Category Archives: Environment

Southern Venture

Ready for a quick trip to the South?
Last week we visited Charleston, SC and Savannah, GA and, as on most travels, there was plenty of art to enjoy in the moment and to think about after coming home. Here are a few highlights from The Gibbes Museum of Art in Charleston, my favorite of the various art venues we visited.

Imagined Boundaries ©2017 – present, Raheleh Filsoofi, Multimedia Installation. In this striking wall installation, Filsoofi asks viewers to consider — What is a limit? What is a border? Who is on the other side? Her aim is to interrupt cultural preconceptions and to create dialogue around socio-political issues such as borders, immigration and community building by creating boxes that act as portals communicating shared humanity.

These are still shots from a video within one of Filsoofi’s boxes. The viewer becomes participant in that the video subjects appear to be checking us out as closely as we are observing them.

Self Portrait Emma ©2002 Alison Saar, Oil on Skillet. Saar’s work frequently focuses on societal notions regarding the positioning of African Americans and women in domestic realms. This oil portrait of a domestic worker on the bottom of a frying pan is intentionally faint, (I have drastically over-exposed my photo to make it visible to you) invoking the relative invisibility of a typical household cook or kitchen maid.

Never Again ©Mary Jackson, Sweetgrass and palmetto. Mary Jackson is an internationally recognized master of sweetgrass basketry. This piece took 3 years to complete.

What attracted me to The Gibbes Museum in the first place was their collection of miniature portraits. According to the museum’s literature, the first-ever American miniatures were painted in Charleston and the Gibbes collection holds over 600 works spanning from early colonial examples of the 18th century to the Revival Period of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
They are remarkable!

H.F. Plowden Weston, by Charles Fraser, 1824

Miss Reynolds of Fenwick Hall, by Charles Fraser, 1835

Christopher Gustavus Memminger, by Charles Fraser, 1823 This gentleman looks so familiar to me! I think I’ve watched way too many Masterpiece period dramas.

Actor Jack Farthing

How wonderful to see Joseph Jackson’s sketchbook which held preliminary portraits that he may have used to impress perspective clients.

Moving on, there’s nothing quite like an independent bookstore for providing a sense of grounding when visiting a new locale. Curated shelves that reflect local pride in the history, authors and artists of a place reveal the rich undercurrent of a city in a way that generic travel books can’t begin to match.
If you’re willing to snoop around a bit, you never know what you might discover. A visit to Buxton Books in Charleston opened a couple of interesting doors for me.

I loved the art on the cover of this book of poetry by South Carolinian Marlanda Dekine, and had to find out more about Fletcher Williams III, the artist who created it. The piece is named “Westward”.

It turns out that Williams has a resume that extends far beyond book cover illustration. He is a multi-media artist living and working in Charleston, making identity-based art and is a rising star. With an academic foundation in psychology and anthropology, his artwork speaks to the history of Charleston and the culture of the Lowcountry, but not in the way one might expect.

Taking time to follow the interview links on Williams’ website gave me a much deeper understanding of both his artistic aims and the challenges he confronts. He is incredibly thoughtful and articulate. His discussion regarding having to navigate the complexities of feeling pressured to speak to the Black experience, while coping with narratives thrust upon him and his artwork that are not his own, was enlightening. While I don’t think one can ever fully grasp the underlying dynamics of a specific place unless one is a native, I found it fascinating (and important) to get a glimpse, via his interviews, beyond the usual tropes and assumptions.

And for those more interested in textiles, the other book that caught my attention was Embroidery: Threads and Stories from Alabama Chanin and the School of Making by Natalie Chanin. It was way too fat and heavy to bring home in my carry-on, but I snagged a Kindle edition and am looking forward to reading, rather than just flipping through this part autobiography, part “exploration into how sewing and embroidery relate to wider concerns of sustainability, community and women’s empowerment”.

If you go, other bookstores to explore in both cities:
Blue Bicycle Books, Charleston
E. Shaver, Bookseller, Savannah

Two museums to check out in Savannah:
Telfair Academy (The first museum in the US founded by a woman), and
The Jepson Art Center
Oh, and there’s a Blick store in Savannah too!

And now, it’s nice to be home.

Less is More

Happily, the snow that has fallen this week has blanketed our woods again.

Getting out to walk on our trails with Quinn has provided a welcome reprieve from the relative visual cacophony of pattern and color I’ve been immersed in while working on this latest cup and saucer piece. I’ve long been an avid fan of the traditionally quiet Japanese aesthetic with its subtle contrasts and expanses of open space, which probably explains why a snowy landscape represents a such a welcome counter-balance, not just to working with pattern for hours at a time, but also, theoretically, to the hectic realities of life as we all know it.

