Waning

The last Sunday of our Saltonstall residency was given over to a public open house event that included readings by the writers and open studios for the visual artists.  It was a glorious day and there was a healthy turn out of people hungry for art.  I would like to think we delivered.

It was a little sad to clean up my studio, knowing that the mojo developed over the course of the past three weeks would not fully return.  At the same time, it was nice to step back and give each thing some space and see it all in a newer, cleaner, context.

I set out a table of materials because it seemed like people would enjoy handling things - and they did!

This is the last piece I made from my childhood pillow case series.  Each piece became more and more elaborate and, to my mind, more painterly.  I am totally grooving on the colors and patterns, each stitch like a brush stroke (only better).  I honestly have no idea how they read to anyone else.  I am not sure where I will take it from here.  So, more questions than answers in this department.

I also had a table of natural and unnatural wonders - things I collected and made during the course of the month.  I didn't pursue this line of thinking and exploring very far but it has potential.  People seemed to react and engage with the things.  

Including Mr. Snake.

He has a long story behind him, which I won't recall except to say that he, in his ever increasing state of decomposition, has been my daily companion outside my door.  Finally, I brought him in to the studio - him and the ants that died as they tried to eat his dead body.  Poisoned?  We don't know.

Devon Moore, the poet in residence, wrote a poem about Mr. Snake, whom we found at our feet the first day she arrived.  Here she is reading that poem:

Her first book of poetry is just out and you can get it here.  As she is an incredibly talented poet, I highly recommend that you do get it.  She is the only poet I know that can elicit audible gasps from the audience when one of her lines cuts especially close to the bone.  

She also wrote a beautiful poem about sleeping in Connie Saltonstall's bedroom this month for the book that we made together.  I can't say it is an edition because they are all different.  They are almost-an-edition of six.

We decided to title it "Four Weeks with Nira" or, actually, 4WKS W/NIRA.  It is named after the most wonderful dog in the world, Stephen Kuusisto's seeing eye dog, Nira.  

Rabbits!  I smell rabbits!

There she is!  I can't imagine this month without her delightful tail wagging, crumb eating, loving gaze giving self around.  She is about to retire as Steve's seeing eye dog, being a mature lady of ten years.  I wish her many more years of well-earned leisure and much fulfilled sniffing!

I could wax poetic about Nira all day long but perhaps I should add that Steve is pretty great too.  He is here finishing the final draft of his next book, which is a memoir/history of seeing eye dogs.  As the extrovert of our group, he has been a most welcome dinnertime companion.  The small bit of the book I was honored to read left me a bit misty about the eyes.  He is a most talented writer as well.

I have left out the two other visual artists here only because I had to be in my studio while they were in theirs.  Let me correct that now!

Nydia Blas is a photographer (mostly) who makes sharp, smart work about women and girls and how they are perceived in a racial, sexualized, gendered culture.  What does that mean - go look for yourself.

Camille Laoang uses pens to create meticulous and elaborate mandalas that are partly a rendering of her personal experiences and part spiritual practice.  May I add that it was sometimes kind of intense to be working below Camille, knowing that she was above me silently working with such focus and attention.  We are, shall we say, on different ends of the scale in terms of neatness and working methods.  Who knows, maybe she was up there laying on her bed, reading Us Weekly and eating Doritos.  Whatever the case, she was a foil for my own wandering thoughts and I am very grateful for her presence, real or imagined.

Finally, I want to thank Patti, who drove all way from Rochester (!!), and Alex and Nuala, for coming yesterday.  I especially want to thank Lesley Williamson, the director of The Saltonstall Foundation, for her devoted hard work to make this whole month happen.  Herding cats does not even begin to describe it.  And, of course, The Saltonstall Foundation itself - this month has been such a gift. I am sure that I will be experiencing the results for years to come.

Tick-Tock

The last few days here have been cold and rainy.  As I am rather a fan of cold and rainy, this has not been a big deal.  In fact, it has been downright lovely.  This morning was full of fog but now the sunshine has returned.  

Today might be the day when I actually hike the trail behind the studio building.  When we arrived, we were told at our orientation about how many ticks there are around here.  This fact was emphasized so strongly that all of us city slickers were put off going into the woods at all.  There is even a sign in the kitchen that says "Ticks climb UP!"  Sheesh.  

Look out ticks!  I'm a-coming in!

Meanwhile, here is a detail of one of my pillow case pieces.  I am thoroughly enjoying playing with color and texture and composition.  Yes, these are the basics of art making but they are also things that have been secondary to my work for a long time.  How novel it feels to think about these simple things, to just feel  and play and enjoy.

Yes, yes.  This is me.

The Life and Hard Times of Mr. C

One of the first things I noticed when I got here was the birds.  I think I even wrote about how they never stop singing, even through the night.  As I have had the opportunity to spend a lot of time in Studio B aka the patio, I have become as wrapped up in their ongoing dramas with as much interest as anyone with an addiction to "As the World Turns".

My primary involvement has been with Mr. Cardinal who, until three days ago, would fly into all the windows of my little apartment in turn beginning around 5:30 am each day.  He would bang into the windows over and over, his beak and wings making the most alarming taps and thumps.  My response has been to jump out of bed and wave my hands at him to scare him away…until he returns later.  All day, everyday, Mr. Cardinal and I would have our little neck breaking flirtation.  Finally, on Friday, Lesley, the director of the Foundation, put stickers that look like spider webs on the window panes.  Apparently birds won't fly through spider webs and these stickers fool them enough so that they won't keep thinking that the reflection of the trees in the glass are actually the best trees to sit in, if only they could just reach them.

