floating above the garden--wordless Wednesdays

There is something magical about Japanese iris or ensata. So exuberant, extravagant in their many details. Each so unique they seem to float above the garden. Sure they are a bit fussy--they like to be moved every few years. Love their fertilizer and water. And their flowers don't last nearly long enough--especially with all the rain we have been having.  But while they are in bloom, I just enjoy and soak in their colors and details.

So without further ado:

pink dimity--ensata--Ann Brauer

chigokegu--ensata--Ann Brauer

immaculate white--ensata--Ann Brauer

nikko--ensata--Ann Brauer

sorcerer's triumph--ensata--Ann Brauer

storm at sea--ensata--Ann Brauer

prairie twilight--ensata--Ann Brauer

redoing the iris bed

Now readers of my blog know that I LOVE my iris beds. Those sweeps of color that seem to echo the sky. I have beds of the carefully bred Siberians--purples and blues, mauves and pale yellows. So many colors that dance in the late spring days. And in front of the house--like a grand entry way--is a sweep of pure blue. The basic Siberian iris planted in a mass of color accented by red poppies. Oh for a week or so it is spectacular.

But as my DH noted recently this year there were just not as many flowers as before. Indeed brambles and golden rod grew in the middle of the bed. Yes, I agreed. The soil was a bit worn. It needed a good pruning and weeding. Digging and work. I kept meaning to do it. But it has been a busy year. The loss of a parent--my FIL, the illness of a treasured friend--too young, too valued for such things to happen.  It makes my worries seem trivial and silly. And rain. Lots and lots of rain.

Oh the excuses mounted. The brambles grew. Until finally today I decided enough was enough. Time to make a stab at it. Sure it would have been easier earlier. But better late than never as they say. So I put on my leather gloves, work pants, work shirt. And went at it. Cut out the brambles. The weak growth. Dig and pull. Dig and pull. Until finally there was a whole in the center where the weakest growth had been.  Then new soil. Some bark mulch. A bit of lime to sweeten the soil. And now I wait. The irises will fill in. At least that is my hope. New and more beautiful than before.

But as I was doing this I got to thinking--isn't this a parable for my life right now? Yes, doesn't it always return to quilts for me.  Sure I have been working hard making new quilts. Pillows. Purses. Table runners.

And it still feels like I am in a rut.  A bit snappy. After all, sales in the Falls have been slow. Lots of new stores opening attracting different markets. Having a movie filmed in town actually doesn't help business--at least not my business. Or is it that I have been so busy making new work, getting ready for a new studio that I haven't had as much time to explore new markets? Maybe my customers are not here just yet? I am taking a break from one show I usually do. Another got changed by the Boston bombing--how long ago that seems. So many reasons float before me.

I pull the brambles and make the quilts. I explore new markets and realize this is not personal. I must calm down and be steady and sure. Add a bit of new soil. A new look. Keep adding the lime. I must stay sweet. Apologize for those I have snapped at.  I do have lots of shows in just a month or two.  And I will need the purses and pillows, the placemats and table runners. And of course the new quilts. Lots and lots of new quilts.

So do you ever feel like you are in a rut? A bit snappy? What do you do? How do you cope?

inhaling blue

OK--it is spring. Today the sun shines. The sky is blue. The irises are out in their intricate outrageous splendor. Such wonderful intense colors. So many complex patterns. Such fleeting beauty.  I rush out and try to examine all the subtle changes. The tiny ruffles and flourishes. Can I store these wonderful colors deep within me? Nourish my soul, so to speak.  I try to capture them in clumps. So much color at once--I breathe deeply and yet my mind sees more than my camera does. I try to remember their names. The changes in the details. And yet that is not their essence--at least not for me

Instead I pause before each one. The new ones that have just opened this morning. The ones that are blooming for the first time ever in my garden. The old favorites. Some in clumps so big they flop over. And in my mind I of course--for you knew this would indeed return to quilts--plan the deep deep blue quilt that I must make. The haunting skies that I must try to capture. The quilt that has been teasing me at just the back of my brain. I see just snippets of it--too uncertain to dare begin--and yet I know that today is the day. Today I must sketch and start. I must try to capture it. For isn't this the essence of the blue--the irises that dance for just such a short time? At least that is what I think today.

