Fabulously Industrious

Visual musical notation: some of the first day’s works hung to dry…

I’m back in Chicago now, doing a great deal of thinking about how absolutely fortunate I’ve been with my classes all summer.  It’s been SO rich!  The two-day workshop at the Morgan, which I had thought might be something of an anticlimax because of its short time span, was definitely no exception.  I had a fantastic time, and was amazed at what -and how much! – everyone accomplished in those two short days.

The dye table was a popular second-day spot.

There are beaucoup images of the workshop, all over the internet.  The Morgan’s are here, participant Erin’s are here, and participant Elizabeth has posted 7 pages of images here! This is a good thing, because, although I’m embellishing this post with some of my own shots, I was a bit busy and didn’t have time to take many.

Mike, Julie, and Tom’s (eventual) topper.

My old friend Joanne came by on Friday to help with prep on one of those kinds of days when the universe decided to mess around, which included having me setting off a truly obnoxious security alarm.  I really, really, really enjoyed the company of my 4th floor flatmates, Julie (who honored me by taking the class) and her husband Mike. Intern Abbey was a great help, as (as always!) was absolutley everyone at the Morgan: great help, great fun, and easygoing while being hardworking, industrious, and tremendously hospitable – Cleveland to the core!  The lovely Susan Kelly even packed me a little (biodegradable) sack of snacks and bottled water for the road, and Tom Balbo was, well: Tom…he is the heart of the Morgan, and the Morgan is unique.  All of you coming for the conference in October: you are in for a multitude of treats. See you then!

Abbey and The Colors…

I get to go back in just about two weeks for my summer treat: Aimee’s class. I am so happy about that.

Industrious Pulp Application meets Industrial Landscape

In the meantime there is unpacking, a show to see, artwork to finish (hooray), deferred taxes, two interviews (one to be completed, another begun), web site and MakerCentric updates, yard sale organizing and last but definitely not least, some serious reflecting about teaching to be done, along with not-too-bad gartden weeding (those last two are likely to happen at the same time). Right now, it’s predicted to reach 101 degrees out there today, and whatever I am allergic to in the Chicago high summer is out in full force, so itchy eyes, sneezing and benadryl hazes put it all on the back burner till I readjust. But rest assured, I am also basking in an extended glow.  Thank you, Arrowmont, Women’s Studio Workshop, and the Morgan!

Thus ends my 2012 summer teaching tour…

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Much ado, and Adieu.

Another excellent but very different class is finished; I’ve had today to sleep in a bit, regroup, do laundry, say most goodbyes and write this blog in little quiet chunks.

I’ve been so happy to be back at WSW.  But last night, I was left wondering about a phenomenon that’s occurred both times I’ve taught dual classes here. The first class (which is technically the second, because it is created from the waiting list for the one that fills up first) truly bonds as a group: someone creates an e-mail list before the class is half over; people go to eat or shop together, and at the end, everyone eagerly wants a session to look over and document all the work that’s happened, including the taking of multi-camera group photos of the people it’s happened with: new friends.

The second group simply doesn’t. It’s not as if there’s antagonism or unfriendliness; there’s  banter, work and laughter, but everyone remains separate somehow, with much less interest in what others are inventing with the same resources, or rather, the interest is there but is not unanimous; inevitably, several people are sadly disappointed that others just want to pack up and go. (And it’s not as if the earlier group is any less focused on their individual work, either).

It seems odd to have had the pattern repeat twice. I teach the same in both sessions, (which is pretty much the same as I always do).  There are two differences in circumstances. First, the earlier group is the only one here that week; the Summer Arts Institute hasn’t begun in earnest, so they are the sole class at lunches with staff and interns; so perhaps they spend more time talking to each other, and the next group to folks in other classes. Secondly, there was a much wider age range in the earlier groups.  In the second groups everyone was hovering somewhere in the vicinity of middle age.  That makes me wonder: is there an age at which, culturally, we just stop expecting that we will make new friends?

During the week I invited a couple of folks from other classes out to dinner; they accepted, and then at the last moment, backed out. Because of the difference in my classes I briefly wondered if there might be a similar contributing factor, as in, ‘I have enough friends in the field.’ Then I simply concentrated on having a nice (solo) evening out.

