Spontaneous Combustion Blog

Cloth. It's a landscape.

7/28/2016

Telegraph Creek: Dog Sled (30 x 18" x 2") Cotton thread on antique textile, hand embroidered, 2014. Diana Weymar.

I was recently contacted by the Gynocentric Art Gallery (The GAG, "A gallery that values the brain and cuts the bias") to write a companion essay for the online exhibition of Diana Weymar's recent textile-based work. The GAG is the project of Danielle Hogan, the founding director, who is currently presenting a talk about this project in Barcelona, Spain. My thanks to her for asking me to respond to Diana's work.

I've collaborated with these two women before in the exhibition "Every Fiber of My Being" at the Paul Robeson Gallery at the Arts Council of Princeton, and while I've never met either of them, I connect with their work and writing. Collaborating again felt like a series of streams converging before splitting apart again -- natural, intense, a churn of minerals and distance traveled all melding to create a brand new moment.

Excerpts of the essay are below, and you can read the full essay plus see Diana's exhibition here. I am always considering landscape in my own work and what someone recently described as "insistent work." The idea that the two are connected has been brewing for some time and this essay was an opportunity to grow some flesh on those bones. Diana's thoughts on land and insistence are featured in italics. It's like we were having a conversation face to face, but if we had, we'd have interrupted one another too many times.

Then of course, there'd have been the wine.

The Pull of the Needle:
Diana Weymar and the Landscape of Cloth.

In any environment there exists an Inevitable Season, an undercurrent that informs inhabitants of what to do, where to go and when. In the far north, despite the intensity of summer’s light-stretched days, all birth and impossible growth and exhaustion, the scent and thrum of winter always exists on the periphery, waiting. Sometimes we look askance, whisper its name. To have this adamant ghost as part of the landscape at any point in one’s life — childhood, adulthood, parenthood — builds an unrelenting understanding that never entirely leaves the psyche. The creative impulse can’t be ignored or set aside for another day, because the time is now, the time is now, the time is now.

Winter is coming.

Telegraph Creek: The Swing (14" x 18" x 2") Cotton thread on antique textile, hand embroidered, 2015. Diana Weymar.

Interlaced | Artifacts Series (dimensions variable) Found objects, 2013-15. Diana Weymar.

When first introduced to images of artist Diana Weymar’s contemporary embroidery, I felt instantly connected to its tactile, insistent quality. I lingered over folds and layers of the intimate stitched work and manipulated found objects, considered her steps, her thought process. It wasn’t surprising to learn she spent part of her childhood in northern British Columbia, Canada, a vast, unpredictable landscape, hinged to shifting light and season. As a northerner, I recognize the persistent need to shape and create forms that explore the existing or unremarkable objects of a life, honoring hand skills, self sufficiency and a demand to question, create and transform. With magnetic intensity, we point to cloth, object and back to the self.

Nature Book, p. 29 (dimensions variable) Found objects. Diana Weymar.

"The language of the landscape of the riverbank of the Stikine River is vast and raw. Untouched. Unconquerable. It humbles the human. What happens when you cannot control the nature environment is that you start with small movements. You plant a garden, dig a ditch, cast a net, build an outhouse, the list goes on. You insist that you exist. And yet you don't because the minute you stop, you leave, it returns to the way it was before you arrived. I think this is what I learned. That we are temporary and that we must work to exist. We must insist that we belong, survive, create, and express."

Healthcare Workers (8" x 8") Cotton thread on antique textile, hand embroidered, 2015. Diana Weymar.

For women artists who maintain a studio practice when their children are young, there are seasons when the domestic landscape is just as bleak as the most northern, contributing to the slow unraveling of self. The historic significance of reaching for cloth isn’t lost on contemporary needle workers and fiber artists, many of whom are mothers. Cloth is understood despite the inevitability of its migration, abandonment and constant unearthing in and around the demands of children, family and home. When I discover other artists who’ve embraced this form, without apology, without question, without some historic burden of craft versus art, I’m immediately in kinship. The work provides a way of existing in the slow moment while still exercising the tireless will, despite the surrounding chaos that wants always to draw us away. As generations of women understood, the pull of the needle is an urgent companion. We seek the tool, it disappears beneath our hands, it re-emerges again. It represents a balance.

