Your Heart Unfolding into Mine...

Final image - "The gentle unfolding of your heart into mine..."

Heart to Heart, Hand to Hand

Happy holidays and lots of love to all. My latest embroidery about love and the interweaving of two people is below.

"Heart to Heart, Hand to Hand."
Embroidery on fabric, 2012. 7.75" x 3.25".

Butter

"Butter." 2012. Embroidery on antique, stained fabric.

Peter Pan

While I feel this requires no explanation, I will admit that I recently went on a date with someone 10 years younger than me. In the past, I would never have entertained this idea, but he was polite and straightforward, and enthusiastic, qualities I like, which are often lacking in men in a more appropriate age bracket. While sparks didn't fly, (I just couldn't get over the experiential difference as a result of our age gap) I enjoyed talking to him.


I made this piece to remind myself of a few things: sometimes men who are "perfect" on paper (live in a convenient and desirable location, have a similar education level, are an appropriate age, personable, funny and smart), are not mature when it comes to their relationships with women. In the past I had a hard time accepting this. I simply couldn't believe that any adult could willingly refuse to accept adult responsibilities, particularly in a romantic context. If you had a choice to nurture a loving relationship with someone you clearly liked, why wouldn't you pursue it?


Now, after having lived through some romantic disappointments, I am well aware that we don't know anyone until we're actually involved with them. Often, our fantasies don't pan out as "planned." Best to not "plan" anything and keep an open mind.

As relationships shift and grow...

I'm starting something that will grow and deepen over time.

Your Place

"I carry you with me everywhere.

You will always have a place inside me."

"I think I'm here to stay," he says.

"You camped out in my head for months. You'd start to leave, and something would tug you in."

'It looks like I'm here to stay.'

"Even now, I find myself talking to you on good and bad days as if you are standing beside me."

For that person you just can't get out of your head. Mine is like an imaginary companion, filling in the gaps where the concrete relationship left off.

Viva Iviva

My talk at the Center for Book Arts last week was wonderful. I felt part of a community of engaging, thoughtful, intelligent, accomplished artists, and am grateful to have been a part of it.

A conversation I had with one of the artists, Tamar Stone, has inspired the piece above left. Tamar makes miniature beds as books—the linens have embroidered text, often taken from historical documents about the domestic lives of women. After the formal presentation, she told me that when she and her husband got together, everything became easier. This idea has really stuck with me. In most of my romantic exchanges, I have felt as if I were doing most of the work, waiting for my efforts to be returned. As it says in the piece above, "I am tired of running uphill to meet you." Let's walk up together instead.

Piece above: Meet Me at the Hill, and We'll Walk Up Together. 2009. Embroidery on fabric. 

And the scraps keep coming

"I poured everything I had into you, and you were still empty." 2009. Embroidery on interconnected scraps of antique lace.

Sitting in Battery Park today with my brother, we listened to the River-to-River concert featuring Jenny Lewis, one of my favorite musicians. It was a beautiful day after weeks and months of rain. 

I brought along my art kit—needles, threads, and the piece of antique lace that I am now cutting into small scraps. It was the perfect setting to get some work done.

This piece is about the frustration I feel when my faith in someone I love dissolves. There is the loss of a relationship, and also the loss of belief in the other person, which can be equally painful and disappointing. In this case, it's not particularly that the person was empty, but that the love I wanted was unattainable. The relationship did not meet my needs, and I began to feel empty. 

But there is a night ahead of me in which anything can happen.

Happy July 4th to everyone!

You're my main meal

"I want you to be my main meal. Not just a side dish. Not even dessert.

Many people dream of getting married. I dream about running. Will you be my one and only pair of sneakers?"

Hand stitched on antique lace (see Antique fabric and what I'm dreaming of post).

Synapse

I love the word synapse. When I was in my early 20s, I had just started dating a man 9 years older than me whom I'd met when we shared an office at a non-profit. I found my job tedious, but looked forward to seeing him every day. 

Shortly after he and I started dating, he went on an annual beach vacation with his family. Alone again in New York City, I missed him, and, of course, wondered if he had been thinking about me. 

