nature artist

Hunting for Rubbing Plates: When You’re Desperate You Make Your Own

| ellenanneeddy

I’ve been in love with oil paint stick rubbing for some tine. The ritchness of the patterns and colors adds a fabulous dimension to my art.

IT’s not for every quilt. It’s not for every image. But when it’s right it’s magical.

My first usages for them were little quilts, experiments more than anything. To my surprise, they have been popular. People have bought them and been pleased to have a small quilt at a more accessible price. I’ve continued to make them.

They’ve crept into my larger work as well. I found I could use plastic ceiling tiles as rubbing plates,

What am I missing?: Rain, frogs, birds, grass, pebbles, water reflections, clouds, sea weeds, and who knows what else.

It’s limited. There are some fabulous rubbing plates, but they are finite. No one seems to making new ones. And as a phase in the quilt world, it seems to have come and gone.

But that’s the thing about phases. If they have a glory of their own, then perhaps they shouldn’t go. I keep wanting more images. At a certain point, it has to come from somewhere else.

I’ve tried desperately to make my own.

This has been a quest for a while. I tried making plates on a CNC. As it is, it’s past my ablity. If anyone is willing to help me learn, I would bless you. I do think it’ s a possible answer. I’m not currently able.

I’ve tried block cutting erasers. Words fail me. Not my skill. I’m willing to do something badly to do it well, but not that badly.

I’ve tried piping modelling paste, with limited success. You can pipe modeling paste through a piping bag like frosting. I can too, but mine is lumpy and weird, even if I smooth it out with a brush.

If it’s too hard, too long or too miserable, you have the wrong tool.

I saw someone stencil with modeling paste. They weren’t making a rubbing plate of it They were building a raised image. . But I sure could. The number of available stencils appears to be endless. I still wish I could make my own designs work.

Here’s my first efforts. The colors are irrelavent. They’re whatever acrylic paint I had. I do think it’s helpful to use a color because you can see your raised surface better and correct it easier if needed.

I’ll be exploring this for a while in the next couple of blogs. Next week, how to make the plates.

Is This Off Color? Other People’s Perceptions

| ellenanneeddy

I spent last week working on three cranes. I was fairly pleased with myself, when someone asked, “Are these cranes having sex?

I hadn’t seen it. I still kind of don’t. I looked up a picture of cranes in love, and it didn’t quite look that quiet. But I have my head in my hands trying to figure out what I do next.

I was inspired by a Japanese textile design in a Dover Pictorial Archive book. I’m pretty sure they didn’t see it as cranes in love. It was my own rendering of it, changed in the way we change everything we draw ourselves.

Usually I let people tell me anything about my art. If it comes from them, it’s theirs. I don’t mess with that. I meant what I meant. I’m not responsible for their response.

But this hits me in a place that makes me feel very vulnerable. Sex is about bodies and bodies are about vulnerability. Art is about visual vulnerability. I’m not really secure about body image. I work in animal imagery since I can’t bear to work in human flesh. I have a delicate detent with my body, somewhat riddled by the failures of old age and memories of high school.

It’s a response to really old tapes. I wasn’t just fat. I was born deformed. Admittedly, it was a small genetic oops. But my mother could build a tragedy out a broken nail.

IF you are harmed enough, people can frame you as being inhuman. If you are harmed deeply enough, you may even think that’s true. If other people think it’s true, they can do anything to you because you aren’t a human being. That was my whole childhood. It seems to be going around globally right now.

I’m not taking this anywhere except in my own life. And I don’t want anyone to explain situations where it is somehow ok. Or tell me to get over it. I don’t believe we get to dehumanize people.

The bottom line is that I’m terrified of naked vulnerability. My animals are me in some way. I’ve come to see my self through Don’s eyes and his vision is kinder than my memories. I usually let that stand. I’m not sure I can be a crane in love on a quilt.

I took the time to reoutline the birds. It usually makes things clearer. Maybe this time that’s not such a good idea.

