Red Thread Studio: Slow Cloth, New Cloth, Art Cloth

After the Moon, the Sun, Chocolate Fashion and Pattern Design

It's very hot here and I don't have the energy for a full-on thoughtful or creative post, but here's an update. After writing about the full moon last week, here comes the sun: my young friend Aidan, age 5, and I made this sun plaque for his front door in honor of this hot season and all the reasons we love the good fire of the sun.

Aidan painted the face himself, and directed the design. The gold stars and rainbow background were entirely his idea. The instructions for making the plaque from heavy cardboard came from this book.

I believe in using reasonably high quality art and craft supplies when possible, even -- well, especially -- for children, and Aidan did a great job using my good acrylic paints and brushes. There was some paint loss, but not too much, and it was worth it for his enjoyment and freedom in creating; he learned about mixing colors and gesso and keeping brushes wet.

Aidan and I share the same birthday,  and he's an incredibly creative and  sensitive soul; I love spending time with him.

In other news . . . much as I love it, I don't write much about things like chocolate in order to (a) avoid being too much of a middle-aged yoga-practicing fiber-arts-loving cliche, and (b) because I am not a fan of the language and relationship of addiction that is so often applied to women for things like chocolate and shoes and shopping -- it isn't really addiction in most cases, and I think talking about it that way diminishes us and I don't want to contribute to it. That's my soapbox. This, however, is a spectacular piece of chocolate fashion art, worthy of Project Runway or better. Logan Callihan, a friend of a friend living in Buenos Aires, sent this picture taken at Vasalissa,  an artisan chocolatier there (the English version of the site is under construction, but you'll get the flavor):

And finally, for garment sewers and fashion designers, I've been meaning to post a link to The Center for Pattern Design, a new facility founded by Sandra Ericson and Ed Breed to "provide education, resources, archives and products that encourage greater public interest in pattern making, further recognition for master pattern makers and improved documentation of pattern systems and printed materials to preserve the field of study." That's quite a mission, and the classes look fantastic. I'd love to take Art in Fashion Design. I'm not quite sure how it works, but some of these classes are available online, so take a look. Ericson and Breed are based in St. Helena, CA.

All Ebb, No Flow

I had a friend who described me as someone who wakes up every day ready to engage in hand-to-hand combat with her demons. This week Team Demon is a little ahead -- not by much, and not for long, but I feel like I'm moving through water these days. All the doors have closed, but there are no windows opening and it's getting hot in here. You've been there, I'm sure.

So you try everything -- pushing the river, surrendering to the river, being joyful though you've considered all the facts, as Wendell Berry said. You do your work and yoga and meditation and dance and more work and creating and reaching out and therapy and sending resumes and reading oh-so-helpful books and eating right and thinking positive and good grief, where is the fun? The excitement? The buzz? The magic? The prize? The romance? The passion? It's all overdue.

But this helps. I will snap out of it and return to the mantra -- our topic. And speaking of overdue, I headed back to the library to return the book on living complaint-free because someone else had it on hold -- and clearly I didn't finish the book -- but I found something less pious and much more interesting: another gorgeous Thames & Hudson textile book. Quilting, Patchwork & Applique: A World Guide is far more than the title or cover suggests. I almost passed it by, thinking it would focus on traditional patchwork quilts, but it is really a comprehensive survey of global textile techniques and culture. There are hundreds of  beautiful color illustrations of garments, household textiles, ceremonial and ritual textiles, recycled-fabric patchwork, embroidery from India, Asia, Europe, Africa -- it's encyclopedic and stunning, and full of inspiration.

The book is recent, published just last fall, so it has a very current sensibility in the text. She mentions the Gee's Bend quilts -- I'm going to see the exhibition on Saturday. I wonder how it will be to see them after seeing so many images of them, and hearing the story for so long in the media.