My most salient memory of that week was going to the Whitney Museum to see Robert Rauschenberg's "Synapsis Shuffle," a piece composed of numerous panels that were to be rearranged or shuffled upon each new installation by a different person or group. For some reason, I found it interesting that Martha Stewart was one of the participants in the Whitney Museum installation.

In any event, I have always loved the sound of the word synapse, which means a small gap where neurotransmitters travel. I like to think of a synapse as a space in a relationship where emotions and information are conveyed, shared, and exchanged. 

In the piece above, I removed some of the warp (vertical) and weft (horizontal) threads to encourage the fabric to fray, and to create larger "synapses."

Piece above: "Synapse." 2009. Embroidery on distressed linen. 4" X 3.5".

"I want to slip into the synapse of your loosely woven threads."

Mine Again

"He didn't like sweatpants, or my green, fleece bathrobe. I got rid of the sweatpants, and kept the bathrobe.

He liked to make fun of a pair of high-waisted, "grandma" underwear. When he left, I embroidered curlicues on my underwear, and strode around the apartment in it.

I had to learn to make everything that had been ours mine again."

Piece at left - "Mine Again." 2009. Embroidery on fabric. 6" X 10".

Sneak Peak

As I mentioned in my last post, this weekend is the culmination of NY's Affordable Art Fair 2009. I volunteered to sit with my gallerist, Muriel Guepin of Shop Art Gallery yesterday. I felt a bit of the magic as I watched some wonderful pieces find homes. I also met two of my own patrons, and got tons of feedback.

I don't know if you've had this experience, but it can be awkward to pose as a gallery assistant while people casually talk about your work, not knowing you're the artist. I was impressed that people spent time reading every word I had stitched, laughed out loud at a lot of my less flattering dating moments, and brought their friends to see my work. 

I tried to find ways to interject myself in conversations without being overbearing or feeling shy. It wasn't easy. In talking about my work, I generated so many new ideas. Thank you art fair visitors! 

Seeing my work sell, and getting reports from Muriel about sales, has made me both ecstatic and sad. I will go so far as to say I feel betrayed by my own artwork. I started the hand stitched portion of "Were I So Besotted" because I was heartbroken. I have continued to stitch stories about men I have been involved with, all the while hoping one would materialize who would be a loving and reasonable partner. Seeing people identify with my work enough to take it home is wonderful. But I am reminded that my search for an emotional home in another person is not resolved. Each stitch I make is a form of wounding and healing fabric, just like dating and starting over.

The image above is the start of a new piece. "He Left Me Because of My Underwear," (or something like that).  

Maudlin or Meaningful?

My fear is that there is a maudlin quality to my work, and that by sharing my personal experiences, anecdotes, and feelings, it's as if my audience has walked in on me in the bathroom. I have tried to mediate the confessional nature of my work by creating fictional characters and sharing viewpoints/voices other than my own. Yet I still wonder: is my work slight because it is about the human need for lasting connection rather than a cry against the social/political ills of our time?

My work itself seeks connection. As I work on a piece about a specific person, I often think, "I feel as though I am stitching us together." Each time my needle enters the fabric, I am creating an opening to fill with thread. And if I create an opening within myself, I leave open the opportunity of allowing someone to enter.

Image at top: "Stitched Together." 2009. Embroidery and applique on fabric. See my web site for more info.

Unanswered

Should I call again? What if he didn't get the first message? Does technology fail to connect us, or do we, as humans, sometimes fail to make an impression? What do you do when someone says no, or fails to respond to your advances?

I have heard some argue that to "succeed" in dating, you have to be able to withstand multiple rejections. This is not so different from selling a product, making it into grad school, or making it in the art world. I know I have submitted artwork multiple times to the same institution, hoping that this time around we will be a better match. Is it okay to approach the same love-interest more than once, even if he or she says no or is non-committal the first time? How many times is too many to express interest in the same person before he/she says yes?

Piece above: "And wanted you to know..." Embroidery on fabric. 4.5" X 3.5". 2007. Excerpt from unanswered love letter. See IvivaEmbroiders.etsy.com for more info.

