Category Archives: Process

White-on-White

It felt great this past week to get back to my embroidery frame and to begin a new stitched portrait. I had been casting around in the studio wondering who or what would be my next subject when, as so often happens, the answer appeared out of nowhere.

Leon's Water Erasable Pen

I start each piece by drawing the image directly on the silk. For those of you who are interested in such things, this is by far the best water soluble pen I have ever used. Other brands tend to dry out very quickly, but this one is going strong after almost a year. Part of this may be because the top snaps on quite tightly.

In an email from one of the many art organizations that regularly add to my inbox, I stumbled upon one artist’s brilliant observation in response to a general request for favorite art business lessons from 2021: what you create is “just the beginning”. On the surface that sounds so basic it’s almost silly, but when you stop to think about it, it’s pure gold.

Emma 2

This past week I have been making my way through the initial stage of the process: stitching the image with white silk thread on un-dyed raw silk. I tend to keep adding guidelines with the erasable pen as I go along. They act as a directional guide for the stitches, helping me to better describe the form I’m trying to represent.

She went on to clarify what a game-changer it was to realize that each piece she makes isn’t necessarily a one-off, merely to be archived, but rather just the first step in a continuum that builds upon itself.

Emma Drawing

© 2019 Elizabeth Fram, Graphite on paper, 18 x 23 inches    The life drawing that is my inspiration.

In other words, pretty much everything we make creates a foothold for something else that will come later. In this instance, it was like a lightening bolt to realize that my quest for a subject was right here in my studio. I have a stack of pre-covid life drawings to pull from for this and maybe other portraits.

Emma 3

A variation in stitches distinguishes the hair from the facial features.

Whether sourcing drawings in my sketchbook, a particular stitch or dyeing technique used in the past, or some novel approach to layering various media together, every piece I make contributes something to my “toolbox” that I can reference in the future.

Emma 4

With the blue ink removed, the piece becomes a study in textures. The sheen of the silk thread is an important element that allows those textures to stand out. The next step will be to overlap the image with a dyed pattern. Come back in 2 weeks to see the progression.

The bottom line is none of the work we make exists in isolation, in fact, we just keep adding to our limitless creative bank accounts. And the beauty of that fact is they are always available to draw from when needed.

Opening this week at Studio Place Arts: A world of portraits by 30 different artists, including yours truly.

The Woolgatherer

The Woolgatherer, detail   ©2019 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk, 16 x 16 inches.

Face It
January 26 – March 5, 2022
Studio Place Arts
201 N. Main Street
Barre, VT  05641

Gallery Hours: Wed – Fri: 11:30am – 5pm,  Sat:11:30am – 4pm
Art Social: Saturday, February 19, 3:30 – 5pm (masks required) …..Hope to see you there!

 

Time for Regrouping

You gotta love a sense of completion!

For the past several weeks I’ve been chipping away at a watercolor group portrait commission that came out of the blue. Best done in steady, measured sessions, it has been the perfect mix of challenge and, in the end, satisfaction. Now that it is en route to its new owner, I’m relieved, excited and frankly a bit spent.
I’m sorry not to be able to share pictures with you here – at least for a while – as it’s meant to be a Christmas surprise.

Paint Test Sheet

But what I can share with you is the color test sheet I used along the way. It’s not exactly a thing of beauty but it still has a certain charm. If the paper hadn’t already had something on the back I would have squared it up and used it for the note I include when sending a piece off to its new owner. I guess that’s an idea I’ll have to remember for the future.

Now that the painting is out of the studio, I’ve been working around the edges of other business-y chores while getting back up to speed. And frankly, I’m glad for a bit of a break. For the most part I’ve been becoming reacquainted with my mat cutter, submitting to a couple of shows, and starting the planning process for 2022. Did you realize that there are only 6 weeks left this year?

Quinn Curled Up

©2021 Elizabeth Fram  Walnut ink on paper, 5 x 8 inches       While Quinn may be the one who’s actually logging the zzzz’s, taking some time with my sketchbook makes for a relaxing and satisfying mid-day break from the computer for me.

