The First Garden Chore of 2013: The Seed Order

A very nice aspect of gardening in the Northeast is that we get to have a respite during winter, a time to be cozy indoors and enjoy the lack of garden chores; another is that then we are excited again at the prospect of a new garden season to come. A preview of spring shows up each year in early winter––the arrival of the garden catalogs––and with them the first chore of the spring garden: ordering seeds. Each summer I make a list of the seeds I will need the next season; when my favorite catalog comes, from Fedco Seeds, I browse through it, thinking about any new varieties I might try. Fedco is a wonderful company, a co-op in Waterville, Maine, that specializes in seeds for northern gardens. They have excellent and reliable plant descriptions, and many organic varieties. 

I can check my box of seeds, stored in the freezer, carefully alphabetized, to see if there's anything I've overlooked. I usually work on my order during Christmas week, but this gloomy, gray day seemed a good time to look forward, so I filled it out this morning. And maybe being an early bird will save me from again losing out on those Copra onion seeds.  Next up, starting the seeds of onions and leeks in late February; till then, I hope we have a gloriously bright and snowy winter.

A New Painting: "Pink Planes"

Pink Planes, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 7 1/2 x 5 1/2 in. 

After finishing my new series of drawings, which you can see here and which gave me so much pleasure in the making, I questioned whether I would continue to make representational paintings. Working on this painting made me answer that query in the affirmative. I still find it very satisfying to capture the illusion of form and depth and light on a two dimensional surface, to play with the making of form so that it has a tactile presence. It is like magic, the painting equivalent of an illusionist. Each of my varied activities––textiles, hooked wool drawings, cardboard and potato prints, and now drawings; and of course photography and blogging––explores a different range of thought, each fascinating to me. It is as though I am finding different personalities within myself; perhaps I should have unique names for each, as the Portuguese writer Fernando Pessoa did in his varied writing activities, calling them "heteronyms".

Pink Planes, detail

But no, I will stick with my own name and hope there isn't too much confusion as to what I'm about. Which, in this detail, you can see is an attempt to have a fresh and fluid application of paint within precise limits, and color shifts to describe sunlight, translucent shadow, and reflected light. It's always a challenge to achieve, and always worth the effort.

At the Met: Korean Ceramics

Bird-Shaped Vessel, Proto-Three Kingdoms period 3rd century; earthenware. 

I love looking at ceramics at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. To me, the relative fragility of the medium makes them particularly precious, and their colors, shapes, and patterns combine with relatively simple forms to make objects that are compelling to the eye and hand. Oh, no, I cannot touch any, but they are so sensuous as to make my eye alive enough to feel that my hands are stroking, and encompassing, the form. I have written blog posts on Chinese porcelain, Chinese Tang dynasty ceramics, on American Art Pottery, and on Islamic ceramics at the Met. Within the wing of the museum dedicated to Asian art is a gallery of Korean art, in which the exhibits change fairly often, so it's always worth looking in. On my most recent visit, there were many beautiful pieces of ceramic art on view, starting with this charming bird vessel, with swooping lines of body, head, and crest, an alert little creature.

Gourd-Shaped Bottle, early 12th century; stoneware.

The subtle swelling curves, from small to large, seem perfect to me; the earthy color another homage to nature.

Cup and Stand, first half of 12th century; stoneware with incised design under celadon glaze.

I like the way the rounded forms of the cup sit comfortably on its stand, whose sides are straight.

Maebyeong, late 12-early 13th century; stoneware with iron-brown and white-slip decoration of chrysanthemums under celadon glaze. 

A Maebyeong is a plum bottle, some of which were used as flower vases, but this one was held wine. The small opening flares to a wide top and gracefully tapers at bottom. The decoration is fresh and lively.

Flask-Shaped Bottle, late 15th century; Buncheong ware with incised and sgraffito design of peonies.

This gorgeous bottle captures the exuberance and abandon of peonies, my favorite flower. 

Wine Cup with Ear Handles, 15th century; porcelain.

