A Studio Tour

It has taken me longer than I imagined to settle into my studio. I mostly had things unpacked and in place at the end of August after we moved in July. There have been small tweaks and some equipment came and went. Shelves were built, worktables in place and yet it didn’t quite feel right. I didn’t feel really compelled to be in the space and I wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

Design wall to the left. Fabrics stick to the flannel so they can be viewed, photographed and observed. Quote on this wall is from a Mary Oliver poem. Work table and drawers to the right.

When winter set into the land of 10,000 now frozen lakes, I figured I’d go heads down to work. I did for the most part, but I felt unfocused and meh about a lot of things. Last week that began to change. I added another bookcase to capture the height of the room. It allowed my reference books to spread out more, keepsake display space and supply bins to hide clutter to now have a place. They are easily reachable, but visually the shelves are clean.

Antique shuttles that I’ve been given. So many books!

My poor parents would be amused to know that as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more fastidious about mess and clutter. I’ve worked in a variety of studio spaces, some shared and I know I work best in clean spaces.

Work tables for various tasks. Computer area items can be condensed for hand stitching as well.

This weekend my husband and I built another bookshelf for the space behind my loom for yarn storage. I had a shorter shelf there before and the whole area was a bit of a chaotic disaster. Now I have covered storage for colored yarns, shelves for white coned yarns and the clutter has a place to go. Most of it was rehomed into my storage area as we moved the smaller shelf there.

Main weaving area. Tools for weaving in the drawers, yarn in the cabinets and winding items for yarns on the table area.

Next, we painted the bathroom. Before it was a late 90s/early 2000 shade of dark teal with dim lighting. We painted it the same color as the studio walls and installed daylight bulbs above the vanity. It is transformed and it just feels better. There is a ridiculous amount of storage in this bathroom. The vanity drawers are full of shop towels, measuring spoons and cups, the cupboard holds drop cloths, dye powders and the shower has bins and a rolling cart tucked inside. I feel very fortunate to have a space with a wet area. The shower makes an excellent place to tuck wet yarns and fabric into for drying.

The bathroom that offers more artwork display space! A large and hidden drawer on the vanity base offers more storage. I didn’t discover it until a few weeks ago.

Today’s project was to reclaim the space under my main worktables. We had a four shelf wire unit that was sitting unused. I measured it and realized it would be perfect under the tables as two units with two shelves.  It now holds rolled textiles, shipping box with pool noodles for textiles rolls, and various other things that I need here and there.

Captured space with room to grow.

I’m all about capturing as much space as I can in studios. Textiles is an equipment dense pursuit and the clutter of it can be overwhelming. Finding a home for each tool or supply takes time and there are many tweaks. I get annoyed when I go to look for something and can’t find it. It’s inefficient and can break the workflow. One of my favorite studio tools is a label maker. All drawers and closed storage bins are labeled.

Sewing area with printer tucked under. Printer shelf is on wheels now so it can be pulled out for expanded use. Rolling cart has weaving yarns that can be moved when I’m at the loom.

One of my favorite thing in my studio can be found in the storage closet. I used a small wire rack to organize loom reeds and tools. I don’t know why but speciality reed storage are crazy expensive.

It isn’t a Pinterest studio space for the most part. The main workspace is organized, clean and spacious given what I have in it. There are tight areas around the loom, but it works.

And I’m working too. I feel excited to get to the space in the morning and I’m finding it hard to leave at night. I like being in the space, ideas are flowing, and I’ve started making a daily list of tasks I hope to get to that day.

On the list for tomorrow is this weaving that I began in the last post. It is off the loom, and I have some hemming to do before doing some more work on it. Will it be a piece? I don’t know, but there is an idea there that calls to me. So, work will begin on it tomorrow.

Another favorite part of my studio is this saying above the utility room door.

“Minä istun iloissani ja annan surun huilata.”

“I sit here contented while sorrow catches its breath.”