Consider the dark intense perfection of teal velvet. So rich I could sink into it.

Or the exuberance of mountain lake. So brilliant that the clump dances in the wind even as I take its image.

mountain lake--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

mountain lake--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

The complex colors of Berlin ruby wine.

Berlin ruby wine--siberian iris--Ann Brauer

The delicate clumps of papillon. It takes a year or two to establish and then it just grows and grows.

papillon--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

One of my newer iris--Miss Apple. Oh I do love the colors. So haunting. So special

The promise of tall, dark and handsome. Yes, it blooms just a little later but it is so present when it arrives.

tall, dark and handsome--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

The wonderful colors of in full sail.

in full sail--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

And dare I forget creme caramel. Not blue--but so glorious.

creme caramel--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

 Oh I could go on and on. But yes, it is time. My "boss" reminds me I have quilts to make. Fabrics to play with. So many things to do. So do you have flowers you look forward to every year? Do you find that the gardens around you inspire your art? What do you think?

joy in the garden

OK--in case you haven't figured it out--I love my garden. It is wild and unorganized. Planted so full of flowers that this week-end I did not even go look at more Japanese iris. I need to figure out what I can limit or move before I add anything else--sigh!!  Rows of daylilies that fold onto each other. Peas draped over fences. Leeks just starting to fatten up. What is it about color that moves me so? Why is there so much joy here? Why is this the place I go when I just want to be--if you know what I mean?

How can I resist my new daylily--jolly red giant. So tall and proud making a statement of being.

 The casual exuberance of Easy Ned. So bright and cheerful.

The perfection of this one--not sure of its name. Look at the details. So subtle but sure of itself. I had a plant that had grown there may have died out. But still lovely isn't it?

The extravagance of my Japanese iris chigokesho. I just got it last year. I confess I could not resist all the detail and the colors. Delicious aren't they?

The contrast of the daylily ping and the iris foreign intruder. Aren't those colors wonderful together? And yes there are more "susans" and daisies than there should be. Room perhaps next year for more iris and daylilies.

And you--do you have a garden? What the delights you are seeing this year?  What are your favorite flowers? Have you figured out what makes gardens so joyful?

the exuberance of iris

I am sure my love of iris began with my grandmother. Yes, that grandmother. The one who made the quilts. Her second love was her gardens. Not the long rows of beans and tomatoes that any good farm wife would grow. She had those of course. She had to. Remember they did not have the ready access to grocery stores and fresh produce that we now take for granted. Hours spend planting and hoeing the rows. Pickling the cucumbers. Canning the tomatoes. Braiding the onions.

But there was more to life than this. There were also the beds of iris. Not just one bed--but two. Full of every color of bearded iris she could find. Arranged in no set order. Just planted in an exuberance of joy. My father would roll his eyes. Why did she waste so much time digging and replanting these iris when she could be weeding the cabbage? Relatives from the city would plan day trips just to see the bloom--hoping they could persuade her to give them a tuber of that brown iris. Maybe one of the precious yellows also.

And as a young girl I just absorbed the color. Played games among the flowers. Soaked it in not realizing the care that went into these blooms.

Now I walk across the Bridge of Flowers in Shelburne Falls right by my studio. Have you been there? Flowers arranged in the most wonderful combinations. This time I soak in all the wonderful details and colors of the iris there. And here without further ado are just a few of the iris that I saw the other day. The wonderful rich blue. So intense in color.

 
The many different colors in this one. Don't you just love the orange beard and the white edging?

 
 This one is called Emporer's Dragon.  Love the golden yellow and that rich orange beard.

 Such a pure simple white with just that hint of color. How rich it looks.

And this one--not sure what it is. But I loved it against the tiny Johnny Jump-Ups.

 Isn't the detail wonderful? Do you have a favorite iris? Or a favorite place to view iris? Do gardens from the past still influence you?

capturing the sky

 How do you capture the colors of my iris--the wonderful blues and purples. So dreamy but also with a definition. This one a Japanese iris--dirago star. Wonderful isn't it? So intense and varied in their subtlety. The colors of the sky. I sketch and resketch the quilt. A simple color progression of light to dark blues above a horizon of teal--or is it green? And then the focus--the "story" of the quilt. That square of fine strips of fabric that echoes the looser pieces of the quilt but makes the quilt pop.

