Did I really have a vacation a couple of weeks ago? It seems that I did, but the last couple of weeks since my return have been so busy that it almost seems like another lifetime ago. I’ll post some photos from Hawaii shortly, but right now the most pressing thing in my life is getting my thesis show ready.

Our graduating class was supposed to have been the first to have our show in a brand-new space, one purchased by the school and completely renovated to beautiful perfection. Of course, there was always the worry that the construction wouldn’t be finished in time, but we all kept sending positive energy out into the world so that everything would proceed as planned. But yesterday, we were informed that of course the worst has happened. It’s not the renovation itself, but a long complicated story about needing more parking spaces because of the zoning, which requires destruction of other structures on the property, which have now turned out to have asbestos. This is a massive problem; it can’t be dealt with in time no matter how much we might will it, so for the moment we are building-less. A massive search effort is underway for an alternative space, and we are all in a kerfuffle wondering how this will come together by April 23, which is supposed to be the opening.

And I, ever the procrastinator, have been unable to get my postcard to the printer until now, even though it’s due to various parties in a mere 6 days. The reason for that is, as usual, complete and utter gridlock in the ability to come up with a title for my show. Originally called Resonant State, my thesis has undergone many revisions and thus my concept has morphed to the point where that was no longer appropriate. Among other possible working titles, I had at various times called it Patina and Force Majeure. Neither of those gave me the happy, contented feeling I expect when something fits well. Titling is a difficult, angst-ridden process for me. I write down many, many words as they occur to me, anything that might have a glimmer of a chance of being useful. This all stews inside my brain, and after an interminable amount of time, a new title emerges. So it is with this show, the title of which shall henceforth be Plane of Persistence. It works on several levels with not only my thesis, but also with my working methods. More about that when I post the thesis statement shortly.

Now the funny part. I’m getting the postcard printing for $25, but the cost for rush order and overnight delivery is going to be about 4 times that much. So there you have it – do as I say and not as I do, and plan ahead.

I’ve been working more on my paintings in preparation for the thesis show. Although I originally started this series from an idea about the brain and cells and memory and dreams (see A State of Resonance), that’s all kind of fallen by the wayside as I’ve been working more into these paintings. I realized that I’m falling back to my usual way of working, which applies whether I’m working with textiles or painting on panels, or any other medium, and that is a focus on process. I work intuitively, starting with some basic layers of things and responding to them as I go. All of my work is about texture and layering, influenced by the things I’m drawn to visually: crumbling walls, peeling paint, rusty hinges, and marks. There is an inherent aspect of time, as surfaces are changed over time by the environment and by human intervention.

Rereading my earlier words, this seems to be the single most pertinent thing I said in that post:

I’m still working with texture, because after so many years of working with textiles, I’ve developed an inseparable connection with the tactile nature of materials. Besides the visual texture imparted by the lines, shapes, colors and markings in this work, I’m also using thread, string, fragments of handmade paper, and other embedded objects to impart elements of physical texture to the surface. I’m still very interested in creating a sense of depth and layering here, in an attempt to create an illusion that you are moving into the piece.

In the BFA thesis class, we spend a lot of time working on our statements. The thesis statement is distinguished from the artist’s statement in a couple of ways, the most notable of which seems to me to be that it’s a lot longer and therefore full of more pontificating and “artspeak.” In attending past senior thesis shows and trying to read the statements, I’ve found that in most cases they were way too long and my mind would start wandering before I could get through the whole thing. A lot of them sound like they’re just regurgitating a bunch of theory to score points.

In writing mine, I’m trying to be as honest as possible without sounding overly academic and pompous. On the other hand, I do want to make an effort to go along with the system to a certain extent, basically so I can get a good grade. Here’s the part where I’m having difficulty. We are supposed to name a couple of influences, and each named influence must be visible in the work. I mention wabi-sabi, as the idea of finding beauty in the impermanent and the imperfect is very influential, but they also want some actual art movements and/or specific artists named.

Now I have a lot of artists in mind whose work I admire: Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, Robert Ryman, Eva Hesse, Gordon Matta-Clark, Susan Rothenberg, Wayne Thiebaud, Richard Diebenkorn, plus many more contemporary painters, textile artists, and photographers. But there is not a single one that I looked at and said, “I want to make work like that.” So I’m going about this in a rather backwards way, I suppose. I’m paging through all my Art in America and ARTnews magazines and a bunch of books to find something that looks similar or has a similar intent. Can’t really find anything terribly appropriate. For lack of a better idea right now, I guess I’m going to go with Abstract Expressionism, since the look of my work is somewhat similar to some of the gestural painters, although I think my philosophy of working doesn’t really fit. (Emotional intensity and self-denial? I hardly think so.) I’m open to suggestions.

