Flying high

 Again using leftover fabrics from a quilt made long ago, it was not clear at the outset whether the sky background made from home dyed fabrics fit in with the vase series currently in process. I found that the effect of the overlapping triangles and quadrilaterals was evoking a sense of perspective that had been my vision explored through my PhD thesis as it relates to the season festivals on the Wheel of the Year for the Southern Hemisphere . Although not layered – the are joined pieces, there is the illusion of distance as the eye moves across the various tones of blue and mauve patches, both coming forward and receding into the background.  

https://researchdirect.westernsydney.edu.au/islandora/object/uws%3A12868

No call for vases or flowers this time. Outlines of birds with their wings outstretched in full flight became the subject matter, flying towards or across the light of a fecund full moon. Cut out in white silk and pale blue satin, the way the forms pick up the light gives a strange eeriness of gentle movement between the perspectival views of the background due to the nap of the fabrics. Light plays with the fabrics, such that some birds drop out of visibility as others emerge into sight. A pale grey binding seemed in order to suggest the cloud patterns and sky colours stretching in all directions.

Constructing a Crone quilt, for Jan Roberts

The limitation set on the requested dimensions is presenting a challenge for me. I have been going smaller with my vases to rein in the size to make the quilting process more manageable, but the specifications are half that size. The concept of a full life to be held in such a small space seems to be pushing me into a corner, especially given that in my own years of becoming a witch and crone – a wise old woman. I feel that I’m expanding – expanding that is into who I was, to become who I always was. And at the same time, I feel that the circle is open, it is not broken, in that we do come full circle into our ‘true’ selves constantly. 

 While facing the limitation of space, and as the ideas continue to flow there is another limitation that provides me with an emotional and tangible boundary for getting to the essence of this croning period specific to Jan’s personal life. It helps to work with one image at a time: the moon phases in the southern hemisphere is the starting point. The phases of the moon visually embody the three major stages of a woman’s life: the Virgin girl, the birthing, nurturing Mother, and the wise woman Crone. Typically they are defined by the powerful stages of female sexual activity, as the names suggest. But the crone image seems to have forfeited – or more accurately, been deprived of her power in recent culture, leading her to be seen as a disempowered and withered woman, often taking on the negative attributes of the bitter, backward old witch who is out of touch. She is maligned and condemned not only as being out of date, but claimed to be malicious towards others in her community and society, for which she has been burned at the stake over hundreds of years. 

 Having recognised the overriding influence of these imposed attributions, largely unreported for centuries and uncontested except by courts designed to confirm women’s guilt for sins against Christianity, whether they be virgin, mother or old wise woman. All were hounded by Christian governmental authorities unequivocally for adhering to their practices and rituals honouring an integral and undeniable dependability on the bounty of Earth. Of course while the younger women were subjected to enforced marriage or rape for maintaining and gaining male supremacy, the old were vulnerable to the pillaging of their landholdings by the religious and civic authorities. 

 So, back to the moon imagery for these three stages. An older representation of the dark moon that had been saved from a previous project provided the initial impetus. A full dark moon sitting on a dark red background, both hand dyed, seemed to be a good place to start. It was a case of deciding whether to included a visible impact for the last stages of the moon as it wanes, unable to be seen from most positions on earth. Being intent on including the Virgin crescent moon, the full red moon of the Mother has allowed the rightful places of both Virgin and Crone, with each embracing the other, residing comfortably within each other within the all encompassing arms of the Mother. 

 Searching for a piece of pure white fabric for the virgin crescent of the moon, my object was to find a shining pure white, suitable for a wedding dress, to represent virginity. Of course the phases of the moon are a monthly reminder of the renewal of virginity, which is always with us in our lives. Coming from this realisation, I stopped searching for the perfect fabric, instead choosing a small available piece of cream cotton printed with small flower sprigs – perfect for the new moon. The crescent of the new moon has a larger shape than that of the waning, something that indicates the continuance of life through women’s fertility, she who as virgin, then becomes mother, to move into the later stages of life as a wise old woman, having left her genealogy for future generations. 

