mend

I cut things up and put them back together.

It’s process not product right? So why do I save all these “products” in my store room when I can be inspired by them to create new pieces? My work is about transformation and discovery so what stops me from using what is at hand? Nothing. So, let’s get on with it.

I started with this piece. It’s called AHA! moments. I made it in 2010. It has traveled a bit, been shown a bit and has been part of my portfolio for these past 14 years. The fabric is printed with a black and white drawing I did and then enlarged, daubed with dye and stitched. I love this piece. It’s about how the brain organizes and stores ideas.

The second piece is called Layered Chaos. I made this piece two years ago in response to the chaos we are all witnessing in the news. My goal is to merge the two.

They complement each other in a way that inspires me. Those little orange dots in the white piece are reflected in the white dots and dashes in the black piece. They are part of my stitching vocabulary.

First I had to disassemble AHA! Moments from its secondary role as a beast in my installation called the Herd. See a story about that here.

I wanted to cut holes into the dark piece that would allow the white piece to show through. Here I am using white paper to experiment with where the holes might be. I wanted them to travel across the piece in a random fashion. I wanted the final white pieces to look like patches. I soon realized that I would have to cut the white piece in half vertically to show more of the drawing on each side in the final composition.

Then I had to start cutting. It was a scary moment, I’ll have to admit. I had to keep reminding myself that it is all about the process and if the end product didn’t turn out I would still have the raw material to create something else. Here’s the result of the first cuts. The middle image shows the holes cut into the black piece and the right hand image shows what happens when I cut the white piece in half I could show more of the drawing.

Then the fun begins. My basic concept with this piece was to convey the idea of mending and transformation. Nature does that, so why can’t we? As I stitched the white pieces into the black it felt active and purposeful. Like that darkness really needed some of those new ideas.

I love all this detail. The free-motion cross-hatching gives the piece a scratchy energy that appeals to me.

Still a work in progress. Here’s where it stands for now. I’m still thinking about how much white should overtake the black. The piece measures about 65” x 65” for now.

Mending. Transformation. Our backyard is full of examples of one thing taking over others. Rebirthing new miracles. Mending what is injured.

scraps and colonies

I work on many projects at the same time. If not, I get bored. I like how pieces morph and talk to each other as they progress. I can sometimes see similarities other times big differences. Techniques can change while concepts are basically the same. I am influenced by my readings and by the news, and by the walks I take to catch a breath. Lately I use my art to distract myself from the feeling of dread when I watch the news.

Two works in progress, Nonsense on the left and Letting Go on the right.

Play

Sometimes I just like to have fun. The piece on the left in the picture above is done on a piece of whole cloth I designed and had printed at Spoonflower. The cartoonish figures gave me a playground for stitching.

I like to layer my stitching to create a sense of movement or depth.

I’m always looking for surprises. Check out this dude peaking out from behind the black squares.

Nonsense, 49.5” x 35”, Paula Kovarik

Parts are smaller than the whole

Over the course of ten years I have accumulated baskets of scrapped quilted pieces. They are not only offcuts but also pieces that I cut up after being disappointed with the results of a composition. About seven years ago I made some garlands of the scraps that reminded me of the beaded curtains that were so popular back in the day. Those curtains always seemed to signal a mystery behind them. They obscured an opening while also creating a gateway that was easy to traverse. They were a little mysterious but also enchanting and magical. So, as I accumulated more and more garlands this scraps piece has evolved to be more than its parts. These scraps represent my process, my trajectory and my history as an artist. They also stand witness to the mistakes I defined, the trial and error that I experienced, and the idea that I just have to let go. It’s a work in progress and morphs every day.

I’m starting to curate the scraps. There are days when I look around at other pieces I have created and wonder if they too should be cut up and strung together.

Colonies

We talk about colonies in space, colonies on land and colonies of bacteria. Each type of colony has an intrinsic architecture that fastens the parts to the whole. That architecture is something we have in common with other species.

Once I had the opportunity to follow the trails of leaf cutter ants from a tree that they were dismantling scrap by scrap to their colony in a dirt bank down the road. I was mesmerized. Not only were they a little army of workers but also they had guards, emergency crews, dancers, choppers, lifters, slackers, and buried somewhere deep within, a queen. Their trails, structures and actions are mirrored in our own cities, countries and families.

In the NPR series Searching for Meaning: Our Quest for Meaning in the Age of Science Alan Lightman says that “Meaning must be found in the moment even as we yearn for immortality.” I was totally in the moment, filled with awe, while studying that leaf cutter colony. The focus from macro to micro made me a conscious witness to a separate reality.

Colonies, a work-in-progress, Paula Kovarik

“Colonies” could represent microscopic detail but also resembles aerial shots of land and developments. I am somewhere between those two ideas for now.

The leaves were dancing

The other day I was driving home after doing some errands. I saw autumn leaves dancing in the street from the turbulence created by the cars driving by. They twirled, jumped and rained down from the sky.

For many years I have been collecting the final scraps of each project. I stitch them together to create garlands of scraps. They remind me of those beaded curtains we used to have in the 70s.

That day they reminded me of the leaves dancing in the street.

Each scrap reminds me of former projects.

That night I watched the news about the wars in Ukraine and Israel. The photos showed remnants of buildings, explosions from bombs, scraps of life. It’s so hard to process that horror. So many people affected. So many lives lost. When I got back to the studio the scraps of stitched fabrics became those scraps of life to me.

I made more.

And more.

The announcers on the tv were talking about collateral damage. How does that make any sense at all? When does it end?

I'm interested in how the earth pushes back

Every time it rains our driveway reveals cracks and crevices. They change over time as the sun dries them so sometimes the cracks are fat and overflowing and other times they are delicate and disappearing.

I have a huge photo library of these cracks. Sidewalk cracks, driveway cracks, parking lot cracks, with subsets of potholes and crevices. They have always intrigued me. They are signs that the things we lay down over the earth are only temporary. Just like us. They erode, corrode, wrinkle and are disrupted by natural forces. A little bit of rain can find the hairline entry, then grow to something larger.

I see these same lines elsewhere in nature.

Recently I started drawing these cracks and noticed that many of them end up with emerging characters. And now I am stitching them. I am interested in what the earth has to say about us. The storms, the waves, the droughts, the cracks all remind me that we are temporary. Just like these driveway cracks, just like that dead tree branch.

This summer I will have the opportunity to listen more closely to what the earth has to say. I have been accepted into the residency program at the Hambidge Center in Georgia. It’s a 600-acre sanctuary for artists, writers and other creative explorers to focus intently on their work. I will be focusing on what the earth has to say. Maybe there are even more cracks to explore.