This is new for me. I tried it once with desert solitaire and loved the effect. You can read about it HERE. Now I want to do it again and again. There is something here if only I can discover it. I can see it in my mind's eye but not sure how to realize it yet. Again I want the finely pieced square to echo the quilt with a color progression.

But first I tell myself to make what I know. I piece square after square of the quilt. I want blue with hints of purple. Just that bit of warmth. Not too busy. Just color gradually changing. How long this takes. I must see if the idea is working so I pin up a purple square--it seems a bit lost. Maybe it is because I still have to sew the top row of blocks?

Then I think. Look through the squares I have already pieced. Pillows not yet made. What about that rust-orange? Yes, I have made that top row--that also helps the quilt, doesn't it?

Color pops doesn't it? But the square is too high. The quilt looks like a study in geometry although it is hard to visualize with the blocks not sewn together. Let me lower it.

That looks better. But is it right? Aren't design boards great? What happens if I lower it further?

Yes much better. Amazing how small changes can make such a big difference, isn't it? But is this the right color? What about the lavender purple I had originally thought of?

So different that feeling is, isn't it?  So soft and subtle. Yes, that works doesn't it? One more color-- this yellow. Interesting.

Now the square isn't just going to be a solid block of color--it will go from dark to light just like the quilt. No idea how I will piece it into the quilt. First though to make the teal blocks--don't think that will change much. Then on to the square of color.

So what do you think? Lavender, rust or yellow? Will this quilt work? Can I get it done before the Guilford Craft Show next week-end?

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

I had only read about how lovely Louisiana irises were when I saw this Louisiana Black Gamecock iris for sale at my local nursery. For several years it lounged in my garden under the shadow of my roses. I moved it a couple years ago and weeded it with the faith that it might actually bloom. This year it graced me with one lovely intense bloom. I can't wait until next year...

  

  

 

living intentionally--what is in bloom today?

This morning is slow, calm, grey.  A bit of drizzle. The hills in the distance are hidden by mist that joins the clouds overhead. It is soft and silent. Still. Focused.

I read an essay by Jane Dunnewold. This time it is called What Matters. How do you live creatively as an artist? The blog post is based on a lecture she gave initially at Confluence--sponsored by the Surface Design Association. Clearly an essay rich with poems and ideas. You can read and re-read it  HERE.


Now much of what she says is true--needs to be repeated but we probably know it. Just listen to this--I am sure you are nodding in agreement.

 Life happens. Your best intention is to allow it to do so, without getting in the way, and by being constantly present.

True but tough to do. Right. Make your choices as to what is important to you. Practice staying true to these choices. Develop a community and be present in it. But in order to be part of that community we each must develop our own individuality and creativity. Now that needs to be said again and again.  Decide what is important in life, practice paying attention to that part of it and eliminate some of the clutter.  She suggests:

Cultivate Curiosity.
Try to be surprised by something every day.
Life is a stream of experiences. Swim in it.
Try to surprise someone every day.
Write down these two events.
When something sparks interest - follow it.

Great ideas. Perhaps too much to tackle at once. Can't we try too hard and get discouraged in this pursuit? But isn't it the process of practicing this. Doing one thing every day. Living intentionally. Working toward the Sacred. Avoiding clutter. Isn't this the essence of the struggle toward creativity? As I said this is a complex essay with lots of thoughts--worth reading and re-reading. I can't summarize the whole post--I can't even wrap my mind around it. But that is, I think, okay. It is an essay where you take what you need today and maybe take something else tomorrow.

 

She concludes with a marvelous poem by Naomi Nye--The Art of Disappearing. You really should read the whole poem. I love it. But for now, just consider the final stanza:

Walk around feeling like a leaf.

Know you could tumble any second.

Then decide what to do with your time.

Isn't that the key to living intentionally? Of taking advantage of your time and your own creativity?  Isn't that how we should try to live every day?

Today my garden is in one of those between times--only a few Siberian iris linger. The daylilies have buds, promises of their explosion of color and form that will soon follow. The mist focuses my attention.  At first I notice the weeds--how much they love this cool damp weather. The clutter they try to impose. I must weed again soon. But that is not why I am here this morning. I just need to check it out before heading to work.

