Ouch ouch ouch to write.

And then to go to the show and watch people move around the room, stopping in front of the statement card, reading it thoroughly; then glancing at the work and moving on.

Ouch ouch ouch to watch.

Why does this happen?

Partly, I think, it’s because as we go through school, most of us experience a word-oriented education. We learn that the pictures, however colorful and interesting, are there only to illustrate the words, the really important part of the book or article. Blog posts, magazines, newspapers — all are word-oriented with images as an accompaniment. The images are the bread on the dinner table, not the main course on your plate.

(You read the paragraph before you looked at the picture, didn’t you? :-) )

I don’t think we can change this behavior entirely without making radical changes to the way we think of education. I do think, though, that we can make changes to the way we present our art — changes that command the viewer to look first, then to read.

Follow me and I’ll explain.

This whole train of thought began when an artist wrote about a quilt she had made, a strong statement about a political event, about human rights and poverty. She appeared to be somewhat dissatisfied that, although the work had been exhibited in several large shows, it had received very little attention. The artist has not asked for a commentary or critique, so I will not identify her or the work.

I looked at pictures she had posted and I read the statement she had included in the exhibitions. It was immediately apparent to me why it had been overlooked: the statement, the words, were very strong about a poignant and heartbreaking series of events. The image itself was not. It was semi-representational, but other than part of a human figure, it was difficult to determine visually what was being depicted. As pure visual design, as color and pattern, it wasn’t interesting enough to stand on its own. The viewer had to read the words to understand what the image was supposed to be about.

Let me illustrate with some of my own works.

All That Jazz

Pure color, shape, movement. It doesn’t mean anything, really, except a visual representation of the feeling I have when listening to jazz music. It’s colorful, fun to look at, and doesn’t need explanation.

My artist’s statement about it would be essentially what I wrote above.

Hole in the Sky

Before I tell you about the symbology behind this piece, look at the image for a moment and think about what it might say to you. (I’d love it if you left a comment below and told me your thoughts, too.)

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History: The original title of the piece was “Codeine Dreams.” Several years ago I had a bout with pneumonia and during recovery was prescribed a cough syrup with a small amount of codeine, which produced extremely vivid dreams. One of the recurring themes was this hole in the broken sky with the ladder leading upwards.

Some time later I began to realize where the image had come from. In Pueblo mythology, the People are always moving upwards through the worlds, evolving from lower animals to human and onward to something more, something spiritual. Have you ever been to the southwest and visited a kiva? Kivas have a round hole in the roof reached by a ladder, the only means of ingress and egress to the sacred place. The ladder represents climbing out of the now, the imperfect present, into the upper world above.

In my dreams, the ladder was disconnected, requiring a leap of faith to move upward from rung to rung. The kiva, the present, was shattered, and the only way out was to go up.

I was excited about this, about realizing where the image had come from — until I started thinking about writing an artist’s statement for exhibition. Hm. Way too much explanation. Boring. Couldn’t stand on its own.

I put it away and never finished it.

Then, a few months ago, I showed it without comment to a friend, who saw an entirely different meaning, something equally weighty, without knowing what the image said to me or what its history had been.

I began to think that maybe the image was strong enough to stand on its own. What do you think?

Listening to the Hurricane Rain

Anyone who followed the news in that terrible summer of 2005 will probably recognize the story: New Orleans. Hurricane Katrina. Superdome. The roof tiles being torn away, torrential rains coming in. People trapped inside, terrified, not knowing whether they would live or die. No escape.

Even without the story, though, the image of loneliness, despair, and fear as the sky shatters and the walls break is strong enough to stand on its own. It could refer to any number of situations evoking those emotions and would speak to different viewers in terms of their own experiences.

My statement for this one would be short and simple, probably very similar to the first paragraph above.

So — does it need an artist’s statement?

My answer, one answer, is this: If the image is strong, it will catch the viewer’s attention first. They will respond to the image, they will spend time looking at it first, and only later will read the statement to find out what you thought it was about.

If you have to write what it’s about in order for the image to make sense, then perhaps the image isn’t strong enough. How can you make it better?

Your turn

Can you think of other examples? Does this ring true — strong images that don’t need words — about your work?

Leave me a comment and let’s start a discussion.

Yet because of his practiced eye and cultivated voice, he makes this experience completely come alive with gorgeous sentences: “A two-litre bottle of Fresca came by with a four-year-old girl attached.” Isn’t that so much more evocative than an ordinary description of a little girl drinking a big soda?

Read. Observe your surroundings today. Then plan how you can translate that experience into your art — in words or in images — and go make something beautiful from something utterly ordinary.

