Wiser heads and a month of planning have prevailed: I’m saving the ‘big’ projects for later grants applications here in the States.
The Chateau in a typical March is just not set up for projects the size & complexity of ‘Crystal Curtain’ or ‘Sky Tent’. Then add to that the rigors of shipping from Arizona to France (and back again) 60 pounds of galvanized steel, 25-30 pounds of fabric, and (possibly) 70 pounds of gigantic glass beads!
The Orquevaux folks curated my application based on my handmade fiber books, after all. That’s what I will bring. Should all fit in a suitcase, as long as I pre-build some elements like covers.
I will be making the larger structures, here in Arizona. There are a few galleries & venues I might try. More likely, I’ll build, photograph, and put them up on SaatchiArt online.
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Which leads to a discussion about art, craft, and inspiration that I’m not sure my autistic brain can handle. (Currently down with Influenza Strain A, and it sucks mightily.) But I need to talk about this, and how it plays into my normal Imposter Syndrome & introversion.
A thing happens to old introverts: we often stop caring what other people think about us, after too many years of trying to fit in and please everyone. It’s a refreshing stage of life, but I have to balance it with kindness and caring toward other people. I don’t want to lessen *their* adventure!
We are all in this together.
I’m not so worried ‘Will they all like me?’ More like ‘Am I going to drive them crazy?’ Because, dear readers, I can be intense.
While expensive, this 3-week holiday in France comes with perks tuned to artistic needs: comfy shelter, a magical location, great food (can I live for 3 weeks on meat, fruit, & cheese? Hell yes.)
And most importantly, the unjudgy support of the director, owner, staff, and other artists. I’ve been reading up on other artists’ Château experiences. That support comes through every report. We are supposed to be free, to experiment, to push ourselves creatively. It can be life-changing.
Can be. Will it, in my case? Just the travel & experience should shake the plaque from a few neurons.
But am I attending this residency at the ending of my art career, or its renaissance?
I honestly don’t know any more: am I a hobbyist or a late-career artist? I can’t be an ’emerging’ artist…I did that in 2003.
I suppose it is part of the same contrary tapestry. I am a writer of 40 years, who uses her words more in art. Who switched to self-publishing four years ago because I saw no path remaining open for me in commercial genre fiction.
Every day I read a new PublishingWorldFail, I feel confirmed and justified in stepping away.
Thankfully, the stigma of self-pub has eased a lot. And I am at that stage where I simply don’t care (see above).
The world is full of older artists just being discovered or rediscovered. I must have some faith in Ziggy and Beulah, the art directors.
I love my art. But at my age, I am deeply cynical about it meaning anything beyond my enjoyment of it.
Such toxic Calvinist capitalist nonsense. I hate that I internalized it so early, and that it has resurfaced at this time of my life and career.
Art should not have to justify its existence. Dollar values should not be attached to everything.
It still floors me that strangers…readers, writers, artists I respect…know me by my fiber book art.
*That* makes me an artist, no?
I have made my reasons clear in part 1, why I’m not yet advertising this adventure locally.
Recap: It’s not worth the scrutiny. Folks, you may think you want to go viral… trust me, you don’t.
In order for my life to substantially change from art sales, I’d need to make over $80K a year from selling my art (or writing). That factors in all taxes, health insurance, studio costs, and loss of day job income.
A quick look at this year’s Venice Biennale reaffirms to me: the kinds of people who might pay me $80K a year for weird books are not the people I want to pal around with.
It’s extremely unlikely I’d make that $80K locally in Arizona, with my style of art. I have wonderful, dedicated collectors worldwide…but they’re on a budget, too.
When artists have to chase sales to survive, it can make them hate their art. I’m a much happier artist now that I have a non-art day job. I make better art. Do I want to play the art world game, or just make the art?
Honestly, I’d rather just make the art!
There, one dose of hard reality.
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The next: the intersection of severe planning and happy accidents.
There’s a lot of set up work in one of my fiber art books, small or large. Let’s take ‘Rivers Under the Sahara’ 2021 as a good example.
This is what it looked like after I prepped the linen blanks, marked page outlines, and handpainted the fantasy desert oasis topography.
How I got from there to the finished book, in a marathon push of 47 days *while working a day job*?
Some happy accidents. Mostly, just endless by-hand embroidery to make the aerial views pop in lush colors. Don’t get me wrong; I love that part. Stitchery is meditation for me.
So, any fiber book project I take to France will have to be structurally well planned in advance. Linen stabilized, painted, and beaded ahead of time. Pages already shaped, when I’d normally block & sew them later. Covers made. Probably accent tassels pre-made, just needing to be attached to the anchor cords.
I’ve already decided to work only the facing pages, and not line them like I usually would with other embroideries.
The back side of embroidery can be as interesting as the front, and adds a tone of spontaneity.
I think my subject (loosely) will be the topography of the Cul du Cerf, one of the sources of La Manoise, the river that runs through Orquevaux, and the surrounding landscape. There will be embroidered vignettes of the Chateau and village. A pallette of greens, rust, brown, and grey to evoke early Spring. Wood or leather covers, Coptic bound. The whole will fit into a repurposed cedar book box with an inlaid clear quartz cabochon, over a tiny handpainted view of the Chateau.
Interesting, that I fall back on rivers for design elements.
I would call it a Deep Map, but it can only be inspired by the deep map concept. I haven’t lived in the Orquevaux vale, and 3 weeks is not enough time to pester the poor locals for the ‘people’ touch that a deep map should include.
I have some ideas about layered folding tabs of fabric, worked separately and attached pre-binding, that will highlight more details.
To embellish this before stitching, I have tiny freshwater pearls, square heishe sequins of tourmaline, prehnite, aquamarine, peridot, and jade.
One aspect I want to use is the pale blue-green waters of La Manoise, the little river running through Orquevaux, and its attendant streams.
I *know* that color. It’s what the Animas River looks like in Spring flood, up in Durango, Colorado.
I’ll be taking several other unfinished book pieces with me, to play with.
I’ll take some notebooks to write in, in case I want to focus on my writing. There’s ‘Red Amber’ to finish, and ‘The Heretic’ (sequel to ‘The Purist’.)
I might take fabric markers and a tiny set of acrylic paints,and maybe a selection of pre-made blank linen pages and wood or leather covers.
Even that is deceptive: the linen has to be washed and preshrunk. Backed with a thick fusible polyester interfacing and thinner linen to make the back of the page. This will make the reverse stitches look cleaner and more interesting, while the polyester interfacing should mitigate shrinkage. Any distortions can be waved away by ‘hand stitched, okay?’
I can only hope that is spontaneous and inspirational enough to do justice to the trip.
As for text, I don’t know if I will write anything for it. Maybe while I’m there. It seems weird to try writing book prose about a place I’ve not been to, yet.
More to come!