Lifecycle of an art quilt

It occurred to me this weekend that some pieces have limited life cycles. And others just seem to live on.

Normally I work on a piece because I have to. It is a compelling, urgent need to create. If I am lucky, and the construction and execution satisfies me, the piece ends up in my portfolio. Once there I look for opportunities to show it to others. Through calls for entry, or on my living room wall, the piece needs to speak for itself at that stage. Sometimes it doesn't get a chance. The reasons might be:

  • I am just plain worn out after working on it and it has to go into storage before I can look at it again, or
  • It doesn't speak for itself without explanation (what was I thinking?), or
  • It's too ripe and needs to be sliced into pieces, or
  • I can't find a show for it to belong to (this is VERY common), or
  • I can see ways I might improve it and it goes into the think-about-it pile.

Other pieces please me so much I have to have them near. This piece I did in 2004 is one of them. It was one of my first art quilts. It has many faults but great presence. The stitching on the back caused bearding which looks like little hairy outgrowths of fuzz in a field of black. It was not intended believe me. The fill stitches in black on black are highly irregular. The piece hangs wonky — a pleasant wonky but nonetheless distracting. It probably won't ever go into a show unless I include it in a solo someday. So it lives on in our TV room warming the wall. And I am pleased with its longevity. I hope it has a long and prosperous life.

Amished, Paula Kovarik, 2004, 85.5" x 60"

With a little help from Jeremy

Continuing my work with children's drawings and abstract backgrounds.

A before photo of the environment created for the drawings. The pieced fabric is composed of random scraps of solid colored fabrics. The striations of black stitching across the piece are based on stitching a straight line at every intersection of two fabrics. This black on black texture is hard to see in this shot. The piece is about 17 inches square.

An after shot: where the drawings populate the surface with mystery. That pointy headed smiling guy in the lower right corner was drawn by the very talented Jeremy. Thanks, Jeremy, for your contribution to my art. The piece will be called Don't Go in the Basement.

Tenuous links

This piece got a lot of attention yesterday due to a post on Facebook by a group called the Anartist community. They (he? she?) post some compelling and diverse images of artwork but don't really do anything to identify themselves. It's an international community as evidenced by the quotes in various languages.  A web search yields no other clues. The About section on the facebook page says: "An artist is never poor" (or "Un artista non è mai povero" if you prefer) to which I tend to agree.

I'm always mystified by how among millions (or is it billions) of people on the web sending out messages and images, does my work find a spot? What tenuous links are there that make one piece send out its feelers so that someone else is interested enough to look? These links intrigue me. They are a continuing theme in my stitching, a thread that binds all my ideas together. A link is a happy chance at connection that is at once mysterious, powerful and throbbing. It feeds my curiosity. It starts a conversation, binds together continents, and bounces from one to another.

Heartfelt, repurposed linen dress with hand and machine quilting, Paula Kovarik

density

I spent a couple of hours yesterday finishing up this little study. It had lingered on my side table for over a year. I am calling it density. Slowing down to stitch by hand is a way to organize my thoughts.

Density, 10.5" x 10.5", hand stitched on cotton napkin, Paula Kovarik