Reading, writing and thinking are part of our weaving practice too

Heads-up: Wordy post ahead with not much eye candy. If I know anything about tapestry weavers, it's that when we're not weaving, many of us are reading!  If you're looking for your next good book to curl up with, maybe something here will help.  

Lately I've been having to cut down on my weaving time, alas, because my shoulder is complaining. I know better than to weave for 2 hours without a break, but I get into the zone and then my body reminds me later, in a most unpleasant tone of voice.  Rebecca Mezoff reminds me that above all, I need to stop and take a break every 25 minutes. The link on Rebecca's name takes you to her  review of a book called Wellness for Makers.  Now I'm setting the alarm on my phone for 25 minutes every time I start to weave.  And forcing myself to obey!

Here are the two projects that have been mostly stalled for a few weeks as I recover.

This tapestry will be layered on top of the larger, previously woven piece.  Working title:  The Wreck.  Warp: 12/6 cotton seine twine; wefts: plastic, silk, wool, cotton, paper. 

 

 

A pulled warp canoe.  Working title: Bivium.  Warp: 12/6 cotton seine twine; wefts linen, plastic, paper, wire.

The upside of this down time is I have time to play/work/write in my sketchbook and especially time to read the art books I received over Christmas. This has been really good as it allows me time to think about where am I going in my work, and why? What am I trying to say?  And what's the best way to say it?  Does every idea I have need to be woven by hand, or are there pre-existing woven grids I can use as I continue to explore 3D options? Cheesecloth? Hardware cloth? Experiments await. . . 

 

Two fiber books I've really enjoyed recently.  The top one is the catalog for the current exhibit (closing 1/21) of the same name at LACMA in Los Angeles.  This book was named the "one of the best art books of the year" by the New York Times!  The second book is a fun look at loopy open mesh constructions being used in all sorts of non-traditional ways. 

These are the browngrotta gallery catalogs I've been enjoying.  There are way too many to choose from!

 I've been swooning over the elegant, finely crafted work in the catalogs from browngrotta gallery in Connecticut, a home for fine craft for the past several decades, and publishers of dozens of gorgeous catalogs.  I know that for me it's important to make work that is as visually attractive and finely crafted as possible. And like the work browngrotta features, my scale is small to medium.  It is made entirely by me (not a workshop of artisans) and it's destined for the home rather than the massive public installation. 

As I read, I'm mulling over what exactly I want to say in my work. Just calling viewers' attention to the climate crisis is no longer enough. How do we respond? Where do we go from here? How do we manage our grief and despair? I dislike work that preaches at me overtly, no matter how much I appreciate the sentiment, and that work is not mine to make. I've read or am reading a couple books on this subject recently that have enriched my thinking: Solastalgia: an Anthology of Emotion in a Disappearing World, edited by Paul Bogard,  and We Survived the End of the World: Lessons from Native America on Apocalypse and Hope by Steven Charleston.  I recommend both if this is a topic that interests you.

As I think about the enduring appeal and importance of fine craft, I realize that hard-won human craftsmanship, in weaving or any other medium, craftsmanship honed by instruction, practice, and time, is actually a hopeful thing that points toward our own abilities to find creative and beautiful solutions to problems. And the same symmetry, pattern, color and textures that I love in fine weaving are an imitation of these same qualities in the natural world, qualities that inspire many of the weavings we make. It's a beautiful feedback loop: nature-->craft-->nature. And it has been going on for as long as humans have been making art. 

I've just started reading a book adjacent to this subject by Adam Gopnik, The Real Work:  On the Mystery of Mastery.  Gopik takes on the subject of mastery, how is it achieved, what is the "real work" involved, in all sorts of fields, not just art (he discusses magic and magicians at great length).  And the chapter on how this modern art critic decided to take drawing lessons from a traditional realistic painter is fascinating.

It's clear that climate change is happening with devastating effect, everywhere. The best we can do now is try to slow it down and to ameliorate its effects. We need to cultivate every ounce of resilience in ourselves, in our communities and in our global community to meet the challenges head-on. 

I do believe, outlandish as it may sound, that our creative practices and even our tapestry weaving, allow us to hone our own resilience. We are constantly problem-solving as we weave, looking at the problem from various perspectives, crowd-sourcing solutions from the hive mind, doing our very best to do our best work. This is the creative persistence and cooperation we need everywhere. 

I'll close with my favorite line from the apocalyptic novel I read during the pandemic, Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. In it a traveling troupe of players makes their way through the landscape of a ruined society, struggling to survive and offering performances for the ragtag communities they encounter. Painted on the side of their wagon of instruments and supplies is this: "Survival is insufficient." Humans need art, and always have.

Book Report, Part 2: "Why We Make Things and Why It Matters"

Last week I shared my enthusiasm for Peter Korn's book Why We Make Things and Why It Matters:  The Education of a Craftsman.  I quoted him on the creative impulse and the joys of making things with our hands.   There is so much wisdom and insight in Korn's book that I want to spend some time this week considering what he has to say about the challenges of the creative life.

Peter is acutely perceptive and brutally honest on the subject of his struggle to make a living solely by crafting furniture: 

[T]he desire to work alone and apart is self-defeating.  There simply isn't enough time in a week to put in sufficient billable hours at the bench and still do all the other work that a successful business requires--maintenance, purchasing, bookkeeping, marketing, customer relations, and so forth.  Furthermore, working in isolation doesn't foster the substantial engagement with community it takes to cultivate a local market for custom-made furniture. . . .

