06
28
09
Cedar Key again. Fishing line and tackle entangled just above a popular fishing spot.
One of my favorite signs read:
Keep our waterways tangle free,
Recycle your lines responsibly.
Those dangerous tangles captured my mind's eye and the image of them floating down in the depths has stayed with me.
Cedar Key, FL
This past weekend we visited the coast with some family. While archeological evidence suggests human occupation of Cedar Key as far back as 500 B.C, between hurricanes and isolation, it seems to hover between here and gone. This ghost house sat abandoned to the currents just outside the one we stayed in onshore. We fished facing it, a constant reminder of our tidal presence here.
05-21-09To find a project begun well over a year ago continues to have relevance within the context of my new work is a satisfying feeling. My collection of powerline polaroids still grows one by one. Clear blue or grey skies ignite the excitement of capturing more images. As the summer takes hold, the daily rhythm of sunny mornings and afternoon thunderstorms develops and the opportunity to collect is here.
As with any collection, this one evolves as time progresses. Tree branches appear less frequently as my interest in the subtle variation found in powerlines themselves develops. Such industrial uniformity on the surface belays the organic quality found in the details; irregular wrapping of two lines together, the sudden shift direction as the road they follow swerves, or ever more compelling, the disintegration of the lines themselves.
With my recent interest in weaving, cloth patterns appear in the clean intersections and varying thicknesses of line. The top image illustrates the concept perfectly.
5-05-09
While in the midst of recovering the studio for upcoming work and enjoying the recent grey skies above my head (six days of rain and counting), my thoughts are dwelling on old threads that should be revisited and new ones stretching out before me. You wouldn't know it from the scarce activity here, but I have been waking with the feeling of being crushed by my own potential to make; it is both exhilarating and debilitating. It is the precise feeling I have when walking into a library, the feeling of walking into infinity, so much to read and learn and do and only a finite amount of time to do it in. Each idea and potential item clamor for attention: my spinning wheel obtained in March waits patiently beside a generously gifted floor loom, spindle drawings vibrate invisibly on blank paper, tangles await capture and cataloging, thirty-two fleeces -that's right I said 32- sit dirty and potent with possibility. Each need careful development and dedicated time, and all the while a million other ideas of rain down: clothes and pillows and books and kites and furniture and gardens and shoes and dyeing and and and . . .
The choosing of what to hold fast, begin, or let go being the most pertinent questions.
Recently, Twitter and I engaged in an experiment of sorts over the last few weeks months. Sometimes creating satisfying blog posts take a bit too long, but I'd like a brief record of at least some of my studio doings. Could it be used as a studio log? Nearing a hundred tweets later and I think I like the song, if you'd like to follow along you can find me here.
Tomorrow Tangle returns home, a few alterations await her and then some local travel.
Eternal preoccupation, my eyes follow them block after block, searching out irregularities and interesting intersections, taking mental note of location and waiting for right weather to return with my camera.
Some of the most compelling are lines in various stages of decay. The inorganic resembles the organic as it disintegrates, sagging lines vine around taut ones for support. The small towns circling my small city tend to have the most of these, repairs left for more fortunate times.
9-20-08
Though spring is swiftly arriving, my polaroid camera has been gathering dust. This winter was different than the last: the sky more often blue with scattered clouds. The fifteenth of February relented and gave me a grey backdrop.
May's four day wilderness hike in Pisgah National Forest led us nearly to Cold Mountain on a winding search for water. The litany of names becomes the rosary of forest trails.
Drive up up up to still cool air. Walk Ivestor Gap and Art Loeb entering Wilderness, a wrong turn on Shining Rock Gap leads a pristine campsite viewing Cold Mountain. A search for water, up Crawford Creek Gap, up Shining Rock Ledge, across the Narrows to Deep Gap and down to pump from a stream dropping tablets yellow then white, gulping after water turns from clear to yellow to clear again and walk walk rest walk miles back to camp. Gulp a spicy dinner of matar paneer and quinoa beneath a tarp under frigid pepples of hail. Back to Sam Knob trailed by icing blue flowers down to Flat Laurel Creek and a fire overseen by a charcoal dragon. Up Sam Knob to meet a brave little grey bird. Down Down Down Down again to a sea level home. Miss the hills and winding roads.
