Believe or not, I'm about to watch television, well, a movie with mom. My pick from the cupboard next to the Indian is Mona Lisa Smile with Julia Roberts. If I read it correctly, she plays an art history instructor. I'm Jones'in to watch Art School Confidential again. I wonder if it is on netflicks. Anyway, off to feed the intellect with a chick flick a la carte art. Popcorn and lime aid included.
As ever, stay hungry and curious. Don't mind me so much. I'm a little discombobulated and sated from a bowl of chicken and rice with yellow curry, not to mention my emotions are a little warn. The good thing is I'm still on track and hold to the plan for dear life. The structure of my days seems to be falling apart. Chalk it up to preparing for the craft bazaar on this Saturday, October 3. I've got electronic checks and packing to do. At least the product is finito. Well, scratch that, I have to package the coloring books and we go to print I think tomorrow. I might as well keep everything at a minimum and easy through till next week. A check list is definitely in order.
Meanwhile, I've been clinging to sewing the mola panels for Medicine Quilt III. I am eight panels deep and at this point I could do this in my sleep. What I know is I need more short sharps to turn that 1/8" better. I found quilting sharps at JoAnn. I still haven't opened the package. I assume they will work just as well as buying in betweens for the same task. I have yet to think through buying the exact equipment I need for a particular task. Accumulating tools as I can afford them has been the rule of the day for decades. On the list is buying higher grade sharps from online stores. I read about one woman buying from a big box store and the sharps would not separate the weave of the fabric. She was stabbing and tearing the image. The long and short of it is that the new needles were blunt. For the past few months I've been living under that horror or snags, burrs, and tears. I keep going cause the work must continue, but I still remain cautious till I can get a more professional tool for the job. Next on my list is to find my sketch of bear sign on a tall pine tree. I reduced the photograph to mark making and put it away for safe keeping. Medicine Quilt III is covered in bird sign, but integrating another nuance to the overall design is bugging me. The naive in me wants a greater variance and more elements of interest. The wise woman in me says stick to first principles and the creative beginning that started this quilt. The sketch reaches into Modern Quilting in a way, which is hot at the moment. Still, I really have no business courting fad and current fashion. My sources are raw nature and the ancients. Beyond that there is something telling about skill in the repetition of a single motif for runs framing a large space. If I can maintain this tack for a few more months the center will be done. I do not want to bulldoze it, because I am learning something of patience and discipline with every stitch. Yeah, you could call the studio is my own little dojo. Handwork is amazing to me. Like the first few months learning how to paint. Controlling brush strokes, before I experimented with mark making, was difficult. The tools I use as extensions of my body was a hard concept. Then I understood the magic from the artist's standpoint. Here I am now with needle and thread learning a new discipline. May the discoveries never end. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Last minute new business I thought you should know:
1. Watch the eclipse. 2. In the last run of tweaking format, the coloring book will be sized at 8.5"x11" and suitable to fine tipped colored pencils, ink and markers. 3. Watch the eclipse! 4. Brush your teeth before bed. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Grace #4
An offering on the eve of the eclipse: Asian New Year Wishing Poles One three foot section of bamboo. Drill three holes on one end. Separate the holes by two inches. Substitute another wood such as pine. Home Depot, Lowe's, and your local hardware store can be good sources. Pen or pencil A sheet of ruled paper A pile of magazines from assorted disciplines Colored construction paper Glue stick Scissors - straight sheers and assorted types One Sharpe black pen A hole punch Red Yarn or string Red fabric cut or torn into strips Brainstorm three wishes for the Lunar New Year on a sheet of paper. Generate about ten ideas and prioritize three. Go through the magazines and look for pictures or words that best represent what you are wishing for. Cut the section from the magazine and mount it on a section of construction paper with the glue stick. With the Sharpe pen write the wish around or below the image you glued. Punch one hole through the construction paper of the glue image and thread it with a section of red yarn. Ten inches of yarn threaded through the hole should work just fine. After you finish all three wishes, tie them through the holes in the bamboo pole. Lastly wrap the bamboo pole with the red fabric in between the drilled holes and below. Stake the pole in a garden bed of your house where wind can blow through your wishes and carry them to a place where they will be granted. Do this on the night before the lunar New Year. Also, remember, it does not hurt to help your wishes along. What steps can you take to help your wishes come true? It has been eight years for me since I first made the wishing pole craft. I'm still receiving