tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-282880942024-03-13T06:31:21.427-07:00True StitchesTo join, to make or mend, to decorate.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.comBlogger983125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-45605284261502182642023-08-28T14:06:00.002-07:002023-08-28T16:56:21.167-07:00Such Lives Our Clothes Have Lived<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO93iVqlSrIqOU534hy_J8sR651o5S1mCqkpRkxcGT7Pn7kVVDANVUlMT7AGL5gu35ilqHGI-WepBaQZqQcl53Q4gb4iAZw7XBp31A8798KfekTgyxgLdySFU56NvpxGeP-kWjfwyaydTUUzAAcBRs_iws1S7sbKZMH-_I5kmLv0RmHXrDEZSt/s2283/D3CCED62-501E-4EDD-B62B-517C6090BC65_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2283" data-original-width="1862" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO93iVqlSrIqOU534hy_J8sR651o5S1mCqkpRkxcGT7Pn7kVVDANVUlMT7AGL5gu35ilqHGI-WepBaQZqQcl53Q4gb4iAZw7XBp31A8798KfekTgyxgLdySFU56NvpxGeP-kWjfwyaydTUUzAAcBRs_iws1S7sbKZMH-_I5kmLv0RmHXrDEZSt/w326-h400/D3CCED62-501E-4EDD-B62B-517C6090BC65_1_201_a.jpeg" width="326" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">This well-worn Harris tweed jacket came into my hands. Frayed around the edges, even the sturdy handwoven fabric from the Hebrides had succumbed to the forces of time and use. It was stained, the lining torn and buttonholes coming undone, but at some point the elbows were patched with grey-blue suede. Somebody cared.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDGgwx2BoZgdtY62e6lLJMNEGEaDGcKPXP2QjibHg-9z7xTjZep3lvmZnuVOTrHrjd-nkafsH0rm5KOr5RGBDWJ7yrHt5hmVTqaDh-Xvsfgz0bgSPm9053QNsLm-T7cJjOimyld1XxR57zBhl4XhSj3CFOPaWn5AQuJMkSD-dUhecJN4q7EzF/s2456/C0D16C07-3D5A-4BA1-A166-73499DE0B0E9_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2456" data-original-width="1842" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDGgwx2BoZgdtY62e6lLJMNEGEaDGcKPXP2QjibHg-9z7xTjZep3lvmZnuVOTrHrjd-nkafsH0rm5KOr5RGBDWJ7yrHt5hmVTqaDh-Xvsfgz0bgSPm9053QNsLm-T7cJjOimyld1XxR57zBhl4XhSj3CFOPaWn5AQuJMkSD-dUhecJN4q7EzF/w300-h400/C0D16C07-3D5A-4BA1-A166-73499DE0B0E9_1_201_a.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I began the process of mending. Using scraps of vintage wool and silk fabric that my friend Jean-Pierre sent me from Japan, and two spools of 1960's beige cotton thread, I applied patches over the stains and around the threadbare edges.</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AYVvBCLoyvfOhtOhWniV3ql3BJGM1IfXGBe2CigmJ-TaNFrzJv4iSWpbLKscOqYrYhhU9XCi_ilxE5E44MDJgwSH3LKXGJPvDTwucV1Nz-VmBeOubFkmKVN2fUw1ZW950WdzsyCBSo_iSlvX5k1CWqV7S6c20T1Jqxdimp4kOgsUTNEPCl61/s2560/14029EF2-EDA2-470D-B52F-432DF9622AAF_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AYVvBCLoyvfOhtOhWniV3ql3BJGM1IfXGBe2CigmJ-TaNFrzJv4iSWpbLKscOqYrYhhU9XCi_ilxE5E44MDJgwSH3LKXGJPvDTwucV1Nz-VmBeOubFkmKVN2fUw1ZW950WdzsyCBSo_iSlvX5k1CWqV7S6c20T1Jqxdimp4kOgsUTNEPCl61/w400-h300/14029EF2-EDA2-470D-B52F-432DF9622AAF_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv6PnusyGkz3KtzOi59wvbq6PN5dbd8hhY8PHPmVN1i-mineOF7YTj9B-nWHsmmvYWMFnoFefV4PN_DZkVEqwLjrvgLN6kF6S071cLp6thlIbDsZdwKBS2Wk40Vvi0HvVti9jqPNHcvRpfxPUmFubxb-HaCF-k7RQ2ezd_17a6CWcZGLIeK_g/s2508/00C132ED-F72E-4EB3-978B-204ED66B32A5_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1858" data-original-width="2508" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv6PnusyGkz3KtzOi59wvbq6PN5dbd8hhY8PHPmVN1i-mineOF7YTj9B-nWHsmmvYWMFnoFefV4PN_DZkVEqwLjrvgLN6kF6S071cLp6thlIbDsZdwKBS2Wk40Vvi0HvVti9jqPNHcvRpfxPUmFubxb-HaCF-k7RQ2ezd_17a6CWcZGLIeK_g/w400-h296/00C132ED-F72E-4EB3-978B-204ED66B32A5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwjHBLQG-60IvC38iMIuZ-ulmuDY-eG_8GEIItlImFbrHgkpjBt_1pqkJLPTkaFzZWOvtJ4YhB5Ry-PKLDexmMU1Bjfc-qpaWxUr9aTg9_pL3DLq2czFv63n1Ww4ZP_me2vsCRCy0hXVEWlWvEF_7Du5Yn6ilDFxc78_O8IySuz8JPX08N7OM/s2560/04F5176F-905D-4B03-83C1-0A28E76FDB8A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwjHBLQG-60IvC38iMIuZ-ulmuDY-eG_8GEIItlImFbrHgkpjBt_1pqkJLPTkaFzZWOvtJ4YhB5Ry-PKLDexmMU1Bjfc-qpaWxUr9aTg9_pL3DLq2czFv63n1Ww4ZP_me2vsCRCy0hXVEWlWvEF_7Du5Yn6ilDFxc78_O8IySuz8JPX08N7OM/w400-h300/04F5176F-905D-4B03-83C1-0A28E76FDB8A.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The history of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Hall_Clothes">Robert Hall</a> is quite interesting. Apparently the company made clothes that fit well (free alterations!) and were made to last a lifetime. And most of us are familiar with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harris_tweed">Harris tweed</a> - it was (and still is) actually woven by crofters in their homes. I once bought a length of Harris tweed that came with a tag with the name of the weaver on it.</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEC1NoXZnKxesf-lQ2t00EyqNeuBPFxQWDc10Ttccr980zTW1m1FZUQvyss7t6VH6EtHjAdYPJnDk_A-NlOVDUr7NVmdufvO6yfYYPKB-stsDUWWrWZHLP73umdAsOKdwK71Jev5yTvqX3ifjd8pj83dFczCGfngu-TUGXaNF8Narp2Tt2yl-/s2560/3CAD476E-A401-419F-830B-A1CDC136D23A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEC1NoXZnKxesf-lQ2t00EyqNeuBPFxQWDc10Ttccr980zTW1m1FZUQvyss7t6VH6EtHjAdYPJnDk_A-NlOVDUr7NVmdufvO6yfYYPKB-stsDUWWrWZHLP73umdAsOKdwK71Jev5yTvqX3ifjd8pj83dFczCGfngu-TUGXaNF8Narp2Tt2yl-/w400-h300/3CAD476E-A401-419F-830B-A1CDC136D23A_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEl92CBXPhxdNh_u4uYDJmgaid5RuJ9YC2VEWKu_FlmJk_-lYF1PomnIdO9f8OvNh3HKTmp-DEA4kzSHoMZg2IfSHgfNU-x0daWvbyrUI6LsIkgniC1r7vM2Bv-CWj_zbjuJ60qalSrnTvpqiS2BnxvbeFewOiFYBWAaMNZ9CeXWY24V-Sx4o/s2560/75FE09D7-100D-4E08-B842-561B21E7E305_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEl92CBXPhxdNh_u4uYDJmgaid5RuJ9YC2VEWKu_FlmJk_-lYF1PomnIdO9f8OvNh3HKTmp-DEA4kzSHoMZg2IfSHgfNU-x0daWvbyrUI6LsIkgniC1r7vM2Bv-CWj_zbjuJ60qalSrnTvpqiS2BnxvbeFewOiFYBWAaMNZ9CeXWY24V-Sx4o/w400-h300/75FE09D7-100D-4E08-B842-561B21E7E305_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I wanted to replace the plastic buttons, which didn't match. Here is where my huge stash of buttons got to earn their keep! I found three lovely mother-of-pearl buttons that were the right size for the front, and six smaller mother-of-pearl buttons in a similar tone for the cuffs.</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHVmR6O0-fkOf76CcxLKkEO3N3IO5ioH7LioXhl8GkbR22iZsDxd5zfDEMVhewhUBZc2l6qyCtpvwfLtqs3zEl_r0qj3x4hyYncKjY4f9CAvYsRCsn3Z4-8YOou410wR_Rp20uIEAIABUP2Ju9E1d8j8F3iVA35MUTUmFdHthXbacCaoL2TPm/s2560/CA3ABF7C-E3E8-4F60-A16A-AB34D0D00967_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHVmR6O0-fkOf76CcxLKkEO3N3IO5ioH7LioXhl8GkbR22iZsDxd5zfDEMVhewhUBZc2l6qyCtpvwfLtqs3zEl_r0qj3x4hyYncKjY4f9CAvYsRCsn3Z4-8YOou410wR_Rp20uIEAIABUP2Ju9E1d8j8F3iVA35MUTUmFdHthXbacCaoL2TPm/w400-h300/CA3ABF7C-E3E8-4F60-A16A-AB34D0D00967_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid69d5UpN5SUU8KCUmvfoV0-jJQ1gPwL-MTdnNqli1RyyFNt8v1lLgplNj4Y7T0SyleAr5Hh_AcssyWKsZLNJryDcwv0KuxrGkCtAvKsMib-rTOPBhXtlV4g8RSgvygpJc8OytDXwqUzm8aAHgc4iPQdN7ZgvOHjyRd9fb-MU5omPZSl0nerf-/s2560/40629787-ED1D-4C0B-B0C8-A4883320C8C1_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid69d5UpN5SUU8KCUmvfoV0-jJQ1gPwL-MTdnNqli1RyyFNt8v1lLgplNj4Y7T0SyleAr5Hh_AcssyWKsZLNJryDcwv0KuxrGkCtAvKsMib-rTOPBhXtlV4g8RSgvygpJc8OytDXwqUzm8aAHgc4iPQdN7ZgvOHjyRd9fb-MU5omPZSl0nerf-/w400-h300/40629787-ED1D-4C0B-B0C8-A4883320C8C1_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I removed the machine sewn elbow patches and replaced them with sashiko sewn silk. Maybe not as durable as the old suede ones, but with a subtle sheen and character.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiav5B80K35JPn1Z8VZ9JeO_Ili-I96fNEdmWpJ9p0nUF2dHbJiexK7w2bTkKST74wt3lkK7jhj1HdtL_GskfQT95PzK9C8HNfu48F8nc0-rbM0uEoFs5mED1YsicpKEJfP_fZxhELE08hT-3pptLZzmAbEkzWqfqsTDqbza8xoZmoe5wsqxhC3/s2560/C5989719-FB1F-4F87-8635-8B25816FA032_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiav5B80K35JPn1Z8VZ9JeO_Ili-I96fNEdmWpJ9p0nUF2dHbJiexK7w2bTkKST74wt3lkK7jhj1HdtL_GskfQT95PzK9C8HNfu48F8nc0-rbM0uEoFs5mED1YsicpKEJfP_fZxhELE08hT-3pptLZzmAbEkzWqfqsTDqbza8xoZmoe5wsqxhC3/w300-h400/C5989719-FB1F-4F87-8635-8B25816FA032_1_201_a.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I still have to restitch the buttonholes and mend the inside lining. My friend K. called dibs on it as soon as she saw it, tried it on, and it fit her small frame perfectly. She is a poet and counsellor - this jacket will go on to to accompany a life of wisdom, creativity, and care.</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7OQJdp1jZ-LOJWvmWrkMcEOb-0ZZdhmkPQB3oJYPBfd32g1tm7jRVCjO_HEgsJXkzrLHOqynF6MCyWXH38oZi2ZaoWDjzP1PjzO0FWAaVsKLoHKZFXp8vZC0_MCPnSUeoXa_iHTegNn7J3zeTocBFXwzydo_3sFR26hCrqdFKVyLheLHHW_s/s2560/E834DA0D-F600-4E0A-8CE0-7ACF19E6AE51_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7OQJdp1jZ-LOJWvmWrkMcEOb-0ZZdhmkPQB3oJYPBfd32g1tm7jRVCjO_HEgsJXkzrLHOqynF6MCyWXH38oZi2ZaoWDjzP1PjzO0FWAaVsKLoHKZFXp8vZC0_MCPnSUeoXa_iHTegNn7J3zeTocBFXwzydo_3sFR26hCrqdFKVyLheLHHW_s/w400-h300/E834DA0D-F600-4E0A-8CE0-7ACF19E6AE51_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-15321770041678367712023-07-29T13:23:00.006-07:002023-08-14T16:58:20.815-07:00Robert Oppenheimer's Doily<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOjhhPnfZ2eaygibN4AQifZ7E-wl1sGgx_fMjnJRI4zVUeDxadyL0YKc6lRKUMVomZSuBYWw7Fr3SajaQ9mAqM4qeoph7DRHhmMBjVTjZCoapQ-EXqhAKnJH2JszqtHZVjsZAJTbOq7qQzKkjot-NvQrs6PvxWwx0luGrFZ4RFfn6zzuzCG_p/s2221/A4303AC5-2897-4897-9B29-64852A427A63_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1704" data-original-width="2221" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOjhhPnfZ2eaygibN4AQifZ7E-wl1sGgx_fMjnJRI4zVUeDxadyL0YKc6lRKUMVomZSuBYWw7Fr3SajaQ9mAqM4qeoph7DRHhmMBjVTjZCoapQ-EXqhAKnJH2JszqtHZVjsZAJTbOq7qQzKkjot-NvQrs6PvxWwx0luGrFZ4RFfn6zzuzCG_p/w640-h492/A4303AC5-2897-4897-9B29-64852A427A63_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Robert Oppenheimer's Doily</i> (2022) Hand embroidery, cotton on vintage linen. 23"(h) 31"(w)<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;">Little did I know when I made this piece that a blockbuster movie would be coming out the next year. It was July 2022, and on the 16th I read an article about it being the 77th anniversary of the Trinity test of the atomic bomb. I had a quote from Robert Oppenheimer, the leader of the team that developed the bomb, that had been kicking around for a while, and I decided that now was the time to use it. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">The words themselves preceded Oppenheimer's more famous quote from the Bhavagad Vita "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds". Less dramatic, but more chilling. The near-banality of his words echoed the underlying <i>raison d'etre</i> of my series of embroidered quotes on domestic linens. In considering the lives of the various famous people whose words I use, I try to position them as fellow human beings with homes, people that eat and bathe and value the comforts of a well-managed household. As I give the anonymous linens, into which an equally anonymous maker (usually a woman) poured her skill and creative energy, a new life, so is the role of the significant person whose words I embroider (with equal dedication) reconsidered. I think of these pieces as evocative of old-fashioned samplers, on which young girls would show off their sewing skills with prescriptive quotes on proper conduct, usually from the Bible. My own work gives, I hope, a different perspective on how we live, and the guiding principles that instruct us. The words are serious, perhaps even horrific, but I hope to seduce with the familiarity and gentility of household linen.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZjETyxKyp480GNPtLwA9ZebOJZXJZ3zeusI1vs1VTCMcr8K7hQJggd7dIn5s7qUIIkNsQ3LtAM3Y_8DbPEcaSfKs-LwIWeuXt1yfm3ZqBFOcrNkFELGWFi8IJ8N9HWVxopLJLNfbdR0aVFw6BhRjhD0xNInKgtd0b2UMj6St_xSJeZcVY7ny/s3648/CA98C218-B7D8-4906-B57E-301BC19E9A4A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2432" data-original-width="3648" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZjETyxKyp480GNPtLwA9ZebOJZXJZ3zeusI1vs1VTCMcr8K7hQJggd7dIn5s7qUIIkNsQ3LtAM3Y_8DbPEcaSfKs-LwIWeuXt1yfm3ZqBFOcrNkFELGWFi8IJ8N9HWVxopLJLNfbdR0aVFw6BhRjhD0xNInKgtd0b2UMj6St_xSJeZcVY7ny/w400-h266/CA98C218-B7D8-4906-B57E-301BC19E9A4A_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Robert Oppenheimer's Doily</i> (2022) detail<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;">People often comment on how "perfect" my embroidery is, sometimes suggesting that I could do it on a machine to save time! Time, in fact, is something essential to my work. The many hours of careful, quiet stitching are evidence of the serious care and regard I extend to my work, and how I honour the skill and perseverance of the anonymous stitchers whose cloth I work into.</span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha84c-bbx87YFDiq7omXwF6zd6hyiww4Wulahett-PDIHRJW4Qx73pY-g1IMBbnY80t8o8XeTv0Eut1cdpJ4OKnHgt9wz4udF4zshzch9uomFMwG4wiaOwPWxaJ6EGEg-V25Fl-mheo9Lwdoh_0cmlKuBZpw7Cn2cMyizfAmfH3CUnEgbWzDmG/s2560/2F540245-F4A6-4E2E-8573-C2A78AF4D998.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha84c-bbx87YFDiq7omXwF6zd6hyiww4Wulahett-PDIHRJW4Qx73pY-g1IMBbnY80t8o8XeTv0Eut1cdpJ4OKnHgt9wz4udF4zshzch9uomFMwG4wiaOwPWxaJ6EGEg-V25Fl-mheo9Lwdoh_0cmlKuBZpw7Cn2cMyizfAmfH3CUnEgbWzDmG/w400-h300/2F540245-F4A6-4E2E-8573-C2A78AF4D998.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Robert Oppenheimer's Doily</i> (2022), work in progress<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;">I admit, I have a little trick that helps create the illusion of perfection. I don't start with the first word and stitch in sequential order through to the last. I work all over, randomly, so that the days when my hand is less steady, or my eyes less acute, don't obviously show. </span><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHzMUnpz4MorXJHlLDE-QzYopmIafkcDp8xBBgHdeU_dIzvzUs2o_UCcbh2MSxgyDL6H-uVP1DSIsQYUv7T67NciHsjlV-sVrRjscZCEY6_DgAzpdDtF-zudIILRX9QLm6UfycThOv0DKMw1wVUSyh547DpJsVMRKJvAswf7_EYQLQGtHvKe9/s3648/CameronHeather13RobertOppenheimersDoily.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2432" data-original-width="3648" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHzMUnpz4MorXJHlLDE-QzYopmIafkcDp8xBBgHdeU_dIzvzUs2o_UCcbh2MSxgyDL6H-uVP1DSIsQYUv7T67NciHsjlV-sVrRjscZCEY6_DgAzpdDtF-zudIILRX9QLm6UfycThOv0DKMw1wVUSyh547DpJsVMRKJvAswf7_EYQLQGtHvKe9/w400-h266/CameronHeather13RobertOppenheimersDoily.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Robert Oppenheimer's Doily</i> (2022) detail</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Another trick I have, which is more fiddly, but to me, makes the stitches richer, is to mix the colours of the threads. Here, I use three strands of DMC embroidery floss, each a different shade of red. I was aiming to match the colours of the flames that a survivor of the bombing of Hiroshima depicted in a painting of her experience that day. This painting was in a book that I purchased at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, when I visited there in 2008. The impact of the exhibits of the museum was so intense that I avoided looking at the book until last year, searching for the right colour of thread to use.<p></p><p>I finished stitching the piece on August 6th, 2022. The time period it took for me to complete the piece was the same as the interval between the testing of the bomb (and the occasion for Oppenheimer's words) and the detonation of the bomb over Hiroshima, killing between 70,000–126,000 civilians, 7,000–20,000 soldiers and 12 Allied prisoners of war.<span face="sans-serif" style="font-size: 12.32px;"> </span></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-6610712682835724902023-07-06T13:58:00.005-07:002023-07-06T14:01:34.955-07:00A Knitting Guru For Her Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXQUnDHbvpDG85rVdSfbTBV6brs5sDFp5xWj899NGKNmwqP2HULnE8AQONSOU6tKWmFbvykBIlpTP70hmq_HoHPXNoB0qBLhtREFL8087K_NXaDfFmI9a4QgUlKFHBgCyg_1tiLvvuLp86cAvj2yF6uvZfLaqqo-v7zNB3TDSf6loSuGcdY2l/s2436/07D12FC5-C64E-49E6-82C0-5E8795D9BB1A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2436" data-original-width="1634" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXQUnDHbvpDG85rVdSfbTBV6brs5sDFp5xWj899NGKNmwqP2HULnE8AQONSOU6tKWmFbvykBIlpTP70hmq_HoHPXNoB0qBLhtREFL8087K_NXaDfFmI9a4QgUlKFHBgCyg_1tiLvvuLp86cAvj2yF6uvZfLaqqo-v7zNB3TDSf6loSuGcdY2l/s400/07D12FC5-C64E-49E6-82C0-5E8795D9BB1A_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia;">I found this book at our local recycling depot the other day. It is quite amazing, published in 1940. It reflects the state of the art at the time, and until Elizabeth Zimmerman came along, probably was the definitive guide for three decades. Today's knitting books pale in comparison to the sheer density of knitting knowledge contained within these covers.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I couldn't find much about Ida Duncan, other than she taught in the Detroit adult education system, and authored several books about knitting. But clearly, she thought about much more, as evidenced by this passage on where the knitter should buy her yarn. She forecast the way Amazon and big box retailers destroyed so many small businesses, 60 years before the fact.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjngU89WCG2ljvI5m4idh0jFkwxvt67LJD8cg-12FVLckNtdKj0e1y6MQm7eq7m4ERF_IL0rWodtgtswRMhNgEtg1n3mD33S36Ltfys0qpP0iTg6PmpWZKZgTzMG7SB8jvh-0nY4yfPqKLkKMzn9cvmf0q81twcrRajx5bGb7UoARafVrdlqy-h/s2560/614EEF78-F510-4455-8BBC-9C3874401A40_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1661" data-original-width="2560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjngU89WCG2ljvI5m4idh0jFkwxvt67LJD8cg-12FVLckNtdKj0e1y6MQm7eq7m4ERF_IL0rWodtgtswRMhNgEtg1n3mD33S36Ltfys0qpP0iTg6PmpWZKZgTzMG7SB8jvh-0nY4yfPqKLkKMzn9cvmf0q81twcrRajx5bGb7UoARafVrdlqy-h/s400/614EEF78-F510-4455-8BBC-9C3874401A40_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a>She covers how to get started knitting, and then, rather than providing patterns, describes various styles and demonstrates how to make your own pattern, based on your own measurements and gauge. She also provides a chapter on various textural stitches, cables, and lace patterns.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJsFmTxD2MAtd2FXNJije240ORsq_VGEp8SmdZDNpDJDEc9Kp3pHGndEjB2S6Qw6inlumZl0Nzy5T9AFvxQPygPXidEZliN2YYQsZUoWsjWQcEVGS0oml5AElj0VxPToS-ywnqe4xUwACzkzH6IpG6WJMGtA5yjfBwW9dl7VowNNyaFjdEsol/s2560/B9DCDAC2-460D-411C-84D8-FDFCF5499747_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJsFmTxD2MAtd2FXNJije240ORsq_VGEp8SmdZDNpDJDEc9Kp3pHGndEjB2S6Qw6inlumZl0Nzy5T9AFvxQPygPXidEZliN2YYQsZUoWsjWQcEVGS0oml5AElj0VxPToS-ywnqe4xUwACzkzH6IpG6WJMGtA5yjfBwW9dl7VowNNyaFjdEsol/s400/B9DCDAC2-460D-411C-84D8-FDFCF5499747_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a>Perhaps most astonishing to me is a whole chapter on career paths in knitting! What a world it once was! I suppose these jobs have had something of a recovery in this century, but how many are full time, or pay a living wage?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GYPJCp_AW2SVSmqAIBql6mOVH3hEWMxzV1e2K85nR6JRXQJq2aeuaiATFAi9ywlxeOTk3VqGt8C7e6TzjzU9ozFY7YD3O7Yycdm2g6N50HgJPhkf2cJfGJOk5Fx8C1nENO7bvK5zZY4hnFFbrFmbjOB4LG3cZNA045oaVy0T88SWWCkegdMV/s2560/C55D158F-2B6B-4221-ACCB-4CDB15817FC0_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GYPJCp_AW2SVSmqAIBql6mOVH3hEWMxzV1e2K85nR6JRXQJq2aeuaiATFAi9ywlxeOTk3VqGt8C7e6TzjzU9ozFY7YD3O7Yycdm2g6N50HgJPhkf2cJfGJOk5Fx8C1nENO7bvK5zZY4hnFFbrFmbjOB4LG3cZNA045oaVy0T88SWWCkegdMV/s400/C55D158F-2B6B-4221-ACCB-4CDB15817FC0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUZ20OiQmcnKdxryxyL7z6uBfEepvzsPMOKNNH26gCMvU7DWx3KrNZtZ2BYFetDJqh610UWzOJy85JLXLkF17FNeBRSbidIyciTlWo-CpXk5XajnqfiUYl10Ujr31cZooUmttxFoiELNZKK6ishKMv7iS4kjzbbj9CFvW3OpU9HXopeHSIpv_/s2434/9BF688E1-7358-4867-A76B-BF9EDC0581FA_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2434" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUZ20OiQmcnKdxryxyL7z6uBfEepvzsPMOKNNH26gCMvU7DWx3KrNZtZ2BYFetDJqh610UWzOJy85JLXLkF17FNeBRSbidIyciTlWo-CpXk5XajnqfiUYl10Ujr31cZooUmttxFoiELNZKK6ishKMv7iS4kjzbbj9CFvW3OpU9HXopeHSIpv_/s400/9BF688E1-7358-4867-A76B-BF9EDC0581FA_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-85766299013729390752023-05-05T13:09:00.001-07:002023-05-05T13:11:31.792-07:00Making Our Bed<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmXf2lYXQbHp_MaThWw_rClB0hHp484-QffdFR2QbeMZ_HNxUje-uK4z1FmjjrqmIHgrA-s_bVvfV5WiwsC9qLs-V-x0kvjZY9--reLXy7x1LiUbTDojJzqcEdkaCbO6_X0J-bnqI-lSFuJmF8UYD4skrAiug6mh8Nv-dBx1Z5RevgY3zhQ/s1703/9CA29A95-4E73-4FAC-9A25-E62F5809E3B2_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1703" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmXf2lYXQbHp_MaThWw_rClB0hHp484-QffdFR2QbeMZ_HNxUje-uK4z1FmjjrqmIHgrA-s_bVvfV5WiwsC9qLs-V-x0kvjZY9--reLXy7x1LiUbTDojJzqcEdkaCbO6_X0J-bnqI-lSFuJmF8UYD4skrAiug6mh8Nv-dBx1Z5RevgY3zhQ/w400-h389/9CA29A95-4E73-4FAC-9A25-E62F5809E3B2_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>We Make Our Bed</i>, 2023. Machine pieced, hand and machine quilted, found fabric, 60"x60"</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">This piece may look vaguely familiar to you. It was part of my show, <a href="https://truestitches.blogspot.com/2019/11/the-wild-braid.html" target="_blank">The Wild Braid</a>, a few years back. It was an example of using arbitrary constraints - in this case, making a quilt using only a stack of well-used pillowcases donated to a thrift store but deemed too shabby to sell. They were headed for the bin, but a couple of the vintage patterns appealed to me (one was even a faux patchwork!) and I set myself an assignment.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Using an improv approach of random cut strips of cloth, I built up a log cabin structure, always starting with a piece of the orange print, and trying to use a piece each of all the fabrics in each square. I lightly machine quilted it, and thought I was done. I called it "Not Forsaken".</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">It went into storage after the show, and re-emerged a few weeks ago when I was asked to participate in a local exhibition of textile artists. I agreed, and was then informed of the theme: "Gabriola, Our Island Home". In this time of working towards reconciliation with the First Nations, the theme struck me as tone-deaf and colonial. I tried to back out, but was talked into staying by organizer of the show.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Of course, being the pot-stirrer that I am, I wanted to show something that might sit uneasily within the show. There wasn't time to make a new piece, but I did think back to this quilt, which was at least made from the detritus of Gabriola's waste stream, so there was a physical connection to the island. That very same day, I received in the mail a copy of Rebecca Solnit's new book, "Not Too Late." One of the quotes included was from David Graeber, the brilliant anthropologist and activist, one of the co-founders of the Occupy movement.</span></p><p><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">"The ultimate, hidden truth of the world is that it is something we make, and could just as easily make differently."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bingo! How to make our world differently (and in a healthier, fairer, more sustainable way for all beings) is a crucial question today. A quilt, made from bits and pieces of cloth that are no longer considered good enough, but have been present for untold thousands of human dreams, have smoothed our rest, have witnessed love and illness, seems a suitable medium for such a message.