Personally, I still love meeting new people (and getting to know briefly-met people better), even though I need to do that in different, smaller ways than before my deafness. My reluctance to join large gatherings and my inability to effectively participate in group conversations are often read as indifference or hostility, and I must constantly work hard to overcome that perception, something that’s difficult to do with exhausted-from-teaching ears, so perhaps that was a factor as well.

Yet, I have to admit that during the past two weeks, I turned down multiple invitations from WSW folks to go on daily group swimming trips, and, well:  I wasn’t honest about why.  I need to swim deaf; hearing aids can’t get wet.  Water gets in my eyes and then I can’t see either, so I crash into people and things, and I hate that. I only feel confident swimming alone, in a roped-off pool lane, wearing goggles. I don’t know why I didn’t admit this, why it’s easier to write about than to say, but it is.  So most likely, all these musings are moot, and there are things other folks don’t quite know how to say as well, that make for less cohesive groups.

I truly enjoyed both classes, and each of the individuals in them, both years, but I have to admit that, as groups, I liked the earlier classes just a wee bit more, simply because they appreciated each other so thoroughly. That enthusiasm is simply contagious.

Tonight, I had a nice dinner and great conversation with incoming instructors who did accept an invitation: Dorothy and Catherine. I only heard oh, about a third of the talk over the noise in the cafe, but what I heard was lovely and rich.

I’d like to stay at Women’s Studio Workshop for weeks more, and I’m sad to leave.  I inevitably come away with much more and very different insights than I anticipated. Maybe it’s time to apply for another residency. But for now: I’m back on the road.

Today’s images are only three of the works by Merike Van Zanten, an artist I first met at PBI in 2010.  It was great to see her again in the second class, and especially to see the many, many fascinating things she came up with: experiments, finished works, and prototypes for new work as well…it will be very interesting to see what happens when these materials are incorporated with her already formidable palette.

 

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What A Week It Was!

 This just has to begin it: Lisa’s abaca-dipped bra.

And another piece by Lisa Cirando, who made a lot of great things, including all of our kozo shades in the previous post, and a glorious abaca-dipped book I loved.

Last week was jam-packed, and it didn’t stop this weekend, beginning with a Saturday morning flood in my bathroom, most likely caused by two of us having long showers while a third person did laundry, and going on to the excellent time I will end this post with a tiny glimpse of.

Barbara Landes’ fantastic use of the pattern on an old rusty heating grate, found in a gutted house next door that now belongs to WSW (for which there are exciting plans!) and below, an exploration of ongoing themes in dyed kozo and abaca, perhaps contributing to her upcoming thesis work (sorry for the bit of blurriness):

Today, Sunday, was up and out for  studio prep and fiber-beating and e-mail answering and the rather dismal local laundromat (in all but its name: Tiny Bubbles). And then, meeting almost all the next class at dinner – it all begins again tomorrow!

Ceci Cole McInturf’s cast back, done in very thin flax, and her big, lovely loose amate exploration – done with our kozo and some of the elusive bleached kozo that Carriage House sold out of before I got to Brooklyn to buy some a couple of years ago – Ceci gave me some to mess with!  (Thanks!)

This post contains two images of everyone’s work from the week, with big apologies to Laurie – I tossed out my class list in a cleaning-up frenzy and lost her last name! (Please e-mail me, Ms. Kosogompi, and I will correct this!) The images are  no indication of the volume and variety of the experiments, and I was really disappointed that a few photos I really wanted came out blurry, but this is a taste, anyways.

I loved Jackie May Hiller’s short-handled rake, one of seemingly hundreds of strong pieces she made; below is a hanging piece incorporating just about everything.

The week also seemed to begin Interview Season, which is fantastic; they’re for an oddly, pleasingly diverse medley of publications and purposes, and all surprised me hugely.  I did one in the evenings, another in person, and a third will happen in the evenings this week, while the in-person one will continue by e-mail. I’m feeling incredibly dang lucky, in spite of regurgitating showers, nut attacks, and washing machines that tear holes in favorite shirts. Those all have their part in whatever this story is, at any rate.

