Working in Uncertainty

When I was learning to weave, I wasn’t quite sure what goes where, how much, or how long. I felt like I had too many hands and yet not enough. Eventually things gelled, skills built and when there was a problem, I knew how to solve it or at least where to begin to come up with a plan. 

The prep stages of weaving are often my favorite part of the process: measuring out the length of yarn for the warp (long yarns that get threaded onto the loom), and the slow, repetitive process of handing each yarn end multiple times to get it ready on the loom. There is a lot of repetition that is meditative for me. While my mind can wander a bit, I must be present in each task to ensure I don’t make mistakes or at least to minimize them.

The hardest part for me in weaving is bringing the idea in my head into existence. What colors to use? What materials? How do I want to weave it? Making functional items like blankets, towels is easier. Decide and then do it. But making art pieces is a totally different game. I am a process artist. I fumble and experiment to slowly realize the image in my head. The materials and the process of making are all informative to the result. I’ll admit that very often the finished product isn’t even the point for me. The artwork in these instances is the making.  In contrast there have been a handful of times that I know exactly what I want to make and then it is just a matter of doing it. 

Convergence 2014 20” x 23 ½” Woven Brocade - cotton, and rayon. 2014

Being an artist for me is a balance of certainty and uncertainty. Knowing what to do and how it will finish in the end vs. putting in the hard work, time and not knowing how things will be completed in the end, or even if they will be completed at all. Abandoning ideas, pieces and scrapping them happens a lot. After unpacking from our move, I’ve sorted through many items that I’ve kept to use the materials again.

Learning something new as an adult is challenging. By contrast, children are used to not knowing how to do many things. They are accustomed to learning new things in groups of their peers, and they have less ego involved with initially being really bad. Everything is new. The Buddhist have a term “beginners’ mind” that I’ve thought about a lot as I was teaching and again when I was in graduate school assisting other students. There is a golden optimism in the beginner’s mind. Everything is open, possibilities exist everywhere, and there is an eagerness to engage.  I’ve learned so much from beginner weavers who don’t know “the rules” or that “you can’t/shouldn’t do that.” I try to cultivate my beginner’s mind when I’m in the studio, leaving behind the should, shouldn’t and instead ask myself open questions to keep my curiosity in play.

Engaging with certainty and uncertainty can be challenging. The pandemic has thrown many of us into the realm of deep uncertainty. I remember the fear of the early days and trying to wrap our collective arms around things we thought we could control. In my own life, I’m having to admit to myself that I’ve had a year of upheaval. Most of it has been good, but some of it has been hard. Health issues, moving, fixing issues in a new home (a paradox after we’d already fixed so much in our old home), weather changes and relationship changes. I saw this meme the other day on social media:

Ouch.

I found myself sitting on the floor under my loom the other day having a moment. My current loom uses a new-to-me technology that has thrown me deeply back to the beginner stage. I do not yet have the knowledge to see how to correct the problem that I’m having. It is frustrating. My tolerance for frustration lately has been low. It’s been a challenging couple of weeks with many things needing solutions that are outside of my knowledge zone. So I complained about it on social media, and walked away from the loom. The next day I came back and broke the problem down step by step. I had done some reading and I had a better idea of what I needed to do. As I gain more experience with this loom, I know it will likely get easier.

For now, I’m slowly weaving on a piece or something. I’m using it to get to know my loom more, to feel the pleasure of yarn between my fingers and to sit with uncertainty in a neutral way. 

Work in progress.

In other news, a few weeks ago I applied for Art for Water, a division of Minnesota Water Stewards program offered by Freshwater. This program trains participants on water issues, and preservation of waterways. Being part of Art for Water, I will take all the trainings, work with local partners and create artwork to help inspire and educate others on water issues. I’m honored to have been accepted in the 2023 cohort! I’m looking forward to learning and working on the issues. My artwork has included water in them for years, and since moving to an area so rich in water resources, I’ve felt the pull to learn more. This opportunity will provide so much research and resources for future projects.

Watersheds: Open Door 24" h x 22" w x 1" d Cottons and linens. Hand dyed cotton, lace and linen manipulated fabrics, handwoven fabrics, hand & machine pieced with hand embroidery. 2022

We are hunkering down in the Twin Cities with many sub zero days. Yesterday was the solstice and the promise of more light each day brings hope and promise. Happy Holidays to everyone.

Frozen marsh and lake in the Twin Cities. Beautiful.

Congratulations on Becoming a Cougar: Or Why You Might Not Want to Go to Grad School (Especially in your Forties)

Molly Elkind kindly responded on Instagram about my last blog post. She was reminded of some things she learned in school and she did a follow up post that has got me thinking. I could do a post about why not go to graduate school….

Congratulations on Becoming a Cougar! was boldly printed on my acceptance letter to school. I reluctantly showed the letter to my husband. He of course found it hysterical and has delighted in reminding me many times how I’m twice the age of the students. As a woman “of a certain age,” a cougar has a very different meaning other than a college mascot.

