Phyllis Hoge Thompson and The Practice of Deep Listening

  Letters from Jian Hui  by Phyllis Hoge Thompson

Letters from Jian Hui by Phyllis Hoge Thompson

The poet, Phyllis Hoge Thompson, died recently, after a long life filled with raising four children while pursuing her doctorate, teaching at the University of Hawai’i, writing volumes of poems, plus a memoir.  She relocated to Albuquerque, New Mexico upon retirement “to experience the four seasons, among other things.”  She lived a year in China, teaching English.  She regularly went to Yaddo to work on manuscripts that subsequently got published. In 1995, she was awarded the Hawai’i Award for Literature by then Governor Benjamin J. Cayetano.

Words were her métier.

Phyllis also loved art, and supported many artists, like myself, by not only buying their work, but also by valuing what we, as artists, bring to the world.

Putting Up Art

As I hang up a painting, once again I know Why I need art. There are things words cannot say, Thoughts that the eyes can see.  My paintings show Ideas invisible any other way… 

Today, McCauley’s French window: the rose-fallen light Echoes a lost aubade, a way of being I lift the picture, position the wire just right, And drift off into the life I live by seeing.

—from Hello House, p.54

  Hello House  by Phyllis Hoge illustrated by Maxine Hong Kingston

Hello House by Phyllis Hoge illustrated by Maxine Hong Kingston

  Sunset Over Albuquerque  3” x 2” ©1996 Elizabeth J. Buckley

Sunset Over Albuquerque 3” x 2” ©1996 Elizabeth J. Buckley

Her home was a modest two-bedroom, with hardwood floors that were covered with worn oriental carpets.  Family furniture—mostly wood—crowded the rooms, and shelves filled with books lined most available walls.   Above and around them art:  paintings, two small tapestries, photographs, ikat weaving, sculptures, drawings, art quilts, turned wooden bowls, and cobalt blue glass balls of varying sizes. More books in a pile on the floor by her reading chair, as well as stacked on the living room coffee table and on the end table by her bed.  

  Window and Grass  ©2000 Elizabeth J. Buckley Mixed media: Handwoven tapestry with couching

Window and Grass ©2000 Elizabeth J. Buckley Mixed media: Handwoven tapestry with couching

In 1987, shortly after I moved to Albuquerque, Phyllis initiated the Friendly Writers Groups, critique groups of four people that met once every week for two hours, to listen and respond to 4 or 5 pages of prose, either fiction or non-fiction, that each brought for review.  We took turns reading our work aloud and responding to each other’s.  The format was simple.  One person would read aloud what s/he brought, while the other three would listen.  When that person finished reading, the other three then would write down overall first impressions.  The same person would read aloud the same writing a second time, and the other three would listen as well as make further notes.  After the second reading, one-by-one, each of the three listeners would give feedback, such as:

“My overall first impressions were….”

“The place that really grabbed my attention was…. “

“I wanted to know more about …..”

“You shifted tense around the beginning of the second page.”

“You repeated the word… four times in three consecutive sentences.”

  The Painted Clock  by Phyllis Hoge Thompson

The Painted Clock by Phyllis Hoge Thompson

“I found myself fading out after …. and then returning when… “

“I am confused about where this is going.  Do you intend this to be…?”  Or do you mean..?

“I noticed the use of passive voice, which made the scene feel less immediate for me.  I would like to experience the action more directly.”

“I really liked the ending sentence, and I wondering how it would work at the very beginning as your opening line.”

Invariably the responses helped me to re-think passages, trim out excessive words, say more about specific areas, as well as to know what really worked well.  It felt like a gift, even when I needed to set aside a draft and start fresh again.

Over the months, we read articles for publication, chapters of books, and excerpts from our journals.  We listened carefully and deeply. We responded with honesty and tenderness. We grew to love each other.

I carry the spirit of the Friendly Writers Group into my teaching. I listen carefully to my students, to both the asked and unarticulated questions.  I encourage group feedback on designs, and make suggestions of options to think about.

I also bring deep listening into my own creative process, in the initial designing stage as well as when weaving on the tapestry in-progress on the loom.  Often I work in silence, allowing it to enter and expand through me into images flowing from the pencil in my hand onto the paper, as I sketch layers of shapes and textures, as I observe and study what is before me.  Early each morning before weaving, I will sit in silence and wait.  Invariably, ideas emerge about use of color mix choices in yarn bundles, and technical decisions for what needs to happen next at the loom.

 On occasion, Phyllis and I would talk about how the living silence, that we often experience during unprogrammed silent Quaker Meeting for Worship, also informs our creative process and ultimately our work.  She wrote the following:

“When I write, when I think a poem is ready to come, I sit still for hours waiting for it to gather slowly and speak to me.  After the waiting in silence comes the writing, which I love.  I love figuring out which words sound truest and best.  I love how they fit into a line or a sentence or a phrase.  I love their weight.  I love all they assemble of thought or feeling, what they remind me of apart from what I have chosen to say.  I love how they are spelled and where they came from. I love working out in lines their music, which is for me very securely based on the old fashioned metrics I learned before I grew up.  I love fitting everything together, and I love finding out what the poem says when at last it feels right.  Whatever my poems mean in particular, they begin and end as celebration of the world entrusted to me by my life.  Poetry—my own and that of others—helps me to understand how things are for me and to live more peaceably with what I have.  It is my common prayer.”