One other note, specifically on the painting above. I first did this one last semester, but I wasn’t really satisfied with it in its original incarnation. Then, after I got a comment that it looked like an image of a nebula taken from the Hubble telescope, I realized that was pretty far off my intention. Here’s what it looked like before the rework:

Well, that color really was too wild, and even though a certain person is disappointed about it, I like the new version quite a bit better. I’m in charge here, after all!

In my last post, I discussed my angst over having to finally settle on what kind of work I wanted to have in my Thesis/Portfolio show. A few days later, our class went to visit the site to get an idea of what the space looks like. While looking at one large wall, I got a flash of how cool it would be to have some very large textile pieces in the show. As I waited for everyone else to be finished with their mildly excited chattering and general milling around, I had a little daydream which in short order included a very clear vision of making (5) 6×4-foot pieces to be set close together, making a single statement. (Wikipedia asserts that that would be a “pentaptych,” but such an ungainly word shall have no place in my permanent working vocabulary.)

The textures, colors, and methods were all surprisingly well developed in my little reverie, and I started to make my plan a reality the very next day. I cut backs and batting pieces, and I went to the basement to go through all my old stash of random types of fabric, looking for those piles of silk scraps from the designer clothing castoff sales and the old silk blouses and shirts from Goodwill that I had once accumulated for some now long-lost idea. I spent many hours of every day of the following week cutting, tearing, ironing, painting, arranging, and basting to get my first piece, a prototype of sorts, somewhat in shape to continue. But I had only begun to put in some of the first, tentative stitches — some by hand, and some by machine. The reality of whether I would be able to complete 5 of these pieces by mid-April was seriously in doubt at this point.

Over this past weekend, I met with some friends and showed them my prototype as well as a couple of the Resonant State paintings. Granted, it’s very hard for others to get enthusiastic and be able to have a clear picture of your finished piece when they’re looking at something that’s just a bunch of scraps basted onto a backing, but the consensus was unambiguous: go with the paintings. After all, they’re pretty much done, save for some minor tweaking, so why spend the next couple of months in a state of extreme anxiety when there’s no need for that? If I really think about it, one of the biggest reasons I make art is because I find it immensely therapeutic, relaxing, and satisfying. Rushing to get something done for the sake of a deadline is antithetical to my process.

I had to admit I felt a great sense of relief once I began to let go of my new idea, even though it was, and still is, very precious to me. I’m still going to continue with these pieces in the future when the time is right. In a way, this is even better. I have all of the raw materials plus one piece pretty far along, neatly stored away for the future like a squirrel with a big pile of nuts. With this plus all the other ideas I have ready and waiting in the wings, I’ll never be stuck staring at the wall, wondering what I should work on. For me, this is better than money in the bank.

Suspension. 22 x 30 inches. Watercolor and acrylic on handmade paper.
©2009 Deidre Adams

Sometimes when visiting Mexico or Florida or southern California, the thought has crossed my mind that it would be so awesome to live in a place where you have lush foliage and bright colors surrounding you all the time. But when I get home to Colorado, I realize how much I love the rhythm of the change of seasons, and how each time of the year has its own appeal. I think winter may be the least appreciated of the seasons, but I love the quiet and the muted colors of this time of year. You may have to look a little harder, but the beauty is there in the landscape, just in a more subtle way. This painting is a celebration of winter hues.

(Suspension is available through Translations Gallery in Denver.)

Something I’ve wanted to do since starting this blog two years ago was get into the habit of posting on a regular basis. But I still have this idea that in order for a post to be worthwhile, I need to have some kind of meaningful content to impart, which often turns out to be self-defeating. Right now I just want to post some work that I did last year and never got around to showing. That was, after all, the main reason I wanted to blog: to have a way to quickly and easily get my work onto the web. So, no words of wisdom, no lengthy blather today. I’m sure that will come as a relief to many!

(Precognition is available through Translations Gallery in Denver.)

Resonant State No. 5, 36 x 36 inches, ©Deidre Adams

New Year’s Day is one of my favorite days of the year. All of the hoopla and frenzied compulsive consumption associated with the holiday season is now officially over. Nothing left now but a bright new start, a clean slate full of hope and quiet promise.

I find myself reflecting on how fortunate I’ve been, not just this past year but for a long time, for family and friends and health and art. I don’t make resolutions, and I don’t make laundry lists of achievements and failures. I just want to be and to do. It could be a great day to go and clean up the studio, preparing myself for all the great art I’m going to make in the coming weeks (she said only somewhat self-mockingly). I could go out and do some photography, or I could go shopping. Did you know that “Is Costco open on New Year’s Day” was the 7th most popular Google search when I happened to try it this morning? Well, thankfully the answer is no, so there goes that idea. Still, the day is open to infinite possibility.