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So I cut the letters of the quote from an old (of course) piece of pink linen and appliquéd them around the edge of the quilt. I felt that the squares themselves needed a little more love, and hand quilted them with #5 perle cotton. The quilting gave the piece more drape and integrity. It feels more complete now.</span></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6f0DAWqMYHvG_J7aGLd0a9_J24ocN_k8zqSmQT8MDxDGKBugr2ydXZYH8Qt8cojOC5EC92r4rpEgfDCJozIQzEqwT2rR7ElT72OmO_gQ15an3tet1urIRb8AEMqhc4wTk8reDMFiK5Rbtkd4pTkpdypTu-Nbhn3befi8CuvmgGvdm5A8yzg/s2482/4C4438AE-326E-45FE-A6FA-E56C80E34496_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1605" data-original-width="2482" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6f0DAWqMYHvG_J7aGLd0a9_J24ocN_k8zqSmQT8MDxDGKBugr2ydXZYH8Qt8cojOC5EC92r4rpEgfDCJozIQzEqwT2rR7ElT72OmO_gQ15an3tet1urIRb8AEMqhc4wTk8reDMFiK5Rbtkd4pTkpdypTu-Nbhn3befi8CuvmgGvdm5A8yzg/w400-h259/4C4438AE-326E-45FE-A6FA-E56C80E34496_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I notice that the pink of the letters is, optically, in complementary contrast to the green strip backing. This causes the text to fizz and become a little harder to read. The viewer has to work a little to take it in. I often employ this strategy in my work, trying to engage the viewer beyond the 2.5 nanoseconds that is usually taken in viewing art. Call me manipulative, but I hope the payoff of "getting it" is worth it.</span><p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-32811844299286336492023-02-22T10:20:00.002-08:002023-02-22T13:25:54.435-08:00Bye Bye Fast Fashion, Hello Local Fibershed<p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtKok0NvQeQRjCS8CMazynSvG3nZ7sHoP1i7LBHfHYpmWFVkqNlre9RwbAMakOx_9VjbfcNGKS02SqrOwtTlZSR173vZK-QXNTR7HEcfc4Y8ZS8YQa4JXJbPHJkZws9m8q1flwZISHYePuVmpWaM4suQoOElfSaJU0y0SK7wUdO-t-Oo7qyw/s2211/FE3713A4-C60F-404F-B6EB-0972E421D6CB_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1314" data-original-width="2211" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtKok0NvQeQRjCS8CMazynSvG3nZ7sHoP1i7LBHfHYpmWFVkqNlre9RwbAMakOx_9VjbfcNGKS02SqrOwtTlZSR173vZK-QXNTR7HEcfc4Y8ZS8YQa4JXJbPHJkZws9m8q1flwZISHYePuVmpWaM4suQoOElfSaJU0y0SK7wUdO-t-Oo7qyw/w640-h380/FE3713A4-C60F-404F-B6EB-0972E421D6CB_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><i><p style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></i></p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Unraveling: What I Learned about Life While Shearing Sheep, Dyeing Wool, and Making the World’s Ugliest Sweater</span></i><span style="font-family: georgia;">, by Peggy Orenstein. Harper Collins, 2023</span><p></p><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Consumed – Th</i><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>e Need for Collective Change: Colonialism, Climate Change, and Consumerism</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>, by Aja Barber. Balance, 2021</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>Worn: A People’s History of Clothing</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>, by Sofi Thanhauser. Pantheon, 2022</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>How often do you think about the clothes you wear? Here on Gabriola Island, where no one bats an eye if you go shopping at Nester’s in your pajamas, it might seem </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>that simply being covered is all that really matters. Style often plays second fiddle to comfort and practicality. In reality, the garment industry affects us all, as one of the largest players in the </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>global </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>manufacturing economy, as well as </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>either</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>fourth or </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>seventh </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>(depending on sources)</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> most polluting. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>It is an industry founded on slave labour, and continues to be brutally exploitative. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>How we choose our clothing is indeed important, even if we aren’t concerned with fashion. </span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>Three books have recently come across my desk that offer in-depth discussion of the importance of clothing to human existence, from the history of textile production to the impact of fast fashion. The first, Peggy Orenstein’s </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>Unraveling:</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>What I Learned about Life While Shearing Sheep, Dyeing Wool, and Making the World’s Ugliest Sweater </i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>is a very engaging personal account of Orenstein’s exploration of actually making a garment from scratch, accomplishing all the steps herself. </span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>Started</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> as a project to keep busy during COVID, </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>with knitting as her only prior textile skill, Orenstein makes the most of being situated in Northern California, the heart of Fib</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>er</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>shed country. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>(</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>Founded </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>in 2010 </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>by Rebecca Burgess, Fibershed is a non-profit organization that develops regional fiber systems that build ecosystem and community health. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span></span></span></span><a href="https://fibershed.org/" style="color: navy;">https://fibershed.org</a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>) </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>She is able to connect to local shepherds, shearers, spinners and dyers who share their expertise with her. Orenstein </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>has a</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> lively, humourous story telling ability, which draws the reader in, while also conveying lots of more sobering information about the loss of local textile mills and the gutting of the North American garment manufacturing industry.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>S</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>he does indeed learn how to shear a sheep, spin the fleece into yarn, dye the yarn with natural dyes gleaned from her own region, and knit it into a very wearable sweater. (I did correspond with Orenstein, congratulating her on the book, but chiding her a bit for overstating the sweater’s ugliness – she charmingly replied and admitted that she knew her sweater wasn’t the world’s ugliest, but she thought it made for a good title.) In a true test of the readability and mass appeal of </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>Unraveling</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>, I lent my copy to my partner, who usually prefers </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>titles such as “The Book of Eels” or “Civilization and the Limpet”. He pronounced </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>Unraveling</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> to be a great read, very interesting and </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>that he now understood a lot more about what I do with all those bits of fluff</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>in the studio.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>C</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>onsumed </i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>– Th</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>e Need for Collective Change: Colonialism, Climate Change, and Consumerism</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>, by Aja Barber is a more </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>milit</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>a</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>nt call to action than the grassroots Fib</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>er</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>shed </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>approach.</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> Barber, an American living in London manages to be both a fashion insider and a critic of the industry by sticking to strict ethical standards. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>She has a huge following on Instagram and has turned down some tantalizing offers from fashion houses and retailers who would like her to uncritically promote their product on her site. Barber is also a Black woman who brings a valuable perspective to her insights on the fashion industry, especially its colonial origins. I found the first part of the book to be </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>full of information but </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>somewhat repetitive, </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>although due to Barber’s </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>sassy, warm</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> voice </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>it isn’t annoyingly so.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>The second half of </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>Consumed</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> is a toolkit for taking action: templates for letters to fast fashion CEO’s </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>and lawmakers;</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>checklists for breaking the cycle of consumption and waste; how to </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>combat</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> green-washing; making the most of what you </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>already </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>have; </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>changing patterns of behaviour. Barber also includes a section of resources on how to educate yourself further. Overall, her approach is supportive, caring </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>and strong </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>– </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>empowering in the best way.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>Worn: A People’s History of Clothing</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span> goes deeply into the history of five </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>main </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>fibres from which fabric is made: cotton, linen, wool, silk and synthetic. Author Sofi Thanhauser </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>delves into the heavy issues of social and environmental injustice, corrupt politics and unsustainable capitalism that surround the garment industry. She has done a lot of on-the-ground research, actually visiting clothing factories in Bangladesh and Honduras, and talking with workers, managers, middlemen, </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>textile historians and professional craftspeople.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>I took part in an <a href="https://earthand.com" target="_blank">on-line bookclub</a> focussed on </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span><i>Worn</i></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>, and we had plenty to talk about over 6 sessions. I was very glad for the community and support of the reading group, as the sheer magnitude of human suffering that is part of the textile industry was overwhelming at times. Fortunately for empathetic reader, the book does conclude on a more encouraging note with the revival of traditional practises and smaller-scale local </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>fibre </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>production promoted by groups such as Fibershed.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>Returning to our pajama-clad Gabriola grocery shopper – they may be happy to know that there is a Vancouver Island Fibreshed group, which is working hard at developing markets and resources for local </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>farmers and </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>textile producers. And, in really exciting news, a small group of us have formed a Gabriola "pod" of the larger regional fibreshed, and we will be offering workshops on mending, dyeing, processing a fleece, making a spindle and learning to spin, through the Arts Council's Isle of the Arts festival this spring. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span>Making educated choices about how we choose to clothe ourselves is getting easier, and is a way to create positive change in the world.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-80636035363281838652023-01-11T11:36:00.000-08:002023-01-11T11:36:44.800-08:00A Bear's Book<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtn7dstqTLtT0rBWxfi52gDWETHxP2C_ZBOir9_NM7xrUI6DWO5UW0_I533p-dcJGR_Opwt_DwWrQ74wLQpKv92IcmpJrmlLY-t-c9iqUSELRsby0786_GA-UnFA7vWB-vlAeNA9lr9Yaol_OjOAJWmSe8NP7wn0Lv2WBlZDB-tN06SslICQ/s2561/C91368A8-5D7F-462F-B06B-89CDF660E228_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2561" data-original-width="1961" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtn7dstqTLtT0rBWxfi52gDWETHxP2C_ZBOir9_NM7xrUI6DWO5UW0_I533p-dcJGR_Opwt_DwWrQ74wLQpKv92IcmpJrmlLY-t-c9iqUSELRsby0786_GA-UnFA7vWB-vlAeNA9lr9Yaol_OjOAJWmSe8NP7wn0Lv2WBlZDB-tN06SslICQ/w306-h400/C91368A8-5D7F-462F-B06B-89CDF660E228_1_201_a.jpeg" width="306" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was asked by the Gabriola Museum to make an artist's book describing my experience during the pandemic years 2020-2022. I made the kind of book a bear might make.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-25418969336709722842022-12-29T21:40:00.014-08:002022-12-30T16:57:12.890-08:004TOLD: Tawny Maclachlan Capon<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_n5fYbYcpCdZ-uLzep7ph6koe2h6ILleulU8NiZzW3QRFqkw0D0IGSpcskhOFHGoMCHmWUf0g9TNuNVD-NmQbQ4Z7nv1izjPT8MJ9d2siH4ukkQ07bk7UMj_1o2xF_zUp4qT4sMfWYiPQE6E9poUf3C-Bwm7pTWEVqzQPjjL9KWAoV0ePlg/s2560/B550A5A4-8216-433E-A16D-D6D292D9A051.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_n5fYbYcpCdZ-uLzep7ph6koe2h6ILleulU8NiZzW3QRFqkw0D0IGSpcskhOFHGoMCHmWUf0g9TNuNVD-NmQbQ4Z7nv1izjPT8MJ9d2siH4ukkQ07bk7UMj_1o2xF_zUp4qT4sMfWYiPQE6E9poUf3C-Bwm7pTWEVqzQPjjL9KWAoV0ePlg/w640-h480/B550A5A4-8216-433E-A16D-D6D292D9A051.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br /><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">Quintas</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"> (2022) Installation. Wool blankets, netting, silk </span><span style="color: #1d2228;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(29, 34, 40);">cocoons, ink, handstitching</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;">It is always a great privilege to share gallery space with Tawny Maclachlan Capon. Her work has always been a dance of the colours, textures, and gestures </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;">inherent in</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;">a wide range of materials, whether garnered from nature or reclaimed </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;">from the leavings of a manufacturing process.</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"> The poignancy rising from the interplay of media not usually associated with art or craft</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;">foretells a rhythm, a thrum, that prompts the viewer to viscerally engage with each score she presents. Capon’s background in</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"> ballet</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; widows: 2;">has given her a strong spatial sense, which is particularly evident in the new work created for 4TOLD, which moves off the wall and into the centre of the gallery.</span></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgzDhyLvy-jTHx5U7WO-Drmfntu65UCwmQcEAzJ0LGsBWGyw3NHo9WNgOMooCg5Z5GBvLB7Tpm-k7wbbig_3FDFsrfh5r532pQ8FDCOkPBxicaPWbJSYfI6c3Ab8na5AzU8A1-9fz2DN8Hqv5n29r79OYjOLXWPMmSmUdsTeHo8Fw28At8Q/s2560/D985D99B-EB6C-4062-91A6-BD50C827F86E.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgzDhyLvy-jTHx5U7WO-Drmfntu65UCwmQcEAzJ0LGsBWGyw3NHo9WNgOMooCg5Z5GBvLB7Tpm-k7wbbig_3FDFsrfh5r532pQ8FDCOkPBxicaPWbJSYfI6c3Ab8na5AzU8A1-9fz2DN8Hqv5n29r79OYjOLXWPMmSmUdsTeHo8Fw28At8Q/w640-h480/D985D99B-EB6C-4062-91A6-BD50C827F86E.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">Quintas</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"> (2022) Installation. Wool blankets, netting, silk </span><span style="color: #1d2228;">cocoons, ink, handstitching<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_T6YgpRhCJCiDNP8ZT9zjtPgDBVUyv5hkuUnSpSlUuOmD1MCS2KIgwX-HJ_kdihO-CgPBRWTp5patSFEEfhkdCJKgqzMMhNLIDhiFJ_CNcQvG6CC89y1gOdXthAzL-Xkum11h4RrRpRUvHaASJxlAqLDz_bViWgJwZjlpwyw8nID5V_CpA/s2560/8FAFC0DD-25B2-4247-98FC-E8675CFCC739.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_T6YgpRhCJCiDNP8ZT9zjtPgDBVUyv5hkuUnSpSlUuOmD1MCS2KIgwX-HJ_kdihO-CgPBRWTp5patSFEEfhkdCJKgqzMMhNLIDhiFJ_CNcQvG6CC89y1gOdXthAzL-Xkum11h4RrRpRUvHaASJxlAqLDz_bViWgJwZjlpwyw8nID5V_CpA/w300-h400/8FAFC0DD-25B2-4247-98FC-E8675CFCC739.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">Quintas</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"> (2022) Detail<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2q5x60OLHH9ZckNykMj0rubnz9jaaFYl2zg5rUNEfMRfANhMPUrSOo5OTnheTDGAvJBl8LZ7VxcHsr6qLt6MuwThktXpT3L9dlFRlwUZxUmiQBxhavtM-y3E1T9jpnxfzv1UktTvkhfBKI_r05BgxqNReP91F9xvEEnPyRQ2EaoVhOFThsw/s2560/98F9EDCD-13C6-4276-90B4-B35AA4C22A77.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2q5x60OLHH9ZckNykMj0rubnz9jaaFYl2zg5rUNEfMRfANhMPUrSOo5OTnheTDGAvJBl8LZ7VxcHsr6qLt6MuwThktXpT3L9dlFRlwUZxUmiQBxhavtM-y3E1T9jpnxfzv1UktTvkhfBKI_r05BgxqNReP91F9xvEEnPyRQ2EaoVhOFThsw/w300-h400/98F9EDCD-13C6-4276-90B4-B35AA4C22A77.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quintas (2022) Detail.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5o1L9W3RAI6d1YKTVOgA9WTuX_S7UiAVBpXeZoFqLLkxuvblJrFOgrgBAO10gcrj9XokDM6BHVGdX_SWpAuKpqonQJAEruCQ0dxpGGs2wIadvkIwCNmfDgSWs7EYxJTZOGpdk9G4bOSsh90t5SfyWfqDr1-5WwvXkVVVhsWvAExbD-WPDqA/s2560/AD798F0E-2D01-4742-B76B-F03450B768B6.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5o1L9W3RAI6d1YKTVOgA9WTuX_S7UiAVBpXeZoFqLLkxuvblJrFOgrgBAO10gcrj9XokDM6BHVGdX_SWpAuKpqonQJAEruCQ0dxpGGs2wIadvkIwCNmfDgSWs7EYxJTZOGpdk9G4bOSsh90t5SfyWfqDr1-5WwvXkVVVhsWvAExbD-WPDqA/w300-h400/AD798F0E-2D01-4742-B76B-F03450B768B6.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">Quintas</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"> (2022) Detail.<br /></span><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: left;">I felt that the piece below, </span><span style="color: #1d2228; font-style: italic; text-align: left;">one thousand </span><span style="color: #1d2228; font-style: italic; text-align: left;">seven hundred </span><span style="color: #1d2228; text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">and twenty,</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>was a breakthrough work for Tawny. Using a type case that had long stood in her father's printing business, she has fitted each drawer with her own woven and knitted works, cut to fit the units that once were filled with bits of metal type. The links between personal history, language and communication are given a masterful, surrealist spin with the rich and varied colours, textures and weaves of the cloth that line the drawers.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5P0Wa2tDMZXJkr-sFtZLIUhOcy9XICCHUp18OTyrvG2nnv0yUwfpPgExNkupgLYVTqSU1sRTXMq9S88n0649msjOn3u2ii8sn0T_55C0OMk9sA6PfUAcRkGh0ywSMKp8gLWi5C4vW2-h9fC1hOeA6j42JhmRu0COuuAPRKFtWkkI68Rfsmg/s2560/BC31C278-F0C0-489A-9869-FAD900A8E505.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5P0Wa2tDMZXJkr-sFtZLIUhOcy9XICCHUp18OTyrvG2nnv0yUwfpPgExNkupgLYVTqSU1sRTXMq9S88n0649msjOn3u2ii8sn0T_55C0OMk9sA6PfUAcRkGh0ywSMKp8gLWi5C4vW2-h9fC1hOeA6j42JhmRu0COuuAPRKFtWkkI68Rfsmg/w640-h480/BC31C278-F0C0-489A-9869-FAD900A8E505.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #1d2228;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>one thousand </i></span></span><span style="color: #1d2228; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>seven hundred </i></span></span><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">and twenty</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia; text-align: center;"> (2022) Vintage metal type case, wool, cotton, linen, handwoven and knitted fabric, graphite on tracing paper</span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia; text-align: center;"><br /></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdljY8Wzzr6Ft8Z5JLWNx27k8KmoVEXSVcTmBDelDAv_5oG_r_nyb5P_67sBsacT7KBxo1qrMezNi3rDWP1wbLNygUpwVbKLZTkhsiiOUA2fE0YXUaFNiYl8F_ZU12Nuou85-hOVeiXyan6DvtoPLWvfklQgAoHCkJ9w9CiCS6IMLcikMyQ/s2560/85282070-4F86-4849-9128-3D2C0A7DD319.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdljY8Wzzr6Ft8Z5JLWNx27k8KmoVEXSVcTmBDelDAv_5oG_r_nyb5P_67sBsacT7KBxo1qrMezNi3rDWP1wbLNygUpwVbKLZTkhsiiOUA2fE0YXUaFNiYl8F_ZU12Nuou85-hOVeiXyan6DvtoPLWvfklQgAoHCkJ9w9CiCS6IMLcikMyQ/w640-h480/85282070-4F86-4849-9128-3D2C0A7DD319.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1d2228; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>one thousand </i></span></span><span style="color: #1d2228;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>seven hundred </i></span></span><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia;">and twenty</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia;"> (2022) Vintage metal type case, wool, cotton, linen, handwoven and knitted fabric, graphite on tracing paper<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GwYDS3gkmlak71rNqpXyDoVqP3k0R9wLdrJhhoH_BlBfDAYvPzPe2g62m-T9iG6Pdu1RSLkWIXBYl0YIcmmdbuxhkK24uwF8jfoMLTkPbOurwebSqHyfaazs7tc2_8VSCKvFtubgTD1VNOKIi1zUDA-y4OI79f9sToQBTyj2pVXZ3pgWiA/s2452/209D258A-9BF7-4C40-9FBB-4B9F208DF249_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1769" data-original-width="2452" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GwYDS3gkmlak71rNqpXyDoVqP3k0R9wLdrJhhoH_BlBfDAYvPzPe2g62m-T9iG6Pdu1RSLkWIXBYl0YIcmmdbuxhkK24uwF8jfoMLTkPbOurwebSqHyfaazs7tc2_8VSCKvFtubgTD1VNOKIi1zUDA-y4OI79f9sToQBTyj2pVXZ3pgWiA/w640-h462/209D258A-9BF7-4C40-9FBB-4B9F208DF249_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1d2228; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>one thousand </i></span></span><span style="color: #1d2228;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>seven hundred </i></span></span><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia;">and twenty</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia;"> (2022) Detail<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQ3vqZ_V5J-MFmYVxP_j-n1VjMdL5mjR5bAj_9qshtTOFXhTQVjGrq8gSFgbrxr2Yrj2pxfDcyzgaV4pukjDe0DQcMKzgSGxiAkutK1HYEVZ88LvLTqOkN7FmH2t9LWQf5AV3L0qC5SS6zIL3OAFfoLVUnxuqMWC8cJnZDAKY64tapMekRQ/s2560/724F584C-C1E7-4E60-BDBB-8FBD3B480779.