Rational Thought and Travel To Asheville

We left Knoxville on Wednesday afternoon for a day of shopping in Asheville, then up the Parkway to the Folk Art Center, Big Lynn Lodge, Grassy Mountain Bookstore, Penland, Burnsville, Celo, back to Asheville and to Waechter's, to Dillsborough. . .  Four days away from the sanity of home, and it was so beautiful I couldn't think rationally.

Somewhere in the trip, my brain got shaken up.  It might have been when I was photographing a beautiful dead tree beside a Parkway overlook and as I backed, then began walking away from it, a bear popped up from the hillside, loped across the road about 50 feet away, looked at me and decided I was too much trouble to be an afternoon snack and then disappeared into the hill above me . . .  It was probably that moment when everything got discombobulated and my marbles started rolling around in the big, empty place that passes for my brain.

The marbles were still rolling around trying to find a new spot to come to rest when I heard a voice telling me, "A Quilt!!!  You are making a quilt, Nancy!"

Instead of my usual gulp of fear and immediate quelling behavior, I smiled and began to really like the idea.  In fact, I bought fabric for this project.

It was when I was standing in Waechter's looking at the lovely soft cottons and planning my hand-painting of the pieces to be applied to the soft linen ground that whatever had been shaken out of place in my loose brain began to rattle back in its niche.  I couldn't decide on a fabric.  I couldn't begin to make the quilt I had dreamt up.  I was standing there holding the most lovely white cottons I have seen since . . . when?. . . and I couldn't move.

When I got home, I was exhausted (riding for hours on end wears me out, sets the replaced bones to aching and then to screaming) but I crawled to the computer and e-mailed Jill an SOS for intervention.

The call I got in response to the e-mail was a calm, perfectly collected voice that said, "You are not going to make a quilt.  Stop thinking about it.  Go into your studio and make little pieces that are over in a few days and you can move on to your next idea."

And it worked.  No quilt, but several small pieces in the works, now.

Thank you, Jill.

Oh-- I offer this photo of the bear as proof positive that I saw what I saw and did not even exaggerate.  Scouts Honor.

Restoration of a 1988 Needlework Project

There were all sorts of problems with this piece, "A Child's World," that I worked on in 1988-89.  First, it had been stitched in separate parts and appliquéd to a pink-striped cotton background, but it had not been attached properly.  So, it was sagging a bit.

The stars and moon seemed too heavy for the fabric.

And here, in the black space under the blue trees, there should have been a white cloud.  All that remained was bits of white wool roving and empty white cotton stitches, thanks to the diligence of a moth or a moth army.  The photo shows it after I had removed all the stitches and the tiny bit of remaining wool, very carefully lifting the white fragments from the black linen:

Beneath the cloud, there were little streamers of couched floss representing streaming rain.  The moths had sampled one, which meant they needed to be removed, as well.

But how to fix all of this?

First, I added tiny 15˚ silver seed beads to the starry sky, attaching the fabric more firmly to the ground.  I also stitched around the several layers of appliqué (invisibly, using a beading needle), which further held the center portion in place.  I will admit to taking a long time at this while I handled the piece and tried to re-familiarize myself with the fabric and the stitching problems there.  As I discovered, those problems were legion.

Foremost was the need to re-design the unfortunate main-course cloud.  I decided on satin stitches, which required a smooth surface— the pink striped background was anything but smooth.  So I had to think of a way to even out the bumps in the fabric before I could re-stitch the cloud.

After some thought and a cup of tea, I decided that the best thing to do was to slit the back of the ground fabric in two places and remove some of the heavy-weight cotton that defined the stripes.  Bringing myself to take embroidery scissors to the back of this piece took a great exercise of my powers of persuasion.  I talked to myself the entire time, giving myself instructions and praise as the scissors snipped the fragile threads holding everything together.  Once I had removed them (you can see how fat the yarn was in the picture, below, upper right), I had to slip a piece of soft linen between the black linen where the scene was originally embroidered and the backing fabric.  I then replaced the fat strips of yarn with smaller yarn (I used a cotton/linen yarn) and did a rough job of re-weaving the openings.