Whether you prefer to spend the day taking stock of where you are and where you want to be, or if like me, you just want to enjoy each moment as it comes, I wish you a very happy new year, with much joy and success, and the ability to recognize them in their many forms.

Resonant State No. 1, 24 x 24 inches, ©Deidre Adams

Do you ever get the feeling that life isn’t always as random as we might think? I had yet another experience today that goes into the category of amazing coincidence.

Last week, I wrote about my Entangled Series, the first group of pieces that I did for my Painting V class. Making these pieces was a cathartic experience for me, but they were also extremely time-consuming. While it was OK that I had to spend pretty much every minute of my time not taken up with other obligations working on them, I knew that work in my other classes was going to start demanding way more time and attention, and I needed to find a way to do the work faster. So I decided to go back to painting.

By now I think I’ve worked something out of my system, so even though I started out this second series still thinking about entanglement, the work evolved into something different as I progressed. I’m still thinking about the processes of the brain, but now it’s more general. I’ve been doing a lot of research on neuroscience, at least insofar as I can understand it because it can very quickly become “science-y” beyond the point that I’m willing to pursue it. I have a basic understanding of neurons, synapses, axons, and dendrites, but what I find immensely fascinating is that science still doesn’t have a clear understanding of how all these physical structures lead to the phenomena of language and memory, perceptions and emotions, consciousness and dreams, and ultimately becomes an awareness of self. This is what I’m trying to explore in these paintings.

I’m still working with texture, because after so many years of working with textiles, I’ve developed an inseparable connection with the tactile nature of materials. Besides the visual texture imparted by the lines, shapes, colors and markings in this work, I’m also using thread, string, fragments of handmade paper, and other embedded objects to impart elements of physical texture to the surface. I’m still very interested in creating a sense of depth and layering here, in an attempt to create an illusion that you are moving into the piece.

Resonant State No. 1, detail, ©Deidre Adams

Today, I was in the process of writing this blog entry on the next group of pieces, when something arrived in the mail which helped to solidify my ideas about what I’m trying to say with these pieces: the December ’09 issue of Discover Magazine. Now as far as I know, we do not have a subscription to this magazine (although it could very well turn out that a family member is giving us a gift subscription for Christmas), and I’ve never read it before in my life. But it looked interesting, so I thumbed through it, and right there on page 61 is a fantastic article about Henry Markram and the Blue Brain project. The project is an attempt to simulate a human brain with computers, reverse engineering what we know and “building tools to synthesize those data into biological phenomena.” In its current state, the project is running on the IBM Blue Gene®/P, a supercomputer consisting of “16,000 processors squeezed into a space the size of four refrigerators.”

The article is fascinating and I highly recommend it. I won’t go into it in too much depth, except for the part that really sparked my recognition of how this applies to my work. In answer to a question about what they’ve learned so far with the project, Markham talks about the phenomenon of “gamma oscillations,” a rhythm of electrical activity that appeared spontaneously in the circuit. He explains further:

Gamma oscillations are the basis for consciousness, according to a theory. The theory holds that when the brain goes into high-frequency oscillations, those oscillations do perceptual binding, which is the foundation of consciousness. … It’s significant that we didn’t specifically try to model the phenomenon in the brain. All we have to do is pay attention to the fact that we are building it correctly, and these phenomena emerge. The whole circuit goes into this resonant state, which is an amazing state. Now we can dissect the circuit and find out exactly which neurons were crucial, which pathways, which receptors, and so forth.

I love the idea of the “resonant state,” as I think this has multiple meanings applicable to thoughts, memory and the making of art in and of itself. Here are the other paintings in the series:

Resonant State No. 2, 24 x 24 inches, ©Deidre Adams

Resonant State No. 3, 24 x 24 inches, ©Deidre Adams

Resonant State No. 4, 24 x 24 inches, ©Deidre Adams

Wall Sketch #1, photo transfer and watercolor on artist-made paper. 9×9 inches (matted to 15×15). ©2009 Deidre Adams.

I have a couple more France posts I want to do, but I’m back in school now, already behind, and I’ve had two more short road trips since my last post. I can’t believe how fast time is screaming by.

But I wanted to post these images while the topic is still fresh. Translations Gallery is going to be featuring some smaller works by their gallery artists, so I brought these in last week. These are mixed-media works on paper, matted and backed, and inserted into Clearbags. I will also have some full-size watercolors to post as soon as I get them to the gallery.

Landmarks #1, photo transfer and watercolor on paper. 8×10 inches (matted to 11×14). ©2009 Deidre Adams.

Landmarks #2, photo transfer and watercolor on paper. 9×9 inches (matted to 15×15). ©2009 Deidre Adams.

Landmarks #3, photo transfer and watercolor on paper. 8×10 inches (matted to 11×14). ©2009 Deidre Adams.

