Material Meaning

The materials we select to make our art are embedded with many layers of meaning, metaphors, messages, political implications, historical connections and more. I’ve been exploring this topic with my textile colleagues and giving it much thought as I work alone this winter in my studio.

The material I use to build my art is thread. Threads in general are a metaphor for connection - the threads that bind us, our common threads. Thread also is a line - a continuous line of thought (the thread of a message), a line of reasoning, a continuous element. 

A thread is a group of filaments twisted together to make a long continuous strand. And within the realm of threads there are many fibers from which to construct this long line, this connective strand, this flexible linear element. 

My preference is to use fibers that have organic origins such as paper, linen, cotton, silk and rayon (made from cellulose fibers). Threads made from these organic materials are effected by humidity, light, wind and abrasion. I find the susceptibility to change of these organic fiber materials parallels the changes I observe in my own changing/aging body. Exploring these parallels of impermanence, I treat my hand woven linens to rust dyeing, weathering, bleach and compost dyeing. These transformative and dye processes allow me to be a witness in the process of metamorphosis and to challenge my attachment to what I once deemed as precious. 

These materials are not only metaphor for change but a vehicle for personal growth and reflection. This avenue of thought about materials and meaning is only one of many. What does the material you use mean to your message, to your process, to your growth as an artist?

My interview with the Handweavers Guild of America can be found on FaceBook (no account needed). Enjoy!

Stone Cozy: Beach stone with crocheted madder dyed linen

Musings on watching yarn dry

We’ve all heard the saying “watching paint dry.” I debate that watching yarn dry is even slower! 

As I continue to dye more and more yarns — and wait for them to dry — I find windows of time where I wait. Pause and wait. These windows could be boring — as suggested by the tedium of watching paint dry ……but they do offer the opportunity to slip into a diversion or other projects — thus I have a variety of undertakings on hand all the time. 

I recently made a small book using handspun indigo dyed linen with rust printed pages and stitched with found papers. This wee book was then buried in my garden to hibernate until spring.

This window of waiting also offers me the opportunity to strengthen my patience muscle. As a textile artist you know all about the patience required to spin and dye yarns, to wind a warp and thread a loom, to stitch hems, to rust and eco dye and to embroider details on a piece. 

Our textile processes often require labor intensive and repetitive steps. It is in this repetition that I find a mediative state, a quiet space of engagement -  a place to illustrate universal stories of love, loss and longing, the heart ache of the ephemeral, the tender beauty of the natural world and the astonishing gift of being human.   

And here we are in a season of pause: the Winter Solstice was December 21st at 10:58 AM EST  - a time when the sun stands still, pausing before she beings her northerly trajectory. Winter is a time when the natural word goes into a slowing down, a hibernation. This time of pausing gives me the opportunity to witness, to breath in.

Here in a world that seems to be wobbling off balance

I offer a deep bow of gratitude for all that is good. Including a new grand daughter!

Wishing each of you a season of good health, light and love. …and a pause to soak it all in. 

Ways to connect with my work this month:

·      TEXTILES AND TEA - and interview with me by the Handweavers Guild of America Interview January 4th, 4 PM 

·      “Exploring the World of Fiber” a NE juried exhibit January 9 – 30th. 

Lexington Arts and Crafts Society, 130 Waltham Street, Lexington, MA. Opening reception January 9th

·      Instagram posts always fresh! 

Native Tongue

I just completed a four month course on Natural Dyes from Maiwa School of Textiles.

I sing high praise for this amazing on-line class - with concise easy to follow directions and videos, easily accessible support, well written PDFs and community with other students.

I am grateful the Maine Arts Commission who supported my pursuit to learn a new palette with a Project Grant for Artists. As an experienced artist, it is daunting to take the risk to forge a whole new direction - and this foray into natural dyes is just that. Although as a young weaver/artist in the 1970s I did natural dyeing, it was a half hearted attempt with out the technical support and knowledge that is available now.

In a recent interview with Warp And Weft Magazine I explain my love for color, nature and woven threads.

https://www.warpandweftmag.com/field-notes/sarah-haskell

“Weaving answered questions that were elusive with painting, sculpture and printmaking. As a medium that is built with three dimensional lines (threads), weaving offered me a method to build texture, pattern and most importantly to manipulate color. Because weaving is constructed of many threads that intersect and over lay each other, I found that I could create a surface of pixelated colors that mimicked the multidimensional color I saw in nature. The natural world around me has been my inspiration, my teacher and my solace for as long as I can remember.  With the language of threads and the structure of weaving I felt like I was finally able to bring what I felt and saw in nature into my art.”

