Poem for the Trees

All winter I've been driving and walking along Jacob's Creek.  Each time, the barren monotony of winter has been broken by the pale notes of Beech leaves.  Now, at the cusp of season change, I thought I'd better write this appreciation down, and so...

A POEM FOR THE TREES

Don't even try

to imagine winter woods

without the Beeches

Amidst dull masses

of branch, trunk and thicket

their faded copper dreams hover mid-air

Sustained leaf chords

so delicately ornament the space

between the silent sleep of trunks

Don't even try

to think of spring's new greenery

without these forest belles

Waving frozen showers

of pale woodland lace they lead

winter's landscape to next season

Only winter Beeches

whisper to the future

while still embracing recent past

Don't even try

to imagine winter woods

without the Beeches

All photos on this blog are copyright by Joy Kreves and may not be used or reproduced for any reason without permission.

In Search of a Certain Green

Here it is, spring 2011.  My daffodils refuse to open and the forsythia blossoms look positively cowered.  Winter coats that should be getting their end-of-season cleaning are still being worn, with hats and even gloves. It's that time of year when one looks forward to glimpses of the bright, fresh green of new growth.  That's the green I've been in search of  for my current sculpture project, and it's taken me some sleuth work to find it. 

Green stitching detail on metal sculpture

During the winter months I compiled materials for my June bug sculpture that is to be unveiled at Metuchen's Art Fest the first Friday in June.  

Location for future sculpture display

Because I've never made an outdoors sculpture before, I had trouble deciding what materials to use to withstand wind and rain, so I proceeded to begin TWO June bugs:  one mostly ceramic, one mostly aluminum. I made a heavily perforated ceramic body and wings so the wind could whistle through.  Positioning the ceramic wings up and out in flight would be too precarious, though, so if I finish this bug at all, it will have to sit somewhere flat.

Unfinished test of ceramic June bug.

 

At various hardware stores I had also bought a variety of metal mesh and aluminum flashing and aluminum glue, and an assortment of brightly colored polypropylene twine for the metal bodied bug. I was liking the light, airy effect and texture of the metal meshes.

Assorted mesh sculpture materials including some fruit bags...

Bright, fresh green and metals

I had started to attach those parts by sewing them together with colored twine; specifically, polypropylene GREEN twine.  It was one of several colors I'd picked up in the "gathering potential materials" phase of the project.  I'm liking the silver aluminum outlined with that bright, fresh green.  Well I used up the green twine ball 1/2way through the bug outline and went in search of more.  Nobody at the store I thought I'd bought it at recognized it.  The manager of  the 2nd store said, "No we don't have anything like that".  The small local hardware store had never heard of it.  Finally, I tried another big chain hardware store that I'd been to recently, and "VOILA", there was the box of twine...in pink, purple, yellow and blue, but no green.  An internet search at home finally turned up a store that carried the twine and claimed to have just ONE ball of the green, which the clerk promised to save for me at the customer service desk if I got there that evening.  I rushed there just minutes before closing time and sprinted to the customer service desk to request my treasured twine.  "No, there isn't anything here"...finally the clerk was found who had forgotten to bring it there but did go get my precious twine. 

My June bug is to go on a big leaf shape that I cut out of some sheets of perforated aluminum - a material already suggestive of the bug that munches its way through tree leaves.  At some point I thought I'd use some of the other colors of the poly twine to whipstitch the edge of the leaf but no, what I really want is more of that green.  I don't know about other artists, but my decisions are influenced by nature's suggestions.  It's that time of year when fresh green is the tonic needed to cleanse the winter doldrums away. 