Art, Design, Service

I think it bears repeating -- pay a visit to Lisa Call's blog to read about the design principles she's adapted from the Expeditionary Learning School framework. The final principle in the series is service and compassion. The whole series is inspiring -- and is very compatible with  Slow Cloth, with attention paid to diversity, service, reflection, nature and creativity. Lisa's last post really struck me, as I've been thinking a lot about service.

My family did not have much of a culture of giving or community, so I've come around to this concept mostly as an adult. I think a lot of people in the world feel they don't have enough themselves, not enough money or time or whatever, and when you feel you don't have enough, it's hard to conceive of service. But maybe that's when it's most important -- to claim the abundance we all have in this time and place and do something for those in need.

There are a lot of textile people actively engaged in service, from the Michigan woman who collects sewing machines to send to people in New Orleans building back from Katrina (sorry, I can't find the link right now but I'll keep looking) to people all over the world working to make sure that women have a living wage through sewing or other crafts. Then there are all the people who use their sewing or knitting skills to make blankets and hats for those in need in cold winters, or for babies and children who are ill. We can all teach others our skills if they're interested; that's one of the great traditions of needlework of all kinds.

I hope in some small ways this blog contributes to a better and stronger community, and I'm searching for more ways to be of service.

Even Here We Are: Some Thoughts on Beauty

It's a beautiful flower in your garden
But the most beautiful by far
Is the one growing wild in the garbage dump
Even here
Even here we are.
 -- Even Here We Are, Paul Westerberg

Out of all those kinds of people
You've got a face with a view.
        -- This Must Be The Place, Talking Heads

I've been trying to do my Qualities of Slow Cloth series in order (as in the original post) though it really doesn't matter -- the order was not carefully thought out. But there we have it, and the next quality up for exploration is beauty. Writing about beauty, and what it means in the context of textile art, craft and culture, is -- ha! -- not easy. This might just be one of many posts exploring it. So, let's just call this some thoughts on beauty.

The art world gets snobbish about beauty sometimes, as if to make art that delights the eye is weak and insipid and somehow easier. It's true that beauty sometimes feels less intellectually challenging, because it bypasses the brain to just arrest the senses. To sidetrack the argument, we can talk about an aesthetic. To me an aesthetic is more a personal sense of what is beautiful, and an intention to move toward it, while beauty often suggests a conventional standard that isn't what we're aiming for here.

Our perception of beauty is relative. They say that homely people grow more beautiful with intimacy, while the conventionally beautiful, if lacking other compelling gifts, lose their luster in the eyes of others with time. If meaning, significance and memory grow, people become more beautiful in our eyes. The same is true with some objects -- worn patchwork scrap quilts come to mind. And we're at our human, artisan best when we create something and use our hands and imaginations and hearts to make it not just purposeful, but also beautiful in a way that is true to our own aesthetic. This is true for words, too -- there are words whose only purpose is to identify or communicate something, but when we add some elegance or rhythm to what we say, it serves a larger need. It's not what you say, it's how you say it . . .

And because we are so compelled to make things more beautiful than necessary, and we have been all through the ages in every culture, I have to believe that it's in our collective DNA to seek and to create beauty. It nourishes us and it connects us to spirit -- some of the most beautiful things made by humans are tributes to spirit in some form: magnificent cathedrals, awesome statues of Buddha, gardens, art.

In her wonderful book A Natural History of the Senses, Diane Ackerman talks about how researchers have tried to codify what makes a stranger's face appear beautiful to us. There is a certain symmetry that we respond to, and it can be measured in some pretty nuanced ways. But of course, we all know that we love the faces we love for their uniqueness and their "flaws" as much or more than for their perfection.

So it is with everything.  The Japanese call this recognition of character wabi-sabi -- humble and imperfect beauty. I've just checked out Robyn Griggs Lawrence's book The Wabi-Sabi House: The Japanese Art of Imperfect Beauty, from my (beautiful) local library. I'll let you know what I learn.

Until then, food for thought: Where does beauty fit in your work? What's the most beautiful thing you own, or the most beautiful thing in your life, and what makes it so? What's the most beautiful thing you've made, and how do you feel about it? Do you feel pressured by conventional ideas of beauty, in your life and person and in your art or craft? Comments welcome.

