Before quilting I never created art with much wisdom about color. Since college, my understanding of the rendering world has solely been in black and white. Even when donning a large flat brush and pthalo blue from the tube, my approach with color was about its value not hue. Thinking about my older works over the past few minutes, I find those pieces failing if not but for that simple focus. In graduate school, I remember trying to move out of that practice. As an experiment, I decided to choose one hue and mine the possibilities for months by keeping the local chroma from the tube and pairing it with black and white. Thus my penchant for making marks may be a fight against painterly uses of color and emotional exploration through pairing hues. I love making marks. I love Cy Twombly. I am a groupie for Franz Kline. Those works I made, whether derivative or not, are strong. Their composition is solid. Yet, as a painter, aren’t I supposed to have this unhealthy passion for the impressionists? Well, I am at least suppose to pause for the abstract expressionist, don’t ya think? Well, that would be putting me back in the mark making category and as a painter I am supposed to paint with swashbuckling energy across large canvases, aren’t I? Motherwell is supposed to be a joke, right? (God forbid.) Not to forget that extreme detail is the prevue of a camera. So, thus and so, I am lost in being a painter means to exhaustively use color. Well, sad to say, I failed that presumption long ago. One color, black, and white can only lend to discovery in wood block printing. I might as well lock up the oil paints temporarily and enroll in some community college for a semester or three.
So, now I confess color as my handicap for twenty years. I didn’t take it all lying down. I committed to experiments here and there. A few years ago I yielded to my neighbor’s insights to a quilt I was piecing by telling me to include warm colors. “It’ll be attractive to more people,” he said. To him the blues, blacks, and white made it so cold. Psychologically clinical is that space by the window where I work. My neighbor let in a little simple sunshine. The quilt won no ribbons, but it is one of the hardest things I have done to date. Now I learn from neighbor to let color be symbolic and intuitive. Also, inclusion of color does not have to be planned to the hilt. Choose color like it is a regular part of your environment. Come back to your body and nature manifest. Color need not be so complex. I turn my head to find my book on Kandinsky and sigh. I am still lost. Need I set coloring my visions aside to learn what color does optically? It may be the third pass, but I might.
One of my quilting friends from years ago told me my color palette was black, white, brown, red, and blue as she selected a piece of fabric out of the free bin at a quilt retreat. Every color she said was in the clipped piece of yardage that she handed to me. At her words, I was shocked and confused. At home I looked things over. I could not argue. Mind you, this color family I am mired in is a result of my stash. Another point is that I fear I must be pairing fabrics without much consideration except to similar families. In my mind, I thought that I had failed some quilting rule. Honestly, with the last stitch, what I pair never looks as good as what is in the quilt store. I am haunted by a double wedding ring that hung in the shop for over a year. That was five years ago. It may still be there. There are books and classes for learning color in quilting. Mother gives me snippet lessons. All reds match. All blues do not. I am looking over at the chair and notice that the quilt there and on my bed are both made of hues of blue, white, black, brown, and red accents. I made my bed. I might as well get in feet first and feel for depth before getting any more comfortable.
Letting a little bit of instinct, rule the roost this year may be the best approach to jump start plans for quilting. Still, as for what I have planned through 2020, I am not likely to pull a magic hue combination out any time soon. I am at the mercy of what I can purchase and what I have been given. I think getting to know my stash intimately may prove the best approach and supplement with what is needed. In new designs, not everything need be a beggar one-piece. Yet, an economy of cuts is where I may be going. Right now I have the time to be attentive to that detail. It may just be a matter of slowing down and calming my nerves.
Aside: One fear that wells up every few year is rejection as a quilter for not being able to purchase quilter’s cottons and a machine that produces an excellent finish. I have to remember that it is not all about the money you put in to a quilt. Skill and discipline are obvious no matter the thread or yardage. That is where I have got to sit in order to make it through these day dreams of winning a blue ribbon. In the beginning I made my first submission under the understanding that I just wanted to show. Ribbons and accolades cannot be my focus if I want to continue long term. They would just wear down my drive. With that I am mindful that I have more designs to draft and tops to quilt. My work is here in this room. The grace part of it is that it is my work and not someone else’s. I finally reached the point of working for myself by realizing all the fear and self-assurance that comes with making one’s own. Yes, dear. This is me realizing I am an artist with all the worries and dreams in-between.
~As ever, stay hungry and curious.