Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Change of pace
The two parts of making a quilt -- piecing the top, then sandwiching and quilting it -- require two very different processes, mindsets and workspaces. When you finish one, you need to clean up all three areas, literally or metaphorically, before you can move on to the other.
Here's my sewing machine space in piecing mode, with a cutting mat and huge pile of stripes at hand, some cut wide for the "bricks," some cut narrow for the "mortar" in my piecing technique.
Underneath the machine's deck is a pile of tiny, tiny bits, probably too small for sane people to keep, but I always have a parallel project going, making little compositions onto my sew-off squares, and use the tiny bits for this purpose.
It took a day's work to get all the strips neatly folded and stowed away, then to get the large work table cleaned up from cutting. All the uncut fabric had to be folded up and put away, then the table cleared off so the quilt could be laid out and sandwiched.
The card table that I set up behind my sewing machine to support the quilted bundles had also silted over since I had last needed it, and I had to put down a big plastic tablecloth to cover all the bumps and edges of the varying surfaces that could snag a tied quilt bundle.
But finally all my excuses were gone, and I had to actually start quilting.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
Nuclear physics and life
Today's my birthday so perhaps you will indulge me for a bit as I muse about subjects that don't have much to do with art. I was intrigued to read in the paper yesterday that scientists have finally found evidence of the Higgs boson particle, which is widely described as the building block of the universe.
As a kid I was a math and science geek, and was fortunate enough to take advantage of the post-Sputnik enthusiasm for same. When I was still in high school I got to attend a summer program to take a college course in nuclear physics (loved it!) and it occurs to me that had the road not turned, I could have been one of the scientists working on the search to understand where everything comes from.
But the road did turn, I abandoned nuclear physics after that one course, and soon abandoned math and science entirely, at least for decades. I've come across my bluebooks from that summer and cannot understand a single word or equation I wrote. Over the years I have occasionally felt guilty that I don't know much about physics, and tried to read news coverage of the continuing quest to discover the smaller and more exotic particles, but I still don't understand it. Yet I keep reading -- or more accurately, keep skimming.
Yesterday I came across a wonderful passage in the New York Times coverage: "The finding affirms a grand view of the universe described by simple and elegant and symmetrical laws -- but one in which everything interesting, like ourselves, results from flaws or breaks in that symmetry."
Now think on that for a bit. How many of the interesting parts of our lives come from the turn in the road, the magic moments when the symmetry broke -- the stranger across a crowded room, the great teacher who inspired us to go in a different direction. Or equally, the black magic moments -- the diagnosis, the tornado.
And bringing it back to art after all, isn't art often about the breaks in symmetry? For instance, the traditional quilt, so symmetrical, so perfect, so boring. And then one day somebody thought she might change a little bit in the corner, put in a pink patch where a red one "belonged," and it started being art.
Go make some today.
But the road did turn, I abandoned nuclear physics after that one course, and soon abandoned math and science entirely, at least for decades. I've come across my bluebooks from that summer and cannot understand a single word or equation I wrote. Over the years I have occasionally felt guilty that I don't know much about physics, and tried to read news coverage of the continuing quest to discover the smaller and more exotic particles, but I still don't understand it. Yet I keep reading -- or more accurately, keep skimming.
Yesterday I came across a wonderful passage in the New York Times coverage: "The finding affirms a grand view of the universe described by simple and elegant and symmetrical laws -- but one in which everything interesting, like ourselves, results from flaws or breaks in that symmetry."
Now think on that for a bit. How many of the interesting parts of our lives come from the turn in the road, the magic moments when the symmetry broke -- the stranger across a crowded room, the great teacher who inspired us to go in a different direction. Or equally, the black magic moments -- the diagnosis, the tornado.
And bringing it back to art after all, isn't art often about the breaks in symmetry? For instance, the traditional quilt, so symmetrical, so perfect, so boring. And then one day somebody thought she might change a little bit in the corner, put in a pink patch where a red one "belonged," and it started being art.
Go make some today.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
The pros and cons of anonymity
I wrote yesterday about a couple of comments left on my blog that took me to task about inappropriately comparing Quilt National to the State Fair. One of those commenters, Anonymous, who apparently was in a crabby mood, didn't stop there; she also was unhappy with my remarks about an unnamed quilter whose work I didn't respect.
