Thursday, May 11, 2017


Somehow, slowly but surely, day by sometimes frustrating day, I am developing a visual lexicon.

I have always kept a written journal and have discovered lately that when I go back a few years and reread entries, I can see a mysterious process underway.  I write down my thoughts, ideas, feelings, observations on any given day in an effort to move forward in my thinking, to both record and unburden my mind to make room for new thoughts (I am a consummate introvert - it can be hard to for me to clear my head otherwise).  But  then far from remaining abandoned on the page, these thoughts and ideas seem to somehow sublimate into what I am producing in the studio, sometimes years later, as if they have a mind of their own and decide to reappear in another form unexpectedly and with little help from me.  It feels like a small miracle, like a gift being given back to me - "Here is what you were saying, n'est pas?"  "Oh!  Right!  That's it!"  It certainly seems to be a subconscious process over which I feel I am exerting no control.  I think that this must be what Agnes Martin was referring to in her essay "Uncontrollable Beauty":
"It is quite commonly thought that the intellect is responsible for everything that is made and done.  It is commonly thought that everything that is can be put into words.  But there is a wide range of emotional response that we make that cannot be put into words.  We are so used to making these emotional responses that we are not consciously aware of them until they are represented in artwork." 


So I keep writing, keep showing up in the studio, even though at times I am so resistant to being there I literally scream at the loom and throw things on the floor (sorry Rob) like I am doing this week with my current project.  In waiting for new yarn to start on another skin series, I decided to put a warp on the dobby loom and weave the Missouri Trouble overshot pattern, the only other coverlet pattern that has really ever called to me.  I think I have been fighting against thinking that I shouldn't be wasting my time weaving another coverlet pattern, that I should be moving forward with the skin series, that this is where the "real" work is.   But I lack faith in the mystery, for sure enough, after loking back though old journal entries, I found one from May 2015 that talked about weaving Missouri Trouble.  Trust the process Selinde.  

Missouri Trouble coverlet courtesy of Pat Franklin 
Meanwhile, I am thrilled to have two of my newest pieces, "Chrysalis" and "Corpuscle" accepted for the Chattahoochee Handweavers Guild's Biennial Exhibit of Textile Arts "Sacred Environment".  They will be on view at the Art Station in Stone Mountain, GA from May 20-June 24.  I decided to get them framed in acrylic boxes along with "Coeur", below.  Very happy with the outcome, as they are enclosed from air and dust but not from light.   I was afraid they might feel arid inside a box, but instead they seem to come alive.   Solving this framing issue was a big accomplishment for me.  Moving forward....
"Coeur" in acrylic shadow box

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Five Minutes of Mayhem

Small works, untitled.
Stainless steel, brass, cotton,silk, linen.  

I've been in the studio a lot more lately and am working at a feverish rate, able to focus and concentrate like never before.  I just finished the red and white piece (10" x 6" x 3 1/2") on the top left of the four in the picture, the others of which I have blogged about recently (see my post Cocoons and Artifacts).  I am also finding myself doing a lot more research online, looking up fiber artists old and new, following leads on artists who use light as their medium such as Lygia Pape and Astrid Krogh, and just generally playing catch-up as I find myself coming up for air both professionally and personally.

One article I recently came across on called "What is Fluxus?" has hit home with me in a couple of ways.  I actually wasn't familiar with this movement so it was interesting to learn about it and put yet another piece of the anti-art-world, avant-garde sentiment of the 20th century into place.   In describing Fluxus's roots, author Karen Kedmey writes about John Cage:
"Many were inspired by elder artist, composer, and musician John Cage. Through his work and his charismatic teaching, he demonstrated that art and life could be fluidly interchangeable. He did this, in part, by welcoming chance into his musical compositions—including ambient noises or the sounds of audience members coughing, stirring in their seats, and sometimes even heckling the performers—and by using such things as everyday household objects as instruments. Cage’s drive to find artistic potential in the everyday resonated with the Fluxus artists."
I was instantly reminded of my own personal encounter with Cage, which I wrote about in a two-volume set called Far From the Centers of Ambition, published in 2013 in honor of Black Mountain College's 75th anniversary, where John Cage taught along with Merce Cunningham in the late 1940s. My essay, "Five Minutes of Mayhem: My Remembrance of John Cage", appears in the first volume called Confluence, edited by friend and poet Lee Ann Brown and Rand Brandes.