The entire palette of over 80 dye samples.

My dye journal with notes and samples.

This palette feels like a home coming to the colors of nature that inspired my first forays into weaving - a return to my native tongue.

So now it’s time to begin a narrative with this palette… time to make art.

Forgiveness

Forgiving.
🙏🏽
I’ve always said that weaving is forgiving.
🙏🏽
Small errors
Misjudgments
Plain old mistakes
Short cuts gone array
.
All these might cause problems with your weaving.
.
And so
There is a course correction. .
.
A repair
A fix
.
Then back on track.
.
Weaving is flexible
Fixable
Forgiving
.
The challenge
Is to forgive
Myself.
.
After decades of weaving
There are still mistakes
Misjudgments
.
Thank you threads for your showing me the way
.
To mend
To forgive
To move forward
.
Not get stuck
In old mistakes
.
Forgive me.
I’m still learning.
🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

Seeds

Last fall I received a Fellowship from the Maine Arts Commission . Over the past winter I used these funds to build a dye so that I could expand my dye skills and create new methods of using color in my work. Color inspired by the natural world is central to my work — and now I have the equipment and space to dye my handwoven cloth or threads with botanical dyes. And this summer I received a Professional Development grant from the Maine Arts Commission to learn more about natural dyes.

So here I am …. deep into the learning curve. Starting with planting dye plants this spring, to harvesting the flowers and dyeing - I’ve been experimenting and playing in the dye lab like a mad scientist. I’ve taken two on-line workshops learning a variety of techniques for indigo vats, shifting colors with iron and methods for mordanting to assure long lasting colors. And this month I’ll take another on-line workshop to learn about making paint from dried indigo leaves.

Drying the harvested marigolds.

All this activity is building a foundation for new work. Like the seeds I planted last spring for dye plants, the seeds I’ve planted in the dye lab are just starting to blossom into projects and ideas.

My very first effort in the dye lab has been a baby blanket for my first grandchild due in mid-October. The warp was dyed in an exhaust bath of marigold and weld then quickly immersed in the big indigo vat. The color came out a gorgeous light sea green. The weft was dyed in the same exhaust bath (only more exhausted!). I used an 8H undulating twill for the structure.

Cotton baby blanket in 8 H twill.

And next up — some art! I’m so eager to see what I can make of this new palette and new methods for using color to tell the stories that tug at my heart.

One year since

For most of the past year I felt disoriented, lost, in a fog, in murky waters. Time was fluid - days, hours, weeks all seemed to have the same weight, density and duration. I took up cooking and gardening like I was responsible for feeding a small village. I cleaned and organized long overdue places at home like closets and the basement. I wove simple linen cloths for drying dishes and rag rugs from discarded clothing. I found solace in simplicity and in the ordinary. These actions and chores gave me a sense of purpose and I felt like I was contributing to a greater good.

And I went outside. I walked miles.  Going out into the woods or along the shore line, gazing up at the birds and watching the clouds move overhead gave me grounding. Watching a hawk raise her brood in a tree above my studio gave me hope.  There was no pandemic in the woods or in the ocean. There were no politics on the moon or heavens above. The wind and sun know nothing of racial or religious divide. Being close to Nature was not only an escape but medicine. 

And yet I want to stay informed and be engaged with the world. So I watched the news.  Politics, the election, covid statistics, the racial divide, climate change and civil unrest made me anxious. The immensity of these issues colliding together felt like the building pressure of an imminent volcanic eruption.  This unease created a compression in my body and my spirit…like a tourniquet was tightening around my chest.  

I felt stuck between wanting to stay informed and longing for relief from this physical constriction. I couldn’t gain perspective. I yearned to tether myself to the hawk’s feet, to fly above all this earthly chaos, to gain some insight. I ached to be free of this narrowing feeling.

Making art has always been my pathway to process these larger than life issues. I kept thinking – what can I make of this?  But this past year felt so much larger than anything I have ever experienced. I just couldn’t focus or create a meaningful community art project, something that might help me and others find a way out of these dark and constricting times. 

So I just kept making the art that appeared to me in dreams, on long walks or winter x-skiing.

