Taking Stock

Work harder, temper my expectations, compare notes with others, reach out to those who make sense, stop worrying, take time to rest.

Repeat.

It’s hard for me to learn new behavior. It’s so simple to lapse into that which is familiar. Lately I have been reminded that life is too short to have bad habits. Worrying doesn’t fix things. Five year goals are simply ephemeral. Time rushes.

I am more focused on what I will leave behind in this experiment of life. Other artists have shared the same thoughts with me. I have a sense of urgency and a greater appreciation for that which surrounds us. I can weep when I see a seedling cracking the surface of the soil. I am charmed by birds preparing their nests for the next generation. I am awestruck watching my grandson take his first wobbly steps.

It will all keep going no matter what I think I can control.

Realizing that gives me a pathway for new thoughts.

On teaching

I’ve had a few months to think about why I teach and what I should do about it. At the beginning of summer I was planning a Memphis gathering of like-minded stitchers. Many responded positively to this idea and I was pumped up with excitement. I investigated different venues, researched hotels, Airbnbs, restaurants, payment systems, field trips, caterers, sewing machines and projectors.

I am a planner. I spend a lot of time checking and double checking what I am planning. Then I plan again. All of that eats up time in the studio. Coming back from a one month residency at the Virginia Center of the Creative Arts I realized that all that planning was undermining the time I could spend working on my art. I do not need to be an event planner. I do not need to manage people to do it for me. I need to make art.

For those of you who expressed an interest in coming to Memphis, please do. My studio is always open to intrepid travelers. We can walk by the Mississippi and compare notes on our lives, eat some great food and wander in the gardens. I would love that.

For now I am head down, stitching, breathing deep and reminding myself each day that time rushes on.

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.

Abundance

In these times of uncertainty and worry I spend as much time as I can surrounded by nature. Spring is a time of abundance and the gardens are full of examples. I trust the earth to push back on our species ill-advised disregard of the whole in service of the small-minded. Calls for political actions, marches to protect our water and ban pollution, reports on the destruction of natural areas render me speechless but determined.

Our garden in Memphis

I’ll be teaching at the Alegre Retreat in Gateway, Colorado next week. The environment there is colored in oranges, reds and dramatic blues.

Last week I was in the Mississippi Delta traveling country roads through small and large communities. The live oaks in Mississippi are dramatic examples of life lived long. Their overarching branches dipping to the ground spoke to me of ancient ways, virulent strength and abiding patience.

Mississippi delta highway flowers and live oaks

Spring is a short season. I breathe deep in hope and beauty to reassure myself that we will come to our senses. And that the cracks we are seeing in the fiber of our environments will heal.

I wrapped some more thorns last night

While wrapping I kept thinking about what I had accomplished in a year and what is still on the list of things I want to do. This morning I drifted through my 2024 pictures and compiled this short summary. I do this to remind myself about the directions I want to pursue further and the directions that didn’t work out as I had expected. I’m getting to the point that if I don’t make a note to remind myself it just doesn’t get done.

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Top row, left to right: Redbud, detail; drawings at Hambidge, Everything Seemed Fine until the Earth Pushed Back detail
Middle Row: Driveway cracks, Dynamic Symmetry study, drawing with thorns
Bottom: Texture exploration, Brood detail, Nonsense detail

Nonsense, detail

First up. I spent two weeks at the Hambidge Center for Creative Arts & Sciences in northern Georgia in a residency. While there I spent a lot of time hiking. I experimented with folded papers, studied Dynamic Symmetry and did a lot of drawing. My palette reflected the colors outside my windows. I need to go back to that geometry this year. It was intriguing to see how a simple rectangle could change the way a composition moved.

When I returned I played with the black and white fabric I designed and had printed at Spoonflower in a piece I call Nonsense. Then I finished Brood — two quilts merged into one. See this post to follow my process.