I know this is not the stuff of which inspiring posts are written, but I think it’s worth sharing all the same. There is much that goes on “behind-the-curtain” in any studio — necessary tasks that aren’t glamorous, but which need regular time and attention and are just as crucial as the drawing and the stitching. Plus, I think it’s important to recognize how necessary it can be to regroup before jumping back into the making again.

See this for more resources on artistic business practices.

While I haven’t had much time to explore it yet, Sarah Homfray’s YouTube embroidery channel looks like a wonderful place to learn — whether you are a beginner or an expert.

Testing, 1-2-3

The thing about Shibori is it can be both mentally invigorating and relaxing, often at the same time. I’ve been looking forward to this week’s work, knowing I’d have the stimulation of a puzzle paired with the soothing calm of stitching row upon repetitive row of running stitches.

Sketchbook Notes

Quick notations capture possibilities and remind me of fleeting ideas

In teasing out an approach for the dyed background of my “letters from home”, I’ve thought of plenty of possibilities. The overall goal is to find an idea that is generally repeatable, yet with enough elbow room for variations that will allow each piece to hold its own among the others in the series.

Ori-Nui

I keep even the smallest amounts of dye on hand so that I can make mini-samples on the fly. For the process of Ori-nui, the cloth is folded and stitches are made parallel and close to the fold. It’s a good way to achieve definition. I felt the stitches I’d made in this sample were too far from the fold, so I adjusted that distance in my final, full-scale sample.

I also have to keep in mind how the embroidery-to-be will fit, so that it doesn’t become lost against the color and pattern of its dyed background.

Mid-stream stitching

Once I get to the stage of sewing the resist stitching, I can settle in and relax. Where to stitch, what direction those stitches will take, and where the knots will be placed have all been decided. So there’s nothing to do at this point but listen to a book or podcast and get to work.

It’s all well and good to jot down options in a sketchbook, but it isn’t until the needle actually pierces the cloth that reality sets in and decisions/questions begin to crop up in earnest. Should the striations of pattern all go in the same direction – or perhaps oppose each other? How best to keep a crisp line between areas of pattern and open spaces of dye? Can I balance those two while keeping in mind that the third crucial element of the embroidered imagery will be added later?

Ready for Dy

With the stitching complete, the fabric is ready to soak and then all the threads will have to be drawn up tightly and knotted before beginning the dye process.

An example of the many things to think about: an often overlooked characteristic of Mokume stitching is that even the point where one chooses to begin a row of stitching can impact the final appearance. I am quite fond of the little white dots left un-dyed by the knots at the end of my stitching thread, so I try to work out ways to incorporate them that will enhance the piece without distraction. It’s worth noting that beyond contributing added visual “zip” for those who look closely, those tiny spots are also a reminder that this process is very much hand-made.

Knots

Admittedly they are very subtle, but I think the marks left by the knots at the end of my thread elevate the pattern as a whole, so I try not to hide them if possible.

Last but not least, at this early stage everything must be worked within a pre-determined finished size to accommodate framing.
So yes, lots to think about and I have my work cut out for me. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Finished Full

And there you have it – the finished, dyed piece. The dye came out a bit like the Northern Lights, don’t you think?

Finished Dye- Cropped

If I go with a 12 x 12 inch final dimension as originally planned, this is about where it’ll end up.

Most of our fall yard chores are now complete, crowned, as always, by the all-important planting and securing of the garlic under its snug winter cover of leaves and burlap.
Time to get ready for garden dreaming in hibernation season by turning to books. After reading the article I mentioned in my last post, I picked up David Culp’s The Layered Garden from the library for his ideas on how to bridge the seasons in your garden.  My favorite example of this idea is Jack Lenor Larsen’s Red Garden at the Longhouse Reserve.

I have a beautiful red twig dogwood and tend to leave areas of echinacea and bee balm for visual interest against the snow (and any late foraging birds). But I wonder what other ideas Culp might have. I was rewarded this morning, waking up to a frosted landscape that reminded me just how lovely every season can be.

Frost

 

Small Plates

To me, the half the fun of tapas – or a pre-Covid cocktail party with lots of different appetizers – is the variety of small plates one can sample. Most weeks, my time in the studio mirrors that approach – a little bit of this and a little bit of that filling up the hours. In that spirit, here are a few so-called “tastes” of what’s been swimming in my head these past couple of weeks.