"Motherhood is also a wilderness. You work, share, toil, shape, and create as a parent but it is also vast and raw. It too is a slow process of letting go. Of insisting and then resisting. Of letting time do its work. Time works away at all of us. Making the invisible visible. This is another part of my work that comes from living so close to nature: we are always creating evidence of work that will be removed by time. The landscape grows over. The material frays. The object eventually slips from our hands and we do not know if it will be picked up and thrown away."

Telegraph Creek: Tanning a Moose Hide (22" x 18" x 2") Cotton thread on antique textile, hand embroidered, 2015. Diana Weymar.

By slowing the hand, the mind is held to the landscape of cloth, but within it is the freedom to wander and expand, fully considering the next word or stitch before each plunge, embracing the luxury of the tautness of thought. When onlookers remark on the likes of us hunched over this old way of working, it’s often with, “Oh, my mother embroidered,” or “My grandmother was a seamstress.” But what stories did those women bury in cloth? What narratives hid, folded and silent in their laps? Which unspoken words were couched in that drum of a hoop? Mark upon mark, stitch after stitch, they may well have been their best selves in that stolen time, blanketing, transforming and fully ruling that remote land.

Trump Towels (dimensions variable). Hand embroidery on antique tea towels. Diana Weymar.

For the complete essay and many, many more images of Diana's work head on over to the GAG.

And here is Diana's bio:

Diana Weymar has exhibited work at The Ministry of Casual Living, Vancouver Island School of Art, Xchanges Gallery, The Arts Centre at Cedar Hill, The Midwives Collective, The Smithers Art Gallery, 1580 Gallery, and Makehouse. She was a Build Peace 2015 Artist in Nicosia, Cyprus, and she will be again at Build Peace 2016 in Zurich. She is the Spring 2016 Anne Reeves Artist-in-Residence at The Arts Council of Princeton. She is participating in and curating a show – Every Fiber of my Being– at the Taplin Gallery at the Arts Council that opens on March 5th, featuring work by Amy Meissner, Katie Truk, Cassie Jones, Caroline Lathan-Stiefel, Danielle Hogan and Maira Kalman. She has taught art workshops in schools and volunteered with Art Therapy programs with the Victoria Immigrant and Refugee Centre Society and at the Queen Alexandra Centre for Children’s Health. She has also served on the Board of Princeton Young Achievers and worked in publishing and feature film in New York City. Diana has studied art at The Arts Council of Princeton (NJ) and The Vancouver Island School of Art (BC) and she has a B.A. in English and Creative Writing from Princeton University.

If you are interested in more writing and/or imagery about the North, check out the blog posts under the sidebar category: Alaska.

6 Comments

The 13th boxes of mystery.

7/22/2016

2 Comments

Amy Meissner, textile artist | From the post The 13th boxes of mystery | www.amymeissner.com/blog/the-13th-boxes-of-mystery

Maker: Unknown, Origin: Unknown, Circa: 1893.

If you've been following this little crowdsourcing effort for a while, you may have noticed that a lot of the vintage linen contributions to the Inheritance Project have been from other textile artists. It's not a coincidence: 1.) textile people read this blog, 2.) textile people have textiles, 3.) textile people are attached to their textiles, for reasons not always for reasonable, 4.) textile people are drawn to textiles they stumble across in the world -- new, old, abandoned -- we can't help it, 6.) textile people need to purge their textiles occasionally, and lastly 7.) textile people feel good knowing that their textiles are going to a good home.

Can I also say that geeking out on vintage linens with other like minded people has been a highlight?

One group of such textiles people is SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associates). I'm a new-ish member and thanks to fellow Alaskan and art quilter Maria Shell, I was brought on board as a regional co-representative starting about a year ago. I've been to one conference in Philadelphia, where I gave a Lightning Talk/PechaKucha, and was able to meet a number of real-life members who I previously only knew from Facebook.

The reason I bring all this up is because among the 13th Boxes of Mystery are three SAQA members.

This is total coincidence.
I'm not kidding.

The emotional gatekeeper.

