosted by Grammy award winning percussionist Evelyn Glennie. Ms. Glennie, though hearing impaired, is a renowned musician, and this film explores her vision of sound. A vision that the film makers share with us though images so auditory, they are the filmic equivalent of Arthur Dove's paintings.  (If you know of any other painter who gets sound like he does, let me know -- I'm working on a book for parents and kids about cross-form perception and creativity.)

Synchronicity's Ground Rules

Whirling dervishes, she said.

Or do I mean juggling mermaids? 

 
Whether  it's Jungian truthtelling, real-time verification of quantum mechanics, or simply anecdotal wishful thinking, I do believe in synchronicity.  This week, a number of loosely related happenings all arranged themselves into a vortex of positive energy: I spent two mornings teaching workshops at a beautiful Hill Country venue on the Guadalupe River, (with small sales at the event), a large art quilt was purchased at the Kerr Cultural Arts Center, and, tonight, an email from art biz guru  Alyson Stanfield let me know that she will feature one of my quilts in her Monday newsletter. Not to mention a friend's note that a book about creativity that we've been working on together has reached the proposal stage -- and, so far, looks good. And that another friend and I have just been selected  in a competitive bid situation to design a major  interactive children's exhibit for the San Antonio Botanical Gardens. Whew.

But synchronistic energy takes ground work - it doesn't spring from wishful thinking, but from "next best steps.

Sometimes. Like everyone. I don't KNOW what I should be doing. So I just keep moving. Experience has taught me that, even if I make a wrong move, I can undo it, or at least get past it, backtrack and start again. But if I freeze up in a stance of "what if"  or "where next" or "why me (or why not me)" I can almost certainly expect more of the same.

So, in that light:

 I started this blog, though I wasn't certain how to make it distinctive or interesting (I'm not certain yet, so tell me your opinions). I have noticed, that as others have observed, writing an on-line journal is as helpful for the writer, if not more so, as for any particular reader.

I've been taking Stanfield's Promotion on-line course, and from its 28-day curriculum, have enough work and thoughtful pondering to take me though 28 more, at least.

I puzzled out a new notion of community by poking around in the Hill Country towns nearby, especially Kerrville, which has a longstanding and well established artist network. 

I reconnected with Art Cloth friends -- and made some new ones -- by going to the Atlanta/Decatur meeting. 

I go into the studio every day possible, even if its just for stare, shuffle and sketch.

I move consciously, dance as much as possible, and keep my eyes open. When I move beyond known worlds, interesting opportunities tiptoe -- or tumble -- into vision.

This seems to work for me.

P.S. Check the link on the righthand sidebar for a new workshop listing -- this is for January 2007, but an even sooner December workshop is coming to this page soon! (OK, it's a bit cattywhampus, but I'm moving!)