Timeout for Art: One Thing to Another

I’ve been making art for a long time. And, I’m a “saver.” Together, those things result in a good deal of accumulation. Then, with changing sensibilities, a more discerning eye and limited storage space, I end up with a lot of rejects. Complicating the issue is the fact that I hate to throw anything away.

A sheet of handmade paper could be rippled, but still have redeeming qualities. A collagraph print might have poor registration, but still have beautiful color and texture. A drawing or painting that is not strong in composition can still have value as raw material. In my studio, technical failure rarely leads directly to the trashcan.

I have boxes, folders and envelopes full of used papers, waiting to be put into service again. Old drawings, covered with paint that partially obliterates the original subject matter, often become the basis for collage. I think the “pentimento” adds a welcome layer of interest. Handmade papers, as well as cut or torn bits from prints and paintings on paper, become collage materials.

I have been, for several years now, on a mission to recycle and use up every bit of scrap in my studio. It is a herculean task. Sometimes it seems like I generate more than I use, with every single project! Still, my efforts continue. I imagine large basket-like hanging forms, similar to the nests made by paper wasps, but with color and texture still visible, hinting at the past life of the materials they are made of. To that end, I’ve been experimenting with various basket-making techniques, mostly with little success.

Some good things, though, come from the most uncomplicated ideas. I have an on-going series that expands very basic weaving techniques. I think the strength of the finished pieces are in their graphic simplicity. The process is a little more complicated, however.

First, I go through my stacks of “rejects” to select pieces similar in weight, and with colors that work together. I trim the edges, cut them to size, and put them through the paper shredder. They have to be picked through, sorted, and spread out on the drafting table. Usually, I select one color for the vertical lines, and an assortment for the horizontal weave. Sometimes it’s all just based on random selection. I make more weavings than I will need,, so that I’ll have choices later.

Next, I prepare the surfaces that the weavings will be mounted on. I like the background to have its own interest, but I keep the nuances of color and texture subtle enough so that it will balance, not compete with, the graphic pattern. Eventually, the surface will be coated with a thick layer of polymer gel, and the woven grid will be set into that. After that has dried, I have my starting point.

From this point, the piece will dictate what else is needed. Sometimes that is easy, sometimes not. It may involve embellishments of ink, collage elements, or layers of paint. I am not above peeling, scraping and sanding the surface of a piece to get to the place where it is finished. When it reaches that point, it seems to announce “Done!” Or, as sometimes happens, “Ruined!” In which case, it joins the collection of failures waiting to be repurposed!

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A Few Things About Peonies

My Grandma Thelma used to grow peonies. She was my mother’s mother, and we lived next door. She had a large rectangular flower bed halfway between the road and our houses, in the front yard that we shared. In one far corner was a birdhouse, high up on top of a trellis that my Grandpa Ted had built. It looked kind of like four ladders leaning in toward each other. In the center of that trellis, a climbing rose grew. My mother told us that the rose’s thorns would keep snakes from stealing the bird’s eggs.

In the front corner of the flower bed, nearest to our house, peonies bloomed in the springtime. I’m sure I didn’t know what they were, as a small child, and the flower bed had been dismantled and mowed over long before I was old enough to ask. Rather, I recognize them from the peonies that bloom in my garden now. When my plants finally flowered, I remembered my grandmother’s peonies.

I’d actually had peonies for over ten years, and in two different locations, before I ever saw a blossom. I started with two plants, in another location on Beaver Island. They had been in the ground there for five years without ever so much as a bud, so I moved them down to this house with me, even though I know they prefer to not be moved. Here, they had a plenty of time to get used to their new location, and still they refused to flower.

When the hardware store started carrying plants in the spring, I bought two more peonies. These had buds already formed on the ends of branches, so I figured that at least I’d have a few flowers. I expanded the bed to accommodate two more peony plants. That year, and for every year since, all four plants have bloomed! And what flowers! The big, exuberant blooms are almost too much. They seem like caricatures of flowers, too big and heavily scented and full, extreme in every way, to be real. After a rain, the blossoms become so heavy, they bend to the ground.

Ants seem to love the peonies. Some years they are just covered with them. Folklore suggests that they are necessary to open the buds, but I don’t believe it. I think the ants are there for the sweetness. This year, ants are scarce, but beetles have moved in. After a little research, I determined that they are likely rose chafers. Because I rarely use poisons on any plants, and never on flowers, I’ve been reduced to picking them off. I drop them, then, into a container of water mixed with dish soap. Morning and evening, a hundred or more each time. I started with a small sauce dish, but have graduated to a gallon-sized bucket. It’s practically a full-time job!

I love having bouquets in the house. Usually, they are made up of wildflowers. Though I grow lots of flowers, I don’t have a “cutting garden,” so stealing blooms from my flower beds has to be very selective, or the beds end up looking derelict. That’s not the case with my peonies, though. First of all, they produce a lot of blooms. I can easily make several bouquets, and still have many blossoms on the plants. Secondly, when the branches are so heavy with blooms that they are being weighted down, it seems almost necessary to snip off a few of the heavy flowers. And finally, when the beetles seem so intent on destroying every flower, I’ll happily rescue them!

