Mesa Verde - These Boots

These boots have carried me a long way from home and have been a godsend here in Colorado. My Merrells and Thurlo hiking socks have taken me up ladders and ledges, up cliffs and down canyons. Through Cliff Palace, Balcony House, Oak Tree House and many others. I was very thankful for them today when a woman about 8 or 9 years older than me tried to maneuver our backcountry hike to Oak Tree House in her Keds, carrying a large handbag instead of a back pack. I watched her fall right on her can and totter along the entire trail. I tried not to walk right behind her in case she fell off a ladder and took me down with her. She did the ultimate back country no, no and asked the ranger if she could sit on one of the fragile 700 year walls. The response: "if  you think you are going to have a medical emergency it would be alright."  I interpret that to mean, " I would rather you sat on a wall than pass out and fall off a cliff costing the government $20,000,00 to save your sorry butt."

As I consider the value of good pair of hiking boots today, I think back to another pair of boots that impacted my life. I should preface this by mentioning how I always used to dread getting gifts from my Dad, and with good cause I might add. Basically, he was complete crap when it came to buying gifts. If he made something for you, that was alright because he was a fantastic craftsmean and the furniture he made was truly a work of art. You were probably OK if he bought you a book, since he usually bought nature books; so chances were at least 50/50, and worst case scenario, you could take it back to the book store. Other than that, Oh Lord!

One time he bought a teenaged cousin of mine a size 6 sweatshirt, because that was how big he was the last time my Dad saw him. Another time I came home from work and found a cement Indian painted in garish colors sitting on my front porch, a birthday gift from my Dad. But the all time doozy of a gift was one Chiristmas when he bought my mother the most beautiful coral colored wool cocktail dress. It was a real stunner, but also, I believe a size 6. My mother had never been a size 6 in her life, she was pretty much a solid 12 or 14 despite the fact that she was only about 5 feet tall.

Well,  she was highly insulted that the dress was about 3 sizes too small and made my Dad take it back to the store. I don't think she spoke to him for a whole week. So you can imagine my brother's and my trepidation, when the next Christmas she opened a box containing boys high top work boots from Sears. These were hiking boots my Dad quickly explained, so that she would be more comfortable when we went hiking and camping. I could not have  been more surprized when my Mom smiled, put them right on and declared that she loved them. She wore them for many years after that momentous Chritsmas Day when my Dad actually purchased a great gift. Here's to you Mom. Happy Trails.

Mesa Verde and Black and White Thinking

The  Ancient Puebloan People of Mesa Verde are known for their unique Black on White pottery. Much of it was raided and sold by pot hunters, a practice that. unfortunately, is still occurring today, do you hear me eBay? There are still fine examples to be seen in the museums here and I am struck by how many of these ancient designs have been used by quilters and artists for centuries. It seem even Hitler stole the swastika from the ancient ones. However, being a therapist by trade I am reminded of a type of cognitive distortion referred to as "back and white thinking." I fear, and notice the verb I use here, that I have my own black and white thinking process going on.

Mine is the staunch, and heretofore, unshakable belief that I am an acrophobic (fear of heights) person. I have been afraid of heights ever since about the age of three, when my Dad put me on his back piggy back style and climbed up a rock face in The Hocking Hills.  Ever since then I have not been able to climb up a 3 foot step ladder without my knees knocking together. Flashback to the 1960's, the last time I visited Mesa Verde with my family. They were either very ignorant about the conditions of the hike or were being very cagey in not telling me that you had to climb three ladders up the face of the cliff to get out of the place. I suspect the latter. Although I did ask why I just couldn't go back the way we came in, I was told that due to "federal regulations," this was not possible (so they said). So, with my Dad pushing from behind, I made it up to the top.  My knees, however,  kept locking in place making my progress so slow, that I can still remember other visitors shouting up to the top, "What's going on up there, is something the matter?

This all leads me to the point that it is fear that often  keeps our thinking and actions locked into place, just like my knees. Knowing that I was deathly afraid of heights I applied for this artist residency anyway, a sort of "Don't Ask Don't Tell Policy," that has worked out pretty well for me. I must say I have been put to the test both yesterday and today. During the hike yesterday to Petroglyph Point I came to a part of the trail where I had to get my leg up on a rock ledge to get to the next level and I was just too short to do it, I contemplated going back the way I came, but fearing Federal Regulations finally found a hidden hand hold and went on up. Not one minute later, the trail turned to a near vertical angle and I was literally hanging on to trees (shrubs?) to keep from pitching backwards into the canyon. Brought me right back to those childhood cartoons where the tree breaks. I was expecting to see The "Road Runner and TNT next.

