Entranced by triangles

It’s no secret that I am awash with scraps and scraps and scraps of formerly known quilted objects. I sometimes wonder if this is simply an obsession or a valid experimental process for making art.

scrap curtain

I love the quote by the painter, Amy Sillman:

“I finally realized, over the last thirty years, that what I was interested in was the transformation of something into something else. And then to something else.”

Last year I cut up a number of quilted objects into triangles and created a push/pull composition that looked like this:

Push and pull with a lightning streak down the middle.

Using previously created work brings a wealth of story and depth to the substrate. I remember working on each and every one of those triangles in their former lifetimes. While I am always inspired by the stitching and colors of the originals I still overstitch the triangular modules to establish a denser texture.

This composition seems forced and flat. So it went in the use-it-again pile in my studio.

Stage 2 (or is that stage 3?

Picking up where I stopped I played with shaping the material into a new form. The layering of the fabrics and overstitching gave the raw material a weight and ballast that helped in that effort. I could fold it, mold it, roll it and stand it up. I ended up with this helmet shaped standing object. It was fun to walk around the studio wearing it for awhile.

Push and pull repurposed into a sculptural helmet

It was a challenging departure from the flat piece and I learned a little about ballast and balance when standing a quilt up. But, bottom line, I wasn’t happy with it. So I cut up the triangles for a new piece.

Then I had a lot of triangles

Triangles are a common unit in quilt construction and also very versatile for sculpture. Put four together and you get a pyramid. Three make very handy spiky shapes that combine well into a six-sided hive shape.

The underside of the constructed object.

These triangles are getting rawer and rawer from all the manipulations I have tried. I soon realized that I had to do some hand stitching to get the pieces together if I wanted them to hold their shape.

That took a while. It’s not my favorite thing to do but there is a sense of accomplishment in doing it.

Caterpillar, close up

A spiky caterpillar, still in process.

I’m loving this shape and the versatility of triangular construction. I think I will repurpose a piece that is standing in my office to make a bigger version of this caterpillar shape. Invisible, the work shown below, was constructed with repurposed triangular pieces. She stands in my studio. It might be time to transform her into a new shape.

We all do that from time to time right?

Invisible (foreground figure) shown at the Dairy Barn in 2019.

If I build it will you come?

I have been looking into a way to offer a stitching workshop here in Memphis. I want it to be all about process and experimentation. I’m thinking a 5-day or 3-day intensive. The Shapeshifter Art School in Memphis is offering a wonderful classroom with an attached art gallery for the workshop. There are lots of details I need to consider before committing to it. Here’s my question: Would you consider a trip to the beautiful, bluesy, artful city of Memphis to spend time with me, the mighty Mississippi and your sewing machine?

I'm interested

Web-o-rama

There is a spider and her web in our kitchen window caught between the storm window and the window into the house. I have been watching her all summer.

She seems to be self sufficient and very busy. Food shows up. She builds more web. There are these egg-like shapes that she sculpts and tends. I wonder if they will hatch. Maybe they are mini pantries for meals in the future. I debate about removing the storm window so that she can escape but then I wonder how she got there in the first place. There must be an exit. She chooses to put on this show in the safety of her enclosure. I feel that way sometimes.

I am fascinated by webs and geometry. My phone has hundreds of found textures in its catalog. I never quite know when one of these inspiration shots will show up in my work. This week the webs I have witnessed started showing up in my stitching.

Here’s a series of shots of this work in progress that shows that discovery process.

I often talk about being in process when making art. If I can divorce myself from my expectations the work becomes more honest and spontaneous. Without the expectation of a successful finished product I learn more. Explore more.

I hope that house spider will last a long time.

Bluster

I alternate between being obsessed with the news and choosing to ignore it all. As a citizen, I feel an obligation to be aware and to speak up. As an artist, all of that information is stacked up in my memory. It will inevitably show up in the work if I let it.

This is teaching season so a lot of my time is in the classroom or preparing for the classroom. Except for the airports I do love it. A week at Quilting by the Lake quieted a lot of the political chatter I was listening to and made me focus on making art. My students were eager, talented and experimental. We found time to share our stories, appreciate the process and laugh when the work brought us joy.

