Bored of the Lawn

| ellenanneeddy

Don had his birthday last week. He and first wife exchanged cards with lots of sentiment. That seems not to be our style. I’m not so much a card girl. And he really doesn’t want anything. It’s kind of grim, and I can’t talk him out of it.

But he does like it when I make him a card.

I don’t work in paper. I’m not tidy enough to work in paper. Paper stains, it crumples, it gets old and foxed.

But I do work in fabric. And for certain special days, I make him a small quilt card.

These are not like my body of work. They’re silly. I used other people’s fabric. And I write silly sappy things on them. One of us ought to be romantic.

Years ago, I was ironing fabric in the garage where I had the mangle. To be companionable, he sat on his tractor to keep me company. What a guy!

Don does not like the outside. There are bugs out there. And noxious weeds. And too much sun, too much rain, too much of much. But he is meticulous about the lawn. Basically, he’s trying to make sure our dandelions aren’t much higher than the neighbors’. He has many lawn tools, but the tractor is his favorite. By this time of year, the thrill has worn a bit thin. He goes from Lord of the Lawn to Bored of the Lawn. Finally, the frost comes in, and that’s the end of that.

So I took my picture, put grass behind it, and ran it through the printer. Epic Fail. The ink was almost out, and we got this stripey odd image. But it only took up half of the paper. So we tried it with another printer and got a good print, meeting the bad print in the middle, upside down, kind of like a playing card.

Some mistakes are just too good not to use.

The other factor in mowing the lawn is the impediments. Like cats and their toys. And flowers. I left out the worst of these: a dog coat that got caught in the lawnmower. Much gnashing of teeth and sorrow over that. So they’re in the quilt.

We also have an owl in the neighborhood. We never see her, but she sings to us nightly.

Here he is in all his glory. He may be bored of the lawn, but he’s still at it.

If you still haven’t checked out my Patreon Page, please do. It’s a lot more articles and videos of technique and work lessons about art that blend seamlessly into fiber art, and it’s free to join.

If you are able, would you consider joining at a higher tier? It helps me keep my studio going so I can share what I do with you. I have a sale of special small quilts for paying patrons right now.

Courage and Confidence

| ellenanneeddy

When people ask me what I do, I tell them I teach machine embroidery for quilters. What I mean is that I teach them to draw upside down with a sewing machine.

The  classes I teach have a syllabus, but there is always another curriculum beneath that. While I’m teaching people to drop their feed dogs, draw with their sewing machine, and clean out the dust bunnies inside, something else is happening.

After years of teaching, my students tell me the same thing over and over. First they tell me they’re not an artist. I tell them they are. Art is not a special gift for one person or another. It’s a part of our humanity. The whole range of human ability sits within our genetics. It’s not a matter of whether we are artists. It’s a matter of whether we choose at this moment to focus on art. Sometimes our lives focus on art, and sometimes our art becomes living our lives. But the raw material is always there.

Once I’ve got them through that spot, they spend a day working on things that I suspect sometimes frighten them. But at the end of class they often say, “I don’t do what you do, but I feel free/fearless/able to do what I need to do for my own work”. That feels right. What am I teaching? Fabric skills are easy. Most people get what I do with a sewing machine within a day or two of class. But the heart of art is harder to examine. I’m teaching machine embroidery, but I’m also teaching courage and confidence.

Courage is not a feeling. It’s not about how we feel about our world, our actions, our art, and ourselves. Instead, it’s how we act towards those things. Feelings are basically fluid.  They come and go in waves. How we respond to, with, and in spite of those feelings is courage.  It’s a series of responses that we can learn.

Confidence is also learned but in a different way. Again, it’s not a feeling. It is a history of successes we hold up as a shield against new dragons and quests we take up. Again, we learn confidence. Sometimes we unlearn doubt and relearn confidence. We restructure our world in such a way that we know.

So, what scares you? Which piece have you put off doing because you think you can’t?

Many years ago, I saw a fountain with a cat head in it. I was delighted. I imagined all kinds of birds fluttering around it, as their personal bird bath.

I tried this fountain quilt 15 years ago. I’m not good with buildings. They have straight lines. It’s quite hard for me.

But I’d seen a cat head fountain. I tried it with owls. Epic fail. It’s still in a bundle in the back of the studio.

I had two stumbling blocks: the fountain itself, and the streams of water.

Time brings us skills. The oil paint stick rubbing I’ve been working on makes pretty good stone.

