inspirations

Minds are maps of experiences. Inspirations abound. I may need to upgrade my storage space.

The muscular structure of this fig branch needs one of those overtures with heroic drums as a background tune.

I'm working on a piece that I have temporarily named Inspirations. I may call it something else once it is finished. Right now I am trying to find a different way of mounting it. I love these fringe-y edges but can't figure out how to preserve them yet.

Thank you Piet, Pablo, William, Paul, Vasily, Theodore, Alexander, the bees, trees, birds and my grandchildren

Sometimes I feel like the band is calling for last dance and I am pleading with them to turn the clock back.

Editing is good for the soul

For about 5 months I have been working on a piece I have been calling Silent Witnesses - Birds. It was inspired by the birds that hang out on the beach watching humans romp. I wanted to use them as a metaphor for all the wildlife out there being affected by human proliferation. I spent hours drawing the composition, stitching the textural background and harboring a desire to make it a strong statement. 

This work in progress shot shows the structure of the composition — I've added the no entry symbol with Photoshop. It's represents how I feel about the whole thing. 

And it failed. Miserably. 

The only piece I liked about this composition was this little bird tied up with thread.

So last week I cut it up with the faith that if I cut the damn thing up I might find the answer to what went wrong. Was it too literal? Too centered? Too boring? Too black and white? 

Yes it was. 

So now I have about eight pieces of textured fabric with scraps of meaning left. They'll be jumping off points for new thoughts, relieving me of the burden of seeing the piece day after day taunting me to resolve it. Resolve it I did. And it was a good day.

influences in the ether

The final resting sequence in yoga yesterday brought unsolicited thoughts that were inspirational. But then I forgot to write them down and they disappeared like swallows. Dang, I lost them again. It was something about catching details in the maelstrom. Luring the unknown into the known.

Dreams do that too. They inspire, excite, titillate and awe and then tease, vanish and echo in waking moments. Like trying to grasp a fish in a river—slippery little devils. I want to capture and release them into my art.

I'm reading a book by Brian Doyle called Mink. In it he uses quotes from William Blake poems in a way that brings the mundane into the spiritual. One that has stuck with me since I read it: Everything has its own vortex.

Memory breathes the air of influences. Those little signposts that we log into our catalog of thoughts can often link in disconcerting ways. That flower rising up early this Spring? my mother's death. That song on the radio? an embarrassing adolescent moment. That image of the cat in the hat tipping his striped hat? The joy of rhyme and rhythm.

One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. Oh how we rhyme with so little time. 

Work in progress on Catalysts, Paula Kovarik

focusing on dialog

Every day I wait for the sun to pass over my east facing studio window to cast light on my work. Cloudy days remind me to take stock and go inward.

My rocks-with-holes collection inspires me every day. If I sit still enough I can hear the conversations they may be having.

Today is a light gray day. I'd say its about 30% dark out there. Or, you could think of it as 70% light. Days like today give the studio a neutral background, devoid of hot spots and tremors. Days like today let me focus on sound, and smell. Inner thoughts and resting.

What bird collects little pieces of junk? Bowerbird? Magpie? Crow? I need to google it. We have a lot in common. This studio is replete with little alters to trash and treasure. I've been collecting rocks since I was old enough to have pockets.  Watching children animate legos, sticks, and, yes, rocks to tell their stories inspires me to take a look around and wonder who's talking to who. Do those trembling leaves need reassurance? Did that leaning tree really want to nuzzle up to her neighbor? Using raw canvas I have started a series of rock faces that animate my environment. They remind me of cartoon panels. The textural background adds an environment to the imagined communication.

I'm also learning about wire. How it bends, how it twirls and how little I can use to support ideas. The wire is stitch in 3D. More on this later.

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.