LIGHT. PATTERN. KEEP LOOKING

August 29, 2018

I love this photograph.

In the midst of creating a body of work involving windows, homes, and the complex relationship between inside and outside, this simple image has captured my imagination.

I can envision this composition re-created in a simply painted style, pale color blocks suggesting the subtle light through the window.

This is a photo of my own home. I have moved within the last year and I snapped this shot as part of cleaning and moving out. It was a happy departure, a part of moving into a welcomed next chapter. Still, I loved this home while I was there.

This image lets the light in, but we do not see the window.

Sometimes windows reveal. Sometimes they obscure.

Windows are invitations to look in, to see what there is inside.

Windows are made for looking through and, therefore, are a good metaphor for time and memory: we look through our past, we look through our memories, to see what was there.

A window in an unexpected place is jarring. We have been culturalizd to know what windows are for, and immediately look at them or through them. But, in an undefined or ambiguous setting, they raise questions.

Finally, the window itself is a pattern. Here, the simple blocks create a geometric pattern on the floor. The neat lines capture the light.

Looking through the windows of remembrance may leave an imprint on our understanding in much the same way.

Keep looking.

Detail of windows: digital image on fabric, collaged with other fabrics using surface design techniques. From "So It Will Not Break in Two," art quilt. This work is on my web site in the "Home is What You Remember" Gallery, HERE. — Detail of windows: digital image on fabric, collaged with other fabrics using surface design techniques. From "So It Will Not Break in Two," art quilt. This work is on my web site in the "Home is What You Remember" Gallery, **HERE.**

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A Chance to Talk About My Own Artwork (Oh No!)

June 21, 2018

Reading what somebody else has written about you is a bit like reading your own epitaph. Except you're still here! The whole process can be a little scary. But I always appreciate the chance to explain what my work is about to various arts publications. It's a good discipline to condense thoughts down to a certain number of words or meet other publication parameters. Many thanks to Artsyshark for this promo piece in May of 2018.

Artist Bobbi Baugh knows that everything has an inner story, one that isn’t visible from the exterior. Through her textile collaged quilts, she works to express forces beneath the surface.

“Becoming One with the Night” Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 45” x 35”

Life experiences can come together in unexpected ways. As an undergraduate art student over forty years ago, I concentrated in watercolor and drawing. In my career before being a full-time artist, I worked in the printing industry, surrounded by the rhythms of platemaking, pulling an image, re-inking and printing again. And, from the time I created homemade A-line skirts on my mother’s sewing machine as a teen, I have enjoyed sewing. Now, I create textile collaged works and art quilts, using all of those experiences.

So it Will Not Break in Two” Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 42.5” x 32.5”

Everybody has a story. Every thing has a story. Whether we are looking at a person, or a structure, or a part of the natural world, what we see is not all there is. There is always more going on. That’s what interests me.

“Saying the Magic Words” Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 43” x 34”

I’m intrigued with depicting a visible object along with the suggestion of its inner reality in the same composition. Looking at a group of houses, we see only the outside walls. But there are rich and varied lives within. Looking at a natural scene, we see the visible parts of plants and trees. But there are forcesand patterns playing out beneath the surface at the same time.

“Flight of the Magical Lawnchair”Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 29.5” x 46” — “Flight of the Magical Lawnchair”
Textile Collage/Art Quilt, 29.5” x 46”

Looking at a person, we see just the exterior. But there is a journey, and there are dreams and memories, inside and at work. My artmaking methods are a perfect fit with this interest.

Every piece I create has four component phases. First is concept and composition. I work out ideas in my sketchbook to explore visual arrangements of my ideas. I enjoy working in a size of 36-48” in either dimension, so I frequently mock up the composition on paper at full size. It’s a test of the concept, and the beginning of a pattern for creating and assembling the parts.

Second, I create the fabrics that will be used in the composition. I begin with blank cotton muslin and blank sheer polyester. The fabrics are printed by hand as monotypes, or as relief prints, or handpainted, stenciled, stamped, or resist-imaged. I frequently mix up techniques on each fabric piece. I create fabric for a specific work. Generally, there is fabric left over. So, the leftover pieces from previous pieces may also be used in a new piece. My stash of printed fabrics is a favorite resource.

Third, I collage. I use acrylic-based medium for collage so that the artwork is archival and everything is compatible with acrylic paint. Sheer pieces are collaged to a heavier backing to be stabilized. Cut pieces are collaged as applique.