A couple of years ago I wrote a post about February’s inherently restrained character and was gratified to hear from quite a few of my Vermont friends that they too welcome this season as a time for regrouping, of calm reflection, and as a period all the richer for its subdued identity. If you live with winter for a large chunk of each year, there’s an element of self-preservation in figuring out what gifts you can glean from it.

But in thinking more about the appeal of winter’s sparseness, I did a bit of research on the idea of unadorned beauty. I came across a fascinating lecture by haiku poet Madoka Mayuzumi entitled “Japan’s Culture of Silence”. It goes a long way toward explaining, especially in relation to haiku, the significance of an “aesthetic of reduction”. Haiku invites the reader into the poet’s world, relying as much on the blank spaces incurred through its brevity, as it does on the words which comprise each poem. Mayuzumi explains: “We tend to find the greatest beauty on (sic) what is left unsaid, in the rich possibilities of blank space”.

It’s a principle that can be applied to any of the arts.

Looking out my living room window, layers of fog not only mute any sense of depth, but also lend an openness to the landscape in much the same way as snow.

I’ve always loved winter, so a snow-covered landscape is a welcome seasonal perk…just because. But from an artistic and working viewpoint, there is a lesson in the snow: the importance of finding a balance between maintaining a certain boldness (via composition, pattern, and texture) while remembering to get my point across as simply as possible.

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If this subject interests you, you might enjoy this 2 minute video on the concept of “ma”, which discusses how this aesthetic of reduction is integrated within Japanese culture.

On a Different Note…

If you will be any where near Montpelier on Thursday, February 9, I would encourage you to attend mixed-media art knitter Eve Jacobs-Carnahan’s presentation Art as Action: Knitters Speaking Out. Inspired by the article What It Means To Be An Artist In The Time Of Trump, Eve will discuss and show examples of projects undertaken by art knitters to raise awareness about social and environmental issues.

Art as Action: Knitters Speaking Out
A presentation by Eve Jacobs-Carnahan
Thursday February 9, 2017 6:30 – 8 pm,
Center for Arts and Learning, 2nd floor
46 Barre St. Montpelier, VT 05602

A Salute to November

There are many reasons I’m happy we live in Vermont, but a big one is that I’m grateful to have landed where each month is distinct from all the others. Asserted through our weather, the colors that surround us, and the resulting way we move through our days, this reliable sense of change within each year makes me feel grounded.

In a nod to yesterday’s celebration, I think the monthly diversity that makes up a calendar year could be likened to the mixed bag of personalities that surround any family’s Thanksgiving table. Each 30-day period possesses its own strengths and weaknesses but, due to its individuality, occupies a place that no other could fill and would be sorely missed if absent.

Bittersweet ©2015 Elizabeth Fram Bittersweet from my brother and sister-in-law’s garden is a fall treat. It adds a welcome visual spark via color, shape, and shadows — both inside and outside of the house.

That said, I have become very fond of the month of November. Pared down to essentials, it provides a crisp beauty and a sense of quiet following the exuberance of October’s visual fire and summer’s lushness. With the leaves now down, one can fully appreciate the beautiful structure of the trees and shrubs, which remains hidden for so much of the year and is now highlighted by the dramatic light and stark shadows cast by a sun sitting lower in the sky. Looking up through a screen of silhouetted tree branches to see twilight’s Prussian blue sky with a blush of rose, often accented with an evening star, takes my breath away.

Although literature tends to paint it as bleak, I think November has a lot to offer us visually and internally as we bundle up in preparation for winter. I find this time of year particularly inspiring artistically. Influenced by what I see outside, my brain feels less cluttered and more open. The garden has finally been put to bed and inclement weather makes being in the studio a welcome refuge.

I hope, now that the Thanksgiving cooking is behind you, you can put your feet up and relax this weekend. If possible, treat yourself to the visual inspiration of Geninne Zlatkis’ Instagram site. The farther you scroll, the more caught up you will become. A new Mexico painter, she takes stunning photographs of her surroundings, elevating the everyday to a new level of color, arrangement & detail — elements near and dear to my own heart. Enjoy!

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This week marks the 52nd post to this blog; a full year of weekly ideas and conversation. I’ve learned more from this endeavor than I ever would have guessed, and am grateful to you for your comments, encouragement, insight and most of all for continuing to read. Here’s to moving forward…

Renewal

Any time I travel I realize getting OUT of the studio is perhaps one of the most productive things I can do for coming back to it afterward.

