After visiting the exhibition, I spotted this ad for her work--currently on display at the Museum of Modern Art--near Houston Street.

In the middle of a Saturday afternoon, in midtown Manhattan, we were near collapse after a morning exploring the Upper West Side and Central Park, then shopping around midtown. Then we went to the Modern Museum of Art. I felt it essential to visit at least one of the major, internationally-renowned museums New York City has to offer, even while we were resisting the traditional tourist visit to the City.

Taryn Simon

Taryn Simon, artist and photographer, has a knack for amazing titles. Her current show: A Living Man Declared Dead and Other Chapters, I-XVIII. At some point as we neared delirium, we wandered into the photography section of the museum, tucked on one of the expansive floors, and found Taryn Simon’s stunning exhibition of photographs. To be honest, the named intrigued me first, as names and titles nearly always do. A great name is the fastest way to get me interested. (I read Angela’s Ashes in sixth grade–I know, right?–because I desperately wanted to know who Angela was, and what was her relation to the little grungy boy on the cover; no other reason.)

We found ourselves surrounded by austere faces, portraits of men, women, rabbits, sitting each by themselves, amid a series of people (and sometimes things) who are somehow related, whose lives and stories intersect by some grand or small event. There was something about “bloodlines,” as after looking deeper at the panels and photographs, I was confused about the organization of the show and its larger meaning. I left intrigued deeply, wanting to spend more time pondering this series, these “chapters,” later, but not wanting to buy the $125 exhibition book–which was the show in its entirety, amazing.

Hours later, I am in the hotel room taking a much-needed rest, and flipping through a Time magazine I’d brought with, when there is this bold headline: “There Will Be Bloodlines: Taryn Simon untangles the ties that bind.”

I kid you not, I got goosebumps. If I had looked at this magazine a day earlier, I might have overlooked this name, skimmed the article at best. Here was this woman, and her explanation of this newest project, which was four years in the making, and took her to twenty-five countries.

Now I have a proper explanation of the project’s theme and meaning:

The organizing principle for this project is what she calls bloodlines: all the living descendants, plus any living forebears, of a single man or woman who sets a story in motion.

And the reasoning, the messy ties and stories and variable havoc that occurs within these “bloodlines” is where her project becomes truly fascinating. It echoes what I see and know deeply: that family lines, genetics, and genealogy have little to do with  the way our lives turn out, have almost nothing to do with the events that shape our individual lives in the present.A simple concept, really; and this explains why the tribal man with ten wives, dozens of children, and many dozen grandchildren appears in a massive sequence. And also, why there is a man missing from his own story–a blank canvas appears instead; he was executed for war crimes after the end of WWII and Nazi Germany, but descendants appear after his spot, along with more missing people, via their empty canvases, as well as pieces of clothing that act in lieu of a person, who preferred not to share his or her face in association with this man. Meaning becomes clear.

Simone depicts bloodlines as flowing charts of small portraits–like a living periodic table of the elements. What resonates is the persistence, and finally the insufficiency, of ancestry and kinship as systems for making sense of unruly destinies. To show that blood lineage can be an extremely loopy line, she sought out unlikely subjects; one is a Lebanese man who claims to be reincarnated, so he pops up more than once in his own family history. “I was always looking for a surreal twist,” she says, “something that would lead to a collapse of logic.”

All the same, even the most outlandish chapters have their universal element. As Simon put it, “We’re all the living dead, pieces of what came before.” What she means is that we all carry the DNA of our forebears; there ghostly current pulses through us. The intricate machinery of her project is designed to show that blood ties are a weak line of defense against the blows administered by history, politics, or sheer unlucky circumstances. [italics my own.]

Yes. This entire work is more stunningly magnificent than I ever could have imagined, aligning greatly with my own theories on this whole world and what happens to us during our time here.

Portraits telling stories

bits of a vintage sari mixed well with other fabrics I love

I tend to buy fabrics when I see them and adore them, and not when I need them or have any particular project in mind. Add to this my Mom, who sees great deals on small tidbits and passes them along to me as well. Our habit of collecting bits of designs and colors and patterns that we like has lead me to create a very simple twin-sized “sari quilt.”

She found this spectacular pinky-red vintage sari at an estate sale awhile ago for $5, and in the process of my parents’ downsizing, handed it off to me. All the pink-red-and-cream patterned pieces in this quilt were pieces of the long, luscious, lightweight sari strip–over five yards of gorgeous motif. I was terrified to cut it for the longest time, thinking I would find the right project after cutting into it for something else, and waste its glorious hues on something I felt lukewarm about. It is quite thin, and also old and delicate, so I needed to find just the thing to do with it. (There are still several yards left for other future works.)