First, my big news is that the Fall Issue of the Surface Design Journal is now out. Every autumn SDA publishes an International Exhibition in Print. This year’s show, “From Confrontation to Catharsis,” feels both relatable and personal. The diverse scope of work exhibited addresses many of the overwhelming challenges of 2020. As I read each artist’s statement, the word that often comes to mind is “fragile”. So much of the work is a commentary on fragility: of our systems, our planet, our connections, our history, and even our human-ness.

SDA Journal Page

However, in viewing the show, one can’t help but also be reminded that there is empowerment and strength in expression, and as such there is an underlying sense of hope that resides with these works.
I am gratified and honored that “Until the Bitterness Passes”, one of my shibori houses from last year, was selected to be included.

It’s Inktober!
While I haven’t followed every prompt set out this year, I have enjoyed interpreting of a handful of them. Here are just a few.

Crystal

Crystal    ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and graphite on paper, 5.5 x 5.5 inches

Another perk of the project is it’s great for filling up those last few straggling pages in one’s sketchbooks.

Suit

Suit    ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Ink, watercolor and graphite on paper, 5.5 x 5.5 inches

I have 4 different colors of ink on hand and Inktober has been an opportunity to experiment with them — supplementing with a tiny bit of watercolor when a different color is needed.

Stuck

Stuck    ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Ink and graphite on paper, 5 x 8 inches

It also gave me an excuse to go ahead and purchase my new favorite under-$10 art supply (does one really need an excuse to buy art supplies?): a porcelain petal palette. It’s a great tool for mixing numerous values of ink all at once.

Porcelain Petal Palette

Oh, and speaking of cheap supplies, check out my new water jug! It’s a creamer that I found and snapped up this summer for just this purpose – also less than $10. The spout is brilliant for wiping the extra water off one’s brush before dipping it back into the ink. Now I wish that I’d also gotten the creamer from the black set since I usually have two water containers going at once, one for dirty and one for (relatively) clean water.

Mussel Shell detail

detail ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk.       I still have to come up with a title for this.

Meanwhile, I’ve been puzzling my way through the shibori/embroidered “letter from home” I showed you last time. Surprisingly, the mussel shell was a snap to realize, but figuring out what to do with the envelope has been an unexpected challenge (lots of stitches sewn and then picked out). Next post I’ll write more about my discoveries and process along the way, but in the meantime I have some experimenting to do in order to figure out how to approach the dyed pattern in relation to the central shape – as well as what overall finished size/shape to use.

Mussel Shell

©2021 Elizabeth Fram,  Stitched-resist dye and embroidery on silk, approx. 12 x 16 inches   I think I’m going frame this one like this. Allowing the area without pattern to show provides a much needed sense of balance to the piece as a whole.

Framing will be part of that consideration. Unlike in this piece, which I dove into without finished dimensions in mind, I need to plan ahead so I don’t back myself into a corner.

I get a lot out of James Cleary’s 3-2-1 Newsletter; it’s a short and sweet shot in the arm each Thursday. The list below was particularly resonate. Maybe for you too?

How to Build a Career in 7 Steps:
1. Do great work
2. Share it publicly
3. Cold email people 2 steps ahead of you
4. Talk about your work and trade ideas
5. Host events and meet in-person
6. Become friends
7. Rise together

I get just as much of a lift from the beauty of my garden in fall as I do in spring and summer. While the colors are a bit more nuanced, they’re just as striking. Did you happen to read the NYTimes article “Take a Walk in the Garden Before It’s Too Late“?

With that in mind, my Instagram recommendation this time is @pottersarms, whose images of flowers, often in various states of decay, are quite lovely and somehow momentous.

©Sandy @pottersarms

© Sandy @pottersarms

And finally, to bring you full circle, the next time you’re in Asheville, NC consider a meal at Cúrate – a tapas bar that will satisfy any yen for delicious variety.

