Sculptress Studio

lines collide

2009-07-08T11:49:00.005-04:00

06
28
09

Cedar Key again. Fishing line and tackle entangled just above a popular fishing spot.

One of my favorite signs read:
Keep our waterways tangle free,
Recycle your lines responsibly.

Those dangerous tangles captured my mind's eye and the image of them floating down in the depths has stayed with me.

waver

2009-07-02T10:10:00.001-04:00

Cedar Key, FL

This past weekend we visited the coast with some family. While archeological evidence suggests human occupation of Cedar Key as far back as 500 B.C, between hurricanes and isolation, it seems to hover between here and gone. This ghost house sat abandoned to the currents just outside the one we stayed in onshore. We fished facing it, a constant reminder of our tidal presence here.

tangle wallet

2009-07-01T02:32:00.004-04:00

A recent gift of a handmade wallet from one friend to another resulted in a frenzy of wallet making among the rest of us to create our own. The materials are those found in my kitemaking friend's studio: cuben fiber and insignia cloth. Cuben is a cloth made of spectra fibers laid down and then laminated together. It's incredibly strong, translucent, and just needed to have a tangle captured in it.
The tangle above is a test tangle using industrial sewing thread; the final tangle is silk thread pulled from the margins of a bit of silk scrap.

2009-06-30T13:15:00.008-04:00

6
28
09

squiggle lines and
atmosphere

Queen Anne's Lace

2009-06-16T02:25:00.002-04:00

In an effort to recover, at least momentarily, from sweet camera lust, I've been combing through images made with my trusty point and shoot. These were taken while hiking in North Carolina last August.

a feathered story

2009-06-06T10:57:00.001-04:00

My studio, a veritable jungle of fibers and tools, occasionally reveals a restful moment. Here a beginning tangle drawing, linen canvas, a wool bit and a recent experiment in spinning find themselves in close proximity. This little seductive lock of wool has been around for a long while now, and is one of the early seeds that began my whole thread of work. Above it, hangs something quite new, a yarn of folk legend.
Feather and silk handspun together become an artifact of the Crane Wife, an old Japanese tale. The Decemberists first brought this story to me through three songs:

They tell of a poor man wandering through a snow-covered wood, who comes upon a crane with an arrow in its wing. He removes the shaft and with a grateful bow, the bird flies away. He returns to his humble home and a beautiful woman knocks on his door to ask for shelter. She stay,s and they are soon married. After a time of living in poverty with him, she begins to weave cloth to sell in the marketplace, but she weaves in complete solitude with the express wish that no one looks in on her. The cloth she presents to him to sell is of such exquisite quality that it almost seems to glow and the price her husband receives for it exceeds all expectation.

They live in relative wealth for a time until the day comes when their finances run short and she begins her clandestine weaving again. She finishes and he again sells it, but a local merchant offers to commission yet another bolt of cloth which the young man does not refuse. The young woman appears thin and tired, but returns to her loom once again. The villagers by now begin to wonder about her and tease her husband for letting her weave alone with her secrets. He, being curious himself and reckless from the neighbor's prodding, finally disobeys her and looks in her studio. What he sees causes him to gasp, for at the loom is a beautiful crane, plucking her feathers one by one and weaving them into the cloth. When she realizes his transgression, she gives him a long sorrowful look and flies through the window, never to be seen again.

There are, as with most traditional stories, many variations; in most common variation, the crane becomes the adopted daughter of an elderly childless couple, but it is the tale of the wife with her secret and great skill that I prefer. A proper telling of the story eludes me, most have been diluted through summary retellings or children's versions, and I'd like to find a more detailed or more poetic rendering.

This yarn seems like pure air, when thrown it floats down in a light tangle, and as it does I imagine the cloth the Crane Wife presented to the world. This little bit found a home with a weaver who recently took me under her wing and showed me the way to prepare a loom for my own weaving.

oh brother

2009-06-01T13:37:00.004-04:00

Some more pictures from the magic camera. Meet my brother and his sketchbook.
She's a study for a larger work.
Colin has some incredibly beautiful sketchbooks: all handbound, rich imagery and a very different style from my own. It's only relatively recently that has he's struck out into making larger work and I look forward to seeing the results. Visit his blog and pester him to post more work.

tangle in progress

2009-05-29T11:57:00.001-04:00

intended to lead up with this, but instead will lead back
a system of stations- graphite powder, layout
waiting layers carefully kept separate before joining the stack
just four or so layers here
during installation
rebinding the top and bottom
as the angle and light sifts more can be seen

disintegration

2009-05-28T13:25:00.005-04:00

What would we see if everything but these bare lines fell away? What would we read?

plaid

2009-05-26T12:33:00.003-04:00

05-21-09

To find a project begun well over a year ago continues to have relevance within the context of my new work is a satisfying feeling. My collection of powerline polaroids still grows one by one. Clear blue or grey skies ignite the excitement of capturing more images. As the summer takes hold, the daily rhythm of sunny mornings and afternoon thunderstorms develops and the opportunity to collect is here.