Finally, I machine stitch. I use stitching as a method of joining sections together. And on almost every piece I add patterns of machine stitching for texture and depth. The finishing is also done by machine stitch; sewn strip binding is turned for a finished edge, and the assembled work is fabric-backed with a rod pocket for hanging presentation.

I have created and experimented with other artmaking methods. Working with textiles and collage is where I find the best expression for my ideas and where I am most at home.

Creating a portrait that tells a story

June 14, 2018

Portraits are tricky. At a minimum, a good portrait should look like the person being depicted, or at least capture their gesture or something characteristic about them. Portraits with a photo realistic quality concentrate on exact likeness, and frequently are duplicates of a photograph. (And I admit to being biased against many works like this. Producing an image that is an exact duplicate of a photo is not very interesting.)

When I created this portrait of Lillian -- my grandmother -– I was intrigued with trying something different. I wanted to create a portrait that suggested something of her life story. It helped that I created “Lillian’s Expectations” to submit to the SAQA “Balancing Act” exhibit. (It was juried into the show and it traveled for two years.) The concept of depicting balance – or an attempt to balance things – gave me a starting place.

I have a photo of Lillian seated in a wicker chair like the one I depicted. She is the essence of a strong and self-possessed woman –- completely confident and assured. I was really drawn to the gesture of the single finger supporting her head. The colors closest to her are also calm and soothing.

But, all around her, things are off balance and chaotic. Two large rectangles are askew. The patterned squares across the top are on an angle. The colors are hot. Knowing Lillian’s story, I knew she had to balance strong and opposing forces in her life. Her ability to stay in command in the face of that is the point of the story.

Well, and then there are those birds flying out of the jar. Some things are beyond being controlled. Forces become unleashed. People’s stories and events can just spill out, tossed about like a small bird the wind.

I rediscovered this artwork today as I was going digital through images of my work. Much like discovering a faded family photo in an album, finding Lillian’s portrait caused me to remember. I remember the process of creating this piece. I remembered all the sketches I created before I began, working out the relationship between idea and composition. I remember printing these fabrics. I remember drawing the figure.

And I remember Lillian. I hope my work does justice to her interesting and complicated story.

For more information about this work,
visit the stories-and-journeys gallery of this website, HERE

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What the child saw, what the child revealed

June 7, 2018

I was organizing works-in-progress in my studio this afternoon and picked up the piece that includes this crouching child drawing on the ground. Where had I just seen this child?

Aaahhhh… the beach. I was in New Smyrna this morning to deliver some work to Arts on Douglas Gallery. Beforehand I gave myself the treat of some morning beach time and a nice walk in the water. The weather was perfect and it felt wonderful.

From my post on a sandbar I looked back at the beach to watch the earnestness of a toddler, crouching, just like the pose in my quilt sketch. She was wearing a bonnet. She had beautifully chubby little legs. She squatted so that her bottom was touching the cool water, and she was completely absorbed in… something. It might have been watching ripples. It might have been a mark she made in the sand. It might have been a little crab. Or maybe the simple delight of wiggling toes and watching the sand move. From my position on the sandbar, I could not tell.

It made no difference. It was something important to her. She had discovered something and decided it was fascinating and worthy of her full attention.

I remember. In fact, as I call upon my own childhood the memories that are most real to me are times of independent absorption like that. I loved to work with crayons. I cut out and played with paper dolls. Outdoors, I would make small creations of twigs and grass and stones to make houses.

As I have drawn on memories and dreams to develop my current body of work dealing with home, the crouching child, absorbed in her drawing, seemed a perfect symbol to include. Incorporated into a composition of house and tree forms, she is a vehicle to lead a viewer to remembering. Just as I could not determine the exact task of my little friend at the beach today, the exact purpose or subject matter of this crouching, drawing child is unspecified.

But through her, we can wonder. And we can remember.

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I STILL wonder about the people across the street. Do you?

June 2, 2018

Do you still carry with you – as in your pocket - images from childhood?

Thinking about one of my earliest art quilts, “Wondering About the People Across the Street,” I discovered this wonderful quotation from Robert Penn Warren about the strength of childhood memories:

“When you are nine years old, what you remember seems forever; for you remember everything and everything is important and stands big and full and fills up Time.”

