textile art

A Day Off: What Do I Do When I Can’t Sew?

| ellenanneeddy

Usually, Saturday is the day I prep the blog. Sometimes I’m a bit ahead. This week I was not. And last night my leg went out.

So when the ice and rain hit today, Don declared a studio day off. I spent the day working on photos of the new quilts I’ve just finished. And I decided to make meringues.

I’m a good cook, even if I’m a bit heavy in the butter, cream, and beef department. I’m pretty good most of the time. But every year or so, I have a state-of-the-art disaster: the chainsaw chicken massacre, where I tried to bake stewing hens. Or the time I made black and blue cornbread. I was making blue cornbread and the thermostat on the oven broke. Or Treebark in the snow. I had a jelly roll disintegrate while I was trying to roll it. There was no hope for it. I glued it together with raspberry jam, covered it in powdered sugar and called it treebark in the snow. People still ask me for that. I don’t think it can be reproduced/

I wasn’t very mobile, but I thought I could arrange things well enough that it wouldn’t matter. I prepped the meringue, put it in a pipping bag, started to pipe little stars and watched as incredibly sticky meringue oozed out of the top of the bag on to everything on the table. My cutting board. All the spoons and forks. The spice rack. Don’s computer. I had made meringue glue. Very effective.

So here are the quilts I made earlier this week before I glued everything in my kitchen to the piping bag.

It wasn’t a complete fail. Don liked the meringues enough to lick the beaters.

You can see it’s easier if I’m just allowed to quilt.

My leg is better today and the ice is gone, so I’m off to the studio. These quilts will be up on the site shortly.

In Reflection: Creating an Image Reflected in Water

| ellenanneeddy

i need to start this post with a full disclosure. I am deeply dyslexic. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was teaching myself, but the b’s, p’s and t;’s periodically spin like tops for me. I’m not so hot on left and right either.

So when I wanted to add a reflected image into water on a quilt, it wasn’t an easy thing.

I start most quilts start with a good dyslexic exercise. I draw in pencil and trace a copy with a Sharpie. The drawing is ironed onto the back as a pattern and is backward. My thread colors top and bottom are the same, so I know where I’m going. This is charted water.

But a reflection isn’t exactly the same. I wanted to put a reflection of the birds in royal rails.The reflection in the water needs to be flipped vertically. But not horizontally. Add to the confusion that if you trace the shapes with Steam a Seam 2, the pieces will be cut flipped horizontally. I thought I could accommodate that by flipping it upside down. Nope. That did not work. I ended up with feet that pointed the wrong direction, Here’s the thing. By the time you take the drawing, trace out the pieces for the shadow in organza and put them on to Steam a Seam 2 to glue them, they’re backward again.

I never figured it out for this quilt. When I put in the water there wasn’t enough space for the reflection. It whipped me.

I can see it if I make a model. If I try to hold it in my head, my head explodes.

I finally made a little model. Both images are flipped horizontally. The bottom frog is flipped vertically.

I made several color layers from the drawing tracing out the frog, the turtle and the snail bits in separate color layers of red, dark green, and light green. I laid the turtle layer over the whole drawing, and placed the cut-out bits in. It was tedious, but it worked.

Now what is left is to place in water over and under the shadow image. And add waterlilies.

I feel like I have a new tool for my tool box! All kinds of reflections coming.

In the Studio With Ellen Anne Eddy: A new Book

| ellenanneeddy

Every winter I take up a new project to get me through the snow. I try to learn something new. I try to accomplish something entertaining.

I’ve been wanting to make a book out of my blog posts. If you’ve been following my blog, you know that I try to bring you into the studio, messes and all. I like the transparency of walking you through my project, and experiments, sharing what I’ve learned.

I will not simply copy off the blog. I intend to weave it into a reference you can use for techniques, information, and inspiration. I’ll be covering design, color theory, techniques, tools, and materials you may never have tried before. Would you like that book?

Here’s my introduction.

