In the meantime

Still waiting on a diagnosis of my thyroid tumor. Just found
out today that I have another inconclusive result (insufficient
cells for diagnosis) of the second biopsy. It has been more
than a month of waiting, and wondering. Trying to take
more action about making an appointment with a specialist
today. Now waiting to hear about that. Frustrating.

Today my own diagnosis is that most of our lives are 
living "in the meantime". In the meantime, I choose to
paint and "blog pist", my new term for angry blog posts!

Full Moon Waiting, finished today

Full Moon Waiting feels more finished now. I am excited about
how the Brancusi-like endless columns sprouted up out of my
honeycomb patterns. If I am not making sculptures right now, feels
good to paint them. I believe that Frida Kahlo would approve of
this painting!

In the Meantime
acrylic on 24"x30" canvas.

 

Waiting

In-progress "Full Moon Waiting",
24" x 30", acrylic paint

By the time I finish this post, the results may be
in, the results of the biopsy of a somewhat large
lesion (tumor) on my thyroid. Waiting has always
been one of my greatest weaknesses... I have so
many memories of being angry while I had to wait.
At 10-years-old, I angrily waited to open gifts by
the Christmas tree, as my brother (5 years younger)
peacefully waited. I remember wishing that Luke
would help speed things up by throwing a fit, which
is pretty funny now that I think about it, since he is
one of the most patient people I know. Of course,
most of my childhood memories are very positive,
but the topic here is waiting.

There has been a lot of waiting lately and I have
been angry, but waiting has also led to more painting
without over-analyzing; the kind of painting that I
want to do more often. This kind of painting, when
the results are especially unclear, can lead to an
acceptance that surrenders control.

*The results are "inconclusive"--will have another
biopsy next week. More waiting.

Intuitive Ewe







February Ewe 1, 2011. Ink on a 1921 encyclopedia page.
(Click on image to see words and details.)

Recently, I have been working more intuitively with
images, words, and materials to create narratives.
Creating these personal metaphors is a therapeutic
process of soothing my own anxieties, and discovering
how we are all connected to each other, as well as
connected to nature and to the past. Also, I have been
researching the Art Nouveau movement of the early
1900s in art and design history. I am fascinated with
how this time period was such an important transition
into the modern art era, and I see parallels between the
industrialization of the early 1900s and the digitalization
of today.

Drawing on the surface of 1920s encyclopedia pages
with black ink, I am enjoying the process of responding
to the surface texture and words as sheep images and
natural, art-nouveau-inspired motifs overlap.

February Ewe 2, 2011. Ink on a 1921 encyclopedia page.
(Click on image to see words and details.)

Mother's Fingers

.
Mother's Fingers, 2011 Ink on 1921 encyclopedia pages
(click on image to enlarge and see words)

I grew up on a sheep farm in North-Central Minnesota. At age

eleven, I became awe-inspired by nursing half-frozen lambs back

to life, and experienced mothering instincts for the first time.

Experiences with mothering my own two daughters today, the

oldest nearly eleven, may be why sheep images are surfacing in

my work recently.

Vision that was planted in 1989

“The Arvegods” (1979) by Ray Jacobson, represents a pair of early Norwegian pioneers.

I haven't seen these sculptures for over 20 years. When I attended the symposium "The Role of the Artist in Society" at Concordia College in Moorhead this week, it was moving to see the two figures again, especially when "The Sound of Silence" so vividly played in my head as I neared the sculptures. Not sure how to describe it, but there was such a clear link between these forms and the words and tune of that song. "My old friend, I've come to talk with you again... And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains." In 1989, I finished a year at this small private college, before reluctantly transferring. This sculpture met me like an old friend. According to symposium presenter Dr. Dan Flory, film (or any art form), like a friend, can "tell us things about ourselves that we can not see." Maybe I have been denying just how much that year in my life helped to determine my path as an artist, teacher, & person.

More information about the artist and sculpture: http://www.rayjacobson.com/public_spaces.html

The Dreaded Artist Statement

I have come to realize that writing an artist statement during 
a time of transition in my work can be a tense, messy process, 
but this time it was well worth the effort. Writing this artist 
statement (below) really helped gain understanding of where 
my work has been. The two pieces mentioned below will be in 
an upcoming exhibit at the Cyrus Running Gallery at Concordia 
College, Moorhead, Minnesota in September 2011.

    More                                            More detail

Artist Statement
As a mixed-medium artist, I work both two and three-dimensionally; my sculptures and paintings seem to fuel one another. My recent paintings and sculptures are examining how we all are connected to each other, as well  needing a connection to nature. For the last seven years, I have been working with sewing pattern paper as my primary material, inventing processes to use the material without losing its delicate and translucent qualities. I enjoy sewing pattern paper’s natural color, graphic markings, and associations with traditional women’s work and craft.

