Tag Archives: Change

Capturing the Essence of Time

Last week I visited the Julian Scott Memorial Gallery just in time to see Ken Leslie’s retrospective before it closed. It was a delight.

South Wall of Ken Leslie’s Retrospective, Julian Scott Memorial Gallery, Vermont State University, Johnson Campus

I have long been smitten with Leslie’s folded watercolor paintings that mark time through place and feature light and darkness as leading players. While standing and rotating on a singular spot, he portrays a location as a circle segmented into 24 sections, each describing an hour within a full day.

Ken Leslie, Uummannaq Equinox Cycle (detail), artist’s book, watercolor and colored pencil on folded paper, 2020, 1 page every hour for 24 hours. Created with support of Tuullik Art Center, Uummannak, Greenland

The progression captures both the mystery and the steadfast quality of the sun’s daily path.
In one sense, these works could be interpreted as an analogy for life itself, speaking to the nature of change: incremental, transformative and constant.

Depictions of Leslie’s home in Hardwick, as well as the eternal days and nights of Greenland and Iceland, meditate on the essence of the passage of time within the context of a single day.

Ken Leslie, Akureyri Winter Cycle artist’s book, watercolor and colored pencil on folded paper 2011/2012, 1 page every hour for 24 hours. Created with support of the Gilfélagið, Akureyri, Iceland

Equally stunning was a wall filled with one year’s Sky Journal and another year’s Night Journal — painted and conjoined views of morning and evening skies.

Ken Leslie, Sky Journal, 1998/1999, Watercolor on folded paper

A celestial log of sorts, these visual recordings are uncomplicated by forms other than clouds, the moon, and stars, revealing the unique quality of every day and every night.

Ken Leslie, Night Journal, 2009/2010, Watercolor on folded paper

Yet seen as a whole, there is a rhythmic, repetitious beauty that conveys a sense of comfortable cohesiveness despite the differences.

Ken Leslie, Sky Journal (left), Night Journal (right)

As the years speed up on us, don’t we all long for a way to slow down our days and to mark individual moments so that they aren’t all merged into a blur? Isn’t that one of the reasons people keep diaries?

Ken Leslie, Upernavik Summer Cycle artist’s book, watercolor and colored pencil on folded paper, 2014, 1 page every hour for 24 hours. Created with support of the Upernavik Art Museum, Upernavik, Greenland

How enlightening and apt these works are, depicting change melded into a circular whole rather than appearing in a linear succession with a beginning and an end. And how uplifting to witness and to be immersed in the sense of renewal this format suggests.

And on a different note:

Are you familiar with the Architecture + Design Film Series?

“The essence of design lies in its profound ability to affect how we think about and experience the world.”

You can attend Season 11, which occurs once a month from September 2023 through April 2024, for free in person in Burlington and Brattleboro, or watch virtual screenings online via the A+D homepage.
Here is a complete listing of screenings, dates, and information. The next event is Wednesday, December 13th.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Comfortable Reliability of Change

A friend, who understandably seeks mid-day breaks from her job’s unrelenting stream of Zoom meetings, recently asked me if I found what I do equally challenging because I seemingly need to sit in one place for long periods each day. My quick answer was no.
While there are plenty of long stretches when I am stitching or drawing, there are so many other elements to what I do that I can easily stop at any time and move into another phase of the work (or, for that matter, to take Quinn for a walk, do a bit of weeding, throw in a load of laundry or do the breakfast dishes, etc.). The ace up my sleeve, aside from the fact that I am in charge of my own schedule, is change – it keeps things fresh and it keeps me interested.

The color combo of these daylilies and liatris makes any trip to the veggie garden or compost bin pure pleasure.

That fact is just as true for living in an environment where the landscape is in constant flux because of the seasons. Those changes set a rhythm and a tone, not only shaking things up, but also offering a sense of reassurance in their constancy.

When the view out the window is subdued for many, many months, one can’t help but revel in the variety of tones and the lushness of texture to be found in a composition of greens.

