I’m about to depart for another workshop at Penland School of Craft. I went to a monoprinting workshop last summer with Andy Rubin, and it was transformative. This year’s workshop is with April Flanders entitled Singular Prints and Alternative Presentations.
The workshop promises to work with monotypes and screen printing, plus explore unusual ways of presenting the work — installations, sculptural prints and shadow boxes. Plus new techniques (to me) including paper cutting and sewing. With such an open-ended agenda, I’m tempted to bring everything from my studio — just in case. Restraint has prevailed, so here is what I’m taking to the workshop.
I’m also bringing lots of paper: Rives BFK, Stonehenge, Masa and Thai Unryu. Plus my pack of large tracing paper.
Now to pack lots of clothes, a rain coat and a clear mind….
It has finally stopped raining in the Ohio River Valley. Until a week ago, constant rain and heavy storms caused flooding in places that are nowhere near a river. Lake Monroe, built in the 1960s by the Army Corps of Engineers for flood control, is doing its job. It is 13 feet about normal levels. Water is relentless.
My latest collage, Riparian Perseverance, had me pondering the differing effects of water on disparate places. East coast cities like Annapolis and Boston are experiencing flooding even on sunny days. Glaciers and snow fields are melting more rapidly up north. Everything around me is green, green, green as plants celebrate the abundance of moisture.
The pictures you take on vacation say a great deal about you. What are you interested in? What do you want to remember? My phone isn’t filled with the traditional sites, but rather with patterns and shapes I want to remember. A recent long weekend trip to Chicago yielded no “Bean” pictures; instead I focused my lens on patterns…
The Lurie Garden — part of Millenium Park — were ALIVE in late June. Plants of all sorts tried to fulfill their biological imperative by attracting insects of all types. Some species of blackbird was very offended by volunteers working nearby.
Buildings are just big mirrors
I did take a few photos of the many skyscrapers in Chicago. But here too, I’m not looking at a skyline, but rather how the buildings reflect the sky.
Images of the strange and obscure
I always have a few pictures that are purely for me to remember something unusual. The above leaf is from a plant in the Lincoln Park Conservatory. I have spent a great deal of time looking at leaf cells and the mathematical explanations for their formations. This is one I have never seem before. It looks less like a leaf, and more like a weaving pattern or WWII code. Sadly I forgot to take an image of its identification tag, so I may never know.
My vacation images tell me that besides being fascinated with all things pattern, I also want to see the commonalities that exist within nature. (It also says that I take abysmal selfies and don’t like to be in crowded places.)
One of the delights of this year’s Open Studios for me was being able to show people just how my monoprint collages go together. I would love to have a stop action video that shows the entire creation process, but the reality is that I am usually in the zone, and forget to start cameras, take images, etc.
I began a monoprint collage just before people arrived at my studio… Here is the work when finished. Follow along below to see some process photos and see if all makes sense to you.
The final work is an exploration of blues, punctuated by several warmer colors. I was delighted with the glow of the orange and chartreuse polygons.
A quick demo is needed
I was running late and quickly chose a map and two monoprints to use in my process explanation. I could show people the tracing paper I use to cut out the pieces, and how a few look when glued to the monoprint matrix paper.
After the Open Studios, I challenged myself to complete this monoprint collage. I expanded my palette to include a great street map of Boston, European driving maps and several atmospheric blue monoprints. I stepped back and felt like the work did not feel finished. There seemed to be an imbalance…
Cyanotypes to the rescue (again)
I had some practice cyanotypes, made from images that I took. When used on this work, the cyanotypes (which are usually thought of as greenish blue, look almost purply. I collaged them into the polygons that I had kept blank, and the work came together.
Scroll back up and see if you can find the cyanotypes.
Opening my studio is one of the best parts of making art. As a member of the Bloomington Open Studios Tour collaborative, I open my studio to guests once a year. In case you missed it, here are some highlights. A very special THANK YOU to painter Dawn Adams, who took these images.
My studio is in my home, a vintage 1976 four-level home. We transform our living room to a gallery space. This year I was joined by printmaker and book artist Mary Uthuppuru. The inclusion of 3D work and her infectious enthusiasm was a valuable addition to the weekend.