 The full dark disc at the centre of the three-moon image seems to pull the eye into the quilt – into the Cosmos beyond our sight, understanding and knowledge. The life of every individual is a cycle, where the circles overlap as vectors holding all of life’s wonders and pain. Each aspect seems to lean into and hold the others, but the interesting aspect of the union of the three resides in the dark centre. The moon phases provide the key symbol for the quilt that celebrates a life of living with love and learning, reciprocal giving and receiving. There are other symbols that have come to mind to be in line with Jan’s request for Irish/Celtic connections 

  Sheela na gig and the Callieach 

It’s amazing where inspiration comes from. Looking into the bottom of a vase after its use holding a cloud of golden fimbriata wattle from the garden, I saw the almond mandorlas shape that I’d been intending to somehow include in the design. I glanced across at the little quilt’s moon phases, and realised the black of the full dark moon held that shape, the darkness of the fecund womb, that could simply be sketched into the space by stitching – maybe using a red thread. I wonder: could I hand stitch it with a thicker thread? I had been thinking of drawing the triple spiral into this space, so now there’s another option. Caves have been found in eastern European areas that indicate a ritual of respect – maybe worship that acknowledges the Earth Mother, the virgin and the eternity of the womb for the continuance of human life. 

The Utroba cave, also know as the ‘womb cave’ is such a destination, a ritual that involves entering into the dark recesses of the cave in order to maintain life, while paying tribute to the pleasure-giving clitoris protruding above the entrance. From what I read, these natural temples of worship and honour to woman are not uncommon across the European continent, and may serve to remind us that we come from the womb of Mother Earth, and to Her we return in death. 

 Although this image of the Sheela carved in stone has also been found throughout Europe, her image is prevalent and has lasted on churches in Ireland. Well, who is she? What dominates is a woman’s vulva that she is holding open with both hands, arms looped behind her thighs. Perhaps it is quite confronting in this day and age, in spite of the plethora of pornography available. What does she represent? There are very probable theories in the Christian era that it was designed to be a warning about where the sins of the flesh for the ‘faithful’, obviously initiated by women. Remember also Pandora’s box (there seems to be a pun there), or her ‘vase’ that supposedly poured out all the evils in the world? 

 The image of the Sheela holds within the traditions of the past, present and future, and is the kindly guardian of entrance into the Underworld. The ability to draw aside the veils and see between the worlds with the heart and soul is to see that which is invisible to our eyes or what lies beneath the visible, thereby animating the creative forces for change through an enhanced intuition and insight. 

  The Triskelion (triple spiral) 

The triple spiral is found on so many of the monuments – specifically at Newgrange where it adorns the entrance stone, but most significantly was carved into the stone of the mound’s interior chamber so as to be lit up by the first rays of each year’s summer solstice. Hence it signalled new beginnings, the promise of a resurrection of the old life afforded by the constant natural cycle: life death and rebirth. The cycles as experienced in nature, can represent repetition, progress and major changes. There are other ways of reading this special symbol, an iconic ancient Celtic symbol. Relationships for example, between the growth of the self, both outer and the inner: the individual, the Universe and the spiritual worlds, and the movement between each out from the still point at the centre. As a revolving wheel it represents the three stages in a woman’s life, as do the phases of the moon, the virginal, the nurturing mother and the old wise crone. 

  Mother Ocean and her seashells. 

Walking across shells on the beach, who can resist picking them up for a closer look? Remember the wonder of holding a seashell to your ear as a child? It’s not an echo of your own blood pumping, as sometimes is given as an explanation. It is thought that the shell is collecting the ambient noises in the air around. And what are these noises, where do they emanate from? Is it the echoing of the wider universe through the spiral chamber? The ocean as the origin of life on our planet is surely a mix of countless aeons of time held in each. 

 It is not difficult to accept that sea water was very important to the Celts of Ireland, being the fourth largest island in the world. Their indigenous stories are similar to Australian Indigenous lore, that women are of the sea while men are of the land, and everything is interrelated, everything. Shells have held currency, exchange value in many Pacific societies. Shells also have a personal value for many, of holding memories of place and connections to place that transcend time. As children we played with a string of tiny purple spiral shells threaded as a necklace. Such a necklace was a talisman for the Tasmanian aborigines, my mother and father’s place of birth, each a descendant of immigrants and convicts. 

