Textile Art Newsletter

2012, #1

True Love

When I'm working on a piece of art that I really love, I feel infatuated. I don't mean that I feel really happy about whatever I'm working on, I mean that it literally feels just the same as other kinds of infatuation. Like dating, when you think you may have met The One. Like when you gaze in amazement at your newborn's toenails and cannot stop boring your friends about how perfect they are. Infatuation describes how I feel about the art that I'm making right now.

In a previous newsletter, I wrote about my new exploration into the world of concrete sculpture. At that time, I had just finished making the armature for a sculpture of a mitten and I promised an update.

I applied concrete to the armature last summer and am in the process of gluing tiny mosaic tiles to the surface. In the photo to the left, you can see the original fur mitten next to the concrete sculpture. The process is taking much more time than I would have imagined and I have not yet finished applying the mosaic tiles. As I glue the tiles on, gravity pulls them out of place, so I have to lay the concrete piece flat and work on just a small section at a time.

I am also sewing some truly goofy-looking stripped leggings, made from tee shirts that I bought at a thrift store. The leggings will be the inspiration for another concrete/mosaic sculpture. I like the color combination, even if it is A LITTLE BIT LOUD.

A few years ago I wrote about a silk wall hanging that I made from pieces of junk silk. the picture that is below and to the right is of the armature that I made based on this wall hanging. I like the armature more than I like the silk piece, so we'll see how it turns out once I apply the concrete and the tiles.

I'm really experienced at working with fabric, have a little experience with tile, and am a complete novice at building armatures and working with concrete. Somehow the combination of know-how and lack thereof is making me just crazy-infatuated with what's going on downstairs in my studio.

If you'd like to send me a message about this newsletter or whatever else might be on your mind, click here for a feedback form.

©2012 Cheryl Gorn

2011, #3

Teaching Science and Heart

If you have a look at New York State’s Science Learning Standards and Core Curriculum (which I recommend as a sleep aid*) you’ll see a lot about testing theories, but not much about life lessons. That’s why I’ve been dazzled by the creative way that Mary McManus of Tamarac High School incorporates art, science and the concept of service. She not only goes way beyond what she is required to teach, she does it in a way that engages the students because it's fun. I am so pleased that I will be returning to Ms. McManus' classroom for the fifth year in a row to be a part of this extraordinary program.

Here is how it works—I talk to the students about toxins in conventional clothing manufacture and present some eco-friendly alternatives to help them reduce their carbon footprint. Then I teach the students some basic silk painting techniques and they create their own silk paintings. I’ve seen students paint everything from a beautifully rendered DNA double helix to exotic flowers and stylized wildlife.

I understand that the students look forward to painting with me, and it's fun for me to see their artwork develop. However, but what happens after I leave is most unusual. The student art is made into a quilt, an auction is held and the money is donated to charity.

Combining art with science is an innovative idea, but including service into the mix goes well beyond what is normally seen in the classroom. It's really something to see meaning and heart included in the avalanche of facts that students are required to learn.

*Catch some zzz's now at http://www.emsc.nysed.gov/ciai/mst/scirg.html.

If you'd like to send me a message about this newsletter or whatever else might be on your mind, click here for a feedback form.

©2011 Cheryl Gorn

2011, #2

Concrete Mitten

I've decided to give some of my textile art pieces an extended life by reinterpreting them as concrete and mosaic sculptures. Fabric is fragile. As much as I love working with it, I don't like the idea that my fabric pieces do not last. Mosaic and concrete, on the other hand, are almost indestructible. I'll continue to make textile art but will also make some of my designs into mosaic and concrete sculptures.

I've made a few mosaics, but concrete is completely foreign to me. My first attempt is a simple design, a single mitten, based on a pair that I made using the skins from an old mink stole and a leather jacket.

Using cardboard, chicken wire, a kind of mesh called hardware cloth, and some duct tape, I made an armature strong enough to support the wet concrete. The armature is larger than the actual mitten to accommodate the glass tiles that I will use for the surface design.