After a frustrating week or so of Mr. Cardinal and his hopeless obsession with the reflection of the trees, I began to see that we were not so different, after all.  I mean, it was almost too obvious really - both of us insisting that we knew what we were doing, banging our heads into a solid wall, insisting that the reflection of the thing was better than the thing itself.  The main difference was that, after knocking against plate glass 20 or 30 times, Mr. Cardinal sits in a real tree and sings a lovely song.  I'm usually a little more grumpy than that.

But the fake spider webs have mostly discouraged him.  The first day, he flew around and stopped himself before banging into the windows.  Then, he sat in a tree and sang very loudly.  I think he was pissed.  This morning, he came around and banged into the windows that didn't get the stickers.  Dude, c'mon!  The metaphor has been realized!  Can we just enjoy life now?

While Mr. C and I develop and deepen our relationship, there are other bird dramas happening.  The day the Blue Jay spent trying to get at the Robin's nest in the maple tree.  The hawks and vultures who scan the fields on a regular basis.  The Red Winged Blackbirds who rule, well, just about everywhere.  It's all happening - life, death, tragedy, comedy.

That's right, you deer, run away!

I think I am grateful that the other animals mostly run away when they see me.  Frankly, I don't have time to get involved in their lives.  I have other work to do.

Trust Yourself

For the past two weeks I have been flushing the system.  Making whatever came to mind without a lot of discrimination.  Just get it outta there.  Derivative, cliche, even strongly vaginal - I just made it and worried later.  And I have worried a bit (read: a lot).  Mostly, it has been the usual suspects: am I really an artist?  Am I wasting my time?  Have I pissed off my whole family to come here only to just diddle around making strongly vaginal artwork?

The thing is, you can't have doubt without its opposite, faith, lurking somewhere in the background.  Even in my lowest moment, as I sat in a chair, hating everything I saw while feeling the clock and the calendar pressing down on me - somewhere in there - I had faith.  Faith in this process of making, faith in my decades of experience, ultimately, faith in myself.  I distinctly remember sitting there completely distraught and paralyzed when I thought to myself that nothing will change as long as I kept sitting there.  The only way out of this disaster was to make a move.  Draw a line, cut a piece of fabric, whatever.  Just do something.  And in that one action, things will change.  There has to be movement.

It sounds pretty obvious but, for me, it was a turning point.  I can't say that, from that moment forward, I have been making masterpieces.  Not at all.  But I found my counter argument to when I start down that slippery slope of negativity.  The only way out is through.

Yesterday, I felt like I made a few worthwhile things.  There are enough layers of meaning and formal interest to hold my attention.  I started repairing a pillow case that I found in my bin of textiles - it dates from the 1970s.  I used "liquid embroidery" to paint on these stenciled images on a rainy weekend with my siblings.  No doubt my mother was just grateful that we were being quiet.  For some reason, I still had this thing that I made back then but it was in pretty bad shape.  I decided to use a Japanese mending technique called sashiko to repair it.  I thought it would be amusing to use this beautiful technique on my 1970s liquid embroidery pillow case.  (And I still think it is amusing!)  But something else began to happen as well - color and texture started to come together in a beautiful way, perhaps aided by a sense of caring and history.

A detail of one of them.  I ended up liking the back more than the front.

I have made two so far and they are holding their own.  With the energy of those two objects, other objects and drawings started to come together in a new way too.

In yoga, we talk a lot about śraddha, usually translated as faith.  In Zen, my teacher often repeats what his teacher often repeated, "Trust yourself."

Trust yourself.

And, it was a beautiful evening last night too.

Work Continues Apace

Someone - I won't mention names - being of a collaborative nature, suggested that each of the artists and writers here make a page that will be bound into a little book, edition of six.  One of for each of us and one for the Saltonstall Foundation.  Being of generous nature, everyone agreed and we have all been working on our pages.  I chose to make all of mine the same so everyone will get the same thing - there is a front, centerfold and back.  This is the front and back; the centerfold is a watercolor landscape of the hillside I see from my Studio B aka the patio.

That would be me.

I decided to embrace my status as the lucky one.  Must say that I am quite pleased how they turned out. I think everyone else has been working on their pages too so I think it will be a sweet, little project in the end.

Here is a glimpse of my watercolor drawings and yarn.  You can see why I jumped up to spin it, no?

Here are some other of my materials.  Somehow childhood bedsheets and pillow cases have been figuring heavily.  I am not asking questions!  I am just making things!  (As an aside, what do you call that little rotary tool?  I found it in a second hand shop and it is proving very useful but I can't remember its name.)

Each evening, I take a walk after supper with my little camera.  I challenge myself to find something new on what has become a familiar path.  Somedays I don't see much but, last night, it was easy.  

Get Lucky

The other day, someone said to me, "You really got lucky with your kids -  they're great."

While I couldn't disagree - they are great! - I added, "Luck…and years of hard work."

Of course, that is what it seems like in the moment: luck.  We all know stories of parents who were not so lucky.  And they might have worked hard too so maybe there is an element of luck in there.  But to just chalk it up to luck seems incomplete at best.

Likewise when people marveled at my luck at getting to spend a month making art here in Ithaca, I understood.  Yes, I was lucky to be selected.  I mean, look at where I am!

It isn't a complete picture either.  I have written about this before.  Yes, I am lucky to be here.  I am lucky to be living this amazing life.  And, I have worked pretty damn hard for it all.  Please rest assured that I am working pretty damn hard here too.

Look!  I made this yarn!  I haven't posted any pictures of my work because it feels so new and tender that I don't want to share it yet.  But I will share that, in the midst of making drawings and watercolors, I realized that I had to make this yarn and it is now part of a little installation of those drawings and watercolors in my studio.  I have been intrigued with the idea of including handspun yarn among drawings and other items that would be considered fine art.  Can it hold its own?  Can the relationship between all the objects create something new - a third thing?  Can this handspun yarn have a role in the conversation, which is a conversation that is NOT about handspun yarn or craft or anything like that.  Can handspun yarn be a Serious Player?