Welcome to my studio!
Like most artists, this is where my mind lives. This is where the work of my hands exists. This is where my heart beats. This is where my soul breathes.
I’ve taught free motion stitchery for 40 years. You may think that means I’m out of date. But I’ve learned an immense amount about thread, about stitchery. about expression, and about healing hearts. Because we heal through expression. We heal by transforming our experiences into the works of our hands.
I’ve know that within the context of stitchery, I teach courage and confidence. Art takes both. The good news is that they are muscles that can be built as opposed to a gift you either have or don’t have. Our courage is best when we are children and we don’t care about whether we succeed or not. We simply do things and enjoy the task. We can lose that courage, but we can gain it back by suspending judgment and just doing.
Confidence comes from courage. It is the knowledge that we can only learn to do something well by doing it badly for a while. Everything worth doing is worth doing badly. We have confidence that in time we will do it well. With those two skills we can learn everything.
The articles in this book are based on years of blog posts. They are not slavishly reproduced. Instead they’ve been groomed into a collection of updated skills, projects, art statements and stories, meant as a guide for your own work.
I had a marvelous Bosnian neighbor called Hanifa. Hanifa baked unbelievable pies, baklava, and pastries. They were unassailable.
But she was a bit worried that anyone else might use her recipes. She would tell you anything, but she wouldn’t tell you everything. One or two ingredients or processes would be missing. Many times, enough was missing that your cake wouldn’t rise.
She was the best! She never wanted to be less than that. She was just a bit proprietorial.
I don’t need to be the best. I only need to do my best. But I’m very good at what I do. And I will never give you a recipe for a cake that won’t rise. Because I want you to be your best as well.
So welcome! I intend to show you everything.

This is where I need some help. Would any of you be willing to read and comment on this as I work on it? I also will be offering some small learning projects I need someone to help vet.

If you are able, interested, or have thoughts about this, please leave a message in the comments. As always, I want to write a book you want to have.

Yellow Birds: Following the Compulsion

| ellenanneeddy

Anyone who has written an art statement knows that meaning is illusionary. I think it may be whether you are visually oriented or verbally oriented. Verbally-oriented people can tell you what everything means. They understand their visual architecture. I find them fascinating because I can’t do that.

I get haunted by images, by different animals. and by small worlds. I work with those images until I’ve worked it out. Sometimes I have an idea of what it means. Mostly I don’t until and only after I’m long done. Somewhere my mind must know what it’s about. But it’s not conscious. Instead, the images need to work their way out.

This year, I’ve had a compulsion for little yellow birds.

Those of you who know me well, know I had a rough time in high school and before. I was targeted by people who chased me, hurt me, and humiliated me, while other nice little apaths stood against the wall and watched snickering. I do not want to hear I should be over this. You don’t get over this. It’s happened and it’s who you are, forever. Because it happened, you live in a world where it always could happen again.

It’s not that I remain a victim. It’s that I have no patience with bullies, sociopaths, apaths, and people bored enough to do this for fun.

So most of my quilts are social commentary. They’re about living in a dangerous environment where there are predators. They’re about finding a safe way through.

Not safe, necessarily. Livable.

So in a world where we are discussing canceling peoples’ basic human rights, we’re not to complain, and where we’re supposed to trust a rapist to protect us, it seems no surprise that I’ve had little yellow birds finding their way through my quilts.

May they find their way. May we find ours.

Branching out: A Different Approach to Bird Nests

| ellenanneeddy

I’m never really satisfied with my drawing skills. Drawing is like writing. The only way to get better is to keep drawing. I cut better than I draw. Which sounds stupid until you look at the cuttings Mattise did at the end of his life. He couldn’t paint with his limitations, so he did cut outs instead. They are magnificent!

I don’t know that my cut outs work that well. But I am more confident with them for floral/tree ideas. So when I went to make a rosiated spoonbill nest (which is basically sticks), I cut out branches rather than try to draw them.