Personally, I find contentment in the muted colors of November through March, enjoying the visual calm after the fiery hues of fall. In a strange way, the lack of color outside during that time of the year, makes my work with color inside all the more inspiring. And not to be discounted, there is no truer light in the studio than on a snowy day. But I also look forward to the rejuvenation that comes with the early blush of maroon and lime-green as trees flower and begin to leaf-out across the hills in April and May, knowing that there will be a fuller and brighter spectrum to follow.

In 2012 I built a stone herb spiral that is usually reserved for herbs and flowers. This year I had a few leftover Rainbow Chard seeds that I took a chance would sprout there and that I hoped would be ignored by the critters. Success on both counts! But even more rewarding is the jolt of color in the magenta central stems and veins of the chard leaves, humming alongside the singing petunias.

On a visual scale, summer is its own entity. This is the one short season when we have a measure of control and can choose for ourselves, via our gardens, the colors that surround us. Is it any wonder that so many artists garden and so many gardeners are artists? There is a Monet quote: “I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers”. I think every artist carries within them a bit of that sentiment. One of my earliest posts celebrated the garden of artist David Stearns. It remains one of the loveliest home gardens I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting.

If there is one plant I eagerly await each year, it’s this delphinium. It adds so much to my front bed in height, shape, and glorious color. It’s situated so that I can enjoy it from inside as well. And each winter, when the snow slides off the roof in that spot, piling up to just about the same height, I think of this beauty that lies in wait for mid-July.

This year my garden has been a refuge unlike ever before. The bright colors and gentle scents are a salve during a point in time one might metaphorically equate with winter. While it’s been hotter and drier than usual and some plants are doing better (and others worse) than last year, I am always amazed to know I can expect each plant to reappear and then come into its own within 3-5 days of the date it did every summer before. Heck, I can even count on the Japanese beetles to show up around the same week each year. Good or bad, I find a great deal of comfort in this reliability — especially now, when so much in the world seems out of control.

Work in progress: This new house I’m currently working on is a reflection of the joy our yard and garden are bringing to me this summer. It celebrates the myriad colors that surround me and the sense of home and hope that comes from watching all our plants cycle in and out, the same as they do every year.

But just as dependably, the seasons come and they go. The bright colors that are so enjoyable now, will transition to deeper shades before fading altogether. So, I find it worth thinking about and appreciating the oxymoron of the consistency to be found in change, and how that lends the gift of both excitement and stability to our day-to-day existence.

The Artist's Garden

Maybe you aren’t as interested as I am in getting your hands dirty, or perhaps you are. Either way, two books I’ve been enjoying this month are The Artist’s Garden: The secret spaces that inspired great art by Jackie Bennett, and Spirit of Place: The making of a New England garden by Bill Noble. Both are a testament to the joy that is possible right outside your doorstep.

Spirit of Place

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Update

I had so much fun with this latest addition to my “selfie project”. Hard to believe as I look at it now, that the leaves hadn’t even fully budded when the photo sent to me was taken. But generally, the image struck me as very hopeful and joyful – a mini-celebration of the fact that spring was on its way, despite our all being confined to home at the time. I’ve tried to use color to help further that feeling.

Wrapping Things Up to Begin All Over Again

It always feels good to cross the finish line.

While it may seem that I’ve only been sketching, reading, and gardening this summer, behind the face of this blog there have been untold hours of stitching as well. The plain, hard fact is my textile pieces have so many layers and levels of process, mostly hand-done, that sometimes they seem to crawl along at a virtual snail’s pace. The Rio Olympics provide the perfect analogy: sketching is a sprint, textile work is a marathon. Happily, neither impinges upon the other and working at both seems to have reciprocal advantages.

And I’m sure you can appreciate why I need both.

Poseidon’s Garden ©2016 Elizabeth Fram 26″H x 22″W, Stitched Resist, Dye, Discharge, Stitching on Silk If ever there was a piece for which it was particularly satisfying to tie off the last thread, this is it. My previous posts “How Do You Define Success”, “One Note Changes Everything”, & “Share the Wealth” discuss the process and, perhaps more significantly, the struggle of working my way through it.

