Redefined

My life with the circus

When I was attending college on Long Island (New York), I went to summer school to catch up on a couple of prerequisites for my new major. While I was there, the Clyde Beatty-Cole Brothers Circus set up their tent on the campus and stayed for three days. During that time, I met and became friends with some of the men and women who worked for the circus and I ended up visiting them several times when the circus was in the area during the next few weeks.

My circus friends loved it when I was around because they were typically in each town for just one day. To have a non-circus visitor whom they saw more than once was very special for them. To my delight, they invited me to travel with the circus for a while and I ended up staying with them for five days on the road, going from Kingston, NY to Syracuse, NY.

My parents, of course, had visions of acrobats dragging me behind the bushes and having their way with me, but in fact, I was treated like a princess. Everyone went out of their way to make my time with them a lot of fun. The circus' manager took me on a VIP tour of the sideshow tent, so I could talk to the performers and see how some of the tricks were done. When I would sit through the performance, the vendors would "force" me to take free snocones and drinks, to the annoyance of the other audience members, who were paying a lot for the same items. I even had personal encounters with some of the animals, thanks to their trainers. The clowns, who I'd been told were all quite gay, were some of the most interesting people I've ever met.

The last night I was with them in Syracuse, the group rented a hotel room and threw a going away party for me. Everyone was there, including the "24 hour advance" man, who I hadn't met because he was always a day ahead of us on the road.

A year later, I was taking summer classes again when the circus returned to the campus. I went to the performance and was recognized by several of the people, including the new circus manager, who had been the advance man the year before. I was invited back to his office (on a truck) afterwards to talk, but the word got around that I was there, so a number of my old friends stopped by to say hello to me. That was the last time I ever saw those circus people, but I will always remember their kindness and friendship the summer I ran away with the circus.

A simple piece of wood - Part 9

In between processing loads of tomatoes, tending the gardens and cleaning the house, I've been working on Dispensed. The holder is now made and waiting for the finish. This particular type of wood does not take stain very evenly, so I will probably paint it.

Almost done!

2003 and 2004: Putting the "mixed" into my medium

In 2003, I started adding major non-quilt design elements to my work. This was a pretty radical idea for someone who had been teaching "block of the month" workshops at the local quilt shop just a few years before. My first real sculpture was Tethered, which may look like it's made of metal, but the outer covering is actually cotton batting, the stuff you find inside of a quilt that makes it warm and cuddly. Even up close, the surface appears to be metal until you touch it.

Another 2003 work was To Make a Long Story Short, created for a travelling exhibit of self portraits. It looks just like me, don't you think? The title comes from one of my father's favorite things to say, which was typically spoken just before he launched into his entire life story. Like him, I tend to be a storyteller that gets carried away, so the name seemed appropriate. The ten quilts in this piece represent different parts of my life. Left to right: computers, domestic bliss, living in New York, dating, camping. Top to bottom: art, living in Kansas, childhood, cigars and technical writing. A bit of Jill trivia: I smoked cigars back in the early 70s, long before it became the in thing for Hollywood celebrities to do.

Moving on to 2004, one of my favorite works is Extruded. Like Tethered, the "metal" part is actually made of fiber. It's supposed to look like hot metal that is being forced out through a shaped opening, cooling as it comes out, even to the point that pieces are cracking off.

I originally created Forest Floor to be a base for a creature I'd made, but they just didn't want to be together. The creature wound up being a standalone piece, called Creeped. Some people think that Forest Floor is one of the best things I've ever made, but because it's so different from my other work, I rarely show it. It looks rather fragile in the picture, but you can shake it upside down and nothing will fall off. The only part that is not attached is the spider on the web. There is a plexiglas cover which fits over the top and a custom and very well-padded storage case, which probably took as much time to construct as the artwork itself.

During these two years, I was solidifying my style, which is to use quilts as if they are raw material, rather than finished products. The more I made, the more my work became about the concepts, so the finished works took many kind of forms, including framed, wall hung, freestanding sculpture, installation art or some combination of the above.

The following year, 2005, I created some of my most interesting work, which I'll talk about in my next installment.

