traveling on

The initial sketch for the Stream of Consequences piece started with the idea of inter-connectedness and how the city wove itself around a meandering river.

The Earth Stories exhibition curated by SAQA is soon to close at the San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles. In the nick of time a blogger and journalist, Patrick Lydon, took the time to see the show and review it. Reviews of art quilt shows are few and far between. Each one gives quilt artists a little jolt of excitement when it appears.

Patrick is Founder and Director of SocieCity.org, a network of artists, writers, and sustainability practitioners who focus on the relationships between people and the places in which they live. HIs blog and the SocieCity site are great places to find good news about the world through stories, images, and film. I was truly enthralled by the many stories told and recommend it to anyone looking for GOOD news. There really are some good news stories out there contrary to what our national media hands us on a daily basis. 

Patrick was generous in his praise of the show. He studied the pieces carefully and learned about their back stories. He was particularly generous with his praise of my work: Stream of Consequences. Patrick's reference to a quote by Muir, one of my heroes, gave me great joy:

Kovarik’s quilt reminds me of famed naturalist John Muir’s observation that “when we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.”

I finished Stream of Consequences in 2013. It has been traveling ever since.

When a piece travels with a show it takes on a new life. It becomes its own.  That transition from art I own to art that moves on is one of the primary reason I do this.

Art must move.

letting the unknown in

This piece has been lingering on my boards for about 4 months. Every morning the sun streaks across it to spotlight the fact that it hasn't been resolved yet.

Recently someone asked me "what compels you to do this art?" and I answered in a very vague manner:

I want to let the unknown in.

Yesterday I was reading a great blog called brain pickings and they had an article about Alan Lightman and his book Sense of the Mysterious. His explanation about the mysterious state of creative inspiration compared it to planing while sailing. He says it this way:

"…every once in a while the hull lifts out of the water, and the drag goes instantly to near zero. It feels like a great hand has suddenly grabbed hold and flung you across the surface like a skimming stone."

I compare the feeling to what it must feel like to take flight, or launch into space, a sensation that takes you away from here and now consciousness.

Gathering, huddling, blind witnesses

Is that what I am after? An addictive search for otherness?

For me, answers to mysteries only come after exhaustive exploration. And still they can be mysteries. Awe paddles me forward so I tinker around the edges until I am ready to jump in. Showing up, head down with full focus, moves a piece forward. My theory is you just have to show up with intention day after day until you are free enough to feel the wave. Letting go of preconceptions rather than allowing a piece to breathe its own air is one of my many challenges.

 

Silent witness - obstruction.

Silent witness - obstruction.

i see faces

the thing about seeing rather than looking is that it can add a little jitter of recognition to life.

I see faces in inanimate objects. Somewhere I read that we are predisposed as a species to see the geometric configuration of eyes, nose and mouth. Something to do with avoiding predators I think. Face recognition software in our dna. How cool is that?

So as I am traveling through space I see faces. Some are friendly, some not so much. Once you see them they are everywhere. There are some on our driveway. They greet me every day.

There are some on the sidewalk

Some are friendly, they appear on rocks, walls, bushes and in clouds

Some are man made (who among us would dispute that a man designed this radiator panel..this car wants to OWN the road.)

I look at the faces and see messages, greetings, and witnessing. They entertain, build my visual library and keep me company while I work.

Do you see faces too?

The Grass was Greener

I don't know these women, though they are related to me. The two columns of distance and language prop up our stranger-hood. My grandmother, pictured on the far left, emigrated to the United States from the Czech Republic in the 20s (she always called it Bohemia).

When I added this photograph to my computer library the software tried to identify each of my great aunts and my grandmother. It made me think about my original intentions with this piece.

Babi was an adventurous sort with definite opinions. She would launch into Czech when she wanted to make her point known to my father. He would nod and smile.

I've spent the past couple of months with their images, experimenting with embroidery. My fingers are punctured and calloused, my neck a little stiff, and my eyes a bit fuzzy from the strain of looking at all this detail.

I learned about the right needles to use (very sharp with larger eye), how the fabric reacts to hand stitching as opposed to machine stitching and which thimble I prefer (see below).

I regret not having a fatter batting in the sandwich, I may try wool next time. I tried to use an embroidery hoop but the batting and double layer of fabric was too thick and the frame got in my way. The inset linen frame around the edge was a supreme challenge that taught me a lot about how not to cut 45 degree joins when you have a limited supply of perfectly edged linen. (no need to go into detail, you get my meaning)

My favorite thimble has a silicone bottom and a metal top. The silicone clings nicely to my middle finger. I love that the photo program sees a little being in it.

So, now I am done with these women. They live in my memory as a strong and stalwart group.

I think that they, too, would put a bandaid on before applying the thimble so as to be sure that it stays on.

still learning, still trying

Writing is hard. Writing a regular journal requires nerves of steel and a clear vision of what the hell you want to say. I have a running list of ideas that I keep as I am working. This journal serves as a reminder to myself that I am working toward goals, with ideas that are inspired by my observations which tend to morph over time. Dialing back the record often surprises me when I follow the course of one piece.

Here's an example of that, I have been working on this piece since 2014:

I am creating wire chairs for the center of this cloth representing the 7 nations that came together to create the nuclear arms non-proliferation agreement with Iran.

Textural details

All fenced in. Now what?

The (is it worth it?) debate

Building fences

Breakthrough

And it's still not done. Writing can be like that too. drafts get discarded. Ideas morph. Doubt moves in. I'm still learning.