The resulting embroidery is this— a lavender and magenta cloud with streamers of new metallic-thread rain (hoping both threads are not tasty to a moth):

Below is a picture of the restored embroidery— this took two days of quite intensive work!  You can see in the stars and the "comet" were the beads were added, and the cloud and streamers of rain are replaced, on the right.

Below is a closer look at the stream that springs from the base of the mountain— flower thread with wooden beads attached!

It was too beautiful to not repair and restore it.  I will take this to the framers for mounting in the next few weeks.  I almost hate to put it behind glass, it is so beautiful to touch!

Poor little piece!  But "A Child's World" has been restored, finally.  I wonder if The Adorables will enjoy it?

ATCs and Buttonhole Stitches

I have a "collection" of new ATCs.  First, maybe I should define "collection."  When I was a little girl, one item made a collection.  By my mid-twenties, it had to be three of something to rate the collection title.  Today, it has to be so many of something that it becomes a serious impediment to progress, either in walking across a room or in visually sweeping a work table— at which point I start questioning whether there is room in a down-sized life for a collection of anything anymore.

I will call this stitched group a series rather than a collection, though.  Next month at Freestyle in Knoxville, I am to do a small study on Buttonhole Stitch variations, and I did some serious head-scratching to think of new ways to present old material.  I have stacks and stacks of Buttonhole Stitch samplers already (it is, after all, the beauty and variety of the stitch that interests me, not their application in serious work!).  So, I chose to make my illustration sampler in pieces rather than to stitch a new single cloth.  Then, one for each of my friends, and I can be excused from the charge of over-collecting!

In addition, I have used my hand-carved stamps to provide a little background chatter for the pieces.  Solid fabric can be boring.  On the other hand, fabric that is too decorative shouts above the stitching.  So, the pale-ink stamps seem to work well in that middle ground for me.

Following are some of the Buttonhole Stitch ATCs.  The stitch is beyond versatile, so completely flexible and offering arms and legs that can flail out or be tucked in, even laid over and under one another-- what a delightful group of stitches to play with!

First are some Buttonhole Cousins at Play:  Sitting on Church Pews.    This is about as straight as I ever want to get with lines of stitches.

The next ones are the Buttonhole Cousins truly at play--the ones from the Church Pews, but now that they've been excused, they are cavorting in the sunlight!

One of my favorite ways to use Buttonhole Stitches is to create double lines, with only a tiny space between them.

They undulate beautifully:

The stitch works nicely as an appliqué edge, below holding the painted and stamped cotton in place against the silk ground.  And the pockets in the stitch make wonderful places to slip little beads, just for sparkle!

Here is a ruin (rather Roman, don't you think?) that irregularly stitched and interlinked lines have made:

Enjoy!  The Buttonhole stitch, paired with imagination and humor, is really fun.  No straight lines, please.  Give it a chance to dance, run, turn cartwheels . . .

More Stories from the Studio

I decided to make a post card to send to my sister.  She and I do this, periodically.  Hers are beautiful little gems, painted carefully, professional-looking, and engaging.  Mine are usually abstract, worked in layer after layer of paint and pencil and ink, the sort that make you scratch your head and turn the card several directions before settling into what must be the proper view.

I tried something different this time.  After laying down an autumn-flavored ground, I added some texture.  Linen.  Silk.  Cotton organza.  Even a piece of painted lace insertion.  When I walked around the corner of a table, I saw my little hole punch— the one that makes teeney weeney little holes.  The exact size I would need to push a needle and thread through . . .  hmmm . . .  And right beside that, the rubber stamps I've been carving the past few weeks.  Oh, heart be still!

The results are thus:

The first, a silk butterfly Jill sent over, which I found I could iron onto the watercolor postcard successfully (bless the inventor of heat-set bonding chemicals).  And the scraps of vintage linen that I'd dyed years ago matched the fall look of things. The cotton organza is on the right.  I stamped over it, and the texture is lovely!  (Note:  After I photographed the original, downloaded the photos, then onto the blog, I went back and added some stitching . . .  Sorry.  It's editing at its most obsessive, keeping at it until there is nothing more to add or subtract . . .?)

