I wrote a book

At Play in the Garden of Stitch

At Play in the Garden of Stitch—thoughts that come while eyeing the needle. 

Published! Available Now.

I put it on paper. It’s now in book form. This is not a quilt.

I spent part of my Covid year writing, analyzing and illustrating my techniques and artwork. After fifteen years of creating and teaching, it was time to tell my story and share my process in a more formal way. 

This is a book of ideas and exercises for those who use stitch in their artwork. What seems like magic are merely (some simple) step-by-step exercises that will lead you to your own creations. 

This is the story of how I work and think as I make new quilts. It contains both successes and failures as both results can lead to finished quilts. One of my favorite exercises is to chop up a finished quilt to re-arrange and re-imagine a new piece working with elements I like and scrapping those I loathe.

As the great Miles Davis says: do not fear mistakes; there are none.
As I like to say: Art is found in the process. And stitching can take you there.

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The book contains lavish illustrations of quilts from my students and myself. For many of these, I demonstrate approaches to using stitch as an element of design and art. To understand my process, I include essays from this journal that reveal how I follow the thread or pursue an idea. 

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Order “At Play” from any number of bookstores including Barnes and Noble, Target, Indiebound, Discover books and more—such as Amazon. And, if you do find that this book has inspired you to try some new ways to create in stitch, please let me know by leaving a review or sending me an email. I would really appreciate it.

If you are interested in stitch and how to express yourself through free-motion quilting, this book will lead you gently down your own creative path. The secret is starting simple and staying at it.

I want to send out a bucket of thanks to my friend, Kathleen Loomis, for her help in making this book a reality. Her patient review of the content clarified my thoughts and made it a better book. Thanks so much Kathleen.

Time

I’m reading a book about geology (Annals of the Former World by John McPhee). In it McPhee writes about DEEP TIME and how the earth has changed over millennia. But I’m thinking about how time is moving too quickly. It’s eroding my sense of rhythm and progress. As a child the year seemed to move at a glacial pace. Now I’m rushing through thoughts trying to make them fit into the hours that I am able to stay awake. I am jealous of every minute spent away from my studio. It’s April already?

I wonder how long it took for this vine to get wider than the tree it is climbing?

I wonder how long it took for this vine to get wider than the tree it is climbing?

Aging brings transition. I am reassembling the priorities in my life—focusing on depth instead of flash and silence instead of dialog.

This might have been a cheery bathroom tile at some point in its life. Now nature is taking over. With time it will disappear and those little tiles will be artifacts buried in layers of time.

This might have been a cheery bathroom tile at some point in its life. Now nature is taking over. With time it will disappear and those little tiles will be artifacts buried in layers of time.

Every year I put a word up on my computer monitor that inspires a long thought, something that lasts longer than a moment, something that can morph over months. I started this about three years ago when I posted It’s Process not Product on my computer. That note is still there. Last year it was Patience. I learned how to say I Can Wait. This year I started with Curiosity because I am still avidly pursuing more detail in my life, more texture, more knowledge. I may add the word Transition to focus on how things need time to change.

What is time to a rock?

What is time to a rock?

An interview with Jane Dunnewold

I had the delightful opportunity to talk with Jane Dunnewold last month as part of her Creative Strength Training interview series. Jane has a robust and comprehensive variety of classes and lectures for artists that are recognized world wide. Take a moment to learn about her practice and her class offerings here. I just registered for one of her lectures today.

Here’s the video recording of our conversation.

Nano-second update

Hello out there. I just noticed that it has been over a month since I last posted anything about my practice. Too much time in the isolation chamber I think. The silence can be like an extra layer of batting between brain cells.

My first Isolation chamber. A quilt that I made back in 2010 is repurposed for this piece.

My first Isolation chamber. A quilt that I made back in 2010 is repurposed for this piece.

It’s about this time of year that I do a little housekeeping and rearranging. And, that’s not happening. In past years, I might take the time to look forward to new challenges. And, that’s not happening either. New Year’s resolutions? More of the same.

I’m reading Annals of the Former World by John McPhee. In it he describes some of the processes of planetary formation and geological deep time. Deep time. Billions and trillions of years. Getting my head around that concept inevitably sparks a sense of inconsequential reality. On a planetary time scale we are but a nanosecond of reality. And how can I even think about the size and scope of NANO seconds? Smaller than a breadbox? My life is a micro micro nanosecond in the annals of time. The fact that I am trying to express how I feel, think and act through my art is ephemeral and inconsequential as it relates to the reality of the big stuff around me. So little in something so big.

Nevertheless, I persist. Because art is life. Life is precious. Time is short.

Below are some of the things I worked on this year. If you click on an image you can read a little about each piece.

I spent a lot of nanoseconds in the studio this year. And for that I am grateful.

We live in challenging times on a miraculous planet.

Void

I packed up 26 pieces for a solo show at my alma mater, Southern Illinois University, this past week.

And then dropped them off.

Southern Illinois University Gallery in Carbondale, Illinois will exhibit Stitched Intent beginning in September.

The gallery was empty, the University was just opening for the Fall semester. I saw no students, no bustle, no gathering tide of excitement. Just some locked buildings with the promise of education within.

The show will go on. Some students will trickle in, social distancing will be a prime directive. Social media will be used to promote the show. And yet it seems a void—a fancy storage place for the work.

We are living history right now. People will ask us ten years from now what it was like to live during this void. Empty movie theaters, vacant museums, void concert venues, disabled restaurants, echoing university lecture halls, day care centers without children’s voices and on and on and on. Our president has declared victory. But I see risk and a profound challenge ahead.

It is artists we look to when searching for answers to questions that can’t be voiced. It is the artist who must translate the unspoken. Musicians, painters, dancers, quilters, embroiderers, actors and writers are all stepping up to fill the void. There is a force that propels them to translate, transfer and transport our minds.

I chop up old work to create new work. I think it is a way to renew my sense of beginnings. I can let go of expectations. Throw away the idea of permanency. Sometimes the process begets failure, other times it opens new pathways in my thinking. I think that could be the silver lining in this challenging time. We will all have to see with new eyes. We’ll need new leaders and new ways of communicating with each other.

This is what happens when I cut up old work.

My art sustains me. The work provides an escape, nourishes my fretting brain and propels me to greater depth.

I am grateful for health and hope.