Today  I went on the most vertically challenging ranger lead hike there is, to Balcony House. This gem required climbing a 32 foot ladder up the cliff face, that's three stories folks, then at the end climbing up the cliff using hand  and foot holds carved in the rock, luckily there was heavy duty iron chain to hold onto. You can bet your life that I never looked down not even one peep.

One last fear-based challenge takes place first thing Friday morning when I take my first back county hike out to Long House. To get there I will have to drive about 45 minutes down a road that is officially closed and locked for the season, then hike out to the dwelling alone, Incidentally there was a siting of a mountain lion in the dwelling this spring.. I will have a radio with me, but of all things, I am worried I won't be able to work the radio properly. Is there a name for that? 

Preparing for Backcountry Hiking or How to Build a Cat Hole

  Hiking on The Petroglyph Trail

One of the truly exceptional aspects of this once in a life time experience of serving as Artist in Residence at Mesa Verde NationalPark is the opportunity to apply for a backcountry permit to hike and visit the areas of the park without the distraction of other visitors. This is a fairly rigorous process, as well it should be, to both protect the integrity of the park's antiquities, natural resources and the safety of the the people applying for this privilege. Before I left Ohio I had to watch a video about backcountry safety (no mention here of how to handle animal attacks of assorted kinds, see previous post, Thank You brother Bruce) as well as read a manual on back country etiquette. Now I have to fill out a permit for each visit, have it signed by two people and carry a radio advising the rangers of my arrival and departure time, in order to save the government the expense of costly search and rescue missions involving helicopters, which I am told get charged to your Visa account at $15, 000.00 a pop. Now more about the etiquette part.

 Petroglyph Wall

For those of you who were wondering, no this is not about being polite while you are hiking, it is about being a steward of the fragile environment that is Mesa Verde. Two primary concepts are : take only photos,  and carry it in, carry it out. The manual gives sage advice on what to do if you, shall we say, need to use the facilities while you are in the back o' beyond. I am not kidding, if you need to go Number One you are supposed to pee on a rock or pine needles as urine attracts animals who might decide to burrow into fragile archaological sites. If you need to go Number Two, and believe me when I say that this has not happened to me since I was about nine years old, you are supposed to dig a hole just like a cat a little ways off the trail. Having had cats all of my life, I think I can just about manage this should it become necessary.

The Great Smoky Mountains  circa 1956 or so 

This process has not really been that hard for me. I visited my first National Park, The Great Smoky Mountains, when I was just 4 years old. After that our family started camping and hiking on a regular basis and I learned how to act in the wilderness. Here are a few things my Dad taught me that still come in handy: 1. take the time to learn the difference between Virginia Creeper and Poison Ivy, you'll be glad you did  2.When you camp, don't do dumb stuff like cutting down green trees for a fire, then try to set them alight with a can of gasoline 3. Be quiet after 10 PM  4.  Music makes a joyful life, sing around the campfire 5. Take time for a vacation, see the USA in your Chevrolet even if it means limping home on your spare tire with only $1.25 and a box of stale soda crackers left to your name 6.Lastly, If you want to get close to the hand of God, go fishing, take a hike in the woods or paddle a canoe. You'll find him in even the tiniest leaf stirring in the wind, the call of a bird or in the rosy glow of a sunset.

Artist Residency Mesa Verde National Park: Personal Archaelogy

Although it goes against my natural inclination to procrastinate,  I am packed and ready for my trip to Mesa Verde National Park early tomorrow morning. I have actually spent months in preparation; researching the Ancient Puebloan people, purchasing and testing out needed gear, getting into condition and learning the basics of operating my new camera. I even drug my suitcase down from the closet and started packing a week ago. I thought I was done but I had to make a last minute trip to Cabela's due my brother's advice last week. As a seasoned outdoorsman and wilderness canoer, he advised me not to wear cotton jeans or underwear into the back country unless I wanted to "have yer crotch rubbed raw if it rains." I am now in possession of a $60.00 pair of lightweight, water wicking, sun shading hiking pants. Hey, I take my crotch seriously.

