It's Moo for Me

Sometimes a girl's just got to have fun. And MOO cards are it for me today. Moo cards are smaller, but usable (especially for a nonconforming artist) business-- or whatever -- cards that are printed from a set of photos in Flickr. Falling in love with the cards first, that meant I had to tackle another internet challenge, setting up a Flickr account, uploading photos, and trying to stay detached enough not to get lost in the scores, hundreds, thousands of incredible images that live on the Flickr pages.

 This detail from Our Lady of Guadalupe/Tonantzin was one of the 20 or so images I ordered. The card will actually be a slice about 1.5 inches wide through the middle of this picture.

 

I had a blast. Flickr was fun; Moo was fun. I cannot wait to get my 100 little cards, each one with a different image of my art work on the front, proper business contact information on the back. Seems to me its the next best thing to ATC and at $19.95 for a pack of 100 cards, they are, if not inexpensive, certainly an affordable luxury, like eating raspberries. 

Dye Stuff

History comes alive for me through personal meaning, so even though the prose is rather dense and dry, I found the information in A History of the International Dyestuff Industry to be worth slogging through. I knew that Procion MX dyes, those most of us artful dyers use, were fairly new, more of the postwar explosion of chemical tinkering (and one of the more benevolent). Here's an excerpt that pinpoints the official birthday:

March 1956 was the centenary of the discovery of Perkin's mauve, and the event was celebrated, like the fiftieth anniversary, by international gatherings in London and New York. Appropriately, the ICI Dyestuffs Division marked the event with the announcement of the first successful fiber reactive dye, reacting chemically with the fiber to form covalent bonds. These exceptionally fast dyes became the first of the Procion range, ideal for cotton dyeing (Procion Yellow R, Procion Brilliant Red 2B, and Procion Blue 3G)....

Today, the fiber reactive dyes are available in a wide range of shades, are extremely brilliant, are wetfast, and can be applied economically. They were originally applied to wool, but the dyeing performance does not match that on cellulose. In Japan, for example, fiber reactive dyes account for over half of the colorants used for cellulosic fibers.

Actually, the earlier dye history is more interesting, with more details about the actual people involved, and the article includes some wonderful old engravings of dye machinery and technology. Thanks to the wonderful Layers of Meaning blog for this link. And thanks to the unknown chemists who have given us such wonderful colorants -- and all the chemical surprises possible on the cloth. (P.S. Another benefit from reading this article is the incentive  it provides for us to use proper safety procedures when handling dyes in studio -- all those nicely scary chemical formulas pointing to long-chain organic chemicals!)

The photo above shows Els van Baarle at a recent workshop, where she taught us methods of using layers of Procion MX dyes with hot wax batik to create richly nuanced color and texture.

Tonantzin

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"Tonantzin" is in.

 The juried exhibit SIDE BY SIDE will feature work of Texas fiber artists and open in Clear Lake, near Houston and Galveston, on September 26, with the show running through October 22. The exhibit is in conjunction with the Houston Fiber Artists Association annual show (thus the "Side by Side," ) and will be at The Arts Alliance Center at Clear Lake. One of my wall altars, "Abba Samuel, Orange" was also accepted. It's nice to get acceptance calls, isn't it? (Three of Laura Beehler's large art cloth pieces, from the same series as "Lambent Thoughts" will also be in the show.)

The juror, Amanda Clifford, is the exhibitions coordinator at the Houston Center for Contemporary Craft. Prior to this, she was the Exhibitions Coordinator at the Wood Turning Center, Philadelphia, PA and assistant Curator for the Everson Mustum of Art, Syracuse, NY. 

"Tonanztin"  is a 36" by 55" art quilt that stirs together symbols of Our Lady of Guadalupe and of the Aztec Corn goddess, the iconic stance of Our Lady, the corn and villages of  Tonantzin, the moon of both. The lady of compassion and the goddess of sustenance are surely soul sisters, if not one and the same.