When good artists go bad

As much as I'd like to think all my work is amazing, I've had some truly awful "going down in flames and it's time to jump" failures. At least I recognized these disasters before I sent them out into the world for others to see. Here are some gems that have never seen the light of day before. It's my very own House of Horrors and I'm showing them to you now to prevent future blackmail scenarios.

This beauty was originally going to be called something like Encased. There is a vinyl sack attached to a green fabric base. The base has a hole through it so something can be inserted into the sack, then a second green base covers the hole. The "something" was a long, skinny quilt that was crammed inside.

What do you think this looks like?
A. An uncooked meatloaf
B. A hairball from a pink-furred cat
C. Medical waste
D. A slimy slug
E. All of the above
F. I don't know, but I wish you hadn't posted this picture

Another stunner is this small quilt, which is about 8" x 10". I was never able to figure out what to do with it. It's just there. About the best thing I can say is that it's colorful and would make a good potholder, if it matched my kitchen better.

When I create a framed work, I usually paint on a stretched canvas, then use fiber art techniques to finish the design. Here is another work that was going nowhere fast and if you don't like this one, I can show you several more that are just as bad.

I typically hold onto these bits of unfinished projects, terrible or not,  because I've been known to recycle them into newer work. In fact, the pink skinny quilt was originally part of Tethered, until I realized the quilt was twice as long as it should be and chopped it off. After an unsuccessful trial run in the meatloaf, that chunk of quilt finally ended up in Knitted, proving that a spectacular failure can sometimes turn into something quite spectacular.

Anyone want to buy an empty vinyl sack sitting on a green platter?

Gallery directors can wear white hats, too

I just got my rejection letter from Fiber Focus, a biennial exhibit which is held at the Art St. Louis gallery in Missouri. The only time I've gotten into this show was in 2001, with The Light at the End of the Tunnel. It was one of my very first gallery exhibits when I was making the switch from quilter to artist. I went to St. Louis for the reception and was amazed at the quality of art exhibited and the attention given to the reception at this regional show. Since then, I have entered some of my best work in this exhibit, but for whatever reasons, I haven't been accepted again. Oh well.

I mention this because every time I get my rejection letter from this show, the gallery manager, Robin Hirsch, writes a personal note to me at the bottom. This time, I was so touched that I wrote to her and she sent back the nicest email, even saying that she'd kept up with my work during the intervening time.

As an artist, I can't tell you how much it means to have someone remember me and my work. It only took a moment for her to write that note, but the encouragement will keep me going for years. A little kindness goes a long way in a profession where you need to develop a thick skin because of the amount of rejection you get.

I usually don't get notes from gallery directors and curators, but I've had just enough things like this happen that I've continued making my art, even during some very difficult times. None of these people had to show these little kindnesses, but with these small gestures, they earned my respect and loyalty and I will continue to enter their shows, even if I don't get in.

Artists often view gallery directors as adversaries, but there are some wonderful people who work in this profession and truly care about the people involved. If you know someone like that, be sure to tell them how much you appreciate them.

Why nobody buys art

Recently, a former high school classmate looked at my website and wrote to me (twice) telling me she was going to buy one of my artworks. The reunion is now three weeks past and I still haven't heard from her. Then again, I didn't expect to because this happens to artists all the time. People look at our work, tell us they are interested in buying something, then never do. Frankly, I don't blame them.

Back in the Middle Ages, a painting or sculpture was a rare and wondrous thing. Few people had the opportunity to see artwork, except in their churches. There were no photographs, television or internet. No billboards or magazines. No YouTube on your cell phone. Today, by comparison, we are bombarded by images all the time and if we don't like one, we can just change the channel and find another one. It doesn't cost anything extra to see something different. In fact, we don't pay for specific images, but for the delivery systems themselves, so the perception develops that individual images don't have any real value. For the same amount you might pay for a painting, you can buy a plasma TV.

One evening each month, our local art galleries are open in the evening, an event that is becoming popular in many other cities across the country. Hundreds or even thousands of people visit the galleries, drinking the wine, eating the food and looking at the art. However, if you check the signs next to the artworks, you will see very few red dots, indicating that a work has been sold. Many times, you won't find any. The artist has put in years of hard work, paid for more stuff than you could possibly imagine, spent a lot of time and energy hanging and promoting the exhibit, but the people walk through the gallery as if this is a big party for them and everything is completely free. They can always move on to the next gallery and see more art, so why pay lots of money to keep something? It doesn't make sense for anyone to do so.