Phyllis Hoge Thompson November 15, 1926 – August 26, 2018


  The Ghosts of Who We Were  by Phyllis Hoge Thompson

The Ghosts of Who We Were by Phyllis Hoge Thompson

Books by Phyllis Hoge Thompson:

Artichoke and Other Poems

The Creation Frame

The Serpent of the White Rose

What the Land Gave

The Ghosts of Who We Were

A Field of Poetry

Letters From Jian Hui and Other Poems

The Painted Clock:  A Memoir of a New Mexico Ghost Town Bride

Anthologies including Phyllis Hoge Thompson:

Only Morning in Her Shoes:  Poems About Old Women

Edited by Leatrice Lifshitz

The Spirit That Wants Me:  A New Mexico Anthology

            Edited by Dianne Duff, Jill Kiefer, Michelle Miller

PhyllisHoge_Book_OnlyMorningInHerShoes.jpg
PhyllisHoge_Book_TheSpiritThatWantsMe.jpg

 

Personal Reflections on Hidden Tapestry by Debra Dean

BuckleyHiddenTapestryBookCover.jpg

I first learned about Debra Dean’s new book, Hidden Tapestry:  Jan Yoors, His Two Wives and the War That Made Them One when initially contacted by publicist, Jessica Jonap, about the possibility of reviewing it on my blog.  I found it to be an interesting read, well researched, and a good addition to the growing documentation about the Tapestry Art Movement beginnings here in the United States.  It is also quite a story of Jan Yoors life, his role in the Resistance of World War II, his wives, Annabert van Wettum and Marianne Citroen, and their lives together in Greenwich Village, New York City during the 1950’s - 1970’s.

I was disappointed that there were no large, full color images of any of the Jan Yoors tapestries, which in turn lead me to search out where I could see more of his work.  The first version of Carol K. Russell’s Tapestry Handbook (Published by Lark Books, 1990) has one image of “New York Skyline" (p. 60).  A recently published catalog is available here,  plus a few links to some images:  Exhibitions  and  Collections.

 Marianne and Annabert Yoors with tapestries in the Forty-seventh Street studio.          Photo courtesy of Debra Dean and Yoors Family Archives

Marianne and Annabert Yoors with tapestries in the Forty-seventh Street studio.          Photo courtesy of Debra Dean and Yoors Family Archives

I was especially interested to learn more about the beginnings of Paternayan yarn here in the States, with two brothers, Harry and Karinig Paternaya, who were sole survivors from their village in Turkey of the 1915 Armenian genocide. After walking to Palestine, they eventually ended up in New York City and started a business that utilized their knowledge of rugs: importing and dying quality Persian wool yarns. 

By the time I started working with the crewel weight version of these yarns in the 1989, JCA Corporation in Maine was producing both the Persian weight (three strands plied together) plus a crewel weight (thinner strands) with separate palette of over 250 colors. A mainstay yarn for many tapestry weavers in the United States, it was a devastating blow when JCA shut down all production of Paternayan yarn and closed their business in May of 2012. We were forced to find other yarns. Fleur de Paris began production of its new Anahera line.  In 2016 the Paternayan Persian weight became available again, but the crewel weight can only be found when weavers die and their studio inventory is sold.

Debra Dean wrote good descriptions of what was required in the production of Jan Yoors’ tapestries: the building of the 15-plus-foot vertical loom, the preparation of the cartoon, the warping of the loom, and the hundreds of hours required for sitting at the loom and weaving.  The fact that Jan, Annabert, and Marianne were all self-taught speaks volumes for how the act of weaving can be assessable to those who have the patience for it.  Jan Yoors ultimately did not, so relied on his wives to produce his tapestries, which at the beginning were woven in the spirit of collaboration, but less so in later years.

 Marianne and Annabert Yoors weaving.  Photo courtesy of Debra Dean and the Yoors Family Archives.

Marianne and Annabert Yoors weaving.  Photo courtesy of Debra Dean and the Yoors Family Archives.

In Hidden Tapestry, however there are some unfortunate errors from the tapestry weaving perspective that need to be corrected, for the sake of accuracy. Jean Lurçat’s last name. the cédille accent below the c is missing.  Probably a typo, but this changes the pronunciation from what it should be --“Lursah”-- to “Lurkah.”  Referring to the number of “stitches” per inch is more appropriate for needlepoint or embroidery, not hand woven tapestry, where the coarseness or fineness of the weave is described in terms of warp ends per inch, the grain—or bead--of the fabric, or la portée in French tapestry.  Indeed, 3 ends per inch of the Yoors tapestries is quite coarse, giving a more textural and chunky quality to the woven surface, compared to French and Flemish tapestries from the Medieval and Renaissance periods averaging around 24 warp ends per inch, which makes for a smoother woven surface.

Most disturbing is the perpetuation of the myth that the terms “high warp” and “low warp” also refer to a “high” and “low” quality of weaving based on the use of the vertical or horizontal loom and the likelihood of making mistakes while weaving from the back vs. weaving from the front of the tapestry, as Debra Dean states on page 179.  This myth has been around for years, and its origins and veracity are very debatable. It is also debatable which style of loom is older, as the earliest found illustration dates around 5000 B.C. of a horizontal ground loom from Badari.  (A similar loom is still in use today by Bedoin nomads).

For the record, what does go into the “gold standard” for quality of a tapestry involves the coarseness and fineness of the weave, the integrity of the cloth (sound woven structure), types of yarns used (silk, cotton, wool, linen, strands of gold or metallic threads, etc.), the compatibility of the design to the language of the loom, the skills of the weaver(s) and the vision of the artist. All of this can be achieved on either the vertical or horizontal loom.

I have woven on both haute lice (high warp or vertical) and basse lice (low warp or horizontal) looms. While some of the vertical looms I have used have had foot treadles for changing sheds. I prefer to use a basse lice loom for my larger format tapestries. It does entail weaving from the back of the tapestry, as well as from the side of the design (instead of bottom to top). The loom bench is angled for proper alignment of the back, and my feet can rest easily on the foot treadles, leaving my hands and my concentration totally focused on the weaving process. Weaving horizontally also is ergonomically better for my wrists. I occasionally use a mirror while I work, to check an area before moving on.  One can catch mistakes by simply paying attention, regardless of whether one is weaving from the front or the back. Each time I am ready to advance the warp, I will pull back the cartoon and crawl beneath the loom to look what I have just woven.  I now also use this as an opportunity to photograph the tapestry’s progress for later viewing on my computer screen.

Other reasons for working from the back of the tapestry entail keeping the face of the tapestry pristine and smooth, with no possibility of making the wool weft fuzzy from brushing against it while weaving.  Weaving from the back can be more efficient when ending and beginning new colors, and when using specific shading or interlocking techniques. When a tapestry is hung from the side, or by the wefts, the light reflects differently off of the grain of the fabric and the woven image.