Timeout for Art: Other Things

This week, I’m working on Other Things.

Though there are plenty of projects underway in the studio…projects that need my attention, require my presence and are calling out for my focus…I am not there.

This week, I’m spending a lot of time outside.

I’ve been weeding the flower beds. Around the outside where the bordering stones stones meet the yard, and inside, where the long roots have spread the grasses to live among the blooms. I’ve been moving straw to mulch around the tomato and squash plants, to keep the moisture in the ground. I’ve been planting, and replanting.

I had to buy a little six-pack of tomato plants, to replace one tomato seedling that didn’t make it. That left me with five extra tomato plants without a space. It took a bit of finagling, but my Dad would be pleased, I think, to see the spots I’ve tucked them into! Only about half of the pole bean seeds, planted now over three weeks ago, came up. Even less than that of the peas. Not a single bush bean sprouted. I gave them plenty of time to show themselves. I checked the dates on the seed packets. I carefully poked around in the soil, to see if the sprouts were just getting ready to burst out of the ground. Finally, yesterday, I replanted seeds in all the gaps.

I’ve been working at pruning the grape vine. That should have been done much earlier in the spring. Actually, it should have been done two or three years ago, in the early spring. The vines are tremendously overgrown, tangled around the branches of the forsythia bush, fence posts, and the surrounding trees. I’m saving the vines that I cut away, with intention of using them to replace the back wall of my garden fence. I imagine a beautiful, curved and cohesive design…but then, imagination is easy before I begin. Already, I can see that the distance between fence posts might present problems, and that the vines have a tendency to curve their own way.

After a much needed rain, the grass suddenly needs to be mowed again.

And, I have quite a few “other things” going on inside, as well.

Yesterday, the morning felt like fall. The temperature inside my house hovered around 50 degree until after noon. I couldn’t bring myself to get out of my warm robe. I thought seriously about once again carrying the portable heater downstairs. Since it was such a perfect day for it, I made soup. Enough for a hearty, warm and comforting dinner last night, and plenty for lunches all week.

After an unexpected and unexplained electrical outage that lasted through all of the afternoon and into the evening on Monday, I spent yesterday catching up on my weekly laundry. Though there are still clothes waiting to be folded. And, when the dogs finally move to get out of bed today, I intend to wash the sheets and hang them on the clothesline.

That’s not everything, of course. There is an on-going writing project that I give some time to. I’ve had phone calls to make and letters to write. There is the normal everyday “stuff,” from meditation to sweeping the floor, that keeps my life and my house running smoothly.

Sometimes, when all of the other things take over, the studio just has to wait.

Here I Am

I’ve been neglectful of my writing for a couple weeks now. The first one I missed – a “Timeout for Art” blog – was easy to skip over. It hasn’t been that long since I re-started an art-centered blog, and I’ve already missed a few times. The other one, my Sunday blog, has been a pretty regular habit for a while now. I don’t like abandoning my commitments, and it didn’t feel right to skip my weekly post. Then another whole week went by, with nothing. And then another. No art blog; no Sunday blog. By that time, the “gremlins” moved in.

These questions ran through my mind:

“Has anyone even noticed?”

“Does anybody even read what I write anymore?”

“Do I even have anything new to say?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Who cares?”

These thoughts were accompanied by all the usual justifications and excuses:

“I’m too busy!”

“I have too many other obligations!”

“There isn’t enough time!”

And these were followed by self-criticism:

“I’m a quitter.”

“I never follow through.”

“Lazy bum.”

It’s quite the worm hole I travel down, when I neglect things. I’ve had similar conversations in my head over not getting my daily walk in, or letting the recyclables pile up.

When I first started this blog, almost nine years ago, I wrote “when the spirit moved me,” usually two or three times a week. It was a way to pay attention to life as it was going on around me, and a bit of self-discipline that, I thought, couldn’t hurt. Then, my friend Lisa and I agreed to share our artwork and methods in a weekly “Timeout for Art” blog. Lisa was much more dependable than me, and I gave it up before long. Often, I participated in the “April A to Z Challenge,” posting a blog every day except Sunday for the month. Once, I took on a more extreme challenge, and posted a blog every single day of the year!

Eventually, I settled on a couple regular weekly posts, on days that coordinated with my work schedule. Recently, feeling a little overwhelmed by other tasks and obligations and, honestly, by a real concern that I have pretty much already said everything I have to say, I cut back to one blog per week, on Sunday. Then I reintroduced Timeout for Art, on Wednesdays. Though I sometimes scrambled for writing material, I had settled into a habit. Then, three weeks ago, in the middle of all the craziness that spring brings to my life, that habit fell apart.

But, I missed this outlet. Whether or not anyone cares, or reads it, this is different from the private ramblings in my journal. I need to consider that others may see what I write, so I have to keep my ranting in check. I have to think about grammar, punctuation, and spelling. And, the reasons that drove me to start a blog in the first place are still valid. So, here I am. Again.