When we moved last year, I unofficially gave myself a year to experiment in my studio to see what would happen. I felt the urge to bring something new to my work. I was in search of something with little clue as to what it might be and where I would find it. I trusted (most days) that I would find it by working. For many months I would make something, sample, sketch and then chuck the work aside. Nothing had legs to move me forward. I would get really interested in a material or a technique and suddenly that excitement would just die. I kept working and trying to find that compelling thing to take hold. A few weeks ago, I drug out a bin of handmade papers I made my first semester of graduate school. I loved making paper. The process was compelling for me, hands immersed in water, the feel of the fibrous pulp flowing through hands into sheets of paper and the resulting soft deckled edges. I kept a few of my paper supplies with the move. I’m so glad that I did. I was ruthless in my pre-move purge and I’m sad to say that I did donate a few things that I wish I’d kept. I really never imagined that I would work with paper again.
A variety of handmade papers - layers of ideas and samples that I made long back in 2015.
At the end of May, I opened that bin and selected a few sheets of creamy paper and tore them down to roughly 9” x 9” squares. I then selected a few pieces of handwoven linen cloth. This cloth was the first that I had painted as warp, woven in my new space, on my new loom and I had cut it up bent on an idea that died. I appliqued this fabric onto the paper squares and soon I was off into a new body of work and into a new series. I’ve been stitching one almost every day and so far I’ve completed six of the planned nine from this series. I love the interaction of paper and weaving. I plan to explore this combination more.
The sixth piece of the series. Once the series is complete, they will be mounted and framed.
One of the most difficult parts of being an artist is the uncertainty that sometimes lingers. There are so many questions that are hard to ask, let alone answer. Most of the time the answers are within. I find answers through working, even when it isn’t going well. I find answers in following urges.
One of the urges I’ve been feeling is to introduce seasonality into my work. I want to bring the strong flow of the seasons in Minnesota to my studio work. What could I mostly do in the summer? My first inclination is to make paper outside, where I can be as messy as I please. This summer, I plan to set up some papermaking spaces and experiment. I also plan to visit the Minnesota Center for Book Arts and perhaps take some classes.
This work that I’ve began will likely launch me into work for the Art for Water project. I’ve completed the training for the MN Water Stewards, and my art proposal has been approved. I’ll show the work at the members’ spotlight space at the Hopkins Center of the Arts in October. While that seems like a far-off deadline, my work is slow and filled with the unknown. In the meantime, I’m continuing my education about water issues, water policy and learning more about wetlands. As I’ve been thinking about my growing relationship to the surrounding lands, I discovered a podcast called The Watershed, production of We are Water MN. The podcast tells stories of water and people throughout Minnesota. It covers everything from the Mississippi river, how we use and enjoy water, how artists respond to water, and ways communities and cities are protecting resources. It is a rich resource for thinking and education. It is exactly what I’ve been wanting since moving here.
A ship heads out into Lake Superior from Duluth in the early morning light.
Speaking of waters, in early May, I climbed down a ladder into the cold waters of Lake Superior as part of a Nordic sauna and cold-water experience. Superior’s waters are very cold. My body reacted the way I was warned it would – a sharp intake of breath and then hyperventilating. I held to the ladder and slowly immersed myself, the took control of myself and regulated my breathing. I told myself aloud, you are okay. It is okay. When my breathing leveled out, I began to understand that I was immersing myself into the knowledge of my Finnish ancestors.
The ladder into Lake Superior at Cedar and Stone Nordic Sauna.
The world has recently discovered the benefits of cold-water swimming. It is everywhere – TikTok, Instagram, YouTube. They did not read it in a trendy magazine, or a short video, rather they took part of cold water because that was what our culture told them to do. Sauna and then cold. One of the few stories I was told of my Finnish family was how they would jump in the lake after a sauna or roll in the snow in winter. My first sauna experience was amazing, and I am so glad that I didn’t shy away from the lake dip. There are many practices that I have learned over the years to teach mindfulness and to be in the body. Going from the steam into the lake really honed into that practice. I was in my body fully and I am looking forward to the next opportunity.
One of the saunas at Cedar and Stone in Duluth, MN.
