Quilt sleeve slippage

The quilt has been hanging on the wall for some time. Taking it down to pack it up to send away, I noticed that the hanging sleeve was showing at the top -

 It had been put on according to instructions about making a D shape, to allow for the bulge of the rod. The reason for the slippage was at the bottom of the sleeve -

Stitches not firm enough, thread a little bit stretchy perhaps - and uh-oh ... sleeve creep! "Your slip is showing" - something we didn't want to happen as teenagers, back last century in the days of modesty. "Your sleeve is showing" ... something we don't want to hear when quilts get hung up in exhibitions.

So, when a sleeve is needed, be careful. And consider making the sleeve to blend with the binding or edge of the quilt, rather than using just any old fabric. (At the JQ exhibit recently, the hanging system allowed you to see - if you were close enough - the tops of the sleeves of the quilts that were hung below eye level, and a very interesting collection of random fabrics these made!)

Blank canvas, blank mind

How people ever get started on anything is a mystery. Especially ... starting a painting.

I'm no painter, despite a certain amount of exposure to painting classes and learning about colour mixing. In fact, I watch people painting and wonder how they know what to do - and where to start. 

Painting from observation is one thing - the subject is in front of you. If you know what you're doing, you'll know about underpainting and/or about what colours to put on first, and little things like how to load up the brush and how fluid the paint should be, and how to get tidy edges. Maybe you've learned this by trial and error (and maybe that's what I could be doing too), or maybe you had good instruction along the way.

Painting abstracts, or even painting for the sake of painting - or for the sake of improving technique - is quite another thing (for me anyway) when it comes to starting (and continuing). The nearest I've come is with the Colour Dictionary -

hundreds of pages of words covered over with freshly-mixed colours, one page at a time. The project made me happier about mixing colours, and the Problem Of The Blank Canvas wasn't an issue ... but has it led to a desire to do more painting, to play with liquid colours (or even solid colours: pencils or fabric) - no, not really ... and I wonder why not. 

Possibly what happens with painting is the same as what happens with other kinds of making - you devote yourself to Doing It, so that when you get stuck in, the doing brings to mind other paintings that you could do ... and when you finish one painting, there's something else to start on, as a natural progression. Either you're happy with what you've done (or intrigued with what you could do next) and it becomes a series of some sort, or you're not, so you start on an entirely different tack - doing the first painting has revealed what you need to be doing differently.

I feel I don't have good "intuition" with paint - and that's probably because I simply haven't done enough of it. No, not the 10,000 hours required to be excellent ... I think, on the basis of persevering with drawing, a feeling of competence arrives around the 150 hours mark. That's half an hour a day for just under a year: 300 days of squeezing out enough paint to last for those few minutes of painting ... set the timer, why not, and Just Do It ... take it forward, have a conversation with what's happening on the canvas, let it tell you what to do next - and paint it over, next day, if you want. 

Perhaps that experimental (experiential?) canvas will have as many layers of paint as there are pages in the Colour Dictionary. Connie mentioned Flora Bowley's Brave Intuitive Painting; a glance at the video on her site gives a few ideas about how to start...

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The first step is the hardest: making the first choices. Which colour(s) ... which brush ... this is when random chance is useful: writing notes on slips of paper, putting them in jars, and pulling out "a colour" and "a brush" ... this could be an easy way to get past this brick wall. Another jar could have trigger-words, or even scraps of paper with sections of images, to help with the getting-going. Each one of these is a nudge forward, a way of borrowing momentum...

Another way of making a start is with an assignment, for instance, these two:

1. The Mark: Repetition, Unity with Variation. Create a non objective painting by repeating a brushstroke (mark) all over. Create an area of interest by adjusting color and or value in an area of the painting. Artists: Alma Thomas, Joan Mitchell, Brice Marden, Jack Tworkov.
2. The Grid:  Pattern, Variety, Emphasis. Create an asymmetrical composition based on an irregular grid. Color: Limited to a pair of complementary colors plus the use of white. Use a range of values. Look at Sean Scully, Paul Klee, Mondrian, West African Kente Cloth.

Broken into small steps, into attractive possibilities, this seems like it could be interesting and dare I say fun. I'll leave it a few days to decide whether to start...

Another thought -- why do people who could be happily drawing, or collaging (paper or fabric), or stitching, or making books or pots or clothing ... why, with this sort of creative expression happily to hand, do they set out to do something unknown, something difficult, something they risk never being satisfied with? What are they trying to prove, who are they trying to impress... Might it not be a better use of time to become more skilled in something that's less of a challenge?

