I like to think I know what I’m doing in my studio. I do know better.
Every so often something happens that just can’t be helped. Sometimes it ruins a perfectly good piece. Sometimes it transforms it.
I’ve been working on this piece for over six months. It’s taken time because it’s so large. Smaller pieces are easy to see, easy to feel secure about, easy to finish. Larger pieces take time.
I was having a problem with the moon. The Angelina fiber hadn’t fused well, and I was having trouble stitching it down. So I laid a corn starch stabilizer over it and stitched it down. It was fine until I poured water on it to dissolve the stabilizer.
I hung it up to dry. I didn’t realized what had happened until I had looked at it for some while the next day. There’s really only one Procion dye that bleeds after it’s washed out. Fuchsia is the stuck pig of the dye world. Dyes mixed with fuchsia also can bleed. Almost everything else is dye fast after it’s washed out. But there was fuchsia in the background.
It bled. It bled into the owl stitching itself. I bled too. Then I figured it out. The sunset was now in the owl’s face and wings.
I’ve always argued that art has a life of it’s own. It lives past the artist. It is shown places the artist can’t go, does things an artist can’t do. And it has it’s own problems.
Sometimes life changes a piece. It’s has it’s own life.
I’ve decided that the bleeding is like sunset, coloring the stitching as light colors life. Is it what I planned. No. It’s what happened. But I suspect it’s a good thing. And it’s simply what has happened. It’s not finished yet. But it has been changed.
I considered telling no one. But I’ve always been honest about my work, warts and all. I actually think I’m pleased with it.