The text says: "and wanted you to know that I found you sweet and warm and playful and unpretentious. I enjoyed talking to you about art, and felt comfortable with you, moreso than I have with anyone in a while. I was actually surprised by my sense of ease with you and am still" 

Ambiguity: when you are sick of "maybe"

In my last post, I included an image of "Always I return to you." There are two streams of thought in this piece. The first, "hold onto me or let me go; darling hold onto me," is embedded in my hair. The second appears alongside my sneakers: "Loving you is like running uphill..."

In the first bit of text, I am asking for some certainty. In the second, I am claiming that I love even though it is difficult and uncertain.

This piece is about ambiguity. At what point does ambiguity overpower your enjoyment of another person? Do you ever get fed up and decide you need to "know where you stand" or you will move on? How long will you wait for someone to make up his/her mind?

Ambiguity is a necessary part of forming bonds. There are subtle shifts in all relationships, whether they are friendships, or relationships with coworkers or family members. Even in the most committed romantic relationships, there may be times when one person gives more than another. For any relationship to last, there needs to be a balance in the work and the care. In these times of extreme economic uncertainty and job insecurity, is ambiguity in our personal relationships too much to bear? Is a lack of clarity with a lover a reflection of a stormy economy?

Always I return to you.

Piece at left:
"Always I return to you." 2009. 4.75" wide X 8.5" high. Embroidery on fabric.

"Loving you is like running uphill—there is construction on the side of the road, the streets are out of order, yet I move forward. Always I return to you."

In my hair, I say "hold onto me or let me go. Darling, hold onto me."

Please see the previous post, April 15, "Generation 'Maybe, I don't know.' Hold Onto Me Tightly, or Let Me Go (piece in progress).

In finishing this piece, I realize it is a love poem for running, and also for someone I'm close to right now.

I want you. I don't want you. Now that you're here, what do I do?

The start of a relationship can feel like a dance. There are steps forward and steps back; letting the person in while protecting yourself from caring too much, being too vulnerable, wanting or expecting. This dance is like a waiting period, an extended interview, a pause before we get to the really good part.

What happens when we can't seem to move beyond the step forward-step back dance? When and how do we decide to move on? Why is it that some relationships move beyond this point while others fail?

In my experience, the unrealized love can be the most painful. You start to get close to someone, things seem to be developing, and that wonderful person you've been sharing with pulls away. Did he hit the panic button? Did I want too much? Or did his ex-girlfriend come back into town and send him on a destructive spiral?

It's painful when your pursuer pulls away when he/she realizes you intend to stick around and see things through. And it's sick when someone denies a romantic and intimate connection exists because now that he or she has got you, he/she just doesn't know what to do.

Piece above: Please Put it Away. completed April 7, 2009. See www.IvivaEmbroiders.etsy.com

Yes, No, Yes, No, Yes, No. The possibilities are endless

In this age of Facebook and internet dating, where the opportunities for meeting people seem endless, how do we select potential dates and partners?

As a formerly avid internet dater, I found myself overwhelmed by the number of profiles I viewed and emails I received. How did I choose from among many men? Once I began email exchanges, how did I decide whom to meet face-to-face?

Perhaps even more interesting is the question of when to take a leap towards intimacy: when does one have a first kiss or spend the night with someone new? How do we navigate sexual decision-making in an age when the boyfriend-girlfriend paradigm is passé, and access to potential sexual partners has hypertrophied?

The rapidity of communication via internet dating sites seems to encourage and coincide with premature coupling. After sharing a handful of coy emails and a couple of coffee dates, I found myself compelled to feel as if I knew someone enough to go home with him. Of course, this timeline is completely out of sync with the attention and care it takes to develop a real sense of another person.

It was all too easy to become swept up in the pace and culture of the medium of internet dating. I believe I was seduced by the promise of intimacy and partnership via the internet rather than by any of the men I met. This sense of promise prompted my premature forays into intimacy, and my ultimate sense of disappointment when the men, who were, of course, strangers, did not meet my expectations.

The piece above, "Chastity bracelet," says "go home alone. wait another date." (See my Etsy shop for more information: http://www.IvivaEmbroiders.etsy.com.)