Facing the fish

approximately 11 x 12cm

Experimental batik on paper

the part of the building where we had our workshop

In the mid 80s I commuted to Indonesia for a while, and having expressed a general interest in batik, a woman with whom I worked gifted me a piece she had done as a child: wax on cloth, but not yet dyed. This was for me to dye whatever colour I wanted. She also gave me lumps of wax and a set of cantings to apply that wax, so that I could try the techniqe for myself.

the different colours are different thicknesses of wax

The waxed cloth I have kept as it is because it is so beautiful - to dye it and lose the wax would make it just like so many others. I love the look, the touch, and the smell of it. And indeed have wanted for a long time to see if I could incorporate wax in my work somehow. I looked at traditional batik courses, but somehow none appealed. But then I came across a weekend one by Hetty van Boekhout at West Dean. The three words caught my eye: experimental, batik, and paper. As well as working with wax, I also want to work more with paper. So: two birds ....

It was a fantastic couple of days in wondrous surroundings, with the bonuses of good company and beautiful Spring weather.

The view from my bedroom window

the courtyard between the workshop and the dining room

the glorious Spring bulbs flowering in the magnificent grounds

I had not been able to track down much on the Internet about Hetty's work, nor the workshop, but here are images of her work (scroll down, she is the third artist featured), and a quick burst of delight appeared on this blog. I'm one of those people who wants to be as prepared as possible, so that I can make as much use of a workshop as possible.

We started work on the course from the very beginning, on Friday evening, quickly weilding our canting and brushes, experimenting with shapes and colours in wax and dye and ironing the results.

I have come away with a pile of experiments - many a lot worse than others, but all I have no doubt useable in some way. That is one of the boons of working with scanned material of course, that what is not suitable for use in its own form, can be transformed.

Playing with the processes was interesting, and enjoyable to exhaustion, and I have a couple of pieces which I might actually consider framing for myself. I hope to be able to develop new work which will use some of the other pieces as they are - that needs the input to percolate. And I'm sure there will be lots of scanning for use in my present kind of work.

However, I am not drawn to the process itself. I have been spoiled with my painter program in being able to arrive at design results without use of mess nor fuss, and which can be easily reproduced in my currently preferred surface.


I have not come away with an immediate compulsion to make paper batik works. But it has opened my eyes to possibilities, and it may well spark off something of a new direction sometime. In the meantime I have an intermediate stage to explore with my newly acquired material.

flash shows up the shine of the wax all over this piece

Anticipation

Focus 11 x 12.5cm

It has been a long while since I went on a workshop, but I have reached a point in my work when I need to expand my vocabulary. Well, at least I need to look at the language I'm using: how I'm using it, and whether I can express myself better. I'm not exactly blocked, but let's say that I'm wittering on about the same old stuff, and I feel the need to move on.

Anyway, I've found a couple of short courses at West Dean, the first of which is just coming up. I have never been on a course there, and have only once before been on a residential course. That was on pattern cutting - which I needed to learn to design the knitwear I made - and was brilliant. Work, work, work - that's the way I used to run the workshops I taught on publishing skills years ago, and what I most enjoy when learning a new technique.

I find myself quite excited.

Off?

Basket

Fascinating fact

What drew me initially to Picasso's work was its power - and that draws me still. The power draws the eye and holds it fast. Over the years of looking and reading many more things have reinforced that first attraction, but one aspect of his work has never been near the top of any list: colour.

Picasso for me has always been the master of tone, not a maestro of colour. Matisse is tops there. So it was with interest and some amusement that I discovered the other day in reading Richardson's biography that during his cubist phase Picasso wanted to inject more colour into his work. In order to do so he used Ripolin paint - house paint.

And I suddenly remembered a photo I'd taken some years ago in Rennes. I was attracted by the Dubonnet advertisement painted on a wall, and next to it another attractive ad. - for Ripolin. At the time I did not know what it was, but loved the graphic and the faded colours of the two side by side.

I really enjoy connections like that - and I shall look more closely at Picasso's actual paintings of that period next time I see them, scrutinising the materials. I must say that this minutely observed biography, the detailed examination of Picasso's progress, is the most encouraging input I have ever had towards my own pursuit.

Many moons

152 x 105mm

I've used a relatively thick thread for the background stitching, but wanted something less for the moons. I tried a thinner thread, but that was not right either - however the unpicking revealed just what I wanted: needle holes with no thread.


As well as stitching these little pieces I am reading the second volume of John Richardson's biography of Picasso. Progress is wondrously measured: we follow the development of each painting in the ten years between 1907 and 1917. There are 512 pages of fascinating detail. It is giving me immense pleasure, and this time I don't want to leave a gap between volumes. Halfway through this one I have ordered the next one.

I was distressed to read in an article on Sunday that John Richardson is suffering from wet macular degeneration, and therefore his sight is disappearing fast. There has been much speculation as to whether he will ever be able to finish the biography. Somehow I find that reading his description of Picasso's progress helps me not only to see those paintings, but affects what I bring to other work too.

In praise of thread

When I was publishing I was able to indulge to excess in my love of all things stationery: pencils, pens, paper, notebooks. This obsession - because that's what it was: I have still a box of unused (or with one page used and torn out!) notebooks, for example - extended to desk furniture for a while too.