 I'll include the text below, but the essential idea is that when, in 1986, Cage came to UNSCA as a visiting artist and I, as a student there at the time, participated in one of his Happenings, I was so caught up in the technical production of music that I was unable to access the joy of spontaneous creation that was his sine qua none. Somewhere over the last 32 years, I traded music for weaving but continued holding on to the reins of technique over spontaneity. Until now. I am finally understanding Cage's notion of how to "embark on an artwork without a conception of its end". I am working more intuitively, able to strike a balance between planning out the technical specs of a project and letting it evolve into what it wants or needs to become, and to trust in that process.  I think that as a result my work is now starting to breathe more than it ever has, and in so doing, give back to me in spades forms of new inspiration.  In trying to construct membranes real and imagined that we use to negotiate our inner and outer worlds, in trying weave our "skins", I am finally discovering that the only way to truly know them is to trust my sense of touch.  It's poetic, really.  As sculptor Magdalena Abakanowicz wrote:
"After many years soft things of complicated tissue have become my material.  I feel a kinship with the world which I do not want to know but through touching, feeling and relating to the part of myself which I carry deep inside me...There is no tool between me and the material I use.  I choose it with my hands.  I shape it with my hands.  My hands transmit my energy to it.  By translating an idea into a shape, they will always pass on something escaping conceptualization.  They will reveal the unconscious."  

Here is the text for my John Cage essay:

1986.  I was 16 and how sweet it was.  I was living out my fantasy to be a cast member of the hit TV show "Fame" as a classical flute student at the North Carolina School of the Arts.  "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco was at number 15 on the pop chart, inspired by a movie we at NCSA were all very familiar with, as it featured the highly acclaimed work of recent grad Tom Hulce as Mozart.  My lab bench partner in biology was Eddie Stierle, who would go on to be prima danseur for the Joffrey Ballet, succumbing to AIDS not five years later.  Neither of us knew what highs and lows lay right before us though, and as we carved and snipped away at frog parts, life seemed pretty normal.  Because somehow, right there in the middle of North Carolina tobacco country, a little oasis of some of the country's finest dancers, visual artists, actors, and musicians had come together to form an arts school, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

Maybe it seemed normal because, miraculously, it had been done before.  In Black Mountain, a few hours west of of Winston-Salem, Black Mountain College had opened its doors 53 years earlier in 1933.  While the two schools grew out of different educational approaches (collaborative and progressive vs. a strict conservatory model), they shared the mission to teach the arts as a fundamental and serious educational and professional pursuit.  They also, for a few brief hours in November of 1986, shared the hallowed footsteps of John Cage.

We had been prepared, like one of his pianos, and we were all taut strings full of surprises, an unpredictable crew of maybe 50-60 dancers, musicians and actors, ready to participate in our first ever Happening.  We gathered on the grass of the Student Commons, awaiting his arrival.  I'm not sure he had even been out of the car two minutes before he was raising his hand and cueing us to begin, right on schedule with the day's agenda.  The Happening couldn't have lasted more than five minutes.  I played sections of the Chaminade Flute Concertino, and tried to riff a little on the folks around me.  Nevertheless, I must confess that I don't remember any magical moments of spontaneous creation "happening" for me that day.  Nothing in my education up to that point had taught me how to be spontaneous.  I was only 16 but I had already forgotten how to "play."  From morning 'til night I locked myself in the practice room and forced my fingers into predetermined places.  We were conservatory kids, and wrong notes were not okay.