Other titles that seem to be related to this goddess are:"The Goddess of Sustenance", "Honored Grandmother", "Snake": Aztec Goddess of the Earth. She brought the corn, Mother of the Corn and she was worshipped during the moveable feast called Xochilhuitl. An idol attributed to this deity is described as being made of wood and in the image of a young woman of about twelve yeas old, wearing red. A tiara of red paper was on her head and her neck was adorned with a necklace of corn and tied with a blue ribbon. Her hands held ears of corn and her arms were open.

To be Inspired

Inspiration has a linguistic connection to breath. We breathe in the world and transform it into our work. This week away from the studio, I am inhaling images that will find their way onto my work tables at El Cielo. Breathing lessons. Slow down. Take time, take photos if you wish. Fill your chest cavity and your solar plexis with otherpeople's everydays.

For more of what I'm seeing:  

Lambent Thoughts

More about Laura Beehler's art cloth "Lambent Thoughts."

This piece consists of layered silk organza created with deconstructed screen printing, stencil printing, paint stick and colored pencil. Here's what Laura has to say about the piece and her process:

"'Lambent Thoughts' evolved during a period where I was having problems concentrating on any one project or thought as there were so many to deal with. My thoughts were jumbled and on a rampage through my mind. 'Lambent Thoughts' became the fleeting glimmer of thought that streamed in and out of my mind. Just beyond my grasp to hold on to and solidify the thought.

"My work has evolved from very timid and shy to the reckless abandonment of preconceived ideas. It has become very intuitive and spontaneous with my next steps guided by what is taking place on the fabric. In my current body of work I use a deconstructed screen method which is applying dye to screens, letting it dry in the screen and then releasing it onto the fabrics. This gives me an unplanned array of colors, marks and textures that are very organic in nature. I let the cloth guide me as I lay down additional marks to accent and enhance the emerging story.

"I continue to work with lengths of fiber and the application of dyes through various screens to apply color and design to the fibers. There seems to be endless, unpredictable possiblilites with this technique and I have many areas that have not yet been explored."

Deconstructed screen printing is a open-ended and spontaneous technique for letting the cloth and imagery lead the way. This meeting of mind and technique is what makes Laura's work sing for me. Her willingness to follow the imagery as is develops on the page is like watching someone wander onto a path along a beautiful coastline or along a mountain ridge.

Laura's Art Cloth

Laura Beehler delivered a piece of  beautiful art cloth, titled "Lambent Thoughts," to me this afternoon, work that I purchased last spring, but waited to receive until it came down from "Never Static," a juried exhibit  of art cloth at The Textile Center in Minneapolis.

Layered organza gives this monumental and meditative piece  its  luminosity -- there's a kind of delicacy along with its power.

Tomorrow, I've a plan to interview Laura and then edit this post with a few more details about her process and the ideas behind this piece, but with rain and FASA (local guild meeting) today, I didn't quite get around to everything I planned -- so check back in in 24 hours if you have time. Laura is part of Art Cloth Studios in San Antonio, Jane Dunnewold's teaching studio.

Our Lady of San Pedro

People ask me all the time how long it takes to make one of my art quilts. Who can tell? Do I get to count dyeing and screen-printing the fabrics? How about cleaning up the studio and resorting those scraps? And what about the search in my favorite thrift stores to find the Mexican dresses and Guatemalan fabrics that I can't resist? Let's not even try.

Howsoever,

here she is, about 8 hours in

the cutting and pasting and

staring into space stage:

Our Lady of San Pedro.

The process:

• Audition a bunch of fabric, by color. This includes commercial fabrics, ethnic textiles, scraps of new silk and a couple of my scarves that haven't sold (the green cross), vintage table cloth dyed, discharged and screenprinted for the orange background.
  
• Decide the size, in this case, as a companion piece I wanted her to be about the same size as Our Lady  of Nopales.
• Start with the face, from a embroidered yoke of a dress made in the San Antonino village in the state of Oaxaca. I find them in thrift stores or the closets of friends. I first started making these angels and saints when I could not bear to keep my wedding dress (the marriage long over), but couldn't bear to throw it away either. And that Lady has given birth to a tribe of relatives.
• So next, find her shape.
  