Regardless of whether one weaves from the back or the front, when a mural-sized tapestry is hung sideways, by the weft, it can better support the tremendous weight of these works.  When such a tapestry is hung warp-wise, the weight and gravity over the decades and centuries will cause the weft to shift downwards and expose the warps, thus weakening the structure of the tapestry cloth.

Tapestry weaving does require paying close attention to detail, and hundreds of hours, as Debra Dean so aptly describes. My tapestry, The Veils of Time, woven at 10 ends per inch and measuring 50” x 60, ” took about 1,200 hours from the designing stage to the warping of the loom, through the weaving, finishing, and preparing it for mounting and hanging.  This was all done over the course of twenty-two months, around my teaching schedule and the demands of daily living.

  The Veils of Time   Aubusson-style hand woven tapestry  50" x 60"                                         © 2017 Elizabeth J. Buckley     Photo Credit:   Elizabeth J. Buckley

The Veils of Time  Aubusson-style hand woven tapestry  50" x 60"                                       © 2017 Elizabeth J. Buckley     Photo Credit: Elizabeth J. Buckley

The “high stakes gamble” (p.184) of time, money, and resources involved in weaving large-scale, un-commissioned tapestries that the Yoors experienced in the 1950’s continues to be true for tapestry artists today. Just as public expectations, means and misunderstanding around the pricing of a one-of-a-kind hand woven tapestry that the Yoors encountered over 60 years ago still remain, despite the more recent historical exhibitions mounted at venues such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Getty Museum, in addition to the contemporary, juried biennials by the American Tapestry Alliance, and numerous regional and national exhibitions showcasing the art form of tapestry.

Tapestry in the United States continues to grow as an art movement.  At the time of Jan Yoors death at the age of 55 in November of 1977, on the west coast Jean Pierre Larochette was setting up the San Francisco Tapestry workshop.  Coming from a family of Aubusson tapestry weavers who moved to Argentina in the 1930’s, Jean Pierre also had helped Jean Lurçat set up the atelier connected to the Nazareth, Israel Tapestry School after World War II ended.  There is where he met his future wife, Yael Lurie, and together they have worked collaboratively over the years, creating many tapestries, mostly for commissions.

Also during the 1970’s, New York based artist, Gloria F. Ross, was increasing her role as “tapestry éditeur” coordinating American painters and other visual artists, cartooniers (specialists in adapting images for tapestry weaving), dyers, weavers, galleries and their clients in the production of modern tapestries.  She worked with ateliers (tapestry workshops/studios) in Scotland, Aubusson and Feletin, France, and later with Navajo weavers here in the United States.

In the Midwest, Muriel Nezhnie Helfman was designing and weaving tapestries for public buildings in St. Louis, Missouri beginning in the mid-1960s.  In the Southwest, many generations of Pueblo and Navajo weavers had been creating tapestry rugs and chief’s blankets for trade since the 1700’s, in addition to the Saltillo-style blankets produced by Spanish weavers in the Rio Grande Valley from the 19th century forward.

Now in 2018, the Tapestry Art Movement in North America continues to gain momentum, as evidenced by over 870 members of the American Tapestry Alliance, the majority of whom both design and weave their works. We also now have the opportunity to know more about Jan Yoors’ part through Debra Dean’s book, Hidden Tapestry:  Jan Yoors, His Two Wives and the War That Made Them One.  Northwestern University Press, April 15, 2018.   ISBN-13: 978-0810136830

**********

References:

Eric Broudy, The Book of Looms:  A History of the Handloom from Ancient Times to the Present, Van Nostrand Reinhold Company, 1979, p.14.

Ann Lane Hedlund, Gloria F. Ross and Modern Tapestry, Yale University Press, 2010.

Kate Peck Kent, Navajo Weaving: Three Centuries of Change, School of American Research Press, Santa Fe, NM, 1985.

Evelyn Bingham Prosser “Weaving in San Francisco Part I,” The Weavers’ Journal, Vol. VI, No. 2, Fall 1981, pp.44 – 47.

Evelyn Bingham Prosser, “Weaving in San Francisco Part II,” The Weavers’ Journal, Vol VI, No. 3, Winter 1981 – 82, pp.50 – 53.

Carol K. Russell, The Tapestry Handbook, Lark Books, 1990, p. 60.

Deborah Slater, “Tapestries of Muriel Nezhnie Helfman,” Handweaver & Craftsman, Vol. 23, No. 5, September/October 1972, pp.43 – 45.

Honoring Navajo Master Weavers

BookCoverNavajoTextiles.jpg

This year during Women’s History month, I especially celebrate and give gratitude for the generations of master Navajo women weavers, who’s work is so eloquently featured in the book:

Navajo Textiles:  The Crane Collection at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science.  Authored by Laurie D. Webster, Louise I. Stiver, D.Y. Begay, and Lynda Teller Pete, plus Ann Lane Hedlund, who wrote the introduction. 

I first saw this book at the Albuquerque Public Library in their “New Arrivals” section.  The cover alone grabbed my attention and I had to pick it up.  As I spent time gazing at the pictures, reading different chapters, I came away profoundly moved.

The Preface begins with:

This book began as a simple invitation to write a catolog about the Navajo textile collection at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science (DMNS) and grew into a collaboration and friendship among Navajo and Anglo textile scholars.  The four of us share the love of Navajo textiles, and two of us grew up weaving them.  We each contributed different expertise and knowledge and learned from each other in the process.  We also had lots of fun.

In the Foreword Stephen E. Nash, Chip Colwell, and Melissa Bechhoefer describe the response upon first viewing of the works in person:

One by one, staff unrolled the 130 (out of 380) selected textiles.  Few had ever seen many of the weavings—some were so stunning as to leave even the experts momentarily speechless.  Then, each scholar began to share her viewpoint.  Each perspective enriched the others—weaving together the strands of technique, history, culture, place, and personal experience.

