Ashes and Diamonds

Apologies for the lack of posting last week- I worked every day and didn't get studio time until Saturday. Thank the gods this is a 3 studio day week, and oh what a gloriously productive and happy week it's been! 

First up, I need to thank the Guild members yet again for their support and understanding while I've been trying with varying degrees of success to sort my shit out. It's probably been pretty annoying to deal with me, and I've yet to help wash the teacups. Secondly, I need to thank the Burlington Public Library for being awesome in pretty much every way possible. If you ever visit this town, have tea with the Guild at the BAC, and then go to the library and talk to Lauren after you've biked along the waterfront trail. 

I swear nobody paid me to endorse all that. 

If you would like to pay me to endorse all that, shoot me an email! My rates are reasonable. 

What's chased some of the gloom away? Phone calls, movies, meetings, and studio time. I've been talking to dear ML. out East about living inspired lives and staving off boredom/stagnation, and we (the Guild and I) have been working on the info package for the residency program for the coming year, I'm making things in the studio and work's crystallizing, and I watched "Ashes and Diamonds" like... four times (amazing, inspiring, gut-wrenching, gorgeous movie! Find and watch it)! 

Something happened in that conversation with ML. last week that shifted my attitude towards my living space and life here. I need to do more strange and small things, things like building blanket forts in the bathtub, curating exhibitions of glassware, colouring with crayons... Inspiration comes from many sources, and it's too easy to get stuck in a negative headspace when you're far from the people and animals you love and you're constructing your life, post-graduation.  

I'm getting more encouragement and inspiration from the studio stuff. It's magically shaping up. Armed with weird coloured odd yarns, I sat down to start weaving on Tuesday.

various yarns and cloth dyed with avocado, cochineal, walnut, kamala, tea, and a six-pound rusty anchor.

All of the boxes were made (and made possible by the Potter's Guild) on Tuesday too. Look at 'em! They'll be white once fired.

Easy way to spread a warp: throw a few shots of fine thread and beat into place. Repeat a couple of times and TA DAA! So much easier than sticks or rag. The next time I do this for tapestry though, I will add a solid something before weaving to give a firm base. This method's a little flimsy for tapestry and I found my first inch of weaving slid back on the warp. 

plus it's pretty...

Free-form tapestry in progress (note: I'm over-dyeing all of this nonsense):

of course there's weird shit in here! 

Since weaving 12 panels in this fashion would take an insanely long time, I'm changing the construction of the boxes a little, and for the better...

And did I mention I'VE JUST FINISHED KNITTING A SOCK?  

Beach Day & Art

I woke up angry and confused after a long night of troubling dreams. Even after breakfast and some homework, I still couldn't shake those feelings, so I decided to get out of the house and make some art. 

A swan! In January! 

I grabbed a ball of string, some scissors, a camera, and set off for the lake shore. There was a gentle breeze from the north, not a cloud in the sky, and it was warm enough to go without gloves.

Practically tropical.

An orange sandstone pebble.

I decided to make rock piles. They started off large: big, perfect waterworn rocks I carried from the treeline to the water's edge. Every 100 feet or so I made a new pile. 5, 6, 7, 8 rocks high. While I made these piles I thought of the weird dream-emotions I woke with and how they had morphed into grief and anger towards my family's lost culture, the blandness of this town, and also towards a great friendship that fell apart when I moved here. 

Each pile marked a little death or loss. I gave my anger many funerals today, from the start of the north shore sand beach all the way to the Hamilton bridge. 

As I moved down the beach the rocks became smaller and scarce. The towers of stone became stacks of pebbles. Eventually there was no more rock and I had to build these cairns from chips of driftwood. My emotions became smaller, lighter, harder to find and difficult to see from a distance. 

I found small treasures along the way. Orange sandstone pebbles, a plastic doll's arm, waterworn bones. 

I found dead fish too. 