As with any collection, this one evolves as time progresses. Tree branches appear less frequently as my interest in the subtle variation found in powerlines themselves develops. Such industrial uniformity on the surface belays the organic quality found in the details; irregular wrapping of two lines together, the sudden shift direction as the road they follow swerves, or ever more compelling, the disintegration of the lines themselves.

With my recent interest in weaving, cloth patterns appear in the clean intersections and varying thicknesses of line. The top image illustrates the concept perfectly.

rain rain

2009-05-24T22:00:00.004-04:00

5-05-09

While in the midst of recovering the studio for upcoming work and enjoying the recent grey skies above my head (six days of rain and counting), my thoughts are dwelling on old threads that should be revisited and new ones stretching out before me. You wouldn't know it from the scarce activity here, but I have been waking with the feeling of being crushed by my own potential to make; it is both exhilarating and debilitating. It is the precise feeling I have when walking into a library, the feeling of walking into infinity, so much to read and learn and do and only a finite amount of time to do it in. Each idea and potential item clamor for attention: my spinning wheel obtained in March waits patiently beside a generously gifted floor loom, spindle drawings vibrate invisibly on blank paper, tangles await capture and cataloging, thirty-two fleeces -that's right I said 32- sit dirty and potent with possibility. Each need careful development and dedicated time, and all the while a million other ideas of rain down: clothes and pillows and books and kites and furniture and gardens and shoes and dyeing and and and . . .
The choosing of what to hold fast, begin, or let go being the most pertinent questions.

Recently, Twitter and I engaged in an experiment of sorts over the last few ~~weeks~~ months. Sometimes creating satisfying blog posts take a bit too long, but I'd like a brief record of at least some of my studio doings. Could it be used as a studio log? Nearing a hundred tweets later and I think I like the song, if you'd like to follow along you can find me here.

Tomorrow Tangle returns home, a few alterations await her and then some local travel.

Tangle no.427

2009-05-18T10:37:00.015-04:00

acrylic sheet, handspun wool, graphite and wood
60" x 12" x 6"

Threads clothe us.
Threads hang above our heads as powerlines.
Threads are followed as thoughts,
spun into stories,
spoken as conversations,
and left as remnants of online discussions.
Threads of our lives, made by the three Fates, are drawn out, spun, and eventually cut away.
All tangled and woven together.

This is one specimen; handspun wool and graphite powder drawn and stacked, a wisp of the story.

My sculpture has joined seven others in an outdoor sculpture show as part of the Florida First Coast Arts Festival in St. Augustine Florida. The festival features outdoor sculptures, music and theater performances beginning tonight through the 24th. If you are in the area, come catch a performance and see the work in person.

photos taken by Tim Elverston

dissolve

2009-05-12T01:18:00.006-04:00

Visited family this week to attend a wedding and managed to take a few polas along the way. The line quality in the lower one pleases me especially because lines turn blue and begin to dissolve away. If you click on the image to enlarge it you may be able to see two faint lines that cross behind the other four. There's a third farther up, noticeable only by the slight darkening of the lines they cross. Such subtleties make for a difficult capture between the scanner and the screen, but I think they still come across.

Tomorrow I'm back to work on my Tangle sculpture.

Studio Peek

2009-04-24T00:04:00.010-04:00

My friend Tim recently let me try out his sweet camera, here are a few of the results:Having such a narrow field of focus combines some of what I love about the ambiguity of the blur with that divine sharpness. Of course this means I now have the urge to upgrade from my trusty point and shoot. Tim also has a sneak peek of my mystery project over at his blog. While you are over there don't miss checking out some of the amazing kites he and Ruth design and make. Hopefully I'll get to photograph both of their studios soon.

sanding

2009-04-17T09:42:00.006-04:00

Fighting off a cold and a desire to stay in bed, but this is calling:

sanding plexi edges (24- 12"x48" sheets) today

to lead to something like this:

can't wait.