Above is a bad photo of one of Laurie’s curiously appealing winged figures; the other is a marionette.  This one had squishy rubber hands and feet, and intricate guts made from an incredible $4 haul at the local salvage store; below, her early experiments:

This was a most excellent group of folks to spend a week being pulpy with.  Or longer! I will hook up with Lisa again in August: we are both taking Aimee Lee‘s class at the Morgan! And, best of all: this won’t end here.  The work done in these quick classes is just the beginning, and these folks truly understood that.

Here are some intricate abaca insects by Stephanie Garmey, who teaches at MICA. I’m  eager to see how this all intersects with her current body of precisely cut 3D paper  objects and installations.  Below: big beautiful abaca water lily prototypes (and she left with three re-usable armatures and pulp,  ready to make many more).

I spent a delightful afternoon chez Richard Minsky on Saturday, complete with a big, delicious lunch and even tastier company and conversation. My thanks to Barbara, Richard and George; I so enjoyed time with you all.

My GPS said the address didn’t exist, so I had a bit of an odd time following Richard’s excellent directions on my phone while driving.  Then, I pulled into a curved drive; the house, which I had a photo of, was blocked from view but I saw these:

…and knew I was in the right place.  And I truly was. What a perfect way to end a wonderful week!

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Nuts! (Good and not so)

Seriously nuts for 3D!  L to R, front: Stephanie, Jackie; back: Joyce, me, Lisa, Barbara, Ceci, Laurie; tres chic cast kozo  eyewear made for us all by Lisa.

Whooo, what a week!  A 99% fantastic one, jam-packed and intense and vibrant.  My first WSW class ended tonight and it was fabuuuulous, seriously so.  I’ll post some of the work as soon as I can, but I was disappointed to see a lot of blurry images in my collection when I downloaded them tonight. This was another stellar class: six motivated, engaged, innovative and freely-experimenting women who all got along wonderfully well with each other and with me.  I am feeling mighty lucky this summer; the folks who are coming out to classes are superb!

The tiny insect in the balm of the week was an odd experience I haven’t had in years and years, and hope not to have again. At lunch yesterday, I took a small spoonful of a tasty rice-based salad, ate a couple of bites and then saw: A Peanut. And then Another.  I have That Allergy, something that came on suddenly and violently many years ago with full-blown anaphylactic shock, causing me to grocery shop at a snail’s pace from then on, reading each and every label, and to be annoying at restaurants and parties, but successfully avoiding any hazardous encounters till yesterday. I saw The Peanut and thought, ‘O NO!’ and then, ‘Well, maybe the allergy ‘s gone after all this time, and anyways I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually eat one…’  But no; I now know the allergy is still there, and mere proximity of peanuts to something consumed will produce a milder but un-ignorable reaction.  I had to leave the class to fend for itself (which they did admirably) while I knocked back some full-strength Benadryl which knocked me flat on my back for the entire afternoon into early evening. I escaped with a couple hits on my inhaler, room-spinning dizziness, itchy swollen eyes, a bout of hives, and hours of antihistamine coma…followed by a full recovery but a seriously disrupted sleep schedule, which is why I’m telling you this.

That’s why I’m going to bed instead of posting photos and raving about my class and WSW (everyone here was wonderful, helpful, understanding and concerned) the way they all so richly deserve. Maybe tomorrow, OK? Goodnight!

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Arrowmont Redux

Karen Hardy –  Jake Weigel

I’ve been trying to find the best way to show some of the work that happened at Arrowmont. Everyone in the class gave me permission to post their work, but there are hundreds of photos.

Linda Kossmann – Martha Olson

I tried narrowing it to one photo each, and that was a shame, so instead, I’ve made an album with at least two photos of each person’s work. The album is here, but it is still only a tiny, tiny portion of what was made.

Cathy Mills – Josephine Faulk

Some folks focused intently on one or two projects, others on a larger project with multiple components, and others experimented wildly; to me, that mix makes an incomparably satisfactory class, an exciting, vibrant one.