People watched me as I stacked rocks and walked. I didn't really mind. They didn't intrude or ask questions. I made it to the end of the beach and, turning away from the last tiny stack of driftwood, I left the beach for the walking trail that skirts the water. 


My grief and anger didn't feel gone, but I felt instead a curious quietening of it within me. I walked home on that trail and once in a while the trees would part at the right place and I'd see the small silhouette of a pile of rock against the water. It made me happy to see them from a distance, happy I could see others taking time to examine them. 


This small gesture of art/healing ended up meaning more to me that what I had intended earlier in the day when I set out with the string and the scissors and the camera. I spent three hours today walking and piling rocks! Who's to say if I could have spent the same amount of time and energy on a similar project if I hadn't woken up on the wrong side of the bed, or if I lived in a different town, or if that friend had kept in touch, or if history had treated my ancestors with kindness instead of hatred. I'm grateful for the beach today, and I know there's be more art experiments soon. 

The red line indicates where I placed rock/wood piles along a stretch of beach almost 6km long. That's a really long stretch of beach. 

Magic Life

I've slipped into this new year without a fraction of the lusty alcohol-fueled shit-show jubilee of 2011. A sleepy night after a long shower and a quiet countdown with the radio marked the turning point for me, and as with some rare great beginnings, this birth was inauspicious. 


I have made resolutions (1. exercise regularly 2. eat more vegetables 3. live somewhere great) and goals (1. shine up that heart muscle 2. make more small things 3. pay down some debt 4. become more involved in the art community, even if that means travelling 5. get inspired instead of mopey) and I have a great deal of hope for this next year. I feel it's going to be a good one. 


Though it wasn't easy to get there and definitely hard to leave again, the visit home was a godsend. It's difficult to describe just how happy I was to be with my family and pets and friends. 




I've returned to the GTA with fresh eyes (well, sort of. I need new contact lenses or glasses to make that statement completely true) and clearer goals for my remaining two+ months here. The days I spend in the studio will be long days with very regular snack breaks and trips to the greenhouse, and they will be very productive days. I'm setting myself weekly progress goals and will stick to them! 


That should mean more writing too, and not just for this blog. I've got to start putting out applications for exhibitions and scouring the land for good jobs in my field (in Toronto or Newfoundland please!). Admin stuff, stuff I'd rather pay someone to do for me. 


Oh well! Intense Studio Time begins next week. Lots to prepare!

Walking on Four Legs

Happy Thanksgiving! I feel energized and content after a weekend with my extended family, so I've started job hunting in earnest today. I really, really want a job at Starbucks or another coffee shop. Less stress than a waitress gig and you still get tips! Keep your fingers crossed for me. 


The big thing on my mind lately has been identity. How do I define myself as an artist, as a woman, in a new town, in a stranger's home, away from friends, without school? 


During the weekend I talked with my family and I listened to their stories. Speech is so powerful, and I'm beginning to believe that being able to speak (up, out, or quietly yourself) can only propel your growth forward. What I heard this weekend were stories of healing, of growth, understanding, happiness, and strife. In turn, I felt safe enough to speak frankly about the changes I've been experiencing and it FELT AWESOME to be surrounded by people who connected with those words and emotions.  


I am thankful for this wacky family, for the chance to discover myself in this strange town, for dry humour, for wine and women. 

And here is a gorgeous green room courtesy of the internet. 

Semi-Conscious

rain driving Allosaurus cinnamon hugs light-up suits fashion dancing Nuit Blanche train rides I love you bike rave truck metal heart art art art frozen fingers cold core




Need I say more? Word soup is about the only thing my sick brain can produce right now. It's actually my tonsils that are afflicted, but the chills and general malaise that accompanies a sore throat are a body-wide phenomenon. Where are you, nyquil martini recipe...


Aside from feeling sick, I have two overwhelming concerns (three, if you count my lack of warm clothing and the onset of winter). I have yet to land a job. Cash is a finite resource and I need a job very soon if I am to survive and repay loans. 