Of course, they’re flat before you stitch them. There’s about three colors of brown hand dye in them. But the stitching is the definition.

Usually, I build bark with my stitching. With this much going on, it’s hard to see, but I added a layer and savaged it to make bark that pealed and curved.

This time I went for something a bit different.

Laws puts out drawing how-to and journaling books that I really like.

Not only does it show you how to draw an object. It gives you a thousand ways to see what it looks like at a different angle or at a different point of view. And how and why it changes. I turn to these books to push myself to better drawing.

Lost in the Woods: Redeeming design Decisions

| ellenanneeddy

Every piece involves an endless number of choices. Sometimes I think it’s fun to share them with you. Creation is a journey best taken with friends.

I love the woods. I can’t walk in them anymore. I can’t walk anywhere far at any length. But I can make the woods for myself.

I’ve been working on a roseated spoonbill for some while. I chose a fabric that had that deep wood blue greens in it. With a big pink bird on it, I knew I was on the right track.

I considered what kinds of trees I wanted. I wanted a deep wet swamp. Pine trees would work for that. I made beautiful deep green branches on them.

I pinned up my gorgeous trees and watched them disappear into the background.

Back to redesign. That kind of redesign takes me a minute. I left it up on the wall a bit to think. Yesterday I dusted the tops of the branches with the brightest light greens I had in my threads.

They looked much better.

Then I put them up and photoed them. They looked great on the photo wall.

Odd things happen with photos. I usually take photos of what I’ve done at the end of the day as a record of my process. I give the photos to the owners when they purchase a quilt to invite them into my process. I don’t always remember what exactly I did, so it’s a good practice.

This time the photos deceived me. The trees looked way too bright. But when I came back to the studio, they looked so much better.

I’ve had another problem with this piece all along. I couldn’t get the head pointed the right way. I cut the head off so I could reposition it, but it’s still not right.

Yes, you can cut embroideries apart. After enough stitching, who would know? I do it whenever needed.

So I separated the neck and tucked it in at a stronger angle. It pleases me more. She looks like the birds have disturbed her but she’s in motion.

Do I know what I’m doing? Don’t be silly. I try things, put them on the wall and stare them down until I’m sure.

The tool that makes this all possible is my photo wall. If I don’t take the time to look at it, I really won’t know when it’s not right. Why?

Because I don’t want to take the time. I want to get done. That doesn’t always work. Two days looking at the piece is infinitely better than knowing forever I needed to move something over 1/2″. Or ripping it out.

If you don’t have a photo wall, you should. You’ll never know what you’ve got until you really look at it. For more information about building a photo wall, look up Studio Essentials: The Glory of the Photo Wall

Gilding the Lily: Adorning Fabric Rubbings

| ellenanneeddy

A couple of weeks ago, I did a series of small rubbing pieces. I use rubbing plates and oil paint stick. I focused on different backgrounds, flowers, bees, dragonflies and butterflies. It’s an endless river of design choices in a tiny scale.

I’ve loved working with tiny pieces. It’s nice to have a quick result, and they’ve proved to be popular. Who wouldn’t want a delightful piece of art that fits everywhere and doesn’t cost much.

The rubbing plates I’ve been using are a limit of sorts. I still haven’t figured out how to make my own. I will. I want it bad enough, I’ll do it.

But I’ve enjoyed working with these flower plates to stretch what they might be.

But there’s another side. It’s soothing to spend a couple days just stitching. The rhythm of the machine, the movement of design, and the feeling of watch thread flow from the needle to the fabric all create a tao that’s gotten me through endless tough times. Demanding focus to actually color in the lines is very good for me. A lot of my stitching can be mindless. This is not. I have to try to hit the line.

I’m going to show you some of these before and after I’ve stitched them. It’s a magical change that always thrills me.

They are transformed by stitching. They’re lovely, just as fabric rubbings but they change in amazing ways, once they’ve been stitched.

These are supposed to be waterlilies. But with some background and color changes, I think they make fine Dahlias.