grace from the initial wishes and work. I'm not quite awake. Still a little groggy. My teeth are brushed though. Little accomplishments. At the end of yesterday I was a bit tired. I think I did too much. What was different about yesterday is that I went to a group that was starting The Artist Way by Julia Cameron. The group is led by a shaman named Jodi Roberts. Her other site is sacredinspiration.com. Jodi's angle is more for a musicians point of view than a visual artist. Still, her wisdom in working the book is easily apparent. During the class I took a few notes and enjoyed the journey exercise. Unfortunately I have other financial obligations and will not be able to finish the course. I remember starting the same book with a group back in graduate school. The group formed at the local Unitarian Church and was free. You had only to by your own book. I did not finish out the course then because my obligations to school and work were become complicated. Besides that completing the morning pages was difficult after a week of trying to rise at six in the morning. If you haven't guessed I am not a morning person. So, this time around, mom is taking the class and she suggested that I use her book in between her readings. Something for us to do together, encourage each other through to the end.
I'm starting the day with sewing. I may get into gardening later, but the sneezing and the drainage, Achi Bachi! Nothing to large on the horizon 'cept I've got work to do on this Adult Coloring Book I'm designing. Right now it is an in-house production and I plan on having copies at the Craft Bazaar for $15 a piece. The size is 11"x14" and looks nothing like what is on the market, well at least on Amazon. I've been toying with the possibility of publishing on Createspace.com, but I still have things to work out. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Poets.org
Research starts today. I signed up for a poem a day. Looking forward to sunshine in my box on a regular basis. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Right now? Fearing my voice is not where I want to begin. Stages of grief to follow? My soul has changed since I refused to cage it any longer. Friend to the rescue yesterday and I am calming down. He helped me prioritize and I agreed with everything said. So I'm a bit more organized than before and I can see the sun again. The former is the only thing that really matters. The quilting is aside again for the weekends and I've picked up Medicine Quilt III. I have renewed thought and a better method in the approach. I'm eeking into five hours at the helm and my hands feel fine when I am finished.
After putting the needle down, I've started picking up the pen. The change over works for now and I have graduated from an old challenge. Honestly I may have missed the deadline, but I wanted to see things through. if I remember correctly, the challenge was to write sixteen new poems or edit thirty-two old poems. As of today since this past June I've written thirty-six new poems. It is a big deal for me. I used to write with the muse and that was months if not years too far in between pencils. I've been lending discipline to my efforts and well, I've qualified for the challenge, but I've not done my voice enough justice. I've got other wells to dig in my memory and much growth to continue to water this fall in winter. As for the other part of the challenge, there may have been a hint at publication. I've decided to pursue the challenge as if there was qualifier to publish. I have a strong temptation to raid The Poets Market at the library, if it is there, or scour the net and submit. Poetry seems only the beginning. I'm starting to look at fundamental skills to accumulate to help with essays and eventually to dive into the the book ideas I have already started. I so desperately want to come back to The Raven King with a more courage than I had when I stopped. I'm eager to jump in where I left after the last session about two years ago. I remember getting lost and tired. Mom has passed along a book on dialogue to help with the play now gone short story. Let the character's talk it out and show not tell are concepts that resound in my skull some nights. That and book of observations made by a Chinese writer about his familiarity with Tibetian Buddhhism. I think his name is Ma Jian. I found his writing compelling if not mesmerizing. I'll be looking for more of his writing eventually. So, score for me, I have editing to do and writing to discover. I noticed that I am not writing from the same source as I used to. There was a sense of isolation even to the extent of being a hermit in each turn of a phrase. I've been certain that old words and constructs would reappear. Seems I've been exposed to society's eye what I once saw has moved away. What I felt and verbalized is now forced aside to take a back seat to new sights and feelings. I've been resisting, feeling violated in my mind, but I'm not out to write 101 views of the laundry pile in my bedroom. Timidly and with reticence I must say Thank you for refocusing my attentions. I still have my cave, the books, the art, and the laundry. I can still shut the door. Still, a sincere thanks that it is not all the same as the years ran in rows and all I saw was a muddy canvas under the sky. Meanwhile I have list to make and prioritize. Meanwhile I have a point to get to and issues of beauty ever in the way. (Yeah. What about ugly art? Even the Roman