Every Thread Has a Soul, and the Dance of Art and Nature

An article in the new issue of Selvedge quotes an Arab proverb: "Every thread has a soul." Awesome. I think I'll make that my official tag line for this blog, and maybe even its new name. In Googling it, I don't find any other references to this proverb, but maybe it's little-known in the West with origins in the mists of time, and that totally works for me.

I joined Stitchin' Fingers, Sharon B's terrific new fiber arts community. Anyone can join, and there are many sub-groups forming to cover just about every technique or interest. I keep thinking about starting a Slow Cloth group and/or a global textiles group . . . anyone interested?

I've also been thinking about, and wanting to do a post about various kinds of eco-art -- the intersection of art and the environment (I've written about art and agriculture on my other blog).  Nature and art are inextricably intertwined, of course, and nature has provided us with inspiration from the dawn of humankind. Making art from unprocessed natural materials or integrating art and natural spaces, a la the brilliant Andy Goldsworthy, is one kind of eco-art. There are many ways that fiber artists are connected to this sphere; after all, until recently, all fiber came from plants. Just a couple of links to explore:

• Abigail Doan is a mixed media and environmental artist who works with fiber. Her work is extremely intuitive on one hand, and the way she uses threads and fibers in nature makes emotional sense, yet it's also challenging work with an intellectual and ethical context.
• Though I've not personally worked with natural dyes, this is a place where art and nature do an intimate dance. As mentioned in my previous post, Permacouture is exploring this area; Cheryl Kolander at Aurora Silk and others have also been pioneers.
• Nicole Dextras is a Vancouver artist -- take a look at her Weedrobes series.
• Lots of people have blogged about the World Beach Project and the radical Crocheted Coral Reef project, but the links are worth repeating if you've not discovered them yet (you're in for a treat).

I think all the renewed interest in the arts of spinning and felting is related to the environmental movement. We've finally figured out that food comes from the soil and the farm -- now we're beginning to understand where fabric comes from, too. The closer we get to that understanding, the more people want to work with fiber in its raw form. Fiber is as ancient and as intrinsic to community as food. And making it beautiful and meaningful connects us to soul and spirit, and to each other.

And now, with all this talk of ethereal and natural things, I must get my body to the yoga mat. Go find some inspiration in nature today, and create.

photo by Streuwerk.

Time Waits for No One

My father used to call me "Miss-elaine-eous" and I must have been eleven or twelve years old before I realized that he was making a play on the word "miscellaneous." So here are my MissElaineous offerings for today . . .

• The Maiwa Textile Workshops for 2008 are up, and they look completely inspiring. Workshops are 2-3 days; the schedule begins in September and goes through early November, so there are a lot of opportunities to find your way to Vancouver. I'd love to take the blockprinting workshop and The Expressive Stitch. Well, really, I'd love to take almost all of them.
• Have I written yet about Permacouture Institute here? This is a new nonprofit organization with a very creative and activist sustainable textile and Slow Cloth orientation. I spoke by phone with founder and executive director Sasha Duerr today -- this woman is amazing and will make some positive waves in the textile world, I'm sure of that. She's an expert on natural dyeing and has a special interest in edible dye plants (cabbage, beets, onions, etc.) and all the possibilities inherent in being able to grow things that will both feed us and color our fiber without harm to the environment. We talked about her work and about some of my ideas for taking the Slow Cloth concept to new levels. . . . everything is possible, right?
• I've been meaning to link to a blog post by UK biologist and textile artist Mags Ramsay on The Character of Cloth. I love the work she's doing with indigenous African textiles -- very beautiful and with a great "spirit cloth" sensibility.