I wove long horizontal blues to mimic the ocean horizon. I wove a sunrise inspired by a Rumi poem about unconditional love. I wove trees with moonscapes and trees with bodies buried deep below, tangled among the roots. I wove a body floating in a sea of blue and one in a field of dark orange. I embroidered many flocks of birds and a galaxy of stars. 

And now…one year since we stepped into this drama-filled time ….. I am untangling the past year of living and art making. I am beginning to understand what has been calling to be me.

In seeking relief from this this narrow, constricted perspective, I long for a wider perception and expansive view. Not just a wider vision in the physical realm  – but a viewpoint that illustrates a different way of looking at our world. A bigger picture or a wider view that might lift us from the minutia and constrictions of politics, the pandemic and socio/economic divisions. 

Nature reigns in this expansive place. The ever-present song birds, the trees that reach to the firmament, the sprawling sky, the deep earth, the endless ocean, the many galaxies of stars and the wisdom of the human body reside in this spacious realm.  

I show up in this place of unlimited dreams and unconditional love.

I look, listen and make art. 

Work in process May 2021. Hand woven, indigo dyed, linen and rayon.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Through all the tumult and the strife,

I hear that music ringing

It finds an echo in my soul

How can I keep from singing?

For the hymn by Robert Lowry

Field Notes

FIELD NOTES

observations and reflections on the explorations and experiments of the past two months

The basement dye lab.

Crushing eggs shell to raise the PH in a dye bath.

In the Gardens: seedlings sprouting in the greenhouse and studio flats.

Warm and bright in here for the lettuce sprouts.

Shuttles at rest.

In the Dye Lab:

Years ago I used natural dyes - I even taught classes at UNH on these processes. But I let my skills fade and for decades focused on fiber active dyes for their consistency and light fasteness. Now I am eager to rekindle my skills of these living, organic dyes. The science and information around natural dyes has exploded - and even the nomenclature has changed — they are now called eco-dyes!!

This winter I built a dye lab in my basement - I am so fortunate now to have a dedicated space for these processes. I’ve outfitted this space with second hand pots, pans and other equipment for dyeing yarns and fabric.

And so it is one experiment after another ~ kitchen waste (tea, avocado pits, onion skins), including my attempts at an organic indigo vat - with the dehydrated indigo from Bali

Dehydrated indigo from Bali.

Linens dyed with onion skins and first attempts using natural indigo.

Woven brocade piece fresh off the loom. Next steps include rusting, and over dye with indigo.

In the Studio:

Playing with engineered woven design that will later be over-dyed (once I master the organic indigo bath!)

Mixed media collage in process.

And on the collage table, always a work in process.

Milestones and horizons

Our transition from Pollywogs to Shellbacks - at the Equator.

Dye Lab in process of getting set up. Indigo vat ready to grow, awesome double sink, inversion burner on wheels, shelves, rust table and big work table covered with yoga mats.

The wide “Blue Horizon” detail. Indigo warp. Monofilament weft.

“The Blue Horizon”

This month I honor a couple milestones and I’m expanding my horizons.

Ten years ago this month I sailed across the Atlantic from Cape Town South Africa to Barbados in a 43’ boat with three other people. On March 1st, we crossed the Equator. In maritime lore, there are traditions and rituals that mark the first time a sailor crosses this watery line. Usually Neptune appears, along with some rum and a few lashes. The ceremony observes a mariner's transformation from slimy Pollywog, a seaman who hasn't crossed the equator, to trusty Shellback, also called a Son or Daughter of Neptune. This ocean passage was pivotal in my self confidence as a sailor, my art work, and a few life lessons. Some day you can ask me about that.

Another milestone - I have completed setting up a new dye lab in my basement! This is the first time since art school days that I have a dedicated, safe, year-round space to dye, rust and paint my handwoven cloth. I’ve got a massive sink, an inversion burner, shelves, buckets, table space and amazing lights. I’m just getting into projects there — so stay tuned for more stories and images.

As a sailor and a swimmer, I often have my eyes on the horizon. This elusive thin line that separates earth from infinity is a source of serenity for many. With a longing to hold this line in my sight as often as possible, I recently wove a 15” tall, 9 feet long strip of indigo blues.

Gazing at this wide blue horizon frees my mind from the particulars of modern life. I hope you find some of the same.

Wishing you wide horizons and good health, Sarah

Where do I begin?

Where do I begin?

The New Year is a time for fresh starts and new beginning. 

