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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
lotus
painting on silk Duppion
offerings at the shrine
shibori, itajime and dip-dyeing, fiber-reactive dyes on cotton duck
wigwam for a goose's bridle
shibori and itajime, fiber-reactive dyes
on cotton duck
The noun of self becomes a verb.
This flashpoint of creation in the present moment is where work and play merge.
Stephen Nachmanovitch
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New Zealand, Japan, England
1983 – 1988
In spite of success making unique gladrags I was oddly discontented.
Only a tiny fraction of the total production time for any ensemble was spent playing with the magic of color
and texture. Yet it was in those playful and joy-filled times that the mystery of creativity would
breathe new life into my being. I was en-livened, energized and filled with awe.
I couldn't find words to describe it, but it seemed that at those moments
everything was whole and perfect in the universe.
That innocence, that immersion in creativity, was paramount for me, and I knew I
must move towards 'it'. But how?
There was a longing to move my creative work off the body and onto the wall, but the critic inside my head
claimed this was impossible: Get real girl – you haven't even been to art school! . . . and
don't forget the mess you made of your art exams at high school!
I pushed on regardless. The first pieces to be worn by walls were large painted silk works of floral subjects.
They were attractive and sold well but they didn't express genuine creativity and I knew it.
I felt there were works waiting to 'happen' that would be unlike anything I'd seen or made before.
(They'd have to be, if they were genuinely creative.)
I rightly intuited that a radical turning-away from commercial concerns - as well as the known and comfortable -
would have to happen before those works could emerge. Yet when the door finally closed on making gladrags
it was shut by Life's hand, not by any effort on my part. A totally unexpected invitation turned up at precisely the perfect time:
a major exhibition of Japanese tea ceremony ceramics in the capital city would open in a few week's time.
Could I provide appropriate works for the walls?
While my work had clearly been influenced by an appreciation of the Japanese aesthetic, I'd never been to Japan.
I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. There were only six weeks before the works had to be hung, and, at that time,
I had no proper studio! Moving into a friend's country cottage overlooking the sea,
I turned the living area into a workspace and tipped my materials onto the floor. I sat in the middle and played.
Time stopped.
Five weeks later, seven pieces were completed and I was amazed:
how did this happen? I had made no sketches. The works had simply put themselves together.
And when we came to hang the work at the Gallery, it turned out that the pieces were exactly the 'right' size
and the 'right' number to fill the space.
That was when I began to gain a tiny insight into the awesome
dynamics of both the creative process and the via creativa.
Naturally enough – considering the main focus of the show – members of the Japanese Embassy visited the exhibition.
They were amazed to see traditional dyeing methods being employed in contemporary works by a non-Japanese artisan.
The outcome? A generous study grant to go to Japan, where I would work and study with traditional
and contemporary textile artists.
A new path was opening up and there would be no looking back.
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