 Perhaps unconsciously they remind us of departed souls. Having recently washed my collection after years of gathering dust, I see there are those that are tiny, small and then larger. Each of them is outstanding, in shape, colours and cover designs. I am in awe of the homes our Mother Ocean has produced for the tiny organisms beginning life in the raging unfathomable oceans, as tiny, vulnerable creatures housed by external protective skeletal structures, at once delicate, strong and resilient. Shells are the remnants of a life once lived, and symbolise safe passage for the soul in death. I used to own a fossil, found in Israel, a small nautilus, unfortunately stolen. It was in the form of a spiral, shaped by the chambers that are added by the growing mollusc. I don’t know how long ago this one had been a living sea creature. It is no wonder that these shells are symbols of growth and renewal in the process of finding our true spiritual purpose in life. They are beautiful gifts from the natural world that have withstood the ocean tides for millennia. It is no wonder then that they offer protection from the harshness of the various environments that challenge us on our journey. 

 Seashells have hard exteriors with soft vulnerable creatures living inside, and offer protective homes for small crabs when their original dweller passes on. They draw their power from the elements of water and the earth on which they live. They can stand for the resilient and determined mindset capable of bridging the gap between the physical and supernatural realms, offering a safe passage for our souls from this world. They can be seen as symbolic of a woman’s genitalia, the life cycle, fertility and love. Shells are the memory of a life lived and the journey that creature went through, and empty shells found on the beach is a reminder of a life, left behind in death when the soul leaves the body. 

 The conch has been used in ritual celebrations for millennia by magnifying the natural vibrations of the earth and to rid the space of negative energies. Cowrie shells are often used in divination by making connection with the ancestors where the split down the side represents the opening of the third eye. The scallop shell has many ridges that all join together at the bottom, suggesting focus on the goal ahead. They there are many spiritual pathways to the one destination: our ultimate connection to earth. The long pointy augur shell clearing relates to our masculine energy, to strength courage and resilience. They help achieve mental clarity through trusting our intuition. 

 A debate often arises about the amount of control being exercised by the artist in the process of creating. If hesitation can be used as one of the counter arguments by either side, I have been experiencing much of it in the creation of this tiny quilt. I cannot put my finger on the reason, other than due to the flood of ideas arising in the limitation of space – and perhaps, of time: everything has to come to a conclusion at some stage! While the symbols gestate, the background canvas continues to be created. Maybe this is the point where I should have started – but that’s not how my creative process works; it decides its own way, its own steps towards completion regardless of my input. It’s generally much more haphazard, by randomly sorting through saved fabrics according to colour and that may be significant to the theme and design than when it is to cut to a planned pattern. 

 Uncertainty is never absent in life in general. Why is the cut out of the red waratah flower still sitting there? It seems to be demanding inclusion, in the same way that the single white, almost skeletal tree does so. Both have been considered for inclusion, having been part of previous works. Sometimes there is an insistence – though it can take time for me to accept the suggestion after it arises. It is one of those times when the need for decision hangs about, remaining elusive, postponing any further action for the moment. Then, as if for no reason, something happens to prompt an action. It is not so much a considered decision as an impulsive action to take a step towards completion. Both the waratah and the tree outline find a place in the areas where they are feeling comfortable. Having come to this point, the backing, quilting and binding can bring completion – almost!

There is one final stage needed for the completion of ideas and image. It slightly scares me because it involves making marks onto a strip of fabric that is already embodied in the bound work. As marks having been etched into stone on monuments in Ireland, they seem to be drawing forth a suitable title, one that is related to signs in time from over five millennia ago to resonate with a life of learning and wisdom gained over a life. But on the day of finishing the little quilt off with final touches – that included a small Southern Cross, the need to make the final decision of naming seems to intuitively filter through. The quilt is a celebration of the mystery that is life, the cycle of generation and regeneration. Hence, its name: Celebrating Mystery. The name is inscribed on a cauldron, a practical item and symbol representing the Magic that is death re-generating life, embossed with the Sheela-na-gig that I’d cut out from a pair of my socks that had outworn their usefulness. What joyful fun this has been in the creation and celebration of a special and loved Crone’s life!