sculpture of the grotesque have resounding depth.) Meanwhile I want over this wall and just want to write. As ever, stay hungry and curious. P.S. I'm investing a little time with another writing group. One endeavor and I'll dream about The Writer's Garrett another day. Meanwhile, I don't know a thing about this endeavor called writing. I'm a trained painter, not a word smith. Still I'm going in blind and wonder to how to survive and share. Resources, resources, resources. Seems so much is in the city, but I prefer the grasslands and trees. Books written for remote creatives must be out there somewhere. I'm thinking you don't have to be rich to be more than a creative. Timing, place, and healthy finances for working through the mail. Beyond that I'm clueless. Forgive me, I am a little slow tonight and a little groggy. I'm sure my second Benedryl for the day has started to kick in. The pain in the roof of my mouth after endless sneezing is overwhelming. I don't really care about the cause of it anymore, I just want peace of mind. The itchies as well have surmounted the retaining wall; all timed with the sneezes. Peace will come when I stay inside no doubt. Still it is cooler now, How could I resist?
I woke a bit after three this morning. I lingered in the dark for a bit before getting up to quilt. After that it was back to sleep till sunlight broke over the houses across the street and around the trees in the front yard. Then I was busy for the day. The highlight was dismantling old paintings for the garbage pickup. It really is not hitting me what I did. Out of sight , out of mind for so long, I think I lost my understanding to care. The job has been sitting for two years or more. There was no storage space to place them, so the stayed in the open for quite a trial by the seasons. I morn for loss of some beautiful passages. BTW: Photographs of the pieces are still on this site. So, I am not at a loss for proof of development. Pushing the envelope and my element is getting easier these days. I'm grateful to the Internet housing information on building sound substrates. My ignorance was in using underlayment instead of MDF, but it was labeled LuAnn a long time ago and well, that is what i was told to purchase to build canvases. Shattered pieces and shards of wood. If it was MDF I'd have a harder time breaking everything down. Though thanks to the rain, ice, snow, and sweltering heat, erosion was on my side. I wish I could harvest some of the sections, but I have no place to store it or a way to cure what ails it. From insects to mold, I cannot rationalize keeping any section of it. The loss will hit me in a couple of months I assume as will understanding the piece from inkling to grave. Notes to write indeed. Other than that I'm at a loss emotionally lately. It is the list of challenges and my own work that is weighing me down. It may be part of being sick, but for some reason I am seeing it as a burden. I do not understand that feeling as I've looked forward to sewing everyday for six years. I don't believe I've lost steam. Putting things down for a while may be in order as usual. Setting the immediate down to get a scope of long term goals. Getting to the core of why I do what I do. I know for one thing that is not a matter of boredom. Nurturing fascination has become a way to get the edge on things. Maybe it is being in love everyday for the rest of my life that I am not getting a handle on. Logic says pull out the master list, add what has evolved, and prioritize like a mad woman. Not to mention giving myself time between efforts. After the Craft Bazaar I will be vegging till as ever I am called back to the needle. Thinking long term on quilting, my friend. Most definitely long term. And I must master that question of donations and give-aways versus earning a price for my work no matter how long it takes to sell. Several of the women in the African American quilters book, I've been taking notes from, give their work away. Especially to those who appreciated the work. For one it was a charitable act of humanity. For others it was essentially swapping with other quilters. Waiting on a late breakfast I took notes from four or so books on textiles, fiber work, patters, and quilt history. Now I've got more fuel for the inner drive and a sense of fusion is starting to come out of the pen. Hmm. Grey skies, sunlight sensitivity? Hmmm. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Officially, I am sick. I keep working to get everything out of the way just to rest. Problem is the list never ends and well, I sneak in five minutes here and there just to lay still. I'm hoping I'm not contagious if only but for the people I've been near. My head is starting to ring from all the sneeezing. Maybe it is because of the rain. A former supervisor told me the rain pulls everything out of the air. That means pollen, dander, mold, and dust all on a more intimate level. Thus I sneeze and with force. I muse that the histamines are in office and I'd deeply care to vote them out. Even this election is making me itch and sneeze to the point of abandon. Though I do not have much to complain. I'm still not watching television, though I confess to watching a piece on an artist last name Katz on KERA yesterday. Edification for the soul and I let myself be lost in the electoral vote and carry over. I'm even clueless about the local election, but I can say that though I am in flux, I am not bone dry for thirst of research.