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQ3vqZ_V5J-MFmYVxP_j-n1VjMdL5mjR5bAj_9qshtTOFXhTQVjGrq8gSFgbrxr2Yrj2pxfDcyzgaV4pukjDe0DQcMKzgSGxiAkutK1HYEVZ88LvLTqOkN7FmH2t9LWQf5AV3L0qC5SS6zIL3OAFfoLVUnxuqMWC8cJnZDAKY64tapMekRQ/w640-h480/724F584C-C1E7-4E60-BDBB-8FBD3B480779.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1d2228; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>one thousand </i></span></span><span style="color: #1d2228;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>seven hundred </i></span></span><i style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia;">and twenty</i><span style="color: #1d2228; font-family: georgia;"> (2022) Detail<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-48485266800312165212022-12-19T16:15:00.013-08:002022-12-19T16:19:26.229-08:004TOLD: Alice Mansell<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I meant to post this in a much more timely way, but technical difficulties and power outages and internet failures have put me behind. Please forgive me! The show 4TOLD seems long past, but there is still more to show you!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was such a pleasure to meet and share space with the artist Alice Mansell. Her embroideries are exquisite - stitched with a single strand of floss. So that you can see them better, these are the unframed images, except for <i>Skirt of Twigs</i>, which was shot in the gallery. The reflections on the glass tend to obscure the image, but do give more of a sense of being in context. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now based in Penticton, BC, Mansell<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"> has had a long career spanning diverse art making practices, costume design, teaching, and arts administration. Her current project is an ongoing </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">“What if?”, </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">questioning why work using traditional materials is considered fine art, and why work using textiles isn’t given the same respect. She stitches small, </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">phone-screen-sized </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">drawings of people and costumes using vintage linens, threads, and other </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">media</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">in a format that demands close reading. Her</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">embroideries</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">trace memories of the bodies and lives that shaped the costumes they </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">once</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">inhabited. (All images except for <i>Skirt of Twigs</i> courtesy Alice Mansell.)</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3300" data-original-width="3300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhXW8wxO_U6ZwjT5bRr_vS5T8ehYq8kAHO7nG1akwI7ZOBtk_j1i3uSZGy2MBcDaGXFNEp-JbMnWrG5ZA8vEvwDF8Ly0niDz1k5n2lG1pv1Qz3et7OPbwk-oMBeGT46-Cp_VDElYVvSlI4UEYjAzmE_AaH9UqVbhyFUO2qPeuvSR83xcgqw/w400-h400/Solitary.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Solitary</i>, 2021. Embroidered drawing on vintage linen coaster, 6"x6"</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhXW8wxO_U6ZwjT5bRr_vS5T8ehYq8kAHO7nG1akwI7ZOBtk_j1i3uSZGy2MBcDaGXFNEp-JbMnWrG5ZA8vEvwDF8Ly0niDz1k5n2lG1pv1Qz3et7OPbwk-oMBeGT46-Cp_VDElYVvSlI4UEYjAzmE_AaH9UqVbhyFUO2qPeuvSR83xcgqw/s3300/Solitary.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIC4cWc2bpeJqmQE-hRFRGCF5K30Ih8LeQ2cYC1WUOt_Rv_7mQ876NTv2z8OjWavtvl7Oay8VL8-1RcPmNHa_hIJTtb2KgWizSvq-JTAu66IWLFzGIAMcjm9vslotSYrQez8xZc-yaGFIZ7KTLW7wTZ0o5anvTOu0Pa9XvUHS4pPcPmYRhsw/s3300/Silken%20Memory%20Tara.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3300" data-original-width="3300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIC4cWc2bpeJqmQE-hRFRGCF5K30Ih8LeQ2cYC1WUOt_Rv_7mQ876NTv2z8OjWavtvl7Oay8VL8-1RcPmNHa_hIJTtb2KgWizSvq-JTAu66IWLFzGIAMcjm9vslotSYrQez8xZc-yaGFIZ7KTLW7wTZ0o5anvTOu0Pa9XvUHS4pPcPmYRhsw/w400-h400/Silken%20Memory%20Tara.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Silken Memory, Tara</i>, 2021. Embroidered drawing on vintage linen, 6"x6"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qcj-H6brCn7t4cptepp9eovqZsjCasoNO5ovFQzb6S2WSU2pvB-FUM8haC0aGPpsZg0J3fEz9UbCUfT4Iwt75Vw4N6OopdNXHc3OwxkjvhTZIBpL-PUdAv1X86M4ZOIAXn1hQlRjI_1W-VmnWEpSdIpnfQm9XKFTpDX4McxoffwCeWpnFQ/s3300/Silken%20Memory%20Lauren.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3300" data-original-width="3300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qcj-H6brCn7t4cptepp9eovqZsjCasoNO5ovFQzb6S2WSU2pvB-FUM8haC0aGPpsZg0J3fEz9UbCUfT4Iwt75Vw4N6OopdNXHc3OwxkjvhTZIBpL-PUdAv1X86M4ZOIAXn1hQlRjI_1W-VmnWEpSdIpnfQm9XKFTpDX4McxoffwCeWpnFQ/w400-h400/Silken%20Memory%20Lauren.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Silken Memory, Lauren</i>, 2021. Embroidered drawing on vintage linen, 6"x6"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeHd5C4wlJ2KTeom8BJNbN_4iVlg_nQc1_lO6wOLy-IWme6jT9lwiJvdJJxM5FahrWR2V5H1jYAb4AxhjKGKZe7zji_aBs-EC812jrlz_0nGm2jfQ04LT-Dr5lIClr4bhtaDAEiR2UzZAwhvR-iAlrOQ53Ntj0LYKfnbqa2HkqrNVPl-OyQ/s5377/Hover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5377" data-original-width="5091" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeHd5C4wlJ2KTeom8BJNbN_4iVlg_nQc1_lO6wOLy-IWme6jT9lwiJvdJJxM5FahrWR2V5H1jYAb4AxhjKGKZe7zji_aBs-EC812jrlz_0nGm2jfQ04LT-Dr5lIClr4bhtaDAEiR2UzZAwhvR-iAlrOQ53Ntj0LYKfnbqa2HkqrNVPl-OyQ/w379-h400/Hover.jpg" width="379" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hover,</i> 2021. Embroidered drawing on vintage linen with crocheted edging, 9"x10.5"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4RxR57Q76v5tbqApGWB53Lg8o-reFUeu9vMRE1-jzckQIde9DwAjdlvFNG7NzMz6oYc2iIAPbijSNiAbnO8N8sDFl8RjstwvIA5uSlKCuy9E1vvrmnGzCvgonk1KDuUliaTOb4wHnKtZZ1o-kVP5WUmNzCCx20M3noJ2DFDrrExYxvnTxEg/s3431/Wrapture.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3431" data-original-width="2864" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4RxR57Q76v5tbqApGWB53Lg8o-reFUeu9vMRE1-jzckQIde9DwAjdlvFNG7NzMz6oYc2iIAPbijSNiAbnO8N8sDFl8RjstwvIA5uSlKCuy9E1vvrmnGzCvgonk1KDuUliaTOb4wHnKtZZ1o-kVP5WUmNzCCx20M3noJ2DFDrrExYxvnTxEg/w334-h400/Wrapture.jpg" width="334" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wrapture</i>, 2021. Embroidered drawing on vintage linen, 8.5"x9"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDUy0QRzrJZLsG00i1VfLjdIWaESr-71fFTBoxDELhrgEeFwNGCPwOM7ySMAM_o9d_MwnSj8bVnJiIaLkkleU5QpNDRFPo7A2TqjP5bYTaqRHs2PNCyxWcHqFwboQaU1BjH5RJRfbXOMtUnlGD-tv5zfsMnmFahPeKjKH0b4TnCw5p28IhQ/s3300/Skirt%20of%20Twigs.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3300" data-original-width="3300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDUy0QRzrJZLsG00i1VfLjdIWaESr-71fFTBoxDELhrgEeFwNGCPwOM7ySMAM_o9d_MwnSj8bVnJiIaLkkleU5QpNDRFPo7A2TqjP5bYTaqRHs2PNCyxWcHqFwboQaU1BjH5RJRfbXOMtUnlGD-tv5zfsMnmFahPeKjKH0b4TnCw5p28IhQ/w400-h400/Skirt%20of%20Twigs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Undergrowth</i>, 2021. Embroidered drawing on vintage linen, 4"x4"<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGeN_wugj4ULpkxQFZR4nzdFNWwk5XpSCxNxT5xr7XuZSRIBMVEvwR9nXQ1WkhGmcBSNDDyWe7quMAc3MMNx_KjXkyy35X1qZtEUQWDBKSxpvDPwYfq33YgsO3x-oU993FeW7mALqj9oapEiugCp1IwcJIZRLloztu4JSwawWrMgrZFEAteg/s3300/Barst%20Blossom.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3300" data-original-width="3300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGeN_wugj4ULpkxQFZR4nzdFNWwk5XpSCxNxT5xr7XuZSRIBMVEvwR9nXQ1WkhGmcBSNDDyWe7quMAc3MMNx_KjXkyy35X1qZtEUQWDBKSxpvDPwYfq33YgsO3x-oU993FeW7mALqj9oapEiugCp1IwcJIZRLloztu4JSwawWrMgrZFEAteg/w400-h400/Barst%20Blossom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Burst Blossom</i>, 2020. Embroidered drawing on vintage linen, 6"x6"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNBDWO3MrWwGaPpj6VKJ3cVHv8f-zzy_-p5EjoyJ7Jan_uHnWNxupO89s-CixmZ_dM5bcLWyEbB6NF3eNPjEy19tRmrlIiqR6zwAymgbK2u_xw-k94rZz4IWJKBX5LriO9Bfy9eAzR7ibaFUCIeMqIqJI1a2OzCCa-vs6ENMpmPWEnvUkVw/s1991/48855FAD-32E2-4313-9013-AD262462109D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1991" data-original-width="1789" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNBDWO3MrWwGaPpj6VKJ3cVHv8f-zzy_-p5EjoyJ7Jan_uHnWNxupO89s-CixmZ_dM5bcLWyEbB6NF3eNPjEy19tRmrlIiqR6zwAymgbK2u_xw-k94rZz4IWJKBX5LriO9Bfy9eAzR7ibaFUCIeMqIqJI1a2OzCCa-vs6ENMpmPWEnvUkVw/w360-h400/48855FAD-32E2-4313-9013-AD262462109D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Skirt of Twigs,</i> 2020. Drawing and embroidery on vintage linen and paper, 5.5"x6"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiADv0hDbyD9VWosylGjdrPs9Fgu0SSiz5MxJxnI3RavEpOONpXwFFVz6BYNFhRg3bpaZ1CYfvCIVMZMA5_-nYggBu0_PYfzgMvzn9BWNnW2NI9TMVF72Gf-bqSmG1mV05Fp2h6cYmLT0ftA2FgCKajQJ4CzavCYh924SLqfvJivyFzwGTA/s3300/Self%20Portrait%20Collaboration.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3300" data-original-width="3300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghiADv0hDbyD9VWosylGjdrPs9Fgu0SSiz5MxJxnI3RavEpOONpXwFFVz6BYNFhRg3bpaZ1CYfvCIVMZMA5_-nYggBu0_PYfzgMvzn9BWNnW2NI9TMVF72Gf-bqSmG1mV05Fp2h6cYmLT0ftA2FgCKajQJ4CzavCYh924SLqfvJivyFzwGTA/w400-h400/Self%20Portrait%20Collaboration.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>How to Be</i>, collaboration with Lisa Currer, 2020. Thread, ink and letterpress on paper, 6"x6".</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAHsBZvqOzNDAV_uj3doyfu-tOv0EhHcQ0cT1BBF2WYJ-kaf7mmn0OxzMcH8EeUDsNAhJahfm4KiiSS60Y7GUkgZIT2PHkZ0f1Imr5LbserSC-fn5_uD3x9orMkEgb4Ou2wZPakeyl3rClzMDzTqhwDx7KLGroz-rQ9hwI3cLgG7F-eYUClA/s1949/Ernestine%20-%20Embroidery%20of%20Painted%20Artist%20Portrait.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="927" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAHsBZvqOzNDAV_uj3doyfu-tOv0EhHcQ0cT1BBF2WYJ-kaf7mmn0OxzMcH8EeUDsNAhJahfm4KiiSS60Y7GUkgZIT2PHkZ0f1Imr5LbserSC-fn5_uD3x9orMkEgb4Ou2wZPakeyl3rClzMDzTqhwDx7KLGroz-rQ9hwI3cLgG7F-eYUClA/w190-h400/Ernestine%20-%20Embroidery%20of%20Painted%20Artist%20Portrait.jpg" width="190" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Matilda</i>, 1994. Embroidery on silk in oval embroidery hoop, 7"x 3.25"</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzZMkcm3euF-GWNL0_wRzjhDkPIItMyIpiyARG6qACIASw34tCsGzK4RrFzR326Jl9_4_7sfuvO85mWc0600gdndHFHAJjO-yZVqGfSonPoPS3vnL2ChfXV-c6O0_hImcct267vWrSA8YXVH56st8AjrNcR4oTawtinV8WE0EZeMGT6sHXg/s1944/Matilda%20-%20Embroidery%20of%20Painted%20Artist%20Portrait.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="1242" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzZMkcm3euF-GWNL0_wRzjhDkPIItMyIpiyARG6qACIASw34tCsGzK4RrFzR326Jl9_4_7sfuvO85mWc0600gdndHFHAJjO-yZVqGfSonPoPS3vnL2ChfXV-c6O0_hImcct267vWrSA8YXVH56st8AjrNcR4oTawtinV8WE0EZeMGT6sHXg/w255-h400/Matilda%20-%20Embroidery%20of%20Painted%20Artist%20Portrait.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ernestine</i>, 1994. Embroidery on silk in oval embroidery hoop, 9"x5"</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinIrdZC2wGB8eP7IvK8C5pcfHt0cNFc56EYEFdcLWzQ4SF3Iasi5IEV5MSNLTtZCNAP1rLiUlS4hITnZ0GhIv1MbriHOqWlzC_cZBUd5hWJYExEVAVcbcPQoN3V1rtyr8XZIIZBy6fDSVLlR8iELHAGwzttzJc1bYqHbR9M7CuVbSMot0Ccw/w480-h640/F14330EC-4841-4483-88F1-764C4DB12C89.jpeg" width="480" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Alice's work seen in the gallery space, peeking through Tawny Maclachlan Capon's installation. Tawny is next up!</div><br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-11607374810015071352022-11-19T16:51:00.019-08:002022-11-19T21:58:05.070-08:004TOLD: My Work<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXKi72rh7U3iUZBJTL4IL8Ea8yILdF_cK80z0iGoXJSLIq-zUKZ4Agcfp1G_U2VRINHMRW_A_9oG2UFGURhdPHHOJ5bUaZflOMiVgrra7YkpRBkG7wH06E179m_hUTd4MLEiOW2lmtLpq05ja1we6XYMpzvejVAi_uZBYyXAsm1UqF8lzHpA/s2500/4TOLD%20E-Flyer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2500" data-original-width="888" height="867" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXKi72rh7U3iUZBJTL4IL8Ea8yILdF_cK80z0iGoXJSLIq-zUKZ4Agcfp1G_U2VRINHMRW_A_9oG2UFGURhdPHHOJ5bUaZflOMiVgrra7YkpRBkG7wH06E179m_hUTd4MLEiOW2lmtLpq05ja1we6XYMpzvejVAi_uZBYyXAsm1UqF8lzHpA/w309-h867/4TOLD%20E-Flyer.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It seems that a show in November is becoming a tradition for me. Check in the archives for <a href="http://truestitches.blogspot.com/2021/11/triple-thread-part-one.html">Triple Thread</a> from last year, and <a href="http://truestitches.blogspot.com/2020/11/beneath-surface-part-1-gallery.html">Beneath the Surface</a> from 2020. I shared the space with three wonderful artists, and will show their work in separate posts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzp3yIebQr6ubmkP62xHFVfFAgYS2ONAE0sIyF1K6mAkdpVPLsFSv1MZBNcvQbhdrNFXt6wZfwimussBp1DE34U8G7pPvtCT8umixsIC7glzSJa4o1AuV0jtFSzqpsIts7S8QyqtW2zbznjp7_ViS5WC7_JfcTW3LQcpaZJT5l60yDobfB2A/s2069/8333FD5D-3A97-41E7-A23E-60BDC229E754_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2069" data-original-width="1886" height="557" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzp3yIebQr6ubmkP62xHFVfFAgYS2ONAE0sIyF1K6mAkdpVPLsFSv1MZBNcvQbhdrNFXt6wZfwimussBp1DE34U8G7pPvtCT8umixsIC7glzSJa4o1AuV0jtFSzqpsIts7S8QyqtW2zbznjp7_ViS5WC7_JfcTW3LQcpaZJT5l60yDobfB2A/w522-h557/8333FD5D-3A97-41E7-A23E-60BDC229E754_1_201_a.jpeg" width="522" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>entre deux</i> (2022) 2 panels, each 36"x 70", handcut wool felt inlay, silk thread<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Here is another in the series of large handcut felt inlay pieces. I lay two pieces of felt on top of each other, and cut my design through both layers with an X-Acto knife. Then I switch out the pieces and stitch them together by hand. Yes! A lot of work - over 14,000 stitches by my estimation. I stitched over the summer, setting up the large stretcher frame on the deck of my studio, under the maple trees.<p></p><p>I had been considering the word "correspondence", while listening to John Coltrane playing "Blue In Green". I remember being told by my high school sewing teacher, when planning to sew a dress with blue and green panels, that "only crazy people and the Irish" would wear blue and green together! But I think she was wrong. Feeling a little bit rebellious, even after all these years, I chose lovely sky blue and forest green felt to work with. In my first sketches I misspelled the word with an "a" instead of an "e", but loved the idea of dance being part of the two elements being in relationship with each other. So, when I checked and saw that the French way of spelling the word used the "a", I very happily went with that, as Canada is a bilingual country!</p><p>I also dyed the silk 20/2 weaving yarn to a very specific peach-y pink, that zings with life as the complementary colour to the blue and green.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAT52pMlsN0gh6_Q4n1QnQ6KuXMAwWOgrsEoa_FwPv_VvbpscXEB2JfYwE5cvLHQjeBhtziOQS3hjxwRTdehoYRBJ7_PPUHX6QBvfpV_Qbz3ZkyFGam3gDx5iNczEt6KCcIyh1pQREtZtW4-bkvAQz6VVEHQOTsOU1rnwLhLgeDPiE4XyswQ/s2560/CE0814CF-72BA-436F-BAED-F89A3DCF7597_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAT52pMlsN0gh6_Q4n1QnQ6KuXMAwWOgrsEoa_FwPv_VvbpscXEB2JfYwE5cvLHQjeBhtziOQS3hjxwRTdehoYRBJ7_PPUHX6QBvfpV_Qbz3ZkyFGam3gDx5iNczEt6KCcIyh1pQREtZtW4-bkvAQz6VVEHQOTsOU1rnwLhLgeDPiE4XyswQ/w533-h400/CE0814CF-72BA-436F-BAED-F89A3DCF7597_1_201_a.jpeg" width="533" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>entre deux</i>, detail</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>And here is a new addition to the <i>Material Thoughts</i> series that I showed two years ago. I had read an op/ed piece article in the Guardian by Bruno Latour, the influential French thinker, and this line jumped out at me. (Latour was talking about our planet.) I taped a printout of the words to my refrigerator door, which I like to do when I am considering a quote to use, as a way of encountering the words spontaneously, catching them out of the corner of my eye, to see if they "work".<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidozF-NtwrmO-bYc61hHam13vHU20ptv8n08NRjF8YLsnaXviCFxX3ZXLJYRFEwcSha-KY96UWP2e0foQLRuoMrugaXXotj06r7POkP6NmqF-r4hjPamIz0yuKH6u3yLU0yexGr1e-_I20ijhgG4EbRdP8AOOSDy3V0vDOjYcfe77FlOjonQ/s1643/32F8EDD0-AFCB-4824-8DFD-101FB390625A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1643" data-original-width="1628" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidozF-NtwrmO-bYc61hHam13vHU20ptv8n08NRjF8YLsnaXviCFxX3ZXLJYRFEwcSha-KY96UWP2e0foQLRuoMrugaXXotj06r7POkP6NmqF-r4hjPamIz0yuKH6u3yLU0yexGr1e-_I20ijhgG4EbRdP8AOOSDy3V0vDOjYcfe77FlOjonQ/w545-h550/32F8EDD0-AFCB-4824-8DFD-101FB390625A_1_201_a.jpeg" width="545" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Material Thoughts (Latour)</i> 2022, 30" diameter, hand stitched wool felt appliqué on wool cloth</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I had the words up for a couple of months, they passed the test, and then Bruno Latour died. I was spurred to create the piece right away, using wool felt as the appliqué material and a wool Japanese kasuri fabric as the backing. I auditioned several fabrics but the shimmering weblike design was the clear winner. As with the previous pieces, I mounted the stitched cloth on a padded plywood circle.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH235lJDl9gPyieQYHv-yXAN43k9M7QYYHjfb4C_i7HCmFfNyXIlQaHUyXyQgdsktR1P9FSW484iMUDlD1VRbqCHU3wsvwrH9n-ltngV-VPclMhPhAY2x88gl_x55fwUsHnwSt_yWeg6rmNFxdphpuUvVC55be1Tk1T66MH-gtapY1zTXZJQ/s2560/CBBAF18C-6D16-4035-8BCE-7CC71932A495.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH235lJDl9gPyieQYHv-yXAN43k9M7QYYHjfb4C_i7HCmFfNyXIlQaHUyXyQgdsktR1P9FSW484iMUDlD1VRbqCHU3wsvwrH9n-ltngV-VPclMhPhAY2x88gl_x55fwUsHnwSt_yWeg6rmNFxdphpuUvVC55be1Tk1T66MH-gtapY1zTXZJQ/w568-h426/CBBAF18C-6D16-4035-8BCE-7CC71932A495.jpeg" width="568" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mrs. Miller's Nine-Patch</i>, (1995) 28" square, cross stitch on cotton, hand cut linoleum, <br />found Melmac teacups, acrylic paint<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>The above piece is an old one, but I felt it very appropriate to the show. I had given it to my Mom after it was made, and it had never been shown publicly. While living in Regina, Saskatchewan, I had been asked by the Dunlop Art Gallery to create new work in response to a quilt in their permanent collection. As part of my research I went to the little town of Tantallon, where the quilt had been made by the members of the Women's Institute. I was able to meet and interview Freida Miller, the last surviving member of the group. She described the experience of living in a small prairie town as being "like you are one with them." After I created a large gallery installation about the quilt, Mrs. Miller's words stayed with me, and I made this small piece as an experiment. It is the first time I used embroidery in an art piece, having previously worked more with sculpture and installation.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7wrqj17FN3WG7wpit-EAuFEUXt22si6Xjir4KCjqyEM2n7l3jJX5Hv483hOO8mHCXPVEwPAuoMGD2Iy0RCmHLnH7hSgXOwIH3LjhPdVTD8z4UFz6U3nQ_xpGNT3GMzwuFj6djeuGRKDzPIULWXIGH9Tuqi_oGRSfc7xxMVq_H9VmOyLmdg/s2221/A4303AC5-2897-4897-9B29-64852A427A63_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1704" data-original-width="2221" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7wrqj17FN3WG7wpit-EAuFEUXt22si6Xjir4KCjqyEM2n7l3jJX5Hv483hOO8mHCXPVEwPAuoMGD2Iy0RCmHLnH7hSgXOwIH3LjhPdVTD8z4UFz6U3nQ_xpGNT3GMzwuFj6djeuGRKDzPIULWXIGH9Tuqi_oGRSfc7xxMVq_H9VmOyLmdg/w556-h428/A4303AC5-2897-4897-9B29-64852A427A63_1_201_a.jpeg" width="556" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Robert Oppenheimer's Doily (Trinity)</i> 2022, hand embroidery, cotton on found linen doily</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can't remember where I found this quote from Robert Oppenheimer, the director of the Manhattan Project that produced the nuclear bomb. I know I started it on July 16, the day of the anniversary of the Trinity nuclear test, and finished it on August 6. The words are what Oppenheimer said after the test, before the more famous part of the quote: "I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2S08Cp6H8SraZH3jJiUH3GTU_BkJTsYoozVbAzmZHNwcO4s8Zp2XYyI4pEB0vGqvpHEsSZDTezY3xVuEXsltKiru8159eMnmqUr2yGKgMM3bimUX-rvyv59ZJIj1hU7qyix4yLxmXEBFxG5g44evBv8B4E_DjD454zNqudpIi0aaHjJdV1A/s3648/657EBA6E-A926-4664-8408-C92B03B0290A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2432" data-original-width="3648" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2S08Cp6H8SraZH3jJiUH3GTU_BkJTsYoozVbAzmZHNwcO4s8Zp2XYyI4pEB0vGqvpHEsSZDTezY3xVuEXsltKiru8159eMnmqUr2yGKgMM3bimUX-rvyv59ZJIj1hU7qyix4yLxmXEBFxG5g44evBv8B4E_DjD454zNqudpIi0aaHjJdV1A/w447-h297/657EBA6E-A926-4664-8408-C92B03B0290A_1_201_a.jpeg" width="447" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Robert Oppenheimer's Doily,(Trinity)</i>, detail<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I combined three separate skeins of embroidery floss for this piece - using one thread each of three slightly different reds to suggest flames.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADjOyJBzGJAZqPRgU1mrepkt3kBiiQIqjeCchZB6WQRXzWyFhkIemw5cNci8FZ8YVLNBZAkPRtcGoVjRrpXYAi4E4cPj5ZDPhl0WETBBlWJBEbGvkff8W-wMkCR745_MMvX3mkgirs10eHpSLl7KFuxczXgfYjoBPz9UASMKGnp0KY0YAhg/s2317/AAA14BC6-5DED-4A1B-9CAB-A5B8E95984FB_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1719" data-original-width="2317" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADjOyJBzGJAZqPRgU1mrepkt3kBiiQIqjeCchZB6WQRXzWyFhkIemw5cNci8FZ8YVLNBZAkPRtcGoVjRrpXYAi4E4cPj5ZDPhl0WETBBlWJBEbGvkff8W-wMkCR745_MMvX3mkgirs10eHpSLl7KFuxczXgfYjoBPz9UASMKGnp0KY0YAhg/w523-h387/AAA14BC6-5DED-4A1B-9CAB-A5B8E95984FB_1_201_a.jpeg" width="523" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Installation shot</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next up, rounding the corner, the work of Alice Mansell!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-66036825705832088182022-10-11T17:43:00.003-07:002022-10-12T12:34:55.557-07:00The Pathology of Craft<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPv5eJcu6CW0TJVSQg6PdHd0KHh6UDEn1sGjpCirWqYACyU4EiihepO5h4vn9s9sdcuWUWiE9-SHSHKeqZFLVk9FIE1bkch7wV0oumz13ZJ7blnJZ01dI4so66qCtlvyjfKeq99iKLpKwqTPRTS5IhMgxr4UjHg16ayvCzbTB67y6lrnYjQ/s425/C9F74E3F-1C78-4EF7-8D0D-036E210D3FB8.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="425" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPv5eJcu6CW0TJVSQg6PdHd0KHh6UDEn1sGjpCirWqYACyU4EiihepO5h4vn9s9sdcuWUWiE9-SHSHKeqZFLVk9FIE1bkch7wV0oumz13ZJ7blnJZ01dI4so66qCtlvyjfKeq99iKLpKwqTPRTS5IhMgxr4UjHg16ayvCzbTB67y6lrnYjQ/w380-h380/C9F74E3F-1C78-4EF7-8D0D-036E210D3FB8.jpeg" title="Something called "Diamond Painting"." width="380" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Something called "Diamond Painting". Not anything I would be getting into in the near future.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I went to a yard sale today that promised craft supplies. As soon as I got there, I realized that these were for the other kind of craft, bad craft, that I have usually been able to avoid. The kind of craft that is often seen at church bazaars and senior's centre fundraisers: plastic, ticky-tacky, luridly coloured, offensive to the senses.