The job of little girls. Figuring things out.

This week my mind has been filled with images and thoughts of little girls.

In my studio, I am slowly working my way through a large work that places two little girls in an environment that’s like a dream or memory: windows, doors, archways  and buildings connect with one another in ways that that could not actually occur. The girls are in a place where they must figure things out.

At the same time, since I’m enjoying more reading than normal as part of my stay-at-home-experience, I have read two thought-provoking and stirring accounts of real little girls.

“Becoming,” Michele Obama’s memoir, is warm and rich in details and experience. A lot of the story focuses on her pre-famous days as a girl growing up in Chicago. Clearly, she was smarter than the average kid. Not crazy-genius smart, but smart. And competitive, and motivated, and – increasingly as she grew – capable. She grew in an environment where love and support and nurturing were poured into her with abundance, and she gratefully accepted all of it. A strong and devoted chorus of voices told her: You are important. You can do it.

As an adult, she was able to look back and see how that formed who she is and formed in her the desire for the same opportunities for all little girls.

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” Maya Angelou’s memoir of her life up to aged sixteen, is a book I had read many years ago. It leapt off the bookshelf in a recent trip to our local used bookstore, an invitation to discover it again. What a wonder! Her story has so much to absorb.

Maya’s childhood was one of being thrown out into the world to make the best of it if she could. The chorus of voices she heard most loudly was telling her that she was not important and not anybody special. Somehow she discovered a love for books. That opened up worlds for her. She began the process of figuring things out and discovering her voice.

So, I’ve been thinking about little girls.

The two girls who inhabit my new (work-in-progress) art quilt are based on a family photo of myself and my sister when I was three and she was four. As the work progresses, I’ve been looking at them a lot. They have evolved.

(Just this week, when I thought that portion of the work was done, I collaged over the girls and changed them around). I repositioned their bodies and redid the drawing and shading.

Most of what’s left in this work will involve adding layers and depth in the environment that surrounds them. I’m working slower than usual and giving it time. I want to hear what the chorus of voices behind these two is saying. I’m still figuring it out.

Thank you for reading. I always enjoy questions and comments.
--Bobbi
bobbi@bobbibaughstudio.com

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

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

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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Abandoned… Rediscovered… Remembered…

Discovering this abandoned house in South Carolina was an art inspiration. I blogged about in January, writing that the experience of finding this spot was a gift discovered by taking the long way, the off-the-highway path driving home to Florida.

Since then the house stayed on my mind. A work-in-progress in the studio now is beginning to take the images and create a new reality. (Video below in this blog post.)

What was so compelling, standing there by the house, was looking through the door and the broken windows and seeing trees and vines growing up inside the house, filling it. In a strange way, although the growth filled the space, it emphasized the emptiness. Homes are expected to hold people and life, not overgrown vines.

What interested me was this feeling of unreality. Instead of depicting the house realistically as we discovered it, I wanted to translate it into a dream-like memory.

Photos of the paint-peeled door and the overgrown windows have been transferred onto muslin. (I use a gel medium transfer from a laser color printout, pieced together to fill the size I need. These are tedious, but I like the final effect.)

The photographic images are being placed in a childlike, two-dimensional house shape, along with other fabrics, colors and textures. I will be adding tree forms behind to recreate the sense of loneliness the place held for me.

As I work on all the pieces in my “Home is what you Remember” series, I am trying to listen. To the images. To the memories. To what they stir inside me.

                  What happens when the people leave the house?
                  Something else will grow there.

You can watch the process unfold in this video.

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Is Juggling a Good Idea?

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.

: A Look Inside the Studio… “Neither Here Nor There”

This piece is about experience and emotion, not the technical aspects of creating it. But I worked out some new technical issues that I liked, using monoprinted background sheer fabrics as a basis for freehand drawing. I like the addition of this element to the texture of fabric collage.

What interests me about this subject matter is layers of experience. We see the girl, and also see some suggestions of inside of her. Working with fabric in layers, I physically create and then manipulate layers of color and texture. Layers of meaning are what interest me. Layers of fabric are my method of artmaking. The way of making is a perfect fit for the work’s meaning.

The completed work is HERE