I’m a bit shy about this, but all art runs not only on desire or passion solely. There are bills to pay and we hope all of us as artists to sell enough work to pay them.
But those of us who have taught, who have shown, who have written to share their art know that much of what we do is never paid for, except in the sense that we pay back the people who came before us. It’s how we make a community for all the artists we know.
So if you would like to support me, buy me a cup of coffee, or let me know I’ve helped or inspired you in some way, here’s a tip jar. I know you’ve supported me all along my journey as an artist. If you’d like to express that in a monetary way, I’d be much obliged. Thanks!
I’ve been working for a week on a flamingo quilt. It’s a commission of sorts, so I’m working with the owner’s druthers. Blissfully, we have similar druthers and I think she’s quite pleased.
Part of this week’s fun has been choosing the background The flamingo is all embroidered, so the next step is building her world. I was looking at colors when I pulled out fabric opportunities, but I discovered quickly that what really happened is that the background changed the time of day.
The different backgrounds suggest different times of day
The background changes the time of day and that in itself is a powerful statement. One way or another she’s walking in surf but is it night? Is it in moonlight? Twilight? Afternoon? Early cool morning?
Those are more than logical questions. They make a statement about the quilt itself and what it conveys. They tell me about this bird, who she is, where she is, and what her world is like.
All done by a simple choice of cloth. It never ceases to amaze me. Mostly the fabric choice is about letting the subject shine, but that choice carries meaning as well as color. Hand dye is a miracle that happens all the time but only once for each piece. The miracle we choose opens all kinds of choices and shuts other possibilities out. I’m thinking this will be the “right” background
Final Choice!
I turned around the darker one so that her face is in the light. We have a winner!
Still deciding about the moons. Do I want arced moons or just one? Decisions…..decisions.
My show opened Friday night in Havana IL. I had thought Havana was a quiet sort of place. No. Not so much. We had a pleasant stream of people that flooded at around 6:30 and finally trickled out at 8 after we’d sold several quilts and a good chunk of fabric. I was stunned. And very grateful.
Whenever you’ve stopped working your art, restarting it changes it. Different interests. Different subject passions. New tools. Changed abilities. It’s your work, only different. You can’t step in the same river twice. The river is different and so are you. So you have to wonder. Is the new work as good? Will people respond? Is it a new direction or skill, or an obsession that will pass?
Something that is kind of a confirmation is, will it sell? It’s kind of a confirmation because often work that is very good is waiting for exactly the right people and the right home. But it’s a huge compliment to have someone want to take your work home.
I firmly maintain that my is alive and has a life of it’s own. It has jobs to do that have nothing to do with me. It may go places I never get to visit. It is there to change people, to change how they feel, how they think, how they respond to their world. I can’t do that. Sometimes my art can. It certainly changes me.
Here are the quilts that sold last week!
I treat sales as a adoptions. I’m always so delighted when a quilt moves on to it’s right place. It’s one of the reasons I always offer trade up rights. I want you to have the right quilt.
But there’s another thing that happens. Buying a quilt is a transaction, not only in money, but in support. When someone buys a work, large or small, they are giving me the means to continue to work on my art. Whether they know that or not, I do. And I am so grateful! Whatever it is an artist I do, you are helping me continue to do that. I am grateful for the journey and that you travel with me. You are the heart of my art.
And thanks again to Don, who put up with temper tantrums at sewing machines, driving, mobs and show panic. How did I get this lucky?
Yesterday we had the Pop Up Sale at the Galesburg Art Center. The center is a grand old historic building with much of it’s history in evidence, but the people are warm real artists with wide minds and smiles. It’s been a long time for me.
In your studio, your art is whatever you think it is. Good or bad. Honest or ludicrous. I’ve found those judgements change in a heart beat according to mood and blood sugar. Once you put a piece out where people can see it, there’s a whole other evaluation outside yourself.
I’ve lived a lot of my life out in public. You don’t travel and teach the way I did in a box. There’s a value in that, and a value in sacred space that no one intrudes in such as a studio. The real value is in the balance between.
Thank you everyone who came yesterday to visit! Thank you, Tuesday, for inviting me to show there. And thank you Don for your endless patience and support.
Tomorrow I have my first sole artist showing in over 10 years, I’ve been working for this for 2 years.
Tomorrow I will be at the Galesburg Art Center for a sole artist Pop Up Sale. I’ll have threads, fabrics and quilts all on sale for the day. Out in public.
Sometimes your art is your life. Sometimes your life is your art. I’ve had many people tell me they weren’t an artist, or that they no longer could do their art. I did not understand that when I was younger. I leapt from one project to another, I lived and breathed dye and thread.
But it changed. At one point I was teaching more than I was showing. And that was an obsession too. I opened as many good doors as I could for the people in my classes. Demoed daily on unfamiliar machines. Learned to help people find their way to do what they were working towards.
And then it changed. There weren’t the same opportunities. The teaching slowed. And the passion for my work was gone. I sank into the sunset, learned to knit and crochet, Dealt with my far too worn knees.