Monday miscellany

Stroud International Textiles has an annual textile festival - this year the "Select" event runs 4 April to 31 May. There's lots going on, including an exhibition at nearby historic property Newark Park, with 30 artists participating, from 23 April to 8 June. A visit to Gloucestershire seems in order!

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The "Man eating tree of Madagascar" was one of the
10 great hoaxes of the 19th century

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Last week my Travel Lines had 15 seconds of fame via The Londonist, in a round-up of people who have done what can only be called "obsessive" projects to do with the Underground - photographing all 270 stations, or walking between them, for example. Part of the great British tradition of eccentricity??

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The old Routemaster buses, with the open platform and stairs at the back, still run on some routes, notably past the Albert Hall. These are glimpses of springtime in London from the top of a Routemaster, heading towards Knightsbridge (and Harrods).

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If you've broken the unwritten rules of  travelling on public transport, your photo could appear on the internet in another episode of stranger shaming: "A quick look through stranger shaming Twitter accounts in the rush hour shows a casual willingness for people to take easily identifiable photos of total strangers accompanied by abuse and piss-taking." It's not illegal to take photos of strangers in public, but there's a fine line there that's often crossed.  Project Guardian is an the initiative involving the British Transport Police (BTP), Transport for London (TfL), the Metropolitan Police and City of London Police - taking compromising or unwanted photos of strangers on the tube could result in arrest at the next station.

New in the notebook

This came out of nowhere one evening when I was listening to catch-up radio, a programme called "500 years of friendship" in fact. Seeing a nice blank page, my pen started writing down words and it developed from there, with the words written in all directions, concentrating on grouping words of the same length and starting new groupings here and there, now and then.

This leaves you with only the vaguest idea of what the programme was about (because you're concentrating on catching the next usable word, and thinking where to put it) - and reading the finished item isn't much help, because the words have been put all over the place rather than in sequence.

But it gives you the illusion of paying great attention, and not leaving the hands idle. Those were 15-minute programmes - The Verb is 45 minutes -

Looking at the negative space, I'm seeing ... not a house plan ... more like a maze ... (and it somewhat resembles the work of Gabriel Lalonde) ...

More "constructive doodling" - while hanging on the phone trying to get a PAC code, with music playing (9 songs) that I'd rather not have been listening to! After a while it got almost interesting - a chance to extend the mark-making repertoire -

(This post is linked to Off the Wall Friday - where you can see what lots of creative people are up to.)

What's wrong with "pretty"?

After almost a week of not touching fabric or a needle, a stint of quilt-stewarding at the Creative Stitches show (and a bit of a wander round the traders...) has left me wanting to make something "pretty", which seems to astonish anyone I tell. But ... why not?

Perhaps what got me going was looking through a World of Interiors magazine, in which this appeared:

It's oriental wallpaper, and I'd love it in my bedroom - but it's unaffordable of course ... so the only recourse would be to paint the wall oneself - which I don't have the courage to do, because my halting copy would be a lame, sad thing. But I feel more confident about developing the design into a fabric piece, using those low-key colours, trying to keep the spaciousness. Maybe adding more birds. Making it long and narrow, scroll shape.

If this madness about "making something pretty" persists, I'll start by using shapes cut from newspaper to determine where the bird(s) go (will any be flying?), then where the main branches go; next decision is how many colours to use for the branches, which will be painted onto fabric and outline stitched ... or will they? Maybe hand stitch along the lines of crewel work...?

Compositionally, that loopy vine seems important (contrast of type of line), as do the thin branches (contrast of scale) and the round shapes of the berries. Also the change of direction at the joints of the branches (that needs to be examined more closely, out in the garden).

The garden is visited by blue tits, goldfinches, sparrows (the magpies and wood pigeons are too large for these artistic purposes, unless they are flying in the distance) - if the birds are to be realistic, and there's no guarantee they will be, it would be good to use their actual colours, which would affect the colours chosen for the branches.

Ah, so much easier to plan than to do! And very much easier to find some delicately-sprigged fabric in sweet colours and ... what ... hand-sew hexagons? No, that's not quite what I meant by "pretty"!

this could be pretty, too...

"Museums" course - March meeting

We brought in the projects we've been working on, and laid them out. In a variant of speed dating, we went round the table leaving "three words, and a question" at each display, with three minutes to spend in each place.

