Subversive, Skilled, Sublime: Fiber Art by Women at the Renwick Gallery in Washington, DC

Last month I reviewed DY Begay's transcendant show of weavings at the Museum of the American Indian.  On the same trip to DC, I also saw Subversive, Skilled, Sublime, a survey of modern and contemporary fiber works at the Renwick Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution.  The Renwick show is   up only through January 5, 2025, so it's last call if you want to see it in person!  

The introductory wall text for the exhibit makes the point, still apparently obligatory even after a flurry of major fiber art exhibits over the past few years, that "fiber has long inspired women artists, although their ingenuity with threads and cloth was often dismissed by art critics as inconsequential within twentieth-century American art.  The artists in Skilled, Subversive, Sublime [sic] refuted the marginalization of fiber art and asserted its validity as a powerful and expressive medium."  No matter which order you put the adjectives in for the exhibit's title, we get it:  fiber artists will be ignored and disrespected no more. 

The show is a diverse selection, ranging from weaving to embroidery to mixed media and 3D work.  I was thrilled to see in person work by some of my longstanding fiber art heroines:  Lenore Tawney, Lia Cook, Olga de Amaral, Kay Sekimachi, . . . and to discover a couple new heroines:  Emma Amos, Cynthia Schira, and Mariska Karasz.   My selection of photos is unabashedly my own favorites from a rich and diverse show; no doubt another viewer would make a different selection.  

I took more photos of Lenore Tawney's Cloud piece than of any other work.  It was beautifully positioned in the gallery to take full advantage of viewing from all angles and to maximize the play of light and shadow. 

Lenore Tawney, Box of Falling Stars, 1984.  Cotton canvas, linen thread, acrylic paint, and ink

 

 

Lenore Tawney, Box of Falling Stars, detail, 1984.  Cotton canvas, linen thread, acrylic paint, and ink

Gazing at this piece was pure magic for me.  Weavers know the beauty of angled light on an unwoven warp, the threads pregnant with possibility, fragile-seeming yet powerfully capable of bearing image and meaning.  What struck me is Tawney's pure daring to imagine--and then to pull off--a fiber work that is not woven and yet still so expressive.  

I also greatly enjoyed Tawney's other piece in the exhibit.  This one had both weft and warp, but the weft was so loosely sketched in that the weaving remained ethereal, making cast shadows again a vital part of the viewing experience.  

Lenore Tawney, In the Dark Forest, 1959.  Woven linen, wool, silk.

Lenore Tawney, In the Dark Forest, detail, 1959.  Woven linen, wool, silk.

Tawney's work was in conversation with this piece nearby, Reflections by Cynthia Schira.  Where Tawney's pieces are weaving stripped down to a bare minimum, Schira's weaving is maximal, using supplemental wefts, woven and twined, in wildly varying widths and paths to make a richly textured and shimmering surface.  I stood back to get the full sweep of the forms and shifts in light and color, then I moved in close to savor the textures. 

Cynthia Schira, Reflections, 1982.  Woven and bound resist-dyed cotton and dyed rayon

Cynthia Schira, Reflections, detail, 1982.  Woven and bound resist-dyed cotton and dyed rayon

Other weavers pushing the limits of the medium included Olga de Amaral, in this textile of woven strips that are themselves woven into a meta-weaving.  It lacks the dazzling shimmer of some of her work but was nonetheless a pleasure to see one of her signature techniques up close. 

Olga de Amaral, Cal y Canto, c. 1979.  Linen and gesso.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Olga de Amaral, detail, Cal y Canto, c. 1979.  Linen and gesso.

Lia Cook's work was also meta, pieced together sections of weaving cheekily made from painted fabric and paper.  Is it a quilt?  A weaving?  A painting?  Cook is quoted:  "I wanted to push the boundaries of weaving.  What could I make weaving do that no one had done before?"  I studied this piece for awhile and still wasn't quite sure I knew how it was made.  I love that blurring of methods and categories. 

Lia Cook, Crazy Too Quilt, 1989.  Acrylic paint on dyed rayon woven with pressed abaca paper.