She (or he?) wrote: "As for the quilter you have no respect for, why the sudden coyness? Name the quilter and stop hiding behind vague accusations."
Well, I'm not going to. For one thing, 99.9 percent of my readers wouldn't know her anyway, so what's the point? For another, I can't see that the quilter's name was relevant to the anecdote, which simply noted that it's easy to be seduced at first glance by flashy colors, which can distract you from poor design.
The hardest part of a critic's job -- at least, any critic who isn't a sadist -- is to know what to say about work that isn't very good. Movies are probably the art form in which you're most likely to read a bad review, because a lot of people look to the critic for guidance on whether to plunk down their eight bucks tomorrow. Critics are also likely to pan bad concerts or plays, for the same reason.
In the art world, critics in real newspapers rarely review bad shows, unless the artist is famous. Recently I've read negative reviews about shows by Cindy Sherman and Damien Hirst, to name a couple of really high-profile examples. But publications tend not to waste space saying bad things about artists at the lower ends of the food chain.
So what about bloggers, specifically me? I write a lot about work on exhibit, both fiber art and general art; whenever I attend a show or a museum I write about it with as many photos as possible, and comment on individual pieces as well as the show in general. I confess that I am far more likely to comment when I like a piece than when I don't, although that has happened on occasion. When I don't, I usually write in generalities (for instance, too many of the quilts had glitter) rather than in specifics (Suzy Q's quilt was ugly) because that's probably more interesting and helpful to the readers.
I don't think I'm hiding, as Anonymous suggested. I'm not afraid to be flamed, which is likely to occur when you say anything at all negative. A couple of months ago, for instance, I got in big trouble for saying I liked a quilt but hated the way it was photographed because you couldn't see the whole thing. (Good thing I didn't say I hated it!) I'm perfectly willing to speak up when I see things that I consider weak or dumb or thoughtless or whatever.
However, I don't see the point of gratuitous cruelty. To a certain extent, that ties my hands a bit. My comments about crappy quilts might be more interesting if I showed you photos of some, but it's just not worth it. I suspect you readers can fill in the blanks -- when I talk about an unnamed artist whose work I don't respect, just think of some artist whose work YOU don't respect, and see if the shoe fits. Sorry if you think I'm being coy; I prefer to think I'm being kind.
And by the way, speaking of anonymity, I have been told that the Blogger interface sometimes makes it difficult for people without Google accounts to leave comments. Here's a tip, in case you would like to comment without being identified as "Anonymous." After you type in your comment, it asks you to "choose an identity." You can choose "Name/URL" and then type in whatever name you want; leave the URL box blank.
She (or he?) wrote: "As for the quilter you have no respect for, why the sudden coyness? Name the quilter and stop hiding behind vague accusations."
Well, I'm not going to. For one thing, 99.9 percent of my readers wouldn't know her anyway, so what's the point? For another, I can't see that the quilter's name was relevant to the anecdote, which simply noted that it's easy to be seduced at first glance by flashy colors, which can distract you from poor design.
The hardest part of a critic's job -- at least, any critic who isn't a sadist -- is to know what to say about work that isn't very good. Movies are probably the art form in which you're most likely to read a bad review, because a lot of people look to the critic for guidance on whether to plunk down their eight bucks tomorrow. Critics are also likely to pan bad concerts or plays, for the same reason.
In the art world, critics in real newspapers rarely review bad shows, unless the artist is famous. Recently I've read negative reviews about shows by Cindy Sherman and Damien Hirst, to name a couple of really high-profile examples. But publications tend not to waste space saying bad things about artists at the lower ends of the food chain.
So what about bloggers, specifically me? I write a lot about work on exhibit, both fiber art and general art; whenever I attend a show or a museum I write about it with as many photos as possible, and comment on individual pieces as well as the show in general. I confess that I am far more likely to comment when I like a piece than when I don't, although that has happened on occasion. When I don't, I usually write in generalities (for instance, too many of the quilts had glitter) rather than in specifics (Suzy Q's quilt was ugly) because that's probably more interesting and helpful to the readers.
I don't think I'm hiding, as Anonymous suggested. I'm not afraid to be flamed, which is likely to occur when you say anything at all negative. A couple of months ago, for instance, I got in big trouble for saying I liked a quilt but hated the way it was photographed because you couldn't see the whole thing. (Good thing I didn't say I hated it!) I'm perfectly willing to speak up when I see things that I consider weak or dumb or thoughtless or whatever.