Between sneezes yesterday and last night I was seized with a progression of sneezes that was painful. My head began ringing and I remembered an old pursuit into hanging scrolls. The inclination became an urge and then a push out to the car. I'll use what I have and what I can find on the streets come a solid autumn. I usually can harvest the right sized wood from around the city during spring pruning, but I never have nerve till autumn. I'm wondering about the stalks from the hibiscus; will I remember to harvest this year. I used what I harvested four years ago in a wall hanging that I have not spent proper time photographing. All in time and the other wall hangings behind the studio door. I have no loss for developing that is for sure. Meanwhile I just finished watching a videos on Chinese scrolls and Kakejiku. I finally got the clue half way through the hanging scrolls and started taking notes. Translating into fabric may not be as hard as I am imagining. Sketches and designs. Fears of being derivative and wondering if I should wait till after the craft bazaar so my concentration is not split into multiple disciplines. Meanwhile the other breakthrough looms as well as the quilting. "My burden is easy, my yoke is light" looms in the text of the words, but I may have enough of my own works for now. The list, yes, the list. I'm complaining on a light note, but come the first cold snap and I am forced indoors, I'll be rejoicing. BTW: It is just that I feel obligated to make everything I see in my mind. I fear I will not have the time to give all of them life and that does not seem fair to the creation or me. Time to be choosey? Time to plan? Time to prioritize. For the first time in my life I have the time to dedicate to making the imagery come to life. Hell and ne'er do well risk if I do not nurture the work. Honestly, I may have my regular work, but it is essentially play all day long. I well never knock that because I remember what was before. My former life was killing me not being able to paint, draw, sew, build, etcetera. I refuse to have that argument about the sacrifices of becoming an adult. I burnt over the fires then and now, and well, I'll stop there. I think you understand. Retiring at age 65, then becoming an artist did not sit with me very well. Not very well at all. Right now all I hear is the bitching in my head about glue and all I want to do is sew, wrap, bind, and tie. Well, I'm off to rest and to eek out directions for this latest inkling. Knowing better tells me to surf for anything like the vision in my head. Also need to find logic in marketing for what has never been. I'm reminded of the Onceler selling Thneeds. Geisel always rocks. As ever, stay hungry and curious. I waited and waited. The color of after dawn did not erupt between the blinds in my room, so I waited. I talked out problems to the four walls of my room in a low hush and waited. The colors on the walls did not changed as they usually do. I wait for the color change to blush over the painted plaster to know what time to rise. I hate craning my neck up and over the bed sheets and quilts to see the digital clock. I feel I should have a time piece with arms, but the tick tick tick would rings out like a metronome. I might be forced to jump up and dance or hum "Flight of the Bumble Bee" till the sand caresses the sheets and not my eye lids. Nevertheless, I rose in silence and dressed in the most utilitarian wear. I had yard work to do before the heat of the sun scorched my face and arms. Intentional steps to the front of the house and I opened the door. The sky was grey and the streets were soaked with water. No work today, well, maybe.