The fabric featuring Asian ladies with fans was also a gift from my Mom, for advent at Christmas time, as we both have weaknesses for those teals and pinks and blacks. I reminded her when she gave me these that she had also given me a few swatches of Mary Fisher’s fabric line inspired by Africa–which she picked up on a trip to Michigan last year–in the same color scheme.

Suddenly, I had all these bits that worked together naturally. I had also seen a picture of a child’s bedroom that I adored, with a simple large-scale patchwork across the twin bed, which I loved for its bold fabrics and simplicity. That was where this quilt was born; I loved each of these fabrics, and they way they spoke to one another, but not to the point where I wanted to see them hacked up into smaller wedges for a traditional quilt pattern. I just wanted to be able to see them all together, on one bed, contained within one long strip of binding.

I started this just after my foot surgery in December, and finished it today. I used one of my favorite stash fabrics, a grey-and-white ikat, for the binding. I used Denyse Schmidt’s straight-cut binding method (rather than a bias-cut binding) and loved the variation. I don’t think I’ll use a bias-cut binding ever again. Direction are in her new, incredible book.

For the back, Ben helped me chose an amazing neutral that was exactly the right fit–a pale teal and cream interpretation of the Paris subway maps; delicate, small-scale, and almost invisible unless you take a second glance.

Inspiration for the large patches: Cassandra Ellis home sneak peek

my interpretation

subway maps criss-cross the quilt's back

Quilt I made, shared online

I have been thinking for a couple days on something I read in my May 2012 issue of Atlanta Magazine, in their feature on the craft scene in the city.

The ladies who started Indie Craft Experience (ICE) Atlanta are featured–the very fun and quirky biannual expo in an old warehouse downtown, with food trucks outside and tons of talented craftsmen and women inside. Ben and I went to our first ICE Atlanta last summer and came away with a few really cool pieces, including organic baby clothes for a friend, a funky bottle opener, and a wool-and-cotton stuffed elephant that graces my office space.

The feature includes a few local artists and shops, but one little bit got me thinking, about modern aesthetic, modern craft, and the influence technology on the projects we imagine, plan, and execute today.

ICE features work from the new crafting or “indie” scene. There, you are as likely to find a cross-stitching of Bea Arthur as you are handmade earrings. Urban motifs like skulls and studs have replaced country kitsch. Peterson credits this evolution to the Internet. “Crafting isn’t as isolated as it used to be,” she says. “You can get online and share ideas.” This Venn diagram of technology and handwork is what gives modern crafting its quirky aesthetic, which resonates deeply with a new generation.

The inspiration we find on Pinterest

The Internet has definitely changed how we craft.

It has changed what kinds of materials and fabrics are available to use, it has given us the blogging community to share in-progress and finished projects and bounce ideas, and then there are all the other kinds of social media to provide continuous graphic inspiration.

Triangles and their bold geometry have been on the back-burner of my creative juices for awhile. Back in September, I impulsively bought a bunch of fabric for a menswear quilt (different project) and added on a flying geese triangle plastic template, which I have yet to use at all. To be quite honest, they look stunning, but I know how sneakily tricky triangles can be in quilts– all those points to match and perfect. And while I embrace wonky shapes and modern aesthetic, I still don’t want to end up with a quilt made of triangles that, well, suck.

So I’ll keep this image in my brain for the day when I’m ready to tackle triangles. I adore everything Audrie has done: the all-solids, the rich splashes of tangerine and gold and red, the quilting lines–simple and geometric–the binding (that black and white punch!), and the shapes themselves.

Blue is Bleu Triangle Quilt

I’ve finished a baby quilt that is now my second foray into modern, improvisational quilting. But really, it is my first venture, as the other modern quilt I am thinking of, which I made for Ben, was based on an image in a book, and though each square was shaped differently from the last–each one unique–I had a much more methodical approach to that one. I knew as I was making it where I was going and what the result would look like.

This time, I was going off an idea of stained glass windows, and the lines that separate the slices of color within the image. I had a yard of fabric that I’d gotten from (the amazing) Spoonflower fabrics, with animals and solid, plain background colors, something I would never in a million years have purchased for my own aesthetic. It’s a child’s print, perfect inspiration for a baby quilt I wanted to make for my lovely friend LaVonne who is due in September.