I'm trying, my dears, I'm trying.

And then, this happened:

It's a hand towel.  No, it's a book.  No, it;s a hand towel AND a book.

Not entirely sure where that line of thinking is headed but it was fun to make.  (Uh-oh, am I allowed to have fun?  Or does that put me back in the "lucky" category?)

A friend commissioned some yarn as a gift for someone else.  It makes a good evening project when I am pretty well done with studio work.  This yarn needs only to be pretty and not a Serious Player.

I think it does it quite well.

The Inevitable

By all accounts, Finnian is not what you might call effusive.  His homeschool buddies decided to make a cardboard cut-out of him to bring to the various homeschool end-of-year events (I hesitate to call it a graduation, but it kind of is).  The big joke was, how could you tell?  Now, in fact, Finnian has a fantastic personality and is drop dead funny when he chooses to be and I get on him about being too stingy with sharing this side of himself.  But he can have a stoic look.  Last night as we headed towards JFK where he was to board plane to Italy with the intention of staying for a year, Lucy said, "So, are you scared??"  He said, "I'm panic stricken!"

Here is what he looked like:

Coolness personified.

By the time we parted ways, there were tears on all sides, however.  I wasn't quite prepared for just how much it would feel like a piece of my insides had been ripped from me.  And the heart break…it is real feeling not just a metaphor.  Ouch.

Talking with a friend recently, we agreed that just about every human endeavor ends in heart break.  Think about it - it all ends in heart break.  In a way, it is comforting because it means that shielding your heart is no longer a reason not to do something - whether you shield it or not, it will end in heart break, so just go ahead and do it.

But this kid thing, man.  It's like a living encyclopedia of heart break.

This morning, he texted me that he had landed safely in Madrid and had managed to rustle up both coffee and food.  I see by the online flight tracking (not that I am obsessively checking it or anything), that he is almost halfway to Rome now.  He will spend a couple of nights in Rome before heading to Verona where he will meet up with his first WWOOFing host.  

Much adventure lies ahead.

PS.  As we waited in the ticketing line, I said, "You know, you are going to get really buff doing all that farm work.  Have you considered that?"  Finn's answer, "Yes."  (see first photo above for facial reaction)

All Day, All Night

Answer:  Of course I brought my spinning wheel!  I also brought some black Shetland because, well, the fat lady hasn't sung on that one.  But first, I had to clear some bobbins.

Yumsville!  This is some Polworth dyed by the wonderful Ani at Widdershins.  She is going into retirement from her online store so I am not even linking you up.  She is still selling yarn and roving out of a shop in Taos.  I suppose it is time to grow up and really start dyeing all my own roving now.  The mama bird has kicked us out of the nest.  Ok, wallowing in self-pity is over….isn't that a gorgeous yarn?  It bloomed a bit more than I expected so the plying isn't quite all it should be but it is soft and luscious so what more do you want, anyway?

After working in the studio all day, I don't have much left to offer after supper, but I have started an embroidery as my evening project.  It began like Total Trust and I thought I might show the reverse side, but I deliberately set out to do it that way this time.  It is so funny how projects insist on being themselves - almost immediately it was clear that this was not what needed to happen.  Apparently this is what needed to happen.

And so it is.

Green

Starting yesterday, the computer has been going to the main house for the day.  It's siren song was too powerful and I found myself "checking" things far too often when it was left around, handy at a moment's notice.  Notice how productivity skyrockets when the computer is put out to pasture!  Today, however, I have to take one of three yoga therapy exams (who knows, maybe I will do all three!).  There is no getting around having to take them while I am here so I am trying to focus and get them done.

It's funny how I try to pigeonhole these activities, as if I could.  Art now, yoga later, parenting next.  But they are all mixed up.  Yesterday, after a strong day in the studio, I set out my yoga mat and things just started pouring out of me.  Not literally exactly although there were some tears.  Totally unexpected and definitely not on the schedule.  Difficult and shitty and wonderful, all at the same time.  What a treasure to have this time and space to let it all hang out, together.

Meanwhile, the world has become very, very green.

Dropped Stitch

Some months ago, I received an invitation to participate in an exhibition to be presented at Neddies Harbour Inn in Norris Point in Gros Morne.  Titled, Dropped Stitch, it was to be something of a Salon de Refusés.  The story of how such a thing came to be is, perhaps, beyond the scope of this blog.  The important thing is, I wanted in.  

I wanted in but this piece - my piece - is not currently on view in the exhibition, which by the way, opens tonight.  If you find yourself standing outside the Neddies Harbour Inn, please go inside and see the show!  It is, by all accounts, wonderful.

This piece - my piece - is still en route.  When I agreed to be part of the Refusés, I had all sorts of ideas.  So many ideas that I found it difficult to choose which one.  Meanwhile, the clock was ticking.  Then, I made this piece, or an earlier incarnation of this piece.  It was just kinda meh if you know what I mean. Meanwhile, the clock was ticking.  Shawn, one of the co-organizers of the exhibition, emailed me to inquire about what I was submitting and to confirm my participation.  And that is when I told a lie.  I told her it was in the mail.  I thought that I would send the earlier incarnation of this piece and I would go, right then, to pack it up and mail it.  So my lie would be a very small lie - a matter of minutes or maybe an hour.  