In my last blog, I surprised myself on all the high points about going to graduate school. From my own experience as well as from talking to other MFAs it is not uncommon to feel ambivalent after completing school. Graduating felt a bit like stumbling off a fast-moving treadmill awkwardly at the gym. The whoosh of that express train leaving you behind was both welcome and destabilizing. There were no more huge, mandated deadlines unless I set them up. I also spent a long time catching up with life that had moved on without me. I finally saw and talked to friends, went back to meetings of the Weavers Guild of St. Louis, and made my face seen again. Most people understood why had disappeared for so long, but some friendships definitely suffered. I also had little urge to make my work for about a year after school ended. I learned other skills such as quilt construction and worked at the museum completing a large records reorganization project that I had started as a graduate assistant. This reluctance to make work hits many of us and I have seen a lot of my colleagues go through it as well. Eventually most of us circled back to working.

There was some unhealthy competition at school amongst the grads. The time clock keepers. These folks made note of when you got to the studio and when you left. They would make judgements and proudly tell you they were there for twelve hours. Or they never left. I’m not punching anyone’s time clock. This was my time, my education and none of their business. I can also assure everyone that they were not productive the twelve hours they were at school. As an older person, I have a house to manage, and a family that also needs my attention. School was a priority, but certainly not the only one. I also get tired and cannot work for hours on end anymore. I have chronic pain that I have to constantly monitor so it doesn’t get the better of me. I frequently spent a lot of time in my home studio. Working from home also meant less interruptions (i.e., can I borrow scissors, can you show me how to do this “really quick?”).

My first tiny studio space at school.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the cost of graduate school. I had a graduate stipend which required me to work for the school for ten hours a week and have my tuition waived. Stipend programs are usually competitive and generally you should apply early. Sometimes there are also grants from the school that will offset the costs. However, please note that this funding often doesn’t cover “activities” fees which are non-waivable. These fees pay for the school gym, student center and the various organized events that occur on campus. I seldom took the time to engage with them, but I paid for them anyway.

Be aware that some faculty at the school might not be on board with textiles being an art. Consider them in your selection of schools. Sometimes you will have limited contact with them, but during reviews of your work during your time in the program they may well be the people assessing your progress. “I don’t understand weaving so I can’t talk about this piece.” Having faculty feel they are unable or unwilling to discuss any artwork is ridiculous and it said a lot more about this faculty member than it did about me.

I also learned you have to find a way to push back against faculty, visiting artists, and students when it comes to critiquing work. We all have biases and sometimes they do not make for productive conversations. Determining when a conversation is not helpful takes discernment. Is it overly personal or is the overall intent to push you to make better work? There are always stories of students in tears after a critique was allowed to go sideways. Knowing how to talk to students about their work isn’t a universal skill set. Most professors/visiting artist do not have a degree in education. There are no classes to teach future professors how to be good mentors. It is learned and many do work on their pedagogical skills. They set the tone for critiques. If they have poor boundaries around this then class can get away from everyone. You do not have to stay in situations that are the result of poor boundaries. I didn’t experience abusive critiques in school. I did have one grad student talk on and on about himself in responding to my work. It got pretty comical. I finally interrupted and invited him to make his own piece, but that my work wasn’t about him. I also had a few studio visits that were not good. I thanked the person for the visit and moved the conversation onward or ended it. You do not have to let people waste your time.

 Graduate school for art can have a lot of drama, so much drama. Some students seem to be walking wounded and used critiques as a therapy session. There can be a lot of issues with immaturity especially if the program mixes graduate students with undergraduates. It is no joke that there are significant developmental differences with younger students. So much angst. It made me grateful for my older friends that were/are so generous with me.

If you are a non-traditional student, you might find yourself without peers or made the den mother or dysfunctional camp counselor (as I termed it). Know when to set limits. Working from home helped a lot with this problem.

On the other hand, I loved some of the mentoring I was able to do with students. As a former teacher, I miss the contact with students and seeing them learn and grow. During my time, I taught undergrads how to use an iron, thread a needle, use a sewing machine, helped them with a loom or weaving problem and referred them to resources. Being around beginners also has a hidden benefit. They do not know “the rules” and will try things that I never would have even imagined. I frequently learned from them and made note of their discoveries.

Finding the right program/school/mentor can shape your experience in school and have an impact on your career. The ideal mentor varies depending on the person. When I looked for a mentor, I wanted someone that I would have a lot of contact with. Some schools are research focused and faculty may not have a lot of time with students. I needed (and found) someone that was able to suss out my innermost unexpressed longings and reflect them back to me. I wanted someone demanding, constantly striving to move forward in thinking and in their own making. I wanted someone who would push me, listen, and ask questions. A mentor doesn’t just help you move through graduate school, but often is part of your life afterwards. They are a resource and sometimes you can return the favor to them. The interconnectedness of the field is very helpful and unique in many ways to textiles.

This is by no means meant to be a comprehensive list. I cannot really encourage you to go or not go to graduate school. This was only my experience and I’m sure I’ve left many things out. I wish I had kept that letter proclaiming me a cougar. Maybe my husband has it somewhere?

Paths of Becoming and Hierarchy Amongst US

 Recently, Rebecca Mezoff wrote a blog post for the British Tapestry Group about her experience of apprenticeship to becoming an artist. She expressed some of the push back she has experienced by not having an MFA. Molly Elkind followed up with a response on her MA degree.