Last month I finally finished the two pieces shown here, and now need only to tidy up behind them with proper photographs and documentation. Neither of them came together easily, yet they both represent the best type of workhorse. They are rich in lessons learned along the way that, while obvious to no one but me, add measurably to my toolkit for the future.

Capriccio ©2016 Elizabeth Fram 12″ x 12″, Paint & Stitching on Silk Made in response to the prompt “lyrical” for the 2016 Journal Project, an undertaking you can read more about in my previous post “Creative Yoga”

Work begets work, so the door is now open to fully concentrate on the two new pieces that I began a couple of weeks ago. And boy, does it feel good to start fresh and shift my focus! However, there’s something to be said for setting aside a few moments to mark the transition, to make note of and be grateful for the ground covered, and to hope that what was learned can be applied to the challenges that lie ahead.

On Another Note…

I can’t help but share the most important and thoughtful article I’ve read this week. In her blog post Why “good ideas” never happen & WHY YOU CAN’T AVOID DIFFICULT DECISIONS, Nela Dunato discusses why and how maintaining a mindset that includes the capacity for change is both a necessity and a powerful ally in achieving success, especially for the creative professional. Check it out; it’s a valuable reminder that even small steps can reap large rewards.

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.

Expect the Unexpected: Revisiting Process, Part 1

This piece, Ulysses’ Wave, is about change — and more specifically, coming to terms with the aging and the loss of a parent. It seemed a worthy candidate for sharing a look into my process, which is largely intuitive and does not involve much preparation other than a vague idea of where I am headed.

Almost daily my dog and I walk the same path in the woods, and as a result I’m sensitive to the subtle differences I see from day to day. My observations have prompted me to think about the slow changes that occur as one season merges into the next, which in turn led me to consider the idea of such a progression in wider terms.

Even though one is fully aware change is coming, there can suddenly be a moment when the realization strikes home that the exchange has already occurred — almost like the silent flip of a switch. The most apt metaphor I can come up with is an invisible line that one day you are a bit surprised to find you have already crossed. In a nutshell, that’s the concept behind Ulysses’ Wave.

In my work, I’ve been developing a process for a couple of years now that brings together my interest in color, texture, and the organization and arrangement of shapes within an image. I aim to capitalize on the qualities that make working with textiles unique through the shifting of one’s focus between the surface of the work and the image portrayed. Along the way, I’m learning to become comfortable with the fact that no part of the process is entirely predictable; the final piece will evolve as it does, which is the result of lots of starts and stops along the way.

In beginning Ulysses’ Wave, I first dyed strips of raw silk in a gradual progression from a bright, clear green to a subdued, faded neutral.

Each segment was then stitched so that once the threads were pulled tight and the strips put in a second dye bath – each progressively more muted – the resulting shibori pattern created connections and continuity between the strips, but maintained distinct characteristics.

With the dyeing completed and the segments laid out in order, I realized a counterpoint was needed to offset the uninterrupted rhythm of the piece so far. I painted and inserted a strip of dupioni silk to provide some breathing room.

But as the process of embroidery began in earnest, something didn’t seem quite right…

The painted section was too wide and disruptive

And here it seemed too thin

Finally…a width that feels correct.

The next part of the process is one that I really enjoy — auditioning thread for color and placement. One of the great things about thread is that you can get your hands right into the color (it reminds me a bit of playing in my mother’s jewelry box when I was little).

Then comes the largely intuitive job of using stitch to play off the pattern, color and shapes created by the dye.

At this point the embroidery, for the most part, seemed complete. I had spent weeks on the challenge of harnessing visual movement so that it flowed around and through the piece, rather than traveling to one side and dropping off the edge. But unfortunately, it’s not uncommon to get this far and to discover after pinning the work to my design wall that I can’t get past a niggling feeling that part of it isn’t working. Thus begins something of a waiting game – one of holding back and taking time to consider, anticipating an eventual solution which will set me on the right path.

So this is where I’m going to leave you until next time — considering, as I did, how to bring this piece to a place where it could convey a sense of the transformation that comes with change, while maintaining, as we all must, some form of continuity.

Enjoy your week…