But the meh-ness of the piece was too much.  It kinda sucked.  I didn't want to send such a sucky piece so I held onto it and waited for it to tell me how to improve it.  Or for the piece that I was supposed to send to present itself to me.  As I write this, I am thinking that this story could be seen as lying to protect my artistic integrity but that might be pushing it.  Mostly I was just embarrassed that I only had this rather sucky piece and it seemed better to not be included at all than to be represented by this thing.

Meanwhile the clock was ticking.  Finally, weeks - yes, weeks! - after I told Shawn that the piece was in the mail, I realized what had to be done.  I painted the whole thing with ink, then I re-embroidered the words.  Then I painted only the words with ink.  Then I re-embroidered the words again.  And so, like this, several more times.  And then I realized the back was much more intriguing than the front. It was saying the thing that I was trying to say - Total Trust.

I made a backing for the front just in case someone would be tempted to show that side, which was now the wrong side.  And, by gum, I mailed that thing!

Dear Shawn,  I am very sorry that I lied about my piece being in the mail but I am happy that I didn't mail it.  It is much better now.  If you don't want to include it in the show, I understand.  Liars must take the consequences of their actions.  I am excited about the show, whether or not my work is part of it.   

Love, Robyn

Viva les Refusés!

Total Trust, 2015, ink and embroidery on found textile, 25 x 20 cm

Dropped Stitch will be on view at Neddies Harbour Inn through the summer and until the FibreArts NL conference ends in early October.  Please see it if you can!  It features works by ten western Newfoundland artists including Jackie Alcock, Shannon Ann Coyle, Niki T Hollahan, Barb Hunt, Robyn Love (maybe!), Urve Manuel, Shawn O'Hagan, Joan Payne, Brenda Stratton and Molly White.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

First, some pictures!

The view from my patio.  If it ever warms up, I can imagine this being Studio B for me.

The view from the road.  It's pretty here.

Found these by the side of the driveway.  Intriguing space alien seed pods that were later identified as treasels or treasles.  Apparently they were used to comb or full wool before metal carders came into play.  No wonder I was drawn to them!

Studio A.  It was feeling a bit antiseptic until I filled it with blankets.  Ahhh…much better now.

Please don't ask.

It has been 18 years or more since I made studio-based work.  The simple and obvious reason is that it felt impossible with first one, then two, young children.  Adapting to circumstance, I developed a way of working that allowed me to carry on while caring for babies, then toddlers, then homeschooling older children.  To be honest, I am finding it a little overwhelming to have all this time and space and materials and No Excuses.  

I am making stuff - drawings, objects, textile pieces.  But what is it?  Perhaps best not to ask!

This Kind of Time

It was a fitful night of sleep.  The stimulation of the long drive, meeting the other artists and writers, and getting oriented to the place made it difficult to settle.  Also - the birds!  It was as if I was standing (or laying down) in the center of an amphitheater and the birds were cheering in concentric rings around me - rings and rings extending outwards for miles.  I am not a stranger to nature but this…I have never heard such a raucous chorus!  Hey birds - chill out!

Above and beyond the newness of it all, I could feel in my body a growing anxiety as the night wore on and I was still awake.  "Oh no, my day will be ruined tomorrow if I am so tired.  How will I get everything done?"  And then I realized, there is no where to go, nothing needs to get done, no one is looking over my shoulder.  I can sleep or not sleep.  I can eat or not eat.  I can lay in bed til noon (or beyond), if that's what suits me.  I can do a two-hour yoga practice.  I can sit meditation all day long.  I can go for a hike or a bike ride or drive into town.  Or - wait for it - I could make art.

I have forgotten, if I ever knew, what this kind of time is like.

I will not lay in bed 'til noon.  No.  My thought has been: how do I honour this opportunity that has been given to me?  I think the answer is, do what's needed.

And We're Off!

Well, almost.

The threatening messages still appear, even a day late.

First, I must eat a piece of Lucy's Mother's Day coffee cake.  She made it late at night on Mother's Day itself so I was able to partake this morning.  Delicious!  As I chewed and felt grateful for her efforts, I realized she had a method to her madness.  Unless I suddenly become a complete glutton (and let's not rule that out), most of the coffee cake will be left behind for certain other people to consume.  Hmmmm.  I may have to bring some with me to Ithaca.

Because it is Ithaca where I will be headed in a few short hours' time.  What lies ahead?  I don't know!

Preparing/Not Preparing

In less than a week I will head up to Ithaca to begin my month-long artist residency.  I have been trying to get the household ready for my absence and to make decisions about what to bring with me.  I spent most of Saturday in my studio and ended up feeling like I should take everything because, hey, you never know.  That bag of shoes that Finn wore when he was two?  I needs it!  That card of moose antler buttons?  What if it turns out that I start making something and moose antler buttons are missing link?  Gotta have 'em!  Paper scraps circa 1998?  Bring'em!  And on and on like that.  Finally I decided that I would come to my studio on Monday morning on my way of out of town and just pack the car until I get tired of going up and down the stairs or I run out of space in the car, whichever comes first.

That's the kind of sharp decision making that I am famous for.

I have deliberately tried not to think too much about the residency in terms of what, exactly, I will work on.  I have several ideas floating around but I have actively pushed them away when they have threatened to come to the surface.  I don't want to limit myself.  Of course this strategy has had the side effect of making me worry (slightly) that maybe I won't be able to make anything.  Maybe I will lose my inspiration.  Maybe I have forgotten how to make art.  Maybe I suck at art.  Maybe I was never an artist the whole time.  And on and on like that.

You would think that, after 30+ years, that line of thinking would get tiresome but I see that there is still some traction left in them old thoughts.  Fortunately they didn't get very far this time because, as I sat in my studio staring at several decades worth of materials, my hands started to make things.  Things like I have never seen before.  Ideas and materials started to come together and even if I wanted to stop my hands, I couldn't have.  I had to force myself to stop, however, because it isn't quite time yet to get started.