Lia Cook, Crazy Too Quilt, detail, 1989.  Acrylic paint on dyed rayon woven with pressed abaca paper.

This work by a maker new to me, Mariska Karasz, blew me away.  Though the label text refers to only embroidery, it appears to me to consist of a very loosely woven base layer topped with stitch and perhaps looping or knotless netting.  Again the artist seems to blur the boundaries between techniques, making a delicate layered web of pattern, color and texture.  "Embroidery is to sewing what poetry is to prose; the stitches can be made to sing out as words in a poem,"  Mariska Karasz said. 

Mariska Karasz, Breeze ca. 1958.  Embroidered linen, plastic, and mixed fibers

Mariska Karasz, Breeze detail, ca. 1958.  Embroidered linen, plastic, and mixed fibers

Mariska Karasz, Breeze detail, ca. 1958.  Embroidered linen, plastic, and mixed fibers

Finally, two other, very different,  pieces stood out for me:  Susan L. Iverson's tapestry Ancient Burial IV--Night and Kay Sekimachi's Nagare VII.  Where Iverson's tapestry is sturdy and boldly graphic, weft-faced weaving at 6 epi, Sekimachi's sculpture is, like Tawney's, nearly not-there, an ethereal, vaguely helical form of woven monofilament. Both speak powerfully in distinct voices and tones.  Iverson layers three woven panels in a strongly architectural manner evocative of Peruvian weaving and culture.  Sekimachi makes fibers twist and interlace to suggest the flowing waters of a flowing river, nagare in Japanese.

Susan L. Iverson, Ancient Burial IV--Night, detail,1989.  Wool on linen warp. (Apologies for the skewed perspective of the photo.)

Susan L. Iverson, Ancient Burial IV--Night, detail,1989.  Wool on linen warp. 

Kay Sekimachi, Nagare VII, 1970.  Woven nylon monofilament.

Kay Sekimachi, Nagare VII, detail, 1970.  Woven nylon monofilament.

It was hugely stimulating and inspiring for me to see this show in the same weekend as DY Begay's Sublime Light.  I walked away confirmed in my belief that weaving is a capacious and expressive language, one that weavers--and thoughtful viewers--never tire of speaking.  

Two Good Things Happening in DC

A couple weeks ago Sam and I made a quick trip to Washington DC to see family and to see two special exhibits of fiber art. Despite frustrating weather problems that delayed our arrival almost a full day, I can report that the exhibit of Diné weaver DY Begay’s tapestries at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian was more than worth the trip. It’s on view until July 13, 2025, so you have plenty of time to make a plan to get there. Do it if you possibly can!  

The title of this post mentions two good things.  The other good thing is the exhibit Subversive Skilled Sublime: Fiber Art by Women at the Renwick Gallery of the Smithsonian.  I will report on that in next month’s post.  

The retrospective of DY Begay's work is entitled Sublime Light--a perfect title.  One of DY's gifts is her nuanced handling of color and value in wool yarns she has mostly dyed herself.  These tapestries GLOW. Below is the very first tapestry in the exhibit.

DY Begay, Intended Vermillion, 2015.  Wool and plant, insect and synthetic dyes. 

 

          DY Begay, detail, Intended Vermillion, 2015.  Wool and plant, insect and synthetic dyes.

The artist states in the wall text that she was inspired by the Vermillion Cliffs of Arizona, red sandstone formations.  They are described in the Diné language as "reddish rocks floating on the surface."  The detail photo shows the subtle and surprising range of color. The lightest, brightest yellows and golds are clustered in the center and light seems to radiate outward, up and down, from there.

DY's use of color, rhythm and form interprets the landscape in a way that perfectly conveys, to my mind, the peace of those endless southwestern horizons.  She prefers nearly monochromatic and analogous palettes that enforce this feeling, and she relies on value contrast to create drama and variety.  Sometimes the value contrast is dramatic; other times it is very subtle.  Often the mesa forms and undulating bands of color seem to flicker with shadows.  It was hard to tell whether these extremely subtle shadows were real variations in the tone of the yarns or the result of very slight ripples in the hanging tapestry.  Either way, it works. 