In addition to its many stunningly beautiful textiles, this book is also an eloquent glimpse into history, culture, and the multifaceted role of Navajo textiles across generations. Each author’s essays and narratives, as well as the commentary and descriptions accompanying each textile, is a full and generous sharing of personal, historical, and scholarly perspectives. The power of this collaboration speaks so well for how textiles can bring us together and connect us, transcending boundaries that often divide us. This is a must read and must have for one’s library.

 

 

 

The Tapestry Cartoon as Road Map

A tapestry cartoon becomes a “you are here” guide, a road map for the overall design that helps me to keep track of where I am while weaving.  This is especially helpful when I am working on a large format piece in the traditional manner of Aubusson tapestry, which entails weaving from the back as well as with the design turned sideways.

I use Dura-lar Matte (comes in 25" x 40" sheets, 0.005 weight), a type of opaque velum that is strong enough to withstand sewing without tearing and works well with black permanent markers, in that their lines are clear and do not smear or bleed.  With my drawing flat on a table, I place the Dura-lar on top, and trace an outline of the curves and shapes in my design, using a combination of solid and dashed lines with fine and ultra fine point markers.

To ready the warp for weaving, I first weave a heading out of the warp thread, which is either 12/9 or 12/12 cotton seine twine. I then use my awl to even the spacing in the warps.  It is critical that the spacing between the warp threads is the same all across the width of the warp. This establishes the foundation of a consistently woven, sound cloth.  Next, I put in a row of twining to hold the spacing in place, as well as to insure that the weaving will not unravel when the tapestry is done and removed from the loom.

Now I am ready to weave the hem of about 3/4 - 1 inch for the tapestry itself.  Rather than use one bobbin and weave all the way across, I divide up the width into multiple sections--anywhere from 6 to 8, depending on if I am weaving the full 60-inch width.  This helps to maintain the full weaving width and prevents the hem from drawing in. 

 Heading, hem, sewn cartoon on my  basse-lice  loom     © 2015 Elizabeth J. Buckley photo

Heading, hem, sewn cartoon on my basse-lice loom    © 2015 Elizabeth J. Buckley photo

Now, I am ready to sew on the cartoon.   I use clothes pins to clip and anchor the cartoon square to the warp, and a curved upholstery needle of quilting weight thread to sew large running, or basting, stitches across the entire width of the woven hem.

My basse-lice loom has a built in cartoon tray on which the upper part of the cartoon rests. 

 Cartoon tray on  basse-lice  loom, with the already woven area of cartoon rolled up next to front beam.     © 2016 Elizabeth J. Buckley photo

Cartoon tray on basse-lice loom, with the already woven area of cartoon rolled up next to front beam.    © 2016 Elizabeth J. Buckley photo

For my counter-balance rug loom, I make a support for the cartoon out of lease sticks, tied to the castle of the floor loom, and anchored to the front beam with a heavy chord.  For this, I need a hole in each lease stick at about the width of the front beam. (A power drill comes in handy for creating holes in the right place).  I do not use the loom's beater, as I weave by building shapes, rather than row-at-a-time.

 Cartoon support with lease sticks on counter balance rug loom.  Note how the cartoon is rolled near the front beam, as well as near the beater.     © 2017 Elizabeth J. Buckley photo

Cartoon support with lease sticks on counter balance rug loom.  Note how the cartoon is rolled near the front beam, as well as near the beater.    © 2017 Elizabeth J. Buckley photo

When advancing the warp, it is important that the cartoon does not roll around the front beam along with the completed weaving, as this will cause it creep and shift.  Before advancing, I stitch the cartoon to the weaving about an inch below the fell line, again using clothes pins to anchor the upper part of the cartoon square to the warp. After the new row of stitching isin place,  I remove the first stitching at the very beginning.   As I advance the woven area around the front beam, the beginning part of the cartoon separates away, which I later roll up and hold with clips.  It looks a bit like a scroll.

There are many sections of the cartoon where I am filling in the details of the design as I weave, without having drawn it out precisely before hand.  Usually I do not yet know all the details until I am weaving each area.  The tapestry talks to me a lot during the weaving process about what needs to happen next, which colors to transition to, which techniques to use for specific effects.  Since I tend to work in layers of images, I also am keeping track of which image layer is in front, and what is receding.  I find that I must engage in clear and attentive listening to what the tapestry is saying, while the cartoon guides me with the overall design. 

When the weaving gets sluggish, or I cannot figure out exactly what I need to do next, I know it is time to take a break, step away from the loom, so that I can return later and look with fresh eyes.  Then I can see what needs to happen next, and the weaving proceeds more smoothly once again.

 

Questioning Limits: Explorations in Tapestry

December 16, 2016 - January 6, 2017, featuring works by:  Ann Blankenship, Elizabeth Buckley, Mary Rawcliffe Colton, Cindy Dworzak, Linda Giesen, Naomi Julian, Dan Klinglesmith, Vivian Skadron, Jaye Whorton,  and Nancy Wohlenberg.

Opening Reception:  Friday, December 16th 5:00 - 8:00 pm

 Elizabeth Buckley  Ocean Memory                            Ann Blankenship  Petrichor   
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 X-NONE 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:10.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;}

Elizabeth Buckley Ocean Memory                           Ann Blankenship Petrichor

The idea for this show began with an invitation to the Tapestry Artists of Las Aranas Spinners and Weavers Guild from University of New Mexico College of Fine Arts' Dean, Kymberly Pinder.  Mary Rawcliffe Colton spearheaded the idea of pushing the limits of our comfort zones in tapestry, whether it be with conceptual or experimental work or with design and technical challenges.  The venue space, located at the end of a six-story parking garage, was also a challenge with its main 70 foot long rectangular room of 11 foot walls,  with a small entrance area on the north end and a small 14 foot alcove at the south end.

 North end of west wall;  Mary Rawcliffe Colton  Ghost Bike Memorial , Elizabeth Buckley  Dialogues Through the Veil ; Entry area north wall:  Cindy Dworzak  Circles ;  Elizabeth Buckley  Ocean Memory

North end of west wall;  Mary Rawcliffe Colton Ghost Bike Memorial, Elizabeth Buckley Dialogues Through the Veil; Entry area north wall:  Cindy Dworzak Circles;  Elizabeth Buckley Ocean Memory

Juried and curated by Mary Colton and Nancy Wohlenberg, with input from gallery director,  Lara Goldmann, Questioning Limits ultimately became an opportunity for each of the ten exhibiting tapestry artists not only to create new tapestries,  but also to show multiple pieces from their body of work. 

