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What follows are images of the work I made at the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts this past June. With the exception of the last piece, which measured around 15 x 15,” each is a small table-top sculpture measuring no more than 5″ at its longest or tallest . Instead of talking about the work, at the end of this post I have included the 27 lines Warren Seelig asked us to write. I will let that speak for the pieces.
to swallow
to gulp, slowly, then frantically
a pounding (rocks)
to pounce, and leap, the way pathways are made winding through geographic puzzles and mazes
i sat and the waves tried to erode me like everything else but i wouldn’t let them; still i sat still
we surge, ebb
laughing, an open mouth, having invisible eyes and faces
playground, a playset, a rollercoaster, jungle gym, emphasis on the jungle
spirits
the ghosts, ancestors
prayer till three in the morning
a caricature
to flicker: flicker of a smile or a wink
or the tilt of a hat (a very small hat)
as moss, lichen
growths
arching backs and rolling necks
posing (for portraits)
curiosities, looking, being looked at, to stare
stillness- to freeze and hold one’s breath
a priest
a queen (or the queen)
a table and a confidant
gathered
a conversation, a conversation with a collection
chatter
taking form, being born, coming into being, the act of
Needles. Don’t Lose Them.
The above astute observation is from my nearest and dearest oldest friend upon my announcement that I was at the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts. In fact, I almost did lose several needles through the many cracks in the sprawling deck outside the fiber studio where I worked, but no harm was done.
I decided to go to Haystack for several reasons, among them the chance to learn from artist Warren Seelig and to give myself a chance to think after graduation. I don’t think I’m going to ramble or talk too much about my artistic journey in Maine- there are many things I could say that anyone else could voice about such an experience. Maybe those things will work themselves into a story some day. It is a truly inspirational and life changing place in the most unexpected ways. It was difficult; it was a challenge forcing myself to work off the loom without any preconceived ideas. It was difficult to trust my hands and my instincts with the materials I stuffed into my suitcase. Working in the studio all day proved to be exhausting but rewarding- a luxury I never had in undergrad because I had to work and because I chose to be involved in many things. I’m excited about the results; pictures of my work will follow this post.
What I’m more excited about are the things that came to me unrelated to my studio work. For example, the friends that I made. The inspiration to continue to perform. Affirmation that I am a writer. The memory of walking through the woods by myself to find the small beach in the midst of high tide, the great glacial boulders swallowed by the rising waters, the iciness of the bay beating at the backs of my knees, and the bird of prey circling me high above. Then walking back in my bare feet. Contrary to that, of walking down the winding road, arms swinging, long shirts tied around our waists the sound of girls’ feet against the pavement, finding the small path between the pile of lobster traps and rubble, and emerging out of the forest into a meadow, with the sparkling water beyond (see picture at top of post).
I promise to read everything. Everything I can get my hands on.
To laugh more.
To study fabric structure until my brain is half fabric structure.
To make puppets, and puppet shows. (And to really learn my camera, seriously!)
To practice piano once a week, at least, at first, and then find time every day no matter what.
To continue to write, even if it’s only for Nicole. The nearest dearest oldest friend.
To make without knowing, to trust myself, and my hands, to be patient and wait. To understand that sometimes the work makes itself, and I can’t control everything. It’s okay to just do what I want. That there is nothing that I’m supposed to be doing, nothing that I have to do, that I can just do and make and make and the good work will come, the work that is supposed to happen will happen. Not that I shouldn’t be thinking about my work in a critical way, but not everything has to be so big and important. I never wanted that anyways. As long as I keep having fun, and stop stressing out (all the time!) and keep a clear enough head. It will happen. It will all happen.
I know Nichole thinks that needles comment is silly and ridiculous, but to me it’s a perfect fit, it’s poetic. It’s going in my pocket, and I’m carrying it with me, holding on, holding on tight.