Thank you Kelly Caldwell, SAQA Regional Co-Representative for Connecticut. I met her during our Regional Rep meetings in Philadelphia where we participated in a NASA group activity: crash landing on the moon + deciding which supplies were worthy of hauling to safety. (Unfortunately, our table lost points because I was convinced that powdered milk was an essential item. What did we learn from this activity? Don't listen to the Alaskan when it comes to survival because their attachment to freeze dried products is ridiculous).

Kelly later shared a better story about discovering a green trunk hidden in her attic eaves.

"... (inside) were piles of unused yardages, smaller scraps leftover from a few projects, many old curtains, a few odd tapestries and quite a few hand embroideries. Most pieces had aged beyond recognition -- those unfortunately went in the garbage. But these few stayed with me, just in case I found a good creative use for them ... perhaps I was just holding them for the Inheritance Project. So here they are."

Maker: Assumedly Bernice Tencza, Origin: possibly Wallingford CT, Circa: post-1952

She also sent work from her grandmother and mother, both downsizing.

"...I have somehow become the emotional gatekeeper of these items and many, many, MANY others ... I have received countless boxes and bags, and have logged hours and possibly days, separating items to be dispersed to their worthy second lives: the high school theater program, the local food pantry resource center, occasionally the trash heap, and now the Inheritance Project. The psychic burden of the totality of goods has been overwhelming, but I am grateful that at least some of these pieces and their energy can find rest and rebirth."

Maker: Poe Jean Mei Sze-Tu, Origin: Jackson Heights, NY, Circa: likely post-1962

Maker: Assumedly Bernice Tencza, Origin: possibly Wallingford CT, Circa: post-1952

Kelly later sent two factory produced (yet hand embroidered) tablecloth sets from China, yellowed stickers intact.

"As with many beautiful treasures, these linens were deemed too special for regular use and were put away to be saved for countless years, never serving their original purpose, now stained with age. How sad."

Many thanks, Kelly. I promise if you ever land in Alaska I will keep you alive and not force you to drink (or carry) powdered milk.

Roommate.

Thank you Diane Melms, former SAQA Alaska co-rep, internationally exhibited art quilter and steadfast conference roommate in Philadelphia. She's also been a show-mate with me in a number of juried exhibitions here in Alaska and has work in the permanent collection at the Anchorage Museum. Diane does everything to the letter, admittedly most comfortable when she is vastly over-prepared and is seemingly good at everything as a result. This sweet little potholder is a contribution from her, complete with resource material so I, too, can be vastly over prepared and well within in my comfort zone. She also presented a wonderful Lighting Talk in Philadelphia on creating textile art with kids (SAQA members can watch this in webinar format by accessing Mentorship Webinar Recordings under Member Resources).

Maker: Unknown, Origin: Unknown, Circa: Unknown.

Diane and I last January after setting up the SAQA-Alaska regional show, "Art Cloth North," at the blue.hollomon gallery in Anchorage. I learned a lot from her and her husband, Rich, who arrived with nails, blue tape, levels, tape measurers and a plan. I also learned the importance of clearly labeling all of one's mounting bars, providing an inventory inside one's shipping box plus any special installation instructions. There were a few pieces we had to improvise with that afternoon, but Diane and Rich were so prepared it felt like a mere hiccup. All of this installation advice is probably a no-brainer, but to experience the importance was a great lesson.

Magic inside a Mystery.

Many thanks to Carrie Payne. She's been a wise fixture and contributor to many local SAQA meetings, with insight on publishing magazine articles/features and showing + selling work, including patterns and custom-designed fabric. Her artwork is whimsical, bright and innocent. Even her "Box of Mystery" included her magic touch.

Makers: Unknown, Location Found: Cincinnati, OH, Circa: Unknown

For one of Carrie's sweet tutorials, click on the video below. Did I mention she's a really nice person?

Anonymity.

Sometimes we hang ourselves into the world with abandon, other times we cocoon -- there are times and places where both are equally appropriate. Like here. JM sent this parcel, a collection of her mother's finely trimmed linens and handmade doilies, asking that I not use her full name or her 95-year old mother's, now deceased.

The work is beautiful as is her sentiment: "I am glad they're going to a good home." And this has been a good lesson for me to consider, because while I've been hell bent on my intention to raise the awareness and value of women's work by pointing to the Unknown-Unknown-Unknown Makers, there is another value inherent in the creation of such things:

For someone, at some time, in some place -- it felt good to make them.