Vase #4: "Morning's twilight"

My recent approach to creating with fabric has been to use leftover pieces and put them together in a semi-random way – though I do pay allegiance to colour complementarity, the contingency that forms part of the established ‘necessity’. Structurally, I like the intrigue that might come from the random piecing of leftovers, and the variety of outcomes that become possible. It seems to me this is part of the creative process: take a risk, throw things together and then stop and look at what it is telling you. It’s where creativity can be gestated, emerging from the beginning of a design, from which a narrative emerges – collaborating in some way to open up all sorts of possibilities. This is an approach I’ve been taking with the last few quilts developed around the form of vases and previously coming from the theme of seasonal and daily cycles of change in the environment.

In pursuing these nascent ideas, I’m still finding it challenging to place what have been ‘leftovers’, cut to size according to earlier ideas of a quilt, and move them into a new space for a background on which to sit one of the vases. And it has occurred to me I’ve spent as much time undoing, unpicking the backgrounds for these small quilted wall hangings as stitching the waiting strips together. Unpicking is perhaps more laborious than being able to paint over something seen to be a mistake, colour in the wrong place, or encourage a different viewpoint. The matter is not quite so straightforward when stitching, but equally as necessary to achieve the desired expression.

Often decisions coming from events in life are not necessarily planned - at least for some. I for one, tend towards acknowledging the unforeseeable in my life’s journey, choosing the experience itself over a deliberate choice – though I don’t deny they can be seen as two sides of a coin (apologies for that tired analogy). Jean Paul Sartre’s philosophy in a nutshell declares that ‘nothing happens with any necessity,’ because so much depends on contingency, over free choice. Empty fabric vases already cut out are matched with the already cut flowers. In this case the purple daisies are arranged in the white vase that has been set in front of a suitable and appropriate pieced backdrop. Vase #3 has actually accommodated the first flowers cut from my existing fabrics, now assembled, quilted and bound by a border, and sitting alongside her two sister vases - previously posted (March 1 and 18 April). It really is like arranging a bunch of cut flowers in a vase, which always gives me great pleasure. It is then that the narrative starts, guided by the contingency of what is available. In this little quilt, the creative evolution between the vectors of necessity and contingency has resulted in a perception of growth under a newborn arising Sun.

Jean and Ben’s wedding gift quilt

A3 size, this small wall quilt started with a vase – as have the others posted recently. The vase made from transparent fabric was shaped after a lovely glass rose vase, spherical and tapering in at the top, given to me many years ago by my dear sister Judi, the mother of my beautiful niece, and bride-to-be, Jean. An idea for the background on which to place the vase presented as a seascape. They live seaside. As always, ideas morphed – the fabrics used morphed more exactly and earlier ones discarded: but the theme remained: that of a full moon over Port Phillip bay.

I decided to dispense with anything resembling a cloth on a table, preferring to let the vase ‘float’. The next most important issue was to place the cut flowers in the vase, which I’d already decided would be roses. It started with layering various white fabrics to build up the blossoming of one main feature rose. Eventually that project was put to one side (no doubt to blossom into a quilt at a later date) in favour of a bunch of white roses. It was assembled from cutting up a piece of lace I had fortuitously kept amongst the container marked ‘non-cottons’. It was quite an elaborate piece of embroidered fabric that I felt gave pomp, ceremony and gravitas to the occasion. And, Jean’s bridal bouquet was of beautiful musk-coloured roses in bloom.