Then with my hobby of drawing and painting I splashed out on coloured pencils (buying the complete range of Prismacolor Premier on a holiday in Chicago - parts of my scribble palettes have featured in my textile work, such as in the latest mini piece in my last post, and with the greys below as the background for my Fish grey and Grey fish pieces) and of course the sketchbooks to go with them. I restrained myself on that front quite some time ago, not because sense prevailed, ... but because I found another focus for my desire: thread.

When I started thinking about doing work with textiles I was indiscriminate with my favours, buying all sorts of seductive delights before I knew what on earth I was going to do with them. Well, I don't do that any more. My eye but not my hand is drawn to treasures on sale at shows - my last temptation being at the Knitting and Stitching show in London some several years ago when I filled a little basket at one stand, and then carefully put each little hank back in its place, returning the basket firmly. I'm afraid I rather shocked the other shoppers.

But I do love the threads that I do use. They are a vital element of my palette, and it is rather frustrating that I cannot show adequately how much they contribute to my work. Using two colours at the same time started when I was knitting, and I liked the random effect so much, and what that added to the overall use of colour, that I started doing similarly with my stitching.


Above are two illustrations from a sequence I prepared for an article in Quiltwow a couple of years ago. For the most part the thread I use is cotton, and that either from Gutermann (whose cotton is not all that commonly available unfortunately) or from Stef Francis. My preferred choice is the 6-ply fine cotton which passes smoothly through the cotton poplin of my quilts. It makes a good thick stitch on the mini works too. The acid green mix on the left in the basket is one of the two colourways I used in my last post's work.

Now I just have to come up with a plan to stitch all those beautiful notebooks, ....

Artists' employment creation scheme -?

This latest of my wee works originated as a quick blind sketch I did of a couple on a bench in Tate Britain's Howard Hodgkin exhibition some time ago. Co-incidentally in today's Guardian newspaper I read a fascinating article about another exhibition at Tate Britain.

This time it was not the art itself, nor the artists themselves that sparked the interest, but the army of art handlers and art fabricators who have employment because of the kind of art exhibited. It seems that contemporary art could perhaps get us out of global financial gloom! Just like the Federal Art Project of the Great Depression. But this time we need to have many exhibitions in every town, artists coming up with more and more bizarre ideas and concepts, much employment of makers, handlers, preparers, and promoters - and a few bonus-rich bankrollers to oil the wheels.

Ta-daa!

Damien Hirst is an early example of what some call one view of the artist's future as a more obvious social and financial instrumental element. However, this is really not all that new: it is true that in olden times artists had studios full of apprentices, and that even the famous paintings we revere were done by many hands other than the master's. As a nation we have just paid £50 million to keep Titian's Diana and Actaeon in Britain, and I heard the other day some expert say that Diana's head was not painted by Titian himself.

I knew Diana back in my student days at Edinburgh in the 60s, and I'm afraid she was far from my favourite - but I was delighted and grateful to have the opportunity to pass such personal judgement at no cost. Art has long been found in bed with money, and I sometimes wonder which has really been the more dominant partner - because the power of art has provoked so many rich owners to extraordinary acts of generosity towards the not always appreciative masses.

Meanwhile, back here in my primitive designer/maker/artist brain to own hand economy, I just wonder at it all.

Revisiting scale

The snowy view from the breakfast table this morning made me think about scale again. I love the way that a blanket of snow can enhance last year's flower stems - the previously untidy sticks take on a new beauty, and seem to occupy a different amount of space.

Disparate bits of garden-in-limbo suddenly become a coherent vibrant whole - again occupying a space in monochrome which is different from Summer's tapestry of greens.


I thought again about what Karoda had said about the size of the figures in my compositions.


The smallest work in this snap above is 91 x 78mm (approx. 3.5 x 3"), and the most recent quilt I've completed is 141 x 109cm (55.5 x 43") - not pictured above. Somehow I've found since this recent period of making mini stitched sketches, as I think of them, the small scale seems just as weighty and sculptural as in the larger pieces. It's that monumental volume which has always appealed to me.

At the turn of the year I carried out an exercise in looking at the difference between influences on my work and inspirations. The influences are fundamental contributors, and many come from my earliest experiences. Byzantine and Romanesque architecture gave me a love of the monumental but approachable form. I find that such buildings relate well to the human scale, even if the church is as massive as Aghia Sophia in Istanbul. Any impression of busyiness in Romanesque buildings is an impression given by the use of materials such as brick, and decoration in the form of mosaics. The forms themselves are simple and straightforward. It is my intention when composing a work to follow this example, to deal with perceived mass and volume encompassing detail rather than the latter having primary importance.

In these days of judgement by reproduction I count myself lucky that a satisfying composition (in my own work) is one which works at any scale. I think that being drawn to the figurative is halfway there - especially in essentially close-up sculptural pose. The challenge I now embark on is to step back from that direct confrontation with emotion, and to consider the landscape with the figure(s). I shall be interested to see how this goes (I'm relatively pleased with my first tentative design), and how the influences manifest themselves.