I didn’t have a concept at the beginning, when I bought this fabric, and so by the time I thought of stained glass (albiet, as a very abstract construction), I realized probably any fabric would have gone better with that concept than that of a square-based grid of critters. I knew I only wanted to use solids besides the single print, so I picked up orange and teal. This was turning out to be a color scheme I never would have anticipated myself using. Black was essential for grounding the whole thing, to go between each larger segment and make my vision of a cut-up assemblage of scraps come together. But Whipstitch was out of solid Kona black (or any black for that matter, except corduroy). So, I would use  corduroy instead. Babies love texture, right?

I wanted to throw this quilt in the garbage about a dozen times.

Blank canvasses staring at me

But the point is also that quilting with a person in mind, as a gift for them, also allows me the gift of time to think, sew, draw, scheme, plan, fail, and by the time it’s done, grow. I love that I grew so much in my art and my craft while making this for LaVonne, her husband, and their daughter or son.

It did not wind up in the trash, or in temporary (permanent) storage, nor was I overly tempted to buy new, different fabric and start afresh. I scaled down the final size, because larger trials I stuck to the wall with Scotch tape were not graphically pleasing. The smaller size meant I could enjoy the parts I did like. I do have a rather larger than normal scrap pile, which I don’t care to ever look at again.

a corner arises, taped to my blank wall (my door)

Ok, it’s done, I did it. I made something up. It went about as successfully as the drawings I try when I have an idea, and then remember once I’ve tried to execute it that I am terrible at drawing basically anything. So, it looks quite different than my original intended idea, but really, that is what modern quilting often means–taking a few interesting ideas, fabrics, or notions, and seeing what arises. There is often equally as much thought, I think, in improvisational quilting as there is following a pattern. Or so it seemed to me. But then again, now that I reflect on this process, maybe there was far less. The fabric kind of lead me where I clearly, often, did not want to go. But in the end, I am happy.

I named the quilt P/L after the two names LaVonne and her husband have chosen, for a girl and a boy. I don’t know if it’s public information so I won’t share just yet.

piles of creative inspiration. or sometimes, not.

Some kind of mess arises from what I've sewn so far. at this point, I am only mildly pleased, and mostly lukewarm about how it's turned out. I started to think it might be the color palette I so disliked. But, onward.

After scaling it down in size, I started the machine quilting. this was when I started to love this quilt. geometric quilt lines taking shape.

the front, finally

i love the weird, pale-but-lime green I chose on a giant whim for the back

cute critters

I happened upon a display of a small segment of the AIDS Quilt on campus at GSU last night. It is here for three days, to promote health and awareness of HIV/AIDS, sponsored by the GSU campus health and auxiliary services. I have seen small bits of it, but they were specific panels I had asked them to pull for me when I visited the headquarters of the NAMES Project Foundation in January. The difference this time was spending time as an anonymous visitor, as much time as I wanted, to observe, to read, to cry, to ponder the lives of these hundreds of souls whose squares ensure they remain part of the legacy, that they will not be forgotten in the midst of statistics on AIDS and the lives it has cost us.

My favorite thing about this artifact is that it is explicitly not an artifact. Cleve Jones, the one to conceive of the idea of this Quilt–as an awareness tool SO BIG that it would not be possible for politicians and heterosexual men and women to ignore it laying across the land–specifically explains in his memoir that this is not to be something to be tucked away and not seen, enjoyed, laid out in the grass, touched. It is here to provocate. It makes people sad, angry, nostalgic, happy, and often, all of these at once.

I have the constant urge to lay down and wrap one of the panels around me. This is silly and probably violates some giant rule (it certainly would in a museum), but this is what I really want to do when I see the squares laid across the ground. I want to be near them. I kneel down and stroke the sides, the edges, the various materials–velvet, polyester, silk, synthetic silk, cotton, leather, corduroy, pieces of clothing that were formerly owned by the namesake of each–I love reaching out and touching them, feeling myself connect to the names, the words written by mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, lovers, nieces, friends, coworkers, children. I feel the pain in the words, the grief, the hurt of every day this person lives without this person they have lost.

One of the first panels I approached when I got to the student center was simple, with a photo in the center, birth and death dates, and beneath it read, “I loved being your mom.”

I was instantly moved. Ten seconds into my experience with this enormous, emotional piece of folk art. I wanted to share just a few images, moments, and words I found during my visit. You might notice that people put every kind of thing onto these Quilt panels. Shirts and clothing are very common. But one square below is two shirts, and below them, the man’s name is spelled out using an extension cord. I broke into a smile seeing this, and other odd momentos that surely carry such meaning.