That's what I've got today. Off topic, this week has been a continuation of a pretty intense and unrelenting healing journey -- I've been prescribed physical therapy for my neck, and Monday was the first visit. I wasn't quite prepared for the tremendous amount of grief and sadness stored in that area that the bodywork released. Though in practical terms the therapy is necessary for some dental work to be successful, on another level it's evidently part of a lot of ongoing work I'm doing on old emotional issues - according to Dr. Christiane Northrup, at 50 all of your unfinished business from childhood MUST be resolved if you're to stay healthy, and it will rear up like an immovable elephant in the room if you don't. I'm finding that to be all too true, and it turns out my unfinished business is a doozy.

Finally, I have a colonoscopy scheduled on Friday as the follow-up to March's illness. I tell you this not to give you Too Much Information, but to encourage you to get this test if you are around 50, and not be embarrassed or put it off. I know, I don't feel old enough for it either. On the inside, I'm about 16 -- rebellious, darkly romantic and trying to figure out what to be when I grow up. But on the outside, time waits for no one (or Tom Waits for No One, as we fans say) and we must attend to our bodies. We are all of the nature to age, as the Buddhists say, even if 50 is the new 30. I hope the procedure will be as dignified and painless as possible.

And hey, where are the Fiber Artists for Obama? They seem to have let their blog go dormant. They ought to be celebrating today. Fiber art in the White House! I'm sad for the way Hillary has sometimes been treated, and  proud of her for the most part despite some missteps. But we do need a change, and no one has set a fire in young voters like Obama has since Bobby Kennedy, and I'm all for that (I was and still am a John Edwards fan, too, and I truly hope there's a place for him in Obama's cabinet after a November victory). Like me, this country has a lot of healing to do -- the old ways just aren't working.

I hope you, cherished readers and all who find their way here, are also healing from anything that ails you. Onward we go.

Silk Throw and Mini-Mood-Boards

There isn't a whole lot of art happening in my life at the moment, but I did manage to finish a gift project this weekend -- one of the silk throws I mentioned forever ago. The idea of fringe went by the wayside in favor of a very simple and minimal row of pearl nuggets stitched onto each side. The silk velvet proved true to its reputation -- hard to work with but so incredibly soft and seductive. The challenge is that the silk velvet has a loose weave and a tendency to "grow" while the silk dupioni does not, so you end up with more fabric on one side than the other no matter how carefully you've cut.

I think a take-no-prisoners approach to staystitching on the velvet might help, and I'll try that on the next one. This one is for my friend Angela and her new husband, who live in Germany. Angela is an expert belly dancer and one of the people who inspired me to take classes, which is another post for another time.

I also came across something else I thought might be interesting to share. Here's the backstory: In the summer of 2001, I applied for an editorial job at Threads magazine. This was before they changed over to strictly garment-sewing technique. I got an interview, and booked a flight for  . . . you guessed it . . . September 11, 2001. The flight didn't take off, of course, but I was the last person outbound from Denver whose luggage they took before everything shut down, so I was in the airport for many hours trying to get my luggage back, with thousands of others in complete shock and confusion.

Though I did end up flying out for the interview a couple of weeks later, by then the economic downturn had begun and everybody's plans had changed, so I didn't get the job. But to get to the point . . . they had asked me to throw together some pages of images and fabric to show them how I worked visually and how I might put together a page. I created five or six of these; I guess now we'd call them mini-mood boards. I love the mood board concept -- it was a great exercise to create these.

So I found my Threads mood boards the other day -- here's one, and I'll photograph the rest and put them up. These have fabric swatches layered over collaged paper images -- this one has a narrow swatch of lavender silk along the left side. The lower image is a postcard of a painting by the magnificent Wolf Kahn.

I keep a collage box full of pages torn from magazines -- often just for the colors, as these were, or pictures of clothes for the "style file"  -- old postcards, cancelled stamps, maps, all that sort of thing. It's full of enough ideas and idea triggers for a lot of work. I know the current thinking is anti-clutter, and this box would be clutter to a lot of people, but it's hidden treasure and inspiration to me.

