Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing
It finds an echo in my soul
How can I keep from singing?
For the hymn by Robert Lowry
Field Notes
FIELD NOTES
observations and reflections on the explorations and experiments of the past two months
The basement dye lab.
Crushing eggs shell to raise the PH in a dye bath.
In the Gardens: seedlings sprouting in the greenhouse and studio flats.
Warm and bright in here for the lettuce sprouts.
Shuttles at rest.
In the Dye Lab:
Years ago I used natural dyes - I even taught classes at UNH on these processes. But I let my skills fade and for decades focused on fiber active dyes for their consistency and light fasteness. Now I am eager to rekindle my skills of these living, organic dyes. The science and information around natural dyes has exploded - and even the nomenclature has changed — they are now called eco-dyes!!
This winter I built a dye lab in my basement - I am so fortunate now to have a dedicated space for these processes. I’ve outfitted this space with second hand pots, pans and other equipment for dyeing yarns and fabric.
And so it is one experiment after another ~ kitchen waste (tea, avocado pits, onion skins), including my attempts at an organic indigo vat - with the dehydrated indigo from Bali
Dehydrated indigo from Bali.
Linens dyed with onion skins and first attempts using natural indigo.
Woven brocade piece fresh off the loom. Next steps include rusting, and over dye with indigo.
In the Studio:
Playing with engineered woven design that will later be over-dyed (once I master the organic indigo bath!)
Mixed media collage in process.
And on the collage table, always a work in process.
Milestones and horizons
Our transition from Pollywogs to Shellbacks - at the Equator.
Dye Lab in process of getting set up. Indigo vat ready to grow, awesome double sink, inversion burner on wheels, shelves, rust table and big work table covered with yoga mats.
The wide “Blue Horizon” detail. Indigo warp. Monofilament weft.
“The Blue Horizon”
This month I honor a couple milestones and I’m expanding my horizons.
Ten years ago this month I sailed across the Atlantic from Cape Town South Africa to Barbados in a 43’ boat with three other people. On March 1st, we crossed the Equator. In maritime lore, there are traditions and rituals that mark the first time a sailor crosses this watery line. Usually Neptune appears, along with some rum and a few lashes. The ceremony observes a mariner's transformation from slimy Pollywog, a seaman who hasn't crossed the equator, to trusty Shellback, also called a Son or Daughter of Neptune. This ocean passage was pivotal in my self confidence as a sailor, my art work, and a few life lessons. Some day you can ask me about that.
Another milestone - I have completed setting up a new dye lab in my basement! This is the first time since art school days that I have a dedicated, safe, year-round space to dye, rust and paint my handwoven cloth. I’ve got a massive sink, an inversion burner, shelves, buckets, table space and amazing lights. I’m just getting into projects there — so stay tuned for more stories and images.
As a sailor and a swimmer, I often have my eyes on the horizon. This elusive thin line that separates earth from infinity is a source of serenity for many. With a longing to hold this line in my sight as often as possible, I recently wove a 15” tall, 9 feet long strip of indigo blues.
Gazing at this wide blue horizon frees my mind from the particulars of modern life. I hope you find some of the same.
Wishing you wide horizons and good health, Sarah
New Years Day swim.
Where do I begin?
Where do I begin?
The New Year is a time for fresh starts and new beginning.
I am setting my sights on new horizons – both figuratively and literally. Beginning again.
Here are some things I am doing that feel like steps in new directions - new horizons.
Organizing, cleaning out my studio – culling out old books, yarns, textiles, equipment and materials that no longer serve me. Organizing materials that serve my current creative drive.
Building a dye lab in my basement (with the help of my wonderful husband!). Preparing this space for working with natural and fiber reactive dyes, rusting and printing on my handwoven linen in colder seasons.
Since I cannot travel to new horizons this year – I am pushing the horizons of my small corner of this planet. I have taken up winter swimming! I don’t go in for long and I wear a wet suit with all the extra gear. But I love to thrill of immersing myself in frigid salt water.
And the new horizon – a piece I just finished ~ 9 feet wide by 15 inches tall. Indigo dyed linen in a mindfully warped progression from sea to sky. Woven with a monofilament weft. Professional images to come soon!