Since taking the two photos that you see here, I have begun to add layers of concrete to the armature. Once that's done, I will start applying the tiles. I am hopeful that this will turn out to be something other than a very heavy blob on my studio table, and will let you know, in a future newsletter, how it works out.

If you'd like to send me a message about this newsletter or whatever else might be on your mind, click here for a feedback form.

©2011 Cheryl Gorn

2011, #1

At Last, My Book is for Sale!

Buy it here.

I love clothing. I make it, think about it all the time and sometimes create art that's about how much I love it. Those of you who have been reading this newsletter for several years might remember that I also enjoy secondhand clothing stores and that I buy most of my clothing used.

As much as I appreciate secondhand clothes, I know that there is a stigma about buying and wearing garments that were once worn by somebody else. This continues to be true despite the current state of the economy, and the fact that used clothing is a far smarter choice environmentally. I believe that the stigma needs to be smashed, and I have done two things to reach this goal. In 2006 I created a yearly holiday called Secondhand Wardrobe Week. In 2012 it will take place February 26th through March 3rd. The other thing I've done is to write a book about how to find great used clothing. The book is called The Secondhand Wardrobe: Have Fun Finding Stylish, Earth-Friendly Used Clothing Deals and was published in January of this year. Because I'm a textile artist with 30+ years of secondhand shopping experience, I know how to tell great used clothing from what should be left on the rack. My book explains how to do just that.

You can read more about both my book and Secondhand Wardrobe Week at my other website.

If you'd like to send me a message about this newsletter or whatever else might be on your mind, click here for a feedback form.

©2011 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2010, #3

I'm Still Here

It isn't an accident that many schools refer to art as an “extra”. Anything that's an extra can be eliminated without it hurting too much, right? Actually, no, it can hurt quite a lot.

Sitting still and absorbing information through my ears is almost impossible for me, which is why I hated school. I am a tactile learner. When I make something with my hands, I learn quickly and remember the information forever. When I'm forced to sit and listen, I become so restless, itchy, and annoyed that I have to fight with myself just to stay in one place.

I can't go back and make my school years less miserable, but creating and teaching my programs is the next best thing. It feels like a kind of do-over. That's the reason why my commitment to arts in education is both very personal and very important to me.

Unfortunately, when cuts have to be made in this tough economy, art is one of the first things to go. I keep hearing from teachers and arts in education coordinators that they want to hire me but don't have the funds right now. It has gotten harder for me to stay in business, but I plan to do what I need to so that when the economy gets better, I will still be here.

I do have to admit that this is one of those times when I wonder what my life would have been like if I'd become a dentist. Dentists can earn a decent and reliable income. Even when times are tough, most people think of dental care as a necessity. It's too bad that we cannot say the same for the arts.

If you'd like to send me a message about this newsletter or whatever else might be on your mind, click here for a feedback form.

©2010 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2010, #2

Rescue from the Vortex

Horrible art, like the piece you see here, can be a great thing. That’s because a part of me, and I don’t mean the well-adjusted part, feels that each piece I make has to be magnificent. Since nobody, including people who are much more talented than me, makes only magnificent artwork, it’s pretty silly to expect myself to only produce masterpieces.

Unfortunately, it’s not only silly. Expecting myself to create only excellence makes it hard to make anything. Here is how it works:

1. I expect only masterpieces

2. I get scared that I’ll make something that isn’t a masterpiece.

3. In fact, it will be so much less than masterpiece quality that it will be embarrassing. I will be forced to recognize that I’ve grossly over-estimated my talent.

4. The next thing I know, I’m wandering in and out of my studio, feeling anxious and telling myself to start a new piece, unable to come up with fresh ideas. This can go on for a while. It’s like writer’s block, which I never get. I expect only adequacy from my writing, not brilliance, so there’s no pressure.

Horrible art comes in handy when I’m headed on this downward spiral. I purposely make one really terrible piece and then I start to feel better. That’s because I know that when I try, I’m capable of doing work that’s much better than a poorly painted duck head growing out of a bootie. Awful paintings like this one help me move past my fears. I can get back to work, forgetting about being the best in the universe and instead focusing on just doing my best.