I am setting my sights on new horizons – both figuratively and literally. Beginning again.

Here are some things I am doing that feel like steps in new directions - new horizons.

• Organizing, cleaning out my studio – culling out old books, yarns, textiles, equipment and materials that no longer serve me. Organizing materials that serve my current creative drive.

• Building a dye lab in my basement (with the help of my wonderful husband!).  Preparing this space for working with natural and fiber reactive dyes, rusting and printing on my handwoven linen in colder seasons.

• Since I cannot travel to new horizons this year – I am pushing the horizons of my small corner of this planet. I have taken up winter swimming! I don’t go in for long and I wear a wet suit with all the extra gear. But I love to thrill of immersing myself in frigid salt water.

• And the new horizon – a piece I just finished ~ 9 feet wide by 15 inches tall. Indigo dyed linen in a mindfully warped progression from sea to sky. Woven with a monofilament weft. Professional images to come soon!

Wide Horizon (working title)

Check out the video I posted of it on FB.

In closing here is a poem by Richard Blanco - former poet Laureate.

It’s about beginnings and endings. I urge to you to make the time to read it….let me now what you think.

So much

November is the month of Thanksgiving.

And I have so much to be grateful for.

I have a solid roof over my head.

I have family that loves me unconditionally, especially my dog.

I have food, warmth and clothing.

I have a studio filled with equipment and supplies.

I have the time to work in my studio.

I am healthy.

But honestly between you and me, I still feel a teensy bit anxious. A bit on edge.

So, I weave towels.

I make art.

Walking my dog.

And I walk the dog.

Here’s some news for which I am grateful:

Detail “All This Time”

“Below, Through, Above and BeyondThe Datum Level” “When We Remember” is included in the juried on-line exhibit. Are is what the curator wrote about my piece -

Sarah Haskell - When We remember, 2018. The narrative of memory, loss, lived experiences and passages lies within the cells of this work. The way the eye is led to read the work is well thought out and the patterning seductively repetitive but then it is not…so much like the operation of our recall. The palette works with popular notions of embedded information - nostalgic. The subtlety of the lettering in conjunction with the outreached hands is hopeful, gentle, supportive in counterpoint to the rusted symbols of the pins and hooks.The pathways of the stitch work enhance the feeling of the organic, soluble nature of memory.

Maine Artist Fellow - I have been awarded a fellowship in Fine Crafts from the Maine Arts Commission. Here is a link to the MEAC website with all the details.

New art in my gallery - Please check out my latest piece in my gallery. It is inspired by the words of Persian poet Hafiz “Even after all this time, The Sun never says to the Earth “You owe me.” Look what happens with a love like that. It lights up the whole sky.”

Morning sunlight on my loom.

How do you know?

How do you know when a piece is done?

“All This Time” detail of work in process.

For me it is part trial and error. One of the beautiful aspects to textile work - is that you can rip something out, undo your work, add/subtract stitches or fragments of cloth.

This gives me a sort of liberal courage. I feel comfortable making marks in one direction - knowing that I can always reverse my steps.

This is not always the case - especially with dye, bleach and anything that I cut. But the courage to move, to possibly mess things up is what propels my art - and I think all innovative art — to new directions.

Growth as an artist demands that we cut old patterns, take risks, and expand perceived boundaries.

“All This Time” detail of work in process.

And yet at some point, all this motion has to cease.

Knowing when to stop working on a piece, is just as important was knowing when jump in and to keep messing things around.

There comes a time when the piece “tells me” it is done. My job is to listen and observe, to know when it is time.

Today this piece titled “All This Time” feels done.

But just to be sure…..

I’ll listen and look for a few more days.

Off shore by ten miles.

Off shore by ten miles, Monhegan Island is a small chunk of rocky land that’s 1.7 miles long and .7 miles wide. I’m out here for a two week retreat.

I’ve hiked for hours every day with Frieda (my dog). I stitched golden thread on kelp, sketched in my travel journal, drilled tiny holes in three crab shells, wove small webs on twisted juniper roots, re-read two favorite books, sent hand made postcards to loved ones, stared at the horizon, cooked dinners for one and was in bed most nights by 8:30.

Mostly I’ve taken time to be away - to gain perspective.

To just walk and walk and walk.