Then I see it--my first Japanese iris is blooming unexpectedly.  Wasabe ute is its name.  Isn't it lovely. Flowers dancing floating above the leaves. Tiny raindrops on the petals. So simple and joyous.  Just look at those colors and forms. So complex but also so simple. It brings up memories of my images of Japan--a country I have never visited but don't we all have some idea what it should look like. Aren't they wonderful?

With more buds furled--the promise of sky and dance. Hope wound up and concentrated.

 
And for me this is one of the essences of the living intentionally. The dance of the Japanese iris focused against the mist of the hills. Maybe one can't follow all of the suggestions in her article--great guidelines. But just the act of observing this one flower. Focusing on its joy.  Isn't this what the leaf does--observing the present. And you--how do you live a creative life? How do you live intentionally? Do you live like the leaf? And what is in bloom in your garden?

what's in a name?

This time of year, I LOVE iris. Little iris cristata blooming so bravely in the cold. Miniature bearded iris that burst into bright purples and blues, ridiculous yellows--so complete and outrageous. The blue Siberian iris that I plant in masses of sky against the red poppies. And especially the hybridized Siberian and Japanese with lush variations of whites and blue, lavenders and purples. Each filling an unexplained need within me after the greys and browns of early spring.  I pore over the catalogs dreaming of new colors. Oh spring has come!!

And in western Massachusetts I scour the local paper hunting for that one iris sale. Each year a local farm opens up for one week-end. I never know which week-end it will be. This is a bit of paradise on earth. Last year I bought more Japanese iris than I could imagine. This year the sale was last week-end. Now Saturday was my birthday. My DH had left at 6:15 to assist his students at the State Middle School Science Fair--never let it be said that teachers don't work hard!!! But that was OK--the iris sale was happening.

I left the house as early as I could to drive up to the sale. What a treat! I was the first person there. The son--who loves to talk iris--was there. I could ask him any question about iris. Learn so much. He showed me the Iris Setosa--a flag iris from Alaska. The Iris Versicolor--a New England flag iris in beautiful lavenders and blues. There was the yellow Siberian he had hybridized. It was hard to remember them all. I made a list in my mind.

As he and his dad were digging my "must-haves", I saw another one--so many subtle colors. What was it? Could I have some? Now when I first started buying iris I didn't care about the names--if it was pretty I wanted it. Until I discovered that I had purchased the same lavender iris three years in a row. As the son said, it proves I know what I like--but still.... So now I try to label all my flowers just so I know. I snapped a picture of the mystery iris.

Exquisite isn't it? Alas the label had fallen off this one. The son is getting some advanced degree and isn't around all the time anymore. He said it was by Schafer-Sacks. Same family as Banish Misfortune, Sun Comes Up, Here Comes Dragons. Aren't those names great? Now I confess I didn't recognize the name Schafer-Sacks though I frequent their web site http://www.jpwflowers.com all the times. Do check it out. Aren't they gorgeous?

I mentioned that I loved Sarah Tiffany--yup, the same breeder. Careless Sally. Again. It turns out Schafer-Sacks had been breeding Siberian iris and got some unusual results. They kept pushing these results until they got some very distinctive iris. Roaring Jelly--yes, I have that one also. Mad Magenta.

What fun the challenge is identifying this iris. I get on the internet. What are the colors of each part of the iris? Oh there is so much to learn. Yes, I think this one is Salamander Crossing. Great name. But then I discover another problem. I have this iris labeled In Full Sail--but In Full Sail is yellow. OK. What can it be? Look at that hint of blue in the center. The many different colors. The prominent veins. The hint of a ruffle. So much to note.

Clearly it is not Sun Comes Up. Look at the different colors. The center here is not white but almost lavender.

Maybe Echo the Sun. Oh so much to learn.  I must examine it more carefully. Look at some more pictures. What fun it is. Being forced to pay close attention to detail. Knowing that there is a style--part of a series--but then trying to distinguish it.