Summer Carmack – Kelly McGrath

If you click on an image in the album, you can see a progression of images with the artists’ names.  Betsy Patten was working on what will become her Senior Project installation this fall at George Mason University, an undersea environment. Recent grad (soon to be full-time faculty) Naomi Adams experimented freely, as did Kelly McGrath, using multiple techniques alone and in combination; so did Cathy Mills, Noel Tillman, Martha Olsen and Josephine Faulk, who were all making individual transitions from 2D to 3D (Josephine made the. best. stuffed. armature. I have seen to date).  Sculpture grad Jake Weigel made multiple structures as well, many by combining steel wool and overbeaten abaca, some containing magnets.  Summer Carmak made vessels, concentrating on a large teapot; Linda Kossman also made a large and lovely vessel and some smaller works, embellished with materials she’d brought along.  Karen Hardy, a grad from University of the Arts, worked diligently on her ‘spores’ and their environment (which, you know, I just have to love) and BFA student Emma Roeder delighted us all by making a beautiful, resonant kalimba with the cooperation of the wood and metals studios (as well as a group of oddly charming insects).  Lovely, hardworking Heather LG Bella actually was able to find time to make multiple experiments as well, and even I got a few projects started during the final two days. It was, as I say, a stellar experience. I thank everyone at Arrowmont, but especially the fantastic folks in the class, for making it so.  Enjoy the wee sampling of their work!

Below, top: Betsy Patten – Noel Tillman; bottom: Naomi Adams, Emma Roeder

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Arrowmont Energy!

SO much happening!  No real time to write about it though; our studio at Arrowmont is buzzing, hopping, jumping, a hive of incredible pulpy energy with literally hundreds of projects and experiments happening everywhere; we’ve had to expand into a second room.  I am loving it!  Here are a few inadequate shots (not much time to remember to pull out the camera, either); watch this space for names and (I confidently predict) amazing final results soon.

Day one…

Day two…

…and here’s one Day 3 sample – and more here. And this is just a wee sampling.

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…and its opposite.

You’d never guess what’s out there beyond that wall…

Today was my first full day at Arrowmont.  Things went a wee bit haywire before I left; I’d originally planned to leave Thursday afternoon and spend the night with friends in Indianapolis, but that didn’t happen, so I drove here in one go Friday.  And, due to the  haywire-ness, I’ve had to cancel two visits to old friends that had been planned for ages, while wending my way between here and Women’s Studio Workshop. Instead, I’ll immediately return to Chicago for 10 days to take care of business.

Yesterday’s drive should have taken just under 10 hours but took well over 12, due to a chunk of 1-75 that was missing (looked like might have slid down the mountain) outside of Knoxville, and then worse: driving through Pigeon Forge on a Friday evening.  I can’t even begin to explain; I’m trying to forget.  But we are in Dollywood Territory, and what that has become is INSANE.  Giant ‘attractions’ that look like half of the Titanic, packed in next to thousands of others like enormous King Kong figures with glowing red eyes, popping flashing animated signs everywhere, Shark Attack!, fake mountains obscuring the real ones, and traffic to rival a Chicago rush hour. Gatlinburg, which I remembered as a sleepy little mountain town from way back in time, is now like Pigeon Forge’s even cheesier sideshow. I am so, so very sad for the dignity of the beautiful, haunting Smoky Mountains themselves. But when you turn in the driveway to Arrowmont, suddenly, you are in a small peaceful haven, a different universe. One step out, though, and it is immediate, total tourist hell and there are multitudes, thronging the sidewalks, choking the roads. Food everywhere; none of it real. Corn dogs, fudge, taffy, deep-fried Oreos. I actually ate at a Subway, because at least they had a tub of squashed avocados, some shredded lettuce and flabby pink tomato slices, the only vegetables I saw.

One of those dormers is mine.

But tomorrow night, Arrowmont begins feeding us; most of the instructors and students will arrive during the day. Somehow, I had it in my head that classes began at 9am on Sunday; no.  There’s a short session at 7:30 pm. and it all really starts on Monday. I’ve met 4 of the folks in my class; 3 are working here. And friend Kerri is here, working for six weeks, getting a show ready!  Sweet!  So is the little Valley / Voith beater: it overbeat abaca beautifully in just 3 ½ hours today; perfect shrinkage and translucency. With luck, I might not have to go back out that driveway till I’m headed home.