These are supposed to be forget me nots.

But I love them as carnations

But there’s another side. It’s a place to explore and work with colors differently and stitches differently. Not endless change, but small differences not tried before. Is there anything I haven’t tried. Of course there is. Move it over a quarter of an inch and add peach, and I’ll bet I’ve never done it before.

I’ll be finishing these little quilts in a day or two, and they’ll go up on the website and onto Etsy for sale. You’ll find tutorials on rubbings and stitching on the video page.

Take time to try things out in little ways or big ones, as your work needs. It feels great to stretch a bit.

Over and Over Again: Ladybugs, and the Need for Serieous Work

| ellenanneeddy

No. I did not misspell that. All art, all creative process is a journey where we ask questions about design, color, shape, materials and techniques. Each piece we do is an answer for the question. Do I make a big moon or a small one? Out of Angelina Fiber? Or tulle? Or that strange gold brocade I just brought home? Do I make rays? Or a big circle, or spirals woven into each.

How do you do the black and white parts of a ladybug? Bobbin work again, but showing different directions.

Put them all together and they make a series. Series work helps us answer a billion and one questions.

There are no right or wrong answers. But each quilt gives you other questions to try. And since experience is the best teach, each quilt is a new experience, even if you will never do it again. Try a new thread. Will it work from the top or shall I put it in the bobbin? This machine likes this kind of poly monofilament. Will it work better with a cone holder? Horizontal or vertical? Endless questions that can only be answered by an endless dance of doing.

But the other reason is fascination. We regularly explore bits of the world that fascinate us. I’m fascinated by bugs of all kinds, but in red? Red? Where’s the red?

Well of course, I now have a reason to explore all those reds together. What if she isn’t really red?

Do I find repetition boring? NO! I find repetition changes everything as we put together the puzzle of each piece

So, if there’s something I don’t know the answer to, I sit down with a pile of new work that just might give me the answer. I’m not repeating myself? I’m on a journey. Who knows what I’ll find.

A Can of Worms: Always Supply lunch

| ellenanneeddy

Nobody Loses All The Time

nobody loses all the time

i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle

Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added

my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when

my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner

or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol
and started a worm farm)

e.e.cummings

I’ve always thought of my creatures as being alive. Not in the sense of breath or heartbeat, but in having a purpose and a place of their own. They go places I can’t go. They do things for others I can’t do. They will live past me. I know I don’t control them, not even in the process of making them. They come from me, but I know they have lives of their own.

I also see them as beautiful. If it’s a beauty that scares me, that’s ok. I want to make them beautiful in what they are.

So when I make a piece, I build them the best world I can. Something that reflects their beauty in their place. And I always try to give them what they need. Along with the beauty of water and sky, earth and rock, I always supply lunch.

I’m a bit out of my depth when I do something like a flock of guinea hens. I see my birds, frogs, and bugs as splendiferous creatures with their own beauty. Barnyard stuff, not so much. But the point is to see something’s beauty in their space. So I provided the things I though would improve the barnyard esthetic. I added hollyhocks, ladybugs. and worms.

I’ve never done worms before much. But I wanted worms for my hens for several reasons. For one thing, they’re funny. I didn’t want cute worms with eyes. But these guinea hens remind me of the ladies at coffee hour after church. They are, by nature, silly. So the worm joke is practically implied.

I’d also noticed that the guinea hens, past their spots and funny hats are basically chickens with bad manners. They do like worms.

I also wanted a horizontal line feature that carried the eye in places across the canvas. Worms did that.

There was a small problem. The piece is purply brown. How do you make worms show up?

We ended up with some creative color choices.

I started with a medium brown, a red purple and then went into magenta, rust red, salmon pink, and a dusty rose for the highlights. The salmon pink looked way out of line when I put did that row. But the dusty pink settled it down to a proper worm color.

So now the guinea hens have their own buffet. Perfect for the after-church crowd. What a can of worms!