 DY Begay's work is clearly rooted in Navajo tradition and yet stakes out new territory in weaving.  The wool is mostly Churro wool from sheep she and her family raise and shear, and whose wool DY dyes and in some cases spins herself.  DY's designs refer both to the very old Chief's blanket patterns of wide horizontal bands and to the wide horizons and flat-topped mesas of the Arizona landscape where she was born and still lives.  She is deeply rooted in her culture and her home landscape and has transmuted them into woven expression that is dazzlingly contemporary. 

DY Begay, Sunset Mesas, 2006.  Wool and dye.

DY Begay, detail, Sunset Mesas, 2006.  Wool and dye. 

 

 

DY's landscapes sometimes show more realism, as seen in Tsegi Spider Rock below. Spider Rock is the twin rock spire in the center of the tapestry.  It is located in Canyon de Chelly, Arizona, not far from DY's home territory of Tsélaní.  In Navajo tradition, Spider Rock is associated with the deity Spider Woman, who gave the gift of weaving to the Diné people.  More generally the area is treasured by the Navajo as a place of plentiful crops and grazing land, and also a natural fortress for protection and retreat from hostile forces.

DY Begay, Tsegi Spider Rock, 2007.  Wool, plant and synthetic dyes.

It was a special treat to see DY's preparatory sketch for this piece. 

DY Begay, Preparatory sketch for Tsegi Spider Rock, 2007.  Colored pencil on paper. 

Not all of DY's vistas refer to the southwestern desert.  This seascape shows the artist's gift for choosing and juxtaposing subtle colors and tones to create the illusion of reflected light on water and distant mountains.  As in the desert pieces, the rhythm of strong horizontals stacked above each other imparts a feeling of deep space and peace. 

DY Begay, Náhookosjí (Winter in the North/Biboon Giiwedinong It is Winter in the North), 2017.  Wool, mohair, cotton, silk, linen, and plant dyes.

As with many dyers who use natural pigments, DY is fascinated by the possibilities of indigo. She says this piece embodies her "pursuit to capture the essence and healing qualities for the many subtle shades of indigo." 

DY Begay, Enchanted Indigo, 2022.  Wool and plant dye. 

DY Begay, detail, Enchanted Indigo, 2022.  Wool and plant dye. 

 

Cochineal holds a similar fascination.  I love the incredibly saturated color DY has achieved in this piece, by blending fifteen shades of cochineal-dyed yarn in a stunningly simple and strong composition.   

DY Begay, Monumental Edge 2, 2020.  Wool and plant, insect and synthetic dyes.

It is tempting to share every single photograph I took of DY's tapestries in the exhibit, but my purpose here is just to whet your appetite for your own visit.  If your plans don't allow you to travel to Washington in the next seven months, take heart.  The catalog of the show is absolutely gorgeous.  I cannot add much to Rebecca Mezoff's excellent and thorough review of the book, but I will second her hearty recommendation of it.  

 

 

It's a large, hardcover book with color reproductions of all the pieces in the show, as well as photographs of DY herself, her family, and most especially her landscape.  The walls of the exhibit that do not display tapestries contain giant wall-sized murals of the Arizona landscape, powerfully conveying the place the work springs from.  The double-page photo spreads in the book do the same.

 

The catalog also includes essays by the three curators of the exhibit and other writers, including DY herself, describing the course of the artist's life, her cultural heritage and her development as a weaver. Chapter titles and every paragraph of DY's own essay are offered in Diné as well as English, making this book a welcome addition to discussions of works of art by Native Americans in their own language.  I confess that in my first few trips through this book I have just savored the photographs.  Now I look forward to settling in and reading the essays. 

For many of the tapestries, the facing page contains text from DY's own journals in which she reflects on the piece.

 

You can order the catalog directly from the museum. And if you haven't seen this video yet, a panel discussion with DY, Helena Hernmarck and Velma Kee Craig at the opening of the exhibit at the museum, check it out. You are in for a treat!  