 The Finnish saying came from a letterpress artwork that we have framed in another part of the house. I had a bit of an exchange with a Finnish instructor, and he thought that contented wasn’t a strong enough word – delighted, maybe. I’ll stick with contented. It seems like a deeper more lasting feeling.  I’ve found it here in the wild and wintery north.

The marsh is frozen over while we bask in the sunshine.

 

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.

Kaipuu: Longing

Last week I listened to an episode of Brené Brown’s Unlocking Us podcast that was ­­perfect in its timing. Susan Cain (author of Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking) spoke about her new book Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole, to be released in April. Cain spoke about the link between bittersweet and melancholy. Life isn’t all positive vibes only; we need to know where the edges are in order not to fall off. I’ve always had a melancholic side. For instance, I sometimes love to listen to music that makes me ache inside to remind me I’ve experienced and survived many hard things.

In the last year I’ve tried to bring my attention and focus to the here and now – to try to be present in the moment. Our impending out-of-state move has tested this emphasis as the very act is about future focus.

As I take my daily walks, I notice spring return and the shift into potential of what will soon emerge and flower. It is one of my favorite times of the year.

crocus flowers at Missouri Botanical Gardens

A restlessness has descended on my family as we near the time of our move. For the moment there is nothing to do – all the prepacking is complete. We took a sizable load of my studio boxes and equipment up to storage in Minnesota a couple of weeks ago. The walls of our home are empty for the first time in memory, and we don’t feel at home here anymore.

On the drive we saw flocks of geese migrating north and the urge to join them even now is overwhelming. Our migration time has a few weeks yet, but the pull north is strong.

A few books I didn’t pack yet. Ever the optimist, I thought I’d have so much time to study.

When we drove into Minnesota, I kept my eyes open to spot the groves of birch trees that I’ve missed since our last trip north. I remember the first time I saw them and thought there they are. This time when I spotted them, I thought here I am. I made a piece in 2019 with text on it with the words “here” and “there” and below them “Those that came before.” It was the first work postgraduate school fog and I made it largely on instinct with experimentation. At the time I didn’t understand the full meaning of the words. “There” feels in the distance, a point of reference not close to where I stand. “Here” in contrast is where I am, and the beginning of an orientation point on a map.

Memory Map 1, 2019

8" h x 8" w x 1"d

Cotton and linen.

Hand dyed fabric, machine and hand embroidery. Mounted.

I spoke with a group of artists the other day about themes in my work and I shared that I’ve been thinking about and circling back to themes of home, place, maps, and location for most of my life. I grew up in the Midwest and would fly out to visit my mother in the southwest a couple of times a year. I grew to love the high desert landscape and the mountains. When I would come “home,” I would feel out of sync, alienated until I adjusted back into the lush humid hills of Missouri. I felt home in both places but never really at home. I remember trying to express this disconnect, but I never found people that seemed to understand my sensitivity to land and place. For most, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference where they lived.

I ran across a paper that I wrote for an undergraduate literature class that explored home in literature, film, and songs. I can see the early thoughts express themes that I would later go on to create visual art about and now write about again

In all our preparation, I feel a sweep of bittersweetness in leaving my home. Growing up in this place, I can point to so many memories both good and bad. There are ghosts lingering everywhere. I’m longing for a place of my own, without a familial history to haunt me. Sometimes we must move toward the life we could have, even if we aren’t clear what it will look like.

 

Coming home to a place he’s never been before.
— John Denver, "Rocky Mountain High"

References

Brown, Brené. "How sorrow and longing make us whole, part 1." Unlocking Us Podcast. March 23, 2022. https://brenebrown.com/podcast/how-sorrow-and-longing-make-us-whole-part-1-of-2/

Cain, Susan, and Min Kym. The hidden power of sad songs and rainy days. July 2019 https://www.ted.com/talks/susan_cain_and_min_kym_the_hidden_power_of_sad_songs_and_rainy_days.

Gilbert, Elizabeth. Not this. Essay posted on Facebook. April 12, 2016. https://m.facebook.com/GilbertLiz/posts/not-this-back-by-popular-demandsweet-friends-for-some-mysterious-reason-that-i-s/1004594839622631/