If you'd like to send me a message about this newsletter or whatever else might be on your mind, click here for a feedback form.

©2010 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2010, #1

Remembering Soupy

I was in the second grade the day that I walked into the school auditorium, got behind a cardboard stage and performed a puppet show in front of the entire student body, the teachers and the parent teacher organization. I made the puppets and the stage myself and wrote most of the material. But some of it I stole from my idol, Soupy Sales, who had a very popular TV show for kids in the early 1960’s. Viewing clips of his comedy today still makes me laugh. Soupy died October 22, 2009. He was 83 years old.

On his show, Soupy threw pies in people’s faces and was regularly visited by crazy neighbors and loud, demanding animal puppets. He offered words of wisdom to his audience, such as these gems that I found on the back of my old Soupy Sales trading cards: “Don’t tell anybody that you have false teeth—unless it comes out in conversation” and “When things look black—send them to the laundry.”

A few months ago I wrote a newsletter about how shy I was as a kid (see below, 2009, #3). I was quiet in class and unfamiliar adults terrified me. But that day in the second grade, art pushed me to transform myself from a shy little girl into the child who stood in front of an audience and made them laugh. My art, in the form of puppets, script and hand painted stage, was rudimentary and some of it was stolen from Soupy, but my enthusiasm for it was boundless.

I remember Soupy as the comedic innovator who provided the silliness that I needed after many long days at school. And although he didn’t know it, he was also someone who inspired me to reach.

©2010 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2009, #4

Teachers, I Salute You!

My friend Bonita, who has been a teacher for 25 years, was at lunch one day with another friend of hers who expressed the uninformed opinion that teaching is not only an easy job, but also that teachers are overpaid. I’m not sure how Bonita managed to get through the meal without choking, but I was choking mad when she told me about it.

My work as a visiting artist has been an education in just how difficult the job of classroom teaching can be. There are the combined, and often contradictory, pressures from both administrators and parents. And, of course, the often too-large classes include kids who lack basic impulse control and simple manners, hungry kids and some who are being treated very badly at home.

Aside from being such a difficult job, it also requires a master's degree in Education while paying so little.

I do know that the benefit packages for teachers—health plans, pensions and such—tend to be good. It’s also true that the time off is terrific compared to most other fields. And everybody has experienced at least one terrible teacher who shouldn’t be in the classroom. They don’t especially like children, don’t care what the kids learn and are just putting in their time before they retire. But there are also teachers who spend the last few weeks of their summer vacation running from one office supply store to the next, spending their own money to grab up cheap pencils, paper, and folders for students whose families can't afford them. These are the educators who can’t bear to teach the same lessons in the same way over and over because they know that improvements are always possible, so they spend their evenings and weekends reworking lesson plans to make sure that the kids will enjoy learning. These teachers need the vacations because the job is so labor intensive and emotionally draining.

I thank all of the wonderful, dedicated teachers (and of course that includes all of you who are reading this) for doing your best to educate the next generation of Americans. And I also wanted to let Bonita know that she should tell her friend to put a sock in it.

©2009 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2009, #3

My Bony Legs were Showing

“Want to go hide in the closet?”

You bet I did! Meeting new people was painful for me because of my shyness.

I was 10 years old, and my parents had decided that my two older brothers and I were outgrowing our house. They were right—with five people in our family, we were constantly tripping over each other on our way to the one bathroom. So the house went up for sale and a steady stream of strangers kept showing up at the door.

One afternoon, while deeply involved with my friend Sylvia in a make-believe drama that included troll dolls and miniature clay food items, I heard the doorbell ring. My friend was aware that my parents were trying to sell our house and she had already met the realtor as well as several potential buyers. Sylvia hated meeting new people almost as much as I did, and she was the one who suggested hiding in the closet. We shut the door and felt pretty satisfied with ourselves. That is, until we heard the realtor, who was now in an adjoining room, opening a closet door in order to show off the storage space. We knew that we were seconds from discovery, so my friend wisely strolled out, said hello and locked herself in the bathroom. Too scared to think quickly, I stayed where I was and hoped that they wouldn’t notice me hiding behind the hanging clothes. I didn’t realize that my bony legs were showing.