Dance With the Tiger

Letting it go
Is jumping the train
Is to dance with the tiger
Letting it go
Though we won't be the same
Is to dance with the tiger
And laugh at the rain
        -- Rosanne Cash, Dance With the Tiger

I'm a big fan of Rosanne Cash's music and an even bigger fan of her writing -- she is a magnificent artist in every medium she employs. She's been posting to a songwriting blog on the New York Times site, and added a provocative and beautifully written piece last week on fact versus truth. What caught my eye, for our purposes here, is her comment about songwriting as discovery rather than self-expression.

Since I've written about expression as part of Slow Cloth, this made me think. Is discovery a better concept? Or exploration? I think they all apply. In strictly songwriting terms -- and I am not a songwriter, just a music lover -- I think she's saying that lyrics should not simply be a catalog of personal facts, but should strive to tell the truth of a situation instead. I believe that's true in textile art as well.

I see it this way: Art that is too specifically personal often fails. For example, a personally meaningful quilt about an experience, even a profound one like an illness or loss of a loved one, too easily becomes banal if everything in it is a literal reference to that event or person and it goes no further. I do not mean to be unkind here. It's the artist's tightrope to walk; can you take your experience and make it accessible, even universal in some way? Is the viewer just eavesdropping on your experience, or able to engage with it through some shared understanding or emotion?

I think this is why I've been shy about joining in some of the monthly journal projects that are popular -- I want to explore broader concepts rather than literal answers to narrow questions. I'm more attracted to the ones that offer a color scheme or method that can be a launching pad for many different directions.

So I like the idea of discovery and exploration in the Slow Cloth approach, and I think expression is still important too -- especially for women and cultures that have often been silenced. Maybe our expression has to include and assume an attitude of discovery and exploration. We discover things about ourselves when we create, and we discover things about other humans when we look at their textiles and the stories they tell in cloth. We see how they define beauty and what they value, what they fear, what they want to reveal or conceal.

And if we really look, we do get truth, not fact; questions, not answers; new maps and new territories with every authentic act of creation.

Only Connect: Slow Cloth and Community

This is the second post in a series on 10 qualities of the Slow Cloth approach. This was a tough one; I've been trying to write this post all week, not sure if I'm saying too much about myself and whether what is so meaningful to me just sounds banal in this context. Maybe so, but let's give it a try, and see if my disjointed thoughts make any sense.

Let me start by saying I'm not much of a joiner. I've been outside the margins for pretty much my entire life; it's not what I wanted but that's how it turned out. My early life was randomly peripatetic, highly unstable and anything but normal; there were no consistent relatives, friends, or schools. I was the only girl in a family of boys, and therefore the lightning rod for my family's gender-related baggage and hostility; I was also separated from and accelerated out of my age group in school and scorned by my parents for wanting normal social activity. This didn't make me a very good candidate for a happy marriage and family, so I don't have children; much of the conversation among my friends in the last 20 years or so has been about things I can only observe, with both the sadness and freedom inherent in that. It's taken me most of my 50 years to even begin to tell the truth about my life and experiences, and to really begin to heal and allow myself some happiness.

The things I am good at and passionate about -- art, textile crafts, yoga, writing -- are most often solo activities, and whether that's a chicken or an egg, I don't know. I like to be invited to the party, and most of the time I'm really happy to be at the party once I get there, but because my nature is introverted, I need time alone or in very private company the next day or week to regenerate.

Too much information? This is all a roundabout way of saying that community is a concept that's been elusive for me. I am by no means an expert at it, and when I experience it, in ways other people take for granted, it can be revelatory. And not always comfortable. Yet I am a firm believer that community matters. In the world of Slow Cloth (which my keyboard wants to abbreviate to Sloth . . .that can't be good, can it?) we are all linked by some form of community, and for many of us, it's one of the great unexpected rewards and pleasures of making things with fiber.