I can still remember houses on the street where I lived. I remember walking past them in the evening and looking in the windows. I believe it was part of the process of sorting out my place in the world.

Was my family the same as other families?
What would it be like living in somebody else’s house?
How did I feel about my own home and my place in it?

I created “Wondering about the People Across the Street” in 2014. I had not begun the current series about home, but certainly the memory of childhood was in my mind and urging me to create something. I was drawn to bold coloring book colors to emphasize the childlike quality of the memory. And I wanted the figure on the porch to be a simple silhouette. She is both my childhood self and every other child.

Today, I am still interested in what’s behind windows and inside homes. As Robert Penn Warren wrote, “What you remember seems forever.”

Here’s a detail of a work in progress in my studio now that reveals my ongoing wondering about life beyond the windows.

Here’s the completed work form 2014, "Wondering about the People Across the Street.” It’s in the journeys and stories gallery of my website, HERE

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A Back-and-Forth Dance – Between Painting and Quilting

May 22, 2018

Almost finished this one! (Pause for a celebratory sigh of accomplishment.)

As I’m working on my 2018 series, “Home is What you Remember,” I’ve been doing a lot of process experimentation. And it seems to fit what I’m after in the meaning of the works.

“Home” is a rich, deep, resonant, layered, emotional word. Everyone feels something about their home. In this series, I’m intentionally turning the word over and over to discover new ways to address the concept, new ways to get to the memories and meaning. So, playing with different methods has felt like a natural way to go.

Some of the works I’ve created so far are heavy on collage and applique. They tend to be thicker, with lots of texture. Some have been more painterly, flatter, working on gessoed muslin or sheer fabric.

This one turned out to be more painter-like. I did not work in sections – but on whole cloth. (A little more challenging for me because I have a small-throat regular sewing machine.) I used some wet-wash paint layers, some stencils, and some direct painting.

I kept the camera handy to record progress. I hope you enjoy.

(In case of any technical difficulties with loading or seeing the video, you can follow this link to see it on You Tube.) https://youtu.be/19DzsTFFtPE

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What happens if I actually read -- and follow -- my own “Notes to Self?”

May 16, 2018

I started this week with a note-to-self about content.

Working in the studio, it is easy to get involved in process and technique. That’s the day-to-day work of artmaking. But, I felt the need this week to remind myself, to remember, that it’s the thought and memories that are the whole reason for artmaking.

I have a number of works-in-progress right now, all dealing with the concept of home. Home is what you remember. Because this is such a personal subject matter, a number of times I have been absolutely stopped short by an image.

When I was creating the art quilt of row houses, I was overwhelmed by nostalgia. I grew up in that neighborhood. I have walked a sidewalk in front of those homes and looked in the windows. I rode my bike in the alley behind the houses. To see those images come to life on my worktable was an act of remembering.

When I created the art quilt based on photos of an abandoned house n South Carolina, I remembered standing there by the side of the road. I remember now the smell of pine and the sound of the pine needles beneath my feet. It was an off-the-beaten path road with little traffic. The house was overgrown with vines; the roof was gone. A fire, probably. I found it hauntingly beautiful, rich with somebody else’s life and memories.

This week, I’ve tried to give myself time to have some of those stop-dead-in-my-tracks moments on purpose. The shapes of houses. A small child drawing. A distant house through the trees. A large detailed bird nest. All are filled with meaning. I don’t want to get too busy to see and remember.

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Thinking about nest-building

May 6, 2018

Recently I watched a video of a bird weaving a nest. I was mesmerized. The process is one for which I truly do not have adequate words. Wondrous. Intricate. Detailed. Elaborate. Complex.

On my worktable today I have been looking at the image of a bird nest that I am working into an art quilt – not yet named – but part of the series “Home is what you remember.” I found a beautiful nest several years ago and photographed it. I have transferred the photo onto fabric and I am allowing the delicate woven patterns to take center stage in this composition.

It is the perfect visual metaphor for home. In my own life journey, “home” and all its meanings are as complex as the intertwined twigs in this image. I believe most people’s feelings about home are very complex. Most of us have some fondness for a home – maybe our original home, maybe one we chose later in life. Those feelings are sometimes mixed with intense longing. Or, the memories may be confusing. Or difficult. Or hurtful.

I have worked with a photographic image of a nest in several previous pieces, using detailed stitching to define the twig shapes. I discovered two things.