Soon.  Soon.

Liberation Prison Yoga

A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across a link to an indiegogo campaign for a program that supports yoga classes at Riker's Island prison in New York City - the Liberation Prison Yoga project.  For awhile now, I had been thinking about how I might be able to reach populations that need yoga and its benefits as much as or more than the usual group of self selecting people who wander into a yoga studio.  And here it is!



Not only did I give some money towards the fundraiser, which will double the size of the program, I also signed up to be a teacher!  The complicated bureaucracy of the prison system means that it will likely be fall before I begin teaching, but it is in the works.

The program's founder and director, Anneke Lucas, made her initial goal but she just added an additional $5000 to expand the program to be even bigger and better.  The deadline is tomorrow!  I hope you will consider supporting this beautiful program that brings the healing powers of yoga to those who need it most.  And we all benefit from that!

It was the Best of Times, It was the Worst of Times

Today I am back from a week-long sesshin at the Monastery.  I have a lot to do to make up for being away for a week but I haven't done most of it.  Although allowing one's mind to settle and quiet down leaves a lot of energy for actually doing what is in front of you, I haven't been very focused today.  And although this extra energy made me feel light and, well, energetic despite getting very little sleep, I feel pretty tired today.  Further although many good and important things happened during the course of the week, I am left feeling quite…..how to say?……at the beginning.

My neighbors across the street suddenly started showing up at the Temple in Brooklyn on Sundays.  It was a funny moment as we looked at each other and said, "What are you doing here??!"  They keep coming back and seemed to have enthusiastically embraced the practice and the community.  Just before sesshin, I gave them a ride back to our neighborhood and we chatted about various aspects of Zen practice.  They had lots of questions and I did my best to answer.  Today I feel like ringing their bell and telling them to forget everything I said two weeks ago.  I can't really remember what I said, but please, forget it.

My teacher gave me a practice two and a half years ago.  Almost every week, except for times when either he or I are away, I have private face-to-face teaching with him where I present my understanding of my practice.  It is a koan practice so it isn't that I just let him know how things are going, there is a passing through that happens; an understanding or realization that is there or not there.  It isn't amorphous or vague - you either have it or you don't have it.  For over two years, he has gently or not so gently told me to keep working on it.  A hair's breath away?  Keep working on it.  Mountains and rivers away from it?  Keep working on it.  You already know?  Keep working on it.  I know you know?  Keep working on it.

In the rest of my life, to be told no, you're wrong, for over two years would be a pretty clear indication of, shall we say, failure.  Or, at least, that I am simply not very good at this.  The thing about this practice is, success and failure don't actually come into the picture.  As someone who is generally competent and usually pretty quick on the uptake, this kind of perspective is a bit of an adjustment.

I have gotten better at sesshin in the sense that I actually do my practice a lot of the time.  I used to marvel that, out of an entire week, if I added up how long I was really concentrating on my practice (versus daydreaming, fantasizing, sleeping or otherwise blathering to myself about myself), it would probably be an hour or so.  Now, it is closer to about 50% of the time.  I hope that I am not being too generous with myself there but it feels about right.  But that is really the question:  Am I wasting time or am I really practicing?  If the answer is that I am really practicing, then "Keep working on it" is a fine thing - the absolutely correct thing - no matter how long it takes.  To even say that it is taking a long time doesn't make sense.  But it is a weird thing too because no where else in the world has these standards.  So I have to remind myself every so often that even this feeling of being lost and clueless is exactly the right place to be.

Still, while there is no problem, it is an uneasy place.  I am pretty sure that's the idea.

Question? Answered!

Most years go like this:  January to mid-May:  New York.  Mid-May to mid-Sept:  Newfoundland.  Mid-Sept to December:  New York.  Except when we stay in Newfoundland for the whole winter. which is always pretty exciting.  And beautiful.  And cold.  And snowy.  This year is shaping up a little differently.

For one thing, I have to be in Nashville for another yoga therapy training at the end of June.  For another thing, Finn is leaving the nest early.  I used that phrase in a post to an online homeschooling forum recently.  Last night, Finn called me out on it.  He couldn't believe I used such a hackneyed cliché (are there any other kinds?).  Apparently he has high standards for my writing.  Who knew that I had raised such a literary snob?  I wonder what he would think of my digressions?  In any case, he is heading to Italy for a year (or so) to be a WWOOFer.  I wish I could say that it is his deep love of the land and the soil that has brought him to this decision but, I can not.  It is his deep interest in Italian food and the slow-paced lifestyle.  WWOOFing seems to be the most likely way for him to experience it on a budget.  So, off he goes on his grand adventure at the end of May.

Finn's grand adventure didn't, in itself, change too much and Lucy and I were still booked on a ferry in early July.  Then, I started having some doubts.  As loyal readers know, I have been part of a team of women caring for a friend who has Stage 4 cancer.  She calls us her goddesses.  Somehow, recently, I was dubbed "Head Goddess" although I am not sure how that came about.  I am thinking of adding it to my business cards, however.  Although my friend has been holding her own - indeed even more than holding her own; she has been doing great - I have been feeling uneasy about being away for so long.  It just doesn't feel like Head Goddess behavior.   But it still wasn't really clear to me what I should do.