The objects in porcelain have a refined elegance, a sense of just the right form, just the right shape; a sense that they would be perfect in the hand, and on the table. 

Square Bottle, first half of 19th century; porcelain.

I love this square bottle because it is such an unusual form; its straight sides have a slight flare at bottom and are topped by an angle leading to the flat surface, then the small surprising curve of the opening.

Small Jar with Cover and Jar, 19th century; porcelain.

With these two jars we can compare how an edge can curve, higher or lower, with larger or smaller lips and feet. Although the forms are likely very standardized, they nevertheless seem sensitive to delicate shifts in outline.

Lee In-chin, Long-Necked Bottle, 2008; white bodied stoneware with celadon glaze. 

Finally, a lovely bottle by a contemporary Korean artist who pays tribute to the traditions of his craft. To create something new, yet be a bridge to the old, is a satisfying pursuit, especially with such a rich history; it is certainly something that interests me, in my various endeavors.

A New Textile: "Square Off"

Square Off, hand dyed wool on linen, 11 x 11 1/4 in.

One of the wonderful characteristics of the hooked rug medium is the ease with which you can make odd shapes. When I began working on sketches for this piece, I had a group of overlapping squares within a rectangle, but then thought it would be an interesting twist to have one of them slip outside it, pushing into the surrounding space. Square Off would have had a very different mood if I'd chosen different colors, but I wanted an almost frivolous feeling, so chose pink as the wandering square's color.  Deciding to have a pink line along two edges made the work less formal, I think; it enclosed the forms, made the pink square more of a character, moved the piece a little farther from a formal modernist exercise. Doesn't it look more serious if you cover those pink lines? 

I hooked each square parallel to its edges, beginning at the outer edge and moving in toward the center, which gives a nice crisscross pattern within it. The surrounding white field is hooked randomly, so as to look like background. I can think of hooking patterns as equivalent to brush strokes: in which direction should they go to best express the form?

And below are four other shaped textiles, showing different ways to move off the rectangle:

Chickpea and Tomato Soup

I love chickpeas, and in winter I love having soup for lunch, so this recipe from the inimitable Marcela Hazan, in her cookbook Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, has become one of my favorites. It is a very simple recipe, yielding a savory soup full of surprising flavor, almost a stew rather than a soup. I use chick peas that I've cooked using dried beans since I like the flavor and texture better than canned, but Hazan says that canned chickpeas work fine for this recipe.My home canned tomatoes are especially delicious, so I'd recommend a good quality canned tomato for this; the olive oil must also be excellent since so much of the flavor comes from the abundant oil. I usually double the recipe, which is supposed to be for 4 to 6 servings, but it would only give me 3.


4 whole garlic cloves, peeled
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 1/2 teas dried rosemary crushed fine, almost to a powder, or a small sprig of fresh rosemary
2/3 cup canned imported Italian plum tomatoes, cut up, with their juice
2 1/4 cup chickpeas
1 cup meat broth (I use water, or the broth left over from cooking the chick peas), or 1 bouillon cube dissolved in a cup of water
salt
pepper

1. Put the garlic and olive oil in a pot large enough for all the ingredients. Saute the garlic at medium heat until they turn a nut brown all over, then remove them. (I squish the garlic a little to release some of its juices.)
2. Add the rosemary, then the tomatoes and their juice. Cook for about 20 minutes, until the oil separates.
3. Add the chickpeas and cook for 5 minutes, stirring well.
4. Add the broth and cook at a lively simmer for 15 minutes.
5. Add salt to taste, and a few grindings of pepper, cook for another minute, and serve.

Compass and Straight Edge: New Drawings, Inspired by Islamic Design

#1, egg tempera and graphite on hand-toned paper; image size 10 x 10 in, paper 15 x 15 in.

I had a very uncanny feeling while working on this new series of drawings: it seemed as though I was hardly doing the work at all, but that it was coming to me from the past, or from an unseen place. This is not so surprising, in that these works are based on a pattern of overlapping circles that is one of the basic elements of geometry in Islamic design. The imagery in the drawings is nothing like Islamic pattern (some of which you can see in this blog post of Islamic ceramics at the Metropolitan Museum of Art), but the underlying structure is. 