Thinking back on that day now leaves me with a little pang of sadness.  How can it be that I didn't quite know what to do with five minutes of mayhem?  John Cage was in his element though.  the yearbook pages don't lie.  I remember him exactly that way, as downright jolly and pleased as punch.  He didn't seem to mind being shuffled around from one planned agenda event to another.  He just smiled his infectious, "I have the Secret to the Universe," his "I know a joke and ya'll are all in on it" smile, as if to say, "Isn't it cool that we can all just hang out and do this together?"  Oh yes.  Indeed it was.

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

How the time does fly...

It's been months since I posted.  Crazy, chaotic months in our country.  I have tried to stay focused and remember the Nietzsche quote on my chalkboard: "We have art in order not to perish of truth."

Here is a short list of what I have been up to:

1) I moved from cocoons to chrysalises:
Silk, Linen, Cotton, Brass, Stainless Steel. 10"x5"x3 1/2"
2) I dressed up the studio a bit to host open houses in October and November where I welcomed so many interesting people into my space:

3) Meanwhile I put a warp on the dobby loom and wove a pattern modified from a waffle weave:
I used a silk stainless weft with a cotton weft.  I was happy with it on the loom but when I took it off, it didn't have enough body to work with sculpturally.  I also tried chemical burnoff of the cotton content in hopes that the stainless in the weft would hold it all together resulting in some nice transparent areas but everything just dissolved and I got holes.  So you know what they say about lemons....I started cutting it apart along the rows and making tubes that I handstitched together and as I finished I realized I needed something threaded through the tubes and voila, I ended up with this:

Kind of a weaving within a weaving....

4) I sold a few Artifacts and had a commission for two more:
Stainless steel, silk, linen, 11"x11"
and I started displaying a few of them at Flow in "sleeve" format:

5) I played around with taking pictures through the sleeve:

6) I doodled a bit:
Drawing 12/2016, watercolor pencil, oil pastel, marker, pen and ink, 8"x 10"

7)  I deviated from my normally intact handweaver's moral compass and ordered a fleece blanket with a photograph of one of my woven wall hangings printed onto it:

I was both delighted and mortified that it looked so fantastic.  Artistic licensing meets a grave Slow Craft betrayal.  I gave it as a Christmas present.

Monday, August 15, 2016

Cocoons and Artifacts

a little experimentation - four-harness overshot version of the sun moon and stars pattern rendered in very fine linen and silk yarns from habu yarns, both with stainless steel cores.  The middle swaths of all of these little guys have had the linen exterior of the weft chemically burned off, leaving only stainless weft and silk warp (only cellulose fibers burn off, not protein).  Click on the pictures to see the detail of how some of the half-tone areas remained behind despite burnout.

So I'm calling them "artifacts"...

The sculptural properties of this weave and yarn combination are phenomenal.  The overshot and tabby provide much more structure and density than straight plain weave.  Before I wove these three guys, I tried one with 100% linen and stainless steel.  The warp broke a bit and was frustrating but it resulted in a piece that allowed full burn-off of both warp and weft wherever I applied it.  I ended up with this:

It sat around for a few weeks as I wove the artifacts.  I would go back to it and try things - burning out words and cutting into it, even burning the cut edges with flame.  Then one day I started twisting it into forms.  This is what I got:

I kinda love these a lot.  Making another one.  Frustrating linen warp be damned.  Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

Monday, May 23, 2016

InSide Out

Looking back at February's post, I realize I didn't write about anything - just posted pictures.  I am pleased by this, as I have tended to be very verbal about my work.  I have reached a point where I don't want to have to explain what I am doing, at least not to the extent that it becomes as much about the explanation as the work itself.  So in that vein, I will say that these are a few shots from the same body of work last fall that I continue to explore and am using as points of departure for new work investigating fabric as skin and what it may contain.  The first two photographs here are figurative.  The middle group were taken using an overhead projector and the last group were shot using a paper screen and backlighting.  All of the images use the stainless steel and cotton sample except for the paper screen group which use a piece of linen I wove and burned holes out of.  Both pieces of fabric were samples for finished pieces in the Synesthesia show that I exhibited with Katie Vie and Lisa Mandle in 2014 at Flow.  

"Self Portrait"