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Before and Again.

I’m working on / dealing with a variety of things, and don’t have much to say, so today’s Blahg features visual and verbal recaps.  The visuals show the general layout of the Sensing Language show at St. Ambrose University, shot by Jay Strickland; the accompanying class photos are by Heather Lovewell, Catich Gallery curator extraordinaire. The verbal portion is my answer to one question from a recent interview by Barbara Landes, who is currently doing graduate work at the University of Iowa Center for the Book ; her (excellent) questions are part of a research project. (I’ve answered this question for articles before, but briefly; Barbara kindly gave me permission to publish my expanded, unedited responses). Thanks to all today’s contributors!

Your work changed dramatically when you moved from manipulating books to using handmade paper to create your work. Why do you think this happened?

“I can tell you how it happened: first, my work was already changing before its medium changed, moving away from overt social or political themes and pointed commentary. It was becoming quieter, more contemplative, and I was beginning to compare and contrast human conditions with seasonal cycles in nature. (Why that happened, I’m not completely sure.  Perhaps it was maturity or simply an urge to go deeper, or a burgeoning dissatisfaction with sociopolitical critique).

With that change already beginning, I became interested in working with paper at just about the same time I learned that I would eventually become deaf.  Kozo, the fiber I experimented with first, was simply so eloquent on its own that adding words seemed to cheapen it, to detract from it and lessen its impact.  As I began to experiment with other fibers and to discover the unique properties in each, I made a conscious decision to stay away from conventional language: if I was going to be deaf, and not have access to spoken words, I wasn’t going to use conventional language in my work, either; I wanted my work to reflect my experience.

Usually when I say that, someone will respond: “But…you could still read, couldn’t you?”  Yes, but that’s not the point; our extensive use of non-conventional communication is.  At the same time I learned I was becoming deaf, I also learned that my body or brain had taught me to expertly read lips, without any conscious knowledge on my part. I had simply believed that I was hearing. When the audiologist told me I had been reading lips for years, I still didn’t quite accept it. How could I be doing something so complex without being aware of it?  Then she held a card in front of her face and spoke…and I couldn’t understand a single thing she said. The phenomenon, this completely pivotal, enormous but unconscious adjustment, just astounded me.  Then, not too long afterward, I won the all-college Excellence in Teaching award for full-time faculty where I taught, and was invited to a two-year fellowship addressing the scholarship of teaching and learning, aligned with the Carnegie Foundation.  During the fellowship sessions, we investigated Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences (here’s a good brief summary), which thoroughly echoed my own experiences and solidified my desire to make work that focused on and utilized our sensory intelligences; i.e., the alternative ways we ‘read’.

So, while the appearance and materiality of the work changed, and the utilization of conventional language changed, I am still ultimately investigating (and toying with) the act of reading.”

(Speaking of teaching, this appeared in my Google alerts this morning, from a class at the University of Baltimore. I applaud the use of a class blog. I tried something similar twice using an allegedly interactive early learning system; but my efforts apparently were too early in the online age).

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(a long) Study in Contrast

I have always assumed that at some point (always in the future), life will naturally become an affair of relatively even rhythm; still with its high points and lows, to be sure, but evenly paced.  This week blew that illusion completely away, yet again.

Late Friday came the news that a loved one needed to have rather major (though scarily, outpatient) surgery ASAP, probably Tuesday, and in the meantime was to be physically restricted, and afterwards, extremely so. I was due at St. Ambrose University on Thursday for a mini-residency that had been locked in place since last spring; my week had been steadily planned around the prep for that. My loved one insisted that I should still “Go! Go and do a damned good job!”