</p><p>Okay, I am a craft snob. I freely admit it. To me craft means excellent workmanship, skill, quality materials, a connection to culture and history. Not for me the polyester lace toilet roll cozies, or Phentex slippers, or plastic canvas Christmas tree ornaments.</p><p>I connect these kinds of "crafted" items to the 1970's, when I was growing up. I loved to make things, and was attracted to the magazines that had instructions for macrame plant hangers and footstools made out of giant juice cans and upholstery samples. Even then, I preferred the projects that were made of natural materials - once I made a set of choristers with walnuts for heads and pinecones for bodies, arranged on a piece of driftwood.</p><p>Then, craft seemed to vanish until the knitting revival of the late 80's. But it had been reinvented as something a bit more exclusive and high end - designer patterns and yarns of merino wool and silk. I returned to hand spinning and weaving - skills I had learned in high school. This was what I considered craft.</p><p>Every now and then I might venture into a big box craft supply store and am vaguely aware of the existence of cheap, plastic-y materials, but for the most part I ignore them. But at this yard sale I saw where they end up.</p><p>The seller had neatly arranged tables full of ribbons, lace, novelty buttons and artificial flowers, all plastic, all made in China. There were tables with hand knitted and crocheted items, all of cheap polyester yarn, made by the seller, who seemed to be a perfectly reasonable woman only slightly older than myself. I commented on how much work she had put into organizing her goods, to which she replied "It is amazing what you can do when you have a glass of wine."</p><p>Whether this was an allusion to a drinking problem, or just a sign of a lonely, unstimulating existence, it made me think about what motivates this species of crafters to make what they do. I do believe that making things can be a positive creative outlet, even healing and life-affirming - why do I hold those that choose to make, in my opinion, ugly cheap crap, in such disregard?</p><p>Part of it might be the associations that the general public has with craft, who, when I say I am a textile artist, nod knowingly and assume that I am a "crafter". I fear those assumptions, probably because they echo my own insecurities. I am highly critical, which gets me into no end of trouble, but I am always hardest on myself.</p><p>I think one of the responsibilities of a maker is to ask the question "Am I contributing to making the world a better place with this work?" The answer had better be yes, although there is wiggle room there for those might become axe murderers, were it not for the less lethal pastime of craft, even ugly craft.</p><p>(I wrote this post months ago. I hesitated to publish it because it seemed mean-spirited. But somehow it prevented me from moving on, and I have a whole slew of new posts up my sleeve. So please consider this just cleaning house.)</p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-80044251138723472662022-02-08T18:25:00.000-08:002022-02-08T18:25:07.796-08:00All That She Carried<div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: #202124;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDldY3gOvczshTUwsxfWN2QCw9dwpO0eCQidHLtecZFPDsjwkO-oEIPpJD9VGAgjX9y6rIZF1eSLcsGO9ET3A_hI4akR5XrVpHYkycoo7NUw-c4UIKjcwu8jY0Cv9Q3TlECNnildVWddEMs9rR0yjtFgw-T3icbW2_c5YoKI3l26-IYL-ktg=s2496" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2496" data-original-width="1944" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDldY3gOvczshTUwsxfWN2QCw9dwpO0eCQidHLtecZFPDsjwkO-oEIPpJD9VGAgjX9y6rIZF1eSLcsGO9ET3A_hI4akR5XrVpHYkycoo7NUw-c4UIKjcwu8jY0Cv9Q3TlECNnildVWddEMs9rR0yjtFgw-T3icbW2_c5YoKI3l26-IYL-ktg=w498-h640" width="498" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(29, 34, 40); color: #1d2228; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">Courtesy Middleton Place, CC BY-SA 4.0</span></td></tr></tbody></table><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: #202124;"><i>All That She Carried: The Journey of Ashley's Sack, a Black Family Keepsake</i></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: #202124;">, </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: #202124;">by</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: #202124;"> </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: #202124;">Tiya Miles, </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal;"><span style="color: #202124;">2021, Random House.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #202124;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36);"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times;">You may have heard the story, or seen the humble, yet extraordinary, embroidered cloth sack in an article or in real life at the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture. Known as Ashley’s sack, the bag embodies a mother’s love and is a testament to the power of that love in unimaginably desperate times. <i>All That She Carried</i> is an expansive telling of the story of Ashley’s sack, a visceral material artifact of slavery in the southern United States. That the sack still exists is a triumph of human care, that it even needed to be made in the first place is an almost unbearable sadness.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">Around 1850, the small cloth sack was given by a woman named Rose to her nine-year-old daughter Ashley, as they were forcibly separated and Ashley was sold on the auction block. Rose filled the bag with a tattered dress, three handfuls of pecans, and a braid of her own hair, and was never to see her daughter again. Ashley survived, and kept the bag with her, passing it on to her own daughter Rosa, who gave it to her daughter Ruth, the one who embroidered the story, which had obviously passed down through the generations, into the cloth in 1921. The bag surfaced in 2007 at a flea market, where it was recognized as the numinous object that it is, and made its way into the safe hands of a museum.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">Historian and author Tiya Miles describes the first time she saw a photo of Ashley’s sack: “...a dingy white cloth discoloured by patches of dirt or blood and seared with punctures. Sentences formed from scrupulous stitching trailed across the cotton weave, an embroidered story of the bag’s heartbreaking origins in a family’s forced division. (...) Seeing the sack, experiencing its material nature, changed everything. The image stole a beat from my heart. This object was dazzling in its immediacy, devastating in its story, and stunning in the simultaneity of the gut responses it elicited. I had been studying Black history for 20 years. I had visited African American museums, stared unbelievingly at leg chains and neck irons, but no remnant from dark times had arrested my spirit quite like this one.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">Miles then spent the next five years researching and writing this book, and has done a remarkable job of revitalizing Rose and Ashley’s story, against the dearth of records of Black women’s lives as slaves. She takes an ingenious approach – rigorously researching records that do exist, identifying a likely individual as the Rose of the story, then opening out to contemporary stories of the time to fill the gaps of what might have happened. As compelling as the material object of the sack is, these stories were what really affected me.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">I confess that while I thought I knew about slavery, had read books and seen movies and studied it in school, I really had no idea. It was an abstract concept, had happened in another time and place. Reading passages in the book that list the names of enslaved people, with a dollar amount next to their names, didn’t really affect me until I stopped and let the fact sink in that the money was not going to them as a wage but was a commercial transaction between slave owners. The injustice of it was incomprehensible to me – a relatively well read and educated person of blinkered privilege. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">Miles recounts the systematic dehumanization, torture, rape and murder of enslaved people with sensitivity and compassion, as far as that is possible to do when confronted with such horror. I was near tears as I read – yet I was held by Miles’ own commitment to truth, respect and fierce care for the people whose stories she relates. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times;"><i>All That She Carried</i> feels even more urgent and meaningful as I read it while the news is full of stories of “freedom” convoys and protests against the perceived injustice of public health protocols in this time of the pandemic. I feel that I have been woefully unappreciative of my own freedom, and the genuine freedom that exists in Canada today. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Of particular interest to artists will be the visual essay, “Carrying Capacity”, included in the book. A response by a number of artists to Ashley’s sack, it proves that, as Miles says, “the sack itself finds echoes across the contemporary art landscape as artists turn and return to visions of inheritance and the natural world. That Ashley’s sack still has the capacity to carry these multiple needs for viewers is further testament to Rose’s ability to provide resources for a journey she could only imagine. So, too, do artists equip us with tools for the road ahead.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">In closing, Miles asks, “Can we commit our imaginations – like Rose, Ashley, Rosa and Ruth once did – to packing the sacks, carrying the seeds, and stitching the story cloths of tomorrow? All of our past, what we have valued and what we have undervalued, must be brought along in this way, tucked and preserved inside the shelters of our story sacks. For, in our collective quest to survive with peoples and planet intact – nothing is immaterial.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCUZusebot5E_RMnOnsN5lPot7ZvmJCBOYsrCNlsjOkrWYmiz0154A_2RPu3gRrOOcAyLy190_8Keh2Cy9lRAXcj_VT1qAeDSSEotRgS8yIh71p8jLC0ev4-_5Sd5eMZP42lm_sjA7p2V6uUIkd2cMVwsy7qH6OCdGCcXuuwvJQUHCPjgInA=s620" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="401" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCUZusebot5E_RMnOnsN5lPot7ZvmJCBOYsrCNlsjOkrWYmiz0154A_2RPu3gRrOOcAyLy190_8Keh2Cy9lRAXcj_VT1qAeDSSEotRgS8yIh71p8jLC0ev4-_5Sd5eMZP42lm_sjA7p2V6uUIkd2cMVwsy7qH6OCdGCcXuuwvJQUHCPjgInA=w259-h400" width="259" /></a></div><br /></div><div><a href="https://tiyamiles.com/books/all-that-she-carried/" style="color: navy;"><span style="font-family: times;">https://tiyamiles.com/books/all-that-she-carried/</span></a></div><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-79575516685694916882022-01-05T16:33:00.033-08:002022-01-06T12:31:38.555-08:00We Go Deeper: The Fifth Letter<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I write on an unusual snowy afternoon – although the accumulation is just an inch or two, on the mild Gulf Islands no one dares venture out. It is blissfully quiet, with just the odd crackle or ping from the wood stove, and the occasional burble from a snoozing cat.</span></div><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTQIgCtPEiixaqcXbUH0BTLqpLtFJT_jxBID2Yg4gxNvsCW1lgJ-pwhCIfjuzziG-IF3bdjw4905bNQF_NfB3wC5qc4NRg66Hm0DeS-sF4Qsnk6Letszi4ijwkmmoCDZhzpBasIok1ZjjAxdljV_jQTLOw0OZhwGdnxxVwx4UTFLZWIhOc9A=s2348" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1612" data-original-width="2348" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTQIgCtPEiixaqcXbUH0BTLqpLtFJT_jxBID2Yg4gxNvsCW1lgJ-pwhCIfjuzziG-IF3bdjw4905bNQF_NfB3wC5qc4NRg66Hm0DeS-sF4Qsnk6Letszi4ijwkmmoCDZhzpBasIok1ZjjAxdljV_jQTLOw0OZhwGdnxxVwx4UTFLZWIhOc9A=w640-h440" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Perhaps it is a suitable time to engage with the hubbub of ideas that you both have raised in your letters. Barbara’s newfound awareness of a freshwater spring under the place where she lives is such a lovely thing, and maybe a metaphor for all the currents that flow in and around us, without our awareness. It reminds me of my forest walks with Alex, who moves slowly and carefully, while I usually bustle on ahead. Alex is a birder and has previously been focused on what is overhead, but now he looks to the ground, for safer footing. What he now notices are the leaves, lichens, mosses and fungi of the forest floor, nests and anthills and the burrows of small animals. He will often call me back from my bustling to inspect something fascinating that he has just discovered. Gradually, I am learning to match my pace with his, so as not to miss any of the richness and texture of the world at the edge of the path.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPyj4CxzxkUY26DplAYv8l6wcdOVpuYOtcmrJPu2nrJ7EORUxwMgUuJgtarjuksEx4bKf9YaadUVXUVFWFlt0MKQkTHWBaU1mQnXESsdssgpTvjFAUTPnq1nfl5JXVikAeyJGHJo-UQdjU1_4TvuOxMT1Lr2vhevBmotuHu7eT3F5XQtPEzg=s2560" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPyj4CxzxkUY26DplAYv8l6wcdOVpuYOtcmrJPu2nrJ7EORUxwMgUuJgtarjuksEx4bKf9YaadUVXUVFWFlt0MKQkTHWBaU1mQnXESsdssgpTvjFAUTPnq1nfl5JXVikAeyJGHJo-UQdjU1_4TvuOxMT1Lr2vhevBmotuHu7eT3F5XQtPEzg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;">When I was a teenager, I felt like an outcast. I took heart in something that I think was attributed to Lou Reed, or maybe he was quoting someone else: “It’s good for an artist to be an outsider, you can see a lot farther when you are out on the edge.” Edges or undersides are interesting places to explore, liminal places that offer possibilities that are often unseen, ignored by the mainstream.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Julia, your description of your improvised, messy, imperfect performance sounded like it was a fantastic gift to your audience. What an opportunity to see how your music is made, to witness the interplay between you and Aram as you create, to hear the divine tangle of “What if?”! The trust that you offered to your audience, that they would listen and their hearts would respond – what an amazing experience it must have been. I am not surprised that it was women who understood. The very day I received your letter, I was having a massage treatment for my frozen shoulder, and the masseuse related a memory of her mother, who she said was not particularly affectionate, but sewed all the clothes for the family. Lise remembered being fitted for her first communion dress, standing in front of her mother as she pinned the dress to fit, and never poking her once. Lise said she felt “protected” in that moment, and as she told me the story I felt a rush of connection to your story of the woman in the audience who said she felt protected, and in the presence of her grandmother. Female presence, trust, caring, being seen and protected – this feels very deep and essential. I think perhaps it is harder for men to open themselves to such an experience, or maybe it just happened to fall along gender lines that night.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">You say, so perceptively, that “Visibility asks for participation. It asks that someone not turn their eyes away. It asks for sustained attention and a willingness to engage, to notice.” And then you ask what happens when a person is asked to give their attention to something uncomfortable, and what is going on when someone turns away? Is this related to power and inequity? Does asking to be seen by someone with more power mean giving up things you love?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wow. Such questions, so important and so rarely asked. My instinctual response is to say: Never forsake what you love. What you love is the source of your art. To quote Rumi: “May the beauty you love be what you do.” (I made an embroidery of that once.) You ask about accountability, and it may be the romantic in me that says you are ultimately only accountable to yourself and the ones you love. As an artist, you must be true to yourself. As a member of your audience, that is what I am hoping for, to receive that rare gift of your true voice – messy, imperfect, humble, wild, transcendent, glorious.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNY1-7rSbccA7beWLL5LnQLJVoSO__fMOL9OFtG1tlJPUGfzmqnYvWTSDvVLtYexOIWMCvbJb3otWMl9-mPPyHQ7z8-IfF9s5fxtZ7dCH7GsNHvRSYNL8A6LkvvdY_gdGuYTf2exNaWNRFVLEL5gnyBhWD_0TUdH4PEHpRZVKQqhx79Re7Uw=s400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="376" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNY1-7rSbccA7beWLL5LnQLJVoSO__fMOL9OFtG1tlJPUGfzmqnYvWTSDvVLtYexOIWMCvbJb3otWMl9-mPPyHQ7z8-IfF9s5fxtZ7dCH7GsNHvRSYNL8A6LkvvdY_gdGuYTf2exNaWNRFVLEL5gnyBhWD_0TUdH4PEHpRZVKQqhx79Re7Uw=w602-h640" width="602" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Links to this work: <a href="https://truestitches.blogspot.com/2010/08/beginning.html ">https://truestitches.blogspot.com/2010/08/beginning.html </a><a href="https://truestitches.blogspot.com/2010/10/slow-progress.html ">https://truestitches.blogspot.com/2010/10/slow-progress.html </a><br /><a href="https://truestitches.blogspot.com/2010/11/finished.html">https://truestitches.blogspot.com/2010/11/finished.html</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have gotten carried away. (Sigh. I wish I had been at that show!) I will go back to your question, Julia, about wildness and dissolution in myself and my practise. I think my practise, which might seem on the surface to be very controlled and careful, is actually about my self-imposed atonement and reparation for past misdeeds which involved the wildest, riskiest part of myself. I have had tons of therapy, and still I hold back on taking risks, of letting the world see how hurt and angry I really am. I am “nice”, therefore I don’t stand out/am less visible. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I am stitching all those endless stitches, I can tolerate a bit of unevenness, a bit of variation from the norm, but sometimes my stitches do get too large, or too slanted, and I have to pick them out and redo them properly. When people see my work and comment on how “perfect” it is, I shake my head and say it only looks perfect. Yet when other people suggest I could save myself a lot of work and do it by machine, I say that would negate the subtle mark of the human hand, which is necessarily imperfect. There is a Willa Cather quote that I have carried with me for years: “The irregular and intimate quality of things made entirely by the human hand.”</span></div><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyMFf3gscVR2_yL1DuIInsvpBvfCvQ0ZphD8hU_exzmDDhkzV33y22aFZVFh-Q7HwBTztUjNbS2G3MriZAU2uX2ZopkbUOGI6NYJAIswj7EDVzQrDXIA5aZif7u5m7eyqvTB9gzrXNbY8FH2iWmcr3Sk8mXV3IXMbsed5MF3SZnJL0DlLIQg=s2560" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyMFf3gscVR2_yL1DuIInsvpBvfCvQ0ZphD8hU_exzmDDhkzV33y22aFZVFh-Q7HwBTztUjNbS2G3MriZAU2uX2ZopkbUOGI6NYJAIswj7EDVzQrDXIA5aZif7u5m7eyqvTB9gzrXNbY8FH2iWmcr3Sk8mXV3IXMbsed5MF3SZnJL0DlLIQg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Do I prefer the beautiful top side to the messy underneath? In theory, absolutely not! In practise, the underside never shows. But just because it is not seen, it doesn’t mean that it is not there, active, it’s dark heart beating. I see the (metaphorical) underside as full of compost, worms, the icky bits that get hidden away, decomposing, nourishing, returning to earth as rich soil, regenerative. In my stitching, the underside is the base, what holds everything together, otherwise it would just be a bunch of loose threads.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I could go on and on, and perhaps I have said more than I should have already. It’s such a juicy topic though... But I want to move on to Barbara’s question about scale. I like to work big, and it’s not just because my favourite high school art teacher told me I should. (He did have a point, though, in that bigger work is taken more seriously than small.) Bigger work doesn’t have to be coarser, but in my case it is. By coarse I mean that I use relatively thick crewel wool rather than fine silk. In the</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><i style="font-family: georgia;">Codex Canadensis</i><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">series, for example, I enlarge the original pen and ink drawing to 400%. I still try to reproduce every line, so I am not simplifying, but it is on a less finicky scale. I only transfer minimal outlines of my design to the cloth, so as I stitch my eyes move back and forth between original drawing and my ground (cloth) just as they would if I was drawing from life, my needle like a piece of charcoal, filling in the details, adding shading and definition.</span></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKi3jsW6sJ8SU-KZ9Qj8Xn46j67_whM6ZmUMT7lNOT3UvVz5VLD0al9j_WKWTPkDLNuyY14sw2gwkZF19fylfi4YU7zW1YPLySQnWsAnOMiTNWex8UsnhTVgcDobOtf1aPA46D6cIH9NWibx0CucBERYve_MJmO0D7xcugI66HATvdGGsiXA=s3134" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3134" data-original-width="2391" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKi3jsW6sJ8SU-KZ9Qj8Xn46j67_whM6ZmUMT7lNOT3UvVz5VLD0al9j_WKWTPkDLNuyY14sw2gwkZF19fylfi4YU7zW1YPLySQnWsAnOMiTNWex8UsnhTVgcDobOtf1aPA46D6cIH9NWibx0CucBERYve_MJmO0D7xcugI66HATvdGGsiXA=w488-h640" width="488" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heather Cameron, <i>A Skin for a Skin</i>, 2015. H<span style="text-align: start;">and embroidery, wool on linen 48"(w) 54(h)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I don’t think working bigger changes the amount of time I put into a piece, but it does allow a bit of physical ease. At 63, I am developing arthritis in my hands, and it is simply more feasible for me to sit and stitch for long intervals if the needle I am gripping is not tiny. I might also say it is a bit less tiring on the eyes, working with larger threads. And there is something about the scale I work at that does refer back to the body, both my own physical engagement with the cloth, and that of the viewer. In <i>oneintotwotwointoone</i>, for example, the panels are six feet high and three feet across – human size. In the gallery, they meet the viewer at a scale that neither overwhelms nor diminishes.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">To my mind, working big legitimizes embroidery as a fine art medium. Keeping it small and dainty evokes the realm of the domestic, makes it easier to ignore. Another reason I like working big is that a larger scale emphasizes how embroidery sits somewhere in the space between two and three dimensions. Although stitching is technically a surface art, the diameter of the threads creates depth, texture and shadow. Thicker threads will create more depth, more substance. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I love your idea of stitching shadows, of capturing the movement of sun and wind and shade. This is so different from my own obsession with creating presence, stability even. But I recognize this aspect of “the impossibility of stilling the world” (such a beautiful line) in some of your other work: the short video clips of the crocheted pieces made for Mermaid Spring, moving in the breeze, casting shadows, mysterious and ephemeral. I don’t know where I would begin to make something that captured moving shadows – this feels very much outside my repertoire. Lace maybe, very light silk gauze perhaps. A contrast to the hours of making, embodying the physical exertion and repetition of walking up the hill, where Monet waits. Holding the feeling of endorphin rush and the return of breath. This will be a lovely piece, I know that.