Satan's Socks

Hannah Fink's shoe sculpture, in RAW BEAUTY exhibition, photo©JKreves

Last evening I attended Miriam Mill's directed play, "The Last Days of Judas Iscariot" at Rider University's Yvonne Theater.  David Spadora, the talented actor who played Satan, was costumed brilliantly, in a contemporary, collared white shirt, black jacket, black pants, and red socks. (seen at center of photo, in different clothing if you click on the link above) The socks really did it for Satan.  I don't think he could have been as convincingly dark without them.  The red socks screamed DANGER even when the actor was portraying the "I'm just another ordinary guy" side of Satan's act.  

Somewhere is an old photograph of our family with the cousins from my mother's side.  Although it seems to be lost, I remember it clearly.  We are all gathered on, beneath, and around a metal swingset on a summer day. Everyone is nicely smiling, but as usual my father is goofing. He is wearing bright orange socks, and is lifting his knee and pointing to the socks.  As if they might be missed without the special attention!  I was in high school then, and appreciated my father's socks as a fashion rebellion.  Those attention-grabbing socks were kind of a statement of his unorthodox thinking, and I was pretty sure that most dad's were not wearing anything like them just as most dad's were not thinking anything controversial in those Midwestern summer days.  I never could figure out where he GOT the orange socks, since white or black were the only colors that seemed to be sold.  In those days my dad was using his pulpit at The DuPage Unitarian Universalist Church to preach humanistic sermons about the environment and peace, sermons against the Vietnam war.   Someone upset by those beliefs had written into the local newspaper that it was clear that my father was "the devil", and they could "see it in his eyes" from his picture in the newspaper.  I'll bet if they ever saw him wearing those orange socks they'd have been even more sure of the Satan within him.  Anytime a bright color seeps through banality it hints of revolution, and it gets your attention.

Recently I was fortunate to have viewed "Raw Beauty", a mixed media sculpture exhibition at the Arts Council of Princeton curated by Rebecca Kelly.  The photos in this post are ones I took in that exhibition. One of my favorite sculptures was "Raw Suffering of a Woman", a dress by Lesley Haas incorporating handmade paper flax, shredded strips of New York Times and Women's Wear Daily.

Lesley Haas sculpture, photo ©Jkreves

Although mostly subdued colors, the bits of bright red on the shredded paper skirt suggest that life is still there and the suffering is still going on.

Another remarkable piece in the show was Miriam Schaer's 20 ft.long "No Ornament as Precious as Their Hands", made of Embroidery, beads, gloves and paint. Again, the overall neutral tone of the piece was enlivened by slices of red here and there, and the turquoise beading.

Miriam Schaer sculpture, photo ©Joy Kreves

detail of Miriam Schaer sculpture, photo ©Joy Kreves

Leslie Pontz, "Pregnant", photo © Joy Kreves

 As I write this the people of Libya are in a roiling turbulence trying to rid themselves of their oppressive leadership.  I hope that, like the Egyptians and Tunisians, they will soon feel the brilliant sparks of freedom burst into full bloom.  According to Sheryl Gay Stolberg's reporting in The New York Times, the writings of "a shy intellectual" provided some of the strategy for the Middle East revolutions.  Well-written ideas can be those brilliant colors that make instigating political action possible.


This is not a deep insight, that glimpses of brilliance amidst conformity brings vitality to our lives, but it is something worth noticing, remembering, and appreciating whether in fashion, thinking, politics or visual stimuli.  Such visual stimuli is not simple.  It is based on a gut-level recognition that there is something alive there, stirring or smouldering, something to watch out for, something possibly dangerous.  What color socks do you wear?

Becoming the Bug

On the morning following two days of shoveling a heavy, wet snow, I awoke on my back.  I wanted to turn over, but my arms felt little and weak and sore.  With some struggle, I managed to turn over but I thought, "That must be the way a beetle feels when it's flipped over..."

New Jersey Winter, photo ©Joy Kreves 2011

I've been thinking about beetles lately, because I have a new sculpture project.  I'm making the JUNE BUG sculpture for Metuchen's annual June Bug ArtFest.  Although I embraced this project enthusiastically, I ran into problems immediately.

