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?

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.

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?

Transformation

I am reading Annals of the Former World by John McPhee. It’s not an easy book to read. It focuses on geological formations and geologists and time. Geologists read rock like we read books. McPhee travels across the United States with five different geologists who decipher the terrain as they travel. Many of the sentences begin with the words billions or millions of years ago. Deep time.

When I read books like this I have to slow down. I admit that I skim past words that are unfamiliar hoping that the author will let me in on the secret in future sentences. I also acquire new words. Like lithic and Eocene and physiographic and down wasting, folded-and-faulted, fatigued rock, incompetent rock and inequigranular fabric.

I love rocks.

Morph started with scraps of other quilts.

Thinking about the beginning of time and forces beyond our control I started working on Morph. The bag of scraps came out and I stitched them together.

The piece grew to metamorphic blob. Metamorphism, as I understand it, is actually a process by which minerals are formed through heat and pressure.

Morph, hand-stitching detail, Paula Kovarik

Geological processes take time. Lots of time. The details in a substrate can tell the story of millennium.

Morph, machine-stitching detail, Paula Kovarik

Morph, 3-dimensional form detail, Paula Kovarik

As I added details to the melange of fabrics I also added seams that molded the fabric into hills.

Morph, 50” x 46” x 6”, 2021, Paula Kovarik

Billions of years ago this little patch of land I sit on would be at the bottom of a shallow ocean in a different continent altogether. Only one thing is constant: change. Morph can morph. Turn it 90 degrees and the sags sag in a different way. Hang it upside down and the terrain folds to a new narrative.

The final piece speaks to the ideas I had while reading McPhee’s book but also to how I feel about emergence, transformation, bulging body parts and sagging sentiments.

This past year built a tower of insights for me. How about you? Tell me about your stories of transformation.

Playtime

The other day I looked around and had a choice. I could finish a number of pieces that are still in process, clean the studio, create new work or drive into the sunset. I decided to let the stitch tell me what to do. There was quilt back laying around from a piece that never did get finished. So I sacrificed that piece to an experiment.

Playtime in black

A starting point

White thread and black fabric gives me a dramatic stage for random shapes.

The colony grows

Drawing more shapes to fill the space expands the playing field.

The colony is subdivided

Adding rounded rectangles in a casual grid subdivides the space.

Texture brings depth

Textural fills add the illusion of transparency.

Nearly finished

Maybe another layer?

Well that was fun. Now I need to go on to finish some of those pieces that are aching for some final stitching. Or not. Maybe I’ll try this again.

Playtime in white

Stitching figures with depth

A piece of canvas folded over some wool batting exaggerates the depth.

Adding a layer of circular shapes

White stitching gives me a guideline for textural fills.

Adding textural fills

Repeating elements like those little circles with antennas bring disparate images together in this crazy mix.

Completing the horizon.

Done.

Doesn’t it feel like the Jetsons could live here?

Another day another distraction

Since I can’t really drive into the sunset this experiment in stitching brings a little joy instead.

Give it a try!

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.

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.

Stitched Dissent , a solo show, opened the year and traveled to 2 other venues.

We traveled to Montgomery, Alabama to visit the National Memorial for Peace and Justice dedicated to the legacy of enslaved Black people. A moving and unforgettable experience.

I continued exploring the possibilities of stitching a continuous line to tell a story.

The year started with a focus on cutting things up to repurpose them.

Pink Rivers is a collage of cut up quilts.

Masks made their appearance this year.

The Covid virus became a life threatening danger early in the year and continues into 2021. Contagion was made in response to that.

One day I couldn’t focus so I started cutting up fabric into 1” strips.

A series of black and white masks started with a quilt that no longer made sense to me.

Silos is in response to the separation of factions by media outlets.

I continue to explore pattern with stitch.

The Urban Arts Commission in Memphis, TN asked me to provide some art for a billboard. This is Decision Points, writ large.

3D forms took center stage in the studio.

Masks with character, made with quilts with no character.

I cut up a Quilt National quilt, The Secret Life of Stones, to produce this 9 patch of masks. It now has new life.

Suspicious eyes.

Who doesn’t love a sausage quilt?

Building isolation chambers has been on my to-do list for a long time. This was my first iteration.

More cut up quilts made into sections for another isolation chamber.

The inside of this chamber is lined with lace and has a continuous ribbon embroidered with the words Calm Down Calm Down Calm Down….

The pile of cut up pieces of quilts gives me endless variation for future assembly.

Pod lights can be turned on and off with a remote control.

Alone Together, made in response to the Quilts in Common group prompt of Isolation. The traditional Dresden Plate pattern is missing pieces.

My first isolation chamber kept collapsing so I cut it in half and made a porthole.