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I’m not sure what pulls me up my hills. Once, when I was very young, I wanted to be a famous Canadian artist.(!) Fame and fortune have no allure now – in spite of a recurring dream in which I can barely make out the letters R-E-C-O-G-N-I-T-I-O-N. I just know that I have ideas that arise and subside and arise again with increasing urgency until I just have to try and create it in real life. Jung might say those ideas start in the messy, fertile unconscious, the underside of life, the shadow. And there we have shadows again! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Biologically, even very simple life forms react to light and dark, it is deeply encoded in the DNA of existence. Light might mean warmth and food, while darkness means rest and retreat. One is not better than the other, one needs both to survive.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I had better go stoke the fire in the wood stove – the forecast tells me this cold snap is going to last another few days. I hope both of you, Barbara and Julia, and your loved ones, are safe and warm. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Love to all,<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Heather</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">P.S. The snow has piled up!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyM3SaizjKKqnlOGqzVbPt_YvH1fVTfdjx8kRzylF3XDhP16FnPrOMWJMxHxJmK9N2twj0OTcJiNtdZ9hQrp8rB4Ou1xuZJ885JKsftHwvlD9xCiC0FDZ8eoeOLwRx2HD0eiygKs75qcdZtO_9WBFp5PcnAIDD3InrtEtEzcklaPMp_ydZaw=s2411" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1808" data-original-width="2411" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyM3SaizjKKqnlOGqzVbPt_YvH1fVTfdjx8kRzylF3XDhP16FnPrOMWJMxHxJmK9N2twj0OTcJiNtdZ9hQrp8rB4Ou1xuZJ885JKsftHwvlD9xCiC0FDZ8eoeOLwRx2HD0eiygKs75qcdZtO_9WBFp5PcnAIDD3InrtEtEzcklaPMp_ydZaw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-89349307989836819192021-12-16T12:41:00.001-08:002021-12-16T12:47:56.298-08:00Horses, Hills, and the Shaggy Underside<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p>Welcome to the fourth letter of of the public private letter exchange between myself, <a href="https://www.thepublicswoon.org">Barbara Adler</a> and special guests. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqsiiapNMoFaewXCPUb1pkPDkxNzCmF1VXPp2CMIKIL1rBETYiEZ3E7olBidFfPzsro6G-MRszp1-YhQ5AztH-Azqa4p5aoOf94JKdMRNCZaCa257IHyiwfMV9mo9Payo-bYyc-n4fosOs7sR_gkzK1jr8J-JJRmqIWN5QbrCQTgc7e8Y2KA=s1972" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1972" data-original-width="1479" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqsiiapNMoFaewXCPUb1pkPDkxNzCmF1VXPp2CMIKIL1rBETYiEZ3E7olBidFfPzsro6G-MRszp1-YhQ5AztH-Azqa4p5aoOf94JKdMRNCZaCa257IHyiwfMV9mo9Payo-bYyc-n4fosOs7sR_gkzK1jr8J-JJRmqIWN5QbrCQTgc7e8Y2KA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; text-align: left;"> Hand walking Monet, our first summer on the Sunshine Coast </span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">December 15</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Dear Heather and Julia,</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">A couple of days after we shared our first letters, around the time when Julia popped into the conversation, one of our neighbours in Roberts Creek pointed to a trickle of water running down the gravel driveway next to the cabin where James and I live. Our neighbour told us that the water is a freshwater spring that runs beneath the property –– probably good and clean because it filters through rock as it comes up from the ground. That tongue of water has always been there, but recognizing it as a spring added to the rightness I’ve been feeling about how things are starting to move. Thank you both for your letters and for the dozens of private notes you’ve sent in these last weeks. I’ve been comparatively quiet in our back-channel, but I want you to know that I’m looking at the world around me and noticing promising hints and echoes of you both. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I’d like to bring a new idea to this conversation, before I wind my way back to the ideas you shared in your letters. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Heather, you recently told me about the coarseness of your scale in embroidery. The way I understand it is that you’re making choices about your thread gauge, stitch size and the weave of your background fabric, and this influences the level of detail in your embroidered image. So, when you say that your scale is ‘coarse’, this means you’ve selected your materials and technique in a way that makes your lines ‘simpler’. Am I close? I hope you’ll correct me in your letter back, but for now, here’s a question:</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">When you think about the scale in your embroidery, are you also thinking about time? I’m guessing that choosing a coarser or finer scale impacts how long it takes to stitch something, and your experience of it, just as it impacts the image. Please tell me about the expressiveness of scale – both process, and product!</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Here’s why I’m asking:</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">This idea of scale reminded me that there’s a relationship between your handwork, and how you see or sense the world. I am curious to know how you think about that, particularly because the natural world is such a presence in your work. How it shows up feels complex and layered; it’s something other than direct representation.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">From my own end, I’ve been thinking about the interplay between the time it takes to stitch something, and the relatively short time of observation. I find myself particularly wanting to stitch the kinds of things that I love to write about: things in the human and more-than-human world that are fleeting, or resistant to capture; things that are built on layers and layers of hidden connections and relationship. I like the idea of embroidery helping to lengthen or deepen the time of observation.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgF4duLbOoEB9_ZSpzoqFi_LYCsF7axpDse2b57bzARrHbIg34Yto7wYTWzKBZFzs6yj5zlxq1dK5aYwHW-OkCasavXnAL6l_Ym0M4FoI6T4RA_6xpuF4QUwcVbIEAKsVjYP4zaXpDFEwBcPx5ZfWvIgjx0-8fUusyOoxwj-uWvNq7aIM6paw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgF4duLbOoEB9_ZSpzoqFi_LYCsF7axpDse2b57bzARrHbIg34Yto7wYTWzKBZFzs6yj5zlxq1dK5aYwHW-OkCasavXnAL6l_Ym0M4FoI6T4RA_6xpuF4QUwcVbIEAKsVjYP4zaXpDFEwBcPx5ZfWvIgjx0-8fUusyOoxwj-uWvNq7aIM6paw=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Monet pulling me at horse speed through a scene of summer wild flowers that I want to eat with my eyes; we’re walking just a little too fast to take everything in; it’s pleasurably overwhelming.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I’ll share an example of a ‘project idea’:</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">There’s a walk I do regularly, to visit my horse, Monet. It’s 4 km up a steep hill and in the summer it can be grueling. The road is lined with deciduous trees and when these are in leaf, their branches cast lacey, complicated shadows on the asphalt. On very hot days, I need to move slowly and I find myself watching the shadow play to distract myself from the uphill grind. When the wind gusts, I can track a full cycle of movement in the shadows as I pass a section of road: they lift, spring back, shake, rest, shake (less), rest, and so on. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">In two summers of visiting this hill, I’ve developed kind of an obsession with the idea that I could somehow cover the shadows with a textile of some sort, and then document the movement of the shadows across and away from it. I’ve thought about lacemaking, embroidery, tambour. I love how spending hours and hours trying to stitch shadows that move whenever the wind does might catch some of the impossibility of stilling the world. But I think the hours I would need to spend in handwork would also condense something about the physical exertion and repetition of walking up the hill –– the kind of practical, un-intellectual reality that brings me to witness the moment in the first place. I think it would be wonderful if the textile could also hold the feeling of endorphin rush when you arrive at the top of a hill and your breath comes back to you…</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Another layer: I owe this ‘project idea’ to my horse, who lives at the top of this very steep hill. What pulls me up the hill is a sense of responsibility to him. And this is where I finally come back to your letters: humbleness, accountability, the wild mess. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">You both picked up on my use of the word ‘humble’. I agree, it’s a loaded word. But the humbleness that I aspire to is less about being a good little stitcher for god, or of snipping away your wildness to please the customers. I’m thinking about work you do that is released from an expectation of outcome; a kind of work that avoids entitlement, work that is bigger than you, has its own mysteries, and may not please you at times. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I’m not particularly religious and don’t have kids, so my horse is where I get to learn about this. I’ve found that having a horse is about building habits: doing the same things over and over again with no obvious breakthrough or change, until there is one. My first summer on the Sunshine Coast was supposed to be a summer of writing and art and honestly, I spent much of it travelling up that hill to visit him. We barely even rode. Instead, I hand-walked him through the woods and I learned to notice the ground. I didn’t do anything especially special with him, but I learned how to organize myself around him. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhji0qQPeSnblLqgKr-xg7oGBJhAS-jHCqWL6YA_fZ5XmNJTLbpq6vwGBY4iCoFwgJxlv1pe9fnIoS3F46qWtQ2bXVjSgJJavZ7l9_wlaCWTfERv27U50rA3CU_-8RFeUdBfJs2YRlLHjiA4Wcr3RfPBRNqdixgmthvc0UMu4InpKzKweVYOQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhji0qQPeSnblLqgKr-xg7oGBJhAS-jHCqWL6YA_fZ5XmNJTLbpq6vwGBY4iCoFwgJxlv1pe9fnIoS3F46qWtQ2bXVjSgJJavZ7l9_wlaCWTfERv27U50rA3CU_-8RFeUdBfJs2YRlLHjiA4Wcr3RfPBRNqdixgmthvc0UMu4InpKzKweVYOQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; text-align: left;">I stop Monet and make him look at clouds.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Heather, you suggested that I might be a director. What I’m finding out is that my way of ‘making things happen’ is becoming so quietly cumulative that it’s almost subliminal. ‘Success’ might look like noticing a clearwater spring in my gravel driveway, a few days after you and Julia met my initial, small idea in such a spirit of abundance and warmth. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Julia, I want to say that I know and ferociously care for the wild underside you describe. I recognize this mess as the place loyalty lives and grows: how you truly come to care for people when they share something secret or raw. The ‘unhappy customers’ you describe in your letter perfectly define why I want to organize work-in-progress shows for you, and others who take such great care in challenging the art ‘product’. I think the wild underside is the home of grassroots and DIY organizing –– we get to choose each other, we decide who we will be accountable to.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I think that one reason for my fascination with a perfect embroidered back is that I haven’t had many technique teachers. Or – I absolutely have had technique teachers – but one is a horse, and several are theory/history scholars, and the rest is the aggregation of artists and friends I’ve been paying close attention to over a couple of decades. The people – and beings? - who I think of as my ‘cohort’. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Heather and Julia, your letters were each such a lovely rallying cry for paying attention to this shaggier, less predictable way of learning and connecting. Your letters helped me think about the underside to the underside of my embroidery and writing – currently, the horse who pulls me up a hill.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">If you’re willing, I’d love to hear about what’s pulling you up your hills. I am also curious about this idea of scale – just anything you can tell me about how you think about it. I’ve never really considered it, so I feel like a green rookie even asking the question. What’s the right question? Just, tell me more! And thank you for everything you’ve told me so far,</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">xxB</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpiLmD0YoB34_Yl-U_T1Z2uHBPcsb6sp4ywYTSKv8-9_jpNARiZ7zk0ANh4DXkbwNMdvDBJEEZdIlriCch6CNQQ7TtI32JU47ajkSF2O0Y7pHVm7ZZMd3QYtq-Jas_A4iPqXkIY8QTPQsOhHaR1D4-dO1C9-_-7AfT3W3oBfRB5exCpCpqyg=s2590" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2590" data-original-width="1871" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpiLmD0YoB34_Yl-U_T1Z2uHBPcsb6sp4ywYTSKv8-9_jpNARiZ7zk0ANh4DXkbwNMdvDBJEEZdIlriCch6CNQQ7TtI32JU47ajkSF2O0Y7pHVm7ZZMd3QYtq-Jas_A4iPqXkIY8QTPQsOhHaR1D4-dO1C9-_-7AfT3W3oBfRB5exCpCpqyg=w462-h640" width="462" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Monet turning to go home at the summit of a hill that makes him sweat.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-22077484622465868052021-12-06T20:40:00.005-08:002021-12-11T12:44:46.891-08:00A Third LetterThe most unexpected, wonderful thing has happened. A reader of our letters has intervened in our correspondence (or piped in, as she puts it.) Julia Ulehla is a vocalist of extraordinary presence. She is classically trained in opera and was a resident actress with the Jerzy Grotowski laboratory theatre, and just received her PhD in Ethnomusicology from UBC. I have been fortunate to see her perform the songs her great-grandfather collected in Moravia, live with the band Dálava. <div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgesRKRv2XoiyM9R3Z8iLXmFB-0YeAdPI3S88JytkzNrMQpM8hYVFxMy4BvpEGda1GRWzI7puZ9ahvEEaqajTzxddbjp-I-R83LPCwJwb0fys0ZwYDizGQk19zuJ2NP3Tro85UPM5eicIhbL2wQYKRhMEep_uWxnhxLZq2pw4sV8mkh22XXNw=s1124" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgesRKRv2XoiyM9R3Z8iLXmFB-0YeAdPI3S88JytkzNrMQpM8hYVFxMy4BvpEGda1GRWzI7puZ9ahvEEaqajTzxddbjp-I-R83LPCwJwb0fys0ZwYDizGQk19zuJ2NP3Tro85UPM5eicIhbL2wQYKRhMEep_uWxnhxLZq2pw4sV8mkh22XXNw=w429-h640" title="Julia" width="429" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Julia Ulehla</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>This excerpt from her bio says it well: “Drawing upon ancient cosmological strata imbedded in the folk songs and their texts, pre-Christian Slavic folk beliefs, myths, and symbols, the “incandescent” (Musicworks), “captivating Moravian magician” (Downbeat) reanimates the archival materials into sound and body. A meditation on the role of heritage in the modern world, her project Dálava is often described as shamanic and primordial.” In my opinion, Julia is as close to being a goddess as it comes. </div><div><br /></div><div> You can find more about Julia here: <a href="https://www.juliaulehla.com">https://www.juliaulehla.com</a> </div><div><br /></div><div> Dear Heather and Barbara, </div><div><br /></div><div>Your correspondence has been wonderful to watch from the sidelines. You have given me lots to think about. </div><div><br /></div><div>Please forgive my intrusion – these are the ideas I was hoping to add:
Is there a sonic analogue to the messy, underside of an embroidery? Are there sounds that should not be heard? What does it mean to ask someone to hear them? Will the messy threads/sounds always be less desirable? Not worthy of attention? Needing to be concealed? Is it selfish to want someone to see/hear them? What parts of ourselves are recovered when we allow the underneath to enter publicly visible/audible/perceptible domains?
</div><div><br /></div><div>Aram and I had a concert last Saturday, and the entire performance was akin to the underside of the embroidery. I make the analogy because usually when I perform, something is prepared with care to be seen by others. But we improvised throughout the show, and we did in public what is usually only done in private, in our home. We did in public what is part of daily practice—the hidden labor that no one hears, tended to in domestic realms. I might say that usually, when performing, we primarily dwell in the top side with a few forays into the underneath, but this performance was all messy underneath. I am not even sure I could call it an aesthetic work, or at least only secondarily so. It is more about spirit. (I’m not sure we will agree about what that means, but I’ll take the risk and leave it in anyway.) The venue—which feels midway between a living room and the Red Room in Twin Peaks to me—affords intimacy, and on a number of past occasions, I have found myself exchanging a few words with audience members in the middle of the performance. This time was no different. In the middle of the show, a woman interjected that our performance was making her feel protected, and she likened it to being in the presence of her grandmother. After shows, usually a range of folks come to chat, but this time only women did. And I know there were a few disappointed customers, and that bothered me. “It’s like a different band,” one said. My perception of the situation was that the disappointed customers were mostly men. I found myself faulting myself for my inability to give them what they wanted or what they came for. I felt accountable to them, to create something that they valued, more than I felt accountable to myself or to serving the underneath part. </div><div><br /></div><div>But then I was mad at myself for not being more of a champion for the underneath part. Part of me was also protesting, “For too long have too many people cared for productivity and beauty! What about the dark, messy tangles we all have hiding? If not now, after these last two years, then when? When can we love the underneath as we love the topside?” I felt these disappointed customers didn’t want to see or hear what I was offering, and that they were making me invisible by turning away. </div><div><br /></div><div>Visibility asks for participation. It asks that someone not turn their eyes away. It asks for sustained attention and a willingness to engage, to notice. Things can be made invisible when they are not interesting/valued by the beholder or when they cause someone discomfort. </div><div><br /></div><div>What would it mean to give attention to something that is not interesting/valued or something that causes discomfort? Is it coercion to ask someone to look/hear when they don’t want to? Who are the ones turning away? Who and what are the ones they are turning away from? Why? How does power figure into this, and longstanding inequalities and violence? What kind of bargain do you make when you try to be visible to those with more power? Especially when that visibility requires you to exile things you love? </div><div><br /></div><div>As I anguish about failing to give the disappointed customers what I imagine they wanted, I am mad at myself for caring. </div><div><br /></div><div>But does caring have to do with accountability? As you asked, Barbara, to whom are we accountable? The ones who taught us? The audience members or gallery goers? Only the ones who like us or approve of what we do? Only the ones who are critical? All members of our community? <span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our ancestors? The ones who come after us? Our more-than-human relations? The song-beings we co-create with? </span></span>Our collaborators? Our practices? Ourselves? What is the metric/currency of accountability in art-making? Pleasure? Impact? Agreement? Value? Ethics? Performativity (in the Nietschean/Stengersian sense in which things are considered according to their capacity to catalyze unimagined afterlives…it’s a little bit like the “repercussions” described by Warren Ellis that you mentioned, Heather)? </div><div><br /></div><div>Barbara, you name giving attention to the hidden, underside of work as the honing of a skill of humility, of thinking carefully and quietly about labour that will not be seen, of learning to respect the real effort of process. And you notice your own anxiety about being invisible, and maybe after airing and considering, that anxiety begins to move a little differently. I guess that is part of why I wanted to write to you both: to exorcise the anxiety a little by bringing it to the surface. For me there is something wild and something feminine and something healing about this kind of exorcism. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’ve started a practice of improvising with other improvising vocalists over Zoom. We watch and listen without asking each other for anything. We don’t need to produce, or be coherent, or beautiful, or moving, or valuable, or in tune, or anything. There is something really wonderful about a situation in which someone is willing to show up and listen and see without asking anything of you. Willing to accept what comes. It is also wonderful to show up and listen and see without wishing what you hear and see to be anything other than what it is. </div><div><br /></div><div>The more I experience it, the more wonderful it feels. The more I think about it, the more radical it appears. I don’t think I am talking about an abdication of responsibility, or willful naiveté, or a refusal to think critically. I think what I am talking about is creating small, temporary spaces where the mess is invited in, and where dissolution becomes knowledge-creating. Maybe it is also a practice of finding ways of letting oneself be seen and heard, of seeing and hearing others, that slip past deeply sown habits of thought around productivity, value, and beauty. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am drawn to Heather’s statement that there are many ways to be seen. Heather, you introduced me to the work of Leonora Carrington, who I LOVE. I will be forever grateful to you. Her work is so wild, and I can’t help myself, I am infected by it. Her work enters my dreams in crazy ways, and I suspect she had some serious capacities that continue to reverberate. Her book The Hearing Trumpet is about a group of octogenarian women who do truly wild things that are incomprehensible/invisible to most of the world, but that are, at the same time, exceedingly potent. Their acts are made potent by the women’s accountability to certain kinds of dissolution, and to a kind of motley collectivity. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am so drawn to similarly emergent, contagious, messy assemblages, and I think that is also why I had to interject in your correspondence. In the spirit of messy assemblage, I pose these questions to you both: how, if at all, is invisibility linked to dissolution and/or to wildness? How do you understand wildness and dissolution in yourself, and in your practice (or ecoterrorism or any and all other pursuits)? What does it mean to ask someone to see/hear something that is usually private or hidden? Are these letters a certain kind of making visible what is private/hidden? Why do we need or want to do that? What kinds of collectivity come into being? </div><div><br /></div><div>I know that I would have stayed in solitary self-doubt about the performance if I had not brought it here in the open, to poke through it with and alongside you. My fear is that it is a selfish confession. My hope is that it is a needed piece of learning and metabolizing that has generative repercussions. Or maybe it is about stoppage giving over to flow—Warren Ellis reverberates again. And I also have to ask—do you prefer the beautiful topside to the messy underneath? Why? What meanings can we make of our momentary attractions to perfection or messiness? What meanings can we make of our desire to share those perfections or messinesses with others? Wait—not just to share them, but to have life be shaped by those perfections and messinesses, together? (I’m thinking also of your grant application, Heather…care, community, highbrow, lowbrow…) </div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for reading and letting me pipe in! </div><div><br /></div><div>Love,