The painting More began as an ode to light, as the womb-like pear form was painted to allow light and color through the translucent paper. As it continued, I chose to repeat the block-printed word “more” and it quickly became a statement or challenge. Are we all sheep? Or can we resist the demand upon us to have and do more, and more fully appreciate the natural abundance all around us?

Once I began suspending my strings of pear-forms, I was brought back to my first fascinations with the balance and movement of Alexander Calder’s mobiles. In Pear Helix, the empty space becomes just as important as the forms themselves. To me, the small, connected forms are an intertwined family.

 

Pear Helix                         Pear Helix detail  

The Map Home 1, 2, 3

These gouache and wax resist paintings on paper are the most
recent additions to my "Making Honey" series. Originally I
entitled the smaller studies "Inside Looking Out", inside
a honey comb and looking into the sun.

Bees are dying

faster than they can replace themselves
and so are my excuses
for losing the map home.
.
The first memory of that place,
and all its nectars
are in a blurry path back to
.
Finnish raspy words buzzing above
the drone of the hive
Grandma Helen is clearly the queen
as we hover around her.
.
In the sticky sun, our daughters hang on
as my mom reads aloud on the throne
the map faintly appears on my face
I look away,

stung.



more or enough?

This painting is also part of my "Making Honey" series.
I temporarily hung More in the jackpine site. Later, I
block-printed the wrapped sheep.

sewing pattern paper, paint, ink, 20" x 90"


Are the words getting eaten or released?

Making Honey: Labor, Rest, & Light

This video is a part of my "Making Honey" series of

sculptures and paintings. It documents the process of

hand-crocheting (my hands as the crochet needles)

wire hive-form sculptures--followed by rest and light.

Can you be still?

A year in the woods. Today, February 1, 2009, deer
tracks lead the way back to this place. Once again,
the resiliency is encouraging me to be in winter, be
still, and watch. Like water, I tend to flow in many
directions, but not today.

Nearly a year ago on March 1, 2008 I wrote, "This
has been up for three weeks and the resiliency of the
sewing pattern paper and beeswax is encouraging. If
these fragile forms can withstand winter, so can I...
By March, I forget about the lightning, the mosquitoes,
the weeds. Okay, I will be in winter, following rabbits
for awhile."

a new year

A year ago I placed my sewing pattern & wax
pear-shaped forms in the winter woods, and
then proceeded to document their transformation
in photographs, film, and journaling.

Was I motivated most by surviving winter and
capturing the light of the fleeting sun? A response
to a lack of workspace? A way to communicate
my recurring questions?

What I do know a year later is that I was also
responding to the constant demand upon us all
to do and have more without appreciating the
abundance multiplying around us.

nine months
.
she turned to me, "Mom, they're ruined!"
the same child that asks,
"Why do you always change everything?"
.
after nine months in the woods,
the strings of pears have changed
yet hang on
protected by a beeswax coating.
.
not quite sure what I "expected"
or maybe this was an exercise in
not having expectations
or plans
or following the dotted lines.
.

nine months on the curved pine

the curved pine site, after 6 months

July 15, 2008

3 weeks of multiplication

night vistor

it's time... for what?

We went into the woods last week - finally without snow, and
found this pear form clinging, dependent upon the curved
pine to survive winter.

It is time! The time when those hibernated ideas climb out

and insist upon being heard. The time when I get this Spring

urgency for action, passed down from generations of farmers.

.

Time for our kids to explore the new growth. Time for me

to say good bye to these pears and grow new ones.

.
Time to let go.

.
For you, what is it time for?

.

when we are gone

These images are taken with our trail camera - attached
to a tree with a motion sensor, it takes photos when
we aren't there. Most likely the grey creature in the first
photos is a fisher (also called fisher cat). I'm told fishers
prey on rabbits, cats and fawns. But it looks so sweet
and fuzzy...

Remember 14?

.
At 14
.
they coaxed me into the July sun
and nibbled on my scrawny fingers
bleating knowingly over my hands
.
later, on crunchy spring mornings
I embraced their half-frozen lambs
intervening with the sweet foremilk
.
nearly twenty years later I was repaid
seven months living on intravenous fluid
until we coaxed Julia into the spring sun
.
on April 14th I could eat again
these hands knowing now

Zoomed-in?

According to Twyla Tharp, everyone has a focal length,
"All of us find comfort in seeing the world either from

a great distance, at arm's length, or in close-up."

Before yesterday I've been at a middle distance in the

woods. Yesterday I zoomed-in to see what I have been

missing. Today I used those close-up images to create

a larger grid - the larger picture of constructing meaning

from the details... I'm finding that I may most often sit

in the mid-focal length, but when I get out of that

comfort zone discovery begins.

.
Zoomed-in?