I love a parade

Wrestling with rectangles to create 3D forms just seems like the right thing to do right now. Slicing, folding, forming, stitching, stuffing and exploring dimensional work is a substitute for the quiet contemplation that is required for stitching at the machine. I have to find ways to inject humor and distraction into my news cycle. My body is not my body right now. It aches with worry for the future. I have nervous energy. Itchiness at the edge of consciousness. Sorrow for Ukraine, Syria, Afghanistan, Ethiopia. I feel like we are marching into mountains of disaster. I am building a parade—headless beings marching.

These headless creatures have taken over my studio.

I imagine these creatures as travelers. They could be immigrants, exiles, or blind and willful followers. They have piled their belongings onto their backs to move into a future undefined. They carry their wounds, their heritage and history. They leave family behind and seek family ahead.

They toil and fail and get up again.

Each day they join the parade of the absurd.

I might need more space soon.


Art that travels

I teach next week with the Design Outside the Lines workshop led by Diane Ericson. It’ll be new geography for me. They say that Ashland is a magical town. A week away with creative stitchers always inspires me. It might be best all around for me to let these creatures be for a bit.

My piece, In the Weeds, is showing at the Eastern Tennessee State University Slocum Galleries in a show called Positive/Negative 37. So proud to be part of that innovative show. If you are near their campus drop in to see some great work.

I am preparing a show of my work at the National Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky that debuts in May. The museum has offered me a corner gallery. Working with their curator, I have chosen a selection of my work that represents some of the many directions I have traveled as a stitcher.

I am honored to have been chosen for a residency at the Virginia Center for Creative Arts in June. Working for 22 days in isolation among other artists including writers, painters and photographers will be a new challenge for me. It is on the top of my mind these days. What to bring? All the toys or a slim selection? More on that later. What would you bring to a residency?

I'm breaking out of the rectangle

Cutting up quilts has become a hot topic out in the quilt universe. Many fashion houses and Etsy shops and clothing designers have recognized the incredible raw materials of hand crafted textiles and are beginning to offer items using those scavenged quilts as raw materials for their products. Everything from placemats to red-carpet robes are multiplying and monetizing something that should really be honored, cherished and preserved. Mary Fons made a great presentation regarding this issue on You Tube that has since been taken down. But you can find discussions about it elsewhere on the web.

I remember seeing an ad with the Kardashians in underwear sitting on quilts. I admit I was affronted by it. The juxtaposition of a vintage quilt and white tidy-whiteys on social media personalities was somehow reprehensible to me. It felt like appropriation of something I held dear. I do understand why the art director thought it might be clever though. Quilts have gravitas, memory, comfort and soul.

Melee is breaking out of the rectangle that normally holds my work. This piece includes pieces of cut up quilts that have diverse textures, colors and stitching. It has since been morphed into a pod seen below.

Some have asked me what I think and how my practice of using cut up quilts fits into the discussion. Yes, I do cut up quilts. They are quilts that I have made or have acquired through friends. They represent work that I did in the past and no longer seems relevant in my here and now. The act of cutting them up is deliberate, catalytic and scary. I know when I get out the rotary cutter that I could ruin something that I once cherished.

At first I was using cast off trimmings in the new collages. Then I looked around at some of the pieces that I had created earlier in my career and realized that storing them rolled up in the back room was getting me and them nowhere. Many of them had excellent texture, color or story in them that could live on in a new piece.

Here’s my base understanding as an artist: It’s process, not product. If I think of a piece as something that could have monetary value or brand recognition it loses it’s soul. I will cut up my work to use it again. I will not cut up someone else’s quilt without permission. I won’t cut up vintage quilts found in estate sales. Those have soul. Those have history. They are still warm, comfortable and represent someone’s careful work.

For now, I am cutting up quilts to create 3D forms. I connect the pieces, cut in darts, resew and add curves, then stitch again.

It’s process, not product.