I’ve come to believe that time is on a different continuum when it comes to art. Think how long it takes for us mere mortals to truly see the Van Gogh’s of the world. On a much smaller scale our own artwork often needs time to settle, too.

Lately, I love to work in a series. I am making small pieces again and each one seems to lead to the next. As I assemble a group of small pieces, they gain strength. One seems to inform the other.

Slow stitch requires slow time. So often all the tasks of daily living and work soak up an urgency and I bring that urgency to the studio. The stitch work is different then.

Whenever I am unsure of what to do next, I start making small pieces again. They fuel play. Because they are small; there’s no risk.

I have been taking Lorna Crane’s Perfectly Imperfect online course through Fiber Arts Take Two. Lorna is a powerful Australian artist and a generous and gifted teacher. We started the class by making our own brushes and exploring our landscape. She is an abstract artist who references the land. I am

I have been taking Lorna Crane’s Perfectly Imperfect online course through Fiber Arts Take Two. Lorna is a powerful Australian artist and a generous and gifted teacher. We started the class by making our own brushes and exploring our landscape. She is an abstract artist who references the land. I am

Whenever I am unsure of what to do next, I start making small pieces again. They fuel play. Because they are small; there’s no risk.

It’s been two decades since I actively worked to sell my artwork. Selling artwork takes a lot of time. One Instagram professional painter whom I admire recently posted that the business of selling her work takes about 60% of her time. I think that’s accurate.

Lately, I love to work in a series. I am making small pieces again and each one seems to lead to the next. As I assemble a group of small pieces, they gain strength. One seems to inform the other.

Lately, I love to work in a series. I am making small pieces again and each one seems to lead to the next. As I assemble a group of small pieces, they gain strength. One seems to inform the other.

It’s been nine months since my last blog post. I’d like to say how can that be? But I know.

I see it in my work. It’s so different from past work. No stitch. The underlying Japanese washi paper was soaked and nibbled away in the tidelands of Puget Sound. The layers of organza were burned and dipped in beeswax. This is all new for me.