There was a long pause after the realtor opened my closet door, and then he said, “Hmm…I didn’t know they made clothing with legs.” I felt so humiliated when everybody laughed.

I’m not quite as shy as I was back then. I have learned that the more I talk to new people, the less frightening it is. At parties I look for people who seem ill at ease about being by themselves and push myself to initiate conversations with them. As I’ve slid into middle age, I’ve also learned to pay less attention to how I feel minute-by-minute. Shy right now? Wait an hour or so and another feeling will take its place.

But some days I still feel like a scared 10-year-old. A few years ago I went to a dinner meeting of a professional organization that sounded like it might be a good group for met to join. I drove to the meeting place, paid $25.00 for the rubber chicken and walked into the dining hall where at least 300 people were all happily gabbing away. After holding onto my glass of seltzer for ten minutes, trying to feign extreme interest in the bubbles, I strolled over to the coat room and considered grabbing mine and leaving. Nobody would know or care; there was only $25.00 to lose. Well, that and any respect that I had for myself. I went back into the hall and sat at one of the empty dinner tables. When people finally took their seats, I spoke with the people to my right, my left and the folks across the table. At some point, somebody admired my guts for coming to the event by myself. Hey, I admired my own guts for being there alone.

So now you not only know my secret, you know how I’ve coped. Perhaps you’ll run into me at a party some day and see me smiling and chatting away. You won’t be fooled because you’ll know that I’m still the little girl who sometimes wants to go hide in the closet, bony legs and all.

©2009 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2009, #2

Get out the Arsenic

My husband and I have religiously put money away for college for our two kids. We started when they were babies and in recent years, our children have also contributed a percentage of their earnings from their part-time jobs.

It’s too bad that the cost of going to college has increased at such a shameful rate while we’ve been putting money away. Our stockpile of college savings is now actually an anthill compared to the Mount Everest that our children need to get themselves through four or six years of college. Necessity has forced me to create a new plan. It’s so simple that I’m surprised that the college catalogues don’t suggest it. Here it is—my husband and I will sell all of our possessions including our home. For our kids, and of course, their colleges, to get the full benefit of our finances, my husband and I will also have to eliminate any need that we might have now or in the future. We’ll do that by eating enough arsenic to kill ourselves. That’s right, you read it here first; it’s the ultimate parental sacrifice. The kids might miss us, and we’ll miss out on grandkids and anything else that the future might hold, but at least the colleges will be happy, and what else matters?

Disclaimer: This is supposed to be a humorous entry. I do not intend to eat arsenic, nor does my husband. Nobody should eat arsenic. Instead they should stay well and explain to the financial aid people at the colleges of their choice that the tuition and fees are ridiculous. They should then demand more support for students and families.

©2009 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2009, #1

Junk Art

A month ago I decided to clean my art studio, which often means weeding through piles of fabrics. This time I decided to dispose of whatever was lurking in the large plastic bin that I’d marked “silk scraps”. The contents turned out to be a personal history of my life as a silk painter. There were scraps from my first silk painting attempts, 18 years ago; many squares of fabric that I had used to demonstrate silk painting techniques for my workshops over the years; bits of accessories and Judaica that I made during my unfortunate time as a crafter (see below, Textile Art Newsletter 2008, #4) and lots of first drafts of paintings. I threw out some of it immediately, and used some to make the piece that you see here.

This piece was great fun to make, partly because I violated almost every rule and every habit that I stick to when making art. I usually start by sketching out an idea for a design and either paint the design on silk or make it into a sculptural piece by building it out of fabric. But for this piece of junk art, instead of working from a sketch, I rummaged through the pile of silk scraps, chose a few pieces, cut them up and combined them into a pleasing mix of color and shape. Then I stuck them in place using liquid starch as a temporary adhesive and quilted it all together. I generally don't use starch with silk because it will eventually make the fabric deteriorate. Because I was once a museum curator I feel compelled to make art that will hold up well over time. But I figured, hey, this is made from junk! Why not just enjoy and not worry about what will happen to it at some point in the future?