Interestingly I receive an e-mail from a fan this week. She had seen my quilt prairie dawn in The Art Quilt Collection. See this really is a blog about quilts--it just sometimes take me a while to get there. Anyhow, her question to herself was why did this quilt look so familiar. After all, she is from Florida. Never seen my work in person. Then she realized that I had also written an article in Threads magazine way back in 1999.  She was still making the little purses that I showed in that article. Isn't that cool? I  confess her e-mail made my day. Not because I am still making those little purses--I have redesigned them. Nor because I am still making quilts like prairie dawn--I am trying to explore other concepts. But because my quilts are recognizable.

Among all the quiltmakers out there, she knows it is mine. Isn't that great? Isn't that what having a style is all about? Taking a concept and exploring it--seeing where it leads. Not because you can't do other styles--make other pieces--but because there is something very powerful in paying such close attention to detail and pushing the envelope. Schafer-Sacks now have the most wonderful iris in cinnamon and whiskey, a warm rose plum. My wish list is growing. I must find out if their garden is ever open to the public. I really should join my local iris society--maybe they offer tours.

And you--do you work on a consistent style? Do you keep pushing the envelope? Do you even think that is important? And what is your favorite iris?

thoughts on why I make quilts

Recently I read an amazing statistic on Twitter that 14% of all households in this country have at least one member who makes quilts. Think of that--that's huge. Over 16 million households spending a total of over 3.5 BILLION dollars in quilting fabric and supplies. Check out the results here--http://ow.ly/1VPma--(thanks to Quilters Newsletter in cooperation with International Quilt Market and Festival, a division of Quilts, Inc for this fact). Average age is 62. Female. They even researched the favorite types of fabric prints--but I digress.

Now let's face it--most of these quilt makers are making what we call traditional patterns. The pieced patterns--Ohio Star, Trip Around the World, Irish Chain. Patterns that they can name better than me. They are doing the newest methods in quilt making--Slash and Stash (or is it Stash and Slash),  Strip Piecing, Watercolor. Names that fly by me as they proudly tell me of their latest adventure. Do I dye my own fabric? Have I seen the latest TV show?

And I must confess there is a part of me that is a bit envious. In another life, I would love to make the perfect Double Wedding Ring Quilt. What about a Tumbling Block Quilt--hand pieced and quilted. I love the simplicity of the older Amish Quilts. A wool quilt in perfect colors. Wouldn't it be fun to see the larger patterns develop in a Storm at Sea pattern?

Now in reality I know it is not for me. I used to make log cabin quilts. Lots of them. I love that design. But I tired of the long seams. I tired of the frustration of so much repetition. I used to play all sorts of games with myself--counting the number of pieces left to sew together. Promising I could take a break when I ran out of bobbin thread. Trying not to count the amount of work left to do.  It still wasn't enough and I worked on developing my own style.

Now there have also  has been an interesting series of discussions on the SAQA forum--that is short for Studio Art Quilt Association for those who don't know. A great organization of artists who are exploring quilts as artistic expression. Some of the members I respect the most are questioning whether the definition of quilt--three layers, attached--is too confining. Would they sell better if it was called fiber art? Or textile art? Does the history of quilt making lessen the perceived value of the work? Are we now beyond this?

All interesting questions. And very sincere issues.

But I think there is more to quilt making than just following the latest patterns and designs. I think of an older woman I knew slightly. Her husband at the end of his life was becoming even more ornery and demanding by the day as his health failed. Basically as she said--he was impossible to live with--but she had no choice.  She admitted quite bluntly that without her weekly quilt group she would have gone crazy herself.

I remember a wonderful presentation I saw while waiting to give a presentation at a Quilting Guild in Williamstown. Woman after woman proudly showing the quilts they had made so a distant city hospital could wrap them around children whose lives would be all too brief. The only memory some parents would hold of an anticipated child. Hundreds of quilts made with so much care and purpose and sent off to lessen sorrow just a bit.

I think of myself a couple of days ago. As you may remember from my last post, I had to go to a funeral for a friend of mine who died far too young and far too suddenly. The young adult children trying to make sense of the senseless. The minister--a friend of the family--trying to promise an after life that did not at least at the time provide me with answers. For solace I pulled weeds in my garden with a quiet rhythm. I mulched day lilies. Labeled iris until I had made some order out of a chaos in my mind.