I've been scouring Faith Ringgold's website again. Trying to learn or in the least gain some clarity. I am not driven to be like her, but out of respect I require of myself to know who she is and what she has done. In all senses she is a black artist and regales through her life and times, the black experience. Her site has not been updated since 2002 it seems. I was looking for recent work as well as going over her foundations. I'm clamoring now to find my own. I feel I'm at a loss for not being autobiographical in my work. It may not be a failing point, ,just a difference of approach and the distance in the wells we draw from. I can say that in my writing I source from that deep place, but otherwise it is an optical fascination machine born from these hands that is the mainstay. Obviously though, how can I not be attracted to her painted quilts. How can I not mind my P's and Q's, shut up and read. BTW: The dark sides of conversation turned and my friend mused that the only reason it sold was because of the Maya Angelou motif. Where her other works not just as worthy to receive press? So I sat down this morning, looked at the website again, and tried to gain perspective. What I have gathered i the later morn is that I must find another way to present works. Framing is cost prohibitive and fumes, ah yes, the fumes in the studio making me mindful of carcinogens and the like. I have my solution for both and maybe I just don't fear anymore of relying on primitive methods and skillfully executed techniques. I will continue to collage for the rest of my life, but till the execution and cost is seamless, I'll be producing out of drive, passion and intellect, not in pursuit of money. For that reason and that reason only, I know I forgot why I create. I must say that reexamining my motives and reconciling them with a bank account can be a delicate matter. I ended the mid morning with a little business of art to read today. Forgive me I am in a snit and today as chosen Sabbath seems to be taking a back seat. I want to calm down. yet, I driven to research and set aside the prints to read later today. I found my prayer answered on DallasArtRevue.com; a strategy with sources to follow, not to mentioned reason. What it comes down to is showing on a regular basis. Don't worry about the sales Compton wrote; they will come in time. So with that webpage and the books I've got coming, I will be creating my new strategy. Today is a good day to read: I'm up for it, I want to, and I have the time. Gotta go help with a little decorative architectural problem. As ever, stay hungry and curious. "I feel as if my sternum is sprouting wings," came out of my Northern drawl as I lay motionless on the bed. Before the next bout of sneezing would rock my brain, friend told me to go blog. I just finished mowing the lawn, the roof of my mouth ached, my hips feigned anger, and I still had sweat clinging in parts I never mention in intimate conversation. So I am here now. Friend understood that I have new breath in my lungs and what happens next is making sense of the rush of ideas since late last night and into three o'clock this morning. I raided mom's quilting library last night in search of one book on patterns. Something upwards of 800 different patterns had me curious as to where to go to find my new series of design intrigues. I stood to the side out of the way of boxes scanning titles. The books began to stir and titles started popping of the shelves. I came back to my room with three more than I planned. With no regrets and no overdue fines I took the next hour to browse, mentally take notes, and find edification. What I did find was a book on African textiles that went through source, method, and example. Working right to left I got hooked. Friend told me to go to bed , but my three o'clock session was nothing less than research and application. I've got notes to take today and this weekend that will be supplemented with sketches. My mind has been racing since perching over this mornings perfunctory bowl of sweetened cereal trying not to spill over the book pages.
What is good is a new angle and a new push. I found new patterns that suggest I push the design development in Medicine Quilt III. It was a hard nut to admit to, but I'm entertaining the thought. How could I not acknowledge the mix in intellectual and blood heritage that meets in my hands; not to mention my personal discoveries in multiple paradigms. Synthesis of arts? Perhaps. I'll use that phrase until I can find a better one. Bottom line is I have to get the notes and sketches done before priming the pump and cleaning the studio. In my head the series that develops I'd like to show in conjunction with whatever I yield with Boreal Hail Ring. In my mind there is kinship between the two. Beyond that, for now, the internal fires burn for this new breath. I feel stretching in my arms and I am positive it is beyond my normal reach. Back to reality? Friend said start applying to galleries again. Feeling out this emerging artist thang sometimes gets painful. Honestly, I haven't touched those business of art books in a year. I have my mainstay for exhibition right now, but I think it would behoove me to stretch in that direction as well. Meanwhile I have this task set before myself and a started a plan for quilting through 2019. My sneezes are starting to burn. I thought one Benedryl would be enough. If I run out of Kleenex I'm apt to run out of toilet paper. For now, rest and a little labeling are in my future. For you, however, have an excellent weekend! As ever, stay hungry and curious. Mom is off and running today. This morning she said she tagged me on Facebook. When she does that I usually cringe because it is a photo from before college and I have officially divorced myself from those feelings. Please don't assume I'm shutting a door or two on the past, I just do not think I was photogenic then and I've come to abhor staged photographs. No matter how many J.C. Penny's poses I've donned, it still fails to meet nuances of the spirit. No wonder I have utterly no photographs from college or graduate school. I must have dogged the camera for a decade. It is talent and a skill at this point. So, I delve into Facebook today and find the tag. it is about Faith Ringgold selling one of her quilted works for over $400,000. I gasped. I cheered. I got sad. Then I perked up and realized there is a place for me out there somewhere. There is now a second reason to tediously meet seams and not fret over store bought fabric and notions. I've got a little hope in my pocket and it is warm like a stone I held and rubbed between fingers. Encouragement comes from different wells of thought. I must look directly into the sun once a day. The burn to the retinas does not matter anymore.