Julia
</div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xc4gZJF_0E">Watch Dalava in performance.</a><br /></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-87016761747361415452021-11-25T10:32:00.005-08:002021-12-06T20:41:08.393-08:00In Which I Reply<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMdb3MGIlkTsOOgQMBPAor6IRjWxIMe74S4H9naNOnXMgytEi9iRa9F8dHKiSSnfATG7wKEZdMMl34Fnwya5eymIj3FyQeqKyXPdCYqAO6tmOQQy0GgGxLZELk0LEAsSc1FDeoThIY_0t30Jje9wI-BRLTpNMTbVXpCnrPQh-Q132TXBEZJw=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMdb3MGIlkTsOOgQMBPAor6IRjWxIMe74S4H9naNOnXMgytEi9iRa9F8dHKiSSnfATG7wKEZdMMl34Fnwya5eymIj3FyQeqKyXPdCYqAO6tmOQQy0GgGxLZELk0LEAsSc1FDeoThIY_0t30Jje9wI-BRLTpNMTbVXpCnrPQh-Q132TXBEZJw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tying off knots on the back of a big piece. This is not normally how it is done!</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear Barbara,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I know I am always foisting books on you that I am excited about, but Nina Simone’s Gum, by multi-instrumentalist and composer Warren Ellis, is really worth checking out. Surprisingly moving, it is about, yes, a piece of chewing gum that the divine Nina Simone took out of her mouth and stuck to the piano during her last concert in England. Ellis rescued it from the stage and over the years it attained the mystique of a holy relic. He eventually gets it cast in silver, and the original gum is exhibited in a show at the Royal Danish Library. All kinds of people are involved along the way. I like this passage, from near the end of the book:<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Our actions have repercussions whether immediate or years later. In our lifetime and beyond our years. Tiny depth charges set off miles below the surface of the sea. Watching the ripples form, then expand and vibrate, connecting continents. Actions waiting for an answer in the future. Ideas waiting for people to attach to. Waiting to be heard. To remind us. To connect us. To make us imagine. Dream. With the closure of ideas we make them infinite. A circle. A ring. Eternal.”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">To me, this really speaks of why I make art. It is about taking an idea that persists in my mind until I just have to bring it into existence, to set it in motion. I kind of give up control at that point, but hope that what I make generates ripples across the void, hoping to connect, to be seen, to be received.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">So what might this have to do with my secret power of invisibility? And how important are hidden things in the outcome of a piece of embroidery? I guess I like the idea that there is much in the world beyond the immediate sphere of what we can see. I can easily go off in various nutty directions, but will try to stick to the topic.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">First, I am so glad you asked! The back of a piece of embroidery is indeed not usually meant to be seen (although I can think of a few artists who deliberately show the back of the work.) It would be so easy to leave threads hanging, but if you ever have, you would quickly discover the reason why one shouldn’t: the hanging ends inevitably get caught up in the stitching, sometimes even getting pulled to the front. The tidier the back, the easier it is to keep the front looking as it should.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ideally, the best way to end a thread is to weave an inch or so into the back of stitches on the underside. Even then, the tension must not be too tight because it will affect the appearance of the stitches on the surface. Sometimes I do that, and always feel very virtuous when I do, but mostly I just make a knot. Since I usually work on heavier linen, the knots are not seen. I make a small tailor’s knot and clip the end of the thread leaving about 1 cm. hanging. Occasionally the knots are a pain when I have to start another thread very close, but mostly they are not an issue. “I am an artist”, I cry, “not a Parisian couture embroiderer!”</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7VKHBarZj_dhyWGUe2-7LvK4HXV2RfZJ4y9kvGFuNH_-7aOfHzF5D8YgC1KAgnn-m5TG1Apnzi-YXszR2IoQPwfNAxHyM8zswIhvpGvkxcZaHYvh7lQLJTCRxePenkixpIKqiprRTGI4XKT1MsbayYfJJbkd_kdN2sBLoTBr0KaZlQx8Syw=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="1200" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7VKHBarZj_dhyWGUe2-7LvK4HXV2RfZJ4y9kvGFuNH_-7aOfHzF5D8YgC1KAgnn-m5TG1Apnzi-YXszR2IoQPwfNAxHyM8zswIhvpGvkxcZaHYvh7lQLJTCRxePenkixpIKqiprRTGI4XKT1MsbayYfJJbkd_kdN2sBLoTBr0KaZlQx8Syw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">But, yes, indeed, I do cringe in shame when I think of my high-school sewing teacher, Ella-Maria Pucher, having a look at the back of my work. She was Austrian, had been a dressmaker to the stars, and I cannot pick up a steam iron without hearing her words: “Dahling, you must press it bee-yooo-tifully!” Mrs.Pucher was voted the most memorable teacher by my 25-year-reunion classmates. She was a gem. I would never want to disappoint her.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgG6-F2kjsnrnEmRogd4L3AHmVC3rsHKIh_yDwxTyboYEu3kzONhXnRB-TdslM238WoQjUmAV-E96R6NRIIoexmLi0GpLStH8DjtTEtw68uk69LogfT_NMKghSyYHiugjzL51F03dkNNtbPBIUvfS34VK98gO1StkZQ87o_2Gc6R7DYLM2ww=s1262" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1262" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgG6-F2kjsnrnEmRogd4L3AHmVC3rsHKIh_yDwxTyboYEu3kzONhXnRB-TdslM238WoQjUmAV-E96R6NRIIoexmLi0GpLStH8DjtTEtw68uk69LogfT_NMKghSyYHiugjzL51F03dkNNtbPBIUvfS34VK98gO1StkZQ87o_2Gc6R7DYLM2ww=w400-h265" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reuniting with Mrs. Pucher, about the year 2000.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">She may be the person I feel most accountable to, even though I have also been taught by such stitching luminaries as Dorothy Caldwell and Tilleke Schwartz. I can’t remember them ever mentioning the back of the work, although their practise was more geared towards the individual, idiosyncratic stitch rather than Royal School of Needlework bland perfection. Dorothy even had us stitch while blindfolded.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">** There is a mind-boggling technique of double sided embroidery, practised by the Chinese. It is miraculous. I can’t even begin to understand.**</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I suspect all the fuss over the neatness of the unseen side of a piece of embroidery goes to the historical tradition of fine craft work, and guild standards at a time when embroidery was professionally practised by men. Also historically, embroidery was one of the few means convents had to generate income – there is probably a proverb somewhere about how God will always know if the back of your work is messy. I imagine the nuns would have to do penance if their work wasn’t perfect.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Occasionally, when I am not planning for my retirement years as an inmate (that eco-terrorism scenario), I wish I could just retreat to a de-sanctified convent and spend all my time stitching, enjoying spartan meals and a bit of perambulating around the gardens...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Does any of this answer your questions? My biggest improvement as a stitcher came when I started working on a large hoop mounted on a floor stand. This allows both my hands to work together, my left (non-dominant) hand on top and my more dextrous right hand below. This also develops rhythm and more even stitches. I definitely have more of a sense of the stitching action as a whole, rather than a front side/back side binary. It kind of reminds me of my art school painting class with Tom Dean. He encouraged us to paint with a brush in each hand, so that we would be creating with both the articulate and the inarticulate sides of our brains. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Does any of this help with your own sense of feeling not seen? Has moving out of the spotlight been a conscious choice, or is it a result of the development and deepening of your practise? I have probably only known you in this more recent mode, but I asked Alex what he remembered from seeing you do poetry slams or the Fugitives – he said you were very engaging and charismatic, which you still are! I guess I think of you as a director, bringing people together to realize your vision, and also being open to the vision of your collaborators. This is a very good thing, in my opinion. There is more than one way to be seen.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Love,<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Heather </span></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-61101316764349724962021-11-24T17:29:00.004-08:002021-12-06T20:41:34.869-08:00A New Project: Letter Exchange<div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">My friend Barbara Adler (of <a href="https://www.thepublicswoon.org">Public Swoon</a> fame) invited me to collaborate in a letter exchange, a public one. It promises to be very interesting, with lots of good questions about why and how we make what we do, in these weird times. But I will let her introduce it:</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSPmQSIi2SwInqhBnU-JjwMOHo-MoMevqNw1i44Y7ht-HSBObIgL1p0Nn2ovVhe4m2hpklfLnXjlVuGEpWJTLhcE_MWyCjYGCwLBJMJUPbHTmEk49RBjkOQGp4njmF6Xrgc9PiIkfK3bgt81uk3P43jsfY_2VFzgdVHu8etmsY_S_UWFYkJw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSPmQSIi2SwInqhBnU-JjwMOHo-MoMevqNw1i44Y7ht-HSBObIgL1p0Nn2ovVhe4m2hpklfLnXjlVuGEpWJTLhcE_MWyCjYGCwLBJMJUPbHTmEk49RBjkOQGp4njmF6Xrgc9PiIkfK3bgt81uk3P43jsfY_2VFzgdVHu8etmsY_S_UWFYkJw=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><span style="font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, .SFNSText-Regular, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span>Hi Everyone! I am collaborating with artist </span><span><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl q66pz984 gpro0wi8 b1v8xokw" href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011016016657&__cft__[0]=AZWm7OpysW38koHEGBTHF-rF2RpjEqv7KbWk0YpDBen0TETWLP9TggAU0-Jv3g0qEmuN5n3XogMqVbcH6a3DZc9tWl5GbB8YqKgCo4Luueij8sQi6vaMz1oFdVXqogfHt30&__tn__=-]K-R" role="link" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: var(--accent); cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0"><span class="nc684nl6" style="display: inline;">Heather Cameron</span></a></span><span> on a letter exchange project, and you’re invited to read along. Some context: Heather and I are working together as part of Mermaid Spring, a sprawling, process-led music, theatre and design project that thinks about environmental and labour themes and of course, Floridan mermaids.</span></span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Both this project and Heather's friendship have been transformational for me. Here's how it started: My dear friend and collaborator Kyla Gardiner taught me my first crochet stitches over a Christmas break. Heather enthusiastically praised the mangy rattail I'd produced as the *very important* – impossible to replicate – stitching voice of a beginner. Since then, she has opened door after door with thoughtful writing about her own material process (<span><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl py34i1dx gpro0wi8" href="https://truestitches.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwAR2s06Uu33EaVPW8ETbEj-5WTXEYNnSlmFF6H_wG6vITmXnVq1pPkXSEMBM" rel="nofollow noopener" role="link" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: var(--blue-link); cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0" target="_blank">http://truestitches.blogspot.com/</a></span>). She answers every rant and question I have about knitting, visible mending, embroidery, yarn that ripples like grass (linen, worsted weight), the potential of unfinished projects, collaborations with strangers, how to be patient. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I asked if she’d like to share some of this relationship, in part, because I think a little emotional honesty could help all of us right now. As great as it is that the arts are re-opening, re-building etc., there’s some heavy psychic goo swirling under all of it. For me, the year and a half of casual conversation with Heather has been both a balm and a spur. If listening in or sharing in the comments feels good to you, welcome. Heather will post her answers on her FB page and blog, so follow her there. Honestly, I think my main job is to get her talking so we can listen. Please do check out her letters back and her work. I’ll eventually put all of this on my website and The Public Swoon’s site, but better to follow me here for now. Thanks for reading! xx B</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***********</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">November 20, 2021</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear Heather,</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At a recent dinner party, a friend complimented you by saying you’d make an excellent eco-terrorist. Women become invisible as they age. It was suggested that you’ve come to the point in your life where it would be easy to glide across a border, stir up some shit for Green Peace and be home on Gabriola in time to watch the sunset. The men at the crossing wouldn’t even see you: the power of being overlooked.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m all for duping any and all border bros. But this idea of the invisible also holds terror for me, particularly if I place it against my career. Backstory: I used to write, perform and promote work where I was spot-lit. In the last few years, my personal output as an artist has become less clear. Now, I mainly work on (very) slow, long-term, collaborative projects with modest public presence and others where I’m not the ‘face’. I have worked and made work continuously through the pandemic but presented little. If my art practice wanted to sneak across the US border and blow up a dam, now would be the time to do it.</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have angst about this, clearly. But I also have curiosity, which is why I’m writing to you with a lift of hope instead of moaning in a corner (Note for anyone corner-moaning: I do that too).</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve learned that in embroidery, part of the work is hiding how busy you’ve been. The mechanics of moving the thread across the design are tucked up in the back. Of course, this idea of unseen work is part of most (all?) making. But, I’ve been surprised to discover that in embroidery there’s additional rigor in keeping your backs tidy. So, you hide the work and then you hide the work some more. To me, this is something like the skill of humility: thinking carefully and quietly about labour that will not be seen. I notice myself freaking out about being less visible than my peers and recognize that I have a lot to learn about respecting the real effort of process. I’m hopeful, because I wouldn’t have cared about the back of the embroidery a year ago.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtCcB9B94F7Fc_QHSy-RTctIVZ8YEWgNg9siXsKovG_-ZWpcS31abKCvsR4QPf1eNdTUWnZVpwbvjP0T23KzwKliaEi-W5OsnpAVxGkM3WUeYF70w8TRhrTS1Mx-wgZGMwUFTVyqE62ILdXhm9XMk0XEzx3s2_6Z0gwDOplYD8X1KF85DRtQ=s1663" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="1663" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtCcB9B94F7Fc_QHSy-RTctIVZ8YEWgNg9siXsKovG_-ZWpcS31abKCvsR4QPf1eNdTUWnZVpwbvjP0T23KzwKliaEi-W5OsnpAVxGkM3WUeYF70w8TRhrTS1Mx-wgZGMwUFTVyqE62ILdXhm9XMk0XEzx3s2_6Z0gwDOplYD8X1KF85DRtQ=w400-h278" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, .SFNSText-Regular, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Heather, let’s get into some practicalities + mild psychoanalysis, please. I want to know: are you actively thinking about the back of your embroidery as you work the front? Any tips? And if you are thinking about the back as something that might be seen, who do you picture as the audience? Do you have an ultimate critical embroidery snob in mind? Someone who looks at imperfect knots and raps you on the knuckles whenever the thread back there gets a little too noisy? I imagine a French couture embroiderer who happens upon your studio, lifts your work from the wall and faints –– aggressively –– to make their disappointment very clear.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4ikoJeYEI4CMQZY68qHyn_7hSQnIn_MhE70E8bMwvtsTc6GTNLI8lFoiW5gHGCUZBmHJOe4OhzCrfxXLnEQc1vZA7-d3eoUdLRde3aSV7NhT-8rSovrkbh5tcdYeTAg78JgOvjgN6RwW5kMKGisJBQSY9xTqhSvP83RCBYM5Kk9e6l7Tkyg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4ikoJeYEI4CMQZY68qHyn_7hSQnIn_MhE70E8bMwvtsTc6GTNLI8lFoiW5gHGCUZBmHJOe4OhzCrfxXLnEQc1vZA7-d3eoUdLRde3aSV7NhT-8rSovrkbh5tcdYeTAg78JgOvjgN6RwW5kMKGisJBQSY9xTqhSvP83RCBYM5Kk9e6l7Tkyg=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think this is another way of asking: to whom do you feel accountable?</span></span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I recognize that my merging of accountability with ‘quality’ reveals how long I’ve spent as a student and around students. As if accountability were about receiving an A+. That’s off, but maybe the idea of students and teachers has something in it that we could use. I wonder: who taught you? At what points in your process do they appear to you? </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have more questions for you about quality and time and the invisible, but I think I’ll leave it there for now. Thank you for being my pal in this. I think your knots looked perfect when I saw them, and anyway, I’d never tell anyone if they weren’t –</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shhh,</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">xxb</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;">IMAGES: 1. Here’s a photo Benjamin Samson took of me at the Accordion Noir Festival; sweaty, accordion playing, fronting that band! 2. Here is a shaggy little embroidery sampler with some blackwork, fluffy latch hook, beading, and many French knots. If you want to try any of these things on the same cloth, know that monk’s cloth is okay for counted stitch/blackwork and absolutely horrible for everything else. Is there a better way to do this? Probably, but don’t spoil the surprise, I want to hack away at it. 3. My knots. Faint away.</span></div></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-34905558840166369502021-11-15T16:13:00.000-08:002021-11-15T16:13:49.952-08:00Triple Thread: (Part Three - Barbara Klunder)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFev8RPipDQ1p3y0Ay5g-X2OG4NW9LA2EtN2YDzlD9k84Lk3i2Cj4lmXb343fZh_FG8KvnKzAgpWFHFpaMJUrdGvllXCBRXjgFQ7gImlaCGgWhblmwt0TOaCh5bujb9v703-HHElFMgq10jY9TEUDVXX2Ilqy6wo0SLcv2CGPYrbsgE9iwDA=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFev8RPipDQ1p3y0Ay5g-X2OG4NW9LA2EtN2YDzlD9k84Lk3i2Cj4lmXb343fZh_FG8KvnKzAgpWFHFpaMJUrdGvllXCBRXjgFQ7gImlaCGgWhblmwt0TOaCh5bujb9v703-HHElFMgq10jY9TEUDVXX2Ilqy6wo0SLcv2CGPYrbsgE9iwDA=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>It was such a thrill to share the gallery with the fabulous <a href="http://barbaraklunder.com">Barbara Klunder</a>. I have written <a href="http://truestitches.blogspot.com/2015/04/influences-barbara-klunder.html">here</a> before about how she has been an influence on me. She came out from Toronto with her collection of Worms - six foot long wearable art pieces. Witty, surprising, exquisitely stitched - I loved them all.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJhU-M8-yv0LsOg2JrEhjE8mnpFVp7QmlNnQprUg9tWAyYywbHq96zQLRnH3iGhvF6ydgY0_tPBETXpRM-YFkiD9wAhkWWFynr1DiBs9KSLSsyhSLpztM15jIAtF9hQLbFLuo02Adh2FaMcaoz7HO5QIV91Iy4nA4PHuCq_8N0r2BFx8_egw=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1255" data-original-width="2048" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJhU-M8-yv0LsOg2JrEhjE8mnpFVp7QmlNnQprUg9tWAyYywbHq96zQLRnH3iGhvF6ydgY0_tPBETXpRM-YFkiD9wAhkWWFynr1DiBs9KSLSsyhSLpztM15jIAtF9hQLbFLuo02Adh2FaMcaoz7HO5QIV91Iy4nA4PHuCq_8N0r2BFx8_egw=w640-h392" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxuLzrrgIuP_ZM_lGCjcDT-LHASFC_Oa6RywsLBuCnTa8W7GgNuUlsHFjaUeJRkt3q421Xm5ysuwFx2AELdE8MJ3GillOOCkVTH2XBGzHDLTbN_SpfKv6OAB8iaq1p553_9ry6ZXdlmX3dPOhssExU4ThxxuDww98KID8y5d8hUw-qasAfxw=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxuLzrrgIuP_ZM_lGCjcDT-LHASFC_Oa6RywsLBuCnTa8W7GgNuUlsHFjaUeJRkt3q421Xm5ysuwFx2AELdE8MJ3GillOOCkVTH2XBGzHDLTbN_SpfKv6OAB8iaq1p553_9ry6ZXdlmX3dPOhssExU4ThxxuDww98KID8y5d8hUw-qasAfxw=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Barbara Klunder is in the building! She proved to be delightful - smart, quirky and very funny.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitm1kL7STP9gdOePBXqXAe19pK_YO4_ZIJZeGOBBkq2qwRLlUJqa9cTZusEa_kXxS8PkuUtVI59YYgOUTSwwg7cyU-1ZMSfYlae4OrXWidXu5LvClp_P0Eu50mu2kC4W4iquVjIe4q8PFaux-emEeJiOngZvBbbuFvSVMMXI0OksMqSZywcg=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitm1kL7STP9gdOePBXqXAe19pK_YO4_ZIJZeGOBBkq2qwRLlUJqa9cTZusEa_kXxS8PkuUtVI59YYgOUTSwwg7cyU-1ZMSfYlae4OrXWidXu5LvClp_P0Eu50mu2kC4W4iquVjIe4q8PFaux-emEeJiOngZvBbbuFvSVMMXI0OksMqSZywcg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA4TO1HPuOqNkc1p-Rt5FzuCDEMYBsTF7I18B8WMw8HrM3CXNaYonRudFONJ1QK6_CJ_Di7JUIdClq_G6LfHdgjQOn2ySG2OFKN7g2JSe1L4mr3AEA4v0UviuQcBghyL7_WEVc1tm3jBAZerIOerDb4N9eiLcxYBlaCcAZXJ0pyFMojqYI6w=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA4TO1HPuOqNkc1p-Rt5FzuCDEMYBsTF7I18B8WMw8HrM3CXNaYonRudFONJ1QK6_CJ_Di7JUIdClq_G6LfHdgjQOn2ySG2OFKN7g2JSe1L4mr3AEA4v0UviuQcBghyL7_WEVc1tm3jBAZerIOerDb4N9eiLcxYBlaCcAZXJ0pyFMojqYI6w=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNh6qpIIkUlOdZvsiQHvDOlsZ0iOS-2GCw49U9gZBKgvAB6ZzN6y4wqHFzpxy7NTxoFz-43by8ZyD2ZZe3EekrA4LTBbF0vp4Hlbr1n1TvlczrnNI4OwfT349Ap0WGHqhL2Wa9RnJxoGbRKf1JY2LWEuZlifHkWG_BV7Cpd1YCgv0CEyY4hg=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNh6qpIIkUlOdZvsiQHvDOlsZ0iOS-2GCw49U9gZBKgvAB6ZzN6y4wqHFzpxy7NTxoFz-43by8ZyD2ZZe3EekrA4LTBbF0vp4Hlbr1n1TvlczrnNI4OwfT349Ap0WGHqhL2Wa9RnJxoGbRKf1JY2LWEuZlifHkWG_BV7Cpd1YCgv0CEyY4hg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyV06JA2UlD0y8yvc_JtcZxw7R_2M5eQEhcvhaqSuTfuYMj3tRGJJHR_k7xULUiCn3V2ngSulVEO-PRKHsek0k5HjFvXlvTUyFakaV6j8qtX9XOVbw1Ain7Nx3L9lfMDcNULa6BrDhO93ZHcM7gxUazOUcWsYslkFeXi5Q2QR1JvZwQK8QMA=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyV06JA2UlD0y8yvc_JtcZxw7R_2M5eQEhcvhaqSuTfuYMj3tRGJJHR_k7xULUiCn3V2ngSulVEO-PRKHsek0k5HjFvXlvTUyFakaV6j8qtX9XOVbw1Ain7Nx3L9lfMDcNULa6BrDhO93ZHcM7gxUazOUcWsYslkFeXi5Q2QR1JvZwQK8QMA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEif37-rLTTt7VPhrRjTKNBSygdbIG3xuzbRzf-aPE9bWLvutq1BOehsbfnjhibarJiMtCyqpGFeWTM6a29crBG2Z1sJaaCTew11MRp9bd5asxYw8oSajs_WE1zgBdSFpNMEN1Vdh-E8tJ3MFjmlOTYy4rtjNqXHBD2HGvLsUuVvprSUfusTjA=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEif37-rLTTt7VPhrRjTKNBSygdbIG3xuzbRzf-aPE9bWLvutq1BOehsbfnjhibarJiMtCyqpGFeWTM6a29crBG2Z1sJaaCTew11MRp9bd5asxYw8oSajs_WE1zgBdSFpNMEN1Vdh-E8tJ3MFjmlOTYy4rtjNqXHBD2HGvLsUuVvprSUfusTjA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc4ZhBvQIrfHTxcK3-4HTDgsoSTXvMZaJUfM_f5ucJvbvRdtv4PKV5HwCRuX9NB3LrTdNHQvC6C7GqRaqbkF4zSJMQhR3rcxCLNS-QdV8tacxEt4GAf9YiKGPVuYGVlDY4gxirPu1CZpKkpWLEKtnfAWFy3OOjRIU9g87yDtaZj5pyNByxgA=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc4ZhBvQIrfHTxcK3-4HTDgsoSTXvMZaJUfM_f5ucJvbvRdtv4PKV5HwCRuX9NB3LrTdNHQvC6C7GqRaqbkF4zSJMQhR3rcxCLNS-QdV8tacxEt4GAf9YiKGPVuYGVlDY4gxirPu1CZpKkpWLEKtnfAWFy3OOjRIU9g87yDtaZj5pyNByxgA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She is currently showing these works at the Craft Ontario Gallery - up until the 23rd!