And for me I guess I need to keep this larger concept of quilts in my work. I feel that it gives an additional meaning and depth that fiber art would not. By adding these memories of the traditional my quilts become part of a greater whole. Does it lessen their freshness that they are rooted in the past? I don't know--and I am not sure I care. Would I want to forget all those other quilt makers and the needs that quilts fill? I don't think so. At least not right now.

And you--do you keep the traditional in your work? Do you think it should be kept? I am not sure of the answers.

inspiration--the color blue and iris

Last Saturday was the Iris Show in Shelburne Falls. Now this is not just any iris show but it is the Western New England Iris Show. And while most of the people are from Franklin County there were exhibits from across the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. For me this is something I look forward to every year. I actually close my studio for an hour--even though there are people in town-- and look at the iris--absolute perfection. Each one so distinctive in its own way. Tiny as my little fingernail. Big as my DH's hand. What colors and designs.  Of course I buy a few more iris. There is so much hope here.

Now I love my garden. It is not carefully planned with just the right hues and colors. It would never be on a garden tour. I try to label the plants--but labels do get lost. I try to arrange the flowers but sometimes I just have to tuck something in. I never have enough time to get rid of all the weeds. But there are dreams of purple and white. Pale blue and midnight purple.  I have rows of flowers that I just had to have--sometimes I move them into my more planned beds. Sometimes I just look at the flowers--the detail, the color, the awe.  A present that I get to constantly open.

Now I know there are true gardeners out there who are already shaking their heads in dismay. They would carefully decide which of two irises would be best in a particular spot.  I admire them. I love The Bridge of Flowers and the formal gardens of those who carefully plan them. But it's not me--I'm a kid in a candy store. When a friend asked if this was inspiration, I paused a second--but then realized that indeed I was getting inspiration--perhaps even at a deeper level than I realized.

Now some of it is the color blue. What is it about this color? There are so many different shades of blue--the purples, the greens, the greys. If you've ever tried to coordinate fabric--blue can be so hard.
Iris is blue. Sure there are other colors of iris, but think of the Siberian iris. The most wonderful intense blue. The iris remind me of the feelings of the color blue in so many different ways.

For instance look at this sweep of color. For about a week there is an intense sea of blue Siberian in front of our house. Isn't it wonderful with the red poppies and the barn red of our house?

It is so hard to capture the deep rich blue. Made more intense by the variations in the individual iris. It takes my breath away with the pureness of the color. Such an expanse of dreams. I could take pictures of this all week.

But then there is the wonderful little papillon--I think that's French for butterfly. I love how it grows in clumps of dancing white and blue. Aren't they absolutely wonderful and delicate? Not sure I'll ever make a quilt about it--but it is just so joyous.

And the individual plants--each with their own subtle variations. For instance consider the blue of this iris--doesn't it just glow. It really is this color.

Or this one--it is called mad magenta. Look at the range of colors in this one. So much to see and absorb. Absolutely outrageous.

And an earlier Japanese iris--so many different colors in one flower. How do you absorb it all? Such perfection--even with the ant. Again I look at this one again and again.

I could show you pictures all day--what a way to procrastinate. The deep intense blues of mountain lake--a Siberian. Or the intense purple of starlite velvet--a tall bearded. But you get the picture. I am surrounded by blues right now. These colors of the sky. Always something new. Some fleeting beauty to try to remember until it makes way for yet another one. But I think that is part of the inspiration because in the haste of the iris to bloom I have to concentrate intently on each one of them to absorb all their beauty in just a few short days until it becomes a part of me.

Yes I know I'll make a quilt that tries to capture this feeling sometime--the colors of the ocean, the expanse of the sky, the whisper of early morning. My quilt won't duplicate the individual flowers or even the flower beds. That's not what I do. But maybe I can capture the essence of this color--the feeling of the color blue. And that is part of the reason I buy more plants even though I don't have space.  And I know that in some ways my quilts will be like my gardens--lots of wonderful fabrics that I purchase because I just have to have them--and then arranged to create wonderful color sweeps that try to convey some particular feeling or emotion--the sweep of the sky, the mystery of the ocean, the intensity of my iris. Part of the reason that my quilts are inspired by life.

And you? Do you think of blue as the color of spring?