A Lifeline

A year and a half ago, soon after I turned 40, I gifted myself a sabbatical to explore a new direction in my work. One of the first projects I tackled was to fabricate a sculpture out of an antique quilt top that I'd been holding onto for years with this purpose in mind. The slow evolution of this unfinished quilt has been a learning process for me with many stops and starts.

First, I created a simple drop pattern and proceeded to cut up the entire quilt. The drops were stitched together and stuffed inside-out so the hand-pieced, textured surface would be visible. Ironically the quilt lent me 42 drops--the age I will be turning in a few months.

In order to unify the forms and emphasize their texture without the distraction of a country craft palette each one was painted with black gesso. The gesso transformed the drops from a soft pillow form into a calcified cocoon. After painting, I sanded and stitched the pods to re-emphasize the lines and textures of the original quilted surface. The final surface was fused with a layer of wax lending a skin-like smoothness to these seemingly rough forms.

Through each step this work has pushed and pulled me along. The process was much more involved than I could have predicted at the outset. Nevertheless, I'm glad I keep pulling it back out to puzzle out each step of its transformation. It is a quilt no longer. The 42 drops have been bound tightly to a spine of sorts. I arranged them onto an old lead rope using the measurements of my own torso. For whatever this is, I call it a Lifeline.

Pink Palette

In need of a wider variety of peachy-pink material for my series of Fiber Forms and other studio experiments, I've turned to an unlikely source--avocado pits. After searching online for what natural dyes would lend my desired palette I came across this recipe and proceeded to buy/eat avocados for weeks. Unfortunately I'm the only one in the family who likes them so I collected them in the freezer til I had enough to make a full dye pot. I boiled eight pits for this batch of old linen scraps, stained cotton doilies and cheese cloth. The aged whites and creams were transformed into a subtle palette of the fleshy pink textures. I was more than pleased with the outcome and have already started stitching with my new stash.

A video posted by Suzanna Scott (@suzanna_scott) on Aug 16, 2016 at 9:11am PDT

Collecting Words

Every sketchbook is assigned a page for collecting words I find interesting for one reason or another. Sometimes it's a new word I've never come across before, a familiar word with an obscure alternate meaning, or a word that has inferred reference to a current topic of interest. At one time I had over a dozen dictionaries in my studio in a variety of languages to peruse, but now an app on my trusty phone has replaced the need for all but three--one in English, an antique illustrated French volume that's been partially plundered for collage and this wonderful pictorial edition. I love to mull over the scrawled jumble of words, and when I finish a new piece I pluck one off the page to give the object its 'Title'.

Chair Decay

After all the tête-à-têtes these chairs have been privy to, they now decay by the side of the road. On a recent road trip to Louisiana, I deemed the pair worthy of a u-turn in order to document their moldering beauty. Exposed to the elements their upholstered innards have begun to spill and nature fills them. The textures of decay are palpable in the fraying fabrics, weathered wood, touches of rust and puddled stains that riddle the surface. I may or may not have hauled a few scattered bits back to the studio--a distinct possibility that these chairs will live on in an alternate form.

 

Crazy Quilts

Last summer I picked up a pile of unfinished crazy quilt squares at the flea market. A bit musty and stained, they'd definitely seen a few idle decades. I decided to emphasize the aged backsides of these patchwork squares by carefully slicing into them to expose their insides. The coloring on the reverse is subtle; stains are visible, and you can trace the map-like stitches where each piece has been quilted. Each scar that I add is carefully marked, cut and stitched into place with black thread. Fresh wounds are now scattered among the hints of stitches left by another pair of laboring hands years ago.

Cut & Paste Drawings

As I work one train of thought informs the next, and my actions tend to propagate. In this instance, drawings for sculpture become fodder for collage series I'm referring to as 'cut & paste drawings'. I keep a small notebook to collect ideas (I love Field Notes!) but also keep a loose-leaf sketchbook which entails a pile of random papers pulled from the mail and old books. I prefer to draw on paper with less than perfect edges and maybe a wrinkle or two. This makes the empty page more inviting and gives the sketch character before a mark is made. I photograph work at various stages in the process, not only so I can share with you but also as a point of reference for myself. It's an invaluable tool to be able to look back from a finished work and see its evolution.

Fiber Forms

A collection of fiber forms has been slowly evolving in my studio. The core of each one is made using a common household material--aluminum foil. Once the skeleton is constructed I wrap it with layer upon layer of fabric, lace and string. These bound layers are pinned into place until I'm satisfied with its shape, color and texture. During the tedious process of stitching I let go of time and enjoy the meditative process of slowly marking the surface with stitches and securing the layers of each cocoon. On a few of the pieces I've sculpted glandular caps out of resin. After they are finished with a brass metal coating these accents add visual contrast to the stitched surface. So far I've completed thirteen of these intimate fiber forms and I invite you to take a peek.

Material Remnants

Many times I discover small revelations in material remnants. I resist the urge to sweep leftovers into the trash bin immediately following a project. These remains often contains clues and can trigger new ideas through their shape/color/texture, etc. I'm interested in these secrets and find value in documenting the beauty of residue.

Landscape Collage

Erosion, book cover, buckram, paper, glue, encaustic

Over the last month I've finished up a grouping of landscape collage on old book covers. Tattered covers make the best collage surface as they are sturdy, inexpensive and have built-in character. It's much easier to get started when you don't have a pristine surface staring back at you. I unearthed various bits from previous collage binges to create layers of strata, distant horizons and even a mirage or two.

Gut Reaction

For the past couple months I've been experimenting with a new material--pig intestines. No I didn't harvest the guts of a pig. I bought them from a butcher where they are used as sausage casings. I received them relatively clean and packed in a salt brine. They do have a distinct scent but not a bad as I expected. The first day I played with them I didn't rinse them well enough and my attempts dried with a crusty layer of salt. Now I rinse and double rinse. When I run water through them they balloon and display their fibrous membrane--an exquisite lace pattern.

When the gut is wet it is a bit stretchy and adheres to itself. Pieces can be cut and layered, overlapping slightly to create a bond. When fully dry the gut becomes translucent. It has a skin-like quality which is what attracted me to it in the first place. My curiosity was sparked when I came across an image online of native Alaskan art using seal and pig intestines. Digging around some more I found the work of fiber artist, Pat Hickman--that's when I knew I had to try this material.

Through trial and much error I've been exploring the possibilities of gut. I've layered, molded, stitched, knotted and wound it into and onto various forms. Small studies are laying about the studio--some will be pitched and others pursued.

Instincts

Instincts, aluminum, plaster, resin, metal coating, patina, wax 
 

This grouping of draped, nipple pieces are an extension of my fascination with the drop form. The bell-like breasts are more mammalian than human and more fetish than flesh--like an ancient rattle or tool of sorts. I try not to think of these associations when working. The forms began intuitively by twisting aluminum foil into a rough armature. After a layer of plaster they kinda looked like bent q-tips. Haha. I have more of these forms waiting but finished up this first group of four so I could see where they were going. Not sure how I would exhibit them, hanging individually or tied together as a bundle? There are many possibilities here.

 

Raw Beginnings

Sometimes I arrive at the end stage of a piece and grieve its raw beginnings. The initial sketch of a form is a pure thing. There are no layers invested in its being. It is a skeleton without flesh. Tactile with its lumps and bulges I wonder if I should embrace its incompleteness and let it live as is. Only I can see its fleshy future.

A video posted by Suzanna Scott (@suzanna_scott)