preparation and separation anxiety

This piece and 14 of its brethren are traveling to Chicago for a solo show. It has taken me two full weeks of details to get them all prepped, packaged and shipped. And now it is done. The only thing left to do is worry about them being away from the studio on their own.

Incoming by Paula Kovarik, 31H x 41W, 2016

For those of my readers who are near Winnetka, Illinois: please take a break from basking in the sun, sipping lemonade and playing summer games to take in the show at ZIA Gallery. I would love to meet you on opening night.

ZIA | Gallery
548 Chestnut, Winnetka, IL
June 25 - July 30, 2016

Opening Reception
Saturday, June 25th, 5-7pm

details details

Every piece I make usually has a spot of blood on it — a record of the poking, prodding and pinning that happens while stitching. I used to clean each mistaken drop, but now I leave the evidence. It hurt when it happened. It reminded me that I am alive and not just subsumed by the warp and weft of the cloth before me. It's a symbol of existence — a forensic artifact that ties me to the art.

Catalysts has a forest of bamboo below the images, each horizontal stitch was an opportunity to poke through my finger.

Sinking into details is part of my process. Each stitch added not only embellishes but also brings focus to what I am feeling. Stitching also renders me mute, so when I poke that needle into my skin the little yelp that escapes my brain reminds me that I am present.

What would this eye be without the spec of gold in the pupil?

What would these lines mean without the distressed cloth beneath?

What would this tangle of threads mean without the swirl of activity within?

going with it

Texture, detail, flow and mystery. Those are my muses. I work in fabric because of it. Joining pieces of cloth with stitch mimics the way my thoughts labor toward understanding. Each bit brings me a little closer to a dialog, each stitch animates the landscape.

I started this piece a week ago. There was no plan. I chose instead to let the scraps tell me who their neighbors should be.

Steeples and antennas fascinate me. They reach toward space with great force, probing the mysteries.

There was some wonkiness in my piecing, a little wave of impatience showing in the edges.

Adding a horizontal grid of black on black stitching created a subtle atmosphere behind the structures and stabilized the wonkiness.

Stitched details add life to the passive two dimensional surface.

Pieces like this make me smile, they seem to need a soundtrack.

I haven't named it yet. It needs to stay on the board for a little longer.

the buzz

Friday will be a noisy day. I am part of a six woman show at Crosstown Arts called Six Points. It is our first show. We have spent a year together talking about our work and goals. 

Most of the time I seek the quiet. Ever since our vacation last month my ears have been whistling. It's a quiet high pitched whisper that I hear only when I am silent.

Hearing only when it is silent. Like seeing only when I have my eyes closed or tasting without smell. Awareness comes in small doses.

Do we broadcast our thoughts without being aware of it? Do we hear messages without listening? Broadcasting, Paula Kovarik

The buzz isn't exactly annoying. I interpret it as an electrical charge that persists, a twitter of nerves, a reminder of the hear and now. It doesn't promote calm or clear the air waves of those nasty little snatches of tunes that catch me in their whorl. (Lately it's Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, O Fortuna, but last week it was Purple Rain). And it comes when I am not ready—not focused on other things—so it always surprises me when it starts up again.

There's a certain depth to quiet that I seek out each day. It's a space that allows for awareness.

When I am deep within the buzz of awareness I can't speak it out loud. Silent Witnesses panel, Paula Kovarik

Like the day when I was driving and thinking about a good friend and how I needed to call her. It was silent in the car. Later that day she called me.

Or the morning in yoga class when I looked up at the ceiling and thought about how far the galaxy goes and later that day my son posted a shot of the milky way on his facebook feed.

Tapping into the mysterious requires a silent awe, an awareness of the underlying buzz. I am whistling in the dark, reaching for the tactile.

And I do that best in the quiet.

Background noise disturbs the pattern. Silent Witnesses panel, Paula Kovarik

Mine or theirs?

I've been thinking about influences and how they affect my work. I am conscious of noticing. Conscious of storing up details of line and pattern, images and ideas while at the same time forgetting the details of names and dates, locations and authors. My mind seems to be choosing its limits.

Catalysts is a piece devoted to the idea that noticing begets growth. Thank you to Piet, Pablo, William, Paul, Vasily, Theodore, Lee, Alexander, the bees, trees, birds and my grandchildren. Paula Kovarik

So what happens when I unconsciously add an image that another artist originated? How does that borrowing affect the interpretation of the work? My mind is like a bamboo thicket of remembered (and forgotten) detail. How does it all connect to a cohesive whole? Am I mimicking or channeling? Appropriating or hoarding?

And does it matter?

In this age of instants I crave the considered. The slow brewing. An uncrowded clarity of thought. But the slideshow is moving at a pace that keeps me breathless so I am never certain that the idea is original. Never sure if I am just broadcasting pre-processed thoughts.