This is a beautiful energy that I hadn't yet placed alongside a feminist context. And of course, this is why I make things, too, and why I began 40 years ago in the first place. Thank you to JM and her mother, CF, from Chesterfield Missouri for reminding me of this.

Makers: Unknown, Origins: Unknown, Circa: Unknown.

If you've been following the Inheritance Project all this time...thank you. It's been an unexpected experience that has taught me much about myself and brought me closer to understanding the intention of the women in my own family--many of them now gone, some very recently so. I've already begun working with many of these items and will do so for the next 2 years, at least.

I believe I'm nearing the end of the call for crowdsourced materials -- I'm approaching 1 year, I'm approaching 20 posts, but don't know which will come first. If you have contacted me and I've responded with an invitation letter, plus you still feel compelled to send items -- please do. If you haven't contacted me, but feel compelled to send items, please do! I'm not going anywhere, but I am looking at how best to schedule the next 2 years.

Yo. It's tricky.

2 Comments

Walking away from the whale.

7/9/2016

8 Comments

"Peaceful journeys, Whale. You fill us with awe, even in death."

Eve V.

I've lived in Alaska for 16 years, almost half that time with children. I know how this place has shaped me, but I have no life comparison for them. The North is all they've ever known.

Amy Meissner, textile artist | From the post Walking away from the whale. | www.amymeissner.com/blog/walking-away-from-the-whale

Leaving a dead humpback whale, Kincaid Park, Anchorage, Alaska.

"If I was younger, I'd probably be crying right now."

Astrid, age 7

Earlier this summer, I got it in my head that my daughter and I needed to slog through some workbooks to bolster her reading and writing skills. One of the first worksheets -- a "which-one-of-these-items-doesn't-belong-in-this-list" affair -- featured an illustration of a bear rolling out his sleeping bag at the top of the page. A wilderness theme, logically.

So, which item doesn't belong?
fire, candle, radio, flashlight.

She chose "candle."

According to the test creators, my daughter's answer to question #1 would've been wrong.

But her logic was this: "I'd need the fire to stay warm, the flashlight to see in the dark, and the radio so I could call for help."

Ah yes. That kind of radio.

Hers was the answer that would keep her -- maybe even us -- alive.

This morning we hiked a mile downhill to a beached humpback whale lodged at the edge of Kincaid Park in Anchorage. I've written about finding things on beaches before, mostly in Prince William Sound and sometimes elsewhere, but we didn't stumble upon this morning's find; we traveled to the whale with intention.

My son, age 10, had a theory as to why the whale's side had split open, spilling guts into the silt.

"It's probably all the gases expanding. Like that one time when you put the red lid on the sourdough batter and it blew right off."

Their filter for the world is connected to their sense of place.

You are probably wondering what kind of olfactory experience that whale was, and the four of us can say, for the rest of our lives, with authority: "Smells like a long dead whale." Now we know.

There are times when I ask myself why we would ever choose to live here. Why, as an architect and an artist, my husband and I aren't willing to return to an urban hub, to a different kind of exposure or set of opportunities in some other place, one not so remote.

I wonder, why at one time we turned our backs on just such a place and walked so far away.

Without the naivety of the first lesson -- the false assuredness, the bumbling, the sliding -- the second lessons are different. After you've learned from something, you'll never experience it the same way twice.

Maybe the deeper lesson is knowing you don't want to.

8 Comments

Cloth. It's a landscape.

The Pull of the Needle:
Diana Weymar and the Landscape of Cloth.

The 13th boxes of mystery.

The emotional gatekeeper.

Roommate.

Magic inside a Mystery.

Anonymity.

Walking away from the whale.

Amy Meissner

Categories

Archives

Cloth. It's a landscape.

The Pull of the Needle: ​Diana Weymar and the Landscape of Cloth.

The 13th boxes of mystery.

The emotional gatekeeper.

Roommate.

Magic inside a Mystery.

Anonymity.

Walking away from the whale.

Amy Meissner

Categories

Archives

The Pull of the Needle:
Diana Weymar and the Landscape of Cloth.