Bruce provided other sage advice on matters related to wilderness hiking. On the arid conditions found at the parks's high altitude: "Drink lots of water. If yer not peein', yer in trouble." On managing dangerous wildlife:  Rattlesnakes: "Just watch where yer walkin' for Pete's sake." On Bears : " Make yourself as big as possible, wave your arms and shout, and for Cripe's sake, don't run." On Mountain Lions: "It does't really matter what you do, by the time you hear one they are already on you and going for the juggler. Yer dead meat."

One of the most compelling reasons I applied to do a residency at Mesa Verde was to be able to study the ancient people who inhabited this amazing region a thousand or so years ago. They built their sandstone dwellings first on the mesa tops and later inside cliff overhangs perched high above the valley floor. In a way, I will be able to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming an archaeologist. Studying the artifacts of ancient peoples in an attempt to learn about their culture and drawing similarities between their human experiences and our own both fascinates me and resonates in my art work. As I was packing I got to thinking about my own personal archaeology. 

A few years ago, when my Dad was living in a nursing home, my brother and I spent over a month cleaning out his home and out buildings, in short, unearthing the artifacts of our father's life. We came across many items that made us put down our brooms and just reminisce about our childhoods. I will be taking two of these items along with me on my journey, my Mom's binoculars and my Dad's Audubon bird book. They remind me of all the times my family spent camping and hiking. Bird watching was just one of the things we did to pass the time in the many state and national parks we visited over the years.

In our family, the worst two words in the English language were; " I'm bored." The automatic response was, "find something to do or I'll find something for you." So while we camped my brother and I read (well, I did), collected leaves, shells, moss, etc., played cards, had contests to see who could roast the biggest marshmallow, hung around with other camp kids and whittled sticks and soap animals. My dad kept his pocket knife razor sharp due to his personal philosophy that you were less likely to get cut if it was sharp. Only one kid ever severed an artery. We all enjoyed the diversion of ride to the local emergency room immensely. So, as I head west tomorrow, even though they are no longer with us, I'll be thinking of my parents and how much they would have enjoyed this trip. I'll watch a bird or two for you guys. 

Stay tuned for more western adventures. Ahhhhhh.... The American Southwest, where everyday is a good hair day.

Creative Statements: Ohio Art Quilts 2012 Calendar

Creative Statements: Ohio Art Quilts 2012 April 21 – July 6

Associated Events and Workshops

Sat., April 21, Exhibition Opening with Juror’s Talk 1:30-2:15 pm; Reception 2 – 4 pm Juror Kathleen Loomis, was the winner of the Quilt National Japan Prize in 2009. She was the founder and juror of "Form Not Function: Art Quilts" at the Carnegie at the Carnegie Center for Art and History in New Albany, IN, 2004-2010. She has exhibited at "Color Exhibitions," Stuttgart, and "Fiber Art International 2010,"and the Beth Schillig, Sunset Serenade Society for Contemporary Crafts, Pittsburgh.

Sat., May 12, 10 am – 4 pm, Hands-on Workshop by Shelley Brenner Baird, "A Surface Design Sampler." A broad overview of surface design processes on fabric using dyes and paints. Educated as a printmaker and photographer, Baird’s work has been chosen for numerous exhibitions including "Interpretations 2011" at the Visions Art Museum, San Diego, "Focus: Fiber" at the Canton Museum of Art, "Quilt National" at the Dairy Barn, and SAQA "Sightlines," 2010-2014. Fee: $65, $15 materials fee. Registration limited to 8 participants.

Sat., June 2, 10 am – 4 pm Machine Quilting Workshop by Beth Schillig, "Stippling with Style I." Schillig, Columbus, has created quilts that have won awards at IQA, NQA, AQS, PIQF, MQX, and other shows around the nation. This workshop is for confident beginners who want to learn and experiment with freehand quilting on their home sewing machine. Fee: $65; $2 kit fee, materials list. Limited to 12 participants. Participants will bring sewing machine.