Breathing Deeply

Working on the stitched watercolor garden pieces this summer has been just the break I had hoped for while simultaneously opening the door to new explorations. It’s been like taking a deep breath. There’s nothing quite as fun (or as good a stretch for the brain) as pushing toward some sort of new evolution and seeing where those explorations might lead.

Rounding the Bend

Rounding the Bend    ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches.   I haven’t posted new pieces from this series since the beginning of July. Time to catch you up! You can revisit all the pieces on my website.

Coincidentally, in catching up on older podcasts, I recently listened to Alice Sheridan and Louise Fletcher of Art Juice talk about “Kickstarting Creativity by Taking a Break”. That doesn’t necessarily mean taking a rest from making art altogether (although it could), but rather creating an interruption by switching gears to something different.

Sanctuary

Sanctuary   ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches

Having now returned from their month-long respite, it’s worth listening to their follow-up episode, “A Time for Reflection”, as they discuss some of their realizations from their time away.

Dappled

Dappled   ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches

It’s an honest conversation about an artist’s life, dipping into elements and responses that are familiar to all of us.

Cacophony

Cacophony    ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches

For my part, I’m grateful for the sense of camaraderie that comes when others share about issues we may have in common. At the end of the day we’re all just trying to make a go of a creative life – why not travel together?

Sea of Leaves

Sea of Leaves    ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches

In  considering my own, shall we say, intermission from the work of last year, not only has the painting itself been equal parts challenging and rewarding, but the incorporation of the embroidered houses has provided a welcome sense of grounding and continuity while still allowing me to find new ways to play around with the idea of something “hidden in plain sight”.

Resilience

Resilience   ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches

I’ve completed a dozen of these little stitched paintings to date and expect to keep going in some form or another. I took a first stab at what moving beyond the “safety” of the houses might look like in this little close-up of my daughter’s Maranta leuconeura. The question that is floating around in the back of my head now is how might I let the stitching on paper branch into portraits.

Chicago Prayer

Chicago Prayer   ©2021 Elizabeth Fram, Watercolor and stitching on paper, 5 x 5 inches

Basically, texture is at the root of my interest. It’s the textural effects of the stitching, together with the visual texture of the paint on paper, that most intrigues me.
Meanwhile, I’ve begun a new shibori piece and expect to be back at my frame embroidering on cloth in earnest, just as soon as the dyeing is complete.

 

Sidestepping Into New Territory

After a busy several months, I’m yearning for a break from routine. My solution is to change things up a bit in the studio in lieu of a get-away. I have a couple of new pieces in the pipeline, but I’m not going to rush them. Instead, I’m giving myself the gift of taking a side-step and am devoting some time and energy to experimentation — tweaking familiar processes in new ways, and exploring with completely new materials.

Cloth 1

While I generally like the colors and some passages of pattern in this stitched-resist swatch, overall it’s too much of a mish-mash. Next time I’ll try to harness effects that bear repeating, yet with more control and organization.

It’s been something of a happy coincidence that, on a lark, I just happened to check-out Every Tool’s a Hammer by Adam Savage from the library. Riffing on the nuts and bolts and many facets of his life as a maker, Savage (of Mythbusters fame) outlines and affirms the approaches that have contributed to his successes — and just as importantly, to the failures that have eventually led to that success.

Cloth 2

Using the same dyes as for the first cloth, this test has a better sense of rhythm and more coherent pattern.

He addresses a variety of techniques that he’s come to rely upon. And speaking directly to the benefits gleaned through periods of methodical exploration and discovery, he acknowledges the inherent and longterm advantages to be found there. More anecdotal than didactic, the wisdom shared is applicable across the board — whether you are a seasoned artist or a young person just starting to find your way.

Oatmeal

Inspired by Emma Carlisle, I asked for & received a set of Tombow Dual Brush Pens for Christmas; they’re perfect for this period of stretching. As Savage writes, new tools are a way to explore the space of possibility. Apparently these pens are used quite a bit for calligraphy, but the brush-like tip on one end, which provides a calligrapher with a thick/thin line, allows me to lay in broad swaths of color in a moment or to squeeze into small spaces with its tip. For my purposes it’s both a drawing and a painting tool in one. Some colors are affected by other colors drawn on top, and some aren’t. Adding black and white charcoal pencil extends the possibilities for mark-making and visual texture.