So what do I do with a quilt with cranes possibly delecto inflagrante? Do I finish it? Put a bunch of cat tails around them? Do I stuff it in a drawer until I feel more brave? I tend to not just throw work out, even if I don’t like it. I could put a lower price on it, and it either sells or it doesn’t. That assumes I can bear to finish it. There’s a dark corner in the closet, perfect for storage.

So what do you think? Would you finish it? Show it? Put a fig leaf on it? What?

Too Large: Managing Big Quilts

| ellenanneeddy

I love big quilts. I know my definition of big is not large for those doing bed quilts. I consider a 45″ x 36″ piece large. This is a big larger than that, probably around 45″ square.

I also am terrified of them. A large quilt is a commitment. It’s at least 2 weeks- 2 months of time and energy. If it works, that’s fine. If it isn’t, that time, energy and material is lost. It’s not exactly wasted. It’s education, and education has its costs. But it is demoralizing.

There are also a lot of components in this piece: the spoonbill, fish, birds, wisteria, and iris fronds. They can all look great if they’re place precisely. Placing them precisely is not simple. You have to look at it up on a wall.The view on a quilt on a flat surface is distorted. You can’t see the design well enough.

So a larger piece is a bit scary. They’re harder to design, because it’s harder to see what you’re doing. So I took my time on this piece. The bird is great. Getting her into her pond is a bit harder.

I’ve pinned this piece up 3 times. Partially because needed to use the wall for something else. Partially because I wasn’t sure. In the end I ended up tilting the legs and the iris leaves to emphasize the visual path on this.

This is where a black and white picture comes in. Seeing things in black and white makes a lot of things more clear. I get distracted in the color, and the black and white shows what really is and isn’t popping.

Hopefully she’s in her proper place. She’s mostly stitched down, so it’s what it is.

Saint Don of the Dead Sewing Machine

| ellenanneeddy

This is a cautionary tale. I’m hoping someone can learn from my mistakes.

Maybe you can sew too much.

This has been a bad year for sewing machines. I’m trying to figure out whether I’m really sewing that much more or whether it’s attrition, or just bad luck. I’ve broken 3 220s, been told my 770 is worn out at 31 million stitches (in four years) and had two 930s break down.

My mechanic has two of my machines in shop. I was down to working with a 807 minimatic. I love my mechanic. She’s meticulous. On average, she takes 2 months to fix a machine. It’s not an instant fix.

For this discussion, I’m leaving brand names off the machines. You’ll probably know what the numbers mean. They are all machines known for their tough durability. That doesn’t seem to be enough right now.

Thank you, God, for Don.

I knew Don had worked on vacuum cleaners in the deep dark past. I didn’t understand what that meant. Don is a small motor specialist. Sewing machines are about small motors. He had fuddled with several older machines and got them working. I had no idea how skilled he was.

I had two 930s. One was my machine from when I started. I picked up the second because the first was soooooooo good.

I had put them up on the rack and not used them for a while. But as machines kept going down it got more desperate. We pulled them down, decided which was less beat up. It sewed like a top for around a month and then locked. We brought out the second machine, made some adjustments. I got two months out of that. Then it jammed.

I was so upset I couldn’t even cry.

In came St Don. He watched a bunch of videos, took both machines apart. We saw what was fixable, and was not. Then we had the kind of transplant surgery where really only one patient survived. He dusted it off, I oiled everywhere and now I have Frank En 930. But it’s working.

What did I learn?
What would I say to anyone doing the kind of embroidery I’m doing?

  • Skip the bells and whistles. You need something tough. I do think most of the machines today are much more fragile.
  • If you have a machine that’s working for your craft, don’t ever turn it in for another machine. It’s not necessarily able to do the same things for you.
  • If you have an older machine that’s working for you, find an extra one for a parts machine. It doesn’t need even to run. But it means you have the parts to fix things, even down to the right screws.
  • You’ll probably need someone like Don. You can’t have him but you can find a reasonable facsimile. If you do, feed him plates of brownies and videos. Other treats may be applicable. You need someone able and willing to hunt the snark (whatever is wrong with your machine), and brave enough to take the back off the machine. I’m fixing his third batch of cookies today. We can’t let him run out.