Next, I decided to add more mystery to the composition.  More things going on, more places for the eye to come to rest-- and, of course, the hole punch and the stitching on the left-side.  And a bit more texture than the first card.  Not sure if the leather blocks at top will make it through the postal service, though.  This one may get some more "editing" to keep the leather in place before it leaves the studio.

New idea altogether:  After the initial layer of color, this third card has some pieces of linen and cotton trapped under some very sheer silk organza that was bonded to the card.  Most of the designing was stamped or drawn into that piece of silk.  The silk takes the ink differently, barely mutes the back, and adds a gorgeous feel to the postcard.

Finally, a last fling with the color of falling leaves.  There are so many layers of work here that I would need a couple of  paragraphs to list them all.  The most fun is to continue working the branches outward, upward, curving down from the cut-off point of the stamp . . .  each tree is a little different from its neighbor that way.  This is a little Mark Chagall-ish

The next morning, I wanted to use blue.  Deep, rich, roll-around-in-it Blue.  First is the one I decided my sister would most relate to, since she spent the Labor Day weekend on the beach.  This is a view of tidewater pools as seen from above, but with the additional vantage point of a bright door standing upright (doors are always wonderful ways to enter into mysterious worlds).  I used a texture medium meant for water-based colors, mixed some pastels with the paints, and began laying down layers of color.  The door has been painted separately and glued on, then popped into a book press to smash the door cut-out into the paper card better.

Next is a more modest look at blue.  More tree stamping, extending the branches, drawing and painting and stamping over a lacy Japanese tissue paper (is is called endru, perhaps?) . . .

I'm not sure which is my favorite, but the process was exhilarating.  And the stories that could be told from the mysteries in the cards ... ooo, la la!

ATC Roundup

It's time I photographed some of the ATCs I've been working on.  The Freestylers are having a card swap on the 12th, and I thought I'd incorporate some different techniques in a few of them and join the swapping fun.  Some cards are older, though none quite elderly.  These are simply images I enjoyed developing during this past year.

Enjoy!

The one above is made from polka dot fabric and a check fabric, which I cut apart to make the stripes.  The blue is a batik.

Below is called "Summer's Long Exit," which is how I think of the dragging Indian Summer each year.  Almost unending.  The hatch marks at bottom is a Stef Francis thread variable thickness as you sew.  A dream to work with!

Next is what was actually an exercise in straight stitching different weights and types of yarn.  I would like to say "running stitch," but most of these threads were too fat (perles) or too stiff (linen). It is so much nicer than looking at perfectly horizontal or vertical lines of stitching, isn't it?

  

For Bethy, one day, when she is interested in learning to sew.  How much fun it will be to show her how to lay down scraps of fabrics and add these lovely embellishments!

Here is an ATC that is actually a bit old (but not elderly, please; a touchy subject lately).  A combination of paper, linen fabric, cotton perle, machine-made trim, perle buttons . . .

If the day has been stressful or tedious, it is good to go into the studio and pull out the tiniest of scraps and lay them out until I have a design I like.  Not a big piece.  Small.  Manageable.  The way my life can forget to be, sometimes.

Another not-so-new.  I tried to make a pair of these, but I don't think I made it to the second piece.  The lovely background fabric in center was the inspiration for this travel commentary:

An experiment from many years ago, I found the fabric I had made through several processes, ending with these postage stamps ironed onto a fabric that had been used as a protective covering for my ironing board when I was painting and printing fabrics (including dying scrim, stretching it over the muslin and ironing it dry so the color and pattern transferred over something already stained with other colors).  The textural effect is strong here:

This is a celebration piece.  I hear a brass band, chinking glasses, happy voices, all under afternoon sun.  Helen, GA during Oktoberfest, maybe?

A leaf, made this time last year.  A great deal of layering and machine felting here, silk organza and some funky fabrics underneath it, with machine stitched details.  Only a small amount of hand-stitching becaue it was very thick with layers of bonding and felt and funky fabric:

Another fabric that I discovered while cleaning and moving things.  An abstract day dream.  Something not a bit concerned with reality, time of day, or appointments to be kept— a sort of Paul Klee morning:

A pome fruit.  With some layering in right hand corner, couching, beads . . .  I'm a little hazy on the details here.  I think the shape of the bright green fabric suggested the direction more than a well-formed idea of representation.  Unfortunately, I get started on an idea, gone into the Zone, and then I lose all sense of where, why, and even the point of ending:

Stamped fabric below.  I carved the stamp from a sheet of soft rubber, bonded the fabric to a pellon interfacing, and stitched the green image in complementary red. It has suggestions of the garden.  Unstitched, as a negative print, it is still interesting.  This is a good stamp to play with, perhaps to block portions of it and do some side-by-side printing . . .