Usually the naming of the quilts comes after completion, though names are thrown up during the process of construction. As a quilt to commemorate the special occasion of the commitment by two people, Jean and Ben to each other in marriage, it became “Love blossoms: love blooms”, (with active verbs rather than nouns)…though I’m still not satisfied that the title covers such a special moment in life! And what a wonderful wedding it was...congratulations Jean and Ben!

vase #3: "Evening's twilight"

Vases are receptacles of life and memory and offering new ideas. The attraction of archaeology has always been an underlying love influence in my life. I’m not sure where it came from, but is clearly linked to a love of unearthing history – and in the case of archaeological findings, pre-history, which I have engaged with from the perspective of women in prehistory, from my Masters and into the PhD focussing on Earth’s and women’s creations. I have not counted the number of vases that I have in my home – maybe even more than thirty if you define a vase as a receptacle for flowers. For me that includes glass candlestick holders, a carafe and other receptacles that might suit the need to bring flowers into the house. Others have history attached: a large glass one of my mother’s won as a golf trophy, and other small ones for tiny bouquets that may have gone back to her family. There is a unique tall ceramic design of the sixties, given to me for my fortieth. Then there is a wide variety of collectibles, from the small cylindrical specimen vase in cobalt blue, a 1975 souvenir from the famous glass factory in Venice and never used. Another very special and unique vase in shade of whirling blues is by the glass blower Colin Heaney of Byron Bay. The rationale for acquiring others became more personal over the years, re-visioning the significance of memories, being on the path to developing philosophies, and responding to pure beauty. My mother's blue vase formed the shape for the latest in the vase series. It contains flowers that a friend has called 'crysanthimums from outer space'.

Named after a time in the daily cycle of Earths' travel around Sun, after much contemplation of possibilities, I finally decided to name “twilight”, being the liminal times of before sunrise and sunset, when the atmosphere is only partially lit by either arising sun or the setting sun – though the usual reference is to the latter. Here there is neither total darkness nor total darkness, thereby presenting an ending, and a beginning.

Sun-wise: 'the abominable Mystery'

>Without flowers, there would be no us. No poetry. No science. No music. Darwin could not comprehend how flowers could emerge so suddenly and take over so completely. He called it an “abominable mystery.” But out of that mystery a new world was born, governed by greater complexity and interdependence and animal desire, with the bloom as its emblem of seduction. This little wall hanging (1’10”/55cms x1’3”/27cms) might look as though it is a ‘deconstruction’ of Van Gogh’s famous painting of sunflowers. It is actually a very physical deconstruction of fabrics containing sunflowers, ones that I have in my stash for many years – meaning that I have spent quiet time releasing these flowers, cutting them from their captive background in order to reconstruct them, bring them alive in a renewed context – perhaps you could say, of evolution. The contextual background was at first quite benign, bland even. The simple structure was formed by two simple rectangular shapes, each flanked by elongated and opposing contrasts of tone and provided the space in which to place a vase, again using hand-dyed fabrics while still making use of already pieced leftovers. I’d developed a concept for several works that might use different shaped vases as a starting point for a theme – or in this case to embellish the backdrop with, first of all a sun and then a vase by making use of a green stem and leaves leftover from a previous (as yet in progress) quilt. They were placed emerging from the chosen vase shape for this manifestation - many more vase shapes have been cut out to work with in the future. Nice. Very minimalist.

Then the numerous released sunflowers started to move in on the scene, attaching themselves to two points of the green stems, and a third dropped to the base of the vase. I decided to attach these before quilting through the three layers, by stabilising the background with an iron on stabiliser I had in my stash. My current mission statement is ‘use what you’ve got’ – it’s all in the endless stash! When the three layers became one by ditch stitching the main straight lines, and after adding other side margins, one of yellow and grey Thai silk and another of blue checks, other already cut sunflowers present themselves for inclusion. Minimalism was thrown out in favour of balance. The two extra sunflowers were fitted in: one across the moon/sun, the other at cross-quarters.

I’ve learned a lot in the process of constructing this little quilt, such that seams need to be pressed in the direction depending on the density of the fabrics; something I’d known but hadn’t thought about when using the already pieced fabrics I had on hand. It would have been technically much better had I persisted with practising free machine embroidery – easier to manipulate the fine U-turnings with the machine. As it was, I decided to back the top with a stabilising fabric so that I could stitch the fused sunflowers onto the background before the final stage of quilting, only two at that point. It also provided the foundation for attaching the stem of leaves and the (setting/rising) sun.