I've enjoyed wandering through the Met's new Islamic wing, and have long found pattern fascinating (using it in my textiles; and another post from the Met on pattern is here). So when I saw a little book in the museum's bookshop entitled Islamic Design: A Genius for Geometry by Daud Sutton, I had to buy it. Much of what Sutton shows in this book is very complex and beyond my understanding, but I was able to figure out the most simple pattern of overlapping circles: one circle surrounded by six, and carried on. By also using a straight edge, we can find hexagons and six pointed stars (the Seal of Solomon in Islam, the Star of David in Judaism) within the pattern. All these patterns have a spiritual dimension: the six circles around the central one symbolize the six days of creation. (click to enlarge so you can read the page.)

I thought it would be fascinating to find my own patterns within this basic design of 5 inch circles, drawn using a pair of compasses. 

I then printed the pattern on sheets of office paper and looked for patterns, using watercolor.

#2, egg tempera and graphite on hand-toned paper, image 9 1/2 x 15 in, paper 15 x 15 in. 

I was surprised at the variety of expression I could find within this basic design, and I'm excited about continuing to discover more. There is also the thrill of color, the richness of painting on these hand-toned papers, which I described how to make here. 

#2 detail

I like how the translucent egg tempera paint can allow the underlying drawing to show through. I like the variations in the finish of the paper.

                       

#3, egg tempera and graphite on hand-toned paper; image size 9 1/2 x 10 in., paper 15 x 15 in.

This design totally surprised and delighted me when I found it. I simply started filling in similar shapes with three different colors, and a rosette appeared. I enjoy how the image flips from seeing the red/blue/green shapes as primary, to seeing the leftover orange pointed ovals.

#4, egg tempera and graphite on hand-toned paper; image size 9 1/2 x 10 in., paper 15 x 15 in. 

 In this first group of four, this is the only one in which I used a straight edge to find the hexagons and triangles. I can imagine this as a pattern for floor tiles. Working on these drawings gave me a great deal of pleasure, not only because I felt a tie to the artists and artisans of the past. The drawings also felt, in some way, to be a spiritual exploration (and I am writing this as a person without religiosity), similar to the intense focus of Tantra paintings. This is not something I expected, or asked for, or called up, it just seemed to be there, in my careful filling of shape with paint in this, my first foray into abstraction with paint. How very odd.

Josef Albers: A Passion for Color

Detail of Color Study for Homage to the Square

I had always thought of Josef Albers as a rather cold and intellectual painter, whose grand project of Homages to the Square was rather dull and repetitive, and whose teaching foisted on art students the study of color using Color-aid papers. My thinking was turned about completely after seeing a splendid exhibition earlier this fall at the Morgan Library, Painting on Paper: Josef Albers in America. I just got the delicious (the color is a joy) catalog for the show, from which I photographed the images for this post. While delightedly wandering the show, I realized that for Albers painting was all about color, and in his studies on paper, I saw him experimenting with one color against another, slathering the paint thickly and exuberantly with a knife. These luscious studies were anything but dry; as Albers wrote:

Color is the means of my idiom. It's autonomic. I'm not paying 'homage to the square'. It's only the dish I serve my craziness about color in.

Almost Four (Color Study), 1936; oil on masonite, 13 1/2 x 15 1/4 in. 

Even in this early study we can see Albers' quirky and rich color sense. There is humor in the "almost" four (there's an oval missing), and in the tiny blue dots anchoring the lighter yellow.

Color Study for a Variant/Adobe, n.d.; oil on blotting paper, 19 x 24 in.

Albers and his wife Anni Albers moved to America in 1933 to teach at Black Mountain College. They first visited Mexico in 1935, and returned many times over the next 30 years. Josef Albers found there an intensity of color and light that was a tremendous influence on the way he saw color, and the forms of the architecture inspired a series of Adobe paintings.

