a ten-minute break

Our CTS Co-op is located in the notable 401 Richmond, a historic building in downtown Toronto. Last week, while at the studio, Rachel and I were ruminating on the architectural beauty of the locale and how fortunate we all are for being able to come to work to such a charming setting.

This week, the building revealed one more of its amazing wonders, as it houses various conceptually charged galleries and one exceptional shop. It must have been Tuesday or Thursday, that on my way out the back door of the building, I was completely floored by the view presented by our neighbours at Open Studio.

 

The most intriguing shape currently greets the visitor, of course there was no hesitation in entering the gallery. Considering all the work we tend to be consumed by everyday, a respite is always welcomed, and this short period of contemplation was provided by artist Andrée-Anne Dupuis-Bourret, with her piece La débâcle 2.

It was incredibly easy to get lost in the minutia of the oeuvre, composed of 5,000 pieces of screenprinted paper, each folded as a "fortune catcher" (more information is available at the OS website under current exhibitions). Suffice to say, I am a great admirer of pieces that are created by multiples, because that is how I work, regardless if it is an industry or fine art project.

The details, the gradations, the impact of the structure itself, became immediately engaging. Many questions emerged, which remain mostly unanswered, making the experience an even more gripping one. The materials are what they are. The structure is what it should be, how can it be anything else? The conception and execution, impeccable and alluring. The perfect pause to a busy, busy day.

the serendipity of pears

One of the most challenging tasks all independent designers face is self assessment. Editing our work is a humbling, yet absolutely necessary exercise which usually unearths a clear path to follow.  Whenever I happen to be in "evaluation" mode, I tend to ask the most outrageous questions to what seems to be a great, big void. What interests me the most in these situations, is the fact  that if I am attentive and vigilant enough, the big, great void will provide some very solid answers, through the most serendipitous events.

This morning the answer to what seems to be a monumental question (it is not) came in an impossible-to-miss deluge of signs (for lack of a better word). I have to thank my dear friend and colleague S for opening the flood gates, which eventually pointed to a very well-defined route.
It seems excessively paltry, considering the significant urgency of many current world events, yet the biggest issue today is if indeed the designs on the tea towels are the "right" ones. In sharing this with S, she gave me the most sensible advise, helping me elaborate a game plan that called for the possible abandonment of one design (it already lives in the box marked as lost, never to be found), and the absolute inclusion of another, the latter one being one with "pears". 

First sign: Confirmation of this decision came in the form of the most intriguing description of a pear in Yan Martel's book "Beatrice and Virgil", which S happened to just start this morning on her train commute. She shared her copy with me so that I could skim through the "pear" pages, which led me to decide to get the book immediately.

Second sign: With a skip in my step that was definitely not there this morning, I resolutely marched to the bookstore while considering the strategy to redesign and print the pears. On arrival, the book I found looked nothing like the one S had shared with me (click on the link set on the title above, to see the original hard cover). When I saw it, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Now THIS is a sign!

Third sign: Thursdays is the day I usually get some baked goods for the weekend from our neighbourhood bakery. In looking at the display, I decided on a favourite of ours, apple-cranberry crumble pie. I was told, that today these pies had an extra ingredient... Pears!

I absolutely love pears, my favourite: D'Anjou. They have an inherent sophistication in their very particular aesthetic and flavour. I've done so many pear studies throughout the years, these are the latest.

Wrapping things up, here is the [happy] song of the day, America from their debut album "View from the Ground", 1982. It's been playing in my head since I left the bakery. I'm sure that if I watch the video close enough, a pear will make its appearance, somehow.

work inspired

An excellent day at the studio, focused, productive, truly phenomenal. All verbosity was left on the printing table, it will suffice to say that the "absolute" blue was mixed, and the formula is now nonpareil (such a delicious word). It is named in honour of F: azul Denis, since he so brilliantly described it.

Tea towels: Two designs down, one more to go. Colourways in the horizon.

three colour palettes, one big failure

Back to colour studies. Some people knit, other people solve crossword puzzles, I "find" colour palettes. Certainly one of my favourite activities.
In prepping for tomorrow's class, I put together three electronic examples of colour palettes (we will be working with paper images and paint chips as well), which became a thematic trio. One of them, I'm sorry to say, didn't work at all, I was surprised to find out how much I'm actually hating it. It happens, and that is why being prolific makes the editing process less stressful. It will most definitely be booted out, yet it presents an excellent classroom opportunity, after all, we tend to learn more from our failures.

This first photo was taken in our Toronto backyard early this spring. We had an  overabundance of dandelions, which personally, I didn't mind at all. I love dandelions. I find their insurgent nature very compelling, and their orbs beautiful, representing nature's intelligence rather handsomely. F and our neighbours beg to differ, but that is a very different story.

The second shot was taken in San Miguel de Allende, México, in early 2009, and frankly, it is by far my favourite palette of the three. I can hardly wait to put it to good use.