Adventures in Paperweaving in Cortez, CO

 It was a whole lotta fun premiering my new Adventures in Paperweaving class at Turquoise Raven Art Gallery in Cortez, CO.   The class was in conjunction with a focused exhibition of my own work in the gallery; scroll to the bottom for images of that.

Ten brave non-weavers and one tapestry weaver signed up to learn how to turn paper with painted or photographed imagery and patterns into skinny slices and then into a new woven surface.   I threw fistfuls of weaving terminology and drafts at them but they plunged in and got well down the road.  Here are some images:

See below for this artist's finished weaving.

 

Sam decided to weave a diamond twill on his very first attempt!

This artist, inspired by my Windblown Grasses piece, chose to weave at random angles.

This artist introduced contrast and texture by weaving in linen thread

This piece reminds me of Monet's garden. 

Different colored wefts are being played with here. The gold strips are quilter's cotton fabric!

A 3/1 twill is the structure here, privileging the image of the warp or vertical strips.

Mary, whose piece in progress is the first image above, was kind enough to share an image of her finished piece.  She chose after weaving a few rows to switch from a 1/3 to a 3/1 twill in order to foreground paper with the photographs of flowers.

Mary Berry, paper weaving

Look like fun?  If you want to give it a go, use the Contact page on my website and I'll add you to the list of attendees for a Zoom class I'll be offering soon:

Saturdays Nov. 16 and Nov. 23, 1:00-3:00 pm ET with optional feedback session Weds. Nov. 20, 6:00-8:00 pm ET. 

$80 for the two Saturday sessions; additional $40 for optional Weds. feedback session.  You don't have to decide about the Wednesday session until after the first class on Nov. 16.  Payment via PayPal or mailed check.

Recording available for 30 days.  Supply list and all details available here.   Contact me with questions and to sign up. 

It's a pleasure to see my work up on the walls at Turquoise Raven through October.  If you're in the area, do stop in, say Hi to Mary and browse the art, gifts, and art supplies.  Gift-giving season is nearly upon us!

From top:  SkyGramaGrass, Air Quality, and Ash Wednesday, all (c) Molly Elkind

Clockwise from top left:  Faraway Nearby, Morning Grasses, SkyGrass, and WUI 10: water.                  All (c) Molly Elkind

Top:  Windblown Grasses.  Bottom:  Ashfall.  Both (c) Molly Elkind

ATA's Beyond: Tapestry Expanded exhibit

There's been some lively discussion in the tapestry world recently around the newest exhibit sponsored by the American Tapestry Alliance, Beyond:  Tapestry Expanded.  It's on view through December 8, 2024 at the Peeler Art Center at DePauw University in Greencastle, Indiana.  Since many of us will likely not find ourselves in Greencastle this fall, ordering the catalog for the show is the best bet for seeing the selected work.  (Allow a few weeks for ATA's dedicated volunteers to respond to all the orders coming in.)  In this post I want to share some of what I found inspiring in the catalog of the exhibit. 

Cover the catalog for Beyond: Tapestry Expanded exhibit

 

The catalog is beautifully produced, with full-color good-sized images of each work.  I spent some very enjoyable hours over the weekend poring over it and reading the essays.  What I saw has inspired me to think of new technical approaches in my own work, and also to sharpen my work's conceptual intent.  Beyond:  Tapestry Expanded is one of  the most exciting textile shows I've looked at in a long time.  I urge everyone with an interest in tapestry and contemporary fiber art to buy a copy.  

Full disclosure:  I was a member of the board that decided to launch this exhibit, back in 2022.  I was in favor of the idea then, and I remain convinced it's a good way to implement the second part of ATA's tagline:  honoring tradition, inspiring innovation. 

Here are a few images that resonated with me, scanned from the catalog, and some thoughts about them. 