Then a golden opportunity fell into my lap.  I have been searching around for places to teach yoga that would be welcoming of what I do, which is decidedly not Power/Sweat Express/Kick Ass/Rock'n Roll Yoga to the Stars.  It's been a tough sell in this More is More/Vata deranged/if-I-don't-leave-here-drenched-and-exhausted-then-I-haven't-done-yoga city.  Then I remembered J. Brown.  J has made a name for himself as the "gentle is the new advanced" yoga guy.  He trained in the same lineage and has a studio in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where he has carved out his audience of people who appreciate what he is doing.  It's kind of a miracle, really.  So, I made contact and offered my services (our lineage is small so we know lots of people in common).  I went to his class.  We hit it off.  He offered me a spot in his teacher training on scholarship so we would be on the same page, teaching-wise.  And thus my question of to stay or not to stay was answered.  J's training is largely self-directed but he does hold workshops on Saturday evenings throughout the summer.  Hello, New York summer!

I still have to be up in Cape Breton at the end of August to install the show in Inverness and then we will travel on to Gillams.  Enrollment willing, I will be teaching at the big fibre conference in Gros Morne in early October.  Does that mean winter 2015-16 in Gillams?  It's not impossible!  Just as things sorted themselves out for the summer, I am going to trust that the answer to that question will come in the fullness of time.

Pushback

After months of spinning only black Shetland, there had to be some pushback….

BFL and silk, chain-plied (hand painted roving by Widdershins Woolworks)

First of two plies in the works - Targhee (hand painted roving by Widdershins Woolworks)

BFL two-ply (hand painted roving by yours truly)

Glass Beads and Gun Powder

On Monday, I took my installation down at bkbx.  Another artist's show opened last night (really beautiful - go see it!).  For me, the whole project was about experimenting.  Materials, ideas: none of them were fixed so all of them were open to change.  The thing that began the process ended up being all but invisible.  Some people were disappointed by that, and I had moments of doubt myself, but in the end it was simply how it went.  And I think it left the door open to another project or perhaps to making this one bigger.  Fortunately, I will have that opportunity because the piece will be re-installed (and perhaps re-envisioned) at the end of August as part of an exhibition that I am co-organizing in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.  More about that later.

As I reflect on the installation, the process of making it and the feedback from people who experienced it, I find myself thinking about what's wrong when we (I) are (am) timid.  In art, and in life, there is a spectrum of wildness or daring.  I have a friend, Donna Sharrett, who makes gorgeous collaged pieces.  They are exquisite in the purest sense of the word.  I will never forget her telling me about the agonizing she did when she decided to add a new element to them.  For her, adding a glass bead when before there were none felt like leaping off the cliff.

Donna Sharett, Dancing Barefoot, 2014.

At the other end of the spectrum are artists like Cai Guo Qiang.  He thinks big - really big.  What I find remarkable is that, sometimes, his work is just as exquisite as Donna's collages, even when the scale is huge and the materials are gun powder and rockets.  I think of this one, Black Rainbow for Valencia, Spain.  (Link is to a video that it definitely worth watching.)

Being rather a fan, I have gone to several of his artist talks.  I remember one time, I think it was when the piece above was new, it was the aftermath of 9/11 when the US was discovering just how wrongheaded it had been to invade Iraq.  Cai was speaking and someone asked him about George W. Bush and his politics.  Everyone in the audience was waiting for him to eviscerate GWB.  Not just waiting for him to do that but wanting him to do that because, in that audience at least, everyone was so angry about what had happened.  We all felt so powerless and it would have been so gratifying to hear this brilliant artist put poor, stupid George in his place.  But no.  Cai just waved his hand and said something like, "Politicians come and go" and moved on to the next topic.  It really struck me that here was someone who had such a huge vision and had such a broad perspective that the rise and (inevitable) fall of a politician who had an eight-year term limit was not worth spending much time dwelling on.  His ideas were larger than any moment in geopolitical time.

I think it is important to note here that it would be easy to put Cai above Donna and say that his daring is greater.  In a way, it is - his failures are larger and certainly involve more people.  But I wonder if there is another way to see it: that Donna's inverse scale - the drama of adding a glass bead - is possibly just as monumental as rockets firing gun powder over Valencia.  How do we understand our own timidity and hesitations?  What - exactly - is holding us back?

That's what I want to know.

An Impractical Labor Studio Tour

ILSSA - Impractical Labor in the Service of the Speculative Arts - I have written about it here before.  It is a community of people who make art using impractical methods just because we want to - our motto is As long as it takes!

I love ILSSA and its mission so it is extra fabulous that they invited me to participate in their new blog, Markdown.  They are doing a series of interviews/studio tours with members.  Here is a link to mine.  I hope you will take a look and then check out the other ones too.  People are doing amazing things!

A Happy Fellow

On New Year's Day, I came home from the Rohatsu sesshin at Zen Mountain Monastery feeling quite beautifully exhausted.  We need a new word to describe that feeling, which is being physically tired but with a relaxed, yet sharp, mind.  The next day, I allowed myself to disperse that feeling just a bit by looking at my Facebook page.  A friend had posted a notice about an artist residency in Ithaca, NY.  Maybe it was because the place is called The Saltonstall Foundation, a name that to me says "Boston" not "Ithaca" (Saltonstall is a big name in Boston, with family ties there that go back to the 1600s.  Massachusetts Governor, Leverett Saltonstall's wife, Alice, once famously said, about California, "It sounds lovely but who wants to live 3000 miles from the ocean?").  Naturally my curiosity was peaked.  Then there was just a general feeling that I had been having that I have spent a lot of time lately developing my Zen practice and my yoga practice and my art practice has been riding along in the backseat - enjoying the ride! - but coasting a bit.  So, add to that mixture the special energy that one only gets following Rohatsu and I found myself sending in an impromptu application, because the deadline was January 2nd - no time to over-think this one.

