To illustrate a simple poem, I went to a textile shop in the old garment center of Manhattan and bought the dull yellow linen for the background and patches of colorful silk. Troels was doubtful when I showed him the mix of colors and announced that they would turn it into a wall hanging (40 x 55″). Now, a few years later, he still likes the outcome.
The sewing was done by hand to avoid machine rattling so that Troels could enjoy the peace of Northern Michigan during the winter holidays. To the original shapes of the wall hanging, I added some symbols for events in our life such as the little piece of wool on the wrong side of the river, commemorating our dog.
I’m picturing northern Michigan in winter, which is easy because we just got a ton of snow here, and I’m looking at this warm image with a huge, warm sun… I’m wondering if it would look different if you’d been in Florida. Can you tell us what you were trying to do or thinking about, or even give us the poem if possible? Also, I’m curious about the two-color sun. Was it a shortage of material or some other reason that made you present it this way?
Birgit,
This is wonderful and somewhat quirky (in a good way). At first glance it seems to be an ordinary landscape and then there are strange twists, such as the two trees that are attached to eachother, the sun split in two pieces, and the interesting black and blue shape on the lower right. Nothing is predicatable as it appeared at first glance! I love your explanantion of the piece of wool on the “wrong” side of the river. What makes it wrong?
I am with Steve – can we hear more, or see the poem? And who is Troels? I am reminded of a poet named Naomi Shabib Nye who has a wonderful book titeld “The Trees are Older than you are” — I think that is the title.
Leslie and Steve,
One, perhaps, it makes more sense if I give you what I excised from the first draft of today’s post:
The next winter at the Sleeping Bear Dunes, I saw a new theme: The glacial beauty of Glen Lake with its pastel colors. I bought new fabrics. But when I started putting them together, they looked too drab. In my ignorance, I did not think of eliciting luminosity by painting on the fabric.
When I researched about dying fabrics using natural or synthetic dyes, I realized that I did not yet have the time to experiment with obtaining reproducible results.
So far, I have studied the Sleeping Bear Dunes only with my camera and my drawings.
Two, the poem was about a spring running down a mountain, becoming a river upon crossing the plains and then flowing into the ocean. The dark blue color on the lower right stands for the ocean. The distant mountain is shown in light green. The plains are the green meadow.
With respect to events in my own life: Troels is my husband. He loves apple trees. I probably symbolized our relationship with the two apple trees. About my losses: My dog, according to Greek mythology entered the underworld by crossing the river Acheron. The lower red stands for the Arizona desert with the round Salt Lake where my friend Leslie moved after leaving Michigan.
I don’t know why I show the sun in two colors; it was not for lack of material. What meaning this lost poem had for me? I have not told anyone about it.
What a good buzz this hanging has, Birgit. It has such a youthful, optimistic attitude.
I am imagining all the patient hand stitching, and I realize you did something I cannot do. What was it like? Did you hold the cloth in your lap? Did you have it on a table? How much time at a stretch did you work? Did you have a window to look outward from upon occasion?
Thanks for explaining the symbolism in your comment.
I am also reminded of one of my old favorite shirts that a girl made for me. It had a similar but more mountainous scene on the back.
Rex,
You are right about the optimistic attitude.
I did the sewing on a tiny oak table that we had intially used for a dining room table. I worked hard because I wanted to finish the piece during the winter holidays.
The most fun was kneeling on the floor and arranging the swatches of silk on the yellow linen molding the different shapes.
Looking out through the window, I saw meadows with juniper bushes, douglas firs, planted by previous owner to be sold as Christmas trees, native pines and hardwood.
Ah. Perfect. The set and the scene is complete in my mind now. Thank you, Birgit.
Leslie,
Someone echoed back your comment quirky to me. quirky resonates with me. Your unholy ghost also has something quirky.
Birgit
Birgit,
Great colors. And quirky, indeed.
I think I liked it better without the explanations of the symbolism and imagery that you were thinking of, though. You have a fine sense of composition and color and that’s what carries me through.
June,
Thank you for positive comment and for your criticism. Your criticism is most welcome.
It reminds me of what Karl once said when I was trying to invent a descriptive title for one of his paintings. He preferred to leave his painting untitled so that people could put their own meaning into it. An explanation of the artist’s imagery robs others of their individual relationship to what they view.
I don’t think that I attempted to explain the imagery of my wall hanging to anyone before I posted it on A&P. I will not repeat that mistake in the future.
Birgit,
I enjoyed your explanation, and it enhanced my experience. I see that Leslie and Steve were curious about the symbolism too. Explaining the symbolism was not a mistake for seventy five percent of the commenters so far.
Rex,
I did enjoy communicating what my imagery meant. Also, Steve’s question made me think about what my two-colored sun could mean and the outcome was a little spooky for me.
I also enjoyed attempting to interpret the imagery in Angela Ferreira’s and Leslie Holt’s painting earlier on A&P.
Perhaps, within A&P, we enjoy learning about each other? Suppose, I was not your Cyberspace pal. Would you still enjoy the interpretation of my imagery or would you rather form your own associations?
If you were not my cyberspace pal, I would still ask, and then you would become more real rather than a distant, unknown, mystery.
Also, I always form my own associations regardless of any explanation, but I like the richness of experience I hear from other’s associations. For example, I had a completely different interpretation of Angela’s painting than the one she was thinking of, but my interpretation remains true for me while at the same time hers still shines. Good art means different things to different people.
Hearing it from the artist is always, always a delight.
Birgit,
As you can tell, audiences differ widely in their ideas. And generally speaking, I like to hear what the artist has to say. I suspect it was just that in your case, I was so taken with the visual that I wanted to bask in it alone. It might have been the best compliment I could have paid — I’ll have to think on that. Normally I’m a fanatic reader of all text materials:-)