Many of the tenets and discoveries Savage outlines, I (and you too, no doubt) have painstakingly made for myself over the years, so there’s a sense of reassurance in the shared epiphanies. Even so, it turns out to be the perfect companion to my current explorations which are serving up an inevitable share of frustration as I slog through unfamiliar terrain. With that in mind, if you know a young maker, it’s a book that would make an excellent gift for the beginning of their journey.

Cat Eye

Because I’m always fighting my natural tendency to work tightly, I love the looseness of this drawing. The Tombow pens make it almost impossible to get too detailed.  I have a small 5.5 x 5.5″  Global Art Handbook sketchbook that takes the ink well, without bleeding through the paper or causing it to ripple. It’s a concise size for practicing faces. My set of pens is limited to 10 colors and I find myself reaching for hues I don’t have. Even though I’m trying to be imaginative and play into the limitation, I couldn’t resist ordering some more to fill in the gaps.

Elaborating on the messy reality of making, Savage acknowledges there will be plenty of mistakes along the way, and where you end up will most likely not be the place you’d envisioned when you first began. But he rightly points out that that is why we love making — if we knew exactly how things would turn out, what would be the point? Accommodating and welcoming the inevitable wrong turns and side tangents opens the door to something much greater than initially imagined.

Over the Shoulder

This sketch has ventured into the “overworked danger zone”, but there is something to be said about the depth of color that comes through. Learning by doing is the only answer.

He illustrates this theory with a quote from painter Francis Bacon: “One has intention, but what really happens comes about in working.” And that is the notion I’m hanging onto as I delve into new territory.

Instagram of the Week

Speaking of Emma Carlisle, take a look at her Instagram. There’s something about her use of color and line that conveys a sense of place and of immediacy that I find both soothing and exciting at the same time.

A Gift Across Time

December tends to get away from me.
I’ve learned to make peace with the fact that studio time will be limited considering all the extras that go hand-in-hand with this particular month. But I still try to squeeze in time around the edges for making art .

On December 1st I began a new little house, wanting to get just one more under my belt before year’s end. I also figured it would be something of an ace up my sleeve for the busy weeks ahead, knowing there would be times when sitting quietly to stitch would get me into a calmer headspace.

Whole Cloth Dyed Piece

Finished dye work

The sticking point with this particular piece has been the open areas where the silk didn’t absorb any dye because it couldn’t seep through the many-layered folds. Without time to do anything but forge ahead, I tried to position the blank areas so as to play off the steep incline of the roof. But that still wasn’t enough – the empty spaces seemed to hang in mid-air like a half-finished sentence.

House - first stage

Even with careful placement, the blank areas were overpowering

Thanks to a dog-walk epiphany after reading an article on Jane Perkins’ art, I decided to dig into a collection of white buttons that has followed me around for the past 35+ years. Their glossy texture and variety of sizes proved a means toward transforming the undyed emptiness into areas that could hold their own against, and in alliance with, the bold shibori patterns. Not unlike a Japanese garden, they provide a rest for the eye that includes an element of visual interest.

Buttons

A healthy variety to choose from…

When I was first married, my mother gave me a baggie filled with white shirt buttons so that I would never be without when I needed a replacement for one of my husband’s work shirts. It was a sweet gesture and so “of an era”. And even though at the time the idea may have raised my feminist hackles a tiny bit, I recognized it then, and certainly now, as an offering that was a perfect expression of my mother’s hallmark thoughtfulness, practicality, and organizational skills.

Icy Breath of Boreas, 1

Icy Breath of Boreas   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Wrapped-resist dye on silk, buttons, foraged daylily stalks, 15.5H x 4W x 4.5D inches

And while I didn’t use many of the buttons for their intended purpose, I’ve kept the bag through all our many moves, and have continued to add to it ever since.

Icy Breath of Boreas, 2

Icy Breath of Boreas, alternate view

Not only has this turned out to be a satisfactory solution for making this little piece whole, the process has also contributed to making me feel a bit more whole during a holiday season when for the first time ever, like so many other people, my husband and I can’t be with family. It brings me comfort to work with these little white discs of shell and plastic, to be blanketed in my mother’s thoughtfulness (this will be our 9th Christmas without her), and to think of this piece as a holiday gift she is sharing across time and space.