My next sewing machine

This has changed how I feel about my machines. Instead of looking for the great new features (which are a wonder) I’m looking for something with alligator blood. Pulling out my 40 year old Berninas was a really good patch on this.

So I pulled out another old machine I hadn;t even moved with me when I moved to Ga;lesburg. Luckily, the man renting my house had left it in a safe place and not disposed of it. A 20 u is the machine I bought when I blew the brushes off my 930 for the first time. It’s the machine you’d find at a drycleaners. Very fast. Uncontrolable except for straight stitch clothes construction. In the end, I stopped doing the elaborate embroideries.

But those are at the heart of what I’m currently doing. I can’t give them up. They are at the heart of my art right now. They are the flame I’m drawn to.

Things change. My threads and stabilizers have changed since then. And what is available for a fix has chnged too.

I’m putting a servo motor on my 20u industrial to see if we can tame that machine to a reasonable speed for embroidery. And I’m looking for another 930. Other than for demo, I’m done with plastic toys.

Don, neither plastic or a toy, is a total keeper. So he is now St Don, for healing the halt, the lame, and the blind stitch.

Deciding Rather than Designing: Starting from Scratch

| ellenanneeddy

I wish I were someone who could take a design and execute it. I can try. It’s a case of man proposing, and God laughing. Instead, a series of decisions are to be made at each point. Each decision points to the next.

One of the most useful things I do in a class is to start a piece from scratch. It’s not like there is a direct list of what you do next. But there are some decisions to be made. It helps to have a plan.

Here is the list of things I need to decide for each piece.

  • Background-The hand dye creates the light and the atmosphere for the piece. It usually is the first choice. Does it have a sunspot? A pool? A field of flowers within it? It dictates almost everything, especially the lighting in a piece.
  • Major Images-These are the main focus. I draw them in Totally Stable, backwards. They iron on to the back of the piece and remain inside the piece as a pattern.
  • Atmospherics-Water, light, smoke clouds, and sometimes leaves and flowers are atmospherics. They are usually made of commercial sheers, handpainted lace, and dyed cheesecloth. They make a translucent presence in the piece.
  • Details/pathway-These are smaller embroideries, or stones, or leaves that can be used to create a visual pathway through the surface.
  • Texturizing the surface/stippling- after all that embroidery, the rest of the piece needs to be integrated. The stippling over the surface can pulls the piece together.

There are no right or wrong answers. There are simply decisions. Each defines the piece. What I choose not to do also shapes the definition. I’m OK with that. I’ve learned that each decision I reject can be featured in the next piece. Or the one after that. I’m not making one perfect piece of art. I’m creating a body of art that explores the limits and range of my techniques and my skills.

This piece, like most of them, started with a piece of fabric and the idea of herons. I dye a number of pieces of fabric as cenotes, wells of color. Some times the cenotes make a light source, but this piece made a wonderful pond.

The birds started as whistling herons. But at a certain point, they were indistinguishable from the Louisiana Blues. So I did them as blue herons. It’s important to finish the major embroideries first because they shrink. You don’t know how they’ll fit in until they’re embroidered and cut out.

The atmospherics for this piece are water and grass. The grass is an oil paint stick rubbing of a ceiling tile. The water is accentuated with c-shapes of hand painted and commercial lace. Then I put in rocks to anchor the pond and direct the eye.

I decided on damsel flies and grasshoppers, as pathway elements. They did not work the way I had hoped. The damsel flies fit in, but I’m not sure of the grasshoppers. I’ll have to finish them to be sure.

Finally, I wanted seedlings growing up through the water. I made big beautiful bold seedlings the size of God’s underpants. Again, not the best choice. I scaled that down and it was much more effective, although I might want bigger ones at the bottom.

This piece is pinned in position. I’ll be stitching soon. But most of the decisions are made, step by step, before it’s stitched down.