In the studio downstairs, Mary and I displayed blocks in process. Here I have a block carved into linoleum (mounted on MDF.) Mary is creating a two-block image using MDF as the block itself.
Seeing how the monoprint collage is made
I was able to show visitors the components that go into my monoprint collages. I had both blank polycarbonate plates and one with a 1/16in chart tape matrix. People could see the tracing paper guides that I use for the irregular pieces, and touch the maps and monoprints that make up the material of the collages. Seeing things in process helped many people understand how I do what I do.
Collaborative collage takes over the studio
On the glass ink table, visitors had the opportunity to participate in a group collage. Monoprints, maps and handmade papers were available, along with tracing paper, scissors and glue sticks. A matrix was created with a square of Rives BFK and a Sharpie. People were encourages to collage some pieces onto the Rives. Mary is turning this collage into a creation that will be “auctioned” off on social media.
Whew! Another studio tours is complete. I talk more in this weekend than I do in a month at home in my studio. Sharing my work and talking with new visitors and familiar friends is such a gift to someone who creates mostly in isolation.
Time to put things away and get on to the new project!
Please note: This blog post has nothing to do with the U.S. 2016 presidential election nor the 2018 Saints – Rams NFL division championship. It has to do with interference of light waves, and how this is seen in art and nature. Have I lost you yet? Do read on…
Reflectivity is a 2D artist’s attempt at dimension
In many of my monoprints, I include some tiny bits of gold leaf. In Aqua Pura, I didn’t feel like it needed gold’s warm tones, but it did need something reflective. Why did I think this? I was not an overly feminine child and own very little bling as an adult. My only thought is that some reflectivity of light on a 2D work makes it feel less flat. Perhaps there is a 3D artist hiding inside. I’m hoping to let her out later this summer at another Penland workshop… (more about that later.)
Interference pigment is magical
I’ve had some interference pigment for a few years. I had intended to make my own encaustic printmaking sticks, and that hasn’t happened — yet. Usually this pigment is added to a binder or to another paint. I used mine straight out of the container, binding it to the paper with gold leaf sizing. I just let the sizing dry for an hour as usual, and then gently painted on the pigment over the sizing areas.
Artists Network explains: “These pigments are not particles but flakes of mica, usually coated with a microscopically thin layer of titanium dioxide pigment.” It is incredibly fine, so I am careful to put it on gently, and brush it off the work out of doors. I painted mine over white paper (with white sizing) so the result is that at one angle it looks like a soft white, and at another angle it is a brilliant cobalt blue.
You can always tell an artist. We are the people who have our noses inches from a work of art with the security guard rushing in to restrain us. We just like to know the “how” of creating. Often we cannot discern the artist’s secrets… In this blog, I’ve revealed one of the ways I keep track of my patterns — tracing paper.
I have been a huge fan of tracing paper for my entire artistic life. Since you can’t scrape away the paint from works on paper, tracing paper lets you estimate what things would look like if you took the next step. In my linocuts, tracing paper helped me determine my next layer of cutting, or forecast what a certain color would look like when printed mid-linocut.
Tracing paper is the ultimate guide
For my monoprint collages, tracing paper has an even more important job. After my monoprint matrix is dry, I get to plan what areas I will collage to create my patterns. I create a sort of template, where I trace around each shape that I want to collage with a monoprint or a map. I then use this template and a very sharp Exacto knife to cut the individual pieces.
Several of my latest monoprints make for confusing cutting. In Celestial Orb (above) I have linear segments that spiral out from the center in one direction. The segments in this collage are unbroken dark blue.
All of the collaged segments spiral in the opposite direction. I do this intentionally, because I want the piece to have a feeling of movement and energy. The trouble is that if I’m not careful, I will cut the sections going parallel to the dark blue segments. Not the same intense feelings.
Enter the humble tracing paper. Arrows now point in the direction of the collage run. Small “x’s” remind me that nothing goes here. The result is better fitting collage pieces, and few artist tears.
What do you use tracing paper for in your artistic practice? Or in your daily life? You never know how useful it may be.
Green is a funny color. It can range from almost beige to nearly black, with many verdant hues in between. Learning to mix and celebrate all the greens has been a long term project for me. I’m never disappointed.