Sadly, there doesn't seem to be an easy solution to this problem. Artists go on making artwork and the rest of the world wants to see it for nothing. So why do we continue putting so much energy and money into making things? The creative urge is strong, but I really wish the art market was, too.

Buy a piece of artwork today!

2002: So what do I do with these things?

In 2001, I created Discombobulated, the seminal work in my Definitions series, which led me to make a larger version in 2002 called Melted. However, this concept was something of a one-trick pony and presented some very real installation problems. I needed to do something more with the "long, skinny quilt" concept, so I created several pieces which incorporated them in different ways.

This is Emotional Entanglement. The two pieces are separate and meant to be hung so the mouths touch. When Mary McBride exhibited this at the Atlantic Center for the Arts, she said that the two heads would sway back and forth in the drafts and look like they were kissing, but sometimes the pink head would turn completely away like she was saying "Sorry, not tonight". I don't count this as part of the Definitions series because it doesn't follow the naming convention, but if I had named it Entangled, it would probably fit right in.

Another experimental work from that year was Simple Yet Elegant. I wanted to create a black and white artwork and many people who have seen this in person think it's one of my best works. However it's never been juried into an exhibit. My photographer tried his best to capture the sparkle of the rhinestones, but was not able to, meaning that the slides never did it justice. The silvery part is actually a separate quilt, created with three layers of heavy duty aluminum foil as the "batting" and silver mesh fabric as the outside layers, with black cotton fabric for the binding. The silver quilt is sewn on top of another overlay, which is made from fiberglass window screening.

I was getting closer, but still had some refinements to make to my new style. Stay tuned for 2003. Same bat time, same bat blog.

A simple piece of wood - Part 8

I haven't posted about my latest project in a while, but the type of work I've been doing is long and tedious. Non-artists often believe that art magically springs from an artist's fingers, but there's usually a ton of work involved. To top it off, the picture I'm showing probably doesn't look very different from my last update, as the changes are subtle. In case you're wondering, there are 24 dollar bills in all, 16" across.

First, I machine quilted the surface of the bills very densely, with the exception of the light blue "lettering" at the top and bottom. The dense stitching gives the bills the visual texture of a paper towel. I would have done the lettering too, but I'd already spent weeks on the quilting and couldn't stand doing one more minute without going bonkers. Centuries from now, art historians will debate the issue of why I didn't quilt the last little bits, looking for some deep artistic compulsion on my part, but now you know the real truth.

Next, I touched up the black areas, painting right over the quilt stitches. I decided that I wasn't going to add any more detail to the bills after this in order to leave them suggestive of real dollars, rather than copied from them. The only exceptions will be some slight  "modifications" of Washington's image on some of the bills deep within the roll. I'd like to see what he looks like with a mustache and maybe even a pierced nose, wouldn't you?

I am currently gathering the materials for the holder, including 1-1/2" black PVC pipe, which will be the equivalent of the cardboard tube.  A small experiment showed that the weight of the quilt causes it to unroll by itself, so the holder design will include anti-rolling features.

This project is actually getting close to completion. I'm a little tired of the color green, however.

Artstrology

Aries
March 21 - April 20   Courageous, dynamic, impulsive, confident, selfish

You create installation art that typically contains thousands of pieces and is obviously influenced by the Op Art movement from the 60s. You love to make gallery owners squirm, wondering how thay are going to clean up after your exhibit is done. Frankly, you really never thought about it much. Your mom always cleaned up after you, so why shouldn't everyone else?

Taurus
April 21- May 21   Warmhearted, stubborn, possesive, dependable, placid

You paint watercolor landscapes, preferrably scenes of peaceful places copied from magazine photographs. Your favorite colors are blue and green, but you'll occasionally go wild with an accent of brown. You're not really satisfied working in this medium and style, but it's how you got started as an artist and you are determined to enjoy it, no matter what. Your landscapes are starting to look a lot alike but you hope that might change if you move the lake to the right side of the paper, even though you have always put it on the left.