So I had a fearful thought about authenticity in my work. Ringgold, I was told changed media in order to make shows easier to mount and ship. Thus the painted quilts. It all worked in her favor. I landed into quilts mostly to fill the days. Encouraged by my mother I found ease breaking into the media. I was not weighted down by convention and tradition. Basically I was told to go play. After five years of unstructured discipline, I took Quilting 101. A few things I did I not know and the rest were alternatives to the methods and reason I fell into. Settling butterflies on crewel needles came after long afternoons of prayer to make it thought the barren lands of inspiration. A neighbor must have whispered it between the eaves of the houses. That night I took the encouragement and have clung to making lepidoptera for years. The trial is that they become more intricate with each layout. My creative integrity was saved that evening. I love making them, but my core still feels as if it is an exercise. The suffering out that champions the fabric stash are the abstractions. The Native American references that I also cling to are a fascination and a personal requirement to manifest the core imagery that is coming out in the Medicine Quilts. Still, I feel like I've stolen, even when I sign the source and give proper credit. Cultural appropriation lingers the quilting frame with each stitch. Is this my work? Even in the reductions and changes. Is it my work? I feel the answer is a quiet "No". I even downplay my distant Cherokee and Blackfoot heritage when I am reminded. Even then its a indwelling thought to work for my ancestors by learning their ways then and now. It is as if I can not give myself permission to use their works as a starting point. The days I do, the sketches change. The days I give myself permission, I hand sew for over five hours bridging my breaking point. The days I do I secure the work, live, and create in my room for days on end. I wonder if I am bounding the edges of the sacred when I become fearful like this. I wonder like Michaelangelo when questioned if he or God does the work. If it comes from me, does that make me a hellion? If I am a conduit for God's grace, it makes sense to feel dirty and unsuitable some days. It must come down to being selfish to want so badly to create, to manifest, to make real. Even then ,I've seem to have lost the ability to control my hands the way a draftsman would. Don't mention this, but I admit, there is an intelligence that threads the sharps and takes tack with my hands every day. I am grateful if not out of fear, then respect. My work? It seems absurd to take credit. I work in the wake of all of my ancestors. I am obsessed by the tribal, the indigenous, and the ancient. I seem only able to make my point in dead languages. Building Medicine Quilt III may not try me so much anymore. Patience for now. Confidence in a vision now. Time to quiet the internal screams. As ever, stay hungry and curious. Today I am early. I've been at the work table for about two hours and need a break. The serendipitous moments culminated between stitches and I remembered strands of thread that have escaped me for several years. I do not know how I got back to old challenges and concerns from my dad, but here I am right back where I used to be.... So, I'm putting together table coverings for my booth at the craft bazaar. I could not reason buying them as the cost was prohibitive. Hand sewing $1/yd fabric seemed sensible and tempting, so here I am, right back where I used to be... After slipping in a weight at the corner, my memory jarred to something dad told me to really look into years ago. He was explaining something about computers and bridged into perpetual motion and I was casually paying attention trying not to fall asleep. We'd had the conversation before and I still could not see the depth of it except to give dad the floor, be respectful, listen, and trying to get something out of it. (He gets happy when I go off to research anything he says. Mostly to learn and apply for myself. He says my older brothers never got it. They just weren't ready. Me, on the other hand, I am just the type of sponge he needed to impart his wisdom to. Some days the lectures are short and full of bullet points, other days it is a full blown lecture that I can only take with me what I remember. No note taking allowed.