However, I don't see the point of gratuitous cruelty. To a certain extent, that ties my hands a bit. My comments about crappy quilts might be more interesting if I showed you photos of some, but it's just not worth it. I suspect you readers can fill in the blanks -- when I talk about an unnamed artist whose work I don't respect, just think of some artist whose work YOU don't respect, and see if the shoe fits. Sorry if you think I'm being coy; I prefer to think I'm being kind.
And by the way, speaking of anonymity, I have been told that the Blogger interface sometimes makes it difficult for people without Google accounts to leave comments. Here's a tip, in case you would like to comment without being identified as "Anonymous." After you type in your comment, it asks you to "choose an identity." You can choose "Name/URL" and then type in whatever name you want; leave the URL box blank.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Bad analogies
I posted the other day about how many "art quilters" use flashy color and embellishments to conceal the fact that the bones of the piece -- the design and composition -- are wobbly. Borrowing a remark from somebody writing about painting, I commented that such works are "all frosting, no cake."
Then I wrote: "All frosting, no cake -- that's as good a description of a large portion of the 'art quilt' world as anything else you could come up with. Unfortunately it's probably easier to find some of these no-cake wonders than it is to find quilts with more rigorous art underpinnings.
Go to the State Fair, for instance. The judges are knowledgeable to the point of hysteria about stitching, binding and making points match, but generally have no training in design. Go to the quilt shop, and find patterns and samples that showcase the latest fabrics but don't go much beyond cute in the artistic department. Go to the magazines and books, and find project recipes complete with patterns and directions so you can replicate somebody else's superficially attractive creations."
Then I observed that venues that do value the cake over the frosting are fewer and harder to find, but mentioned Quilt National as one that does focus on the art.
A few people commented that this was a bad analogy.
Kathy wrote: "But these particular venues don't claim to be art, do they? This is just what they do and they appeal to a large segment of the population. I don't think there is anything wrong at all with what they do. It's just not what I want to do."
Anonymous wrote: "Comparing quilts at the state fair to ones accepted into QN is ridiculous. They're not the same thing, nor does either side ever pretend to be."
They're both right. I should have been more thoughtful in saying what I wanted to say. I should have limited my examples to the "art quilt" world rather than venturing into the far-removed precincts of the State Fair. So let me take the liberty of restating my case. Even within the "art quilt" world, it's easier to find no-cake wonders than to find quilts with more rigorous art underpinnings.
Exhibit A: the International Quilt Festival in Cincinnati this spring, which I wrote about in a series of posts starting here. The people showing here aren't trying to impress the state fair quilt police; they're trying to make "art quilts." But the work many of them are turning out has a whole lot more frosting than cake. Glitter was everywhere, with metallics, ribbons, lamé, shiny tulle, beads, etc.
But not to single out this venue -- I challenge you to attend any show that focuses on art quilts, or has a category for art quilts, and walk up and down the aisles. Compare the number of quilts that rely on loud colors and flashy embellishment to those with serious design and composition strength. Be honest.
And while you're walking the aisles, go over into the vendor section and check out the products (heavy on embellishment and gimmicks) and the samples (flashy color always attracts attention). Frosting apparently sells a heck of a lot better than cake.
Exhibit B: magazines and TV shows focusing on "art quilts." Read or watch several installments of your favorite such publication or show, and compare the number of articles written, spots aired or quilts pictured with more frosting to those with more cake.
Exhibit C: do the same with the quilting books available in your local shop or online. How many books teach you how to use design principles in developing your own artistic style? How many simply teach you how to make a small quilt identical to the one in the book? In fact, anecdotal evidence suggests that the quilt publishing industry is united in its determination to put out only project or technique books.
Exhibit D: check out the classes and workshops offered at a large quilt show. For example, the class catalog for Houston this fall will be available online in a week or so. Don't pay attention to the stuff aimed at traditional quilters, just the classes advertised on the art end of the spectrum. Count the number of classes focusing on frosting -- embellishment techniques, replication of the instructor's project, working with a particular tool -- and compare to those focusing on design, composition, color theory. I suspect the breakdown will be approximately 100 to zero.