Unfortunately the "tropical explorer's survival kit", in its many-pocketed container, is covered by the blank paper - but you can see the bits of wood, which Flea found in an old cabinet, that have been wrapped with cloth also found there - 

Ilana is using the history of the site of Tate Britain, which was once a prison, and has been incorporating the idea of prison bars; perhaps they will lead to jewellery (etching on metal), perhaps to something else-

Karen's mind-map about pins finds its first expression in this child's coat, ambiguously lined with hundreds of pins - protection, or malevolent intent? -

My focus has been on the museum as a maze to be travelled through, resulting in a book structure, ceramics incorporating that kind of structure, and double-sided embroidery on cloth and paper -

Marianne's starting point is a chapel in a cemetery, looking at the tiles and at other patterns, and at the memorials to people buried there -

Pam's work with a 1960s primary school, making murals with each class (and coincidentally teaching motor and perceptual skills) is producing results, and she has personal work alongside that -

Polly, a basketmaker, has been making (weaving? plaiting?) shoes from paper - she's planning to make lots more of them -

Rose's visits to the Horniman Museum have resulted in a collection of annotated photographs and work on colour and patterning -

The 19th-century Red Barn Murder, local to where she lives, has given Sara material for prints and various artefacts, including these "authentic replicas" of shoes worn by the protagonists -

The Micrarium of microscope slides at the Grant Museum of Zoology led Susie to make a micrarium of her own tiny objects; her next step will be to "sit with the sewing machine" -

Sylvia's focus on hand has led to stitched panels as well as much sketchbook work (I'm drawn to the "unconsidered" back of the work, which to me conveys the difficulty of stitching with painful hands - even though the front doesn't show this) -

General agreement was that this is a good exercise and that the words and questions were something to ponder on. 

The afternoon included talk of targets, timescale, and endpoints. Considering how much time we have to spend on the work, and our own working methods. There was mention of "the great disappointment of finding out that you're not self-motivated", and wanting to be able to work more fluently and think more easily, and have more confidence about one's choices.

Other things that came up were Ken Robinson's TED talks, and RSA animations of them. And the possibility of "an internet museum". When the work is "out there", somehow, what needs considering is: the context; who sees it (or looks at or for it); and whether the works are meant to "disappear" or rather meld into a context or collection - how will it be related to the place?

Some practical techniques - waxing paper by heating it by ironing it (on a pile of newspaper to retain the heat), then rubbing it with a wax candle, and using more paper and the iron to absorb the excess wax; or, lightly rubbing paper with baby oil (on a cotton swab) and ironing off the excess. Transferring an inkjet image printed onto acetate onto fabric that has some hand sanitiser rubbed onto it, laying the acetate (ink side down) on the fabric, and rubbing off the ink with a credit card. Using photos as sources for drawing - photograph details and blow them up even more.

Poetry Thursday - Forgetfulness by Billy Collins

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Forgetfulness

The name of the author is the first to go

followed obediently by the title, the plot,

the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel

which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor

decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,

to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye

and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,

and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,

the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,

it is not poised on the tip of your tongue

or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river

whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall

well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those

who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night

to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.

No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted   

out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Billy Collins, “Forgetfulness” from Questions About Angels. Copyright © 1999 by Billy Collins. Reprinted with the permission of University of Pittsburgh Press.

Source: Poetry (January 1990). (via poetryfoundation.org, where you can hear the poem read)

Collins (b.1941) has been called the most popular poet in America. He had a mother who could, and often did, recite poetry on all sorts of subjects. He co-founded the Mid-Atlantic Review in 1975, and as US Poet Laureate wrote "The Names" in response to the 9/11 attacks, but would not include it in any of his books, so as not to capitalise on the attacks.

The Best Cigarette, a collection of 34 of his poems, recorded in 1997, became a bestseller. In 2005, the CD was re-released under a Creative Commons license, allowing free, non-commercial distribution. Changing publishers (around 1999), he receive an advance of a six-figure sum for three books, shocking the poetry, and literary, "world". He approaches his work with a healthy sense of self-deprecation, calling his poems “domestic” and “middle class.” s.

Hear his TED talk here.

From the mouths of artists

Radio 3's The Essay recently had a series of Encounters with Artists, by art historian Martin Gayford, each a fascinating 15 minutes of listening: 

A decisive moment amid careful composition

- Henri Cartier-Bresson, the prickly photographer who, interviewed at 93, had captured "the decisive moment" so many times;

- Marina Abramovic,  the 'grandmother of performance art,' whose work has included lacerating her body, starving herself, living entirely in public in a gallery for 12 days and exchanging places for an afternoon with an Amsterdam prostitute; 
- Robert Rauschenberg, an artist whose paintings, 'combines' and graphic work anticipated pop art and many other genres, years before they became universally fashionable; 

Heron lived at Eagle's Nest, near the Cornish village of Zennor; the shapes in
his paintings echo those in the landscape (photo by Malcolm Osman, via)

- Patrick Heron, a celebrated member of the St Ives School, who relished living amid the boulder-strewn fields in the specially luminous light of Cornwall; 

- Euan Uglow, an uncompromising and difficult artist  who confessed not to be able to finish a picture, and whose sitters were obliged to commit to several years of posing.