Icy Breath of Boreas, 3

Icy Breath of Boreas, alternate view

Wishing you a peaceful holiday…

Detours

Part 1 – Firestorm

There’s often no telling how an idea will evolve.
A piece may start with a specific destination in mind, but logistical snags invariably crop up and I soon find myself on a different path. The serendipitous twists and turns that result take me to a place I hadn’t imagined, but one where I am ultimately quite happy to have landed.
What follows is the story of one example of this phenomenon unfolding.

Preliminary Sketch

As the top sketch shows, capturing an idea often takes just a few quick lines. But the evolution of that idea invariably becomes much more complicated as one moves through the process. My initial idea was to make a house that was completely enclosed / cut-off from everything around it.

News of the devastating wildfires out west, paired with having a son who has been navigating dreadful air quality at home in the Bay area, has gotten me to thinking what a malleable canvas these little houses can be for making a statement beyond COVID-19.

Reporting on personal wildfire stories has stressed the horror of being surrounded by fire as it rages all around. While I can’t begin to imagine such a scenario, I wanted to make a piece that in some way expressed that sense of being enclosed or trapped.

Resist stitching

Resist stitches in place before the dye bath

My original plan was to make a small house that would sit in the center of a larger, house-shaped shell, and to use a translucent fabric for the outer house. Silk organza would allow one to see the house within, while also being a worthy medium for portraying the amorphous nature of fire which I planned to suggest with dye. Unfortunately, organza’s porosity, a characteristic I expected to work to my advantage, was also a downside. When undoing the resist stitches I’d sewn before the dye bath, I discovered that the dye had seeped right through many of them, leaving only a faint pattern. That fact, paired with relatively weak color, resulted in a rather anemic appearance.

1st Dye

This suggests fire, but not as forcefully as I’d imagined

However, there are always ways to work around an issue.
While dyeing the unstitched areas of the fabric, I discovered a way to create an effect reminiscent of the striations of flickering flames (as seen in the top section of the silk in the photo above). So I dyed more organza, employing that process with stronger color, figuring that layering the two lengths of fabric, one on top of the other, would achieve the effect I was looking for. It worked rather well.

Layered Fabrics

With the fabrics layered together, the color and effect is much closer to what I envisioned.

Not wanting to compete with the impact of the fire-inspired cloth, I decided to leave the inner house a blank slate, covering it with un-dyed raw silk and stitching with neutral-colored thread. Spent daylily flower stalks gathered from my garden, varnished and sewn to the house, enhance the effect of the natural coloring while providing support.

Undyed House

The house constructed with the daylily stalks as stilts.

Once this stage was complete, I ran headlong into the problem of how to then create and support the organza casing that would surround it. I have a full page in my sketchbook with various brainstorming solutions, none of which ended up being right or feasible to execute. It became apparent that I was going to have to switch gears.

The “fire” would have to run up the sides of the structure rather than fully enveloping it. I was still undecided as to whether or not to support it so that it would hover above the roof and be held out from the sides as in my original plan, or lay it directly upon the roof, letting it fall naturally down the sides. If it hovered, the stalks’ prongs could be leveraged to support the fabric, but even if not, their physical resemblance to a flame still added significantly to the overall impact.

In the midst of deciding how to attach the fabric, I discovered that using both layers of dyed organza together (discussed above) was unworkable; the layers became just too thick and unwieldy. However, reverting to using the originally dyed piece alone worked beautifully. Layered upon itself as it was gathered and folded to fit the narrow roof space, the previously bemoaned lack of pattern and color suddenly came alive.  Pressing folds into the silk to create a tactile pattern that is reminiscent of flames added to the overall effect.

Fire Up the Sides

Loosely pinning the fabric in place, one begins to get the impression of fire, the effect of which is emphasized by pleating and the jaggedly raw edges along the roofline.