Somehow this walking, one foot in front of the other, with slow deliberate steps over rocky and root covered trails helps me feel anchored in the present. In a chaotic, unpredictable world, where I get wrenched by headlines, this feeling of being grounded in beauty and nature is potent medicine. Medicine that I suspect will reverberate for some time.

The full moon has come and gone. There is a perceptible shift in weather. It is time for me to return home. Leaving tomorrow on the 12:30 ferry, I will keep my eyes on the slowly receding island of Monhegan, feeling grateful for this opportunity to step away.

White Head cliffs from Burnt Head, Monhegan Island, Fall 2020

Gull Pond, Monhegan Island Fall 2020

Looking west from Monhegan, the setting sun. Fall 2020.

Maine crab shell with indigo dyed linen. September 2020, C.Sarah Haskell

August slipped away

August slipped away.

But not without notice.

It was a month of bi-coastal collaborative projects, sailing, swimming, stitching and seaweed.

Collage, drawing, dyeing, and weaving.

Might sound busy - but I have taken a huge note from the Covid-19 slow down. This quiet pace, this slower being in the world…suits me. It’s healthier and more conducive to creative pathways. So I will do my best to be anchored in this place of quiet and creativity.

Here are some news and highlights from the last month (follow the links below for more info and Instagram for more images)

Exhibits:

“Mandatory Color” Surface Design Association Juried Exhibit, Museum of Texas Tech University

October - December 2020

“Members Juried Biennial” Fuller Craft Museum. New Bedford, MA. February - October 2020

Collaborative Projects:

“Call and Response” Round 4 and 6 - a cross country distance, rapid fire collaborative project. Fun way to get creative juices flowing and to loosen up one’s attachment to medium, method and materials.

Circle Q Collaborative Book Project with Textile Arts LA. Ten artists, ten books with ten pages each. These books traveled across the country from Boston to LA. and finally returned home filled with amazing and creative expressions.

Please find many images on Instagram

In my own studio and beyond:

I found sea weed makes a great fiber, that drawing birds can be meditative, that swimming is my escape.

I stitched on birch bark and shells.

I wove yards and yard of linen to over dye with indigo for towels.

I printed with rusty objects and elderberries on paper.

August has truly slipped away. Our September full moon has waxed and waned.

I’m ready to call the names of migratory birds.

Let’s fly home.

This I know.

Every day I hear that we are living in unpredictable, unprecedented, uncertain times.

For months I have been trying to gain perspective on the nature of what’s happening and where it all might lead. I feel like I am swimming in murky waters – there is no clarity.

However, there are a daily actions that help my mental balance and my perspective. 

Gardening. Planting, watering and waiting. This reminds me that there is hope and renewal – and nutritious food for our family.  

Swimming.  The rhythmical movement of my arms and legs in the cold, salty waters calms my breathing and psyche. 

Observing the natural world.  In particular, observing a hawk who is nesting in a tree above my studio. She flies high, calling out, soaring above the earth, searching for food – all with a higher vision/perspective.  

Making art. The act of creating with color, pattern, texture has been my refuge for decades. Please check out my gallery and my instagram feed for what’s new.

What do you know? What’s helping you navigate these murky and fluid times?

I would love to hear from you. Please connect.

Suspended, supported and safe.

One Human Family, One Planet, One Universe.

Like it or not - we are all together in this world as it slowly transitions before our eyes. I guess I’d like to feel lucky to be living in such interesting times - but frankly I am often anxious, unnerved and off balance.

At a time when our world feels like it is spinning out of control - the steady rhythm of textile techniques calms my anxious mind and brings balance to my inner energy.

When I hold thread in my hand, slowly letting it spin out of my fingers, or stitch on my handwoven linen, or weave row by row at my loom - my heart settles. Akin to the rhythm of rocking a baby, I rock myself with these practices, reminding myself that change is in the air — and change is never easy.

And change is sorely needed.

No one is free until we are all free.

My art practice is dedicated to all those who have suffered and continue to suffer from racism, oppression, poverty, ignorance and illness. We are one family, one human race, one planet.

May all beings be lifted from oppression and feel loved.

Pondering The Invisible

“It is only with the heart that one can see….

what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

And here we are, April 21, 2020.  

Invisible to the eye, a tiny visitor has captured our world.

This realm of the unseen has long been at the heart of my work.

Through material that is ephemeral and subject to the influences of time and weather, I pose questions, diving into this void. 