This third and last picture was taken in Venice, in a piazzetta very close to the Fortuny museum, in 2008. I loved the quiet sophistication of the flowers hanging from the window, yet, when dissecting the colours, that "orangy brown" is driving me crazy. Like a bad 80's movie, like a bad 80's sofa (it is my very personal opinion that in matters of colour and style the 80's were an unfortunate decade). This is an excellent example of how the palette, when removed from its original context, just doesn't "flow". There is no use forcing the note. The solution: Discard and move on to other successful colour studies. Or just remove the colours that are not working, ending up with a completely different, yet functional palette.

dancing in september

This morning, while listening to Day 6 on CBC, one of the segments contrasted the  current U.S. election to the previous one 4 years ago, distinctively calling both campaigns (Romney's and Obama's) joyless. In other words, uninspired. I've been pondering on this issue all day today, the magnitude of the term joyless deeply resonating. It is not my intention to judge anybody, and most certainly, I understand that a happy-go-lucky attitude every single minute of our life is definitely not intrinsic to what is considered "normal" human behaviour. However, the vocable joyless reverberates with an immense lack of passion, a disinterest, a disillusion of "the craft". It's tragic.

Passion for our craft, regardless if it is politics, engineering or shoe design is, in my opinion, what propels vocations towards inspired, successful careers. In my experience, the best lessons for this "can do" attitude come from my  undergrad years. Privileged  with a Bauhaus-based program, we were expected to achieve the most with the least, and use both research and all personal experiences (the good, the bad, the necessary) to catapult our artwork, to push it to the next level, founding our design ethos on versatility, originality, functionality and (here's that word again) passion for the craft. In my opinion, this passion comes from experiencing the everyday, from our loved ones,  from our surroundings, from our likes and even our dislikes... from September.

Do you recognise the post's title as a line from the song "September" (released in 1978!) by Earth, Wind & Fire? Perhaps you have no idea of what I'm talking about. Not to worry, what matters is that we are a bit over a week into September, and I'm just catching up to getting the celebration started, because, simply put, September makes me ridiculously happy. Here are four very good reasons as to why that is:

• One: It brings back sanity and the quotidian that inadvertently went missing during the summer (click here to listen to the most eloquent rendition to September by Tanya Davis, gifted poet).
• Two: My dear friend D, weaver extraordinaire, and yours truly celebrate our birthdays during these days.
• Three: F and I will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary in a couple of weeks.
• Four: Mexico, the motherland, celebrates its independence on the 16th, but the party starts at 11:00 p.m. on the 15th (click here to see the bicentennial celebration in 2010, minute 3:04 is where ceremony begins).

A blissful heart nourishes the body, the mind and the soul. Adversity tends to do that, too—the ying, the yang. Here's an excellent example of what passion for the craft looks like, all kitsch and lsd-esque glory included. We are dancing in September.

work in progress: sample printing

"Go to your studio and make stuff".

                                        --Fred Babb

The quandary seems to be, when we operate within the stint of the everyday--in Spanish, "la vida cotidiana"--how to make the most out of the time we devote to studio work. As of late, the personal strategy has been to spend a considerable amount of time, while not at the studio, pondering on the most suitable strategy to resolve any project issues while at the studio. Also, dedicating time to the details, insignificant as they may be, has been most helpful as well.
In a print studio, these details may very well take the form of printed samples, which will most definitely throw light on the  design itself (is the scale the correct one, is it balanced, does it translate well on fabric), the flawlessness of the stencil (on the screen), substrate behaviour, and most certainly, colour fastness through washing and drying, the ultimate tests.

Getting into the minutiae:

• Pre-wash fabric, using specialized detergents like synthrapol or TNA, or regular household detergents (preferably unscented).
• Correct measuring, so the print will fit without issues in the selected areas, regardless if it is going to be printed in "repeat" or not. 
• On-grain pinning, meaning the lengthwise grain (warp threads, selvage) is perpendicular to the cross grain (weft threads). This step will ensure the images will not be distorted when the cloth is off the table. The experiential preference is to use the smallest stainless steel t-pins, and after pinning, cover them with packing tape, to protect the screen.
• Remove unwanted debris on the cloth, with the aid of a lint remover.
• Most times I will mark the packing tape with a permanent marker to create registration marks, which will allow for the screen to be positioned accurately before every print--this is a most important step if the intention is to print in repeat.
• After printing, the pins are removed, but the material is left to fully dry on the table. 
• Heat-set following manufacturer's instructions, I usually do so by throwing the fabric in the dryer on high for 90 minutes. This allows to set a vast quantity of fabric at a time, while being able to focus on other tasks.

The printed samples are ready to be stitched and put to harsh testing in the kitchen. Once all issues are resolved, the printing of the products goes rather fast and uneventfully, as most problems have been cleared up.