I’ve been developing a new series called Blades. It’s grown out of what I started this Summer working with grass, both literally and metaphorically. The Grasses Series was an investigation started by printing with blades of grass on the silk screen. I was thinking about grass and how it is so common that we don’t see it except as a green expanse in a manicured lawn, or as weeds coming up where we don’t want them. The idea of “grass roots” as a powerful way to spread information becomes clear when trying to weed long underground shoots out of flower and vegetable beds. The resulting fabrics turned out very interesting but I didn’t end up using them as I had intended in the pieces I made this Summer. They were either too small, or just weren’t right for those pieces.

The pieces I completed this Summer, which will be in a group show called Olive Branch at Foster/White in their December, ended up being more about grains and are titled Emmer and Spelt. Only one piece said “grass” to me and I titled it Stipa, a latin name for a type of grass.

sketchbook images of blades

So I started working with the grass fabrics again this Fall, making some shapes that would work with them and the series morphed again. The grass shapes became Blades which have become a much deeper series than I originally intended. I currently have eight shapes made in paper and am planning on making four or five more. There’s another series brewing as well, the Cotyledons. I’m hoping to develop both of the series together. I’ve got three of the Cotyledons so far, hoping to do a good number of them along with the Blades.

I’ve been dyeing as I go along with the paper work. Although the fabrics may not be specifically for these pieces, I’m sure there will be some overlap. I’ve been trying to stay focused on working in the paper but sometimes I just need to take a break and get some color on fabric. These wet and dark Fall days have been good studio days for me. It’s easier to spend time concentrating in the studio when it’s raining outside.

I’ve been in transition lately. Where in the past the crispness in the air of Fall has been invigorating, this year it feels a little mournful. The busy Summer has moved into the new schedule of the school year. My oldest daughter started high school this Fall and both girls are starting earlier in the morning, which is challenging for the whole family.

The big transition happening in my studio life is that my wonderful, creative, inspiring studio-mate Anne Baumgartner is moving to Los Angeles. Anne is an amazing person and artist and has been an incredible support to me. I know she’ll be popping in and out and, as she says,”still has a Seattle address,” but it won’t be the same. I’ll miss you, Anne, your energy, your dedication, your integrity, your strength, your supportive ear, and your laser-sharp eye!

Not to say I don’t still have amazing studio-mates, Anna McKee, Paul McKee (that’s Paul E. McKee), and Pam Gray. They are all so very different and each of us adds our own special spice to the Easelstan mix. We’ll be having a group show (including Anne) at the Phinney Neighborhood Center in February. Look for news on that in the upcoming months.

But about those doors and windows.  I feel like I’m in transition in my art. I don’t know what the next thing is and it’s an uncomfortable place to be. There’s something different looming ahead but I can’t quite make it out. That feeling of being unsettled in my work bleeds into the rest of my life, I’m a little cranky, a little at loose ends. I’ve been through this before and it helps that I know it will resolve, but it’s still no fun to be here now.

In this unsettled place I figured the best thing to do was to make something, no matter what it is. I got the image of making this hanging piece for Anne as a gift to take with her. The image of the door with a window in it means new beginnings to me, with the window offering a peek at what’s ahead, but the piece has two sides, one looking into the future and one looking into the past. I hope that she finds a place to hang it in her new studio and occasionally thinks of me.

This is where I am now, the door isn’t open yet, but I can begin to make out what’s through it when I look out the window.