 Entry South Post: Jaye Whorton  Jaguar vs. Blood Moon ; West wall continued:  Mary Rawcliffe Colton  Roadsides Bloom Plastic , Ann Blankenship  Sundance with Alisha , Naomi Julian  Myriad Pathways

Entry South Post: Jaye Whorton Jaguar vs. Blood Moon; West wall continued:  Mary Rawcliffe Colton Roadsides Bloom Plastic, Ann Blankenship Sundance with Alisha, Naomi Julian Myriad Pathways

Mary Rawcliffe Colton's Roadsides Bloom Plastic uses strips of plastic bags on ramie warp, Ghiordes knots.  Ann Blankenship's Sundance with Alisha incorporates wire, prayer ties, and wool.

 Elizabeth Buckley  Crane  and  Fossil, Feather and Light ;  Ann Blankenship  N-1:  Dumpster Diving  and  Invasive Species , Naomi Julian  Creation , Ann Blankenship  N-1:  Turning Sixty

Elizabeth Buckley Crane and Fossil, Feather and Light;  Ann Blankenship N-1:  Dumpster Diving and Invasive Species, Naomi Julian Creation, Ann Blankenship N-1:  Turning Sixty

Ann Blankenship found piles of slides in a dumpster, which became integral to her two pieces:  N-1:  Dumpster Diving and N-1:  Turning Sixty (the sculpture on the floor)

 Elizabeth Buckley  Fossil, Feather, and Light ;  Ann Blankenship  N-1:  Dumpster Diving , Ann Blankenship  Invasive Species

Elizabeth Buckley Fossil, Feather, and Light;  Ann Blankenship N-1:  Dumpster Diving, Ann Blankenship Invasive Species

Ann Blankenship's Invasive Species incorporates wire, wood and wool. 

 Middle West Wall:  Dan Klingelsmith  Plieades,   Elizabeth Buckley  Crane  and  Fossil, Feather and Light ;  Ann Blankenship  N-1:  Dumpster Diving  and Invasive Species, Naomi Julian  Creation ; Ann Blankenship  N-1 :Turning Sixty

Middle West Wall:  Dan Klingelsmith Plieades,  Elizabeth Buckley Crane and Fossil, Feather and Light;  Ann Blankenship N-1:  Dumpster Diving and Invasive Species, Naomi Julian Creation; Ann Blankenship N-1 :Turning Sixty

 Elizabeth Buckley                    Crane                      copyright 2016

Elizabeth Buckley                   Crane                      copyright 2016

Elizabeth Buckley wove Crane off-loom, utilizing tapestry, macramé, and warp-faced finger weaving so that she could be free to manipulate, fold, knot, or weave the threads and woven areas.  "Some of the threads served as warp for awhile, then weft.  There was no tension on the warp, although I did tape it down to keep it orderly.  I improvised a lot, breaking many rules!"

 Mary Rawcliffe Colton  Lamplight Mosque , Cindy Dworzak  Matrix , Dan Klinglesmith Constellations series:   Orion, Gemini, Winter, Summer, Plieades

Mary Rawcliffe Colton Lamplight Mosque, Cindy Dworzak Matrix, Dan Klinglesmith Constellations series:  Orion, Gemini, Winter, Summer, Plieades

South Wall:

 LInda Giesen  Desert Dunes  and  Shifting Sands;  Ann Blankenship  Route 66

LInda Giesen Desert Dunes and Shifting Sands; Ann Blankenship Route 66

East Wall:

 Linda Giesen  Wired--the Inside and Outside of Anxiety , Naomi Julian  Enchanted Mesa,  Vivian Skadron  Sunset Over Albuquerque , Nancy Wohlenberg  Rift Valley Center Place I and II ;  Blue Tree  ;  Naomi Julian  Stormy Skies Over Ranchos de Taos,  Jaye Whorton  A Tip of the Hat to Ms. O'Keeffe

Linda Giesen Wired--the Inside and Outside of Anxiety, Naomi Julian Enchanted Mesa, Vivian Skadron Sunset Over Albuquerque, Nancy Wohlenberg Rift Valley Center Place I and II; Blue Tree ;  Naomi Julian Stormy Skies Over Ranchos de Taos, Jaye Whorton A Tip of the Hat to Ms. O'Keeffe

 Linda Giesen    Wired--  The Inside and Outside of Anxiety   photo credit:  Nancy Wohlenberg

Linda Giesen   Wired--The Inside and Outside of Anxiety  photo credit:  Nancy Wohlenberg

Alcove north wall:

 Elizabeth Buckley  Portal,  Jaye Whorton  Wedge Weave I,   Mary Rawcliffe Colton  Bumps in the Road,  Jaye Whorton  Kaotic Klown ;  pedestal:  Ann Blankenship  Four Directions   Photo credit:  Nancy Wohlenberg

Elizabeth Buckley Portal, Jaye Whorton Wedge Weave I,  Mary Rawcliffe Colton Bumps in the Road, Jaye Whorton Kaotic Klown;  pedestal:  Ann Blankenship Four Directions

Photo credit:  Nancy Wohlenberg

Mary Rawcliffe Colton's Bumps in the Road incorporates pulled warp with use of smaller and smaller wefts to reduce the weaving width from 5 to 1.5 inches.  In Ann Blankenship's Four Directions, the metal cube is the loom.