Sun., June 3, 2 – 2:45 pm Lecture & Quilt Appraisals by Columbus Quilt Appraiser Dee Dadik, "The Price is right? What is your Quilt Worth?" A fun, interactive audience participation lecture illustrating comparative values of quilts from antique to newly constructed. Followed by appraisals. Dadik has been a quiltmaker, pattern designer, teacher, quilt restorer, researcher of quilt history and quilt collector for over 30 years. She is certified by the American Quilter’s Society. A fee is charged per appraisal; if possible, appraisal-seekers should pre-register.

Sat., June 30, 10 am – 4 pm Machine Quilting Workshop by Beth Schillig, "Stippling with Style II." Follows-up on June 2 workshop but can be taken independently. New designs, new and exciting fillers using stencils and freehand techniques with your home sewing machine. Fee $65; $2 kit fee, materials list. Limited to 12 participants. Participants will bring sewing machine.

Please note that all workshops will take place at the Zanesville Museum of Art, see address below.

For more information including fees, materials, and to register: Call (740) 452-0741, stop in, or email susan@zanesvilleart.org.
The Zanesville Museum of Art is located at 620 Military Road, Zanesville, OH 43701. Phone: (740) 452-0741; FAX (740) 452-0797. Current hours: Wed., Fri., Sat 10 – 5; Thurs. 10 – 8:30; closed Sun., Mon., Tues. On the web, http://www.zanesvilleart.org/.
Zanesville Museum of Art programs and events are funded in part by a grant from The Ohio Arts Council. The Ohio Arts Council is a state agency that funds and supports quality arts experiences to strengthen Ohio communities culturally, educationally, and economically.

Quilted Nudes Not Quilting in the Nude

Being an artist, I periodically get asked what I am working on. Well, over the past year I have been doing a lot of figurative work which is really lighting my fire, and recently I have embarked on a series of nudes. While I get a lot of positive remarks like " that is so cool," or "what an intriguing idea, " or " Wow, I can't wait to see them, or "here is a website you might like devoted to figurative work." I have also gotten the opposite response. Some people just a give me a blank stare and polite silence, or an "Oh, " or my favorite, " What do you want to do that for?" You would think I had just announced that I was quilting in the nude.

Personally, other than showering or engaging in acts of extreme intimacy, I can't think of many things worth doing in the buff, and at a certain age, the later is perhaps best undertaken in only a partial stage of undress. I have never really gotten the concept of nudist camps. Photos of folks playing volleyball, golf or football in the raw make me wonder about their personal tolerance for pain. Which brings me to another reason why I work in the studio fully clothed, (although if you rang my doorbell on a Sunday morning you might find me sewing in my jammies). Have you ever been in a textile studio? There are all kinds of safety hazards that might sever appendages or otherwise inflict gouging wounds. Rotary cutters, pins, needles and scissors are more like weaponry than sewing accessories. When was the last time you stepped on a needle or stabbed yourself with a pin? My quilts often have a small sample of my own personal brand of DNA from such self inflicted wounds incurred during the sewing process. No way am I exposing my private parts to such potential risks.

So back to the reason for the new series of nudes. In my mind the human body is beautiful, interesting, inspiring and sometimes, just like a train wreck, you can't take your eyes off of it. It is so organic and curvy, a form of geography and sometimes archaeology. The nude paleolithic sculpture of the Venus of Willendorf was the first piece of art I studied in Art History 101 at The Ohio State University some 40 years ago. The Greeks and Romans certainly appreciated the human form. Visit any art museum worth its salt and you will see a plethora of nudes from all periods of history.

My house is full of them. Some are pencil drawings my son drew in his college figure class, others I purchased. I have a nude abstract sculpture on my coffee table. My aunt once asked me, "What is that doing there?" I told her "just sitting as far as I can tell." So it was music to my ears when during a plenary session for a textile exhibition, the director of a local art museum informed me that there was no problem with having nudes in the exhibition, as long as they weren't engaged in the full sexual act, as this might offend the board! Guess I might get a piece in the show after all.

Adventures of a Textile Artist Abroad

Caricature of a Textile Artist at a Wedding

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No, I haven't been abducted by space aliens or been lost at sea, but I have been too darn busy to write for quite some time. I spent much of the winter quilting and preparing for several solo exhibitions scheduled this year, getting ready for my son's upcoming nuptials, settling in to a new position at work, and best of all, travelling. I just returned from a trip to Great Britain last month where I was the Matron (I hate that word, sounds so old) of Honor at my best friend's wedding. More about that later. I have noticed that being a textile artist is somewhat like being a pregnant woman who notices babies everywhere she goes. Babies are cute, but wherever I go, I notice textiles. This trip started off with the purchase of some pretty high end textiles in the form of a custom order dress and hand dyed shoes.

