I. Macromission: thematics
It has been several months since my last post, despite writing almost daily for myriad reasons. I keep thinking that I should write more here, but then I get caught up in updating the site overall, or applying for some-or-other, or just hashing ideas to see where they flex and fail.
Writing aside, I had spent a healthy portion of the last six months making drypoints on post-consumer food container waste, namely tomato can lids. I now have a good feel for the process, but I couldn’t find a way to fit the imagery with the material no matter how much I thought, talked, or wrote about it.
The truth of it is that I was obsessed with the shape of the can lids and how the coin-ridged outer ring embossed so sweetly. I wanted to use the innermost circle which (to me) reads like a spyglass or periscope, but also summons ideas of wishing wells and rippling water; I simply couldn’t find the right thing to do with them.
I considered all kinds of different content angles within my repertoire: yearning skies, intrusive architecture, intimate interiors, but nothing quite settled. I just couldn’t find the place where the media and the image unified; it was cool, but it didn’t make enough sense to me, so I’ve sent the idea to the hippocampus to stew.
Meanwhile, I have taken my attention to work through two other series, most notably the quilted collages and the monotypes, both to which I am feeling profoundly invested and connected.
II. Mesomission: the quilting studies
I’ve somewhat streamlined the process of the quilted watercolor pieces, but they are still laborious to assemble. I first have to work out the shapes and measurements of the block(s) I plan to use for the sky, then I draw the elements in pencil on the board. I cut the pieces one “block” at a time, and search for interior elements (such as colors, cloud borders, trees, etc) and arrange them accordingly. The process is a little bit like a jigsaw puzzle, searching out the pieces that can have the exterior shape, but also the interior object, to match the composition.
The first thing I tried was using essentially one shape for the entire study. This allowed for a sort of visual rhythm I hadn’t expected: some of the lines offer channels the eye can follow around the image. I hadn’t planned the “house” structure in the front lower center (this was before I realized I should draw them out first), but I had started to build one to the lower right, then switched gears when I used two simple, thin white strips to indicate the eaves of a house. I was able to catch an idea of a long, late-winter shadow in the front of the house by using darker, more purposeful piece placement.
I like a lot of things about Winter, but two things stood out that I wanted to address in future work. First, I decided that I didn’t want to work too intuitively because the lower-middle-right area feels distracting – as it should, I suppose – because this is where I changed direction from not having a plan. Secondly, because I used my “failed” watercolors, I didn’t have a lot of contrast available. Concordantly, I have been experimenting with black watercolor paper which has provided a brand new pile of botched paintings, but in black!
With Late Winter, I used a star-and-block pattern, and I tried to place colors according to the movement of the sky as well as the low, warm sunlight and greenery near the house. I built on the idea of a house from Winter, but incorporated a type of shingle made by cutting strips and “bricklaying” them. In retrospect, I think they’d be better lain vertically. Noted.
I felt this piece was much closer to my vision, yet still somehow missing the mark. This study helped me determine that I prefer a pointier rooftop. The most pleasant surprise came when I could indicate some shadow on the house – a stylistic choice that I like to do in watercolor – within the stacking of “siding” which I incorporated more specifically for the next one:
In Early Spring, I carried some of the style choices from Late Winter to build more purposeful elements: the pointier rooftops, strong suggestions of shrubbery, a power line and hand-drawn wires. I used a simple quilt motif for the sky, loosely based on a mid-19th century block pattern called “Wedding Rings.”
I have a couple more ideas to test out before I can make bigger versions of these, and I’m excited about the direction these are taking.
III. Micromission: monotypes
The media I have been using most (lately) is mixed media monotypes. I have been experimenting with using my own photographs, digitally altered, then transferred to the plate and worked accordingly. Each image transfer varies slightly, and this offers an opportunity to change the mood significantly while maintaining a unified series. In point, I submitted the following three prints to the members’ show at Pawtucket Arts Collaborative:
Each image transfer lent itself to an interpreted environment; in this case, moments from a day. The morning haze leans into the warm, sunny afternoon, and finishes with a moody, cool evening.
As I’ve continued to experiment with the media, I started thinking about how the series is meant to reflect on my childhood experiences of constant motion and the unending desire to settle; an anxiety I carry with me even today.
To reiterate a feeling of nostalgia, I have decided to move forward with these by placing the images on paper with either a Kodak-style thin border of the late mid-century, or the Polaroid style of my childhood and youth.
Stylistically, I’m following some of the elements I developed through passages for the houses: I remove windows to insinuate the “ghost” of an element that one day will not exist. I reverse paint all buildings white. To reinforce the vintage quality of actual light leaks, I am working on tweaking the colors to reiterate that these are memories that toe the line of fiction, as all memories do.
More than anything, I’m so grateful to finally have the opportunity of time to explore these ideas. They’re all so cathartic; making art, just for the sake of making it is an approach to refine the act of present living; subsequently, writing polishes organized thought. These systems in tandem are the roses to the bread of living; otherwise, why else bother with it?
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