Alcove east wall:

 pedestal:  Ann Blankenship  Four Directions , Nancy Wohlenberg  Five Sisters Song Series: Hot Flow, New Earth, Soil;     
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 X-NONE 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:10.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;}
 
  Mary Rawcliffe Colton  Primroses , Nancy Wohlenberg  Substraction:  Flow  and  Tangledoodle  , Dan Klinglesmith  Pathway   photo credit:  Nancy Wohlenberg

pedestal:  Ann Blankenship Four Directions, Nancy Wohlenberg Five Sisters Song Series: Hot Flow, New Earth, Soil;  Mary Rawcliffe Colton Primroses, Nancy Wohlenberg Substraction:  Flow and Tangledoodle , Dan Klinglesmith Pathway

photo credit:  Nancy Wohlenberg

QuestioningLimitsShowPoster.jpg

If you cannot make it to the opening or closing receptions, the gallery is open on Wednesdays and Fridays 10:00 am - 6:00 pm.


Special thanks to Nancy Wohlenberg for use of her photos, as well as for her photo-editing skills on my images.  Photo credits:  Elizabeth Buckley, unless otherwise noted.

Drawing As Pathway

   Drawing for  Petroglyph and Prairie  tapestry   © 2012 Elizabeth J. Buckley  

 Drawing for Petroglyph and Prairie tapestry © 2012 Elizabeth J. Buckley 

I teach drawing to many adults who have had discouraging experiences in previous art classes, often in their youth.  It takes courage for many to even sign up, and invariably they tell me that what helped them to decide to register was the phrase:  "there is no such thing as an awful line” in my course description.  Whether my classroom is in my studio, at Ghost Ranch during the July Festival of the Arts, or in conjunction with a tapestry design workshop, many arrive with the unease of being outside their comfort zone, hoping to have a better relationship with drawing.

  Feather  drawing by Laura Nelson 2013  Drawing as Meditation  class at Ghost Ranch

Feather drawing by Laura Nelson 2013 Drawing as Meditation class at Ghost Ranch

  Leaf  drawing by Emily Flores 2014  Drawing as Meditation  class at Ghost Ranch

Leaf drawing by Emily Flores 2014 Drawing as Meditation class at Ghost Ranch

We begin by getting acquainted with the pencil as a tool, and all the many lines and marks that can be made with it.  We do warm-ups with the pencil, for just as a dancer or a singer must warm up and stretch the body or vocal chords, so too must the artist warm up the drawing muscles and neurological connections between the hand, arm, eye, and brain.  We play, explore, experiment, and try new things. Then, one-by-one, each student settles into the act of hands with pencil creating marks on paper, following and describing what the eye observes.  A quiet concentration comes over the room, and I know that the deeper component of drawing is at work.

Drawing is about engaging with the world and truly seeing the shapes, textures, patterns of light and shadow in front of us.   The more we focus on a blade of grass, a leaf, or a tree, the more we can understand through observation the essence of leaf, tree, or cloud.  We connect in a deeper way, through the pencil in the hand and the focused eye and mind.  We enter into the eternal moment.

  Moonscape  drawing by Jan Boydstun 2014  Drawing as Meditation  class at Ghost Ranch

Moonscape drawing by Jan Boydstun 2014 Drawing as Meditation class at Ghost Ranch

Once my students get this component of drawing, it changes how they see and engage with the world.  They have found a pathway to a deeper connection with what they observe, and it helps them to be more fully present. For some, it becomes part of their daily journaling practice.  For others, it is a way to begin expressing something that has no words. 

  Tree and Mesa  drawing by Marie Dixon 2013  Drawing as Meditation  class at Ghost Ranch

Tree and Mesa drawing by Marie Dixon 2013 Drawing as Meditation class at Ghost Ranch

For my tapestry students, they discover that they can see and subsequently better understand the connection with shape, line, form and value (the degree of lightness and darkness), and how these can translate to tapestry technique.  The mantra becomes:  “If I were to weave this, what techniques would I use to describe the essence of this?” 

Marie Dixon was in the 2013 Drawing as Meditation:  Sharpening the Eye to See  class at Ghost Ranch.  Already an accomplished watercolor painter, she kept a journal of each class day.  Several months later, Marie shared this with me:

As I followed along each day during the “ Drawing as Meditation,” I conscientiously took notes and posted samples of my work in my journal. I wanted the notes and artwork to remind me of the special instruction and mood created by the daily exercises designed by Elizabeth Buckley. I had my favorites like the tearing paper landscapes, the movement and drawing day, and making my marks to show my mood. I thought to myself, I wanted to remember each day and someday share with others.
Coming back to Sacramento, I had a neighbor who was very sick with cancer and her daughter had asked her to draw her feelings. She was intimidated by the process so I brought the art supplies over and my journal from the class and took a few hours to explain to her that drawing and painting can be very meditative and she had nothing to fear. Each of the exercises could be easily done by someone who had never drawn or painted.
 The drawing as meditation transported my friend from the weight of her illness, allowing her to get in touch with her feelings in a way that was freeing rather than frightening. My neighbor was successful and very grateful and has continued to use my journal. This is a very peaceful approach to art where everyone is successful in their own way.
 2015  Drawing as Meditation  class field trip, Ghost Ranch, NM   photo credit:  Elizabeth Buckley

2015 Drawing as Meditation class field trip, Ghost Ranch, NM   photo credit:  Elizabeth Buckley

Drawing truly can be accessible to everyone.  With pencil and paper, one can enter a pathway into the pulse of life. 


Appreciation to Marie Dixon, Jan Boydstun, Emily Flores, and Laura Nelson for their permission to use their images and words in this post.


My Mother Tongue is Tapestry

 Elizabeth Buckley's hands weaving   photo credit:  Lany Eila

Elizabeth Buckley's hands weaving   photo credit:  Lany Eila

When I sit at the loom, absorbed in the weaving growing before me, all words fall away, and I am in my mother tongue.  Tapestry is like breathing for me:  automatic, and the air that sustains me.

My college French teacher, Marguerite Hessini, spoke of la langue maternelle, one’s mother tongue, the language one first speaks and the language one automatically uses to articulate one’s thoughts. She, herself, grew up speaking three languages: Alsacian, French, and German, then subsequently learned and became fluent in English, Arabic, and Spanish.  She later completed her doctorate in Linguistics and spent one summer living in the desert, assisting a Southwest Native American culture in documenting their mother tongue and in developing educational materials written in this language.