The Road Less Travelled

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I spent a month last October looking for the perfect dress to wear to Anne's wedding, who by the way re-married her ex-husband after twenty some years of being divorced. After much trying on of elaborate textile confections, I settled on a design selected from a photo on the Internet. It was so new that samples were not available to try on when I visited the bridal stores. So, with blind faith, it was paid for and I settled in to wait out the four months required for it's creation. I arrived at the store with baited breath for the fitting, and found the dress wrinkled and covered with loose thread ends that I meticulously clipped off. Considering the cost of the dress, surely the owners could have afforded to do this themselves. Other than that I was pleased. It was made of lace and silk in shades of cappuccino and mocha, quite pretty and just the ticket for this special event. The wedding was in Wales, so I had it pressed at a charming little bridal shop made of stone and slate in the tiny village of Cowbridge; it looked lovely. Meanwhile, the run up to the wedding day was filled with pampering and preparation. Chauffers drove us to appointments to get our hair done, to have french manicures, massages and spray-on tans. The last is not an experience I would recommend for the faint of heart.

Welsh Daffs

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For this special event, I was ushered upstairs to a storage room containing a three sided camping tent. I was then asked to strip down, stand in the tent and hold out my arms and legs at various angles, while twirling in a circle, etc. as the attendant sprayed me in the face and everywhere else with a cold mist of slimy, sticky orange dye. I was then instructed to stand on a towel and flap my arms about for the next ten minutes to encourage the drying process. To complete this total degradation, the attendant was about 19 years old and appeared to be about a size two. She was probably thinking she did not get paid enough to do this kind of work and maybe she should please her parents and enroll in college after all. The whole experience enhanced my empathy for the inhabitants of Abugrabe Prison...the only thing missing was a few snarling German Shepherds!

Upon arriving in Wales I got a tour of the new marital abode, a country manor house, hey I was moving up in the world. I was introduced to my new bedroom and was pleased to be assigned the "Rose Room," which overlooked the "back garden," a 3 acre field dotted with ancient Elm trees. A pitcher of Welsh Daffodils graced the windowsill, as I arrived on St. David's Day. Over my bed hung a quilt I made for Anne 4 years ago entitled, The Road Less Travelled. Since I had completely forgotten to document this work, I was happy to get a photo to add to my portfolio.

The Pump Room, Bath, England
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A few days before the wedding Anne and I took an excursion to Bath, England which is about an hour an half away by train. As we exited the station and made our way towards the heart of Jane Austen territory, I spied a small sign hanging over the door of a little shop. After all these years I have developed a sixth sense about quilt shops, and sure enough, in this land of Roman England, Jane Austen and Georgian architecture I found myself perusing bolts of quilt fabric and purchasing a few fat quarters and some needles with self'-threading eyes for Anne. Oddly enough I had told her about them just that morning when she complained that she was having trouble sewing on a button because she couldn't see to thread the needle. Following this textile adventure, we toured the lovely new museum at the Roman Baths and raised a glass of champagne to Jane Austen as we celebrated the upcoming nuptials and Anne's Birthday with lunch at the Pump Room. As we walked around the corner to the loo, what should we find but a spectacular quilt about 15 feet long and ten feet high documenting all the royal lines of British Kings and Queens. It was a stunning work, but behind glass with a high glare so I was unable to photograph this amazing textile. (Note to self when making irreplacable pieces of art, spend a few extra quid on non-glare glass.)

So, you may be asking, what happened to the lovely silk and lace bridesmaid dress that traversed an ocean and back again to celebrate the wedding of a dear friend? I fear it is destined to become one of the world's most expensive quilts. I HATE it! It was uncomfortable to wear and unflattering. Although I have gained some middle-aged weight, I still only wear a size 10 dress. However, in the wedding photos this little number made me look three sizes bigger, a woman truly deserving of the title MATRON. So it currently resides, rolled in a wad at the top of my closet, waiting to either be dry cleaned or cut up. Another adventure waiting to happen. Cheers!