Shear obsession

Lately I have been obsessed with shears. I cannot get them out of my mind's eye. I'm thinking about cutting, cutting ties, cutting strands, cutting off. Cutting cleanly, cutting swiftly, cutting efficiently, cutting roughly. Thinking about the sound a nice sharp pair of blades make when slicing through something. Thinking about the emotional connotations, about the metaphorical suggestions. Thinking about the shears as a representational image for life events.

As a result, I have piles of pictures of shears around my studio desk. They are stacked to the side, pinned to the wall, stuck to the shelves with bits of tape. They are printed on paper, drawn out on tracing paper, stitched into cloth. I am at a point with them where I am struggling to finish a single project (I mean really finish- not finish embroidering an image, that is no problem, but finish off edges, prepare for hanging) before beginning the next one.

At the moment, this is bad, because I really do need to get some pieces solidly complete- but every time I glance anywhere, there they are, these images, cutting through life and history, making changes, amendments, edits, improvements. Trimming, paring, cutting clean. Taking down the pictures would do no good, because the inspiration is still there in my mind. Shears, shears, shears.

Efficiency Experiment

Experiment with printing, part one: so far so good.

February Look

When I am embroidering an image through paper, the thing I long most to do is tear it off. I will stitch small segments, ordering my directions so as to allow me to tear more and more, without waiting for any completion to satisfy the desire to rip that paper off the cloth. With that in mind, I would like to share with you: the largest piece I have ever completed without tearing any of it at all until completion.


Ok, it's only about 2 1/4" x 3 1/2", but still. That's self-control right there.

I've had a lot going on this past month. I moved my studio, for one thing. It's only a difference of a few yards, but the difference in how much light comes pouring in, and how much room I have to move around in, and how much safer I feel about my supplies potentially crashing down in an earthquake is huge. It's a good change. I'm preparing for a show I'll be participating in this summer, and for submitting to a few others, which is all rather exciting and productivity-inspiring. I've got new ideas running around my head and desk, mingling with techniques and themes I've had going for a while now, and that feels great. I think I'm on the verge of some highly enjoyable experiments.
Of course, the problem with experiments is that I don't always know where I will go with a piece. That one above, for example. I've been playing with transparency and layering, which is lovely fun- but now that the time has come for attaching layers, I find I can't decide how to do it. I suspect my experiment will be completed only through more experimentation. This isn't a bad thing, but I do worry about the delicacy of my layers holding up through trial. I hope I don't spoil any.
Ah well. Sometimes, that's just how it goes!

A peek for you

A peek at the first of the completed trio, and a statement about the making of them:


Not only have I formed a callus on my thumb from all the quilting these pieces have involved, I have formed a crater within said callus from the repetitive prodding of the needle eye. Ah, craft, such an elegant occupation!

Trio update

All three pieced tops are now embroidered, and ready for quilting. See?


But before quilting must come basting. I always sigh at basting; I'd rather get right to work. It really is necessary for this sort of thing, though. Plus, when you need to draw a line that is sure to leave no mark as soon as you're done with it, nothing beats a thin piece of thread.


While I'm showing you pictures, take a peek at these pages from my work book (sketch book? idea book?). This is the basic planning I began with, the careful plotting out of the pieced tops. Pre-planning is helpful.

Mid-December quilting

I've been hoping for a nice, clear skied afternoon on which to photograph the recently completed doodle piece (otherwise yet unnamed) but alas, it is southern California's brief rainy season, and photography-friendly conditions have been elusive. So until that changes, check out something about the piece that I am enjoying:


This is the back of the piece. It is as carefully bordered and presented as the front is.
I've always been intrigued by the backs of embroideries, the unexpected imagery that develops through the path of the stitcher's hand, the contrast between the intended image and the secret, hidden one. I'm often tempted to display work backwards, but always choose not to- I don't want to sacrifice the intended imagery for the unintended.
This time I decided to give both sides their due, so that the piece can be displayed as a finished work from either direction. Front and back have differently pieced borders in the same fabrics, related but different, just as the front and back of the image is.
It's an experiment, one I'm rather enjoying right now. I think it's fitting, as well- after all, the entire thing is an experiment.

In other news, here's something fun:


These are the first 1,000 pieces of what will eventually be a 3,969 piece quilt top. I've been wanting to tackle a full-sized quilt for some time now, but was putting it off because I simply didn't have fabrics I wanted to work with in the quantity needed for a really well-matched quilt. My hands and mind have been anxious for this sort of project, though- something long term, something full of order and repetition, something soothing- so I decided to go for it anyway. I picked a double nine patch pattern (like the one below) and plan to break up the intended large-scale pattern to create my own variation.


The neat part about this design, for me, is how it doesn't require (at least for about 54% of it) carefully matched fabrics. In the tradition of truly purposeful patchwork, the double nine patch gives me the chance to go through my stores of fabric, picking out even the smallest bits and finding use for them. If I can squeeze even one 1 1/2" square out of a scrap, it is useful.
Of course, by now I've gone through all of my basic pattered cottons, and have barely a quarter of the squares I need! That's another nice thing about this project, though- it lends itself to mismatching, so if some parts are composed of the materials I have now and others from scraps of future projects, that's ok. It's nicely frugal. It makes me happy.

Takashi Iwasaki

While I work on the final stitches of the doodle piece, take a look at this artist:

Nyokinyokinijiirokousen
Embroidery floss and canvas (hand embroidered)
40.5 x 40.5cm
2008

Sakuretsupipe
Embroidery floss and fabric (hand embroidered)
30.5cm x 30.5cm
2008

Fishbonbon
Embroidery floss and fabric (hand embroidered)
28.5cm x 28.5cm
2008

The artist I am referring to is Takashi Iwasaki. Iwasaki's work is not limited to embroidery; on his site you can see many interesting paintings, drawings, prints and collages. For now, though, I want to give attention to his embroideries.

In a way, Iwasaki's work and my own have some similarities. We share a medium, and a concern for shape and space. However, it is the differences that really capture my attention. My work tends to be quiet- his sings out at high volume. Iwasaki's embroideries focus on color, pattern, shape, line, and space in a bright, bold way. Rather than drawing a clear narrative with his threads, he uses his shapes and colors to suggest images, playing with your eyes in a delightful way. It's exciting to see how the the same broad medium I work in can be used to such a striking and different effect.

But! I ought to be stitching. Go check out his site- it's really worthwhile.