I'm also going to use this opportunity to finish a tag for the first time ever:

I've been tagged by Helle (gooseflesh):

1. sit down.
2. take a picture of yourself
optional rule: in your studio/work space.
optional rule 2: right now. don't primp, just snap one!
3. upload it.
4. tag 5 people to do the same.

I tag the following:
Ruth (Instances of Make)
Mien (Red Red Day)
Marjojo(My Art Grows Around Me)
Meghan (Output)
Colin (Patterns and Pigments)

something

2009-04-07T17:45:00.008-04:00

A study for a project to be finished and displayed next month.
Prepared: handspun string nearly two miles long. Plans laid and remade.
To be scaled up.
To be layered.
A cloth.
A drawing.
A sculpture.
A monolith.

Back to work.

2009-03-06T19:07:00.001-05:00

Seeing grasses again, this time in strange light, otherworldly and dark.

old lines

2009-03-01T22:34:00.000-05:00

oh, oh, oh, where could I find this today?
Etching of Overhead Telephone and Telegraph Wires in Broadway, 1890.

Book of Old New York. Henry Collins Brown. 1913

via wikipedia

insulator lovers

warp

2009-02-23T19:00:00.000-05:00

7-08

note to self: a good reminder to not take orientation so literally.

decay

2009-02-22T19:33:00.009-05:00

Eternal preoccupation, my eyes follow them block after block, searching out irregularities and interesting intersections, taking mental note of location and waiting for right weather to return with my camera.
Some of the most compelling are lines in various stages of decay. The inorganic resembles the organic as it disintegrates, sagging lines vine around taut ones for support. The small towns circling my small city tend to have the most of these, repairs left for more fortunate times.

9-20-08

studio play

2009-02-20T18:30:00.008-05:00

Made this little ceramic spool a number of months ago along with some larger ones. It sat, empty and waiting until this little bit of black thread needed a safe place to stay. Upon winding the thread, the spool became a ring.

The transformation of studio bits, all sketches and beginning ideas, fascinates me, and the cultivation of these happy moments drives me here, to this space, again and again, the moments of "make". From the seeds of studio bits, things planted a year or two ago, I can finally feel a body of work coming forth, something to feed and develop and turn into a show. My spun drawing hangs in our living room above the bed bouying my body and thoughts up in the morning a promise of what may come.
My good friend Ruth, a painter of a different kind of line, recently began a blog; this entry in particular resonates with me as do her thoughts on Art Basel Miami.

tie

2009-02-19T17:39:00.000-05:00

2-15-09

grey sky

2009-02-18T11:47:00.006-05:00

Though spring is swiftly arriving, my polaroid camera has been gathering dust. This winter was different than the last: the sky more often blue with scattered clouds. The fifteenth of February relented and gave me a grey backdrop.

spun drawing

2009-02-15T16:10:00.000-05:00

208
thread 208 feet
drawing 22 x 30

A record of spinning string. Made with a newly constructed tool; a drawing spindle.
Eventually it will be a series.

For now a larger project is in the works (to be completed in May) so much of my studio time is spent spinning on the wheel.

a list

2009-02-09T19:58:00.005-05:00

In spinning I have become a connoisseur of fiber, their names a litany of possibilities.

Merino,
Finn,
Blue-faced Leichester,
Coopworth,
Icelandic,
Gulf Coast Native
: just a few of the sheep.

Then exotics:
camel,
angora,
cashmere,
qiviut,
yak,
alpaca,
llama.

Then bombyx and tussah,
one a silk taken before emergence of the moth,
the other taken after.

Bamboo,
tencel,
seacell,
and milk,
the fibers born through a chemical broth, broken and remade;
the fibers squeak between the press of my fingers.

Plants;
[bast and fruit]
cotton,
hemp,
ramie,
and
linen.

It's an ever expanding list.

An induction to the fiber world is not unlike being taken under the wing of any other epicure. There are steps to take. Look first. Does it gather light in softness or shine like silk. One tastes fiber with a squeeze and a small roll between the thumb and forefinger. Is it soft like merino? Slick? Sproingy? Does it squeak? Is it stiff or lighter than air? Raise it to the soft underbelly of your chin and decide if belongs there for long. Is there a whiff of the warm breath of a grazing animal or the bite of vinegar in a dyebath?

side note: My local yarn store, Hanks has been fostering such activity.