Wide Horizon (working title)
Check out the video I posted of it on FB.
In closing here is a poem by Richard Blanco - former poet Laureate.
It’s about beginnings and endings. I urge to you to make the time to read it….let me now what you think.
So much
November is the month of Thanksgiving.
And I have so much to be grateful for.
I have a solid roof over my head.
I have family that loves me unconditionally, especially my dog.
I have food, warmth and clothing.
I have a studio filled with equipment and supplies.
I have the time to work in my studio.
I am healthy.
But honestly between you and me, I still feel a teensy bit anxious. A bit on edge.
So, I weave towels.
I make art.
Walking my dog.
And I walk the dog.
Here’s some news for which I am grateful:
Detail “All This Time”
“Below, Through, Above and BeyondThe Datum Level” “When We Remember” is included in the juried on-line exhibit. Are is what the curator wrote about my piece -
Sarah Haskell - When We remember, 2018. The narrative of memory, loss, lived experiences and passages lies within the cells of this work. The way the eye is led to read the work is well thought out and the patterning seductively repetitive but then it is not…so much like the operation of our recall. The palette works with popular notions of embedded information - nostalgic. The subtlety of the lettering in conjunction with the outreached hands is hopeful, gentle, supportive in counterpoint to the rusted symbols of the pins and hooks.The pathways of the stitch work enhance the feeling of the organic, soluble nature of memory.
Maine Artist Fellow - I have been awarded a fellowship in Fine Crafts from the Maine Arts Commission. Here is a link to the MEAC website with all the details.
New art in my gallery - Please check out my latest piece in my gallery. It is inspired by the words of Persian poet Hafiz “Even after all this time, The Sun never says to the Earth “You owe me.” Look what happens with a love like that. It lights up the whole sky.”
Morning sunlight on my loom.
How do you know?
How do you know when a piece is done?
“All This Time” detail of work in process.
For me it is part trial and error. One of the beautiful aspects to textile work - is that you can rip something out, undo your work, add/subtract stitches or fragments of cloth.
This gives me a sort of liberal courage. I feel comfortable making marks in one direction - knowing that I can always reverse my steps.
This is not always the case - especially with dye, bleach and anything that I cut. But the courage to move, to possibly mess things up is what propels my art - and I think all innovative art — to new directions.
Growth as an artist demands that we cut old patterns, take risks, and expand perceived boundaries.
“All This Time” detail of work in process.
And yet at some point, all this motion has to cease.
Knowing when to stop working on a piece, is just as important was knowing when jump in and to keep messing things around.
There comes a time when the piece “tells me” it is done. My job is to listen and observe, to know when it is time.
Today this piece titled “All This Time” feels done.
But just to be sure…..
I’ll listen and look for a few more days.
Off shore by ten miles.
Off shore by ten miles, Monhegan Island is a small chunk of rocky land that’s 1.7 miles long and .7 miles wide. I’m out here for a two week retreat.
I’ve hiked for hours every day with Frieda (my dog). I stitched golden thread on kelp, sketched in my travel journal, drilled tiny holes in three crab shells, wove small webs on twisted juniper roots, re-read two favorite books, sent hand made postcards to loved ones, stared at the horizon, cooked dinners for one and was in bed most nights by 8:30.
Mostly I’ve taken time to be away - to gain perspective.
To just walk and walk and walk.
Somehow this walking, one foot in front of the other, with slow deliberate steps over rocky and root covered trails helps me feel anchored in the present. In a chaotic, unpredictable world, where I get wrenched by headlines, this feeling of being grounded in beauty and nature is potent medicine. Medicine that I suspect will reverberate for some time.
The full moon has come and gone. There is a perceptible shift in weather. It is time for me to return home. Leaving tomorrow on the 12:30 ferry, I will keep my eyes on the slowly receding island of Monhegan, feeling grateful for this opportunity to step away.
White Head cliffs from Burnt Head, Monhegan Island, Fall 2020
Gull Pond, Monhegan Island Fall 2020
Looking west from Monhegan, the setting sun. Fall 2020.
Maine crab shell with indigo dyed linen. September 2020, C.Sarah Haskell
August slipped away
August slipped away.