First and most challenging for me is how to create a sculpture that will sit unharmed by weather, in the sun, wind and rain.  All of my sculptures have been made for indoor environments.  Creating for the outdoors is a whole different ballpark.  My previous mixed media works have been constructed with glue guns and other strong glues, using fiber, paper, balsa wood etc.  Suddenly, "mixed media" seems limited!  I contacted a sculpture supply company about two of their products which sounded promising for outside artworks. I asked if the products would hold up in the weather.   The email response I received suggested that I find somewhere warm and dry to create, because these outdoor conditions present challenges for any material that needs to cure!  How did I miscommunicate my question?  No, I had not intended to create the sculpture outside in this New Jersey winter!

Another problem was the subject matter itself.  Beetles had never captured my interest.  Knowledge breeds interest, though, and I researched June bugs, hoping they were at least the iridescent green ones I've admired as they lay flipped on their backs on the hot summer road.  Unfortunately, June bugs are no beauties.  They are just smooth brown beetles, a basic oval shape with a furry chest area and a somewhat gross-looking semi-transparent body.  Even their babies are on the disgusting side - those white, curled grubs that eat your plant roots.  No cuteness there. They stay underground for three years before making their appearance in May or June as the June Bug we know.  We hear their familiar razzing chorus in the summertime which I find quite pleasant. 

Okay, time for a big dose of artistic license!  MY June bug is going to have some color, some texture, some outsized "eyelashes" (they do have eyelash-like antennae beneath their eyes).  I am going to try to reference their natural transparency somehow though, and emphasize the geometry of their shape.

Blue Mtn. Lattice,©JKreves 2005

Landscape Lattice, ©Joy Kreves 2006

The sculpture base is always the hardest part for me to work out.  In reviewing my previous work I have realized that I most enjoy creating "relief sculptures" more than truly 3-Dimensional ones "in the round".  My entire hanging lattice series fits somewhere between 2 and 3 dimensional work, with some double-sided and some only one-sided pieces, yet they interact with their surrounding space and environment the way all dimensional works do.  As it turns out, I have one extra hanging lattice stand that is looking like a good option for my June Bug sculpture.  It is certainly stable enough for outside, not too heavy for me to manage, and made of steel which will rust in the rain if left unpainted as it is now, but that patina could be nice.

As for possible materials for the bug itself, I've looked at waxed cardstock, (used milk cartons), which I once created surprisingly durable birdhouses from, fiberglass reinforced plastic drop-cloths, wire screening, pellon, and I've made a small test bug from sculpture clay.  A size-able ceramic sculpture would be pretty heavy.  Maybe PART of it could be clay, the rest - metal?  The search continues, but at this point I think it will be mainly different metals with some ceramic parts.  I've already created the outline of a large leaf that my June bug will be clinging to.  As the thinking process moves along I am finding more interest in my subject.

Am I empathetic enough to truly understand my subject matter?  Like method acting, I wonder if method creating would be a helpful way to get in touch with my inner June Bug and thus lead to a stronger sculpture.  I already got a taste of how they feel when my exhausted arms could barely turn myself over in the bed; I've thought about them as I munch my salad leaves; I've spent so much time bundled up in layers and layers to keep warm this winter that I may have come as close as I could to experiencing the compact, inflexible shape the bugs have...perhaps I should reread Kafka's METAMORPHOSIS to  really get in touch with my inner bug.

Red, Irresistible Red

Having just finished the season of Rudolph's nose and holiday bows, I was starting to think about spring bud green and winter river water blue, but red came back for another visit tonight in the form of a female cardinal.  

The brightly billed bird was duller than her flashy male counterpart would be, but she suddenly appeared outside at our window ledge, fluttering up against the glass and pacing back and forth at the window.  She looked curious and excited.  She was a very cute bird, with bright red accents on her beak and hat and wings! 