I’ve also been working on waterfalls. The same shape works with fountain spray.

Is it done? No. I have one more hurdle. I already know it’s not going to lie perfectly flat. It’s sat in the corner unfinished for a year.

The need for things to be perfect is a lack of both courage and confidence. Nothing is perfect. Perhaps it’s more interesting that way. And it’s not like everyone doesn’t know that perfect happens somewhere else. Other people don’t get to demand perfection. Excellence, yes. Perfection? Not so much.

So I need to find my big girl panties. They may be in the same pile as the quilt.

What I really need is the courage and confidence for the next step.

Finding Joy in Color: An Artist’s Journey

| ellenanneeddy

It might just be a change of scenery. Darker mornings. I’m finding I’m just a bit low lately.

I spent the year doing pretty much one project: The Octopus’ Garden. I have 2 more to go, but we’re on the downhill stretch. I’m proud of them, but I haven’t formalized a show for them yet. I don’t do well when projects are winding down. And it’s darker in the morning. Time for a little self-care.

I’m also reworking my social media. Facebook has decided they would like to charge ungodly amounts of money for the privilege of using more than 2 links per month on an account.

I’m sure some companies can do that without blinking. This small artist’s studio can’t. I need to find a better way to reach out to you.

Why is that so important to me? Most of you have been on this journey with me for a long time. We walk towards our experience, towards new skills, towards an expression of the world we live in. I’ve used Facebook a lot for that. I’m not going to disappear from Facebook. But I won’t be able to direct you to my work as easily. Or to connect as easily with yours.

If you are reading this, and it’s of value to you, please do two things. Subscribe, because I won’t be able to direct this to you with a Facebook link. And consider joining me on Patreon. Both are free. And we’ll still be able to reach each other.

I also have a Patreon promotion happening over the next two weeks starting next Saturday. I have 10 tiny quilts I’m offering to paying Patreon members for $60 plus shipping and tax.

So I’ve been low. Time for antidepressants. And the best one I know is COLOR.

I drew what I think will be my last octopus for a while. I love her. I’m planning on her juggling star fish.

When I went over to the thread drawers, I pulled out all my orange, yellow and purple. Just looking in the bag was like smelling coffee or baking cookies in the kitchen. So much better.

I love this part of the process. Filling in, creating the texture, melding the colors, all that is a joy zone for me.

It costs in supplies, but it’s not pills.

I intend to reach out in several new ways over the next couple weeks. Let me know what works for you.

Adding Elementals: Building Depth

| ellenanneeddy

What is that weird fabric in your sash?

For years now, I’ve kept a stash of sheers and lace. It’s essential for my work. It’s one of the reasons I’m really mourning the loss of Joann’s. I use several techniques to create elementals in my work.

What’s an elemental?

An elemental is something see-through or transparent in a piece: water, air, sunlight, fire, and mist are elements you can see. They usually don’t have a hard edge. Layers of sheers make a translucent element that creates that effect. It shifts the background either in color or texture.

Lately I’ve been using oil paint stick rubbing as well. It’s a very different process, but it serves the same purpose. The background shines through, but the rubbing gives a soft edge of paint, defining the details.

I’ve been using both to stretch my ability to show something that’s essentially ephemeral. I can overstitch them if I want them more defined.

How do you build in layers?

My first layer is always hand-dye cotton. It has its own story in the dyeing. Light source hand-dye gives the best background with the story already written in. But where I want to build something not solid, I turn to layers.

The paint stick layers almost have to go first. That’s somewhat scary for a large piece because there’s no way to remove them. You need to get it right at the first pass or you need another background. Choose your rubbing plate, and anchor it to the table. Use spray glue to anchor your fabric. Remove the edge film on your oil paint stick and rub away. Let it dry for several days and iron it to make it permanent. I could do the waves just in stitchery. But the oil paint stick rubbing pops it off the surface.

In contrast, you can plan sheers and rearrange them indefinitely. I use Steam-a-Seam 2 as my fusible. It has two pieces of release paper and a glue layer in the center. It pats onto my fabric. I cut my shapes and then peel off the release paper. I can place and replace them anywhere until I iron them down.

What does that buy me?

Elements that still allow me to see the background but shift color and texture. I have water, waves and weeds, all of which are very visible without overwhelming or hiding the background.

Elementals are a big part of my work. So much of nature is in layers, peeking out from each other.