Back to my original point: even within the smaller world of "art quilts" there's a huge concatenation of forces pushing frosting and not so many pushing cake. No wonder it's hard for serious artists to escape the vast quicksand of frosting and find role models and venues that stress the art component of "art quilts."
Bottom line: those of us who want to make cake must work hard to find our fellow bakers. We have to learn to be more discerning, to tell the difference between cake and frosting. We have to search out teachers, publications and venues that encourage and reward the hard work and rigorous standards of serious art.
There's nothing wrong with somebody making quilts heavy on flashy color and beads, and if somebody wants to buy one, I guess that's OK too, even though I wish the buying public had a higher level of taste. But those of us who want to set our sights higher must first recognize that this is not all there is.
Then I wrote: "All frosting, no cake -- that's as good a description of a large portion of the 'art quilt' world as anything else you could come up with. Unfortunately it's probably easier to find some of these no-cake wonders than it is to find quilts with more rigorous art underpinnings.
Go to the State Fair, for instance. The judges are knowledgeable to the point of hysteria about stitching, binding and making points match, but generally have no training in design. Go to the quilt shop, and find patterns and samples that showcase the latest fabrics but don't go much beyond cute in the artistic department. Go to the magazines and books, and find project recipes complete with patterns and directions so you can replicate somebody else's superficially attractive creations."
Then I observed that venues that do value the cake over the frosting are fewer and harder to find, but mentioned Quilt National as one that does focus on the art.
 |
| great color, mediocre design |
A few people commented that this was a bad analogy.
Kathy wrote: "But these particular venues don't claim to be art, do they? This is just what they do and they appeal to a large segment of the population. I don't think there is anything wrong at all with what they do. It's just not what I want to do."
Anonymous wrote: "Comparing quilts at the state fair to ones accepted into QN is ridiculous. They're not the same thing, nor does either side ever pretend to be."
They're both right. I should have been more thoughtful in saying what I wanted to say. I should have limited my examples to the "art quilt" world rather than venturing into the far-removed precincts of the State Fair. So let me take the liberty of restating my case. Even within the "art quilt" world, it's easier to find no-cake wonders than to find quilts with more rigorous art underpinnings.
Exhibit A: the International Quilt Festival in Cincinnati this spring, which I wrote about in a series of posts starting here. The people showing here aren't trying to impress the state fair quilt police; they're trying to make "art quilts." But the work many of them are turning out has a whole lot more frosting than cake. Glitter was everywhere, with metallics, ribbons, lamé, shiny tulle, beads, etc.
But not to single out this venue -- I challenge you to attend any show that focuses on art quilts, or has a category for art quilts, and walk up and down the aisles. Compare the number of quilts that rely on loud colors and flashy embellishment to those with serious design and composition strength. Be honest.
And while you're walking the aisles, go over into the vendor section and check out the products (heavy on embellishment and gimmicks) and the samples (flashy color always attracts attention). Frosting apparently sells a heck of a lot better than cake.
Exhibit B: magazines and TV shows focusing on "art quilts." Read or watch several installments of your favorite such publication or show, and compare the number of articles written, spots aired or quilts pictured with more frosting to those with more cake.
Exhibit C: do the same with the quilting books available in your local shop or online. How many books teach you how to use design principles in developing your own artistic style? How many simply teach you how to make a small quilt identical to the one in the book? In fact, anecdotal evidence suggests that the quilt publishing industry is united in its determination to put out only project or technique books.
Exhibit D: check out the classes and workshops offered at a large quilt show. For example, the class catalog for Houston this fall will be available online in a week or so. Don't pay attention to the stuff aimed at traditional quilters, just the classes advertised on the art end of the spectrum. Count the number of classes focusing on frosting -- embellishment techniques, replication of the instructor's project, working with a particular tool -- and compare to those focusing on design, composition, color theory. I suspect the breakdown will be approximately 100 to zero.
 |
| nice color, mediocre design |
Bottom line: those of us who want to make cake must work hard to find our fellow bakers. We have to learn to be more discerning, to tell the difference between cake and frosting. We have to search out teachers, publications and venues that encourage and reward the hard work and rigorous standards of serious art.
There's nothing wrong with somebody making quilts heavy on flashy color and beads, and if somebody wants to buy one, I guess that's OK too, even though I wish the buying public had a higher level of taste. But those of us who want to set our sights higher must first recognize that this is not all there is.
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