 

Red.  No other color screams for attention like it.  Cardinal red, sports car red, fire engine red, lipstick red.  Powerful, visceral, siren-like red.
Last month I was at MOMA in NYC, for one of Jennifer Allora and Guillermo Calzadilla's performances, Stop, Repair, Prepare: Variations on Ode to Joy for a Prepared Piano (2008)  How visually satisfying the artist's red shirt was against the black piano!

I've indulged in the color red in many of my artworks.  An early painting titled, "WONDERFUL RED THINGS", was just a catalog of some of my favorite red things such as pomegranates, antheriums, etc. painted all together in one composition.  Done during the pre-digital days, I have only slide records of that painting now, but my fascination with red things remains. Below are a very few of the red-color dominated artworks I have created over the years:

ALINE'S FLOWERS, porcelain, private collection. ©JoyKreves'11

  

PATRON, Flashe & gold paint on paper ©JoyKreves'11.

Red Chalice, private collection, ©JoyKreves '11

SCHOLAR'S VASE, sculpture, ©JoyKreves '11

TREASURE KEEPER, private collection, ©Joy Kreves '11

The little cardinal was clearly attracted to something and wanted in.  She wasn't attacking her reflection, as some male cardinals do.  She looked and fluttered but would not turn away.  I got my camera out and the flash didn't scare her away.  I turned off the lights.  

She stayed.  For a good 10 minutes she tried and tried to get in.  I thought birds slept at night!  What was keeping her up so late?  I had some plants on a tea cart by that window so I moved them to another room in case she was thinking they looked like an inviting place to spend the night.  She stayed.  Didn't she have a mate to attend to?

I moved the candlesticks away, remembering that crows are attracted to shiny things.  Maybe their silver called to her.  She stayed.  My daughter reached her hand out but the bird skittered away to the far edge of the window ledge.  Guess she wasn't looking for a human friend.  Then I realized that we had a bright red napkin sitting on the dining room table in her sight, the same color as her mate should be, and that I was wearing a bright red sweater.  I changed my clothes to black.  I removed the red napkin.  Finally she turned around and flew away!

It seems it was the red she was attracted to, and which kept her awake in the nighttime when she should have been nestling her head beneath her wing.  Who can blame her for staying awake to try and meet all that big, healthy, attractive red that was calling to her from our house?  I hope she soon finds it or returns to it in the form of another cardinal though.  I'd hate to think my sweater or napkin lured her into loneliness or promiscuity. 

Journey Through "BIOGRAPHY OF A MOTH"

Several posts ago (My Mother, My Shadow and Me) I wrote about repairing my artwork "BIOGRAPHY OF A MOTH" after it fell off the wall and got a damaged corner.  This photo accompanied that post, showing the shadow repair.

above:  repaired area

Creating this work was personally significant for me and I believe it is also a strong work of art.  Below is a photo of the entire mixed media piece as it was exhibited in my show at the Rider University Art Gallery this October.  There is also companion floor sculpture, "Top Soil", which has not been shown yet.  Every work of art is a journey of creation, but this one took a subject matter path I'd not been on before.

"BIOGRAPHY OF A MOTH", ©Joy Kreves '10, ~60"X40"

"BIOGRAPHY OF A MOTH" began as a piece to go directly on the wall, with the working title of "ELAINE'S GARDEN".  Elaine is a friend who has a magical garden surrounding her house.  As I worked on the piece with it's quiet yarns and glazes, a photo of my mother (1922-2000) as an 18 yr. old that I have hanging in my studio began to draw towards the art.  By this I mean that there was an attraction between the photo and the artwork. Anyone who has hung an art exhibition knows that certain pieces create a synergy when hung in proximity to each other, and other pieces seem to not get along well with each other at all. 