My friend Margi shared with me some of the meaning behind her brother Parnell’s double-panel they made for him, and it contained so many more, subtle notes of significance than I imagined first seeing it. Every bit of his panel is steeped in vast, loving, meaning. I can only imagine the same amount of thought, love, and meaning poured into each of the details of every one of the squares I saw last night.

For clarity, the Quilt itself is not all connected, as it is miles and miles long. It is contained of 12-foot by 12-foot squares that each contain eight panels. So when you see a panel by itself, that is 3-feet by 6-feet, roughly the size of a human coffin. The portion on display in our student center is less than one percent of the entire Quilt.

yes, yes, yes

this sentiment is very similar to the one my Mom wrote on Craig Koller's square

Akron, Ohio remembers its numbers lost to HIV/AIDS. so moving.

yes, that is an extension cord spelling out his name

favorite shirts are a common bit included on panels

the graphic enlarged on his panel (above) is this tattoo

the hats and scarves on this one again made me wonder what life this man lead, where he went, what he did in his career, who he loved. I wish I knew so much more about him.

Atlanta Gay Mens Chorus

"lover of bluegrass and flowers." I adore the bits I do learn about these lives, told by the ones who love them

He was 11 when HIV/AIDS took his life. On his quilt square is a poem he wrote about dying, for all those who also have HIV/AIDS, to let them know it is all right to die.

James Lewis, age 11

what I look like when I leave that quiet, reflective room

Panels hanging on campus again today

Panels hanging inside the student center, through our windows peeking out onto GIlmer by twilight. So serene. So powerful.

The quilt show that is also a part of the Expo was smaller than usual, Marie said. All the quilts were nicely done, but bland, generic, traditional, and in general, very ehhh. Except for one row of extraordinary mini quilts, all around 1′ x 2′, designed each by a member of the NYC Metro Modern Quilt Guild. (Add this exhibit to the list of additional reasons for me to live in NYC in my life. What an awesome guild.) There were panels along the bottoms of the display that told about the inspiration behind each of the mini quilts, a form that offers so much potential for creative juice, because no technique is too big to get overwhelmed by when the final product is tiny. The driving force behind these quilts was the question, “what does modern quilting mean to you?” And the results, in both work of art and words explaining, were captivating, creatively inspiring, and beautiful.

My favorites are here. My photos do them terrible justice. All the mini quilts were beautiful–you should read more about them and their meaning.

The first, Back in To-Day, features two photographs transferred onto the fabric, the first from the Library of Congress’s folklife photograph collection, of a woman–in her own modern day–working on a quilt. The second is the creator of this piece, working on her own modern quilt. Quilting, she says, is modern always–for the person doing it. It is happening right now. Interesting perspective on modern quilting.

The second one is scanned images of the quilter’s deceased cat, which he started playing with in ditigal form after sorting through some papers years after the cat had died and realizing that chopping the images up yielded graphic and interesting results.

The third is all creams, tiny stitches, and one patch of teal. Right up my modern quilt alley. They are all stunning in person.

I also loved the African textiles and traditional patterns and quilting motifs, but anyone who’s ever heard me gush about these motifs from when I was researching them for my material culture class already knows I’m crazy for them. The things they have done with narrow woven pieces of fabric, and created so much movement and pattern… amazing.

A good day.

Back in To-Day by Earamichia Brown

Kitty X-Ray by David Sisson

"for Amanda" by Amy K. Smith

There was a great display of a woman's personal collection of traditional quilts from her African American family

More from her display. So graphic.

The Relationship Between Quilting and Well-Being

Emily Burt & Jacqueline Atkinson

Journal of Public Health, 34(1) 54-59

Results: Cognitive, emotional and social processes were uncovered, which participants identified as important for their wellbeing. Participants found quilting to be a productive use of time and an accessible means of engaging in free creativity. Colour was psychologically uplifting. Quilting was challenging, demanded concentration and participants maintained and learned new skills. Participants experienced ‘flow’ while quilting. A strong social network fostered the formation of strong friendships. Affirmation from others boosted self-esteem and increased motivation for skill development. Quilts were often given altruistically and gave quilting added purpose.

The comment reads: In the early thirties, as he was writing Tropic of Cancer, his first published novel that was to become a classic of twentieth century fiction- Henry Miller wrote himself this list of 11 commandments.

It applies to so many creative activities, endeavors, experiments.