So, dad bulldozed the conversation into optical generators. It is not a machine with electricity, bells, whistles, and copper wires. To him optical generators border the distance between science, mathematics, and art. You've got to understand, dad has a little formal education under his belt, but he never graduated college. And au contraire mon frere, he is not a failure in that either. His intellect and drive put him in programs and jobs that would make anybody at Facebook or Microsoft jealous as hell. Dad has kept up with his studies on an off, but never formal in a classroom setting. Dad "fiddles" with fractals on computers these days and has a thing or two to say about advanced mathematics and computers. He may not have the language right, but when he says go look, I've got to make time to look. So I googled optical generator and there was no link to our former conversation. Now, add in the word art to that search and you find, drum roll please..... Kinetic art. Dad's issue with kinetic art bridged out of something metaphysical in the back of his mind. I'll have to revisit that with him eventually. As for that bridge and conversation, I never intended to cross that territory between symbolism. metaphysics, and art this early. But how couldn't I while being on a constant conviction to create a visual language that was particular to my work. It is still persistent even in the abstract. Color symbolism and line all in the constructive mix looking for the spiritual as what I learned from Vasily Kandinsky. Kudos to dad for the insistence and the Kandinsky book. So, dad is definitely on the top of my mind. The phone call yesterday was a seed coming to fruition. Months ago mom scavenged through old photographs. She had a core stack she was going to throw away. I begged to have them. She happily gave in and now I have a bit of clueless history to write about. I know none of the people in the photographs, let alone the occasion or place. All I know is I feel the need to give ever person and object in the field a life, a relationship, and existence it never had before. It is the beginning of an odd writing exercise to burgeon into a method or style. Dad's phone call was to let me know I'll have a small package coming by email and mail. I'm happy. In both mixes is relatives and family friends, no of whom I remember or know. I'll give each a new life as a character to flesh out in vignettes or short stories. I'm psyched. I'm vaguely remembering the spark in college when I did them same with vintage photographs and a college year book from the 1920's. The possibilities are endless. Writing for the winter as well? Perhaps, the winter ice and snow won't bother me so much. As ever, stay hungry and curious. And now the tactics change, er, rather, develop. Mom found an article a year or two ago about a mall in Dallas that rents out old spaces as artist's studios. I read the article, was impressed, but I really could not know for sure weather the situation was for me or not. So, a week later she takes me on a field trip to take a look. She led me around the corners and nooks of roughly two floors of studios, galleries, and shops. I was tired long before getting a feel for everything, but on the way home the hurdles began to outweigh the possibilities and I sat still about it into the following week. After mental banter and her encouragement I applied. Weeks and months went by and I heard nothing. I let the issue rest and moved on to making my current location the best for what I was able. With that security I blossomed and have no regrets. Some days the work seems piecemeal until I fully wake. When I can think and act with awareness, the gestures form in deeper swells and I can create with greater intention knowing the mark is completely mine. So come yesterday a swell in the way of business came. I started reading the Dallas Business Journal. I'm convinced I'll find growth and opportunity in its pages. I think it is the he same monthly tome that brought the mall art galleries to my mother's mind. I found out that Nationstar , which has new headquarters in Cypress Waters, has a residency program. Basically three artist are in the residency at a time. Each has thirty days to bring one wall to life. Lesli Marshall is the curator for the artist-in-residence program. The program's theme is "centered on an artist's interpretation of what is home to them". Gleaning from the article, the situation is not one for the way I create art right now. Still, that does not stop me from passing it on to you. Should you need more information contact Candace Carlisle, [email protected], 214-706-7121. The article title is "Nationstar brings Facebook culture to its new digs". The publication date in the Dallas Business Journal is August 7, 2015. As for me, I am a little slow right now, a little sleepy right now, but I am ok. The hearts are finished. I still have labeling and pricing to complete. The real hurdle? Sewing and hemming fabric for a table cover. I need three this year and I'm itching for an excellent presentation. The trick? I'm doing all by hand. I having trouble with tension again with my machine and I'll be completely screwed if I rip holes in the fabric trying to construct it. It is the last of the the list to prepare for the Craft Bazaar. I have confidence I'll get it done.