For me, the term, la langue maternelle, goes beyond the verbal linguistic realm to that of hand woven tapestry, and the language of the loom that I was well-versed in by the age of 10. It made so much sense to me, and I loved how my hands could make vertical and horizontal lines, hills, valleys, angles, and shapes in the warp.  For me, la langue maternelle of tapestry also literally did come from my mother, Esther J. Kolling.

As I developed my verbal language skills in English as my primary language, and in French as my secondary language, my eyes and hands also were becoming fluent in the non-verbal languages of woven structures and color.  In many ways, the language of the loom became my mother tongue, as my initial thoughts tend to come as images, colors, textures and techniques before I translate them into words. I automatically think in this non-verbal language, and my hands often know things before I have the words for them.

 Book Cover

Book Cover

I recently came across the term, mother tongue, again in the book written by K. David Harrison, entitled: The Last Speakers:  The Quest to Save the World’s Most Endangered Languages. Here he describes how:

Everyone values their mother tongue, and few people would be willing to part with it. (p.13) ...language not just as a way of speaking or a domain of cognition.  It is an entire conceptual universe of thought, compactly and efficiently encoded into words. (pp. 55-56)

In the case of tapestry, the conceptual universe of thought is encoded in thread and technique.

One of the amazing things about tapestry is its universality, across time, cultures, and how it transcends words.  We look at a tapestry, regardless of where or when it was made, and can read it, study the technique vocabulary, and marvel at what is said in this language of discontinuous wefts.

Harrison goes on to say that:

...language’s proliferation doesn’t stop with just having a word for something.  Once in a lexicon, the “mental dictionary,” a named concept takes on a life of its own.  It contributes to organizing thought and perception.  We have no idea how deep this effect goes…. how deeply (or shallowly) language may influence thought and perception.      (pp. 47 – 49)
 Book cover of Huari and Inca textiles, a Dover publication

Book cover of Huari and Inca textiles, a Dover publication

I am reminded of how Susan Martin Maffei has described the Huari culture of pre-Inca Peru, where everyone—children, adults, men, and women—was expected to participate in the various phases of tapestry weaving; of how tapestry was the language, the form of currency, as well as served to define social status. The dead were wrapped in up to 20 layers of tapestry fabric, to assist in the realm of the after life.  What would it have been like to live in such a cultural environment!

 Book cover

Book cover

In K. David Harrison’s book:  When Languages Die:  The Extinction of the World’s Languages and the Erosion of Human Knowledge, he takes an in depth look at what we lose when languages vanish. To put it succinctly: 

Language disappearance is an erosion or extinction of ideas, of ways of knowing, and ways of talking about the world and the human experience.  p. 7

Again, I relate this to tapestry knowledge, since it has been vulnerable to disappearing over the centuries.  Here are a couple of examples in my lifetime:

The week of November 17, 1991, the French government announced its decision to uproot and disperse Les Gobelins Tapestry Manufacture from Paris, including:  Gobelins vertical warp tapestry weaving, Savonnerie rug weaving studios, in-house and foreign student training programs for both studios, the dyeing studios, and the restoration studios for rugs, tapestries, and furniture (IFROA, the French Institute for the Restoration of works of Art).  Weavers not willing to relocate would have to retrain for other work.  Micala Sidore wrote a page report about this in the December 1991 newsletter of the International Tapestry Network (ITNET).   The global community—tapestry weavers, museum curators, textile conservators, citizens, and countless others-- responded by sending air mail letters and postcards of protest. (This was before we had the internet).  The world outcry was large enough that on January 29. 1992 the Minister of Culture, reversed this proposed plan, although it did terminate the training and education program at Gobelins, shifting students to the Aubusson Ecole National des Beaux Arts and also moved the restoration studios to Aubusson.

 Book cover:   The Song of the World Tapestries        Angers, France

Book cover:  The Song of the World Tapestries       Angers, France

In addition to writing my letter of protest, I also knew that I needed to go to Aubusson to learn what had not yet been documented, before it vanished.  In the case of the atelier Tabard, which wove the bulk of Jean Lurçat’s Chant du Monde (Song of the World), it was too late.  Their technical knowledge died with the death of the last tapestry weaver of that family.

But it was not too late with Gisèle Brivet, a fourth-generation tapestry weaver who worked collaboratively with her husband, Henri, who also had recently retired from teaching tapestry design at the Aubusson Ecole National des Beaux Arts (which is now closed and is being converted into a tapestry museum, renamed Cité internationale de la tapisserie Aubusson).  No one in their family was interested in learning tapestry, so they went against the centuries-old atelier tradition of never sharing tapestry secrets outside the family, to pass on some of their love, process, and technical skills to me and two other weavers from the United States.  I wish I could have stayed longer, to learn more.

In June of 2005, Tapestry Weavers West celebrated its 20th anniversary with a symposium:   Tradition in Motion:  New Forms, Attitudes and Approaches to Tapestry.  Here Phillipe Playe, director of the Beauvais Tapestry Museum and Mobilier National in France, announced that their six-year training program was no longer going to accept new students as they could no longer guarantee jobs for its graduates.  He suggested that like the grape growers in California and in France helped each other out in times of drought, perhaps the same could be done in tapestry as well, with the weavers here in the United States carrying on the knowledge.  Phillipe Playe taught two workshops in the United States with Jean Pierre Larochette and Yael Lurie to textile conservators, tapestry teachers and artists, myself included.

A number of us who studied with these and other tapestry masters now teach and pass on this knowledge. Many of us do so as itinerant instructors at our studios or retreat centers, through weaving guilds or arts centers.  Over these past decades, most university institutions in the United States have eliminated their fiber arts programs, some of which did include hand woven tapestry.  Many of us tapestry artists are in the second half of our life spans, producing work that few art galleries are willing to represent because there are no guarantees of sales.

We live in an era that embraces high-speed internet, computer technology, and the encyclopedic form of knowledge in mainstreamed, dominant languages.  It is ironic that with all of this information at our finger tips, we also are facing the extinction in our lifetime of over 500 oral human languages, and all of their accompanying vocabulary, thought systems, cultural and environmental knowledge. This is the world of the coming generations, who’s fingers are trained to text message and to type on keyboards, and who may or may not have interest in learning that there is so much more one can do with one’s hands. 