In fact, it’s been so enjoyable that I finished one more junk piece after the one you see here, and have started on another. I think that says a lot about the value of sometimes just allowing art to happen instead of working so hard to make it just right.

Whatever fabric project I’m working on, whether it’s junk art or my usual, more deliberate style, there’s nothing else that feels so much like play as messing around with fabric. Unfortunately, while there was once a bin that contained all of my silk scraps, there is now a mountain of scrap that’s on my ironing table, some of which is falling onto the floor and getting tracked into other rooms. My studio is much more of a mess than when I started trying to clean it. But then again, nobody ever said that making art was tidy.

©2009 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2008, #5

Is it art? Is it craft? Here's my opinion.

I went with my family to a modern art museum recently. One of the rooms had nothing but canvasses that were painted entirely black. My husband asked me how a completely black canvas could be considered art. My answer was and still is that I don’t know.

I believe that art requires three things from the artist—innate talent, an effort at honing that talent and creativity. For me, two of those parts, talent and effort, were missing in the creation of the black canvases. It annoys me when museums and art galleries claim that pieces lacking these two elements have great artistic significance because I don’t define them as art.

On the other hand, I get frustrated when I see pieces that demonstrate enormous talent and effort but that lack a creative spark. Frustrated because I can’t call those pieces art either.

Last summer when we were on vacation, we stopped at a quilt shop in a tiny beach town in Oregon. A customer came in to show the storeowners some finished quilt squares. I’m so glad that I was there to look at her work because it was among the finest I’ve ever seen—and since I’m a former museum curator, I’ve seen plenty. She expected that it would take her another ten years or so to finish the quilt. I was in awe.

It was a real let down for me when she mentioned that she was using a design from a book instead of her own. Even with all of her hard work and skill, because the quilt lacks her creative input, I would call it unbelievably superb craftsmanship, but not art.

I still love going to modern art museums even though they sometimes contain work that looks like a toddler spent a few minutes making it. That’s because sometimes I also get to see wonders of creativity, skill and hard work, all rolled into one piece. When I do, it makes it worth putting up with the rest.

©2008 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2008, #4

These might look like brightly colored boomerangs, but they are actually hand painted silk shawl collars.

I periodically get asked if I sell my artwork, and the answer is that at the moment I’m happy to make pieces, rotate them in my home, and occasionally get them out for a special exhibit. But there was a time when I actively made fine craft to sell.

It was 1990 when I first asked myself how I could combine textile art with making money. “Hey, I make stuff and I like going to fine craft fairs. Maybe I could sell what I make at those sorts of places.” I’m not sure of why this made sense to me at the time because I hate selling, even though the selling gene shows up on both sides of my family. My dad and my mom’s brother, Uncle Victor, absolutely relished selling thousands of that 1970’s men’s fashion called the leisure suit. In case you weren’t around then, these suits were made of crunchy, texturized polyester and came in sorbet colors like mint and cantaloupe. My relatives were especially delighted when customers bought two of the same style in different colors.

Even if I had enjoyed the selling process, I couldn’t have lasted long in the fine craft business. One reason is that I like making one-of-a-kind pieces, but for the shows I had to make endless multiples. Also, many of the shows that I attended were organized in ways that made selling nearly impossible. My rock bottom worst fair placed me next to the food court, which people had to walk through in order to enter the show. Customers were either eating fried dough while they handled my silks, or standing in front of my booth, having screaming conversations with their friends because the music in the hall was turned on so loud.

After my largely unpleasant experiences with the craft world, I started looking into creating my educational programs. As they say, you’ve got to kiss a few frogs before you find your prince, and while the craft fairs were definitely frog-like for me, the teaching is absolutely regal. Perhaps at some point I’ll want to push to get my art out there, but I guarantee that you’ll never catch me doing it behind a table at a craft show.