Success was also limited by intrinsic properties of the material with which I was working, which was my own self  [emphasis added].  I was, among other things, not well suited to marketing my work, perhaps because it felt too much like self-promotion, perhaps because it entailed so much rejection. 

Many of us who are solo makers struggle with this.  We are told we need to spend at least 50% of our working hours on marketing and business tasks in order to be financially successful.  When your medium is an inherently slow one, like woodworking or weaving, this can seem an impossible goal.  You won't have enough work to market in the first place if you don't spend more than 50% of your working time actually making things!  And while we may feel confident (most of the time) about our artistic skills, many of us are untrained and out of our depth on the business side.

Peter Korn has an interesting take on the old dilemma of how much to "sell out" one's personal artistic vision in order to make work that responds to popular tastes.  He says this tension is a "healthy phenomenon" that imposes "the discipline of relevance" on the artist.  Korn says while the market is not perfect, and doubtless great artistic work is ignored every day, "commerce is our most effective mass-distribution system for the material expression of ideas."

When I first began to offer handwovens for sale, I quickly learned that simply following my own whims as a weaver, my own color preferences, pursuing my own bliss at the loom, would not necessarily result in work with a place in the market.  I have to keep firmly in mind what other people can wear, can use, and are willing to pay for.  I weave with a lot of neutral colors because they are versatile and "go with everything."  I actually enjoy finding the sweet spot where my own creative inspiration intersects with what my clients want to buy and wear.  It is good to work within limits. 

In the final analysis, making craft is deeply soul-satisfying in ways that few other human activities are.  Rather than being merely consumers in the world, we are producers, creators, meaning-makers.  Peter Korn writes: 

It is a given that, individually and collectively, we think our world into being.  The question is:  How do we choose to go about it?  Do we passively assemble our narratives from a cultural smorgasbord?  Or do we test the recipes of others in our own kitchens?  Do we take responsibility for some small portion of the world as we create it?  My experience is that steering a proactive course--making the effort to think for myself--has been the wellspring of a good life.  . .  .

Making art or craft and sharing it with others is one way of resolving the existential dilemma we all face--how am I to be human in this world?  Or, as poet May Sarton puts it,

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Newest tapestry in progress--my initials mpe are the only imagery woven so far.

 

Book Report: "Why We Make Things and Why It Matters"

 At the start of the summer I shared with you the stack of reading I hoped to do.  I actually have managed to finish most of the books, but the one that has made the biggest impression on me is Peter Korn's Why We Make Things and Why It Matters:  The Education of a Craftsman.  Korn is a woodworker who hoped to make a living from designing and constructing one-off pieces of finely crafted furniture.  After a time, he found that he would have to supplement his income with teaching, as many artists and artisans do.  He discovered he loved teaching and loved working in a school community, and eventually he founded the non-profit Center for Furniture Craftsmanship in Rockport, Maine, where he is Executive Director.

Why am I running on about a woodworker, you may ask, in a blog called "talking textiles"?  Well, making a living in craft offers the same rewards--and raises the same issues--no matter what your medium.  I think the best path here is to let Peter's words speak for themselves.   Here are a few of the passages that really spoke to me:

[W]e practice contemporary craft as a process of self-transformation . . . .  The simple truth is that people who engage in creative practice go into the studio first and foremost because they expect to emerge from the other end of the creative gauntlet as different people. 

Peter writes of how he hoped to cultivate integrity in himself, to create heirloom pieces and thus a connection with future generations, and to develop competence and excellence in a given discipline.  For myself, one reason I fell in love with making textiles--while working as an English teacher at the time--was I wanted a way to say a joyful YES more often in my life, rather than simply wielding the red pen as a critic.  I wanted to see if I could develop the skills to make a beautiful, functional object.  Here's Peter Korn again:

[D]esign is a skill like any other.  As with sharpening a chisel or handling a drawknife, anyone can improve through education, practice, and reflection.  To be sure, some individuals are more innately gifted at design than others. . . But there is no reason why the rest of us should not also enjoy the trials and rewards of creative engagement with reasonable success and genuine pleasure, and perhaps an occasional flash of serendipitous brilliance.

All I can say about this is, Amen, brother!  Everyone can enjoy making visual art, given enough encouragement, guidance, and the chance to practice.  As with any other learned skill, the more you do it, the better you get.  Most of us will never see our work hang in a major museum--that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the exciting challenges and immense satisfaction of crafting the best work we can.  Peter again:

I discovered within myself the capacity to transform a wisp of thought into an enduring, beautiful object.  I see this same empowering revelation take place in my students today as they perform the miracle of creation.  This, I would suggest, is precisely what makes creative practice such a generous source of fulfillment, beyond the pleasure of engaging heart, head and hand in unison.  It exercises one's innate capacity to re-form the given world in ways that matter.

I recall vividly the joy I felt when it slowly dawned on me that making textile art draws on everything I have and know--from my liberal arts education to my spirituality to the basic sewing skills I learned as a kid in 4-H.  When we work with our hands to make something that exists in the physical world, we are participating in the larger mystery of creation.  Powerful stuff!  And if that work connects somehow with someone else, well, it doesn't get any better than that. 

If you are an artist or craftsperson who regularly makes things, you know what Peter Korn is talking about.  If you're not--why not try your hand? 

 A Light Shines, bead embroidery by Molly Elkind