Photos to take for the second catalog are looming in my head. The weather finally started cooling off. I'm looking forward to taking pictures of the vegetables in the garden as well. An afternoon into the early evening it seems. Something else to enjoy about September. As ever, stay hungry and curious. I am on a roll. I've eaten the lettuce, but feel like sharing the meat. Enjoy the update!
As ever, stay hungry and curious. I peeked on the site and decided to check a few things I had changed. One of which was reactivating the link in the Centrifuge. They are now all active and thanks for being patient. I have other parts of the site to mull over, gently tweak, and accept for what I can do now. I can tell that the site is getting better as friend's words and reactions over the past 24 hours have been phenomenal to the tender side of my confidence. Meanwhile, writing is starting to call and I am heeding the pace muse is setting for me. Still, first things first and I'll be working on cleaning my online room a bit more frequently.
BTW1: I've started the second catalog and I may be finished before December. Thinking positive will help, I have two small bodies of work to photograph outside. Right now, I'm looking at steady rain outside the window. BTW2: Getting more encouragement from site stats and family friends. Before the week is out, I may have more readers out of Pennsylvania soon. Thank you friend. Networking to home, sweet, home. Former that is. As for you take care today. I'll be enjoying the long overdue rain and accompanied humidity. As ever, stay hungry and curious. The Etsy Shop is officially closed. I will be posting catalogs/documents on this site to facilitate all sales of the sewn items that are listed under Constantine1983. Please look for them by early December 2015. Also, as a result of leaving Etsy, most transactions will be directed through PayPal. I forgot to mention that I plan on continuing to take Money Orders and no personal checks.
Thank you for your support and encouragement over the years. I am looking forward to doing business with you in the future. As ever, stay hungry and curious. It is Sunday and I'm a little worse for wear. I quilted yesterday and lost track of time. I may have been at it for five hours. I do remember rethreading twice, after that it is a blur. I enjoy hand quilting so much it is a vacation from everything each time I sit down to work. However my shoulder hurts and I've been sleep awkward lately. Not a good mix, but even then I've tripped the wire and worked more today. I was up a little while after three this morning and could not go back to sleep. After a bowl of sweeten puffed wheat and fifteen minutes later, I was working on the second to last heart. Kinsman, especially those who keen at the sound of the word art, reminded me where I sit in progress for the year. I was reminded of plans I made in previous years and was gently prodded last week to return to old goals. So a dash of fabric here and a flash of steel needles there and I've been immersed. So much so I put down a few studies to get through before October fourth. All the cores are nearly done. I have one left to complete as of 6:30 a.m. this morning. I've begun the finishing and if I may say so myself, I haven't the slightest bleepin' idea what I have created. Though it is solid in design and purpose, I do not believe I've seen anything akin in books or at museums. Giving it place in the canon and what bit I familiarize myself with cultural, tribal, and art brut issues, is difficult. Even without the intellectual bit in the produce, I am happy. The hearts have two inner pockets. One pocket encases a small love letter signed "Agape". It is wrapped with colored string and tied off with a bell. The other pocket contains a pouch holding two or three semi-precious stones and natural objects. It is a bit of a step away from wildcrafting and dare I say a venture into charm making. Either way, I followed an inner principle and I'm not going to make any more excuses. I posted two at the beginning of Ornaments under the Fiber Arts tab.
My shoulder is pinching and it is getting hard to type. Got to go and rest. Addendum: Forgot to tell you, all the hearts are hand sewn and hand assembled. There are no directions and no kit exists. It takes between three and five hours to complete one. That does not include cutting templates or assembling the wide variety of materials used. For some materials it has taken me over four years. Each piece is constructed of 70-80% recycled and second hand materials. I'll be posting the remainder of the foray over the next two weeks. They will be present at the Methodist Craft Bazaar on October 4th,2015. Otherwise, if you are interested, please contact me at [email protected]. As ever, stay hungry and curious. |
N.A. JonesPicking up where I left off. Archives
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