It got kind of grim. There are times when your art is your life. But when it isn’t, you really do have to make your life an art. Find ways to feed your eye. Ways to make your heart beat. Allow things to go fallow, I wrote three books, which I believe have probably annoyed everyone who read them. Raised a garden and some neighbor kids. Kept a pack of greyhounds. And I pretty much stopped quilting.
That was when Don came into my life. I’ve never been a believer in love in terms of a noun. I believe it as a verb. It’s not a thing, that you own. It’s actions made on choice. It was an astonishment.
Alumni and Faculty Book Signing; Homecoming 2018
I knew Don at college. But I don’t think either of us knew each other at all. He stood by me as I got my knees fixed. Three knees later, he gave me his home as a studio. And came with me every day as I worked on one piece after another. He opened doors for me I thought were shut forever. I don’t have words for it, but thank you is a start.
When I announced this show, someone posted on the list that she hadn’t heard from me in years and she thought I was retired. I wrote her back that I hadn’t died yet.
It’s changed. I’m in that place where I can’t stop working. I’m on fire. There are resurrections. I’m still here.
I don’t remember who made the post. But I have some hopes for her.
I hope she has a passion that lights her life. I hope that when her life changes, as life does, she finds good things that heal her heart. I hope she understands that she is a human being and not a human doing. That we all have times when we can produce things and times when we cannot.That there are ways back, not to where we were but to what is next.
I hope she gets a resurrection too.
Tomorrow, August 27th, I’ll be at the Galesburg Art Center, 341 East Main Street, in Galesburg, IL from 9:00 to 3:00. I desperately need to sell some things. I’m out of dye, steam a seam, fabric and steam. But being out of things means I working as hard as I can. I am so grateful. To be able again.
Winter is this huge interference of snow and ice on a perfectly nice season. Mostly it’s a waiting time. I hate waiting. Not a skill I have.
I’ve spent the last two months recovering from two knee surgeries to repair a previous surgery. If it sounds like it sucked rocks, you’re right. Everyone was kind, and I purposely spared everyone details and day-to-days of my recovery. I’m mostly through it. It’s all over but the rehab and the shouting.
It’s like everyone else who goes through this. It’s a sparse time separated from your life. I crocheted edged handkerchiefs as a new thing I wanted to learn. It got as bad as that. But it fills time and doesn’t hurt, so that made it worth the candle
So when Don said I was going to the studio, I was worried. About the big step at the back door. About how long I could sit with my knee dangling. And always, did my creativity dry up during this sparse enforced winter of healing.
Silly me. Got the step in one bounce. Worked for about three hours and started a triptic I’ve been dreaming about for some while.
Here’s my bits about the new tryptic. I want to revisit Daylily Dance with more butterflies and caterpillars. Here’s the backgrounds I chose.
Background choicesTryptic panels
Here’s some flower bits.
Is my creativity on board? I don’t think I need to worry about that. More quilts in my head than I can count.
I still have some rehab I would like to avoid but can’t. But at bottom line, I’m back where I belong.
I hope all your winters are short and productive. I hope spring finds us all whole in ourselves and with each other in kindness. I hope spring brings us the new flowers of creativity to change the world with the things we make with our hands.
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged anything. There are times when you live your art. There are times when your art is an effort to live your life. I think most artists swing between those two points. With all the changes coming down, I’m hung somewhere between packing and planning. The art there is the art of putting it all into a box.
For those who’ve missed the punchline. I’m getting married, November 21st, to Don Bowers, a dear friend from college who somehow, miraculously has become my love. And I’m moving to Galesburg, IL.
At that point, I need to pack up and move my home and studio and plan a wedding. At 62.
I’d given up. I’d given up so often I could have written a book on giving up. Surprise.
Will I still teach? Yes if I’m asked. So ask. Will I still do my art? How do any of us stop doing are art? Art is not a process. It’s a by-product of an artist’s life. As we live we express ourselves in many ways. Art is just part of the expression.
What is today’s task? Emptying the dead and quite scary freezer to make room for the new one. There’s art for you. Bring out your dead. Find what’s still living. Hand the rest to Mo.
Tangentially, we’re having a mouse problem. The mice are a problem. Mo, the munificent and very messed up 14 year old cat is doing his best to show me that he is a magnificent mouser. I just wish he would stop putting them in the kitchen and in my bed. I always wanted breakfast in bed, but please. Not while it’s still warm.
I’ve had the privilege of sharing so much of my life with you all. It seems strange not to. So I’ll be writing a bit about this as I move, make room for the changes, start to merge with someone in a strange space. We are all artists, by genome, by birthright. And sometimes our lives are simply the art of trying to make sense of our lives.
If you’d like more information about the wedding, please check our web site on The Knot. If we had a failure of mail or brain pressure and you need to be with us on that day, let us know and we’ll put out more fudge for you. (Yes. I made ten batches). And if you have a moment, say a prayer for us. It’s a lot of changes.