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Brood, 65” x 65”, merged quilts, 2024, Paula Kovarik

Teaching Inspirations

I spent a lot of time teaching in 2024 • The Stitching’ Post in Sisters, Oregon • Shakerag Workshops in Sewanee, TN, • Women Who Run With Scissors in Greenbay, WI • Quilting by the Lake in Geneva, NY • Madeline Island School of the Arts in LaPointe, WI • The Front Range Guild in Denver, CO and • Design Outside the Lines in Taos, NM. Not only were these groups talented they were also fearless. We had the best of times. I am inspired each time I have the opportunity to participate as an instructor and wish I had more time to just be a student too.

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND taking workshops or attending residencies when you can. I seek spaces and people who inspire me. I look for opportunities to try something new and be in a space that is not my own nest. I like to be a little uncomfortable to change my perspective.

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The beach was two blocks from my studio, The statues were at a shrine devoted to the Sleeping Buddha, my studio was a lovely open space just across from my living quarters.

A trip of a lifetime

In October and November I spent six weeks in the Itoshima Prefecture of Japan. The first four weeks were at a Studio:Kura residency. I lived in community with four other artists, had a studio to myself, a bedroom and a shared kitchen. The spaces were a bit raw but PERFECT for my needs. We were surrounded by rice and vegetable farms, mountains, and the sea was a two block walk from the studio. A 15 minute walk brought me to the local train station that would get me into the city. It was a spectacular experience. I’m still processing some of the things I learned. It was there that I started a drawing on a rice paper scroll. The scroll ended up being 18.5 feet long. It’s a stream-of-consciousness piece that is part journal, part imagination and part pattern. I’m not sure how I will ever be able to display it but at this point I like it for itself. A personal memory of a journey.

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This year most of my time in the studio has been experimental. I’m attracted to layering and adding texture and detail. More is in fact more for me (though that Japanese aesthetic of simplicity is also calling me). I am drawing more, stitching less. Thinking about installations, moving to messier work. Edgy, layered, inventive. I still want to work in 3D but am running out of room in my studio.

I spent the whole year not doing work inspired by the news or politics. The subjects were just too painful.

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Top row: Texture study, Playing with pink, texture study close up
Middle row: Scrap garlands, Grandson Fitz, texture study close up
Bottom row: Drawings from Japan, wrapped thorns, Japan scroll

The treasure at the end of this rainbow of a year is my darling, luscious grandson Fitz, born on December 21 weighing 7lbs, 7 oz. I love you so much my sweet angel.

Happy new year everyone. I yearn for peace.

stasis

I’m interested in how nature layers and transforms materials through growth, rot, erosion and rebirth.

And also in how we humans transform the same spaces.

Having just returned from a two week trip to the deserts of Arizona I am filled with images and thoughts. I participated in a wonderful show at the 45th annual Yuma Art Symposium where I met some inspiring artists and teachers. I traveled through deserts and into mountains and canyon lands where I found extraordinary nature-made patterns and shapes. I studied native pottery, browsed through museums and took long hikes. I met up with a family of javelinas during a hike, watched crows chatter at hikers and studied the layers and layers of rock forms at the Grand Canyon—holding on for dear life for fear of being whisked into the canyon. (It is clear that my fear of edges is getting worse as I get wiser.)

And, now, I am a little frozen on next steps. How to take all of that in and then apply it to my own work? Should I just go back to what I was working on before I left?

For some reason I am not ready to stitch. And that is really odd for me. I am ALWAYS ready to stitch. So I took out my drawing tools and did some stream-of-consciousness drawings instead. I might want to stitch something that looks like these.

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And, I am reading a lot. The Plague of Doves by Louise Erdrich, The Wager by David Grann, North Woods by Daniel Mason, Never Home Alone by Rob Dunn. I recommend them all. These stories take me to other places.

So, for now, I am working on the engineering part of my work. Knotting loose threads, adding edge bindings and hanging sleeves…all those details that bore me. I usually hate doing that part of my art. For now it gives me more time to think about what’s next.