Patterns Reinterpreted from Nature

Kelly Monico

Denver, CO

May 2015

Patterns Reinterpreted from Nature

I was excited to travel to the comfy backwoods of Pickens, South Carolina where I knew I’d have the opportunity to fully immerse myself in my artistic practice at the Rensing Center. This type of immersion is difficult to do with a busy teaching schedule during the academic year. Luckily, I was able to procure ten rich and productive days.
Immediately after arriving at the Rensing Center, I found myself seduced by the captivating scenery and environment. There is a sense of serenity and stillness here that simply isn’t accessible in urban life. The milieu of the Rensing Center, the land, setting, and power of the environment, would be the catalyst for my work over the next 10 days. The peaceful landscape includes twenty some acres of green grass, goats, cows, and a surplus of hundred year old trees. Amidst this vast acreage is a wonderful nature trail that I leisurely hiked several times each day. On my very first hike I began to record and document my environment along the trail. Elements and variables recorded along the path included; trees, slope of trail, leaves, sounds, weather, the creek, temperature, plant life, and flowers. By reinterpreting the information along the trail through patterns, I was able to translate the land into another physical form - creating a hybridity between topography and art. 

The patterned artwork on the left shows documentation that visualizes elements recorded along the nature trail. Every 10 steps are marked with a specific color that designates downhill, uphill, flat, and extreme downhill. The number of rectangular and horizontal shapes in each column represents the amount of trees visible along the edge of the path. The artwork reads from top to bottom, starting with the top left corner of the composition. I’m currently rendering drawings on top of the print that correspond with the amount of leaves and branches fallen along the path. All of this data is recorded in the notes seen left of the artwork.

 ~Kelly Monico | Denver, Colorado 
kellymonico.com/

Threads and Egg Shells

Justina Kochansky

London, UK

March-April 2015

Threads and Egg Shells

When I first came to the Rensing Center, I'd considered making some mementos about small moments of beauty. You can't preserve the spark of joy from the first crocus of the season and, human beings being what we are, even if you could the initial joy would be difficult to maintain, but I wanted to make some sort of homage. My time here has been full of such moments and with the quieting of the “little haters” I felt more able to absorb them. So my original plan of making sculptures to bring home with me quickly changed into wanting to leave gifts behind.

While I was studying shadow puppetry in Bali, I observed the daily ritual of preparing woven leaf baskets and filling them with gifts for the gods; cooked rice, fresh fruit, flowers, occasionally a piece of candy or a cigarette. This was a very time consuming but important part of each day. The offerings were placed on the family shrines with respectful ceremony and then... it didn't matter what happened to them. The importance was in the presenting, not in the preservation of the gift. More often than not, the offerings were eaten by the stray dogs that roamed about, but that was okay because the gift had been given.

So in a similar spirit, I've made fifteen small sculptures and ornaments for the Alder Trail out of materials that will degrade or rot away. These were inspired by the materials themselves but also by moments of joy I've experienced while here.

(And I must say, the placing/giving of the sculptures inspired even more moments of joy than I'd expected. The sculptures were made first, and then I walked the trail to decide where they should go. When it came time to distribute them, they suited the locations so well it surprised me; without even measuring spaces beforehand they fit almost perfectly. It wasn't so much giving them up as putting them where they needed to be.)

Pictograph Egg – Inspired by some local examples, as well as the goats and Bob the Cat. Egg shell, red clay, gold thread.

Lichen Spine – Lichen, stick, snake skin, paper box, tissue paper.

Book – Egg shell, snake skin, paper, gold thread.

Spine – This fit so beautifully with the tree, I wish I could say I'd planned it, but it is instead a gloriously happy accident. Egg shells, lichen, paper, twine.

Notes on the Materials

Egg Shells: I suspect the Easter holiday has had some influence on my wanting to use egg shells, but I think I will continue working with them after I return home. I've also been influenced by the FauxbergeEgg Series of Kasey Smith.

Orchids: I share my grandmother's love of orchids, so I had to use some dried ones in my work.

Lichen: Lichen is frequently ignored, but I find the variety of forms fascinating and beautiful.

Gold Thread: I remember hearing that sometimes birds will use colourful thread in their nests. While this thread won't degrade very quickly, I hope that the local birds have sparkly nests for the next few seasons!

Tuesday March 24, 2015

Ingrid Erickson

North Carolina

March 2015

Tuesday March 24, 2015

Today marks just over a week of my two week residency here at the Rensing Center, and I already know the time to be too short…this rich mixture of companionship and solitude, reflection and discussion, against a backdrop of rapidly greening March hills has made for a very productive time.  It is often difficult to strike a balance between teaching (which I love) and my own practice.  Here I have been able to become utterly absorbed in my own work. 