Gemini
May 22 - June 21   Adaptable, ungrateful, witty, superficial, communicative

Your art is difficult to categorize because it can take so many forms, but it probably has something to do with words. You ask for a lot of help from your friends, but conveniently forget to mention their names when it's time to hand out the credit. The social butterfly of the art world, you'd rather chat with people at opening receptions and write items like this for your blog than actually go into your studio and make something.

Cancer
June 22 - July 22   Shrewd, sensitive, sentimental, emotional, imaginative

Fiber art is your medium because you love the soft flowiness of the raw fabric and yarn. You only wear naturally-dyed garments made in your own studio, which used to be the old woodshed on your organic farm. Sandals are your footwear of choice, summer and winter. Local tourist trap stores sell your work at inflated prices and the proceeds allow your Signifibant Other to keep the ashram open. 

Leo
July 23 - August 21   Bossy, status conscious, self confident, honorable, intolerant

You make really big sculptures. If you can lift them with anything less than a two-ton crane, they're not big enough. Heavy metal and large boulders are right up your alley and anything less is wishy washy crap. You like being the person who directs the foundry workers and the installation crew. Damn, but you're good!

Virgo
August 22 - September 23   Loving, critical, industrious, modest, conservative

You are a museum curator because you prefer a more secure source of income. You like being able to pick and choose all of the artwork displayed because you want to be sure that it is up to your usual high standards. Despite a penchant for the Old Masters, you occasionally display some of that contemporary stuff if you have to. Museum visitors are a necessary evil, because they require a lot of your time and you already have lots of tasks on your list for today. Artists can be even more bothersome.

Libra
September 24 - October 23   Romantic, gullible, charming, urbane, indecisive

You love to create ceramic teapots that are decorated with mythical animals. As you work in your studio, you listen to Jane Eyre on tape to get you in the right mood. You are torn as to whether you should sell your work, but all the friends  from your volunteer job think you should. However, you've never been good at negotiating with gallery owners and you were suckered once before, so it hasn't been your highest priority.

Scorpio
October 24 - November 22   Jealous, secretive, passionate, intuitive, compulsive

You make shrines from found objects, but you don't usually show them to anyone. One day, after you're gone, someone will discover your work and your name will become even more famous than those jerks who always told you that you're not good enough. You spend a lot of your free time hunting through streets, alleyways and trash cans for raw materials. The things you find are kept piled in boxes, which overflow onto the floor of your studio because you just can't pass up a good piece of junk or scrap.

Sagittarius
November 23 - December 22   Intellectual, restless, optimistic, careless, straightforward

You design cutting edge anime. The style really appeals to your good side, which believes that, by the time you get to the last page, the story should alway get wrapped up in a happy ending, with the hero beating the bad guys. A lot of your art gets thumbtacked to the wall of your rather messy studio apartment or shown to your college buddies. You haven't had your hair cut in quite a while and it keeps falling over your face, hiding one eye.

Capricorn
December 23 - January 20   Reliable, rational, practical, pessimistic, good sense of humor

You create meticulously carved duck decoys, but sometimes you like to sneak one in that looks a little bit like Daffy Duck. You plan to sell your work at outdoor craft festivals, which is why you've spent the past three years making meticulous plans and researching the market before entering your first show. Even after all that work, you're not sure you'll have much success. In the meantime, you attend the decoy carvers convention every year so you won't disappoint your friends, who expect you to be there.

Aquarius
January 21 - February 19   Friendly, private, helpful, independent, logical

You learned how to create computer-manipulated digital prints as part of your engineering job. You work in your basement studio, where you installed several banks of computer equipment, including some big honker printers. You generously share your artwork with the world through your website but you use a pseudonym instead of your real name so they can't track you down.

Pisces
February 20 - March 20   Sensitive, weak-willed, kind, secretive, intuitive

As a pastel artist, you specialize in children with oversized eyes, baby animals and vases of flowers. Still life drawings are your favorites because you really get upset when your subjects start to move. Mostly, you give away your pictures to your friends and relatives but when you visit them, you have the uneasy feeling that they hung your pictures moments before you arrived and other pictures normally hang in those spots.