• Add layers.
• Listen to what is going on and find the right ways to give her voice and presence.
•  With this piece, I was still taken with the thermofax I had made by tracing an old lithograph image of a rooster, the crowing cock that is a symbol of St. Peter, so it seems she became his Lady, a kind of comforting presence to all of us who have ever betrayed ourselves, and the love of others.
  
•  Fuse it all together with Wonderunder.
• Add a few hieroglyphic squiggles to tie the surface together and add energy.
• NOW, the sewing begins, the rather tedious part that I try to look upon as meditative. But it adds a delicious line that's almost a secret -- you have to look closely to see how it's a layer of drawing.

Fear & Commitment

David Bayles and Ted Orland in ART & FEAR have this to say:

"Making art can feel dangerous and revealing. Making art is dangerous and revealing. Making art precipitates self-doubt, stirring deep waters that lay between what you know you should be, and what you fear you might be."

Here I sit with fear -- which shows up most often in my world as procrastination -- trying to complete a companion piece to "Our Lady of Nopales" to send to an invitational exhibit in Kerrville that opens at the end of the month. I am in awe of more than a few of the other Texas artists whose work will be included, and I keep finding everything else to do.

Bayles and Orland continue:
"Yet viewed objectively, these fears obviously have less to do with art than they do with the artist. And even less to do with individual art works. After all, in making art you bring your highest skills to bear upon the materials and ideas you care about. Art is a high calling -- fears are coincidental."

And: "Artists get better by sharpening their skill or by acquiring new ones; they get better by learning to work, or by learning from their work. They commit themselves to the work of their heart, and act upon that commitment."

So ...Leap, girl. leap.

Liturgy

The art quilt diptych (see the post of a couple of days ago) and side banners were installed at San Pedro Presbyterian Church, thanks to the assistance of custodian Luis, whose drill, ladders and manual competence were greatly appreciated. Here's an in-progress shot, and a "before", showing the off-the-rack church banners that my work is replacing.

Liturgical tapestries and wall hangings are, of course, nothing new in the world, and I have liked thinking about that continuity, my connection to the sorority of women whose skills and imagination have stitched sacred cloths for altars and choir lofts for as long as such places have existed. Maybe longer -- it's not too hard to imagine open air altars with cloths and banners, celebratory clothing and covers for sacred objects, existing before walls were built to enclose such ceremony.

The research has appealed to my inner historian, and that one who might once have lived in a cloistered order.

The key imagery and design reflects that of the symbols and images of this contemporary sanctuary's stained glass windows: the green leaf to stand for the growth of both Genesis and the Church (local reference with the cactus), the flaming heart and hands symbol of John Calvin (founder of the Presbyterian Church), the City of God with its golden rooftops (including the roofline of Mission San Jose), the silhouette of the crowing cock, a symbol of St. Peter (San Pedro). The cross motif has as its central emblem, the sun (Son).

The side banners, overdyed silk of various weaves, allow for changing colors and themes, to reflect the most important seasons of the liturgical year:
Advent and Christmas (combined): Gold
Lent: Violet/deep purple
Easter Sunday: Gold
Pentecost: Scarlet
Ordinary Time: Green

Maker

Confession. My home page is not -- exactly -- an art related site. But, on www.boingboing.net I always find something that stirs my artist's interest.

Today, it was a post that linked to an article in "The New Atlantis" an online magazine, where essayist Matthew B. Crawford explores the state of manual competence. After my last post, driven by the frustration of my own manual incompetence at a particular task, I found the synchronicity compelling and the writer's words a good reminder of why I call myself a "maker."

The term is more often used by artists and artisans in Great Britain, and I like its leveling of all the distinctions that drive me into drivel. Am I arts or crafts? Is my work Art with a capitol or damnably artsy? Is this work fine craft, fine art, product or object? A recent discussion on a very large online listserve centered on whether the Gee's Bend quiltmakers were artists or not drove me off the list after only a week of lurking.

