Shimmying through life with needles and thread…
I meant to post this earlier — but the best laid plans and all that!
Last week we had rain. But we also had some sun – and what is the result of that combination? Rainbows! One of my favorite things.
A double rainbow, in fact.
One that got BRIGHTER as it was fading!
I was not only inspired, but put at peace. (Which probably explains why I didn’t post…)
I’ve been a rainbow fan forever ~ Past Worthy Advisor of Southgate Assembly #71, International Order of the Rainbow for Girls
I am overwhelmed by the sheer number of artistic blogs you can find just by poking around the internet a very little bit…
I am developing a new understanding and respect for, some of the mixed media techniques currently in vogue. For a long time I would look at them and think, but everyone’s work looks the same! And I realize that this is the case with most techniques — I think as artisans we are sometimes worried about taking the next step into experimentation.
I’ve often said that I don’t understand why people aren’t willing to try things with their needle and thread — they say afraid, and don’t have enough courage to step outside their comfort zone — after all, it’s not like death is a likely result from what we do! But in looking at the new techniques in collage, and many of the needlework books, for that matter, and the push to “quick and easy projects,” I think I’ve finally come to an understanding — it’s not really the failure itself that scares us — it’s the waste (or perceived waste) of time that accrues with a failure in something as time-consuming as learning goldwork or beading – or quilting- or experimenting with putting all of these together.
We are all so busy with our lives that the idea of a failure that took weeks or months to discover can overwhelm us. I have felt it myself recently – the discovery that I need to rip out so much of the model for Tramatina caused that kind of stress — and the reactions I’ve gotten from people who see me working on ripping it or who have read the post simply confirms this. “Why would you want to keep going if you have to pull so much out?!”
The fabric collage and paint techniques, by removing the sewing may provide me with a way to experiment with textures, colors, and symbols without the time constraint. It can’t completely replace sample stitching, but it’s another tool for the toolbox! And it’s fun and much quicker!!!
Some of the many mixed media artists I’m watching for inspiration and ideas these days:
Is easy for me to come by. I love winter. I love the garden in winter. Last winter, and this winter to a lesser extent, however, have been extremely mild here in North Carolina. Very warm. For example, it was 65 degrees at one point last week. I miss my snow!
But I have had a chance to take these photos of the wonderful winter berries around the area. I find them stunning, don’t you?
Yes, they are both of the same variety, but plants in different areas of town. That top photo is screaming at me to do something textiley with the theme… But I don’ t know what, yet. Any ideas?
My mother doodled all the time. — she made little geometric designs on napkins, scratch paper, letters… once she even doodled in ballpoint pen all the way around my father’s good drafting tape (on the EDGES, not the main part — she ruined the whole roll) I took the heat for that one – mom wasn’t home when he found it and “she knew better,” so I was obviously lying. Well, yes, she did, but it didn’t stop her. and I didn’t, at that time, doodle at all.
Why not? Doodling was hard for me. I’d ask Mom or friends how they did it, “Just turn off your brain and move your pen” was the answer. But I couldn’t seem to achieve both of those things at the same time, although I am perfectly capable of doing either at once (and I’m capable of turning off my brain and dancing!). What I realized much later is that the “turning off your brain part isn’t really necessary – what they really meant was “make your brain get out of the way for a while.”
Doodling, like rough drafts of writing, requires you to turn off the inner critic that says to you “but you’re not accomplishing anything. That’s not REALLY art!”
Well, no, it’s not. It’s the building blocks of the practice of art, however. Think of it as a brainstorming activity – it doesn’t have to be pretty, it doesn’t have to be finished, it just has to BE.
I have a few rules I set myself when I doodle geometrically. They were very effective in getting me started on geometric doodling.
Start with a small iconographic image in one corner. I use flags, flowerpots, a smiley face, hearts, a stylized cat, anything I can quickly churn out.
CrescentsThese are the first doodles I taught myself to do in high school.
Take your pencil and draw a squiggle. It actually works better if you don’t actually look at the page while you’re scribbling.Doodles that are currently inspiring embroidery pieces, though they aren’t on fabric yet:
In a previous post I asked myself if I am an evil cultural appropriator for wanting to use traditional ikats in my work. This question came up, in many ways, because of my alternate hobby of bellydance or raqs sharqi.
There is a debate raging through the dance community – quietly for the most part, although it flares up now and again. The debate revolves around the question: “by learning, performing, and transforming this dance, are we appropriating the culture of another people, just because it is exotic, in much the same way as Europeans in the 19th century appropriated the lands the dance comes from?
It’s a valid question, and one that bears deep thought. It can be easy, when you are American, and of multicultural descent, even if primarily European, to say, “Everything around me and my American heritage comes from different cultures, so what’s the big deal?” It IS a big deal to some Middle Easterners, many of whom feel that their entire culture is stereotyped by Europeans and Americans into the word “bellydance,” a word they don’t use to describe what they do.
Now, personally, I don’t see bellydance as much of anything but American. If I am discussing Egyptian dance, I’ll say “raqs sharqi,” if Turkish – “danse orientale” (which is, of itself a European term). “Bellydance” is an American term applied to a dance form imported in the 1800s and transformed into a performance art by mostly Americans, some of Middle Eastern descent, in the 1950s and 1960s, the US’s “Golden Age” of nightclub performances. I’ve seen many women, and some men, too, find peace with their bodies and their emotions as they learn this dance (a wonderful description of this phenomenon by another dance teacher). I respect its origins and try to learn as much about its history as I can. But “bellydance” in the US is as much Middle Eastern tradition as ballet is French tradition. It has drifted so far from its roots that while you can recognize the seeds of the movements as related, they are very different plants. I am not, of course, referring to the myriad of people who try very hard to learn the “traditional” dances (which have also been influenced heavily by colonial expectations, and could therefore be accused as being somewhat tainted even in their own countries. Modern Egyptian raqs sharqi, for example, has drawn from ballet as well as movements from various tribal groups in the region).
Which leads me to textiles. When I or my family travels, I am often gifted or purchase as souvenirs, fabric and embroideries. Sometimes I buy pieces here that were created specifically for export. The question my dance experience triggers is, if I use these pieces in my art, or even the techniques I learn from them in my art, is it cultural appropriation in a bad way? My community has always been extremely diverse. My friends include Vietnamese, Indian, Native American, European American, African and African American, and the list goes on. Personally, when I use a textile or a motif in my artwork, especially if it comes from one of the cultures I am tied to by friendship – it will be used to bring those friends and acquaintances into my work – much as I might use a piece of my grandmother’s dress in a crazy quilt to evoke her life and work. I try to incorporate every textile and image I use with respect. When all is said and done, someone somewhere will probably be offended, whether because I have excluded their culture, or used it.
But hopefully, the people who matter to me won’t be, because they know I respect them as people.
Thoughts? This cultural appropriation thing is a HUGE topic. And one that can fall into any genre, be it painting, dance, writing, textiles, etc.
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