Fabric painted five or more years ago, later made into a rectangular quilt block but recently I cut the block apart into  several ATCs, each of them with different sections of that red-black painted original fabric.  Here I've added two stamped images on right in the reddish portion, and because the images were faint and not complete circles, I worked the shapes by stitching (brokenly) the rough circles there.  Then I added the hatching marks in red over the black parts.

Only hatching marks added to the painted fabric and little corner of red linen that had been satin-stitched on by machine:

Flags flying, end of summer is approaching.  I hate to be so eager for time to pass, but I am a little ready for cooler weather!  On a fabric that could have been a summer postcard, interrupted by the curve of the sandy beach . . . ? Really?

The last piece is something I could not put down, that I kept stitching, adding buttons, just one more stitch, one more knot, one more something somewhere!  It could have been twice, three times the 2 1/2" x 3 1/2" of the original, and this idea would have been soooooo much fun to continue to develop!

In fact, I think I'll keep it as inspiration for something a little larger later on.  So many ideas, so little time!

Still Elusive . . .

We all have our strengths and weaknesses.  In an effort at some late-in-life character improvement, I decided last week to learn to write the elusive (to me) short story.  I can be quite formidable when I apply myself to learning something.  I think of my life with the Goldberg Variations, for instance.  After a week, however, I have managed only to come up with a paltry three paragraphs detailing a woman sitting at an outdoor cafe table.  I've been made privy to no other details of this woman's story.  I changed things a dozen times, gave her ample opportunity to talk to me.  But the most I got from her was sullen silence and a hint that there was more to her than met the eye.

So I will confess that I deleted that bothersome page and went back to my novel.  So much goes on there— complex characters with problems to be solved, living spaces to be understood, memories to be interpreted and carried forward, mistakes to be corrected, meals to be cooked, pockets to be examined to see if some scrap of paper thought lost might be crumbled there . . .

I am officially giving up the idea of writing the short story.  As of today, Wednesday morning, 8:00 a.m., 15 August 2012.

Stories From The Studio

I have been thinking about stories, lately.  When I work on a piece, even a small one, there is always a story to it.  Some are long, involved stories, some are smaller ones, only a few lines.  But it is difficult (for me)  to work on things without thinking of the backstory.  I think that comes from classes in writing in college.  There is always a backstory to the present— and those backstories are often more interesting than the present.  Maybe I should confess, here, that I am certifiably unable to write a short story, and those backstories are the culprits.  There are just so many things that happen to a person to get them to the "now" point that it is hard for me to disregard them.  So, my short stories turn into rough outlines for novels.

That being said, I am listening to stories all the time I am working on a fiber piece.  Well, yes, I listen, because the pieces begin to tell me about themselves, and they sometimes balk at something I wish to stitch, some color I would like to use— oh, the buttons I have had to remove!  When I am a good listener, the pieces get better.

Uh hu . . .  I  can hear the wrinkling of your brow through the ether.  You just moved slightly back from the screen and thought, "She's on the way around the bend, maybe has already arrived . . ."

The truth is, in the quiet of the studio, listening to the hum of the fan, all sorts of ideas come to me.  It would be so nice to lie back in a comfortable chair and listen to the stories in my head, but then I'd fall asleep— so I don't have a deep, comfortable chair or sofa in the studio, or I'd never get anything done!  Just chairs on wheels.

Of course, the chairs on wheels have their drawbacks.  Early in the summer I was climbing up my step-stool to get something on the very topmost top of a cabinet (which shall remain nameless) and I fell onto one of those chairs on wheels which scooted out from under me and . . .  to make the long story short, I ended up flat on my back under a covering of things that followed me to the floor.  The difficult part was to get up.  The artificial hip doesn't like a lot of pressure from pushing, nor can it be bent up to my chest, so getting up became an act of great creativity.