The second thing I worry about is... well, it's October, and this weaving project needs to GET GOING. Laying in bed for hours has given me some time to reflect upon my actions and goals, and I think I've spent the first month of this residency unwinding from summer and school and all of that jazz. I've been setting my own pace and trying to figure out how to live in this new territory.  


And that train of thought just ceased to exist. I'm going back to bed to sleep for another 12 hours. 

Camilla Valley Dream

Yesterday Nancy and I took a day trip to Collingwood and the surrounding area. I popped into a tiny bookstore called the Crow's Nest and chatted up the ladies who run it (there's an art gallery on the second floor, a delightful children's section in the basement, and two beautiful afghan hounds snoozing behind the counter), and grabbed a fantastic americano from a cafe down the street. 

Don't let looks fool you, the decrepit Crow's Nest is a hidden gem.

And then we drove to Camilla Valley Farm, a famous yarn supplier and picturesque farm. It's gorgeous. We spent over two hours perusing their stock and fondling yarn. I had to put down so many lovely things. Sigh. 

This little grey building houses all your dreams. 

The most adventurous hen making sure everything's okay. 

Between my family (over the weekend I traipsed all over London and St. Thomas, saw Elton John live, ate at an incredible Italian place (Spagos. GO THERE.), and was surrounded by hectic love for three days) and the Guild members, I will see all of Ontario before Christmas. 

First Day on the Job

In a couple of hours I'll have been a resident of Ontario for one whole week, and today was my first real (short) day as the Artist In Residence. Here's a little tour of the facilities:

The textiles studio and its army of 4 shaft counterbalance looms. To the left is the bank of windows looking out into the solarium, and off camera to the right is a 120" loom. Behind the camera is a large work table and a pantry. 

Some spinning wheels and a tapestry in progress. Also, the octado dobby. 

The dye kitchen! It's an oddly shaped room with tons of counter space and glass jars, and about 100 tea cups. I don't like the idea of tea cups being in a dye kitchen, but the rug hookers upstairs have a dye kitchen too and I'm hoping that's where they all go to mix their acid dyes.

The sink! Those buckets and bric-a-brac to the left need to be tidied up. 

It's a lovely space, but a wee bit lonely when there's nobody there and nothing to do. Today was a strange mix of boredom and paranoia that comes from sleep deprivation, mostly due to the fact that I have no materials and I stay up late thinking about that. I have a shuttle, some bobbins, a very small stack of silk hankies, and that's about it. You can't weave anything with that! And I forgot my notebook.


So I did what I usually do when left alone: I cleaned. Emptying the loom benches, returning the contents to their proper places, making new places for homeless items, and putting most of the harnesses back on the 16 shaft Macomber took up a good three hours. The supply room is still a wreck, but it's looking better. Another couple of hours and it'll be a pleasant thing to encounter. 

The supply room before I arrived...

That kept my hands busy for a short time, but not my mind. People keep telling me it'll take time to adjust to the new space and new people, and I hope it comes quickly. Feeling uprooted and naked (lack of supplies, folks, not clothing) is really, really uncomfortable, especially when there is no fluffy cat to greet you at the end of the day. 


The effects of last year too are resonating in this place and I feel slightly anxious about digging into the project. Not that it'll stop me, but the fear is something that simply must be worked through. 


Regardless of emotional state, there IS a rug hooking guild meeting tonight, which should mean tea, cake, new things to learn and a greatly needed project to dig into. 

Get To Know It

Yesterday I was introduced to the BAC and the weaving and spinning (and rug hooking) guilds, shown around the studios, conference rooms, the shop and the solarium, introduced to many people and finally given a box of weaving books and sent on my way. 


The BAC is a beautiful place. That being said, it's always a little difficult to reconcile what you've read and imagined in your head with what's actually in front of you. The weaving studio is huge, and the dye kitchen similar in size to the one at the college (albeit without the felting table in the way), but I thought I'd be getting bigger looms... Most of the ones in the studio are 4-harness (for teaching classes and such), but the largest I saw was a 12-harness macomber. There are a couple of 8-harness jacks and an octado dobby too. 