Acadia

It’s hard to beat a complete change of scenery for shaking loose new ideas. And while the same thoughts and questions may still be banging around in my head, the fresh perspective provided by time away invariably tends to refocus them in a positive way.

Jordan Pond

Being in Maine is a tonic. Having grown up here, there’s an analgesic quality to settling into the familiar comfort of the salt air, the clear light and colors that I equate with the ocean, as well as the muted softness that accompanies a blanket of fog. It’s a worthy healing place after our loss last week. And it is giving me a chance to recharge my artistic batteries.

Goose Cove

What about your travels? How have they affected the work you are planning for this fall?

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If you’re looking for a thought provoking read, try The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton.

The Essence of Spring

Color is returning to our landscape as the snow slowly melts and evaporates. It’s a lift for my spirit to see the vibrant shades of green and red that quickly reappear after having been buried for such a long time. There is much to see and absorb as the season changes.

Red-barked dogwood, moss and lichen

Contrasted with the earthy shades of stones that have just emerged from under the snow, the vivid moss that survived through months of subzero temps is a wonder in both its color and its resilient softness.

Stones and moss

With the remaining snow as a backdrop, textures become more noticeable and appreciated.

White Pine

The shadows plants cast against the smooth surface of rocks create interesting abstract patterns. I can’t help but think of arashi shibori (wrapped resist).

Shadows on Stone

Arashi Shibori

Wide swaths of white still cover large portions of the garden, offering a counterpoint and an opportunity to look at individual features differently than during the rest of the year. It’s easier to frame interesting compositions because everything is still pared down to essentials. Variations of tone carry new weight in their subtlety.

The areas of “empty” space created by the remaining snow, offer a compelling contrast to these characteristics, simultaneously creating both weight and breathing room. And because color is just reemerging, there is a sense of promise that is missing during late fall and winter.

Courtyard Garden

Seeing my yard and garden in this way reminds me of the visual elements of Japanese gardens that I find so irresistible. Spring calls attention to the essence of the garden. It provides a chance to appreciate the intrinsic nature of plants through their inherent structure and their understated textural variations that aren’t as easy to see once their leaves and the grass have filled in. Irregularities that will become hidden once the beds are back in full bloom, are now their pride.

All of these elements carry strong suggestions for new work. I don’t think of myself as a landscape artist, but there’s no denying that my surroundings have a strong effect and influence on my thought process. The ice pieces I began in February are mostly finished and it’s high time to leave the winter months behind and to begin to concentrate on what’s to come.

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PS: The photos above were taken yesterday, the post written right afterward. This is what we awoke to this morning.

It looks like I will have more chances to enjoy the essence of spring…proving once again the Power of Persistence.

Where Have You Been?

“Where I was born and where and how I have lived is unimportant. It is what I have done with where I have been that should be of interest”. – Georgia O’Keeffe

In conjunction with my current exhibition COLOR|stories, I gave a talk last weekend about my work and process. One of the things I touched upon is how the many places my husband and I have lived have influenced my work, leaving an impression through color, composition, and subject.

With that in mind, I thought it might be interesting to take a quick tour of the locales we’ve called home via representative examples that have resulted from a sense of each place.

Maine: Having grown up on the coast of Maine, the Atlantic ocean is deeply imprinted: the smell of salt air, the varying blue/grey/green, the sound of the waves…

Washington State: Recurrent visits to Pike Place Market resulted in many fish drawings and paintings.

Virginia: Most of the 10 months we lived in Virginia were so hot and humid that it seemed I barely ventured out of the air-conditioning. I made a series of clothes hanger drawings that year that were the direct result of so much time spent indoors.

San Francisco: I can’t remember if this piece was inspired by the quilt I was making for our expected first baby – or the other way around. But it was at this time that I realized that pastel dust and pregnancy didn’t mix and I was going to have to find another way to make art.

Hawaii: Sitting on a Hawaiian beach, how could one not be inspired by the expanse of sky and fluffy clouds stretching out forever over the clear, turquoise water?

Washington State, again: We were so happy to go back to Washington. The colors of the evergreens, Mount Rainier in the distance, and even the rain were all aspects we loved.

Pennsylvania: While living in PA, I saw the Delaware River daily. Watching as it reflected varying qualities of light was a large part of its charm.

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Vermont: There is so much to love about Vermont. The seasons have such a huge impact on us here and add so much depth to the routine of the everyday. Fall’s mantel of russet and gold, covering unmown fields, is a showstopper.