This has caused me to think many times about the wisdom of a studio with chairs on wheels.  And to even re-consider a comfortable chair for leaning back and thinking . . . hanging my legs over the arms the way my mother never let us as children . . .  falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon . . .

So, there may be a post in the future about the perfect studio chair.  I have been looking for this elusive chair since June.  I found two that were in sadly-repair-me-please shape, but I don't feel up to re-tying springs and caring for sagging down pillows.  It must be high, with a seat at least 22" from the floor (when you are 5' 11" tall, you don't really want to sit in a chair made for Hobbits), and no skirt, so the Dust Bunnies don't have a chance to nest and multiply beneath it.  I would not even mind bad upholstery, as I can sew my way out of that objection . . .

I started out to talk about the stories my little pieces tell me as I work on them.  But the backstory got in the way, again . . .

Done!

Between the studio and the garden, I have been out of pocket a bit of late.  The cleaning out and sorting that began months ago, however, is done!  Remember that this studio is approximately 1/3 the size of the former studio, and you will understand what sort of job it has been.

We found an animal shelter Thrift Shop that was interested in sewing items (Good Will doesn't put this sort of thing out, so I don't take fabric or sewing supplies to them any more), and the manager's positive attitude made me very glad I took these things to the shop.

And my friends from Knoxville, when they came to Studio 508 for the May meeting, were kind enough to help me with the last of the cleaning out.  There was fabric, buttons, some thing-a-ma-jiggys and wool.  The felted wool was a large part of the parting-of-the-ways materials.  It is the tiny particles that break off of woolen items that makes working in that medium difficult for me, unless I do this in the nice weather and sit outside, cleaning myself with a lint remover as I work.  I have set aside a small amount of wool to try working with later, after I have the allergies better under control with weekly allergy shots.  If this doesn't work, there will be more felted wool, wool fleece, and an embellishing machine that will need to go.  Fingers crossed for successful de-sensitization to wool!

This post started out to show you how neat and clean the studio is.  That was before I decided to work through Gwen Hedley's Drawn to Stitch.  This is an exciting book, but messy in the hands-on department.  So, I have a mess on the embroidery table.

Now, in my defense, this mess is a lot of ideas that are beginning to percolate.

It's just that I don't do clean, neat things.  And I am intimidated by white pages in sketchbooks and cleared-off tables in my studio.  The blank pages and clean tables seem to be an accusation, my studio's way of being disappointed in the fact that I'm doing nothing.

So, pardon me for not catching the studio at the moment of its most clean-ness (which would have been five minutes before Jill and Margi and Beth arrived on Tuesday).  Martha Stewart doesn't live here.  If she did, the Queen of Clean and I would have some long, soul-searching discussions that might extend into the night.

(*sigh*)

It isn't easy being clean.

End of Spring Gardening, 2012

It is time to put the shovel away, to let poor hubby rest in the shade for a bit.  We have spent sooooo many mornings and even some early afternoons digging that the day we are not in the garden is the rare one.  I have two last small jobs to do, transplanting three variegated Jacob's Ladder ferns to the hill above the fountain, where they will get more water, and to plant the "Cast Iron Plants" I found when out wandering and checking out nurseries far afield.  I cannot resist looking at plants, no matter where we might have set out to go, no matter the weather!  But, for now, we shall stop the dirty part of gardening and simply enjoy our handiwork.  Although I garden with great zest, Charles only gardens to please me.  That is an admirable quality, and I try not to abuse it.

Some pictures of new acquisitions follow.

It would be difficult to miss the fact that I have a passion for hydrangea.  I found, at Autumn Hill an unusual Lacecap called Midnight Duchess.  The airy caps float on stems so deeply chocolate they are almost black!

This Fuji Waterfall bush is tiny, but look at the size of the blossoms compared to the leaves.  Neither Mophead nor Lacecap, it promises to be a show-stopper in a couple of years.

And Charles' Wave Petunias in  the upper terrace are the comedians of the garden this year.  They are just beginning to grow to the edge of the wall, and in this photo, they seem to be lined up, waiting to see who will be the first to "jump!"