©2008 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2008, #3

I bought these Salvatore Ferragamo boots at a consignment store. The original retail price was $1000.00. My price was $25.00.

It’s not at all unusual for those of us who love fabric and clothing to also love secondhand clothing stores. Since we already know what wonderful clothes look like, it’s easy for us to pick them out even when they’re crammed on racks with other, far less wonderful items. For me, the fun of shopping secondhand has a lot to do with the teeny, tiny prices. The icing on the cake is that clothing reuse is a good thing for the environment. Every time a new garment is made, resources are used and pollutants are emitted. When you buy used clothing, you’re not adding to this problem.

Even though I’ve been shopping the thrifts for 30 years, until pretty recently only my closest friends knew. Then one day I gave a speech on the topic to my speakers group, Toastmasters, thinking that it might amuse people in a quirky kind of way. A fellow group member, Glenn Harrison, told me that other people could benefit from knowing what I know, and he kept hounding me to start writing about it until I gave in.

A few months ago I started a blog about secondhand clothing and am building a website around the blog that will have information about the financial, ecological and style benefits of buying used. I also have written a guidebook that tells how to create a wardrobe from thrift store finds, which I will sell as an e-book.

My blog is located at www.secondhandwardrobe.com. Have a look and leave me a comment. See you there!

©2008 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2008, #2

"Too Much Alone Time", Silk Painting, Copyright Cheryl Gorn, 2008, 21" x 22"

I’ll be hanging around with my daughter when she’ll suddenly pop out with, “Oooh, I love the shape of her nostrils.” She constantly draws faces so she notices these things.

Before becoming her mother, I didn’t particularly notice facial features. But to make the piece pictured in the photo, I had to spend a huge amount of time looking at myself in the mirror so I’d get it right.

For other pieces of art, I’ve spent hours looking at floorboards and the parts of a salad, but when I made a soft sculpture piece that included an ice cream cone, I had to take a picture of it because it would have melted before I’d gotten enough information. Of course I ate it once I’d captured the image.

I think that art is one way to practice getting better at focusing on details. I notice facial features more than I used to but I've got to admit that nostril shapes still don’t fascinate me.

©2008 Cheryl Gorn

Textile Art Newsletter

2008, #1

The Certainty of Right and Wrong

This morning, a driver in a huge pick-up truck ignored the stop sign that’s at the intersection in front of my home. This happens all the time, which is why I pull out of my driveway at about 3 miles per hour, with my foot hovering over the brake. This morning my first reaction to their bad driving was to silently curse them and their immediate relatives. My second reaction was to try to be more understanding, wondering if perhaps they were distracted by something in their lives, were just plain tired, or maybe didn’t take the time to eat and had low blood sugar. I go through this all day long, trying to remember that mine isn’t the only perspective, to remember that life isn’t all black and white, it’s more shades of gray.

It can get really tiring trying to put myself in other peoples shoes this way, and that’s why I loved creating my website. Let me explain. To format the site, I used HTML code, a kind of computer language. For example, I wanted the name of my business in pretty letters at the top of the web pages, so I typed in the letters, numbers and symbols that tell the computer, “Now, listen up computer, I want you to put the name of my business in pretty letters at the top of each page." At first the computer left the space at the top of the pages blank. Oops! That meant I'd made a mistake when I entered the code. So I corrected my error and then it worked. Simple and fantastic! No energy spent wondering whether the computer had low blood sugar, just a matter of making sure that I fixed my mistakes.

I’m not implying that building the site wasn’t frustrating—since I’d never written code before, I made tons of mistakes, it took much longer than I thought it would, and I often wanted to hurl the computer out the window (not very effective since our home is one level). But there is something wonderful about the certainty of right and wrong.

In general, I prefer shades of gray because that’s where the fun is. But it’s reassuring to know that when I get tired of trying to fathom why other drivers don’t bother to stop at stop signs, I can always go write some code.

©2008 Cheryl Gorn