I hear the tinkle of the goats’ bells from the adjoining meadow; the leaves of the giant magnolia glow in the afternoon’s still-warming sun…Walking and writing have enriched my daily practice while I have been here. Each day I have taken my journal to the waterfall to write and think.

From my journal yesterday:

10:42am The ground is damp from yesterday’s long rain and I saw the deeply imprinted prongs of deer tracks following the trail…A wild turkey burst from the brush as I was rounding the bend towards the creek.  The song of the creek is a little louder and more assertive after yesterday’s rain.

I’ve enjoyed the Rensing Center’s many outdoor spaces in between bursts of studio activity—a bench in the garden by the daffodils has become my favorite afternoon coffee spot. I’ve enjoyed cooking with bay leaves from outside Justina’s studio, and fresh oregano, sage, and parsley from the herb garden behind the pottery. Each day something new seems to burst into bloom.

This has been a pivotal time and place for me, and has allowed me the time and space to think broadly and deeply about my work without distractions. I know that I will take some of this momentum and energy with me.

-Ingrid Erickson, March 15-28, 2015

Quieting the No's

Justina Kochansky

London, UK

March 2015

Quieting the No's

My sense of creativity has been in a fallow period. Lots of changes, including an international move, were more of a drain than I'd realized and my “little haters” had jumped into my mental space to have a field day. “Not good enough, been done before, etc, etc.” All the “No's” that every artist faces seemed much louder and easy distractions proved to be more seductive. I knew something had to change, but my attempts at forcing discipline weren't working and only seemed to make me more depressed about the whole thing.

I'd been encouraged to apply to the Rensing Center before, but had never really given it serious thought; “Oh, I'm not a good enough artist, I'd just waste their time,” said the little haters. This year, however, I'd decided to really try to find my footing again, so I went for it. And here I am.

And boy is it helping!

I'm not usually one for rituals, but I found the Shred, Walk, Create exercise inspiring. (If you don't know it, keep reading the blog. Not only will you find out the details, you'll encounter some lovely stories!) It's a simple exercise, but surprisingly effective. My little haters are still there (they always will be) but I have a decisive reply to them now: “No, I've shredded that.” Since then, I've felt more able to work with the images that have been sitting quietly in the background, waiting their turn. Having time to focus in the beautiful, peaceful space is just the sort of nurturing environment I've needed, and for the first time in what feels like years I'm looking forward to playing with my ideas.

- J Kochansky

kochansky.org

P.S.  I first encountered the term "Little Haters" from Jay Smooth.  His video so well encapsulates the cycle I find myself in, that I recommend a viewing.

Looking backward, moving forward

Ann Mansolino

Concord, California

February- March 2015

Looking backward, moving forward

It's difficult to believe that my four weeks here are nearly over. The time has gone by so quickly -- which seems strange in a way, given that the experience in many ways has been about slowing down, finding peace, and making art from a place of internal and external quiet. How can such an experience speed past me? How can a slow pace feel like it's gone quickly? It seems impossible, but maybe when creativity is flowing at its own pace, when one's activities connect with a sense of place and the rhythm of time there, the passage of time isn't as conscious, as labored, as it seems in normal life. In light of that, who would want to return to normal life?

Despite being a photographer, I've spent much of this residency working with book projects. In the last couple of weeks, I've built on the first object I made here, which I posted images of earlier -- the book that was a house. I've now created a second one, tall and winding, twisting upward, toward some idea of home. It's made from pages from an old manual for building houses. Perfect.

I also created another book using plastic animals and pages from an old dictionary. I love the way the lion moves through the book (or the book moves through the lion), and the way the structure of the book allows the animal to double back on itself, to follow itself round in circles:

I've enjoyed transforming existing books into new objects, and approaching bookbinding more playfully, experimentally, and sculpturally. The time and space to explore new ways of making that differ from my usual processes has been valuable.

And now I pack up -- all this art and more (yes, there is more... too much to show in a blog post) -- and prepare to move onward. I'm tremendously grateful for the opportunity to be here, to have been here. Every once in a great long while, you find exactly what you need -- and the quiet time to work on art, to rethink my own creative process, and to spend time in nature has been exactly what I needed... and didn't know I needed until I was here.  I will try to take that peaceful immersion in creativity with me when I go, and to continue what has begun here, wherever I might find myself in the future. 