Is the language of tapestry and the knowledge of weaverly hands going to survive?

I have great hope that it will.  Over and over again, I see where one person can and does make a difference, be it through teaching, curating exhibitions, making videos, writing and publishing books, establishing organizations and study groups, building websites, and creating new works in tapestry.  I am doing my part, as are so many others.  We each do make a difference.

 detail of weaving process  
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 X-NONE 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:10.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;}
 
  ©2016 Elizabeth J. Buckley    photo credit:  Elizabeth J. Buckley

detail of weaving process©2016 Elizabeth J. Buckley   photo credit:  Elizabeth J. Buckley

Esther J. Kolling, Fiber Artist

In the spirit of Women’s History Month, I write of Esther J. Kolling.  It is time to begin telling her story…

As an artist, you have to find what speaks to you.                              --Esther J. Kolling

Fiber Artist, Esther J. Kolling, had an infinitely curious mind that lead her to create works ranging in techniques from macramé, sprang, and basketry, to ikat, double weave, complex weave-structures, inlay, and tapestry. During the 1970’s – 1980’s her award-winning works were exhibited nationally at the Museum of Contemporary Crafts in New York City and at the Denver Art Museum, as well as regionally at Midwest Weavers Conferences and Kansas Artist Craftsman.   Esther Kolling was also my mother.

When I was about 3 years old and Esther Kolling was in her late 30’s, she discovered her artistic leanings through ceramics, mosaic, drawing and painting classes that she took at the local college.  During the height of the 1960’s, she pursued her masters degree in art education over the course of six summers at the University of Colorado in Boulder, and at the end of each summer, she transitioned back to her life in small town Kansas.

How difficult it must have been to go from the spirit of the 60’s in full swing, classes that stretched her, and studio space to work in to none of that.  There was no separate room available for her to work on art in our 800 square foot home totaling five rooms: the kitchen, living room, bathroom, my parent’s bedroom, and the bedroom my older sister and I shared. 

Esther often did art on the kitchen table or at the living room desk during the day while my sister and I were at school, or late at night, after everyone had gone to bed. I remember going to sleep to the sound of the brayer squeaking while she made wood block prints.  She also kept taking art classes at the local college, to have access to studio space, and stay artistically active in between summers.

   
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 X-NONE 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:10.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;}
 
    “pre-Cambrian Forms”   33” x 9"    ©1972 Esther J. Kolling,   Macramé using   wool/mohair blend, horsehair, wooden sticks

“pre-Cambrian Forms”   33” x 9"  ©1972 Esther J. Kolling, Macramé using wool/mohair blend, horsehair, wooden sticks

Toward the end of her degree, she joined the Wichita Weaving Guild.  There she discovered her love of fiber:  macramé, sprang, vegetal dyes, spinning, weaving, and later complex weave structures, ikat, and tapestry. Soon I was joining her in slow drives along country roads, helping to collect dye plants growing along the ditches and on hillsides. The house began taking on the peculiar odors of dye bathes out of mullen, coreopsis, sedges, walnut hules, onion skins, and marigolds. Evenings would find her carding and spinning wool. 

 

She made a place for her 48” width Macomber loom after measuring an area on the edge of the living room that bordered the kitchen. She removed a chair and shifted over a plant stand.  Not a room of her own, in the sense of Virginia Woolf, but an area for her to work, with light from the west picture window.

 

I was fascinated by watching her weave, and wanted to learn.  She showed me how to warp up a cardboard loom and the basics of over and under, gave me an assortment of yarns and a large needle, then left me to explore on my own.  When I finished that weaving, she put together a frame loom out of canvas stretchers for me.  I was all of ten years old, and I felt a kinship, a contentment when weaving tapestry that I never before had experienced. I loved how my hands could make hills, valleys, angles, and shapes in the warp.   As my mother learned new techniques, so did I.  By the time I was in my early teens, I was her teacher’s assistant in the community continuing education classes she taught at the local art center. Together we taught macramé and non-loom techniques, as well as beginning weaving.

   
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 X-NONE 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:10.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;}
 
     “Om”  28” x 13.5”   ©1986 Esther J. Kolling,   ikat of linen 30 epi     

 “Om”  28” x 13.5” ©1986 Esther J. Kolling, ikat of linen 30 epi     

Over the years, Esther Kolling taught workshops in dyeing through the Wichita Weaving Guild, and weaving at Southwestern College. She regularly juried into and won awards in the Kansas Fiber Directions exhibitions, as well as the War Eagle Arts and Crafts Fair in Arkansas. Her gallery representation included The Sign of the Acorn in Wichita, Kansas and later in retirement, the artist coop gallery in Socorro, New Mexico.

 

   
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 X-NONE 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:10.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;}
 
    “Magenta and Gold”  27.5” x 14.5"   ©1982 Esther J. Kolling,   Inlay   in linen at 20 epi

“Magenta and Gold”  27.5” x 14.5" ©1982 Esther J. Kolling, Inlay in linen at 20 epi

Esther Kolling’s creative process involved working from sketches or a thumbnail design, taking a small section and expanding it or superimposing it onto another design.  The composition would evolve and change as she kept working with it. At the loom, she would add or delete design elements as she wove. 

 

 

 

In the tapestry, Flight, she used slits to create vertical lines, and combined woven shapes with some irregular hatching, using both commercial and her handspun yarns, as well as weft bundles of varying textures. 

  Flight  29” x 29”    ©1985 Esther J. Kolling  , tapestry   of   handspun and commercial wool, cotton bouclé weft on cotton warp at 6 epi

Flight29” x 29”  ©1985 Esther J. Kolling, tapestry of handspun and commercial wool, cotton bouclé weft on cotton warp at 6 epi

   
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 X-NONE 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:10.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman",serif;}
 
     “Reflection”  16” x 16”     © 1988 Esther J. Kolling  , tapestry of   hand-dyed wools in weft bundle mixes on cotton seine twine warp at 8 epi