Variant/Adobe, 1947; oil on blotting paper mounted on paper board, 17 1/4 x 24 in.

By using the same format over and over again, Albers could concentrate on how colors affected each other. In 1947 he wrote to a friend:

What interests me most now is how colors change one another according the the proportions and quantities [I use]...I'm especially proud when [I can make] colors lose their identity and become unrecognizable. Greens become blue, neutral grays become red violets and so on. Dark colors become light and vice versa.

Color Study for Homage to the Square, n.d.; oil on blotting paper with varnish, 13 x 7 in.

Albers began his Homage to the Square series in 1950 and he would work with it for the rest of his life, until he died in 1976. In the exhibition at the Morgan Library, the studies for these works were arranged in color groups, as is the catalog, so we can see some of the variations within similar hues. He also worked with blacks and grays, saying

I can get the gloomiest gray to dance,...I love to make a very poor color rich, to let the adjacent colors make it beautiful. 

Color Study for Homage to the Square: Night Shades, ca. 1964; oil on blotting paper, 

11 1/2 x 11 1/2 in. 

There are so many beautiful color thoughts in these simple studies. The dark, warm reds of Night Shades play wonderfully against the surrounding deep turquoise. This catalog is going to be a great resource for me in the studio, inspiring a lot of new ideas. I should point out that these photos are photos of photos, and so several times removed from the original work. As I tried to adjust the color to bring it as close as possible to the printed image, I kept adjusting the Hue/Saturation sliders in Photoshop, which in itself was a strong lesson in seeing color. I thought back to my student years, and one summer at Skowhegan, where Gabriel Laderman was always exclaiming "Hue! Value! Intensity!".

Color Study for Homage to the Square, n.d.; oil on blotting paper with varnish, 13 1/4 x 12 in.

On this work, as on several others, Albers painted a stripe of varnish over the color, to see what affect it would have. 

Color Studies for Homage to the Square, n.d.; oil on blotting paper; 8 1/4 x 18 3/4 and 

4 1/2 x 9 3/8 in. 

Some of the works were small, quick explorations of color relationships. A fascinating aspect of Albers painting practice was that he never mixed colors; he used color straight from the tube, except for pink and purple, which he mixed. He sampled many different brands of the same hue, writing copious notes on the studies, and in that way, had complete control over the color relationships.

Color Study for Homage to the Square, n.d.; oil on blotting paper with varnish, 13 1/4 x 12 in.

I love the note on the bottom of this piece: "Try again". A quote from Albers tells us:

I try to create the silence of an icon. That's what I'm after: the meditative icons of the 20th century. 

Color Study for Homage to the Square, Platinum, n.d.; oil on blotting paper, 11 1/2 x 11 1/2 in.

While I was color-adjusting this image, I was admiring the way the central grays reacted with the yellows and oranges around them, how the gray moved in and out, making the edge vibrant. 

Study for Homage to the Square with Color Study, n.d.; oil on blotting paper, 11 3/8 x 11 3/8 in.

Study for White Line Square (Homage to the Square), n.d.; oil, gouache, and graphite on 

blotting paper, 13 1/2 x 12 in. 

These final two works show Albers playing with cooler, lighter tones of greens and grays and yellows. The handling of the paint is particularly lively. After seeing this exhibition and meandering through the catalog, I will never think of Albers as a cool cerebral artist again. There is a marvelous quote from him that graces the back of the book, and makes his project much larger than selecting colors and form:

I think art parallels life. Color, in my opinion, behaves like a man...in two distinct ways: first is self-realization and then in the realization of the relationship with others. In my paintings I have tried to make two polarities meet––independence and interdependence, as, for instance in Pompeian art. There's a certain red the Pompeians used that speaks in both these ways, first, in its relation to other colors around it, and then, as it appears alone, keeping its own face. In other words, one must combine both, being an individual and being a member of society....And from all this, you may conclude that I consider ethics and aesthetics as one. 

A New Painting: "Red Stripe"

Red Stripe, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 5 3/4 x 7 1/2 in. 