But not without notice.
It was a month of bi-coastal collaborative projects, sailing, swimming, stitching and seaweed.
Collage, drawing, dyeing, and weaving.
Might sound busy - but I have taken a huge note from the Covid-19 slow down. This quiet pace, this slower being in the world…suits me. It’s healthier and more conducive to creative pathways. So I will do my best to be anchored in this place of quiet and creativity.
Here are some news and highlights from the last month (follow the links below for more info and Instagram for more images)
Exhibits:
“Mandatory Color” Surface Design Association Juried Exhibit, Museum of Texas Tech University
October - December 2020
“Members Juried Biennial” Fuller Craft Museum. New Bedford, MA. February - October 2020
Collaborative Projects:
“Call and Response” Round 4 and 6 - a cross country distance, rapid fire collaborative project. Fun way to get creative juices flowing and to loosen up one’s attachment to medium, method and materials.
Circle Q Collaborative Book Project with Textile Arts LA. Ten artists, ten books with ten pages each. These books traveled across the country from Boston to LA. and finally returned home filled with amazing and creative expressions.
Please find many images on Instagram
In my own studio and beyond:
I found sea weed makes a great fiber, that drawing birds can be meditative, that swimming is my escape.
I stitched on birch bark and shells.
I wove yards and yard of linen to over dye with indigo for towels.
I printed with rusty objects and elderberries on paper.
August has truly slipped away. Our September full moon has waxed and waned.
I’m ready to call the names of migratory birds.
Let’s fly home.
This I know.
Every day I hear that we are living in unpredictable, unprecedented, uncertain times.
For months I have been trying to gain perspective on the nature of what’s happening and where it all might lead. I feel like I am swimming in murky waters – there is no clarity.
However, there are a daily actions that help my mental balance and my perspective.
Gardening. Planting, watering and waiting. This reminds me that there is hope and renewal – and nutritious food for our family.
Swimming. The rhythmical movement of my arms and legs in the cold, salty waters calms my breathing and psyche.
Observing the natural world. In particular, observing a hawk who is nesting in a tree above my studio. She flies high, calling out, soaring above the earth, searching for food – all with a higher vision/perspective.
Making art. The act of creating with color, pattern, texture has been my refuge for decades. Please check out my gallery and my instagram feed for what’s new.
What do you know? What’s helping you navigate these murky and fluid times?
I would love to hear from you. Please connect.
Suspended, supported and safe.
One Human Family, One Planet, One Universe.
Like it or not - we are all together in this world as it slowly transitions before our eyes. I guess I’d like to feel lucky to be living in such interesting times - but frankly I am often anxious, unnerved and off balance.
At a time when our world feels like it is spinning out of control - the steady rhythm of textile techniques calms my anxious mind and brings balance to my inner energy.
When I hold thread in my hand, slowly letting it spin out of my fingers, or stitch on my handwoven linen, or weave row by row at my loom - my heart settles. Akin to the rhythm of rocking a baby, I rock myself with these practices, reminding myself that change is in the air — and change is never easy.
And change is sorely needed.
No one is free until we are all free.
My art practice is dedicated to all those who have suffered and continue to suffer from racism, oppression, poverty, ignorance and illness. We are one family, one human race, one planet.
May all beings be lifted from oppression and feel loved.
Pondering The Invisible
“It is only with the heart that one can see….
what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince
And here we are, April 21, 2020.
Invisible to the eye, a tiny visitor has captured our world.
This realm of the unseen has long been at the heart of my work.
Through material that is ephemeral and subject to the influences of time and weather, I pose questions, diving into this void.
The exhibit catalogue from my recent exhibit “Pondering The Invisible” is available through my website. Please purchase it here – and I’ll ship it right out to you!
Much gratitude,
Sarah
Letter P from HELP
Detail. Handwoven linen with embroidery floss.
Lessons
Lessons
I have just returned home from a nearly three month sabbatical in Bali and SE Asia.
We cut our trip short and arrived home on March 20th to a very different scene than the one we left in January.
This trip was a true sabbatical - a time away from my life here in Maine.