All this means is I'll have to be okay with toning down the pattern development a little (and figure out how to make the physical labour of running a big macomber less intense). It won't matter too much for the final outcome. And as for the project itself, I've made a list of materials and have already ordered a few mordants for dyeing. I'm going to be doing a lot of experimental dyeing with the plants found in my new house's spectacular garden, and Ontario's ridiculous summer (seriously? I did NOT sign up for more summer) means the dyestuff stays fresh for longer. There were a few neato dye books in the box of things I was given, and with very little money I can put together a great dye book and DYE ALL OF THE YARNS FOR THIS PROJECT WITH THINGS FROM THE YARD! 


That'll be fun. 


Also, I mentioned in an earlier post, possibly the last one, that Burlington feels very familiar. It's gotten a little sinister since I started watching the Wire, but I know that's all in my head. I've noticed something strange though, and what I've noticed in the past couple of days is this: there is nobody my age in Burlington. Where are all the young, hip twenty-somethings? Nobody said there were any to begin with, but you'd expect there to be someone kicking around. Has everyone already emigrated to Toronto for the year? Is this really just a town of middle-aged couples and retirees with dogs? Maybe my future friends are all waiting for me at Ribfest. UGH.

Handwoven

Christina Garton from Handwoven mag is saying nice things about me: 


http://www.weavingtoday.com/blogs/weaving-today/archive/2011/08/31/behind-the-scenes-at-handwoven.aspx

And if you're near a newsstand, grab (purchase) a copy of handwoven because there's a little article about me in it. 

Burlington, day 2

After a shitstorm of packing and unpacking and moving boxes from upstairs to the car to my parents house to the sun porch to the attic and back down again and then into my suitcases and then back out, I said goodbye to my family and hopped on a plane. 


The plane landed in Hamilton and my amazing friend Allison greeted me with hugs and a mini banana loaf. We drove around Burlington, blah blah blah wild garden dream house thai food chatting, and I went to bed early. 


After one day of wandering, Burlington feels pretty comfortable already. It's still very much summer here but everything looks friendly and... well... a lot like Fredericton. Minus the friends, favourite tea shops, and 8 minute walk to the downtown area of course, but familiar just the same. It feels like I'm in some strange dream where the landmarks are the same but in new places. Old routines almost fit, but not quite. 


Maybe I expected a jarring culture shock, something to really be rocked by, and maybe it hasn't come yet. Or maybe I'm supposed to be confounded by how easy it is to pick up your life and transplant it into a new city. We'll see. It's only the end of the second day and tomorrow will bring my first trip to the BAC. 

Packrat

Landing an artist residency right after graduating is a pretty nice way to transition from student to working professional. And landing one that'll take up six months of your life is exciting for a lot of reasons. With that kind of time you can really spend the effort developing new routines and skills, getting to know the artists around you, and you can plan a massive project (or several).

That's what I imagine it'll be like. I'm going to be spending six months at an art centre in ON. In my head it'll be fabulous, but I have to move, and that's guaranteed to throw a big old rusty wrench into everything.

Moving sucks. It really, really does. By nature we hoard little bits of inspiration, art supplies, tools, whatever. Stuff. Our studios (I've yet to see a clutter-free studio) become an extension of our racing minds and then we end up with boxes of nearly-empty paint tubes, or teeny balls of yarn, or stacks of paper and feathers and other oddments. I've been in this city for four years, and this particular apartment for two. There's a lot of stuff in there.

It's not the sorting out of basic personal belongings like clothes and dishes, but it's denuding the studio that really bothers me. Taking everything is obviously out of the question. Taking nothing seems irresponsible.