The exhibit catalogue from my recent exhibit “Pondering The Invisible” is available through my website. Please purchase it here – and I’ll ship it right out to you!

Much gratitude,

Sarah 

Letter P from HELP

Detail. Handwoven linen with embroidery floss.

Lessons

Lessons

I have just returned home from a nearly three month sabbatical in Bali and SE Asia.

We cut our trip short and arrived home on March 20th to a very different scene than the one we left in January.

This trip was a true sabbatical - a time away from my life here in Maine.

I listened to new bird sounds, looked at how people lived in many countries, tasted new and strange foods, touched and fed an elephant, felt the water spray from an amazing waterfall and explored the twisting paths of Ubud. 

I met people that have never gone more than a few miles from home. I prayed in temples built thousands of years ago. I walked bare foot on beaches with black sand. I learned how to breath underwater and swam with hundreds of colored fish. I tasted honey made by an insect I cannot name. I dipped my hands into indigo dye vats following traditional Indonesian recipes. I sang with grasshoppers at sunset. And I calmed my heart by listening to the ocean.

And now I have this incredible gift of time (thanks to social distancing regulations) to reflect and process this sabbatical.

And yet - how strange it is to be contemplating this wealth of experiences in a time of great pain and suffering. Covid-19 knows no boundaries - it does not separate us by the color of skin, the size of our bank account, or our education or profession.  We are all vulnerable to this virus.

Since I choose to work with organic materials that are especially vulnerable to weathering and aging, I have reflected on the quality of vulnerability both in my art and myself.

If there is one lesson we can learn from Covid-19, it is that we are all vulnerable - it is our common human mortality.

My prayer is that our human family grows an awareness of our common vulnerability and develops a wider compassion for all beings. 

Be well, stay at home. We are all in this together. 

Make art to tell your story.

Sarah

April 4, 2020

Piles of bright colored textiles at a market in Denpassar, Bali.

Young weaver in a village in Vietnam.

View of Mt Agun from across the rice fields. Bali.

May the light of the new year…

May the light of the New Year shine upon you and your circle of family love. It’s been many months since I have written a blog post — so I will try to share all the news of past, present and future. One of the best ways to keep up with my studio happenings is on Instagram @sdhaskell   I will put lots of links to fill in missing details.

This June and September I was out in LA, CA. I was honored to participate in the FiberArts Now 4 Exhibition at Craft in America.  In September I gave a presentation at workshop at the Textile Arts LA Annual Textile Symposium . What a treat to be with much a robust textile community!!

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Pondering the Invisible: exhibition catalogue

In November “Each One: A 9/11 Memorial” returned home to Portsmouth and was reinstalled in City Hall Chambers. This community art piece was on loan to the September 11th Memorial and Museum for nearly 3 years.

Last January I received the honor of a one person show titled “Pondering the Invisible” with The Common Thread Gallery (September 10 – October 15). There is a sweet little hard bound catalogue of this exhibit. I am selling it for $20 including SH. Email me for a copy = Sarah(at)sarahhaskell(dot)com

This fall the lovely Jamia Weir of TextileArts LA interviewed me for a three part series – check it out! Part One, Part Two, Part Three.

And finally… I completed the huge four panel piece that I began last spring. Sixteen feet wide, six feet tall – indigo blues woven in a subtle gradation. I wanted to replicate that wide expansive horizon that I saw and felt while sailing across the Atlantic 9 years ago. Some images just refuse to go away until I create them.

January 8, 2020 I leave for a three month sabbatical – in Bali and SE Asia. Please follow me on Instagram and FB. I’ll be studying traditional dye techniques and as well reading, and relaxing. Here’s wishing everyone a peaceful, prosperous and healthy New Year. Much gratitude for to all the encouragement and support.  Peace — Sarah

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Wing Span

Looking back at sticks and stones

Driftwood loom

Driftwood Loom detail

I recently was going through an old journal from my first-ever artist residency (1996) on White Island. To be able to look back is so important – it gives me perspective and assures me that  - yes, I have been on a very focused path for decades. It is curious to me that over 20 years ago I was pushing my belief that art can be made from anything.Here is a peak at my journal and photos from those 8 days alone on a rock with an automated lighthouse (yes…. the fog horn does blow every 30 seconds ….night, day, fog, sun).

Journal from White Island

Line of bricks

 As I continue to make art using not only natural objects – but simple tools, and minimal materials – I am affirming my belief that art is simply personal, creative expression.