First, awe. Tracing the patterns of this object created by a bird is inspiring. As I follow the line of a twig, then start and stop at points of intersection, I am experiencing the deep complexity of the construction.

Second, the sweep of memory. Immersing myself in the sound of the sewing machine chug-chugging, tracing the lines comprising the nest, feeling the rhythm of the image; these actions create an almost trance-like absorption in the process. It allows me to travel to memories and dreams of home and all that it means to me.

This series about home is tapping into some of the deepest parts of my own life experience. I hope that the details and patterns will speak deeply to those who look at the art as well.

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A chicken or the egg kind of question… and does it make a difference?

May 1, 2018

If the order of making gets changed around… does it make a difference?

As an experiment in artmaking with textiles, I recently tried reversing the order of the whole process. It's been revealing and interesting

My textile works have some of the characteristics of a painting and some of the characteristics of an art quilt. I always start with blank fabric, creating my own fabrics with acrylic paints. I monotyope print, stencil, stamp, use relief printing and paint directly. But, generally, I am making batches of fabric, then cutting them up and incorporating them into a collaged and stitched composition.

There’s a lot I like about this way of creating. But sometimes, by starting with individual pieces, I feel like I lose sight of the overall composition, especially big shapes and values. If there are things I need to correct, I don’t always see it till I’m pretty far along.

So, with a piece that’s still a work in progress, I started with the big picture first. I cut a large piece of muslin a little bigger than the finished size, (about 36"H x 48"W) then ripped it into five random sections. I taped them back together (on the back) so that I again had one large piece. I gessoed the fabric to stiffen it up then treated it like a painting canvas. Using hand-cut stencils in the shape of houses, I painted with a roller to get the overall composition roughed in. It felt quite different – working more like a painter and less like a quilter. At this point, I could see the finished composition. I knew what was successful ad what was not right from the beginning.

THEN I untaped the sections and worked on them individually. I added some texture with paint, collaged in some new fabrics, and added stitching for texture over the whole piece.

THEN I sewed the sections back together again to recreate the whole. Now, I felt more like a quilter.

For me, this has been like adding a new language to my studio vocabulary. I will continue to work in the reverse order on some pieces, and sometimes combine the two procedures.

My studio “note-to-self” this week says “Creativity demands experimentation.” Yes.

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Gotta Keep Creative… Here’s What I’m Trying

April 10, 2018

Welcome to Wonderful Wednesdays!

It seems strange to confess to a need to keep creative. Creating is what I do all day! I’m a disciplined studio worker. I pour my morning coffee, walk ten steps, and there I am in the studio – at work!

(Hmmm. That first sentence may have revealed a lot. Work. Not. Play.)

Mostly, I am creating larger works, art quilts. I enjoy the challenge of working in a range of 36”H to about 48”W. I feel at home in that scale. Right now, I have six different pieces in progress in the studio.

BUT... larger works take longer. I enjoy the process. But sometimes it’s like a cross country trek – step after step to be completed. Parts of the process are a bit of a slog.

Recently I pulled out some rice paper pieces I had printed a while ago, found some watercolor paper, and built a few collages. It felt wonderful! Not TOO small; miniatures just don’t seem to speak to me. These will fit a 16 x 20 frame. But the smaller scale is manageable to keep fresh through the whole process.

Also new for me is that these are abstract compositions. Recently, I’ve been creating representational larger works. The abstracts allow a laying down of items intuitively, turning them upside down to find an intriguing angle and discovering the composition as I go.

I’ve created a few already and I like what I’m discovering.

I’ve experimented with some palettes that are not-my-normal choices

I’ve added some layers of overprinting I did not expect.

I look forward to finishing a new one once a week and introducing it on my web site as Wonderful Wednesday Collage. The first one will be posted tomorrow morning.

I hope you’ll take a look and enjoy the journey with me.

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REFLECTIONS - OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

March 4, 2018

Look at that- a car reflection driving right across my artwork! Seeing my work through a gallery window inspired some thoughts on reflections and realities. I wrote about it – OUTSIDE LOOKING IN -on my blog here: bobbibaughstudio.com/blog

Talk it through… “Someone who has found a process”

February 27, 2018

I like to talk. Generally, I do not find it scary. But this weekend on DeLand’ Studio Art Tour, I re-discovered some wonderful things that happen when talking specifically about my own artmaking.