Detail, "Biography of a Moth", ©Joy Kreves '10

Perhaps it was simply the sympathetic browns in the photo and the wood and yarns, perhaps it was also because my mother crocheted and was an avid gardener of both vegetables and flowers or the way her jacket is flapping open like a moth wing.  In any case, she seemed to want to be part of the piece.  So with apologies to Elaine and her wondrous garden, I went with the subject matter shift and let the piece be about my mother.  Once that decision was made, her presence infused my work to the extent that on a few occasions I had to work with tear-filled eyes.  I am not usually an extremely emotional artist, at least I normally do not work in any particularly strong emotional state, so this was a very strange experience for me.  A sense of sadness persisted through the duration of the creation of this piece.  It took me by complete surprise, because although we were very close and even best friends in my adult years, I thought I had pretty much finished grieving for her long ago.  Art has a way of digging very, very deep though, and here I was re-experiencing my loss.

"Elaine's Garden" (beginnings of "Bio of a Moth"),©Joy Kreves'10

The next really odd thing about my journey through this artwork was the major "DUH" moment that it brought to me.  Art is a mirror to both society and the artist.  Sometimes we need to rub our eyes and take a better look.  Once I planted a copy of my mother's photo and the moth imagery in the piece it acquired the title, "Biography of a Moth", yet it never even occurred to me, until I was putting up the show, that "Moth" is the beginning of  "Mother".  I had been thinking all about how my mother had tread so lightly on the earth like a butterfly, but because she was so UNflashy and UNdemanding of attention, a moth seemed the better symbol for her.  She tended to her plants with quiet though passionate care until the very end of her life.  

moth holes detail, "Biography of a Moth", ©Joy Kreves '10

Perhaps the "moth holes" I put in the river photo section of the piece are really symbols of all the little holes her death left in my world.  She left not one big, gaping hole, but many small ones that have significantly riddled life as I experience it, like the holes left when pulling stray plants from a garden.  Creating this work was a huge gift for me in renewed appreciation for the ways in which a parent's life is carried on and on in their children.  Carrying on the word "moth" one gets to "mother". This work is, indeed, "Biography of a MothER".

  

Re-igniting the Muse

"DARK WATERFALL", ©Joy Kreves '10, mixed media installation.

After exhibitions, after family crises and celebrations, after visits from long-missed family and friends, after making exciting connections, after the hubbub of holidays, where now, oh where exactly IS my muse, my fire?  

This week I got my hands back into clay for the first time since perhaps last May.  Ideas were merely mild and circling, cooking but not reaching even a simmer yet.  I'm eager for my muse to come flying full force back.  I am "ASKING FOR THE FIRE", as ceramist Linda Vonderschmidt-LaStella so brilliantly titled our 2009 ceramic exhibition. I'm not insecure that my muse will awaken.  It will, and I am ready for the fire of it.  

My work could go in many directions from where I left off.  I'd like to make more waterfalls after the two I did for my TRANSLATING NATURE exhibition this October.

Waterfall section from "SOLASTALGIA",©Joy Kreves '10

I'm still excited about finding my own ways to reflect the imagery our earth provides.  My recent "Solastalgia" installation was inspired by our endangered rivers, specifically our Delaware river.  I'm also starting to work with some ideas about coral.  As far as concepts, I want to work with the term "eutierria", another word which, like "solastalgia" and "soliphilia", was recently coined by Prof. Glenn Albrecht as he builds the language with which we can express our relationship with our environment.  He defines "eutierria" as "a positive feeling of oneness with the earth and its life forces".

"SPRING EXUBERANCE", ©Joy Kreves '10, porcelain

My "SLICES OF NATURE" and "RIVER" sculpture have many ideas which could be expanded upon like the mixing of a drawing and poetry with ceramic and mixed media elements:

"SLICES OF NATURE", ©Joy Kreves "10

"RIVER", ©Joy Kreves '10, mixed media sculpture w. original poem.

 After a fall full of all the life business that could possibly take an artist away from creating, I'm getting my ankles wet again in the big, creative ocean.  Ahhhhhh...