The meaning in simple things

These are my entries for the Small Works show at Charles Taylor Center in Hampton VA. I need to deliver them today and want to give a video artist statement to help the viewer figure out what I think I'm doin.'

So, spent some time this week knitting long blades of grass from my garden into tiny fragrant, fragile prayer rugs. Buddha would like them I think. I'm sure I'm not the first artist to do this, but it felt right and helped me to reconnect with my home, land, garden, air, earth. (I've been away in Ireland for a while, another story to begin in tomorrow's blog entry).

Why knit grass? you might well ask. Your grandmother could do it? But wouldn't?

I wanted to do something small and meaningful:

• Natural materials are simple, plentiful, not toxic and generally free.
• Utilizing women's "work" in art-making – knitting, for instance – feels comfortable, and reminds me of the importance of the domestic arts in everyday life.
• Knitting in itself is a repetitive activity and can be very meditative. To do something over and over again – like this simple stitch – is ritual-like, and brings on a serenity I don't often find elsewhere.
• The use of a live material that will wither and die – change over time – illustrates the ephemeral nature of all living things. We are only here for a short time.
• Bringing nature into the gallery – even ordinary grass – points out its beautiful properties of life, color, strength, fragrance and utility. I wanted to show the viewer something he or she probably sees everyday, but ask them to look at it in a different way.
• From the beginning of the work, I called them prayer rugs, albeit tiny ones (maybe for your Buddha nature?). A bit sacred, a bit ordinary.

Before and after

Collage, and then working back into it with paint.

I had hoped to almost ignore the collage, but couldn't stop myself from trying to save the good bits.

And here's another. A lot of energy in so small (10 inches x 8) a space. Too much, I think.

See what I mean?

Who is that? And that?

What I meant to do was to paste down random scraps and then paint over and around them ... but I get out the brushes and can't figure out where to put it. Aghhh.

Don't quit your day job

Gosh, this is frustrating. I thought by now, I'd have crashed through this stuff, but I find myself avoiding the studio – making a sandwich or writing an email or cleaning the bathroom – anything to not have to work at this frustrating thing they call collage. I can sort of hear all those little pieces of torn paper whining back there when I pass by the open door ... ha.
Observations:
The switch to black paper has a sort of elegant quality, but feels like cheating.
Why does collage almost automatically go figurative? (I'll post a few more examples tomorrow.)
Black on black is intriguing. Will push this next.

Growing and changing

Spent the afternoon again with Lorraine. She's making huge works on canvas, recycling old drawings as collage and then going in with paint. Very lyrical and beautiful. She makes it seem so easy.

In contrast, I'm struggling with the medium. I love the idea of using old works to make new works, but it comes slowly and I feel like I have to reach way down into myself for every little decision ... and then second-guess it.

I suspect it's difficult because it forces me to think in a different way. Instead of creating negative space to define positive elements – as I am most comfortable working – I must compose with positive elements. Agh.

Change is good, right?

Found art

Looking for a big brush in the studio this morning, I came across a batch of 8 x 10s I made last summer when I wasn't posting (why wasn't I posting?). I'd forgotten all about these, and am happy to rediscover a couple of good ideas. They're inspiring me as I work on a new 8 feet x 5.5 feet drawing.

Postcards from the edge

Spent the afternoon with my friend Lorraine. Helped her work on some monotypes and then collaged these small pieces. Good Spring day.