{"id":7751,"date":"2021-03-11T17:31:54","date_gmt":"2021-03-11T17:31:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/?p=7751"},"modified":"2021-03-11T17:31:54","modified_gmt":"2021-03-11T17:31:54","slug":"white-on-white-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/white-on-white-2\/","title":{"rendered":"White On White"},"content":{"rendered":"

As I was setting up a folder in my computer to store the images for this post, it hit me that we are already almost halfway through March. This winter seems like it’s flown by. In talking with a friend the other evening, we brushed against the theory that time tends to be perceived as passing much more quickly in the absence of novel experiences. Sound familiar?<\/p>\n

\"Snow

With two panels abutted together and the start of the embroidered trees overlapping the shibori “moon”, this is the first glimpse of what is in store for this piece.<\/p><\/div>\n

In the beginning of the lockdown, with my regular activities out and around the community curtailed, I found it hard to keep track of what day of the week it was. But that has slowly resolved itself as I’ve inadvertently established a new weekly structure within my isolation.<\/p>\n

\"Malevich

Kasimir Malevich’s White on White<\/strong> from 1918, now housed at the MoMA in New York, appears deceptively simple. Yet close inspection reveals depth and nuance that convey a sense of calm and healing. Reaching back to college Art History, I vividly remember seeing a slide of this piece for the first time, and that my first impression was curiosity.<\/p><\/div>\n

Until I get the vaccine, my studio routine remains pretty consistent. Every day I try to stitch a bit, draw a bit, with some reading and\/or writing sprinkled in for good measure. Yet, despite the outward predictability and repetitiveness, I am astounded that my days never feel tedious. Add to the above the wide range of talks now available via Zoom, and I might even say this has been one of the richest years ever within my practice. Funny, how things work out.<\/p>\n

\"Secrets

This mid-process image from about a year ago of “The Secrets She Keeps”, shows the piece after the first pass of embroidery and before the resist-dye stage. Without color as a distraction, the beauty of texture and pattern is highlighted, not unlike the rhythms that have developed during these weeks and months of lock-down.<\/p><\/div>\n

Among the most satisfying perks of weaving all these elements together is that I have time to consider things at a slower pace, so unexpected connections often rise to the surface.<\/p>\n

\"Louise

I took this picture of Louise Nevelson’s work at the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland, Maine a year and a half ago. I usually make note of the title and details, but unfortunately neglected to do so – apologies.<\/p><\/div>\n

Last week I listened to an excellent recorded lecture on the life and career of Louise Nevelson, given by mixed-media artist and former art teacher Linda Finkelstein. It was an illuminating hour (listen to it here)<\/a>, that filled in many details about the acclaimed sculptor from my native state of Maine. Linda’s talk shined a new light on Nevelson’s work for me, to the degree that I’ve been thinking quite a bit about it since.<\/p>\n

\"Laurie

Linda Finkelstein credited this book, which covers Nevelson’s life and career in great detail, as one of her main resources. Happily, my library had it.<\/p><\/div>\n

Meanwhile, this week I’ve been embroidering panels with fields of snow on my current piece, “Snow Moon”. As the patterns build up, it’s hard not to get swept up in the visual strength of Texture – with a capital T, exemplified in the white stitches on white silk. While color is a huge influence on much of my work, there is an undeniable attraction to the subtle power of a monochromatic statement, as Nevelson certainly knew.<\/p>\n

\"Snow

In process: Snow Moon \u00a92021 Elizabeth Fram<\/p><\/div>\n

Is it too much of a stretch to see these weeks and months of remaining largely at home, following a routine that is outwardly much the same from one day to the next, as a time of white on white — ostensibly bland, yet akin to the depth of Nevelson’s sculptures or Malevich’s painting, and as richly textured as a stitched drift of snow? I guess it’s all in how you choose to see things.<\/p>\n

\u2756<\/span><\/h1>\n

Instagram of the Week<\/span><\/h4>\n
\"Liz

\u00a9 Liz Sofield, Twisted Rhythm IV<\/strong> detail, Stitching and folding on paper<\/p><\/div>\n

Interestingly, when I searched the hashtag “white on white” on Instagram, most of what came up were architectural interiors, wedding cakes and floral arrangements. But then, out of pure coincidence, Liz Sofield’s<\/a> (@liz.sofield.artist) striking work popped up in my regular feed. Such a lovely expression of white on white!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As I was setting up a folder in my computer to store the images for this post, it hit me that we are already almost halfway through March. This winter seems like it’s flown by. In talking with a friend the other evening, we brushed against the theory that time tends to be perceived as […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[21,862],"tags":[1228,1230,546,1229,873],"class_list":["post-7751","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-discussion","category-textiles-and-drawings","tag-linda-finkelstein","tag-liz-sofield","tag-louise-nevelson","tag-monochromatic","tag-white-on-white"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5kO5z-211","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7751","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7751"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7751\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7774,"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7751\/revisions\/7774"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7751"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7751"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.elizabethfram.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7751"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}