Running my progress by the discerning eye of a trusted artist friend, she rightly commented that the house, left white, appeared “unscathed and disconnected” from a fire’s devastation. My decision to keep the house neutral was meant to suggest universality, but she was of course right — the piece appeared inappropriately light – even upbeat. The solution was charcoal.

Charred

Drawing with charcoal directly upon the raw silk, achieves the charred effect that is necessary for conveying fire’s impact.

In the end, I decided to leave the dyed organza resting directly on the roof rather than elevating it. The top edges of fabric have been left raw and uneven which not only suggests the upward movement of flame as it consumes a building but, with the bottom edges of the organza sweeping around the base of the piece, I could maintain the suggestion of the house being enveloped.

Firestorm Frong

Firestorm   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye, charcoal on silk with foraged daylily stalks, 17H x 12W x 10D inches

I’ve learned not to be surprised by the unexpected issues that present themselves as most of my pieces come to life, or the need to puzzle my way to a solution. It is the rare work, for me anyway, that runs a straight line from conception to completion. But to be honest, that is one of the perks of art-making — it’s what keeps each day fresh, interesting, and ultimately rewarding.

Firestorm sideview

Firestorm   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram

Part 2 – Isolation

The addendum to my blow-by-blow tale above is that going down a different path doesn’t preclude one from getting back to the original starting point. After finishing Firestorm, I was still anxious to find a way to make a piece that mimicked my original sketch. I thought of all sorts of options for how I might construct a wire structure to support an organza “envelope”, but in the end they were all a bust. Any wire I tried was too soft and flexible to hold its shape. What could I use that would maintain the stiff, straight lines I wanted?

Framework

It took my architect father less than a moment to offer a solution: coat hangers. We talked through the best way to form the frame and how to attach the various pieces to each other. In no time I had the structure I’d envisioned and after that everything came together very quickly.

Suspended

Hard to believe because my thread drawer is brimming, but I had to dye some silk thread to get just the right color for this one. However, it was too dark to use to suspend the little house. But no worries, I had just what I needed in that notorious stash.

After making the inner house, I suspended it with clear thread so that it would appear to be floating. The next step was to make a house-shaped sleeve out of silk organza to tightly fit over the wire frame. I didn’t mind the idea of seeing seam allowances, in fact, that seemed preferable to me aesthetically.  Joining the seams via the hand-stitching method used in Pojagi (Korean Quilting) was the best way to complete this step.

Pojagi

This is one of the more delicate ways to join two pieces of fabric; its effect is lovely

Now complete, the outer casing was stitched invisibly to the frame to keep it taught. The final piece appears exactly the way I had hoped. Whether describing the fraught emotions of being caught in a fire or isolated by the coronavirus, it strikes the note of removal and disconnect that I had originally intended.

Isolation

Isolation   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Stitched-resist dye on silk and silk organza on wire framework, 9 x 7 x 7 inches

Time and again, I’ve found that hitting stumbling blocks and being forced to rethink my approach allows for an idea to evolve into something greater than I might have come up with in one shot. The roundabout discoveries often provide a suitable proving ground for finding my way back to an idea that needed additional “simmering” before it could be realized. It makes the detours well-worth the time, and perhaps ultimately a sort of secret weapon.

Thanks so much for hanging in with me to the end of this very long post!
Ready for a visual palate cleanser? Check this out.

 

Drawing Things Out

I always look forward to Thursdays – especially on blog publishing weeks. I get an extra lift of accomplishment from clicking the “publish” button, knowing it’s another opportunity to connect with all of you, and also that the week ahead will be less about writing and more about making.

Breakfast dishes

Breakfast   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches   Drawing continues to be a place of respite in the midst of everything else, both art-wise and from the big world around us.

I have a system in place that allows me to get these biweekly posts out, making room for the time that blogging requires while still juggling the dyeing, drawing, and stitching that make up the practice I write about.

Snoozer

Snoozer    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink on paper, 8.5 x 5 inches

In a nutshell, I let ideas for writing simmer until the end of the day on the Monday of publishing week, write a draft on Tuesday, polish the draft on Wednesday, and finally make last-minute adjustments before going live sometime during the day on Thursday. Dividing all these components into small chunks allows me to also keep up with whatever else may be in the pipeline, practice-wise.  Having such a set schedule may seem restrictive, but it’s become my tried-and-true method for achieving this task, without fail, for almost 6 years.