Anyway, Crawford, who is exploring the educational trend away from vocational classes, has this to say near the beginning of his article:

"A decline in tool use would seem to betoken a shift in our mode of inhabiting the world: more passive and more dependent. And indeed, there are fewer occasions for the kind of spiritedness that is called forth when we take things in hand for ourselves, whether to fix them or to make them. What ordinary people once made, they buy; and what they once fixed for themselves, they replace entirely or hire an expert to repair, whose expert fix often involves installing a pre-made replacement part.

"So perhaps the time is ripe for reconsideration of an ideal that has fallen out of favor: manual competence, and the stance it entails toward the built, material world."

Finding Sanctuary

Over and over, up and down, another panel. Another crooked line of stitch. How did I get 32" instead of 30". And don't get me started on colors -- can a nice juicy Lenten purple be that difficult to get on silk? Rolling of eyes. Gnashing of teeth. Pulling of threads. How could a church project inspire such woeful internal language? If I ever decide that making a traditional quilt is necessary for my art quilt mastery --proving to myself and others that I am a "real" artist -- please remind me of this week.

Pinned to the wall in the studio is a diptych of art quilts, a commission for San Pedro Presbyterian Church-- the first commission I have accepted in a long time. The diptych, with its rich silks and relatively simple design and patterning, has been a pleasure. Ever step was joyful: researching church symbols, dyeing and printing fabrics and ordering silk from my favorite sari store in Houston, stitching the layers together by machine and by hand, even the repetitive meditation of finishing the edges with layered stitch. (To see some interesting finishing ideas for textile work, order my mentor and friend Jane Dunnewold's "Edges and Borders" CD.)

Not so the simple silk dyed banners that are to hang either side and change with the liturgical seasons. Why does 30" slip around on my measuring stick? And why has it taken me four tries to get an appropriately Lenten purple? My old Singer machine (it was my Grandmother's 1952 pride) is a workhorse when it comes to freemotion quilting -- but because I have pushed the tension and manhandled so much fabric through it, making a simple seam strengthens my resolve to start down payments on a new Bernina. I'm still not done, and need to deliver the banners and art quilts next week, so that they can be welcomed into the sanctuary on Sunday, Sept. 10.

That date, Sept. 10.

That day a few years ago was last day before everything changed about how we in the U.S. think of peace and war, sanctuary and safety. It's amazing the power that typing Sept. 10 or Sept. 11 or Sept.12 has now. As an artist, it's often hard to see the relationship between peace out there and peace in here. What can my work do to heal a world where some people are so desperate to achieve their view of right that they are willing to kill others, and destroy their own precious gift of life? All I know to do is to keep doing my soul purpose, to trust that my quilts are putting peace into the world. And to remember that the tasks that I do, even the ones that tangle the threads and threaten my sense of worth in silly little ways, can provide sanctuary if only I keep the peace.

For more about Jane Dunnewold's CD, check out her website.

Welcome to my view

This is about the maker's life. The teacher's path. The stitching and dyeing and printing of the craft of art cloth and art quilt. The stumbling around and the soaring, the way the words and the pictures come together. Poetry on the page and in the piecing of bright scraps together. The inner work and the outer journeys to and from. Practicalities and flights of fancy and fearful grandeur, trivial pursuits and tactile amusements.

It's also about this particular place and time --in my life -- and in the life of this studio space as it and we become the next thing on the list. The view from this studio space on this Texas Hill Country ridge is awe-inspiring and ever-changing. Blink and the light shifts, but the seven hills that stretch out on the near horizon are as old as, well, the hills. What you see below foot -- crushed caliche, jagged limestone, shaped and sharp, smooth and honeycombed, dusty and chalky -- is what makes the contours, the rounded nubs and gentle peaks. The limestone shapes the hills beneath their green cloak of cedar - ash juniper - that stretches as far as the eye reaches. And, despite this present aparition, the rock was once alive, once the skeletons of sea creatures, the living reef.

So this is about nature and art and people as we come together in communion on this patch of old reef, a ridgeline about 20 minutes drive from any named place on a map, although the post office address is Pipe Creek.

Expect this chronicle to be as changing as the rock.