A glimpse out of my window illustrates the myriad of green possibilities. While it is not true of everywhere in the world, in the midwestern part of the United States, spring is a riot of greens.
Spring is high green season
My front garden is filled with examples of green. A chartreuse miniature hydrangea sits in front of the tender leaves of maidenhead ferns. The seafoam fuzzy lambs ears leaves contrast with the dark blue-green of hellebore foliage. These very distinct colors create a rich, verdant tableau, perfect for collage inspiration.
Your green depends on temperature
When printing my square spiral matrix recently, I created a green that was much more olive-y than my previous mixes. No matter what I did, the green always turned out warmer than I had intended. I blame the Milori blue ink in my palette that day which has a red tint. A phthalo blue would have been much more supportive of a cool green.
Can all the greens live together?
I recently pulled this printed matrix out of the “to be collaged” drawer. I considered letting the monoprint be a weed barrier in the yard. Instead I challenged myself. Was there a way to create a collage where all the different greens coexist in one happy whole? Midway through it was not looking successful, but I decided to persevere and finish the collage.
The result in Magna Mater — or Great Mother – representing the enveloping greenness of a midwestern spring.
For further reading on how to mix greens, I highly recommend Blue and Yellow Don’t Make Green by Michael Wilcox. This book gives you both the how and the why of color mixing, which is just what you need as you seek to celebrate all the greens.
“Oh, I just love the maps,” say many people upon seeing my latest collages. I confess that I too am a map lover — or more properly a cartophile. I saved a box of old road maps for nearly 15 years before I found their perfect use.
New (to me) maps came my way recently thanks to a friend and the IU Surplus Store. The maps were decommissioned from the Indiana University branch of the U.S. Geological Survey, and feature geological features from around the United States. As I sorted amongst these dusty gems for several hours, I began to wonder, why DO we love maps so much?
Maps bring back memories
The coast of Maine has one of the longest coastlines in the US. Its undulating pattern is captivating. I love this map because my cousin was married in Boothbay Harbor. She and her new husband took a tugboat ride to the reception and we all gathered on a bridge that rotated to let them pass. Truly memorable.
Maps show our struggle to structure our world
If you have ever tried to drive across the Appalachian Mountains, you can perhaps sympathize with previous generations of travelers. The geology of compressed ridges requires that roads go up one valley, and then down another. There are no straight routes, no one perfect pass.
Maps catalog what is lost or is in danger
This is a section of a map of Glacier National Park published in 1938. The Burlington Northern Railway built Sperry Chalet as a way for its rail travelers to enjoy the backcountry. Chalet visitors would have marveled at the Sperry Glacier, which has been shrinking because of global warming. The chalet itself was gutted by the Sprague Fire in 2017. Thankfully, it is being rebuilt, as it is a picturesque place to stay in the backcountry, safe from the grizzly bears that frequent the park.
Maps give us a bird’s eye view
North Dakota is one of my favorite places for a road trip. Bright yellow-green fields are punctuated by “numerous small lakes” as the map indicates. These lakes are a very particular blue as they contrast with the vibrant greens and yellows surrounding them. You can read more about my love of the terrain here.
Now back to cutting these beauties for the next collage.
Why do you love maps? Share an image of them in the comments!
I like orange…in small doses. While I own no orange clothing, I do have one throw pillow. I enjoy including a bit of orange in many of my pieces. Orange often provides a needed contrast to the blues that fill my work. But, how much contrast is too much?
You can see just a bit of orange in Searching for Other Suns. I like how it amplifies the pull you feel toward the inside of the circle. But look what happens when I use mostly orange, with a great deal of blue…
I blame civic loyalty for this creation. Pygmalion’s, my local art supply store, creates a signature color each year in conjunction with Gamblin. Artists purchase a tube of the oil color, and create art that uses the color. This year’s color was Sunset Orange, and after the bleak, gray winter we have had, I thought I would create a monoprint collage that felt as juicy as the color out of the tube.
Sadly, I felt the same way about this collage as I felt when wearing my peach Izod Laoste polo in high school. The color just did not feel right. Luckily Pygs doesn’t care how much of the color you use. With the very orange collage safely tucked in my flat files, balance has been restored in the studio.