|"Mid Summer", 2014, Laura Foster Nicholson (copyright). 28" x 35", wool with cotton and metallic|
Tomorrow marks the opening here in New Harmony of my first show of all-new work since 2010. I have been in a major hiatus away from weaving after the last exhibition of new work opened in Santa Fe in 2010 failed to sell anything (yes, I am accustomed to making my living from the sale of my artwork). I had thought it was wonderful work, and it crushed me that Nothing Happened. I have continued to show that work, and I have sold some of it as well, so my ego has recovered somewhat, but in the process came a deep examination of what I expect from my artwork beyond making a living.
The time off was spent working very hard to find alternative, creative, means of support, which mostly involved textile design and hand-crafted objects. Both are processes I greatly enjoy, but neither nurtures my soul the way that art making does by invoking the voice of the individual speaking what is true.
I wrote about all of this at length in my last post so I will get to today's point. As I drive back and forth across the midwest from here to Chicago mostly, I spend the hours contemplating how I can make weavings that talk about the amazing and significant architecture that is springing up wherever I look, in juxtaposition to the modernist, "conventional", swaths of endless agriculture. These are the enormous, awe-inspiring and scarily anthropomorphic power towers for transmitting electricity. Along with cell phone towers and the occasional, beautiful and bright wind turbine, they punctuate the rural scene with an insistent hubris, and are reminders of our addiction to power. I recently asked a friend who knows more about these things than I, why does it seem that I see more of them every time I drive? He responded that even with renewable wind energy, we still need the power towers to transmit the electricity.
Am I the only one who ponders these things when I am driving through the fields? Ah, then I find this inspired design as I scroll through Google images:
|"The Land of Giants", Choi+Shine Architects|
So I am inspired to try to make sense of these through my art, and the best way I know to make art is to weave. Even though these power towers seem like giant textile constructions, they would be murder to make as woven (all those non-90 degree lines!). For a while I fantasized about learning to make Batternburg lace and making them that way. (Here world, I throw this idea out there for someone else with more time to figure this out!)
But I digress. I like to use weaving the "easy" ideas to ponder how I will move along, as well as to ponder where I am going. The hands at work makes the ideas flow like clear water. I have found that color is thrilling me again. I wove several pieces on a not-to-waste 6-yard warp I had wound on a year ago (!), when I was thinking of doing something else entirely. (For those of you who don't weave, this is a major investment of materials and time, as a 30" wide warp at 30 threads per inch is 900 threads carefully handled throughout the whole process...). As I fought the predetermined color and fineness, I started experimenting on another loom with scaled up thread, same weave, still wool, but heftier (and thus carrying less ability to hold detail). I find that for where my head is right now, the heavier threads are giving me a new language of color, and I am thrilled.
But the Power Towers? ach. Not yet. As I drove through Posey county regularly this summer, however, in addition to enjoying watching the color waft through the spectrum week by week as time worked on the crops, I began to notice our own interventions. This area is part of the Illinois Basin, a deep midwestern oil resource that brought us an oil boom in the middle of the 20th century. The landscape is full of oil storage tanks, small oil pumps, flames shooting off gas exhaust at night. I realized that this is all part of the story, and part of my current weavable vocabulary as well.
|"Uneasy Sunset", Laura Foster Nicholson, 2014. Wool with metallic and cotton, 27" x 28"|