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgomeF1u2MpAmh3PnBucjT1wuBG13rC2WAsmGqBzjNJUYDzYrwrjwEG5RjOd5ng7aPPolKSz5eTpY5nKTotg2xIqExmuG2klz7VvwRYtzrM8mkYEVTyT7ddgjaPFztBEffAcp4IxQkcpKJD9Cxd9LvEY059_bsDjLmT9GDzuqOWxZdNXo-11g=s1474" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1474" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgomeF1u2MpAmh3PnBucjT1wuBG13rC2WAsmGqBzjNJUYDzYrwrjwEG5RjOd5ng7aPPolKSz5eTpY5nKTotg2xIqExmuG2klz7VvwRYtzrM8mkYEVTyT7ddgjaPFztBEffAcp4IxQkcpKJD9Cxd9LvEY059_bsDjLmT9GDzuqOWxZdNXo-11g=w278-h640" width="278" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikBUadbSvacJMASypHTqNxk-CKfYQn7EPVhuPh8hlegqay2zk4GVFWLSTKpiQG-OSaYWqPXfHk5ePx7mVDlCOs1Iv4rtnp695x_oKLA4BfMGhr4DdZRknzWRJxY8iMgW-r-RA7TOtuqfaNje1sjwheQVdyETG1iJzulJy1Q1aYoHm5ZD-kyA=s1471" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1471" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikBUadbSvacJMASypHTqNxk-CKfYQn7EPVhuPh8hlegqay2zk4GVFWLSTKpiQG-OSaYWqPXfHk5ePx7mVDlCOs1Iv4rtnp695x_oKLA4BfMGhr4DdZRknzWRJxY8iMgW-r-RA7TOtuqfaNje1sjwheQVdyETG1iJzulJy1Q1aYoHm5ZD-kyA=w278-h640" width="278" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-27393481270240519302021-11-15T13:51:00.011-08:002021-11-15T16:14:59.194-08:00Triple Thread: (Part Two - Tawny Maclachlan Capon)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhANAubgIyUx7qRrUqGrOYHyzz-JA2zxM4NAIMtrIyAKj_lemlpavwFBu9AR-tWUOP7Su8IejwrawTFbgPWDjlt-OzcazfzZeUFZO7ap7o4aHem9gP2INN2Ue4goauxI98VgHDRQGN9Wc4YNU33WhfOQxijnFBiGK11CsroKKMMRpcHjbPnKg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhANAubgIyUx7qRrUqGrOYHyzz-JA2zxM4NAIMtrIyAKj_lemlpavwFBu9AR-tWUOP7Su8IejwrawTFbgPWDjlt-OzcazfzZeUFZO7ap7o4aHem9gP2INN2Ue4goauxI98VgHDRQGN9Wc4YNU33WhfOQxijnFBiGK11CsroKKMMRpcHjbPnKg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Knowing of <a href="https://www.tawny.gallery">Tawny Maclachlan Capon</a>'s background in ballet might lead one to assume that her visual art is simply a depiction of dancing forms. True, they are airy, ethereal, in motion - perhaps evoking a form of choreographic notation. But I think her work also goes deeper into more formal aspects of rhythm, form and materiality. They are immensely pleasurable to view in person, playing in the space between two and three dimensions.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiB_wl26Jqtg36qZoFhjT7GRkvJgv4nVykDK9TsMH9yZ53lVJH-Cct5l4b1qhvI7j03dY2HVpt3bdssUosaAxR2IXP5lonES5KIJxHfU-MCuHssGVPyr1uSV3HnWNwQfhVtVxXLx1y5mrfZPssyOnaR4p0FX6AR5I0q97OFBccI9m1nlKOpwQ=s2560" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="2560" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiB_wl26Jqtg36qZoFhjT7GRkvJgv4nVykDK9TsMH9yZ53lVJH-Cct5l4b1qhvI7j03dY2HVpt3bdssUosaAxR2IXP5lonES5KIJxHfU-MCuHssGVPyr1uSV3HnWNwQfhVtVxXLx1y5mrfZPssyOnaR4p0FX6AR5I0q97OFBccI9m1nlKOpwQ=w640-h226" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These works explore the edges of the textile realm, using woven fabrics both for their expressive qualities as well as their ability to transmit or reflect light. Tawny also uses wire, small bits of hardware such as grommets or rivets, and window screening - even furnace filters. Stitches seem suggested, rather than fixed. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh3EVTf9ASWOafks8FQiY5fNXXweU1Clda8bwArPCgr0fbTacrlnv-nXtN2Vs0juAG3jvhpNU82-bQ-7RvPu800Gv54wBoFt3f14KR4114HfZFJNk0X8AUZKskO7bsjQ_gn_TTUC2PKx-czGXdwB0lki5KGKRO8sDZJEW9_gFxH0FCwvBaDg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1691" data-original-width="2048" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh3EVTf9ASWOafks8FQiY5fNXXweU1Clda8bwArPCgr0fbTacrlnv-nXtN2Vs0juAG3jvhpNU82-bQ-7RvPu800Gv54wBoFt3f14KR4114HfZFJNk0X8AUZKskO7bsjQ_gn_TTUC2PKx-czGXdwB0lki5KGKRO8sDZJEW9_gFxH0FCwvBaDg=w400-h330" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8lPATkiMOIakN6iVw7l2azXJ9r4p9K3R--EHoaxT88JcSEtTFfx_SNZaTt91Uis-HnKsYULMcQhCioMu77j0yylwvhEJ7tP077rvGTk9mg6yagW4k7gPznhkvV378Ct8MHor7jwHDWPzF9Zl0QMQCIu8uKNnTO29Y_ssSgTu6ZqHOgRlo_g=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1672" data-original-width="2048" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8lPATkiMOIakN6iVw7l2azXJ9r4p9K3R--EHoaxT88JcSEtTFfx_SNZaTt91Uis-HnKsYULMcQhCioMu77j0yylwvhEJ7tP077rvGTk9mg6yagW4k7gPznhkvV378Ct8MHor7jwHDWPzF9Zl0QMQCIu8uKNnTO29Y_ssSgTu6ZqHOgRlo_g=w400-h326" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1734" data-original-width="2048" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzjQ_4kSA0VBpPvgFOVRvzkF3REONHHv3lrAfhrHWg-OftEKbn985gsE6BqCvHcfunOQ7aDbef6TBUkO8CNbkQOgMAF_hXo1fKa4m3FcNKMwJNKsJT2GeJHfDZ-_GJ2Kak8YmHkibiS7W_ebqpS3SPAt4lAhOCX9fYkzfzY9HsXuhGvLys_Q=w400-h339" width="400" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I recently read, in the excellent </span><i style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/product/With-Pleasure-by-Anna-Katz-editor-Museum-of-Contemporary-Art-Los-Angeles-Calif--host-institution-Hessel-Museum-of-Art-host-institution/9780300239942">With Pleasure: Pattern and Decoration in American Art 1972-1985</a></i><span style="text-align: left;"> about pattern actually being about the space between motifs rather than the motifs themselves. Without the </span>organizing principle of rhythmic space, motifs would become a jumble. Space give the motifs room to breathe, and breath too is an important element here. Tawny suggests that what we might see in her work are small spirits, but she also doesn't want to predetermine what the viewer might find in her work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUTSNFlVqSCAZr0A6xzDsBGsiC3DaFuyV93axX1YkIfHUBD4qWPK8ZeYooKxbx4H0pZREyyaitbYqC9mv5I4jChYRzwgfagyTs5WWAN9u2P9zSQ-yCuXoxsBsSYJl24BGdxPgzX4M_duWVrqjAetbjxDUxt7DHrGBWvlxxaRVUPEWM_EwS8w=s2232" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="881" data-original-width="2232" height="253" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgf7pAQdhZNSmgEtbM1g_Bw90xmG-xKeNerG2iTdUbxy7zA4WvbAAJlfp6sDCPC6vSW0fhUXQr1-NE6z6E2LF4NfCwnwAsizFu6pQABk3MIav5rOCxxZT5NxXGgHvLV9fhrovVLKu2xEBzwf_OC-X01lDc8TRdO9wTsW6UV2Pz1xi6Jw6N-Uw=s2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUTSNFlVqSCAZr0A6xzDsBGsiC3DaFuyV93axX1YkIfHUBD4qWPK8ZeYooKxbx4H0pZREyyaitbYqC9mv5I4jChYRzwgfagyTs5WWAN9u2P9zSQ-yCuXoxsBsSYJl24BGdxPgzX4M_duWVrqjAetbjxDUxt7DHrGBWvlxxaRVUPEWM_EwS8w=w640-h253" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" width="640" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUTSNFlVqSCAZr0A6xzDsBGsiC3DaFuyV93axX1YkIfHUBD4qWPK8ZeYooKxbx4H0pZREyyaitbYqC9mv5I4jChYRzwgfagyTs5WWAN9u2P9zSQ-yCuXoxsBsSYJl24BGdxPgzX4M_duWVrqjAetbjxDUxt7DHrGBWvlxxaRVUPEWM_EwS8w=s2232" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgf7pAQdhZNSmgEtbM1g_Bw90xmG-xKeNerG2iTdUbxy7zA4WvbAAJlfp6sDCPC6vSW0fhUXQr1-NE6z6E2LF4NfCwnwAsizFu6pQABk3MIav5rOCxxZT5NxXGgHvLV9fhrovVLKu2xEBzwf_OC-X01lDc8TRdO9wTsW6UV2Pz1xi6Jw6N-Uw=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBa_86G84xqoYFWwpR3uUkdwGJc7YsPbHEVHBQWbfYFylPNEEiWXr5sc1pPREoTmgHCYWxQkJIPEiOs_ICeWoLsgt6-8v4hHg7WPQy4LKPVHxbq8uFXUIYU_rWW6y--e4eJrcuccDBhBJlOdcXroZmJh-bsxcVFUL_Ni_2dvani64jmHlcHg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBa_86G84xqoYFWwpR3uUkdwGJc7YsPbHEVHBQWbfYFylPNEEiWXr5sc1pPREoTmgHCYWxQkJIPEiOs_ICeWoLsgt6-8v4hHg7WPQy4LKPVHxbq8uFXUIYU_rWW6y--e4eJrcuccDBhBJlOdcXroZmJh-bsxcVFUL_Ni_2dvani64jmHlcHg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYPmoXkJSY-dp_67x3PIw0bgjmCy8h8tFY1BIo1pGY24R8KiI_x96IlFbxFAkoeT0mcoa6_6ldDJGOu7ryeRNaJ8GkHw4wcOnCd25KPzrLR07wzVsL49GDHwJY-01bKIpwJ61QZa5UN8HTnwZG_lOg99wKWTS0mcRKJHvlzf8pC9Bo2kLjUw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYPmoXkJSY-dp_67x3PIw0bgjmCy8h8tFY1BIo1pGY24R8KiI_x96IlFbxFAkoeT0mcoa6_6ldDJGOu7ryeRNaJ8GkHw4wcOnCd25KPzrLR07wzVsL49GDHwJY-01bKIpwJ61QZa5UN8HTnwZG_lOg99wKWTS0mcRKJHvlzf8pC9Bo2kLjUw=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgi4ipeI5G4nHfx2HnIpbOaqBHbQ08AK6bWRrhEUDVkL_K1C3J37s9iH_iTlv-CPkntYq5QmJwJvPYVAOjVpA-1MJBIWZQ0FEM2i9UZ_8W0kbjj8PU_O_58DOaoZBViTTRIYc2DfAW66uCezcthHa-l7b7Ou8VNysRo1rQd1k6WjMak0-3LSg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgi4ipeI5G4nHfx2HnIpbOaqBHbQ08AK6bWRrhEUDVkL_K1C3J37s9iH_iTlv-CPkntYq5QmJwJvPYVAOjVpA-1MJBIWZQ0FEM2i9UZ_8W0kbjj8PU_O_58DOaoZBViTTRIYc2DfAW66uCezcthHa-l7b7Ou8VNysRo1rQd1k6WjMak0-3LSg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Her elegiac installation "Spirited Away" encompasses 60 individual motifs that have taken flight, or are being blown, across the five large windows of the gallery. Seen on the night of the opening, they had a very different aspect than during the day, occupying a reflected space.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYYn2TujQmvl0o_5kdatUry6Lu7GsLGbkceMWa0Ex8sKxR-NASOuFSe7QTiFpB_2r_ESleC_fX6_sJAALGjoyBi6BimnZM4iUaF1aAqa86sL5tJPux_Q7XPfrHc9Q1p1Q3sYo9Ze6o9DUSpwEeIeYu8e8D69-9nEdDEpIXG8h9HB1ZG2oQDQ=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYYn2TujQmvl0o_5kdatUry6Lu7GsLGbkceMWa0Ex8sKxR-NASOuFSe7QTiFpB_2r_ESleC_fX6_sJAALGjoyBi6BimnZM4iUaF1aAqa86sL5tJPux_Q7XPfrHc9Q1p1Q3sYo9Ze6o9DUSpwEeIeYu8e8D69-9nEdDEpIXG8h9HB1ZG2oQDQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibV165DICV6bPEE-lhiHMP-enfzSnhGe6GzgMUePaATgA57SWZDTTVJuf36ZaSbcZ1TPUhEbN9nQKLNiU-F0sX6mKdH6TEMRPdtibwgOc-BghLu_Vrmep0oXNj78IekcXK44_vLEqkLN-m5YY3nOjH94jsVHfQeQAJe7Ua6ZJ4UCWi-uAwvg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibV165DICV6bPEE-lhiHMP-enfzSnhGe6GzgMUePaATgA57SWZDTTVJuf36ZaSbcZ1TPUhEbN9nQKLNiU-F0sX6mKdH6TEMRPdtibwgOc-BghLu_Vrmep0oXNj78IekcXK44_vLEqkLN-m5YY3nOjH94jsVHfQeQAJe7Ua6ZJ4UCWi-uAwvg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn7BeGJocXr597iiG0edfNdlM5gdHfNldw1S1lNI88W31LSz8kC8NSh2YqPcWqLVB34BTCcZB38aq69J2qQXGM5MQNDhu2tadpCGksnB7vOK_I8I83Em8NvXckuCOJYj1Jm4euPdRZGg5_8xEAkeGVz3tUvCjGNN1n0MPDywZaE3Fggi94BQ=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn7BeGJocXr597iiG0edfNdlM5gdHfNldw1S1lNI88W31LSz8kC8NSh2YqPcWqLVB34BTCcZB38aq69J2qQXGM5MQNDhu2tadpCGksnB7vOK_I8I83Em8NvXckuCOJYj1Jm4euPdRZGg5_8xEAkeGVz3tUvCjGNN1n0MPDywZaE3Fggi94BQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqCpE_6KB3jv8q9KN1f6TWn7azwwLfd38WR25ZjCc25MX4bRn-4Hnx7Zkw_nSRcnem4g_Dg2L4iR8yydwfGitnK2Lu_Bwr0NOt83jthnsPRO5O2iENYrjJFemsgigoFerR7yxyY1G_vxxnPPmBaY9qXbT_PvrD3hutxyQVc10kend0pxUJlA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqCpE_6KB3jv8q9KN1f6TWn7azwwLfd38WR25ZjCc25MX4bRn-4Hnx7Zkw_nSRcnem4g_Dg2L4iR8yydwfGitnK2Lu_Bwr0NOt83jthnsPRO5O2iENYrjJFemsgigoFerR7yxyY1G_vxxnPPmBaY9qXbT_PvrD3hutxyQVc10kend0pxUJlA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next up, Part Three- Barbara Klunder</div><br /><br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-32898906629419354812021-11-11T12:15:00.011-08:002021-11-15T16:14:27.157-08:00Triple Thread: (Part One - Heather Cameron)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhktKqr0zEgAaYBpC1hxcCVC2sj1Eo35rRbwRKckoIx_RELX2b7f92gn2TyZDU0WEgG3Vx3tX69nQQ1FxN-Ik7tbpOiKsUD0H6LlQjeIrKTzyoiROKjavw4W3p964POLRmPJN7TvOcG9UhRhS7_GJuyFj6HM8nXP0hYsmL51LzSrGLTdClmjQ=s2980" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2980" data-original-width="1055" height="918" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhktKqr0zEgAaYBpC1hxcCVC2sj1Eo35rRbwRKckoIx_RELX2b7f92gn2TyZDU0WEgG3Vx3tX69nQQ1FxN-Ik7tbpOiKsUD0H6LlQjeIrKTzyoiROKjavw4W3p964POLRmPJN7TvOcG9UhRhS7_GJuyFj6HM8nXP0hYsmL51LzSrGLTdClmjQ=w324-h918" width="324" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This show happened last weekend. I still feel exhausted, but all agreed it was a great success. We had around 300 visitors over the three days, which is kind of incredible for a small island. There was a truly lovely positive energy both given and received.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdZvLk4SXz8sFQzVcBHzjVTpiDBVTmXdl6ycfowwWdIaiGESalm-JBjuaijfdE2PZIU_aq6SMvgg9ZTR1FcANIqM53-hMJ20VVdotRa4-YJZiq7bCGfsyHj9NIzn2QYr4jdY2J0NR3dNQ_acGHjSZVYYYcRYHz0fC4wDuS3Pbyv_i8dFW7Dw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1543" data-original-width="2048" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdZvLk4SXz8sFQzVcBHzjVTpiDBVTmXdl6ycfowwWdIaiGESalm-JBjuaijfdE2PZIU_aq6SMvgg9ZTR1FcANIqM53-hMJ20VVdotRa4-YJZiq7bCGfsyHj9NIzn2QYr4jdY2J0NR3dNQ_acGHjSZVYYYcRYHz0fC4wDuS3Pbyv_i8dFW7Dw=w640-h482" width="640" /></a></div><p>My side of the show. From left to right: <i>Atropos</i>; <i>Back & Forth, Between</i>; <i>Victor's Coat</i>. All 2021.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNbBHpyl0lTw0OzkG73Lz965h3X4Y0rK-3T8Kk2F8FUiikAOZQ-sIODObtysM77kf-1JSt6wgM3oDNUuqfTUqwWfb3IGt_T_FNjvWOuENBhR6UwPlWWzCO69qFhOdQ_7VySFWEB7SFpLTLkV7AY_JW8q3zQSgpaur-nMWKzofoI2gk2U_gAQ=s1898" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1898" data-original-width="1847" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNbBHpyl0lTw0OzkG73Lz965h3X4Y0rK-3T8Kk2F8FUiikAOZQ-sIODObtysM77kf-1JSt6wgM3oDNUuqfTUqwWfb3IGt_T_FNjvWOuENBhR6UwPlWWzCO69qFhOdQ_7VySFWEB7SFpLTLkV7AY_JW8q3zQSgpaur-nMWKzofoI2gk2U_gAQ=w622-h640" width="622" /></a></div><i>Back & Forth, Between</i> (2021) 2 panels, each 36" x70". Hand cut and stitched wool felt inlay, silk thread. <p></p><p>The meeting place where the two elements touch looks blurry in photographs. The green thread provides a fizz of energy but also enhances the optical effect of simultaneous contrast. Do you see the word?</p><p>I also gratefully acknowledge the support of the <a href="https://www.bcartscouncil.ca">BC Arts Council</a> and <a href="https://thefeltstore.ca">The Felt Store</a> in the creation of this work.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOy6Cy9G_Se1iZl71GShlz0Osca5GGiDjyTSbLMnYajjfX7hNEm6TbvVHW1HL3pykQfwhxXpyrznPMqfI9BrqDW8UaQMq_FimEH3O6zqxXwuxnkd8cU4Y7nzXutwO8z0rev8VohVmGeKq_sbBF7rPnu4hEX5t1zDGRZ7o5PzhVyNKQogEqeQ=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOy6Cy9G_Se1iZl71GShlz0Osca5GGiDjyTSbLMnYajjfX7hNEm6TbvVHW1HL3pykQfwhxXpyrznPMqfI9BrqDW8UaQMq_FimEH3O6zqxXwuxnkd8cU4Y7nzXutwO8z0rev8VohVmGeKq_sbBF7rPnu4hEX5t1zDGRZ7o5PzhVyNKQogEqeQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgB3LFlDaG8MV1NXtVFVInoasJkPNmJ7dXI6skSmeSkLoBE5k93UPhJpnAr6kDVM5Gn0grKNOz78AayIwbbyZliMwRBeb3Pi5RSWPZ4IvjszjOBhsPuimxnmcJH9qgaR-NNV6RA1kgOhhyCI60V8MyXBla8lTb9cCjAH1m-Ju_q-8B2xIUIDw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgB3LFlDaG8MV1NXtVFVInoasJkPNmJ7dXI6skSmeSkLoBE5k93UPhJpnAr6kDVM5Gn0grKNOz78AayIwbbyZliMwRBeb3Pi5RSWPZ4IvjszjOBhsPuimxnmcJH9qgaR-NNV6RA1kgOhhyCI60V8MyXBla8lTb9cCjAH1m-Ju_q-8B2xIUIDw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifGy1r-ciHX9_w0B0_xIH9yFd4mFXCUjHnTKH3EC_GHozSPKun80V6bjAOFJ0XFP_5N6fyl--uhcyrKLU7H9CIwxv5C2N9FC708gTW8bBXnJWSh1sLblwNuBf4UJ1y9WtsnT61RPhPdjHMRPET-fERZz4kqpG-4FN60sEQyrN33ag8aU7YKw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1195" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifGy1r-ciHX9_w0B0_xIH9yFd4mFXCUjHnTKH3EC_GHozSPKun80V6bjAOFJ0XFP_5N6fyl--uhcyrKLU7H9CIwxv5C2N9FC708gTW8bBXnJWSh1sLblwNuBf4UJ1y9WtsnT61RPhPdjHMRPET-fERZz4kqpG-4FN60sEQyrN33ag8aU7YKw=w374-h640" width="374" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Atropos was one of the three <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fates">Fates</a> - the one who cut the thread of life. It is an assemblage of found objects, serendipitously enhanced by the pre-existing clock. The giant scissors are stationer's shears, designed for cutting a sheet of paper in one efficient snip.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgg-Th8xFY2XWowHgR0aIyOB98uNwzwz0VDMcwNuTKwqgO4mQXx6deITSKtwMcczRuRHrsdz_rrlPCYzgwdBzd5BbLmsUlVC2toQz20YahdFQECCaksS20bo6HFoS0czL_uGRvseOd1LkP15uV164znd1ZJSv496lj_LEAQY8YsuYQUP0ZuEQ=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1179" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgg-Th8xFY2XWowHgR0aIyOB98uNwzwz0VDMcwNuTKwqgO4mQXx6deITSKtwMcczRuRHrsdz_rrlPCYzgwdBzd5BbLmsUlVC2toQz20YahdFQECCaksS20bo6HFoS0czL_uGRvseOd1LkP15uV164znd1ZJSv496lj_LEAQY8YsuYQUP0ZuEQ=w368-h640" width="368" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Victor's Coat (2021) Found coat, hand stitched with wool and cotton threads, wool felt appliqué. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The story of the piece can be found <a href="http://truestitches.blogspot.com/2021/10/victors-coat.html">here</a>.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3cXvzaj3S_vwyPodOLiLpSFEGBYUzm7IC64_eIol1xP05Dg_QW0QVhmd2IIqhk1ScVjdVVEOla5gFF14tOzQpe5N8drTh-gRwprqVXgsfg-WdC-k2f_Tbr-y_GLmz7kYejUwOiTY14_uvKdOyxfITfheIFxjVrywrtEk0WyuGprvcSW8Dbg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3cXvzaj3S_vwyPodOLiLpSFEGBYUzm7IC64_eIol1xP05Dg_QW0QVhmd2IIqhk1ScVjdVVEOla5gFF14tOzQpe5N8drTh-gRwprqVXgsfg-WdC-k2f_Tbr-y_GLmz7kYejUwOiTY14_uvKdOyxfITfheIFxjVrywrtEk0WyuGprvcSW8Dbg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p>Quite a few elements have been added since that post.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxBOT-fWNZbjyNvyYxpNJAkCJ3zWeVQtV7T2ahH_VAIbOYmz_UBh-xNBVlwxDrFoB-asNCYwXOgODVNE8qx6A1Vmm5bc5YfV7cVUPgDrgz9z8BoMnW76Zx1bwoOWyqKGBFT7bw4FqaNi4v3U2uj1-MlEm1LNdlgLZekxkW2oJfsv8WKNykYA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxBOT-fWNZbjyNvyYxpNJAkCJ3zWeVQtV7T2ahH_VAIbOYmz_UBh-xNBVlwxDrFoB-asNCYwXOgODVNE8qx6A1Vmm5bc5YfV7cVUPgDrgz9z8BoMnW76Zx1bwoOWyqKGBFT7bw4FqaNi4v3U2uj1-MlEm1LNdlgLZekxkW2oJfsv8WKNykYA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><p>I added a Tennessee Warbler to the lapel, as Victor was a birder, a singer, and hailed from Nashville.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFjjrkaUg2HQkoZoqBu-WXD5kjlsdyozlvLmI_IrIOa5ZUA5jyMfIN8XWFuVKGDzei9gyZUp3MYL9-nBAXkrR6Vv1RjxyNtfkTrbheIA-co3RDI1-HZo0IUk3Jn_qmrJMhGYVmkM5OE9DF7EyFEvQfeOp9JWinJpiSoNX1jF13hF0lwMJbrA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFjjrkaUg2HQkoZoqBu-WXD5kjlsdyozlvLmI_IrIOa5ZUA5jyMfIN8XWFuVKGDzei9gyZUp3MYL9-nBAXkrR6Vv1RjxyNtfkTrbheIA-co3RDI1-HZo0IUk3Jn_qmrJMhGYVmkM5OE9DF7EyFEvQfeOp9JWinJpiSoNX1jF13hF0lwMJbrA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p>At Victor's memorial there was a pair of tiny cowboy boots from when he was a child - he had called them his "baby boots".</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjFnSttSqnFhPFf1J807lCYh7d4ctqcxZA979wFEFs-s_d88rAgazKwsTW70r6902BfvvtULm4QVfMTTm__yH2HEwDpOgwQWWz6ci1SDe7w2leBIGe1eopMAVrGNWZx42wasP_jxChiGZyF9ldIIXP7twEEpPtH4x8IKTB_232rQtqFTRe9A=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1627" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjFnSttSqnFhPFf1J807lCYh7d4ctqcxZA979wFEFs-s_d88rAgazKwsTW70r6902BfvvtULm4QVfMTTm__yH2HEwDpOgwQWWz6ci1SDe7w2leBIGe1eopMAVrGNWZx42wasP_jxChiGZyF9ldIIXP7twEEpPtH4x8IKTB_232rQtqFTRe9A=w508-h640" width="508" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The piece was definitely a presence in the room. I was very happy that the Gabriola Museum accepted my offer to donate the coat to their collection.<div><br /></div><div>Next up: Triple Thread (Part Two) - Tawny Maclachlan Capon<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-14487930280746344142021-10-13T13:01:00.024-07:002021-10-23T16:38:45.170-07:00Victor's Coat<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIJqdLpAg91L1rmMgFLt5XjOs9073MTp-nANttC2Z720eBUrXSSl964smJw7VkNZYI68BJr85Nyfoj-3dTjnp9F2QsJzTLlrejJIzBpacXsAGDQOwwDJrd0_BuqfwjURwIzC_T1ei1pfkcqjtlSym4Vfx7l2up4GiXi7hsmQ_YvqUP5weRIg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1176" data-original-width="2048" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIJqdLpAg91L1rmMgFLt5XjOs9073MTp-nANttC2Z720eBUrXSSl964smJw7VkNZYI68BJr85Nyfoj-3dTjnp9F2QsJzTLlrejJIzBpacXsAGDQOwwDJrd0_BuqfwjURwIzC_T1ei1pfkcqjtlSym4Vfx7l2up4GiXi7hsmQ_YvqUP5weRIg=w400-h230" width="400" /></a></div><br /> Once there was a man, a man who lived on an island in the Salish Sea. His name was Victor, and he was a true Southern gentleman, full of warmth and wit and song. He came from Tennessee, and lived in a little house with his beautiful wife Joelle.<p></p><p>I felt lucky to know him, and every time we met I was reminded that the world was a better place because of Victor's presence. When he died, the whole island was bereft.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4CRLE81XsAcxhbV2G-EpS1SHfajQWoL-h-_hdq3z_FD-ZkGjYBB-5pvOb9s3-fk5lgqn125w1OjtO8WSYiiDMvoW4zueoZjxz_Gwka6xHXbl1-MRB3iTSAcxWAkEy9pY_R4C7Too7gh69GqMVLie5-xaVPAsDSesoNWlygZoNnhbJb6AHhw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4CRLE81XsAcxhbV2G-EpS1SHfajQWoL-h-_hdq3z_FD-ZkGjYBB-5pvOb9s3-fk5lgqn125w1OjtO8WSYiiDMvoW4zueoZjxz_Gwka6xHXbl1-MRB3iTSAcxWAkEy9pY_R4C7Too7gh69GqMVLie5-xaVPAsDSesoNWlygZoNnhbJb6AHhw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p>Joelle gave Victor's overcoat to my partner Alex. By then it was spring, and he put the coat away in a cupboard. When it turned cold again, he went to get it and found that moths had been dining on the fine cashmere. Such a precious coat deserved some tender loving care. I got my needle and thread, and began mending. Those were some very hungry moths.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPu6qhtuXqSEhi350gXe14h3GC4UDlRxrsV2Lvl53sdjxTYJxMOdCxf2EdDhcd65J01JDX70L4CGijDSmCqSA6cdrXaJhlCdGs0c0CbS-ezTloWcktEXAtdKZpJSnB0jPXUWFwjf1WvflqZ99D6nuO1MDYCfYqHp5aqqUnTk6rU1agtWudDg=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPu6qhtuXqSEhi350gXe14h3GC4UDlRxrsV2Lvl53sdjxTYJxMOdCxf2EdDhcd65J01JDX70L4CGijDSmCqSA6cdrXaJhlCdGs0c0CbS-ezTloWcktEXAtdKZpJSnB0jPXUWFwjf1WvflqZ99D6nuO1MDYCfYqHp5aqqUnTk6rU1agtWudDg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>One of the songs he was known for singing was George Gershwin's joyful "I've Got Rhythm." I added a line from that song to the fabric.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0x4tTE5tlTxjaeFm2YqsijbDLc7q6mmtfmg3dBL-hwLtCLyoo5yfKDjiIIyw7dyOOTTsx6ZwRBiZDtv-G4Ct06KJv4n59RTIdUF9TTltmCmpC6qiepTVVx2fma2_WUkP4AJTczbWb2-Wxss80_wBZrcrzG6ugLBRsTZxQC_Ac50BYu0S36A=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1484" data-original-width="2048" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0x4tTE5tlTxjaeFm2YqsijbDLc7q6mmtfmg3dBL-hwLtCLyoo5yfKDjiIIyw7dyOOTTsx6ZwRBiZDtv-G4Ct06KJv4n59RTIdUF9TTltmCmpC6qiepTVVx2fma2_WUkP4AJTczbWb2-Wxss80_wBZrcrzG6ugLBRsTZxQC_Ac50BYu0S36A=w400-h290" width="400" /></a></div><p>Victor's email address was "victorsez@*****.ca" I envisioned the coat covered with the unique expressions that he was known for, and asked the community for input, things they remembered him saying. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_hdOysOqIKxwbBvTz7WXV1i74NTO5rPk4niWSV5km0aaerdpVpbY__BlIqdOF_CVbwi8ZklP3pnAvPfUZvZSrLobyQ6N6OsbejNDJWZMjYkP_evjQ5NIckNoJ8CcnQ5T-l0teJv5gKBoaAg3__xogOFcxzClJhkRy0cVQmHencFeMkz9X3w=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="2048" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_hdOysOqIKxwbBvTz7WXV1i74NTO5rPk4niWSV5km0aaerdpVpbY__BlIqdOF_CVbwi8ZklP3pnAvPfUZvZSrLobyQ6N6OsbejNDJWZMjYkP_evjQ5NIckNoJ8CcnQ5T-l0teJv5gKBoaAg3__xogOFcxzClJhkRy0cVQmHencFeMkz9X3w=w400-h243" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbCetDK2NriQpcm2jq5Llfu-CXBENiRGd1W-cl3iJInwU_WMi0sc6ovoS5YrSdex4clbNZT4WLNIiLSuIHrdMGf-X0YkEjSrnzaqhSyRgZQT76J4Bmx6p9FnNvMGxhKpqqGlIZiswN5spGSInUyeN6fnWTJBplgcT9Pu6o110hHgpId9gVsA=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1318" data-original-width="2048" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbCetDK2NriQpcm2jq5Llfu-CXBENiRGd1W-cl3iJInwU_WMi0sc6ovoS5YrSdex4clbNZT4WLNIiLSuIHrdMGf-X0YkEjSrnzaqhSyRgZQT76J4Bmx6p9FnNvMGxhKpqqGlIZiswN5spGSInUyeN6fnWTJBplgcT9Pu6o110hHgpId9gVsA=w400-h258" width="400" /></a></div><p>As the words are added the coat is transformed from a plain, functional garment to the embodiment of memory. I will have the coat on display at my upcoming show (Triple Thread, with <a href="http://barbaraklunder.com">Barbara Klunder</a> and <a href="https://www.tawny.gallery">Tawny Maclachlan Capon</a>), and hope that some small magic will allow us to feel Victor's presence among us again.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7w39AhOFpS4trluE7TIy0rcXxu74ukuFq-x1-RIGb03M5epWznmaT9j5peuhSAzUtSEmRzA3rbFywGq3iC0vD5dIf-ThwbxNFfKc6ndUwy2glsdxbGN_xnh6fLeMBAxmn_mgF-y1UJBFtyYuskxE1Z78D8koeOJnH0NLQ_-W7GrSGYg5gyw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7w39AhOFpS4trluE7TIy0rcXxu74ukuFq-x1-RIGb03M5epWznmaT9j5peuhSAzUtSEmRzA3rbFywGq3iC0vD5dIf-ThwbxNFfKc6ndUwy2glsdxbGN_xnh6fLeMBAxmn_mgF-y1UJBFtyYuskxE1Z78D8koeOJnH0NLQ_-W7GrSGYg5gyw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Note: Every little stitch covers a hole. I used a multicoloured sock yarn for the stitching. There were a few areas that were completely chewed through, so I did reverse appliqués, using scraps of a cashmere shawl for the patches. </p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-34707043156084354702021-09-28T17:40:00.000-07:002021-09-28T17:40:11.429-07:00Sometimes You Just Have to Call It<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X20QRVIdey8/YVO072jIPDI/AAAAAAAAKAI/5ITfsaz_GMYs3ESU_nHTEXgXpHoI0D0OQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/B0967F53-2D83-4F5E-8896-4FC7F788C02E.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X20QRVIdey8/YVO072jIPDI/AAAAAAAAKAI/5ITfsaz_GMYs3ESU_nHTEXgXpHoI0D0OQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/B0967F53-2D83-4F5E-8896-4FC7F788C02E.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A wise artist knows her tools.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The nature of my work, and my nature in general, means that I usually have everything planned out before I begin. The conceptual phase is a huge part of my process, usually starting with a "What if?" and figuring it out from there. Once I know exactly how to proceed, I start working with the materials, and usually, there are no surprises.</p><p>But every once in a while, it all blows up in my face. When a piece doesn't work, it REALLY doesn't work. As discouraging as that is while it is happening, it can also lead to new directions and insight.</p><p>While working on my previous felt inlay pieces, I had the idea of inlaying the felt into a different material - perhaps wood? I had used doorskin, a thin plywood with a layer of veneer in the past and thought it could be exciting to combine the malleable wool felt with the more rigid wood - and they were the exact same thickness! </p><p>I ran to the hardware store and bought a Dremel tool, which my initial research showed could work to cut intricate shapes out of the plywood. My neighbour, who was a Dremel expert came over and had a look, and said nope, what you probably want is a jigsaw with a very fine blade. So I returned the Dremel, got a variable speed jigsaw, bought the doorskin, and proceeded to make practise cuts, and it all seemed to work just fine.</p><p>The thing was, I used the smaller offcuts to practise on. When I went to actually cut this intricate shape out of a 32" x 80" piece of rigid wood, I had to r-e-a-c-h, which meant I didn't have as much control as I needed. And the large piece of plywood couldn't be moved around to accommodate the variable contours of my design. </p><p>Without total control, and having to hold the saw in an awkward position, inevitably the power tool cut where it wasn't supposed to. And in spite of having a very fine toothed saw blade, the paper thin veneer splintered. I came back the next day and tried again. It was even worse.</p><p>So I asked myself the obvious question: "Why was I trying to make this rigid material do something that would be difficult even for very skilled woodworkers to achieve?" Even if I somehow managed to get a handle on the process, I would not be having any pleasure in the making. And that pleasure of making, of handling materials that reward touch, is one of the primary reasons I work with textiles.</p><p>So I called it. I may return to it in the future, if I figure out a better way to deal with the technical issues, but in the meantime I have a show coming up in a month and I had best spend my time doing something I know I can do effectively. So it's back to needle and thread, and generous, responsive, flexible wool.</p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-43736627753996965982021-09-01T17:27:00.004-07:002021-09-02T10:25:40.088-07:00In Knots<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QImf3ssO3c8/YTASo0_ATGI/AAAAAAAAJ_k/ZjRBtn8QMXMCpGi5JwmSYeq7Y00v5LwnACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/241107723_3005434509726422_7705579648480232789_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QImf3ssO3c8/YTASo0_ATGI/AAAAAAAAJ_k/ZjRBtn8QMXMCpGi5JwmSYeq7Y00v5LwnACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/241107723_3005434509726422_7705579648480232789_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I don't think I have ever seen an image like this in an embroidery instruction book. In fact, a conscientious stitcher would not be making knots in the first place. But when the piece is mounted on a 3 foot by 6 foot stretcher, one has to improvise.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xqn8NHANRl0/YTASySh--uI/AAAAAAAAJ_o/KPXjWtakgWQKq9xRRXl-aIcgAB_3u03FwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/241068633_242729784422589_4055502408337898963_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xqn8NHANRl0/YTASySh--uI/AAAAAAAAJ_o/KPXjWtakgWQKq9xRRXl-aIcgAB_3u03FwCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/241068633_242729784422589_4055502408337898963_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have to crawl under the piece at regular intervals to tie off my threads. If I don't, the ends get snarled up in nearby stitches and it is nasty. Maybe no one is going to look at the back of my work but I want it at least to be tidy. Here also is a rare opportunity to see the utter chaos I work in. I'll clean up after I finish the piece.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgJjX6agtwc/YTATJGxnxfI/AAAAAAAAJ_0/k9C-FBm9cQczXTg1i1cOIYK60_4dq1LXgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/13D14DC1-B049-458A-8812-1A7188D45BCF_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgJjX6agtwc/YTATJGxnxfI/AAAAAAAAJ_0/k9C-FBm9cQczXTg1i1cOIYK60_4dq1LXgCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/13D14DC1-B049-458A-8812-1A7188D45BCF_1_201_a.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am almost finished the second panel, only a week late. I have been very conscious of my process, and literally every single stitch is carefully made, and re-done if not up to standards. At the same time, there is wild variation in the length and spacing of the stitches - this is made by hand after all. I don't work linearly, but instead in bits and pieces over the whole surface. That way, there won't be "pooling" of stitches that are more slanted, or longer than the norm. I do find that as I work my stitches tend to get smaller and closer together and I have to make a real effort to keep them at the optimal 5/16" long and 1/8" apart. On re-reading that last line, I think maybe I need to get out more.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I read a conversation between <a href="https://believermag.com/logger/alison-bechdel-and-cheryl-strayed-in-conversation/?utm_source=The+Believer&utm_campaign=cff70e08c0-Renew+Your+Subscription_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_fcee9688a6-cff70e08c0-160060446&mc_cid=cff70e08c0&mc_eid=1c0ca6021e" target="_blank">Alison Bechdal and Cheryl Strayed</a> this morning. (I thought Alison's new book, The Secret of Super-Human Strength, was great, by the way.) In it Alison talks about drawing as being "touch-based transmission", an idea which I absolutely love. That is the essence of my embroidered work, I think, and why actually stitching the work myself rather than sending it to China to be done (as some have suggested) is so important. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My work is not easy. It is made consciously, with an open heart and loving hand. The process is as important, if not more, as the finished piece. The most common comment when people see my stuff is "There's a lot of work in that." The work is evident - I hope the care and attention is too.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-81008733240900743442021-07-21T16:19:00.057-07:002021-09-14T17:14:12.813-07:00Reciprocity<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pRYymPPKoUE/YPifgW0F7oI/AAAAAAAAJ-4/FS7j_Se3Nzc5j1oYjj7kAx5bc-Qhngv-QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/24A2564F-963C-4AC0-B2DC-BD739439A71B_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pRYymPPKoUE/YPifgW0F7oI/AAAAAAAAJ-4/FS7j_Se3Nzc5j1oYjj7kAx5bc-Qhngv-QCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/24A2564F-963C-4AC0-B2DC-BD739439A71B_1_201_a.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I began a new piece a couple of months ago. Similar to <a href="http://truestitches.blogspot.com/2020/11/beneath-surface-part-2-work.html" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">oneintotwotwointoone</a> from last year, this one is two different colours of wool felt inlay, joined with a green silk thread.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r69Ib8El-9M/YPifuSlpiDI/AAAAAAAAJ-8/G81gU-7ys5c0TXYijBWIHGoP3ryL1xauwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/18E8EBD4-CE6F-4DCE-B990-4097501797D5_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r69Ib8El-9M/YPifuSlpiDI/AAAAAAAAJ-8/G81gU-7ys5c0TXYijBWIHGoP3ryL1xauwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/18E8EBD4-CE6F-4DCE-B990-4097501797D5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>When I am done, I will have stitched approximately 14,000 stitches, about 8 stitches to the inch. Including the time taken to design, trace, and cut through the two layers of felt (with an X-Acto knife), I estimate the whole piece (2 panels) will take about 400 hours.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RruMTzjrBbs/YPifw3wMh0I/AAAAAAAAJ_E/h8yAzGZkxZUha-FhcyGsaUzMTkm0t9GdwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5318F438-D9C9-49D8-BFA7-3B4EB903C7DB_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1033" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RruMTzjrBbs/YPifw3wMh0I/AAAAAAAAJ_E/h8yAzGZkxZUha-FhcyGsaUzMTkm0t9GdwCLcBGAsYHQ/w323-h640/5318F438-D9C9-49D8-BFA7-3B4EB903C7DB_1_201_a.jpeg" width="323" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first panel is finished. Hand cut and stitched wool felt inlay, silk thread, 36"x70"<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>It's a major commitment of time and attention, with very few exciting moments. I wouldn't say it is exactly meditative, as stitching through the thick, dense felt doesn't "flow" - it is more of a process of poking around with the needle until it is in the right place and I can push it through with the help of a thimble. Also, I work in quiet, no music or podcasts for me. So why do I do it?</div><div><p></p><p>Somehow, I feel this work is necessary. Not that the world needs more stuff in it, but perhaps it does need more care and attention, more trust that our best efforts will heal on some level. The world needs mending. The optical shimmer that happens when the piece is held vertically gives me a thrill -- it does what I hoped it would, which is to energize the edges where the two separate elements touch. The point of contact between light and dark, the fresh green of new life.</p><p>I am also thinking about a conversation I had last night with some artist friends, where we were bemoaning how the arts have been systematically disenfranchised and underfunded by governments since the 1990's. I wonder how my work on this project functions as in the context of labour. My own physical and creative labour is an essential element of my art-making, yet I can easily charge $25/hour for mending and alterations, while I make about $10/hour for the same skills used in a less "functional" form.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A9gsQ35Wfsw/YPipb2hjoFI/AAAAAAAAJ_Q/hOpWmgNuiVIcsjwJPZQdqS0O1d6ZpshcACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/FD6EA16C-87AC-414C-9173-8D16CA3C41F5_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A9gsQ35Wfsw/YPipb2hjoFI/AAAAAAAAJ_Q/hOpWmgNuiVIcsjwJPZQdqS0O1d6ZpshcACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/FD6EA16C-87AC-414C-9173-8D16CA3C41F5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Now I start the second panel, the reverse of the first. Maybe I will have it all figured out by the time I am done - hopefully by the end of August!</p><p>I gratefully acknowledge the support of the BC Arts Council and<a href="https://thefeltstore.ca" target="_blank"> The Felt Store.<br /> </a></p></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-86484800707857527582021-07-07T10:21:00.045-07:002021-07-12T10:06:24.247-07:00A Wee Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a5LZ5BPiH4Q/YOXhdRfg72I/AAAAAAAAJ-U/YDuWvzje-igwhg7q_S_LoNI8ENy7Q5zcwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/357E17B6-6AC6-4D8B-8403-03ED99A95403.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1551" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a5LZ5BPiH4Q/YOXhdRfg72I/AAAAAAAAJ-U/YDuWvzje-igwhg7q_S_LoNI8ENy7Q5zcwCLcBGAsYHQ/w303-h400/357E17B6-6AC6-4D8B-8403-03ED99A95403.jpeg" width="303" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Wheesht: Creative Making in Uncertain Times, 2021 (2<sup>nd</sup> edition)by Kate Davies, Makadu Press, Edinburgh</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br />Thank goodness this lovely book arrived in the mail yesterday. Otherwise I would be grumpily reviewing The Patrick Melrose Novels, about the horrendous behaviour of the British aristocracy, and who needs that?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br />The word “Wheesht” may be unfamiliar to you, as it comes from Scots dialect, and means to be quiet, to hush, to remain silent. To “haud one’s wheesht” means to hold one’s tongue. Now, what could that possibly have to do with being creative? Quite a lot, as it would seem, as Davies advocates conscious practices of mending, getting lost, setting limits, doubting, paying attention to place, elevating others - deliberately NOT blowing one’s own horn.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br />This might seem a little unambitious for the creative soul, but Davies makes the point early on that creativity comes from working with what you’ve got, rather than paying big bucks for dream cruises with your favourite painter or investing in a complete set of fancy lenses for your camera. And she has walked the walk, literally. At the age of 36, she had a severe stroke, which required that she give up her career as a literary theorist, and learn to walk and talk again. </span></div><p style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DuvDTDGs8hQ/YOXhrBU5c_I/AAAAAAAAJ-Y/xhRs9KSbjz8WFSSe89h5SAIUNY_iUd0YQCLcBGAsYHQ/s860/0418B01E-DE47-4422-82C0-1B864A4F5F00.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="860" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DuvDTDGs8hQ/YOXhrBU5c_I/AAAAAAAAJ-Y/xhRs9KSbjz8WFSSe89h5SAIUNY_iUd0YQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/0418B01E-DE47-4422-82C0-1B864A4F5F00.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Author Kate Davies - photo by Tom Barr<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">The most valuable part of this book may be her many references to artists, poets and musicians who used their disabilities to create new works that transcended what they might have done if fully abled. The twelve chapters are full of case studies of familiar artists with disabilities: Frida Kahlo, Dame Evelyn Glennie, Matisse – and other artists who created innovative new work while facing depression, grief, and old age: Alice Coltrane, Brahms, Mary Delany. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">It is the "Uncertain Times" of the subtitle that lead to the broader value of this book. While her examples are primarily people dealing with physical challenges, we all are experiencing, one way or another, the current existential crisis of climate change and the repercussions of COVID. As a friend said to me yesterday, "Every act of creativity is a positive step towards our collective future."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Each chapter ends with a creative assignment or three, and an on-theme diversion. There is an emphasis on play, putting self-judgement aside, being curious, using other senses. Davies states from the outset that this book is a quirky guide – she realizes that her reader may not agree with what she says, or want to follow her assignments – and she is a gentle, philosophical taskmaster. Her own story shows that she learned much from the abrupt end of her academic life: after her stroke, she used knitting as a form of rehab, which led to a small business designing knitwear, creating opportunities for people with disabilities, and even modelling.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">My only complaint about “Wheesht” is that the links to online resources seem to only work for British or European readers, but a little Googling solves that. The book is self-published, and available from <a href="https://kddandco.com/" style="color: navy;">https://kddandco.com</a> (if you want to browse her whole website) or from <a href="https://www.wheeshtbook.com/" style="color: navy;">https://www.wheeshtbook.com</a>. (It cost about $20 and arrived surprisingly quickly.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">(This review was originally written for the Gabriola Arts Council Newsletter, July 7, 2021.)</span></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28288094.post-27031853173988868892021-04-18T13:41:00.011-07:002021-04-18T13:55:35.805-07:00A Foolscap Errand<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ddv8G0SW2xE/YHyTO0ez0vI/AAAAAAAAJ58/k20_jR6ELC8oReZ5MhxaspfZdgLYQFG8QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/D35EA4BA-947A-40C9-9E96-98A71CE1A03C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1297" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ddv8G0SW2xE/YHyTO0ez0vI/AAAAAAAAJ58/k20_jR6ELC8oReZ5MhxaspfZdgLYQFG8QCLcBGAsYHQ/w406-h640/D35EA4BA-947A-40C9-9E96-98A71CE1A03C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="406" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>Above, an actual piece of foolscap from 1985, which my mother found amongst her memorabilia. A thousand curses upon Blogger for hiding/discarding the caption option.</span></div><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505;"><div style="background-color: #f0f2f5; font-size: 15px;"><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: white;">I thought it would be a simple mission. I needed a few sheets of old school foolscap for an art piece. Not only was I unsuccessful, it became clear that simply asking for such a thing rendered me a fossil. The foolscap we used in elementary school, circa the last century, was a particular size - 8 inches by 13 inches - based on archaic British standards. Dear <a href="https://albedoarlee2.wordpress.com" target="_blank">Arlee Barr</a> found the following description of why it is that size: </span></span><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><blockquote style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #424242;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="color: #050505;">"In the middle ages, contracts were drawn up on a large sheet of paper, and both parties signed. Then the paper was cut or torn in two, in a ragged fashion, and one half given to each party. The ragged cut/tear was unique to that particular contract, and if there was any dispute the two parties would each bring their half before a judge who would first make sure the two halves lined up perfectly. If they did, then he knew he was looking at the real contract. If not, then he knew one party at least had altered their half.</span> </span></span></span></span></blockquote><blockquote style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt;">The paper was referred to as “folio capa” which over the years was shortened in speech to folioscapa and eventually transliterated to foolscap. Of course, the watermark came late in this process, and was a symbol of a fool’s cap."</span></span></span></blockquote><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_ghE1mkELXM/YHyWAotbgMI/AAAAAAAAJ6E/oRk2-zShhfYCnd4Webg6rIdeMMsdaorWgCLcBGAsYHQ/s600/foolscap.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="600" height="325" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_ghE1mkELXM/YHyWAotbgMI/AAAAAAAAJ6E/oRk2-zShhfYCnd4Webg6rIdeMMsdaorWgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h325/foolscap.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">These are some responses from my call for foolscap on a local community page:</div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">Try an office supply store.</span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">8 X 13 is quite a bizarre measurement. I suspect you are going to have a very tough time finding that size. Good luck.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Is this different than 8.5x14 legal?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">I bought a pad of yellow stuff like that at the drug store recently.</span></div><p><span style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">Can you just print some?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">Wow, I forgot this stuff was a thing!</span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">There are templates for ruled paper online. That is what I use.</span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif" style="background-color: #f0f2f5; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></p><blockquote><p><br /></p></blockquote><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div></div></div></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188002198879523397noreply@blogger.com0