Hope Wang, birdsong lanced by the power washer roar, 2023.  hand-painted cotton and wool, 85" x 63"

Of course, given my current obsession with birds, Wang had me at "birdsong."  The blurred color fields at the top, possibly made with an ikat-type technique, suggest the sound waves of birdsong, as the loopy blue lines may indicate birds' flight.  Straight yellow lines on a black field at the bottom remind me of a paved road, which could relate to the "power washer's roar" of the title.   We see the machinery of contemporary urban or suburban life obliterating the sound of birdsong.  The lines in this piece interact in a lively way that feels contemporary:  woven lines don't quite match, the bottom edge is irregular,  loose fringe and threads on the side soften the straight edges.  This piece does what we hope any woven tapestry would do:  it shows how color and woven structure can merge to create imagery impossible by any other means.

Jacobo Alonso, Intercorporeality X, 2023.  laser cut module of recovered X-rays, 300 x 200 x 1 cm

This piece is typical of many in the Beyond exhibit:  it uses unexpected materials that carry much of the  meaning.  At first glance this design recalls southwestern woven rugs, but then we see the title, referring to the body and the inter-relationships of bodies.  We realize the piece is made from x-rays, and this prompts thoughts about imagery, history and cloth as they relate to the human body and to cultural groups.  While the piece is not made of fibrous materials, it drapes as a textile does and references textile patterns and history.

Delaina Doshi, Reconciled, 2023, shards of over 150 broken plates, gold wire, 70" x 55"

This piece, likewise, is not a woven structure, but it hangs like a textile and has a lacy appearance overall.  The strong domestic associations of pastel-colored decorative china also tie it to the feminine, domestic arts associations textiles have historically carried.  This china is broken, though, broken and wired back together with a precious-sounding material.  For me, it prompts thoughts about the breakages, mendings and re-linkings that can occur in families. 

Olivia Valentine, Guestroom at the Drake, left panel, 2012, handwoven bobbin lace, 72" x 111" overall

 

Olivia Valentine, Guestroom at the Drake, right panel, 2012, handwoven bobbin lace, 72" x 111" overall

These two panels are presented side by side in the catalog.  While this is not a structure woven on a loom, bobbin lace is made by crossing and interlacing many individual threads according to a pre-determined pattern.  The artist used considerable skill to mimic the hard planes of architecture in soft, pliable lace.  The typically small, delicate and decorative is rendered here as monumental. The title, and the intriguing choice to leave one window unfinished, bobbins dangling, invites us to invent a narrative about the person or people looking out the windows of a hotel room ("the Drake").  The sheer number of bobbins and the fineness of the lace structure are perhaps an indication of the time and labor involved in constructing any view, or any relationship. 

Bryana Bibbs, Numb, 2023, handwoven cotton, handcarded handspun wool, 72" x 78"

At first glance this is the most tapestry-like of many of the pieces in the exhibit, being made of cellulose yarn in a dense woven structure.  But its wild texture, non-representational imagery, and reference to the intense labor involved in hand-carding, hand-spinning and hand-weaving indicate something deeper may be at play.  The title Numb invites us to speculate what that meaning could be. 

I invite you to order a copy of the Beyond:  Tapestry Expanded catalog and spend some time with it.  These works reveal themselves slowly.  Take time with them.  As you look at the work and read the essays, set aside for the moment traditional definitions of "tapestry" and see if these works can speak to you.  You might ask yourself, Why are these fiber artists breaking the rules?  Why are they using non-fiber materials, intentionally loose techniques, mixing fiber disciplines that have historically been distinct?  Artists make these choices deliberately, to convey specific concepts and emotions.  What you see and feel will no doubt be different from what I see, and that is part of the magic of good art:  it invites multiple interpretations. 

Have you ever had the experience of stumbling on a new-to-you tapestry technique and thinking for one giddy moment, "I just invented something new!"  I remember thinking that when I realized I could weave pick-and-pick in wedge weave.  I soon found out, of course, that it had been done by weavers long before me, who called it "coal-mining."  It behooves all of us to be familiar not only with the work that has been done before us, but also the work being done in the wider fiber context now. 

Feedback Loops and False Deadlines

Today's post is indebted to two comrades-in-art-arms:  husband and fine art photographer Sam Elkind, and good friend and abstract painter Marilyn Kleinhans.  My most frequent and honest conversations about the creative life happen with these two, and I want to share two concepts they shared with me that keep me from going too crazy (sometimes!).  Bear with me as I tell a story.  