The Veronica in the upper terrace is outshining the White Salvia, which is about to open.  The Balloon plant, also, is quite pregnant with buds.  It will be a light shade of blue, a compliment to he deeper Veronica.

My dear sister, Michelle, gave me the loveliest little table-top container filled with succulents and mosses.  The cobalt blue container is the perfect foil to the mix of colors— but, then, I am a collector of cobalt blue pottery for the garden, and this could be a bit of bias on my part!  Many thanks to her for her thoughtfulness.

The pink Begonias that looked so small and lonesome at the beginning of the spring have filled out, now.  They make a rich show of color as they line the walk leading to the Studio.  I am not a great fan of planting annuals, I think they can be a waste of resources when perennials will return for years, once established.  But there is something to be said for the look of these old-fashioned flowers, and I may use them here every year (or for as many years as Charles is willing to plant them for me).

The Asters are new this year.  They are such happy-seeming flowers, and I hope the plant receives enough light in this upper terrace plot to return next year.  If an annual makes it through a full season and returns that next year, I always want to have a little thank-you party for it and present it with an award for perseverance!

Along with the Asters, Snapdragons are new.  The two yellows lost their blossoms but the plants are struggling along.  The whites seem to be settling in, though.  Encouraging thoughts for them are appreciated!  The new Oxalise are doing well.  I planted Oxalise bulbs last year, but the chipmunks ate them.  They burrowed, made a meal of my struggling sprouts and threw the less tasty parts to one side, and devoured the bulbs.  This year I bought plants, trying to confuse them.  So far, so good . . .

There is more, so much more than I realized when I started out the door with the camera!  It all happened over weeks and weeks, and, quite suddenly, we have a spring garden!  A cup of tea is in order here!

When Things Need To Move Along

If I am not using something I own, I give it away or sell it. I release all things that no longer benefit me: objects, ideas, habits, or relationships. I make way for the new to come bursting forth into my life. I am fulfilled in every way.  — Louise L. Hay

A friend posted this quote on Facebook, and the thought fell on the quite fertile ground of my cleaning out and moving things along.  Over the last months I have been doing a lot of re-thinking about how I live, what I have around me, what I really need.  Occasionally I dip into the not-so productive area of how I accumulated so much and why I feel I have to continue to live with it, and I am reminded of something I read, many years ago, that Cher said (when she and Sonny were just becoming famous singers).  She said that Sonny found two of some kitchen appliance, like an electric skillet, I believe, and he asked her why she bought two of the same item.  She said that she was afraid something would happen, and they wouldn't have the means to buy one again, so she bought two as a hedge against the possibility of bad times.  Of course, I am really, really paraphrasing and relying on forty or more years of memory here, but that is the gist of the story.

I suppose that anyone who has had a bumpy road has a long memory, and I am no exception.  Not that I have two of things.  I just have things.  Things I am fond of.

I got a break recently when Jill said she was making felted balls for a school project for her son, James (an art teacher in a Knoxville elementary school).  I had a box of wrapped centers for felted balls, and even a few already-felted balls.  And a lot of ugly yarn I would like to wave on down the road.  How lucky!  What a bonus!  I set to work in spare moments— the evenings and television are the best for filling with brain-numbing handwork— and sent a large bag of balls out of the studio.  And, as he won't need these until Christmas, James will have another bag or so before I give up wadding and wrapping yarn balls.

Despite all my good intentions, felted balls won't get rid of everything that I don't need anymore.  In the house, I recently moved furniture around, sent some pieces to the downstairs bedroom for storage.  I am a restless person who likes to change rooms around, and the new arrangement gives me more floor space.  In six months, I will be itching to move things around again.  My plan is that if I can live without the now-absent furniture for a year, it can go to Good Will or to a shelter.  Once something is given away, there is no going back and finding it again.

Clothes are another thing that need to be sorted out.  Things I loved wearing, or things I made for myself or that Mother made for me— I can't even imagine what another person will do with them.  But, maybe I'm not supposed to imagine their ending.  Maybe I should just let them go.  Gently.  Folded neatly, as I care for them, but when the size is wrong, there is no remedy.

This is my current project, learning how to be honest about what I can and can't live with any more.  The past years of economic up and down figure heavily in this thinking.  I wonder, do others feel the same way, or is it just me?