Artist residencies are perfect, scary opportunities to start fresh and see what you can actually make. A wilderness survival test of sorts. I've been asking friends what they brought with them for their residencies, and the responses were mixed. One, doing a two week residency, brought her camera and watercolour set and some paper, another, doing her MFA in Chicago, brought nothing. Both learned a great deal about their creative processes and it transformed the way they worked.

When I stare at the supplies in the "to bring" pile, I have no idea if I'm on the right track or completely insane, and that "to bring" pile will probably go through innumerable iterations before the final cut has to be made. 

Man Down

One tremendous perk of my job (job #3- Canadian Crafts Federation) is being up to date on cultural happenings in our country. I gather all of this information and then distill it into a bi-weekly newsletter distributed to the provincial Crafts Councils and others. A pretty grim piece of news crossed my desk yesterday, and while I'm not usually one to rant online, this situation certainly merits some drama. 

A few days ago the Cultural Human Resources Council quietly had it's throat slit.

The CHRC supported cultural sector workers (you, me, the Executive Directors of the galleries and councils we are members of, our fellow board members, broadcasters, educators, entrepreneurs, and makers...) through training, career development and management, education, and advocacy. Their Youth Internship program paved the way for our entrance into arts organizations when we were students. Their studies helped us plan budgets and explore new markets. They developed material for teachers and businesspeople alike.

Now they are scrambling to put into place systems and people to safeguard their invaluable information and programs and help cultural workers access these resources after their end date, March 2013.

The organization who pulled the trigger on CHRC, Human Resources and Skills Development Canada, has not publicly announced their actions, nor can any information about this be found on their website. 

Please send your support to the CHRC, and if you can help in any way, contact Sue Annis at sannis@culturalhrc.ca or by phone at 613-562-1535.

If you feel so inclined, please send your rage over to HRSDC (c/o. the Honourable Diane Finley), every stinking newspaper editorial column in the country, and Prime Minister Harper's inbox (pm@pm.gc.ca, or address real mail to the Office of the Prime Minister, 80 Wellington Street, Ottawa, On, K1A 0A2). Scream about this from the top of your roof, post the info on your facebook wall, and send loving vibes to your fellow cultural sector workers. And then tighten your belt, because the next four years will be lean times indeed.  

This Town is Small

My birthday recently passed and my heart is still full of happiness and somehow, little seeds of ambition are once again stirring. A parcel arrived in the mail today that I had completely forgotten about:

Yeah! My sketchbook for the 2012 Sketchbook project! That barcoded brown book is so full of promise. The more I look at it, the more excited I get about putting ink on paper and getting some of this junky pent-up lethargy out to make room for good, creative, happy maker vibes. 

And speaking of good vibes, I spent some time today reading up on the PEI artist collective, This Town is Small. They're a group of dynamic people dedicated to starting up an artist run centre on the island and creating a support network for artists, musicians, thinkers, and the like. The image below is just one of the many neat things they think about, and it made me realize how much I need to reconnect with my community.  

Let All Tension Go

I've felt myself change pace many times during this past week. Happily coming to terms with life as a non-student, wasting hours watching movies and reading, rushing from job to job, happy surprises, fights with neighbours, endless cups of tea with sequined ladies... I've been both extraordinarily busy and incredibly lazy, and it feels spectacular. My days alternate between working, trying to make my schedule work, and placidity, but there's consistently been something fabulous happen every day since I graduated. 


Someone asked me how big my pile of projects was this summer, and they seemed shocked when I said it doesn't exist. After birthing the Reverence Project installation and finishing up all of the things that lead to graduation, I need a break of indeterminate length. In all likelihood I'll get super bored and get to work on something in a week or two, but for now, I'm relishing every shining minute of post-graduate freedom. 

Wrap-Up

Here's a quick synopsis of what I've been up to all year. I'll try not to talk too much. 

Semester 1

Production weaving wool yardage. After weaving it, I take it off the loom, felt it in the washing machine, and cut it into scarves.