Mesilla Door, silver gelatin print.  (c) Sam Elkind

 

Like many, Sam started out in photography in the darkroom, and perfected his process there over many years since he was a teenager.  He loved the look and feel of silver gelatin prints.  As we moved to New Mexico, though, he decided to switch to digital processes, largely because of the perennial water shortage in our area and the need to conserve wherever possible.  Processing film and prints consumes untold gallons of water.  

An unexpected bonus of this switch to digital is a vastly shortened feedback loop for his work.  If you've done darkroom photography, you know the drill.  In the fastest possible scenario, Sam could shoot in the morning, and if he had time he could develop the film in the afternoon.  And then wait overnight for the negatives to dry.  But that was a rare schedule; usually the film waited a week or more to be processed.  Once the film was dry, he would spend hours on his feet printing, a slow process of several steps that also requires drying time to truly judge the print.  The feedback loop--the chance to truly look at and evaluate his work--stretched over days.

In the digital process, Sam can shoot in the morning, and if he is back home with time left in the day, process and print multiple images that same day.  He can make and evaluate his work much more quickly.  And as we all know, digital image software provides many more tools for image development and manipulation than darkroom enlargers did.  His work has expanded and developed much more quickly than it could have in the darkroom process.  Of course this is not to throw shade on anyone doing darkroom work and making prints the old fashioned way--this work has a unique appeal!  

San Antonio Creek, digital image, (c) Sam Elkind

 

Many of us weavers are familiar with the basic problem of the long feedback loop.  One of the tapestry artists in my feedback groups mentioned that as she gets close to finishing the large tapestry she's been working on for over a year, she has learned so much that she wishes she could go back and do things differently at the beginning of the process on this tapestry.  We've all experienced something like that, right?  The feedback loop for large-sized tapestry is loooooong.  

This got me wondering:  How can we shorten our feedback loop as weavers?  I'm sure you can think of a few ways:

Work smaller.  Work at a larger sett with thicker yarns.  Work in a more open, less packed weave.

I have a couple of ideas:  

Join a group of like-minded weavers and trade feedback on a regular basis.  They will see things in your work that are in your own "blind spot" and allow you to address them sooner, if you choose to.  

Seek more opportunities to show your work in public.  Viewers will tell you what they see and this is feedback you can't get any other way.  

Maintain a side practice of smaller tapestry work (sketch tapestry/woodles/minimes/samples) where you can indulge those "what if" ideas while you work on larger pieces (s).  

Try paper weaving!  See my previous two posts to see what I'm talking about.  I am still surprised at how much faster paper weaving goes than tapestry.  I'm able to move through ideas and experiments at a much faster rate, and that's immensely satisfying.  And it's helpful as I create work for the upcoming Studio Tour in September.  I don't have to worry about having enough new work to show this year. 

The Eldorado Studio Tour is a real, hard deadline--it happens this year Sept. 21-22.  I really do have to get a number of tasks done by Sept. 20.  But there are also false deadlines--those perceived deadlines we set for ourselves where we say we absolutely have to get X done by Y date.  Thanks to my sane friend Marilyn, I'm learning to see that most of these false deadlines just create gratuitous stress for me.  If no one outside my studio is expecting me to do X by Y, then it's a false deadline, and I need to just calm the heck down.  It's a skill I'm still building.  

 

Chaos Series: Untitled #3, 16”x20” acrylic on canvas.  (c) Marilyn Kleinhans

Riot of Joy, 5”x7”, pastel and ink on Pastelbord (c) Marilyn Kleinhans

Marilyn went on to expand on this idea in a useful way:   “I’ve found myself creating work for a “theme” with a deadline for submission.  It became the push to fit into someone else’s idea of what I should create, which I think of as a false deadline.    Those have been some of my least successful, and least honest, paintings so I no longer choose to make art with that in mind."  I think Marilyn makes a good point.  This may be fodder for whole 'nother blog post:  the pros and cons of creating work to fit exhibit themes.  Stay tuned for that!

As always, I welcome your comments!