There are times when I have posted grant applications when I just know that it will be a winner.  And there are times when I am fairly certain that I have just done a very important exercise in figuring out something about my work and myself but no money or opportunity will be immediately forthcoming.  That second one is most of the time - there is just a little (or sometimes big) feeling of disconnect inside of me that lets me know that this idea or project or time just isn't quite ready yet.  But on January 2, 2015, everything felt connected.  It's not the kind of thing that one can force to make happen.  But, you can improve the chances by creating the right environment and fixing mistakes from past experiences and by trying again and again.  It's kind of like grant samādhi - when you are in it, you are in it, but if you think you are in it, you are not in it.

A few weeks ago, when the name Saltonstall popped up on my cellphone, I knew exactly why I was getting the call.  I do not say this arrogantly!  I have a mountain of rejections behind me and, no doubt, in front of me too.  No, it was just that I knew that the time was right, the place was right, the name was right, and I was right!  I am very pleased to say that I was selected to be one of the 2015 Fellows at The Saltonstall Foundation, which means I will be working in residence there from mid-May to mid-June.  Here is the list of all the artists and writers who have been selected.

I am very excited about the opportunity that this residency presents.  I have been trying to not plan what I will work on up there but a couple of ideas are loosely floating around in my head.  It is such a privilege to have the time and space to work on them.  Thank you to The Saltonstall Foundation and to Connie Saltonstall who was, yes, born in Boston but moved to Ithaca and who made it her dying wish to support other artists in this way.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Out in the World

Yes, the snow banks in Gillams may still be 12' tall and rising (another blizzard happening right now even as I type these words), but there are other things happening in that part of the world too.  For example, in October, when the snow will have melted and mostly likely before any new snow will be falling, there will be a ginormous fibre arts conference held in Gros Morne, a national park and World Heritage Site.  It is, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful places on the face of this great Earth and a fantastic location for this conference.

I have the privilege of leading a three-day workshop as part of the event.  I encourage you to click over here and take a look.  The whole conference looks amazing but, of course, my workshop sounds the most fascinating and wonderful.  You should sign up immediately!

Breaking Up is Hard To Do

On Wednesday, I broke up with my Ashtanga teachers.  Like most break ups, this one has been in the works for a while.  As a friend once said (about her own break-up with her partner of many years), "That boat had sunk a long time ago".

I know some people like to cut and run at the first sign of unpleasantness but that is the opposite of me. I hang in there through thick and thin - a quality that is shared by most Ashtangi's, I imagine.  I mean, if you are put off by a bit of adversity, you will not keep going with the practice.  It is a very challenging practice and we tend to pride ourselves on being able to work with what is hard about it.  I mean, that IS the practice in a lot of ways.

I train in a tradition that is related to but quite different from Ashtanga and it has been a juggling act to find ways of making it all fit together.   There are times when everything seems to make perfect sense and there have been times when I wonder that I think I am getting at, dabbling in this and that, especially if by "dabbling" you mean six years of Ashtanga practice, 500+ hrs of Desikachar teacher training, a year of yoga therapy training and, hey, why not add in ten years of Zen practice.  Honey, I am exhausted just writing all that out, so imagine what it is like to keep all those strands together together.  

You know, a lotta ins, lotta outs, lotta what-have-you's. And, uh, lotta strands to keep in my head, man. Lotta strands in old Duder's head. Luckily I'm adhering to a pretty strict, uh, drug regimen to keep my mind, you know, limber. 

Lost my train of thought there...

I am not 100% sold on Ashtanga as a complete system.  It has some serious flaws, actually.  For a good, long while, I was in sync with my teachers as they began to work through those flaws.  They started modifying postures to suit people's individual needs.  They stopped giving extreme adjustments and encouraged us to scale back and really focus on the basics.  Glory days.  At a certain point, however, my teachers began to move towards a solely physical practice - more like being personal trainers.  And that's cool.  But I actually like all that other stuff in yoga, all that mind/body/spirit stuff.  I really believe it.

When I started to ask some questions about the direction we were headed, they replied, "well, everything you do can be yoga."  Yes…but.  But, we train in a very specific way for part of everyday so that everything we do can be yoga.  It won't happen otherwise.  Yes,  you can do squats and work with weights with the mind of yoga, just like you can eat or do laundry or sit on the toilet with a mind of yoga.  But there is a difference between practice and training: I train so I can practice better.

So, the paths that crossed over six years ago uncrossed on Wednesday.  It is a sad thing but part of me already feels a lightness, a happiness to see what will happen next.  There is more to learn.  There is always more to learn.

The After-Party

If, before the exhibition opens, I am full of doubt and wondering why in the world I do this thing that puts my heart and soul out there for all to see and stomp on…

…then, after the exhibition opens, I am full of amazement at just how timid I was and wondering why in the world I didn't stick my neck out more.

Life is short, you fool!  Go for it!

TSITCASAA - The Movie

To Stand in the Center and See All Around is up!  It opened on a cold but lovely evening with a good turn-out.  It is the secret terror of the solo exhibitioner - will anyone come?  There are no other artists to create a buffer crowd.  I had visions of me and the chips and dips mournfully downing the Trader Joe's wine until total despair won out.  But no, people came and even seemed to have fun.

The lighting has been a big question for me.  My wish is that it would vary from complete darkness to enough light to see that the environment is a total fabrication held together with wire.  My skills as a lighting designer are not up for this task so I went with the darker of the two options.  Then I changed my mind and went with the lighter of the two options.  Today, I went back to the darker option.

The thing about the darker option is that one can not see the knit piece at all.  It is just a looming wall of blackness that counters the mirrored walls.  In a way, that is totally fine but it is giving up something.  Likewise, being able to see it better and experience it more directly has plusses but you lose the mysteriousness of the blackness, pulsing with light through the bladders that occasionally matches up with the rhythms of the sound piece.

It's a toss up.