Clarification. Refining. Deepening.

In addition to friendly chats and welcomes to my studio, I had the chance to engage in some great conversations about the series I am beginning now: the meanings of home, as represented by shapes of houses. I have done a lot of thinking abut this already, as part of my own personal journey. But, as I answered questions and described the processes (both the technical how-to processes and the sketch-to-art thinking process,) I was able to enrich my own thoughts. The very experience of the talking deepened and improved my own understanding.

Poet William Stafford describes poetry in a similar way, and I love this:

'A writer is not so much someone who has something to say as he is someone who has found a process that will bring about new things he would not have thought of if he had not started to say them.'"

Things I would not have thought of till I started to make art about them.

The creative process is an experience with many levels. One of the great realizations about this discovery is that we don’t have to have everything all figured out before beginning. We can begin. We can listen to the work. We can talk about the work. And all of that becomes part of our own understanding.

Work-in-Progress… Row House Neighborhood

February 20, 2018

I grew up in Baltimore. When I was born my family lived in a row house. Our car was parked on the street out front. In the back, little identical yards opened onto an alley, the place for riding bikes and playing catch.

My parents longed to move across the main road to the neighborhood of individual, non-attached houses. Each would have a driveway. Each would have its own backyard. There was a neighborhood school. The houses were mixed styles: brick, stone, clapboard, almost all two story, facing streets lined with maple trees.

This was the post-war dream, and they believed in it completely. A family started in a row house. Then they moved to the better neighborhood.

When I discovered a photo of a row house neighborhood, I was filled with affection for the families living in them. I wanted to create a warm vibrant depiction of the neighborhood. In my completed work, the people will not be visible. But they will fill the scene. The houses are alive with pattern and energy just as the actual houses were alive with the real aspirations and dreams of their inhabitants.

Creating image of homes – homes that evoke memories, and homes that allow us to peek inside the windows to imagine the lives within, are continually fascinating to me.

The magic that occurs during a studio visit

February 4, 2018

I’ve just been working on some promotions for the upcoming Studio Arts Tour in DeLand. It’s caused me to remember some of the visitors I had last year, and why it is so important to me to show people what I make and how I make it.

I remember several times last year when I had as many as fifteen people at a time in my tiny studio. (I’ve moved since then, and there’s more room.) The visitors had such great questions! I was working on a large fabric-pieced quilt the weekend of the show. Since it was in 6” squares, it was easy to keep busy in between visitors. When guests arrived, I was either collaging pieces on the small squares, or moving the squares around my worktable to develop the composition of the piece. Things that I take for granted are really interesting to studio guests. What kind of glue do I use? What kind of paint? Why do I choose certain colors? Where do I get my ideas? Every question caused me to think through my process so that I could supply a meaningful answer. It became a process of clarifying my own work. I was so grateful for the attentiveness and interest of those who visited.

I had some great experiences like that during outdoor Festivals last fall. I especially enjoyed several visiting groups of students. What great questioners they were! They went straight for content. They wanted to know about meaning, and the symbols I use, and whether I draw on stories or mythology. A few had been in art class enough to know terms like value, balance and contrast, and we had good discussions about those elements in my work.

So… I’m getting ready! I always enjoy showing art, and I really enjoy selling art! But even more, the tour will be an opportunity for me to think about my own artmaking. I can’t know in advance what thoughts I’ll have. But my visitors will guide me!

Is Juggling a Good Idea?

January 3, 2018

For me, in the studio, I believe the answer is yes. I looked around this afternoon. There are at least five projects working. One on the easel is one in the midst of collage layers. One is a sketch tacked to a board. One is in pieces by the sewing machine ready to stitch. One is nearly finished and awaiting hand stitching of the binding. One awaits a fabric-painting session, which I am putting off till I have a few hours of sun to paint outdoors.

I love the energy of multiple projects in the works. Perhaps it’s because I feel good about the source of these works. I’ve been sketching and thinking and composing a series for awhile, and I am now in the process of creating the work. So I am watching the ideas unfold. I am using the quiet time of hand work to think ahead about the next piece. I am allowing the movement back and forth between works to keep the whole process alive and interesting.

It’s not really so much like juggling. It’s more like a dance – an old-time reel. Moving in a patterned way from one partner to the next, coming back to the beginning, moving in a new way, then over again. The studio dance.