For your information, if you’ve been enjoying this blog and finding it through Facebook, I may not be able to supply a link on Facebook anymore. Their rules have changed. Please subscribe to the blog and/or join my Patreon page so you won’t miss a post. Both are free. I post the blog every Sunday, and post 3 times a week on Patreon: Show Off Saturday, Technical Tuesday, and Art Attack Thursday. I’ll continue to post in Facebook, but I may not be able to supply links to those other pages. See you there.

Visual Structural Language: The Decisions Before We Take A Stitch

| ellenanneeddy

Recently, I was working on the rocket octopus’s background when I made a pretty large boo-boo. I was putting shell rubbings along the bottom. I got turned around and put them down the side rather than at the bottom. This was my best original pin-up

As boo-boos go, it was pretty bad. I can turn the quilt on the side as if my rubbings weren’t a mistake.

None of the answers for that were great. I could turn the quilt over and use the other side. There’s no backside to hand-dye, so I could do that. I’d lose the darker right corner, and I knew I’d miss it.

But that made me realize. This is one of the decisions we make before we take a stitch. It changes how the whole quilt works.

A vertical layout pulls the eye up, just by its nature. It removes the subject from us a bit. It creates a distance.

A horizontal layout gives a more expansive and inclusive view. It welcomes us in. There’s space for us in the imagery.

Is either of these things wrong? Of course not. But it’s worth knowing what that tells us within the piece.

These are the decisions we make before we take a stitch in a piece. I suspect that unless we’re forced, either by error or design, to change it, our original idea is probably the right one. The eye knows long before you can explain it to anyone. We make the right decisions, even before we know the question. It’s a serious visual clue at the heart of the design.

We are talking about a visual structural language: communication through images, shaped by how they’re ordered within the piece. It’s not verbal. The positioning itself communicates something we need to know about that piece. Another orientation wouldn’t be wrong. It would tell us something different.

At this point, I think I have the right orientation. If I swap my red and blue octs, it may even work.

What do you think?

What’s In A Name? Naming Your Art

| ellenanneeddy
Creeper?

It’s always a question. Sometimes we have better answers than others.

There is the mechanical approach: Study 225, Floral Composition or Noir 393. I do number my tapestries just to keep the confusion down. I have 1,219 documented quilts. I have to keep track somehow. I number them with their place in line, and add the year. This quilt is 1219-26.

It’s helpful. But that’s an awful name.

The name is something else. Your relationship with your piece starts sometimes before you start. An image that grabs you. Notes from a song. Colors in the garden. It gets inside you and swirls with your imagination. Sometimes that sugguests the name.

As you bring the piece into the world, step by step, you know a bit better what it is, what it means. Maybe. Sometimes I don’t for years. But you have to call the piece something other than “Hey you!”

Pretty Bird

If it’s a bespoke piece, I let the owners tell me. Their relationship with the piece is much more important. They tell me what it’s called.

Pinkie

Sometimes I do an art joke. The name should let people into the joke. Pinkie is an art joke. She was made as the spoonbill version of Reynold’s Pinkie.

Sometimes it’s a quilt in a series. I have a number of Floral Arrangements, because I’m fascinated with the idea of bugs as gardeners.

Fish Rising

The fish in the stream series echos that. The names aren’t all the same, but it’s such a strong image for me that I am compelled to come back to it again and again.

Royal Rails

Sometimes the creatures themselves name the quilt.

Rose Owl

Sometimes the components around the piece tell you what is going on. The roses and the moths display a warm spring night, scented by roses, and attended by moths.

You gather the pieces and you tell yourself stories about it. I find the background tells me the most. And it changes the story entirely. It tells you where and when this is happening.

This quilt started from some research where the octopus looked like they were creeping across the ocean floor. Even while swimming. I started to call him creeper.

He’s not that sinister. But he’s definitely hunting.

Sometimes, the title sticks. And you use it. Or you search for something else.

I can’t call this guy creeper. I’ve got to do better than that.

So how do you name your quilts?

Can you help me give Creeper a better name?

The Fourth Pin-Up Girl

| ellenanneeddy

If you’ve been following my posts, you’ll know I’ve been on a quest to clarify my process. It started with my process photos. I found I’m quite rigid with how I create work. It always feels like play. But the structure has to be the same, because the steps build on each other.

Pin-ups are a dress rehearsal. Mostly I use component quilting as my work model. I start each quilt with a central image. Then I add embroidered components around that image until it makes sense. At some point, I have a pile of embroidered bits and the background. That’s when I do a pin-up.