Hello, Toronto! The BMO 1st Art! competition completely changed my perspective on life, art, and my career. It was incredible. Returning from that wonderland was not. 

Semester 2

Having endured near ruination, I made a clean break from all toxic environments and influences. I decided to do the work I wanted to do, and thus, the Reverence Project (see the tab at the top of my blog!) began. 

It was amazing and exhausting and so very rewarding. And it's not finished! 


I spent a lot of time this year trying out a whole lot of things. I wanted to be involved in my community, in my practice, and I wanted to see just what I enjoyed doing. 

I worked on a project with a fellow artist. I started exorcising the demons of last semester, and I learned about effective communication with creative partners. 

I taught kid's workshops via Fredericton Arts & Learning. 

I got involved in my community as the chair of the Education Committee and a board member at Gallery Connexion. 

I illustrated Nonymous magazine. It's full of teeth. 

I made a whole new product line for the summer in the Barracks shops. 

I made a ton of paper. 

And I worked my arse off. I went into the program thinking I'd weave and build up a huge body of work for exhibition, but it didn't happen like that. 


I came out of it with a backbone and a loud voice, confidence in my creative vision, a body of work that'll take me a year to make, a solid career plan, and a deeper understanding of why I do what I do. If you want to hear more of this, you'll have to buy me a beer.   

Checking Off the Boxes

Last weekend the barracks shop opened! Here's a glimpse of my display:

Cast-iron trellises + a coffee table + a folding patio table = DONE.

I'm pleased by the end result. Had I more time and cash, the display would be a bit smoother, but heck, for under $70, it looks pretty good! The shop is open 7 days a week, 10am-5pm (you should check it out).

Leveling the Balance

After some serious consideration of my priorities and my goals for the fall, I've decided to cut back in a few places. Quite a few, actually, and it feels great. 

It's been easier to get back into the studio and into the swing of making again. My grad piece is coming along nicely (photos tomorrow, and the whole thing should be done on Saturday), and the writing is... well, I'm taking another crack at it tonight and expect to be completely finished by Thursday. 

Yeah!

Post-Apple Meltdown

Despite going to bed early, eating well, and maintaining some level of physical activity, I am not feeling well, and I haven't been for some time. Ick. I came to the conclusion the day before yesterday that I have overextended myself in a big way, and I believe the stress from this is contributing to my feeling like garbage. 

Not being one to miss an opportunity, I have a tendency to jump in way over my head and then continue to swim out to sea. Failures so far have been few, but let me assure you the mental agony makes up for it. 

It's nearly impossible to be a good, creative, happy artist when you feel suffocated by your workload/anxiety. There's no glamour in being a "tortured artist" (I hate this notion! It's ridiculous), there's no glory in being a pack mule. But here I am, an overspent artist with screwy priorities. 

Current Priorities:                  Ideal Priorities:

1. Shop set-up                       1. Grad piece and writing

2. Exhibition application            2. ME (includes sleep, food)

3. Grad piece                        3. Friends and family

4. Gallery Connexion               

5. Writing (for school)

6. Food

7. Friends/family

8. Household chores, sleep (me)

Ugh.

Art Party

On Saturday night, artist WhiteFeather hosted a vernissage in her apartment. Thirteen artists (including myself!) presented everything from interactive art installations, to music, to video, to paintings, poetry, and photography, to our peers and friends.

It was totally awesome. 

Jackie seated at my installation, typing away. Photo credit Biff Mitchell.

Art Haus

Friday evening my friends Mike, Ashley, and Maggie opened up their apartments to showcase local artists and musicians in an informal and free kind of way. A truly rare event in Fredericton. 

I had a series of white-on-white screen prints, a bunch of miscellaneous drawings, and a few digital prints of some drawings (photos below). 

My new go-to sketchbook is an old hardcover novel called Ralph Raymond's Heir. Working on aged paper looks great, but there's also something quite mysterious that happens when one deliberately obscures the text with pictures...