When I returned I wasn’t counting on being able to work in the studio. I had too many errands and I had to prepare for next week’s workshop at the Woodland Ridge Retreat in Wisconsin. Nevertheless, while unpacking this quilt I laid it on the table next to the piece below that had failed earlier in the year. They were stacked on top of each other and I saw a way to combine them.

Nonsense is made with a printed cloth I designed based on my Disruptors series.

This collage kept getting more complicated. I liked the ingredients but not the result. so it ended up on the scrap pile.

What follows are some of the details and a semi-final reckoning of how it ends. I’m calling it Bluster after all of those politicians and tv commentators who buzz our ears with the same stories day after day after day after day.

Bluster is a tornado of texture and color. I need to finesse the warp of it and I might add some hand stitching.

People ask me all the time how I can possibly cut up these pieces to create new ones. This art is not a fast process. Each piece takes many hours of contemplation and stitching. After all that effort the pieces can become too precious. For me the process of discovery is the prize. I don’t really seek new finished pieces. Instead I focus on working with what I have to make and remake art. The transformation is the point. What is old becomes new. And, look, I end up with lots of really great scrap pieces that can be used for more explorations in the future.

I can wait

I leave tomorrow to teach at Quilting by the Lake. It’s a great place to meet up with like minded folks. We learn, we play and we come away with new ideas. Though I love teaching I am not fond of the actual transit time and energy it takes to get there and back. Airlines are clumsily fulfilling their promises. The seats on the planes defy the idea of comfort and delays and cancellations are to be expected. Needless to say it can be challenging to get off the plane with a good attitude.

A mantra for relief

Whenever I start feeling anxious, angry, itchy, or just plain mean I repeat: I can wait, I can wait, I can wait…..I can wait.

Like this Dove who is sitting on a nest above my back door in 100° heat. She is patient and calm regardless of her circumstances. I can wait.

When I start getting drawn into the news cycle I have to remind myself that the roller coaster of despair can be balanced by hope and good trouble. I can wait.

In Spring I looked for signs that the plants would survive the winter. And now the garden is completely overgrown. I waited and was rewarded.

When I am acting more like the White Rabbit muttering "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" I need to focus on how amazing the ride down the rabbit hole is instead. I can wait.

How do you calm your anxiety and impatience?

The simple phrase “I can wait” helps me focus on what is rather than what I want it to be. It’s a practice that brings balance to inevitable chaos.

I can wait.

Fruit

I love dropcloths. I don’t often make them myself but if I happen upon one that is allowed to go home with me I am delighted. Dropcloths show effort, action and revision. Dropcloths protect what is under.

Dropcloths are a record of time.

So when I came upon this discarded dropcloth I couldn’t resist taking it home with me. Bright and deep magenta, brilliant yellow and a hint of sky blue. There are some stampings on it and a sprinkling of raw umber spots. It is soft and worn, damaged but intact. I worked with it for a couple of months before I came to my final decisions about its form. Here are some of the steps I took in the process.

The cloth went through many stages of composition and texture. I loved all the stitching and texture but did not find the end result compelling enough to consider it done. The work ended up in the raw materials section of the studio where it could rest and be considered for a different life. See a post about its first incarnation here).

Then one day I decided to cut it up to experiment with curved seams and 3D features. The cloth really came alive. It started looking like a creature or a giant squishy comfort toy.

I loaded those squishy bits onto the leftover dropcloth to create a larger piece. I added cone-shaped objects into the mix from another cut up quilt. Eventually the pieces came together to form a whole.

I’m still settling on which way I want to hang it. I like it both ways and it may still go through a transformation while I work on details. It makes me laugh. Something I need more and more these days.

Fruit, 25” x 50”, Paula Kovarik

Fruit, 25” x 50”, Paula Kovarik

The Herd show is at the International Quilt Museum until September. If you are traveling anywhere near Lincoln, Nebraska please stop in to see it.