Why four? That isn’t rigid. As the pieces develop, you need a dress rehearsal to figure out how they work together. Whenever I’m not sure of the next step, I do a pin-up. Some pieces, I can pin them up and I know. Some take endless pin-up sessions. I place my components into the quilt on my design wall and stare at them for a while.

This one has taken four pin-ups so far.

What have I learned?

  • The octopus must be on an angle to work.
  • Yellow fish are too bright. The orange fish work better.
  • This is a dramatic background but it really doesn’t have a light source. I could build one but it’s busy enough already.
  • Too pink tentacles are too much.

Angle better than straight

Orange fish better than yellow

Overwhelming pink tentacles.

I wouldn’t know if I hadn’t tried it all in the pin-up.

I also fixed the tentacles so they’re better in place.

My best studio tool is the design wall. My most important process is to pin things up and really look. Because if I get it wrong and I stitch it down, I have the choice of it never being right or ripping for days.

Color by Contrast and Cast: Adjusting Your Tone

| ellenanneeddy

Whenever I work in beiges, I get in trouble. Perhaps I’m not in well enough with St. Kim the almost-virgin martyr, who is the patron saint of beige. It’s off my map. Perhaps I should light a candle.

When we think of color, we think of hues. Red, blue, green, yellow.

But color is so much more complicated than that. Which is the frustration of kindergarten crayons in a box. Too simple to be of much use. Hue alone is only a starting point.

Color is defined by many factors. What matters sometimes is not the hue, the raw color itself, but the contrast between the other factors. Extreme contrast sparks our interest and makes the definitions clear.

There’s a quilters’ tradition for this. Log cabins and shade and shadow quilts have always been built on a dark side and a light side. You separate your fabric, not by color, but by value, how dark and how light the fabric is. This quilt is divided dark and light, but the cast of the colors is a soft beige. It’s defined by what they left out as much as what they included.

This trick works for a million and one quilt designs. But all color is color. It works in thread work as well.

I’ve been working on the next octopus, which is striped in black and white. I could have done that. But it’s dull past hope. Shading black and white is a great exercise, but I didn’t want it for this piece.

Here’s where I got myself into trouble. Those somewhat pink tentacles are a bit disconnected from the sand-and-gravel colors of the octopus’s outside. Pretty but wrong.

The background surprised me too. I had been looking at some murky colors. But when I put up this piece, it was it. I didn’t even pin up something else. But it was loud.

I quieted it with some soft elemental seashells in neutrals. Pretty, but not enough.

I dulled down the yellow fish. I stitched several colors of purple over them to give them some depth and to dull them. Again, not enough.

I made some fish to match the under tentacles.

Of course, I missed the idea of changing the octopus. I gilded the octopus. This odd green-gold thread has become a favorite shader lately. It shifts the tone of the piece. Big change.

Anytime you go off your map with a piece, you’re in for an adventure.

I have high hopes for this piece, but it’s taken a bit of maneuvering to get there. We’ll see how the pieces go together.

Hummingbird Commission 4: The Background and the Applique

| ellenanneeddy

You would think that the background doesn’t have that much impact on a quilt. Something pretty to showcase your basic image, right?

Not my experience. The background sets several things in place. It sets the time of an image. And each background tells a different story. The images tell you the who and what. The background tells you how, why and where.

Here are the backgrounds we chose preliminarily for this piece.

They’re all good choices. They tell a different story. Is it daytime or night? Is the flower alone, or is it in a garden? Size tells you different things as well. Smaller pieces are more intimate and look more intricate.

Since this is a commission, it’s the owner’s choice. She wanted the soft background with lots of flowers.

I love these oil paint stick rubbings! I usually overstitch them to accentuate the texture. I did that here as well

Lately , with paint stick backgrounds, I’ve been stitching the whole background, rather than applying my image and stitching the background around it. It makes a smoother piece, and it blends in better.

These are stitched from the top with polyester Neon Madeira. Since I’m following the rubbing, I need to have it on top where I can see it.

Buto it’s still worth looking at it from the back. You can see the unstitched part that will be covered by the flower.

Here’s where the flower fits in. I edged the flower with an angled zigzag stitch, echoing the colors I used in the petals.

For the hummingbird, I wanted him to pop. So he got outlined in black. It sounds unoriginal, but black always has more impact and leads to a more defined edge.

We’re ready to back and bind here. Thanks for taking this journey through this quilt with me!