You could call it a wabi-sabi quilt, which is a Japanese term that refers to the imperfect, impermanent and incomplete, that embodies the idiosyncratic humanity of its creator. Being full of life, rather than the closure of perfection, the beauty opens up in the cracks, the worn spots and the imperfect lines, and reveals itself after the winds of time have moved on. This little quilt embodies all of those qualities as a basis for meditation on our personal lives.

"Together apart: love always wins" (the final image)

The moon teaches me that it’s okay to go through phases. The sun teaches me that no matter how many times you go down, you keep rising.

Quilting with symbols

 Here we go, with the aim to complete posts for this quilt as I seek to complete the 'topography' of the quilt. I have already ditch-quilted the strips to hold the three layers together before adding the final binding. Yep. I know - the wrong way round. But questions remain: how best to embed the symbols I’ve chosen – machine quilted, or hand-stitched? All layers have already been ditch stitched to hold the three layers together, so there is no quilting visible. Whether to use fine threads, or embroidery thread? I’m inclined to do both, as a mirroring process; but will too much special quilting detract from the overall impact? Practical thought comes to mind: machine stitching is so much faster (and other designs are on the back burner).

Everyone knows about the pictorial ideograms of the ancients: the cuneiform developed in the times of Sumerian Empire, and the hieroglyphics of the Egyptian Empires by making marks in stone and clay tablets to record and direct behaviour. They were initially attributed to the goddesses and were less abstract than the way they developed over time to represent the sounds of a word, eventually coming to us as phonemes in lineal scripts, with limited characters. Allegories that explain these early symbols undeniably derive from the human relationship to their place, to communicate and record. 

Runes are another familiar set of ‘alphabet’ symbols originating long before lineal script, in the areas in northern European continent of Germanic and Viking peoples, who associated them with their god Odin. By expressing human qualities and characteristic emotions, they were used largely for divination – or as some say, the powers of cosmological principles. The word 'rune' acknowledges the ‘mystery’, the secret that is deeply embedded in the human psyche imparted from a relationship to the wider cosmos, as well as physical attributes related to fertility, continuity and abundance.

As symbolic sources of spiritual energies I have used Runes over the years as a form of guidance in recognising and then directing my own energies. Why not now, in the process of quilting the current creation? I haven’t pulled them out of their bag, as I used to do but have looked at them by deliberately choosing the most appropriate to represent the stage of my journey in the here and now. These symbols are perfect for straight-line quilting, being formed by various angles. The human attributes embedded in and held by the quilt in its creation are: joy, strength, warrior, opening, breakthrough, harvest, wholeness of coming to the Self. And there are other indigenous symbols, for water and 

Even older symbols are those from prehistory: the Neolithic of Old Europe gleaned by archaeologist scholar Marija Gimbutas. Her assessment is that they reveal ancient reverence for woman as Goddess, honouring the powers of woman’s body to regenerate human life. The dominant form is triangular; either inverted to form the shape of a pubic triangle (often with a short slit line to indicate labia), or as triangles joined horizontally to form diamond shaped lozenges, also symbol of the vulva. The vesica piscis symbol is formed by two overlapping circles of the same size, shown as an almond shape, or mandorla in Latin. 

Ancient symbols have carried over into other cultural institutions. The hexagram is the six-pointed star, formed by two interlocking equilateral triangles, one pointing up the other downwards. Used in many cultures and religious beliefs, it can be representing male and female in perfect harmony; as above, so below – the human position between earth and the cosmos; and the interconnection between opposites, dark and light. Overlapping hexagrams (as fractals) result in numerous intersecting points that resonate higher energy frequencies, thereby forming downward pointing several diamond shapes of the sacred vulva of rebirth.

The hexagram builds on itself, extending outwards in every direction, thus representing infinity. Hence its use in religious Judaism to represent ‘ha shem’ (God). It can also be depicted inside a circle, with the points touching the diameter. It’s a symbol of unity, union – and infinity. Known historically as the star of David, a familiar use was during the Holocaust to distinguish Jews. Today it is on the Israeli flag, though it had been used over thousands of years previously by many different peoples, groups and nations. 