Wall Sketch #2, photo transfer, clear gesso, watercolor, and gouache on paper. 7×7 inches (matted to 13×13). ©2009 Deidre Adams.

Wall Sketch #3, photo transfer, acrylic gel medium, and watercolor on artist-made paper. 8×10 inches (matted to 11×14). ©2009 Deidre Adams.

Untitled, 12 x 12 inches, ©Deidre Adams

When I finished up my spring semester of school back in mid-May, it seemed I had the whole summer before me and many grandiose plans swirled through my brain about all the great work I was going to make and the many things I would accomplish. Well, here it is the middle of July and I don’t have a whole lot to show for it. Instead of going into my studio and working full days with single-minded focus, I’ve found that my time has been thoroughly eaten away with traveling and design work, and artwork time has been limited to popping in for short stints when I just couldn’t force myself to sit at the computer for one more second.

This kind of disjointed time is manifesting itself in serious ADD behavior. Instead of concentrating on a single thing, I’m flitting from one project to another, making small amounts of progress on each. I’m working on a few large pieces in my standard working style, progressing very slowly. It seems the large pieces now require small amounts of painting interspersed with lots of staring and contemplating and decision-making. In addition to those, I’ve also started some totally new small works that I have a vision will contain lots and lots of hand-stitching, something I love but rarely find time to do. And since I’m not distracted enough, I’m getting out UFOs (unfinished objects) and finding little ways to improve them. I’m even taking a few of my older finished pieces that I wasn’t satisfied with and have been making small alterations.

This piece above started as a school assignment. It was part of my final project in Painting IV last spring, which was supposed to consist of 2 large paintings. Since I was taking a total of 5 classes, I knew that I was not going to have a lot of time to complete the work at school. Plus I really did not want to have to schlep huge canvases back and forth to school and home for each class. In consultation with my instructor, we agreed that I could make 6-8 small pieces instead of the 2 large ones. At the time, I had been reading Elaine Lipson’s Red Thread Studio blog, a content-rich source of ideas and links relating to all manner of sewing topics, and from there went to a link for the Sri Threads blog, specifically this post about a boro sakiori noragi, an old Japanese work coat that was well worn and loved and had been patched many times. I loved the story of how it was made:

Sometimes a group of women would pool their meager resources to buy a bundle of rags.  They’d sort the rags, wash them and then prepare them for use as yarn to create these thick coats.  Prior to this, farmers and rural folk would wear what they could forage for and turn that into yarn, so they wore clothing of hemp, ramie, wisteria and the like.

The Sri Threads Gallery has many more examples of these patched textiles on their web site, and I printed out some of them for the “process folio” we’re required to make for every painting assignment. The beautiful stitching was so engaging to me, along with the idea of continuing to repair and keep using an item of clothing, instead of casting it away so easily as our society does. So I had some kind of idea that my pieces would be about wabi-sabi, or finding beauty in the imperfect. I knew that I wanted to include scraps of cloth and hand stitching as an homage to this way of thinking and living. Here’s an image of them in progress:

The top ones are before any paint is applied, and the bottom ones are in early stages of painting.

The problem was, I ran out of time and was just going through the motions there at the end. I couldn’t figure out how I could possibly give them the kind of dimension I wanted them to have, plus get them all mounted so they would look complete, but at the same time preserve the raw edge of the torn canvas, which I deemed as very important to the work. Since having something you could call finished seemed to have a bigger impact on your grade than whether or not you realized your artistic vision — after all, how could anyone besides the artist really know whether that was achieved — I had to compromise. I ended up making 2 long, banner-like mountings out of canvas and batting, and I laboriously hand-stitched each of these little paintings to them to form long vertical pieces. This image shows them close to done but without the final dark paint that I ended up putting on the background. I forgot to take a picture of the completed paintings — I guess that in itself is an indicator of how excited I was about it.

Well, these things have been hanging around my studio for months, and I finally got tired of looking at them. I just decided to take the plunge and cut them all apart again, to live as separate paintings as I had intended all along. I’m giving up on the idea of simple beauty, because they were, quite frankly, just plain boring, and that original idea is less important to me than having work I find interesting and complete. I’m working on making them standalone paintings, with texture and color and many levels of layering. I’m much happier with where these are going now. Here are a couple more:

1st — larger version |  2nd — larger version | 3rd — larger version

Thanks to Magsramsray for her brilliant suggestion to just post the image without explanatory text. She really hit the nail on the head with her comments. I do feel a kind of self-imposed pressure to say something momentous each time I post, which is intimidating and leads to self-censorship. But since this is my party, I can do whatever I want, including making the choice to be free of substance. So here’s the painting mentioned in the last post, submitted here without commentary.

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