While each locale may not be immediately apparent in these works without knowing the back story, when seen in this context I feel that these pieces, as a group, create something of a road map of our semi-nomadic life.

It’s a worthwhile exercise to think about how the places in your life have affected your thought process and resulting work, don’t you think? We can’t help but be a product of where we’ve been.

February’s Self-Restraint

Last week I began the first stages of a couple of smaller pieces, looking forward to the learning curve that seems to come more rapidly when working in series and the pieces aren’t (hopefully) as time consuming to complete.

Winter Palette

I have been thinking about ice and snow – big surprise! – and the gentle depth of tones to be found in each. I love the pared down beauty at this time of year and watching for the subtle changes of color that take place in the landscape.

The winds were fierce on our hill earlier this week, leaving behind sculpted piles of snow that remind me of Isamu Noguchi’s work. The rounded forms seem proudly self-possessed, nestled comfortably within their environment. They have carved edges that are clearly defined but smooth enough to convey very subtle value changes. The effect is lovely.

So — how do I transcribe this idea surrounding winter’s visual restraint without being literal? These studies will not be landscapes, but I hope that they will tell part of that greater story. My thoughts revolve around the dissection of the landscape into basic elements; a process of subtraction that distills an image into its essence, with the idea of evoking memory and mood rather than portraying an actual place.

I recently came across this quote by painter Gerhard Richter which seems to cut to the core of the way I think about existing within my surroundings and the search for a way to express the emotional connection that results.

“Our connectedness to nature and our wish to commemorate life and our place in the universe compels us to describe our physical surroundings and, in doing so, ourselves. Landscape’s compositional and spiritual cues also contain the vital seeds of abstraction and beyond.”

Here’s to the hope that these seeds can be planted and will take root despite our frigid temps.

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And to continue with the idea of subtlety and understatement: let me share with you the beautiful photographs of Scott Peterman – a master of the restrained palette. Don’t miss this slideshow of his photographs of ice houses!

Field Trip: David Stearns’ Studio

Visiting the space where an artist lives and works has the potential to provide wonderful insight into the art created there, offering an opportunity to draw connections between both the artwork and the environment from which it springs.

Last summer I had the privilege of visiting David Stearns at his home studio in Bridgewater, VT. I feel quite fortunate to have been the recipient of this warm and generous man’s time, and to have been allowed a glimpse into the beauty of his creativity – both inside and outside his studio.

©David Stearns

David’s knotted tapestries are engagingly lyrical; smart pieces that are sophisticated in color and intriguing in their complexity.

They possess a depth and intelligence that are more fully revealed upon close study, impressing the viewer with his scrupulous attention to the subtleties of detail.

Within each work, there are elements that seem to develop an independent personality, breaking away from the main fabric of the piece, twisting and relocating to another section of the whole.

Disparate and unexpected items such as bamboo sticks and metal beads are also incorporated, contrasting with the knotted, waxed linen, accentuating the rhythm of thousands of half-hitches while simultaneously conjuring an air of unpredictability. As a result, the pieces are quite musical.

The weather on the day of my visit was lovely and it was impossible to ignore the setting surrounding David’s studio. I was swept away by the beauty of his garden — a masterwork of color and texture that manifests the depth that comes with years of care and evolution. One can’t help but notice the thoughtful placement of plants, such that they appear to be in concert with each other, first one carrying the melody, then another picking up the tune in its own voice.

©David Stearns

Layers of light, dark and texture are revealed through the prism of a neighboring plant, bringing to mind the offshoots that spring from the fabric of his tapestries, twisting and turning against the backdrop of the “mother”.

Water-worn stones of interesting shape and color punctuate the vegetation with the presence of sculpture, and when considered with trees that have been pruned to reveal their intertwining trunks beneath the wig of their leaves, create a counterpoint of structure within and beside the flowing garden beds.

©David Stearns

Although the realms of knotted linen and a cultivated plot of land operate on different planes, it is apparent that David has discovered a way to bring together these seemingly separate labors of love so that each informs his work with the other. As a viewer, greater understanding of each comes via the experiencing of both. The mark of the same deft hand remains in both his tapestries and his garden beds, and one begins to realize that each is a different vehicle for answering the same questions.

©David Stearns

Upon reflection, it drills home the strength and reward that is gleaned from finding a way to marry two separate disciplines so that they work together symbiotically, such that each raises the execution of the other to a higher level.

©David Stearns

If you would like to see more of David’s work and environment, and to hear him describing his his art, please watch this lovely short video created by his nephew, Jay Stearns of Handcrafted Video. You won’t be sorry, I promise.