Lemons

Lemon Juice    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Ink on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches

To underline this approach of manageable, consistent bites, James Clear’s Thursday 3-2-1 Newsletter last week drilled down on the concept.  His title says it all: Scaling Down Your Habits, Obstacles, and Finding Time to Do What Matters.  And while I have to continually remind myself to keep up with it, time and again I have seen the wisdom of adhering to this theory. Below is one of the key take-aways he offers:

“Go smaller.
Can’t learn an exercise? Reduce the range of motion.
Struggling to grasp a new concept? Break it down.
Failing to stick with a habit? Make it easy.
Master stage one, then advance.”

Jen

Jen    ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Graphite, ink and colored pencil on paper, 11 x 8.5 inches.

With all this in mind, I have a new house that is almost complete. There have been lots of unexpected decisions and mid-stream changes that have cropped up along the way. Chipping away at it in small bites has made for steady progress. Come back next time when I will share the process and the results with you.

Little Houses

For the time being, continuing to make these little houses inspired by the Sheltering in Place project seems right and appropriate. There is something reassuring about making work that directly relates to this unusual time and that has the power to add a positive spin.

COA Pieces Laid Out

The in-process piece I showed you two posts ago is now finished. Here all the sides are laid out and ready to assemble. I planned the imagery so that it would wrap continuously around the corners.

Fern Detail

The ferns in detail

Shadow

It has been exciting to discover needle-weaving as a concise (although slow) means of creating richly textured images. It also serves to make the most of the color variations found in variegated threads.

Dog and Shadow Corner

The corner images of this shot and the next illustrate a fuller idea of the piece as a whole

Fern Corner

As the ferns turn the corner, the dogwood branches add to the sense of woodland.

In speaking with a friend who is a plant expert, I was bemoaning the fragility of the branches I’d collected in our woods to make “Cocooned”. I wanted to find something more flexible to use going forward.

Cocooned

Cocooned   ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 20″H x 11″W x 14″D overall, house dimensions 9″H x 6″W x 4.5″D, Wrapped-resist dye on silk with foraged branches.   I barely dare to take this out of the studio because the branches are so brittle.

I told her I had hoped to be able to use plant material from our property, but figured I was out of luck because we don’t have any willow trees. She suggested I try our red-twig dogwood. It was a great idea. The dogwood branches have made a world of a difference, resiliently bending and springing back as I manhandle the piece while stitching it together. Their lovely red color and the fact that my dogwood needed a good pruning was an added bonus.

Dog and Shadow Full

Cultivating an Oasis  ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 27’H x 15″W x 16″D overall, house dimensions 9″H x 6″W x 4.5″D, Wrapped-resist dye and embroidery on silk with foraged branches.

Titles are often the last big hurdle to finishing a piece. I try to come up with something brief that conveys the spirit of the work while offering a window into what was going through my mind in the making.  “Cultivating An Oasis” is meant to communicate how valuable it’s been to have a garden to tend in isolation.

Due to the overall repetition, and my struggle to come up with pithy titles, it made sense to choose a series name and then to number each piece within it. If that method was good enough for Richard Diebenkorn, it surely works for me.

After much thought, I decided to go with “Retreat” as an umbrella title for these latest little houses. After all, a retreat can be seen from two opposing angles: as a withdrawal from danger or as a quiet and secluded place of comfort.
And doesn’t that dichotomy speak exactly to our experiences at home these past months?

Retreat Nos. 1 & 2

Retreat #1 (left) & #2 (right) ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Wrapped-resist dye on silk with foraged branches

It’s occurred to me that of the ten COVID selfie images I’ve completed so far, eight are those of artists. I feel very lucky to have found such a vibrant tribe of creative souls since moving to Vermont!

Michelle

Michelle ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, 11 x 8.5 inches, Ink and colored pencil on paper

I’ve written about Michelle’s work before, ironically almost exactly a year ago. She is continually pushing herself and her process. I encourage you to check out her website and her Instagram account.

And for those of you who may have missed this, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.