Another form of star that has evolved with significant meaning in different contexts is the five pointed star.  For example, as the Eastern Star of five points in Masonic symbolism expresses the importance of knowledge that is a guide to spiritual fulfillment and self knowledge. Called a pentacle in pagan earth-centred spiritual traditions depictions and rituals over millennia, it is often contained by a circle (reminding me of the DaVinci man), each point touches the diameter. It is also the way that I like to sign the first letter of my name 'A', which is easily struck in five strokes of the pen.

There are other maybe less familiar symbols used to quilt the quilt layers, from those used by the guild of stonemasons who built the magnificent cathedrals of the middle ages that are still standing today, using set square and compass. They are evidence of the geometric shapes that have deep metaphysical meaning behind them, used to explain the mathematics of the Universe. Besides being beautiful structures, they often have interesting mathematical properties and loads of history and symbolism. These geometric designs have been used by humans since ancient times in art, decor, and in religious and spiritual contexts that can be shared across artificial boundaries. They symbolically hold the values as they are expressed by the experiences and esoteric life-styles of individuals, while identifying and creating the universal patterns and energies that underlie and unify us all in Nature, and align consciousness to the infinite and eternal. 

I'm finding it difficult to bring the quilting to an end, but I want to hang it and get on with the next - well, the others as yet unfinished - and I can always add more as the spirit moves. Throughout the process of creation, I contemplated many different names that related to the daily cycle of dawn and dusk, sunrise and sunset, following on from the original inspiration of the magnificent colours at all times of day. The moon and sun are both present, and considering their daily romantic dance of attraction to each other, I have decided on Together apart. 

Internet is opting out for now, so will post final images tomorrow.

More on ways of seeing

This is still a work in process, though coming towards a conclusion. I have started towards quilting the three layers together... for next post.

The creative process, once begun, comes into full bloom only when it is ready. And in the meantime, other ideas are forming buds and blossoms, waiting their turn but seeking attention, nurturing in both thought and form. Several other works have been gestating as I continue to bring the last quilt into final manifestation - though I often wonder if that happens. I'm want to hang it on the wall, and yet I can't seem to bring myself to let it come to completion. I'm referring to the quilt that I cannot even name yet - though ideas for the narrative it wants to share keep surfacing!

In order to construct that narrative visually, there is another need: to consider perspectives with regard to the fabric placement, and how they will tell their story. Will it have an aerial viewing point, as in many Indigenous works of the dot painting genre; or vertical/horizontal  layered perspective – taking eye to move up and down and across? Or both? Is there to be a focal point, or several? David Hockney used a technique that he called 'joiners', based on the premise that singular and unified optical vision comes about through joining a series of multiple perceptions that come together to create the unified whole of normal vision.

Hockney’s ‘joiners’ aim to create an image able to show reality as we experience it – in fragments, rather than as a completed whole, but as part of the passage of time. It is brought about by collage, using two or several separate images of a single scene by overlapping them or forming a geometric grid. As a composite of a single scene, the image nevertheless has a single narrative that is not static, but engages a roving eye that darts from one area to another. The effect is to alter the usual ‘realism’ that creates the illusion of depth of field. And the aim of his joiners is to reflect the real process of seeing, one based on visual experience as the eye moves across multiple plains, having fluid and multiple viewing points. Unlike the perspective that arrives at the destiny of the vanishing point, the eye moves around, back from the point on the horizon towards the multitudes of vision closer to the viewer, taking her in as a participator as the viewpoint shifts.

Hockney's Bigger Grand Canyon in the collection of the Australian National Gallery is a notable example of his joiners, being made up of 60 canvases joined to create a work of 7.4 metres in width. It uses a reverse perspective to draw the viewer into the environment being depicted, rather than looking in from the outside. This form of ‘reverse perspective’ creates a viewing point, one that draws the viewer into the scene that has been achieved in traditional Chinese art by using the diagonal to cut across the distance perspective attained in Western realism art. His fascinating work on the use of linear perspective is Secret Knowledge: rediscovering the lost techniques of the Old Masters (2001, Thames and Hudson), detailing the use of optical devices over the centuries during the Renaissance to create photographic images for patrons in particular. 

 

Here some focus to the narrative has occurred with the appearance of the Sun and Moon.