For those coming to this blog who aren't part of my UNL Sculpture class, you may want to know this is technically an assignment. I don't want to treat it as such, and hopefully it doesn't read like something I'm doing because I have to. But if, from time to time, I throw up a post that seems out of place or put together quickly or just generally half assed, it's probably because I had to put something up, even if I'm having an off or particularly busy week. But I hope that most of the time I post, it's because I have something to say.
We've been given a small, very open to interpretation assignment to start off the class. Just something to help us get back into the swing of things before we have to suddenly come up with our own ideas (sometimes much harder than it sounds). We pointed blindly at a map and picked a city. And that's it. That's our jumping off point. Anything goes.
I should probably point out that I'll be graduating in May (knock on wood), so I'm trying to create a cohesive body of work throughout all my studio classes (sculpture, painting, printmaking), so that I have a good selection when it comes time to put together my capstone show.
Since I'm trying to fit everything together, it would probably help to understand what it is I'm doing. I'll have to write an organized, professional looking artist statement this semester, and in fact I have to have the first rough draft done next week, but for now I'll just ramble a bit.
Late last fall I rediscovered my love of sewing. My mom's handy enough with a needle (she made her own wedding dress, after all), and I think it was probably her who first showed me how to hand sew. I honestly don't remember learning so I can't be sure. I know it was my grandmother who taught me how to use a sewing machine. It was an old one, built into a little table/desk. It didn't have a foot pedal. I think there was a little lever you had to push to the side with your knee. I'm pretty sure she's still using the same one. Anyway, she threaded the machine, and drew some lines and spirals on pieces of paper, and showed me how to follow along the lines. I was very proud of myself.
I went in and out of sewing phases throughout my childhood and teens. Helped my mom make a few (matching *groan*) dresses for ourselves, made a baby blanket quilt for my new cousin Sam. It was fun, but I tended to bounce around between interests somewhat schizophrenically back then. OK, maybe I still do sometimes. Point being, I never got so into it that it became a big part of my life, but it was always there.
In the last year, as I approach graduation and potentially moving away, I've gotten very nostalgic. I've gone through photo albums and rewatched so many Disney movies I could probably quote whole scenes perfectly. And most importantly for my art, I finally read a book I've had for most of my life. The Grandma Christine Story. My great grandmother's autobiography, with the cloth cover she individually embroidered for all of us grandchildren so that each copy has our name on it. There are also the Trundle Bed Tales, another family history (I admit I'm still not sure what relation the woman who wrote it is...there are a lot of Margarets and Georges and I'm not even a quarter of the way through it yet...but I think she's a great great something or other).
I really found myself connecting to my family history. And with that it seemed natural to reconnect with sewing. Most of the women in the family seemed to have sewn, if only for practical reasons. My grandmother still makes quilts (she made me a really beautiful starburst quilt for my high school graduation).
It's that connection to family history, who my ancestors were, what they chose to write down, that I find myself exploring in my work. Not just finding a story I like and illustrating it, but thinking about what it means today, how the context has changed, and how it's relevant to a modern world. Sewing plays a part in most of my work, not only as a connection to family history, but also as a reclamation of a traditionally 'crafty' medium.
All of that was a very long winded way of explaining how I went about approaching this project.
I pointed to Kennewick, Washington, a place I knew nothing about (which is probably more interesting). It's a decent sized city, around 55,000 (or was in 2000). But what I was most drawn by was a story about a railroad. In 1887 the Northern Pacific Railroad built a bridge across the Columbia River, to connect Kennewick and Pasco. It was meant to be a temporary bridge, but they probably weren't planning on having it wash away the very first winter it had to go through. They built a better, stronger, more permanent version shortly after, which still stands today.
But I find myself drawn to that idea of an unstoppable river. Because really, nothing's changed in over 100 years. We have incredible feats of engineering and architecture all over the world, but mother nature still kicks our ass on a regular basis. Flooding, snow, earthquakes, tsunamis...we can do our best to make our infrastructure resistant to damage and destruction, but in the end we're at the mercy of the elements.
And in the last decade in particular, the elements seem pissed.
So how am I going to translate the idea of the insignificance of mankind compared to the unstoppable power of nature into sculpture?
Eh, I have until Tuesday to figure that out.
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