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the way of wonder
getting into gladrags
off the body
and onto the wall
couleur couleurs
following fancy
now! this! here!
links
changes and surprises
shibori, with sashiko stitching on cotton duck and canvas
flight: Mahurangi
shibori and collage on habotai silk and silk organza
missa Gaia series:
for the beauty of the earth
painting and shirring on habotai silk
In penetrating into a wave of perception as energy,
extraordinary things go on. There is a sense of soaring ecstasy; a
feeling of limitless space; a vast movement of color. Color is god. Not
the gods we worship, but the color of the earth, the sky, the
extraordinary color of a flower...
J Krishnamurti
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Aotearoa-New Zealand
1988 - 1989
One of the works included in that fateful exhibition was
called changes and surprises. It had three wrapped-up envelopes at the
bottom, and I'd playfully remarked that they contained the secret surprises
that would ensue once the change in direction I was anticipating had come to
pass.
The first surprise was the totally unexpected
invitation to study in Japan. It was a dream-come-true for any artisan,
unfolding into a tale of gracious serendipitous events, of perfect timings
and fortuitous meetings, and of experiences that were extraordinary by any
standards.
In Japan, I found my aesthetic and spiritual home. The story about the terrain covered on the Japanese portion
of my via creativa – the artisans I worked and studied with, as well
as my general impressions and experiences - is the subject of an
e-book-in-progress.
When I returned to New Zealand I was holding a new question in my heart:
How could I share the knowledge I'd gained working
alongside some of Japan's leading textile artisans with my fellow artisans in New
Zealand?
The solution arrived within a week of my homecoming:
I was offered a fully supported year as artist-in-residence at an Art
College, thanks to the recommendations of the QE11 Arts Council.
Surprise number two had revealed itself!
During the course of that heaven-sent year, the third
envelope gave up its secret. I entered a large shibori work – flight:
Mahurangi - in a National Award exhibition for contemporary dyeworks,
and to my delight it was awarded the winning prize.
That year is gratefully etched in my memory, for it was the first time I'd been
paid to do exactly what I loved to do. It was a year given over to total devotion to color.
The college was in an area that endures grey foggy winters, and I was starving
for color. The only solution was to dive into it, to research it, to become
fluent in its language, to worship it and celebrate it.
How could one consciously celebrate color? I spent the first few weeks simply
mixing every conceivable hue and tone possible with my silk dyes. Then I began to play.
The overture was called In the Beginning was Color; a short series called Evolution followed.
But the question itself, as usual, had generated a series of serendipitous events. On cue and unexpectedly,
a catalyst arrived in my letterbox – crystallized drops of pure color, otherwise known as music.
It was a tape recording of the Missa Gaia, written for the consecration of the
Cathedral of St John the Divine in New York City. Some of the tracks were
so beautiful they made me weep. The composer, Paul Winter, had woven the
songs of animals and birds into his sublime score.
Not only could I celebrate color-made-audible as I listened to the music, I could also bathe myself in its sanctity.
It became the continuo for a series of painted and textured silk panels – the Missa Gaia series:
Mass for the Living Earth.
During my year's residency at the college I had been given the opportunity to teach
classes and offer workshops to the fulltime students, as well as to those
joining the
Summer School program. As the year drew to a close it became clear that my interest
in education - particularly the role of creativity in learning - would
determine the next direction the via creativa would take.
But I had
no idea of the richness that lay ahead as I packed my bags and headed for
Europe.
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