Heron's window for Tate St Ives (1992-3) (via)

Patrick Heron on looking: "I believe that my awareness is saturated with visual pleasure. The greater the intensity of your consciousness, and visual intensity, the greater the pleasure" and he went on: "Looking is more interesting than doing anything else, ever, as a matter of fact." 

Rauschenberg on cooking: "It's a very social way to turn your back and still be there."

Rauschenberg with a White Painting in 1951 (via)

Rauschenberg had talked to Gayford about the very minimalist (all-white) paintings he made early in his career - or rather about his  "militant desire to be fair to paints. He hated the way that painters picked on innocent colours and forced them to express their emotions. He didn't think artists should make pigments or anything else express their feelings. This for him was a moral question. 'I found ... that the focus on the self, particularly through pity, was about the worst state, the most anti-life, that you could put yourself into.' He wasn't an abstract expressionist, he was an anti-expressionist."

He also said: "I want to surprise myself. I want to be the first one to not-know what I'm going to do next. I also want to be the first one to be confused and bewildered by what I did do next, after I'd done it."

One of Uglow's pears (via)

"Looking at the world is magic," said Uglow, and, in relation to his slow method of working, "It's only after a certain amount of time that you can really understand a form and find a way of sticking it down as a flat shape."

Marina Abramovic & Ulay, AAA-AAA, 1978 (video; via)

Abramovic's performance involved altered consciousness, almost entering a state of trance. "If I cut myself cutting garlic in the kitchen I cry," she said , "in private life you feel fragile, you are working from your ordinary self. When you are doing a performance you can use the energy of the public, which is enormous. You can push your limits further, and do whatever you want."

Why such frequent self torture? "Working with your body you have to confront your fears - fear of pain, fear of mortality - these are things of art that have always been there in different forms. If you work with the body you have to deal with them. What does the cut body look like? How far can you push the body's limits?"

I didn't have a chance to extract any pearls of wisdom from the Cartier-Bresson  episode  before it disappeared from the iplayer. (Some Essays are available as free podcasts - I recommend the one on Hildegard of Bingen.)

900 french knots

It's a bit indulgent to spend hours making french knots; my justification is that these pieces are an offshoot of my labyrinth-maze project. They're working toward something else ... something as yet unknown.

The latest production is a journal quilt, 8" square. It started pinned to the ironing board cover -

The three layers of sheer fabric were pinned down so that the grid (1/4") could be dotted on. (Next time I'll put dots on just one layer of fabric - the ink penetrated and the layers shifted and it got a bit confusing.)

34 x 32 = 1088... and making up a pattern was a bit like developing a counted cross-stitch chart -

Halfway up, working in horizontal rows (with regular deviations), I had to figure out how the pattern would proceed and happened to leave part of the row blank, to be filled in later.

Turn it over and you can see the pattern -

As you can see from the back, that blank area didn't get filled in, and others were subsequently strategically left.

Trimmed and satin stitched, it is finished -

Some of the dots got cut off in reducing the quiltlet to the right size, leaving about 900.

When it's held up to the light, the thread on the reverse shows as (rather geometric) ripples.

I prefer the uncut version, with the threads showing at the end of the lines.

Overwhelmed, a bit

When there's too much, it's hard to know where to start! The weekend has given me an excess of things to blog, and I'm losing sight of my aim with the blogging - "You are not behind" - only as much gets done as gets done, and not to worry about the rest!

To get the ball rolling, here are some unexpected things seen on Sunday morning. The composite pictures are as downloaded from the camera, hence some are sideways.

Tower blocks being demolished, northwest London (taken from the No.6 bus)

More shots of those buildings, taken on the return journey
(the furthest one is still being lived in)

And now for something completely different. Near the Aldwych, behind the struggling tree, is St Clement's Church - the one in the song ... "oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's" -

As we got off the bus, the bells were playing that song. By the time we'd got our coffee and taken it to an outside table, they were playing something else. (Apparently they play Oranges and Lemons every evening at 6pm, and the peel of 10 bells was cast in 1693.) My little video catches them mid-song, and doesn't last long -