Is it possible for a painting of inert machine parts to call up emotions? It would seem that my paintings are essentially formal arrangements of color, shape, and light in a shallow space, though of course I always hope that they bring up associations, moods, ideas other than intellectual. My emotions have been very close to the surface recently, and probably because of that, working on this painting created more powerful feelings than usual for me: I sensed that I was painting a self portrait in the large green vertical cylinder. It was stalwart, upright, fully rounded, but only partly emerging from a darkness that could claim it again. The darkness is rich and beautiful, but it is the light that brings life.

The First Wintry Day

I awoke yesterday to a pink sky and white ground, and howling wind. November is usually the grayest month of the year here in northern Vermont, but this year it had been sunny and mild until yesterday.

The snow had fallen, but the sun also shone, brightening the dried grasses and the deep carmine of red osier dogwood.

Snow, heaped on stone walls, made a greater drama of boulders.

Snow, like a dollop of whipped cream, made dried hydrangeas festive.

I did not cut back my perennial border, so a benefit of laziness: seeing serried ranks of crisp golden leaves against the white backdrop.

More delicate are small weeds making round-topped thin lines, dark weeds, lighter shadows. I love the change of seasons and love winter's light, when snow covered ground bounces brightness into the house. I like being nestled in the warm indoors, thinking inwardly as the garden rests. Henry David Thoreau, in his journal entry of December 11, 1855, speaks of winter:

The winter, with its snow and ice, is not an evil to be corrected. It is as it was designed and made to be, for the artist has had leisure to add beauty to use. ....To perceive freshly, with fresh senses, is to be inspired. Great winter itself looked like a precious gem, reflecting rainbow colors from one angle. 

And from the Japanese 17th century poet Basho, a light touch on the season, in his poem "A Ball of Snow":

you make the fire
and I'll show you something wonderful:
a big ball of snow!

Making Hand-Toned Paper

With a hand-toned paper, using pigments and a glue size such as gelatin, we can have the most beautiful range of hue and value as background for painting or drawing. The irregularities of color and finish add character to the paper, just as hand dyed wool is more interesting than wool that is commercially vat dyed. I have a drawing project in mind (more on that soon) for these intensely colored papers. I will be using egg tempera, but I've used ink and gouache in the past.

I was thinking of Indian miniature painting while making these, and though I wasn't trying to copy their colors, they influenced me a great deal.

A glue is mixed with the pigment in order to fix it to the paper. I use ordinary food-grade gelatin, available in any supermarket. A small box of Knox gelatin contains 4 paper packets, each 1/4 oz. For this project I dissolve 1/2 oz gelatin, which is two little packets, in 18 ounces of water. So that it dissolves completely evenly, I heat the mixture gently over steam in a double boiler. It's useful to have some steam handy if the gelatin/pigment mixture starts to congeal, as it did several times during my work session. I just put the mixture over steam for a few moments and it liquified again. You don't want it steaming hot though.

My small enamel dye pots are perfect for this project, since I don't want to use anything that would later have food in it, which would not be a good idea. I put some pigment paste, here Caput Mortuum, into the pot; you can also use powdered pigments. I get all my pigments from a great supplier, Kremer Pigments; they have a store in NYC and also an online store here. For brushing the color onto the paper I have a couple of soft, synthetic hair 2 inch brushes. You can mix any color you'd like, dark or light in value. Many people like subtle grays, or light tones, which also look beautiful.

I add enough of the dissolved gelatin to make a fairly liquid paint, since it's easier to get an even tone with several thin layers than one or two thick ones. This is the paper with one layer of color.

And here it is with one and a half. I used some gorgeous handmade watercolor paper, with a rough surface, by Twinrocker, which I've had in my flat files for years. The paper curves while it's wet, but flattens quite well once it is dry, so there's no need to stretch it; that way you can paint clear to the edge, with no white border.

Here is one of my finished sheets, 15 inches square, made by painting 5 or 6 layers of the pigment/size mixture. Its imperfections and variations breathe life and air into the color, and make it a very enticing surface to work on.