So, Saturday was spent rather frantically lining up support people and systems for my absence, and figuring in when and how the prep could be accomplished during the next few uncertain days, while constantly battling both worry and guilt. Sunday, I shopped for and cooked a large batch of food to be frozen and easily reheated in the microwave, and that evening, searched, found and pulled a couple hundred images for two slideshows from the horribly jumbled recovered files on my external hard drive. Monday I rifled through my fiber inventory and found suitable things that could be recycled or re-hydrated for the St. Ambrose class, leaving only one 2-pound batch that needed to be prepped from half-stuff, chopped it all up and put it to soak, made an inventory list and began packing equipment, and did several loads of laundry. Tuesday, up at 4:30 am, to the hospital by 6. I took the laptop and rebuilt the first slideshow during the surgery, and after the 12-hour hospital stay, set up the house for the reality of the restricted recovery. Wednesday, I beat the first batch of pulp, went for a long but encouraging follow-up doctor’s visit (huge sigh of relief), did a last-minute grocery and home supply run, recycled and/or re-hydrated three more batches of fiber in the beater, drained it all enough to fit into five buckets, finished packing the equipment, got three hours’ sleep, and it was Thursday.

I packed clothes and media, loaded the car with those plus vats, moulds and deckles, pulp, pellons, felts and vac press, drove to Iowa, unloaded, planned the next morning’s studio setup (the room was being used for a class that evening), did a student critique session, drove to the hotel, had a 20 minute power nap, drove back to the school and did the first slide talk to a surprisingly full house, grabbed a takeout sandwich on the way back to the hotel, checked in with my loved one (who was as well as could be expected), finished rebuilding the second slideshow and got to sleep at midnight.  Friday: overslept 30 minutes, hurriedly showered, packed for a long day and got to the school at 8 am, where a small team of us speedily set up a temporary paper studio in the print shop (and I had breakfast on the run) in an hour, made five types of paper with a full, enthusiastic class of beginners, cleaned up and disassembled the studio with the students and team, went to lunch with faculty, did individual student critique sessions, changed clothes, gave a second well-attended slideshow talk, talked with tons of people all through the show reception, then went to a lovely dinner with our small, good group until about 10pm, then drove back to the hotel, checked in with my loved one and got an entire…eight…hours…sleep. Yesterday: up, breakfast with taxidermy, back to the school to load my now-dried-out equipment (I left the pulp for further paper pursuits), drove back to Chicago and my loved one who is doing well, unloaded the car…and then, a total crash on my part.

I knew I would have a great time at St. Ambrose; I’d be working with Professor Joseph, who I’ve known and liked a long while, and I very much enjoy Catich gallery curator and director Heather; we hit it off well even via e-mail, and in person we work together in a fun, compatible, quite productive way.  And, in all honesty and with no false modesty, I have come to expect a ‘good’ reaction to my work, wherever it goes.

But this experience went way above and beyond ‘good’. The work is interacting with the school and larger community in an interdisciplinary manner that is sort of an ideal for me; the best response personally possible.  I’m going to forget a lot, but during the whirlwind, I spoke with professors from the English, Chemistry and Ecology departments who had brought or were bringing their classes to the exhibition for very different reasons (I will soon be reading English essays about individual works, and the ecology students will be thoroughly instructed on the sustainability of hand papermaking by their professor, who asked great questions and took notes). I met several lovely librarians, very nice folks from the Figge Art Museum, a great papermaker and several other area artists, including graduate students from the new MFA program in Iowa City, and had a further bonus when a book artist /educator friend surprised and delighted me by making a long trek just to come to the reception. The overall response was such that I got to feel like a rock star for a wee bit…except for my worries about things at home.

I suppose the lesson learned and the thing to be grateful for is that I can, at my advanced age, still pull off this kind of sleep-deprived, pulled-in-two-directions, high-speed high wire act, even though I really, really, really would rather not have it happen that way. The show reception and residency were excellent experiences; it would have been lovely to have had time to savor them. And yet, I would much rather have been able to have been wholly here and supportive throughout my loved one’s entire ordeal. Why that never seems to be how it happens – or, indeed, what I can do to make that coveted, evenly paced, wholly elusive future happen –  is still a complete mystery to me.

Paper and Paper: Gallery window above, some of the class paper drying below.

(I had no time to shoot any pictures but the last one – taken yesterday morning after loading up the car – but here are some from the show; thank you, blogger).

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