-- Ann Mansolino

www.annmansolino.com

Ice, snow, and tiny objects

Ann Mansolino

Concord, California

February- March 2015

Ice, snow, and tiny objects

It's snowing outside. I didn't think when I decided to come to the South in the winter that I would encounter, well, real winter. But here it is. We've had both ice and snow in the last week. Fortunately for me, I like winter. I've been living places that don't get weather, exactly, and the snow that's falling softly through the trees at dusk now reminds me of how much I've missed changing seasons, missed the way they remind us that we're tied into a cycle of life that's much older and larger than we are. I believe this awareness matters, believes it helps me keep my own life in perspective. I think this is important as an artist, as well as someone who wants to understand more of what it means to be human in the world.

And winter is also just beautiful. Tiny icicles everywhere. I loved how fragile everything looked when encased in ice.  I took pictures of the Rensing Center and surrounding area following the ice storm, and will share a few images:

But I have to admit that the weather has also affected what I make here, and can make -- in good and unexpected ways. For the sake of being able to work where it's warm, I've been limited this past week to the space of the kitchen table. I've made small, delicate things as a result. Perhaps not as delicate as those icicles, but still: here's one example of a small book I made -- only 1 1/2 inches high -- using basswood, a coptic binding, milk paint, and a small plastic animal toy that I cut in half and painted. I love the way the book functions like an extension of the body, the way the animal seems to be passing through it.

I have piles of cut and folded book sections on the kitchen table ready to go, ready to be sewn and assembled. I'll make more small things in warm spaces, while thinking about my relationship to the big spaces of the world outside as the snow continues to fall throughout the night.  

-- Ann Mansolino

www.annmansolino.com

Solitude and Little Houses

Ann Mansolino

Concord, California

February- March 2015

Solitude and Little Houses

I'm sitting in the Guest House at the Rensing Center, a tiny house perched at the top of a wooded slope, overlooking a small lake across the road. The wind is blowing through the trees, shaking loose the ice that coated the branches after yesterday's storm. The light is beautiful, and makes the ice glisten. I've got food cooking on the stove and art in progress on the table. It's peaceful, and I'm making art I've been wanting to make, working on projects I drew in my sketchbook months ago and hadn't been able to actually create until now.

But first there's the little house and the solitude that makes this all possible. To make art, I need peace and solitude. Deep down, I know that I know that, but I tend to forget and need to be reminded from time to time. And so, on the first night I was here, I was sitting at the table eating dinner and looking out the window, feeling something relax inside me that had been tense for a long time. And then I realized that it was the first time since I'd moved out of my apartment in Los Angeles in summer 2013 that I've had a living space entirely to myself -- not sharing kitchens or bathrooms or bedrooms or studios space or anything with anyone. Since leaving my teaching job a little over a year ago, I've been moving around, staying with friends, doing art residencies, volunteering at retreat centers... generally living with others, often in fairly communal environments. I've learned a lot and done a lot, but have largely been without the physical and emotional space I need to create effectively. I have found that here: in this little house, and in the nature that surrounds it. And for that, I am tremendously grateful. It is something I've needed very much and had lost sight of... and I believe this experience also helps me see the way forward in my own life to what I need, as a person and an artist, in the future.

 And so, when I spread out all the art supplies and photographs and ephemera that I brought with me out on the table to begin to create at the beginning of last week, I wasn't quite sure what I was going to make or what direction to go...

...but now a week and a half into the residency, I can see how the space and the peace I have found here have influenced my work so far.

I found that I was thinking about solitude, and about little houses, and about how peaceful and right they felt. I was also thinking about bookbinding... and so I made a book that was a small house (see below). I wasn't sure if it was possible when I started -- to make a book that's the shape of a house... and yet it works.  It's sewn on both sides, and does not open; it thus uses bookbinding techniques sculpturally, rather than functionally. I think of it as a treehouse, and know that it will serve as a reminder of the peace that's found here, in this little house among the trees when I leave. 

I also found that I wanted to make enclosures for some other recent images -- very minimal images of lines in nature in winter that I made just before arriving here. I thus made two clamshell boxes which hold the images like unbound books (or like a home for a pile of previously loose prints). 

I had been feeling like I have not made a lot (I have spent a lot of time walking around in the woods, after all), but when I stacked up what I've completed so far, I was happy -- with the individual objects, with the quality and quantity of what I've completed so far... and actually with how they look stacked vertically, too. So here's the first batch of works, all in a pile:

And then here are details of the individual pieces, below:

The first is "Treehouse", the sculptural book, made from paper, basswood, linen thread, twigs, and a coptic binding.

And this is one of the clamshell boxes when it's closed:

And here are the two of them open. I like that the book cloth is color coordinated with the prints themselves (toned or not toned). Lucky me for bringing the supplies I didn't know I needed until I was here... sometimes these things work out.

 -- Ann Mansolino

www.annmansolino.com