Some of my very best experiences of community have been facilitated by common interest in textile art and craft. Like everything under the sun, this isn't new. Quilting bees are the best-known form of the special camaraderie that happens. Gen Y-ers didn't invent knitting gatherings. And today the internet and blog world has expanded infinitely our capacity to connect through a shared love or use of fiber. For many of us who work alone, this is a fantastic gift of community. Few of even the most introverted among us have the resources or endurance to be Georgia O'Keeffe alone in the desert; we have to find that happy medium between solitude and society.

I've refrained a little from referring to "those who stitch" as female, but mostly, we are. So when we gather, virtually or physically, both the way we connect with each other and the traditionally female activities that we do while connecting tend to be undervalued in society. A man might put "relationship management" on his resume as a valuable skill; it's what women do all the time. Creating community consciously, with intent and integrity is definitely valuable and life-enriching.

Formal or informal, communities always take work and there are always complications and challenges in the ways we relate. As the world gets smaller and the news gets more ominous, none of us will survive alone. There's a lot more to say about this, but that's enough for today. I don't have a conclusion except to say that I'm glad for the ways that textiles and cloth help me stay connected. The analogy of the thread that holds things together, often in a beautiful way, is a good one.

Photo of Gee's Bend quilting bee by Andre Natta. Some rights reserved under Creative Commons license.

Slow Cloth: The Quality of Expression

When I started this blog, I had a big general intention to make my lifelong passion for textile art, craft and design a more central focus in my life, and to connect with others doing all kinds of work with textiles and fiber. So far, so good. I also had several specific areas I wanted to explore. One of these was my somewhat fuzzy idea about Slow Cloth, as I called it -- an authentic approach and relationship to textile art, craft, fashion and design. I've made some headway here, and articulated ten qualities or characteristics of my Slow Cloth philosophy.  This post is the first in a series exploring those qualities in depth, starting with no. 10 -- expression -- as we work our way up to joy in the process, that magical experience that keeps us committed to art and craft. This is my way of finding meaning and connection in the things I make and do, identifying it as a lifelong pursuit, an adventurous, graceful, creative, healing, spiritual, artistic path.

Slow Cloth is Expressive of Individuals, Communities or Cultures.

Textiles have been with us for thousands of years, and in that time, cultures have developed their own vocabulary and style to express and communicate values and meaning. These systems can be incredibly rich and nuanced. In the height of the geisha era in Japan, it's said that anyone could "read" a kimono -- the pattern on the fabric, the colors, the way it was worn -- and glean an incredible amount of information. Everything meant something. The textile arts were a way of telling stories and communicating that was unique to the culture. Yet even those not fluent in the language could appreciate the sheer art, beauty and character of the objects and the ways they were worn and used.

The idea of individual expression through textiles or art is more recent, from a historical perspective, but gives us unlimited capacity for freedom, imagination and creativity. We no longer have to be anonymous, as so many artisans and craftspeople have been through the ages, using the language of the collective in their designs -- we can create our own languages and symbols.

The Slow Cloth approach doesn't put a high value on efficiency or making everything identical. The hand of the maker wants to be seen and be evident, whether the maker is an individual or a community or a culture, or all three.

In our time, cultures influence each other and are interwoven. We have the great luxury of being able to see and share textiles from all over the world, in an instant. I love the idea of honoring and using cultural traditions while interpreting them in contemporary ways that feel right for today, and that's what I see so many wonderful textile artists and designers doing. Art and craft are not static -- they are living energies that need new practitioners to keep them alive, new contributions to the DNA. There is value in preserving the knowledge and techniques that give us a foundation for the new.

For those of us who are modern nomads who have moved around a lot, who feel an affinity with many groups and yet don't identify too much with any one, that in itself is something to express. Some artists and designers ultimately want to "go home" and work with the communities where they began, like Natalie Chanin. Others travel far to learn and experience the crafts of lives very different from their own.

To think about: what is your work expressive of? What traditions do you work with or respond to, which communities, which cultural influences? What inspires you? How do you speak with cloth, color, stitching -- and what do you want to say?

Photo: © Tran Thi Hoa / World Bank