The good news is that I will get to present this piece again in late August up in Cape Breton as part of an exhibition that I am co-organizing at the Inverness Cultural Centre.  One comment that has come up from several people is that they wish there were more rooms to explore.  I have to agree.  There is something about it that calls out for variations on a theme.  I guess my days (and nights) of spinning black Shetland are not over yet.

TSITCASAA (Plan B) - Opens Tonight!

The installation of To Stand in the Center and See All Around (TSITCASAA) has been going really well.  Head Installer at StudioLove aka Finnian has a genuine talent for seeing how things should be put together.  As we looked at the space and laid out the materials, he came up with an idea that saved hours and hours of work.  Yup, raised that boy right, I did!

But no installation goes smoothly the whole way through - I think it is some law of physics or something - and TSITCASAA is no exception.  Yesterday, as the Head Installer and I struggled to put up the lights and the bladders as the ceiling of the space that I have created, it became clear that it was not going to work.  It became clear when the whole thing fell to the ground just as we were about to congratulate ourselves on overcoming gravity through a combination of nails and packing tape.  The thing lay on the ground in a pile and I looked at Finn and said, "I think it is time for Plan B."  He said, "Do you have a Plan B?"

The answer was no but I quickly invented one.  To be honest, it is these moments where art happens for me.  The vision of What It Should Look Like has been shattered, or in this case, collapsed in a pile and I have minutes to come up with something else that will be as good or better than what I had planned.  It is a very alive moment.

As it turned out, Plan B is a good thing.  The lighting, which was not working for me as a ceiling piece is now a floor piece (see, physics again - don't fight gravity!) and it is doing exactly what I had hoped.  The bladders, which would have been a funky ceiling are also now on the floor and they make better sense there.  I am really liking it.

My handspun, hand knit piece that was the start of this whole thing is just one element of many.  It is doing what I want it to do but it isn't really the main focal point.  As I look back at what I had wished for when I looked at those Richard Serra drawings - that they weren't so reflective of the light from the oil stick - I see that my knit piece has succeeded.  It is like a black hole, absorbing all the light and creating an infinite space.  Does it matter that I spun the wool, or even if it is wool at all?  I honestly don't know.   If you only look at the end results, then I really don't know.  Maybe some other material would have the same effect.  But it does matter to me because it is what I needed to do in order to get from my starting place in the Metropolitan Museum in 2011 to bkbx gallery in 2015.  When looked at from that perspective, then I think you can safely say that the answer is yes.

(Pictures are coming!)

To Stand in the Center and See All Around - March 6 − 29 at bkbx gallery

The stuff dreams are made of (for some).

Please join me for the opening reception of To Stand in the Center and See All Around at bkbx on March 6th from 6 − 8 p.m.

At the end of the week, I got in the space with StudioLove's head installer aka Finnian.  We did a close inspection and realized that the installation could possibly be fairly straight forward.  I felt my whole body exhale.  We start on Monday.

Then I came home and finished the sound piece.  It isn't perfect, technically, but I feel quite happy that it is conveying…something.

So, if you would to experience something, please stop by.  I will be very excited to see you!

Options

He's got his eyes on the prize.

Many exciting and unexpected things happen when light hits mirrors.

This is my final work week before beginning to install To Stand in the Center and See All Around.  What is most clear to me is that I honestly have no idea how it going to look and if it will convey what I want it to convey until it is totally installed.  Until then, la la la, I work merrily along as if it will all be just fine.

I do worry that I will get in the gallery space next week and suddenly remember some extremely important element that is missing.  That sick feeling in the gut.  The blood rushing to the face.  If I am the only person who knows that it is "supposed to" look like, are there any mistakes?  Every project I make leads to this same place.  I get right up close to the presentation and I begin to doubt and to worry that the whole world will finally - finally - recognize me as the total failure that I so clearly am, capable of nothing, full of myself, the emperor's new clothes personified.

Other people stay home at night and watch Dancing with The Stars instead of putting their hearts and souls out there for all to stomp on.  What's my problem that I have to go around blathering and showing off?

And more like that.

You would think that, after 30 years, it would get easier but it doesn't get easier because, each time, I am putting a new heart and soul out there.  In a way, it gets more difficult because I am less convinced of my own correctness than when I was 20.

These are the direction of my thoughts as I work on the sound component of the installation - the part that I have the least amount of experience doing so, naturally, is fraught with the most doubt.

But, what the hell - it's an installation in a little space in Brooklyn.  I love making it and I love sharing it.  The suffering, as they say, is optional.


And I want to share this monumental photograph!  Here we are, WAMER (Women Artists Meeting Eating and Reading) reunited in the most 21st Century of ways!  Our artist study group is getting back  together after several years' hiatus, this time with one member joining via Skype.  What was most incredible about it was that we all became immediately adjusted to having her join us like that, as if it were normal or something.

Oh people, we are a funny lot!

A Place at the Table.

If the Pre-Raphaelites Lived in Iceland

Who can say where the sweater ends?

Since returning from Nashville (and an amazing time it was), progress on my project has been a little slower than what I had expected.  I finished knitting one of the large panels and made the executive decision to forego making another one.  The project has drifted so far away from its original impulse that my initial configuration no longer seemed like the best solution.  The knit piece is but one piece of the whole - an important one, mind you - but only one.  I wanted to have time to do justice to the other pieces and so I made some revisions to my ideas.

Also, if I am honest, that part of me that used to stay up all night and work 'til I drop seems to have left me completely.  I would like to think that this is a sign of maturation and not just a growing laziness.  We'll see!  Photographic evidence seems to speak otherwise...

Inflatable Bladders

You crave them.

The subtitle of this post is "So Much for Minimalism".  Wool, fabric, mirrors and now, inflatable bladders.  It is coming together.