It is so cold here today

that even the mannequin is bundled up for warmth.

Click on image for larger version.

I essentially quit writing earlier this year for several reasons. I broke my hand; I was busy with work, which includes much typing and was progressing much more slowly than usual due to the break; I had done no art for more than a year; and my life was very uneventful and I simply had nothing to say.

The hand has healed, mostly, although it’s still not quite as it was. I’m busier than ever with work, for which I am extremely thankful. I still haven’t done any art.

But for some reason, a couple of months ago my husband decided after 34 years of marriage that perhaps it was time to go out and do things. Social things. Visual and performing arts things.

It started late in the summer, I think. We had gone to several of the summer classic movies at the Alabama Theatre, a 1927 movie palace extravaganza in downtown Birmingham. At one of them I noticed a poster advertising a performance of the Nutcracker by the Moscow Ballet, scheduled for the Alabama late in November. I made some general comment about not having been to a live ballet since elementary school, and he asked, completely out of the blue, “Would you like to go?”

Then he started wondering about seasonal events. I started checking local calendars and setting up things for us to see and do. So far, just in the past month, we’ve

• seen an exhibition of artifacts from Pompeii: Tales of an Eruption at the Birmingham Museum of Art;
• attended a performance of Handel’s Messiah by the Alabama Civic Chorale;
• visited an exhibition by many of Alabama’s famous folk artists, including Thornton Dial, Mose Tolliver, Nora Ezell, and Lonnie Holley;
• attended a performance of Christmas music by Colla Voce, a 30-voice ensemble, presented at a local church.

The ballet is Friday night. On Saturday night we go to another Festival of Christmas Music at Samford University. There’s another one Sunday afternoon by the Birmingham-Southern College choir, and an orchestral performance the following Sunday. I have at least one more art exhibition I want to see, The Black Madonna at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.

So I will have some things to talk about for a while. I’m looking forward to comparing the various choral groups’ performances, because there are great differences even to my untrained ear.

It isn’t fiber art, but hey. I’m getting there.

Off to the art store through the cold pouring rain this afternoon. Excellent! Prismacolor pencils are on sale, even! So I picked up a tin of 24 pencils, noted with pleasure that the box said “Highest Lightfast Rating,” and brought them home.

Piffle.

The pencils in this particular assortment are all earthy colors — various dark greens, a couple of yellows, an orange or two, and a ton of brown and gray. Not at all what I need. I had no idea that there were different assortments — I just thought, naively, that the 24-pencil box was standard.

Ah, well. Gives me an excuse to go back tomorrow, when the weather is supposed to be much better.

Click on image for larger view

So in lieu of creative work with fabric, I offer my most recent artwork: Patchwork in Cheese:

It was an ephemeral work of art, but well-received by its intended audience.

Game?

Then check the flip side for pictures…

I tell you what. To make it more interesting, I’ll send a prize to the first person who guesses what the subject is.

Can’t wait to see your responses!

The “something” might be a photograph, or an essay, or a drawing; it may not always be something textile-related. But I will do something each day and preserve it here for my entire audience of 2.7 faithful readers.

Sleepless Mom, 4 am
Pencil on vellum
January 1, 2006

Today’s entry is painful to my vanity, but the story is amusing, so I’m posting it anyway.

Last night was New Year’s Eve, and my son was invited to a party with some friends across town. This was his first New Year’s Eve since turning 21, and I, facing up to reality, had the “I know you know this and I trust you but I’m a Mom and I’m required to say don’t drive while drunk” talk with him before he left. I trust him. I know he’s a good driver, but there are all those other folks out there on the road on New Year’s Eve…

So I went to bed shortly after midnight. I dozed off and on, checking the clock at 1 am, at 2 am, and at 3 am. By 3:00 I was beginning to worry. By 4:00 I was in full-blown Midnight Horror mode. I got up, trying to decide whether I should call his friends, try to track him down, call the State Police, or what.

Then I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror and had to laugh out loud. Midnight Horror, indeed!

So I asked my Horrible Self in the Mirror: “So, are you worried to death because your only son is out at a New Year’s Eve party and it’s 4 am and he’s legal to drink, or are you worried to death because your only son is out at a New Year’s Eve party and it’s 4 am and he’s legal to drink and he’s driving your car???”

And just then the front door opened and he slipped in quietly, trying not to wake me, and I got pencil and paper and recorded the frantic-bags-under-eyes-wild-hair-everywhere-Midnight-Horror-Mom for posterity.

After I hugged him and welcomed him home.

And then I went back to bed and finally to sleep.