There are a lot of ways to become an artist. You can learn on your own – study books, journals, take classes and workshops, you can find a mentor who will teach you, become an apprentice or you could go to university for a degree. The truest thing that I know is there is no one choice that will make you feel validated.

After many years of self-study, I began classes at a university to build a portfolio. I knew I wanted to pursue an MFA. I am a lifelong student. My MFA was my second master’s degree – clearly, I love the structure that school provides. There were other considerations as well in making my choice.

Could I have become an artist without grad school? Yes, but without the time constraints, I think it would have taken me a lot more time to find my voice as an artist and begin a cohesive body of work. School gave me a boundary. My work was important, and the expectation was that I would prioritize it. I had deadlines and thus I learned to put my work first and to carefully consider all the other demands on my time. I learned to say no to things that took me out of the studio. This is perhaps the most important thing I learned to do in school.

An MFA program gives two to three years of dedicated time to develop. Those years go fast! The time the program sets out should help put a boundary around time. For many artists, it will be one of the few times in their lives when they have a long span of time to do little else than to make work.

Art school is not just about learning to make something. Many people come into school with a history of making (insert your media area here). Skills will be fine-tuned, but the actual technique isn’t the focus. The focus is about the reasons why we make—the conceptual bases for the art, what we want to express and communicate.

I learned to find my voice in my work—why I make what I do, how to create a body of work and how to sustain a life as an artist. This is the skill I find so many non-academically trained artists longing for. The leap for me from making random pieces that seemed to have no relationship to each other felt so far beyond my grasp. I really needed a mentor to help me connect the dots.

In addition, students learn how to talk to people about their work one on one, larger groups and for audiences. Ideally students also learn to write about their work. Artist statements are key to helping convey ideas in writing to enter shows, residencies and grants.

Students learn how artists research. This is also a building block to professional studio practice. The introduction on critical theory and art gives a framework to understand the common themes and movements of art making. It was my first introduction to the formal study of art and art criticism. I read a lot in my three years of school and I continue to do so. The research that I did was particular to my voice as an artist and included writings on place and home, immigration, land and land uses, the language of landscape, nature writing and the history of textiles. For each artist this will be different.

The fact that artists spend a lot of time researching comes as a surprise to many people. They think we just make things one after another. Being an artist means always learning something new. We have to know a lot about a lot of subjects. Some of my biggest leaps forward in my studio come from a sentence in a book that flipped my understanding of a subject and propelled me forward.

School provided me with access to a variety of artists of all media, be they students, faculty and visiting artists. I was surrounded by equally dedicated people striving for something more. The importance of this cannot be understated. The environment should create a feedback loop. Everyone else is working hard, stretching themselves and pushing through. This inspires you to do likewise and then inspires others and on and on.

Formal and informal critiques are an important function of the time in school. Receiving feedback allows artists to know how we communicate through our work. It helps the times when you have questions about a work in progress or need some advice. This is the thing that most people say they miss after grad school. Setting up a crit group outside of school can be challenging for many artists.

An MFA is a terminal degree. There is no more schooling available no Ph.D. This is important if you ever want to teach at the college level. Depending on the program you will likely gain experience teaching. You may have opportunities to gain experiences in other areas such as working in a gallery.

So, what is the right path to become an artist? It depends. An MFA did not free me from doubting myself, from sometimes getting stuck, but it did teach me how to persevere.

Rebecca writes in the blog post about the bias against those not academically trained and against hobbyist weavers from professionals. I’ve given this a lot of thought and I can connect it to a larger bias of textiles not being seen as art but merely craft. A great book on this subject matter is String, Felt, Thread: The Hierarchy of Art and Craft in American Art by Elissa Author

Art is intellectual, classically defined as painting, drawing and sculpture. And who historically has done these intellectual arts? Who has made the hierarchy? Who has traditionally made textiles? Historically it has been acknowledged that the art craft split occurred during the Renaissance. Raphael made the drawing, and the craftsman wove the tapestry from the drawing. Raphael was the intellectual artist, and the weavers executed the idea. This workshop model is still common in contemporary art.

Getting an MFA in textiles did not remove me from the fight over what is art and who has permission to make it. We are part of a structure that benefits from the inner fights we have over who is valid and who has standing. When I first joined my local weavers’ guild, I felt a bit alienated. I was looking at work with another woman and chatting with her. She said she is just a hobbyist and she didn’t have the knowledge that I had as a university-trained weaver. Here is someone who has been weaving for forty years. Her understanding of structures is vast, and she shares that knowledge with others freely. She hasn’t just put in the time, but she has put in the hours of study. No one had to step in and cut us off from each other. We do it to ourselves.

It is up to those of us making textiles to push back against this arbitrarily forced hierarchy. It doesn’t serve any of us. Apprentice, university trained, lifelong self-study student, professional or hobbyist, just make the work, stop apologizing. You are not “just” a textile artist. You are an artist. I will write you a permission slip if that will help. Email me. I’ll send it to you.

View of the MFA Exhibition, May 2018