taming the bulge

It happens every time I leave the studio for a trip. My head gets filled with images, words, doubts, wishes and ideas. Then I get back to the studio. And freeze.

TMI

My brain is like a whirlpool.

So it was no surprise yesterday when I decided to pursue one of my ideas....in a rush of optimism.....and the medium was not cooperating. Who knew that not basting a piece of linen to a frothy assortment of batting would result in chaos as I stitched inward on a spiral?

I did. I knew it. I was just too impatient to take the time for prep.

I spent the afternoon hand basting the bulgy layers together resulting in a brain-like texture similar to the confusion in my mind.

Spending the afternoon tucking mass into ripples with a basting needle gave me time to reflect. And that reminded me that I chose this medium because of that meditative quality, that time out of space contemplation, the quiet of one stitch at a time.

Seen at the Frankfurt airport

I'll use this image of a dandelion that I shot in Frankfurt as a reminder. Life is fast and can be full of hard surfaces. Some ideas lead to spent flower heads. Others shine brilliantly in the sun. Both are worthwhile and require wild abandon and dogged pursuit.

I didn't take notes

Traveling for a month dislodges old habits. I didn't bookmark articles to read later. I didn't create rough drafts of journal posts. I didn't balance my checkbook (with the disastrous result of forgetting to pay our mortgage). I didn't wake up with a to-do list. I didn't work in the garden. I didn't exercise. I didn't draw.

I did take pictures. A paltry record of abundant input.

And I wonder when some of these images will start to show up in my work.

And I found new (to me) artists to explore.

Mosaic from St. Peter's cathedral in Rome.

Images and ideas travelled through my mind with a flutter of recognition:

Trees planted too close stretch skyward and are turned to pulp.

Trees bent with the wind have deep roots.

We visited a churchyard where the 16th century cathedral was blown down by the wind. The bell tower remained reminding everyone how tenuous life can be.

Spires point to infinity.

Antennas reach to capture waves.

Sculptures of saints often have pillows of stone.

Time is both vertical and horizontal.

Does any of it make sense?

I am not ready

I woke up this morning with a clear message from my dreams. (imagine the voice in my ears)

I am not ready.

Fractured focus has taken me down pathways of neglect. In preparation for leaving my studio for a long vacation I flit from one must do to the next without breath between. The end of the day feels like it used to when I was working 12 hour days. And now I realize that they feel that way because I am working 12 hour days.

Research, practice, confusion and debris play little games with my timepieces. Do I go down the rabbit hole of new ideas or focus on this little tendril not yet tamed? Multi-tasking dilutes wholeness. I swoon next to the whirlpool of too much. Am I in the deep end just treading water?

So, yes, I'm not ready. Not ready to focus with intent. Not ready to leave my nest of toys. Not ready to commit to one direction with my art. Just not ready.

Nevertheless, the plane tickets are bought, housing reserved, itineraries roughed in. I can't tie this sewing machine to my back (though I certainly will have some lap work to do in the carry on bags). Traveling will bring new perspective if I let the list grow short. Or not. It could be a way of adding to the pile.

Breathless and anxious. These are both signals for overload. No turning back now.

I am ready.

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.