More images here.
Reminding myself to breathe.
Two polas were taken earlier this spring, one airy and one in the air.
Heading Friday to Penland for a two week textile class "Body Extensions" taught by Loren Schwerd, and then a month after that to Haystack for the basketmaking class with Hisako Sekijima who I learned about through Tim Johnson. Thank goodness for workstudy scholarships.
The Body Extension class may relate somewhat to my dresses, though I have beards, spindles, and Virginia Woolf running through my mind as well, so I think it may be time to explore the new.
Haystack will be something very new to me, as I look for a way to expand some of my recent and apparently secret experiments with fibers and make larger work again without a wood or metal shop at my disposal.
Looking to find a moment to write and draw a bit more to find focus, develop these snatches of ideas, and breathe before I go.
Many times I've wished the development of a polaroid could be halted in those hazy moments when the image is soft and blue. Other Polaroid photographers suggest slipping still developing film in a warm pocket on a cold day to assist the image, instead I slipped a still developing photo (after about a minute) in the freezer to slow it down. The one on the left was frozen.
click image to view largerfor not answering sweet, thoughtful comments
posting with more care
more often
here but far away and finding the computer clumsy and an imperfect medium at the moment. Sometimes it'd be nice to arrange to sit down with each of you for coffee and carrot cake and enjoy the sunshine.
To Alleviate, Mitigate, Assuage, Allay. These words have in common the idea of relief from some painful state; and being all figurative, they differ in their application, according to the image under which this idea is presented. Alleviate supposes a load which is lightened or taken off; as, to alleviate one's cares. Mitigate supposes something fierce which is made mild; as, to mitigate one's anguish. Assuage supposes something violent which is quieted; as, to assuage one's sorrow. Allay supposes something previously excited, but now brought down; as, to allay one's suffering or one's thirst. To alleviate the distresses of life; to mitigate the fierceness of passion or the violence of grief; to assuage angry feeling; to allay wounded sensibility. Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc.
My ceramic work has been taking up the largest part of my studio work lately, trying different functional forms and techniques. Made my first jar a week ago. Still procrastinating on jumping into glazing though.Unfortunately the studio is the basement (no daylight) and pictures aren't very exciting at this point. I'll take in progress shots soon though.
For now just this little polaroid.
I am feeling a bit like I am falling in love with polaroid. It is so satisfying, carrying around my beautiful little camera: I can be in the middle of nowhere or up in a plane or on a busy street or in my yard, then press that red button and out pops a beautiful little object. And then those magic moments watching that grey white square turn into a beautiful, timeful image. Simple partners, no computer needed. Which is all very wonderful except the certain knowledge that Polaroid has a near terminal illness. (Am I being melodramatic? Perhaps.)
Why?
Because a few years ago when Polaroid went bankrupt, instead of letting someone interested buying the rights to the technology, Petters group bought the name, immediately began fazing out the cameras and film with the intention of never looking back and slipping that name on TV, and DVD players, and digital cameras. Identity theft. Who ever heard Polaroid and didn't think of that white frame holding precious photos of loved ones or moments? And now just as I'm falling in love with making simple precious images of my world, we're all in danger of losing that simple relationship forever.
If you would, please consider checking out the Save Polaroid site, or if you are short on time just perhaps quickly signing the Save Polaroid petition to let the world know this thing called instant film is still wanted. A little bit of help to save an amazing medium would be so very appreciated.
I began with a twisted tangle of string, collected hair, wandering knots of grief. Then turned to transforming locks, combed to order, and swelling with possibility.
Now instant film fills my drawers, and ever so slowly the lines begin to stretch out tentatively probing, is it safe? In short bursts of confidence they streak out unfettered, literal power lines. Here the lines cross and caress, momentary echoes of warp and weft. Looking up at the sky and placing myself just so, I am weaving with my eyes and drawing with my camera.
The lines begin to meander, veins casually snaking out to explore the blank landscape alive and wanting. Without knowing my destination I travel toward it, for the moment unhurried and strangely unafraid.
Yesterday, I knit ordered knots of grey wool and considered perhaps we were not molded from the clay as so many myths claim, but woven instead.