I listened to new bird sounds, looked at how people lived in many countries, tasted new and strange foods, touched and fed an elephant, felt the water spray from an amazing waterfall and explored the twisting paths of Ubud.
I met people that have never gone more than a few miles from home. I prayed in temples built thousands of years ago. I walked bare foot on beaches with black sand. I learned how to breath underwater and swam with hundreds of colored fish. I tasted honey made by an insect I cannot name. I dipped my hands into indigo dye vats following traditional Indonesian recipes. I sang with grasshoppers at sunset. And I calmed my heart by listening to the ocean.
And now I have this incredible gift of time (thanks to social distancing regulations) to reflect and process this sabbatical.
And yet - how strange it is to be contemplating this wealth of experiences in a time of great pain and suffering. Covid-19 knows no boundaries - it does not separate us by the color of skin, the size of our bank account, or our education or profession. We are all vulnerable to this virus.
Since I choose to work with organic materials that are especially vulnerable to weathering and aging, I have reflected on the quality of vulnerability both in my art and myself.
If there is one lesson we can learn from Covid-19, it is that we are all vulnerable - it is our common human mortality.
My prayer is that our human family grows an awareness of our common vulnerability and develops a wider compassion for all beings.
Be well, stay at home. We are all in this together.
Make art to tell your story.
Sarah
April 4, 2020
Piles of bright colored textiles at a market in Denpassar, Bali.
Young weaver in a village in Vietnam.
View of Mt Agun from across the rice fields. Bali.
May the light of the new year…
May the light of the New Year shine upon you and your circle of family love. It’s been many months since I have written a blog post — so I will try to share all the news of past, present and future. One of the best ways to keep up with my studio happenings is on Instagram @sdhaskell I will put lots of links to fill in missing details.
This June and September I was out in LA, CA. I was honored to participate in the FiberArts Now 4 Exhibition at Craft in America. In September I gave a presentation at workshop at the Textile Arts LA Annual Textile Symposium . What a treat to be with much a robust textile community!!
Pondering the Invisible: exhibition catalogue
In November “Each One: A 9/11 Memorial” returned home to Portsmouth and was reinstalled in City Hall Chambers. This community art piece was on loan to the September 11th Memorial and Museum for nearly 3 years.
Last January I received the honor of a one person show titled “Pondering the Invisible” with The Common Thread Gallery (September 10 – October 15). There is a sweet little hard bound catalogue of this exhibit. I am selling it for $20 including SH. Email me for a copy = Sarah(at)sarahhaskell(dot)com
This fall the lovely Jamia Weir of TextileArts LA interviewed me for a three part series – check it out! Part One, Part Two, Part Three.
And finally… I completed the huge four panel piece that I began last spring. Sixteen feet wide, six feet tall – indigo blues woven in a subtle gradation. I wanted to replicate that wide expansive horizon that I saw and felt while sailing across the Atlantic 9 years ago. Some images just refuse to go away until I create them.
January 8, 2020 I leave for a three month sabbatical – in Bali and SE Asia. Please follow me on Instagram and FB. I’ll be studying traditional dye techniques and as well reading, and relaxing. Here’s wishing everyone a peaceful, prosperous and healthy New Year. Much gratitude for to all the encouragement and support. Peace — Sarah
Wing Span
Looking back at sticks and stones
Driftwood loom
Driftwood Loom detail
I recently was going through an old journal from my first-ever artist residency (1996) on White Island. To be able to look back is so important – it gives me perspective and assures me that - yes, I have been on a very focused path for decades. It is curious to me that over 20 years ago I was pushing my belief that art can be made from anything.Here is a peak at my journal and photos from those 8 days alone on a rock with an automated lighthouse (yes…. the fog horn does blow every 30 seconds ….night, day, fog, sun).
Journal from White Island
Line of bricks
As I continue to make art using not only natural objects – but simple tools, and minimal materials – I am affirming my belief that art is simply personal, creative expression.
So Blue
The real blue with a happy dog.
If you follow my work - you will know of my fascination with the color blue. As a swimmer and a sailor, the ocean blues appear regularly in my work.I love to hand dye my blues – either with cold water synthetic dyes or with traditional indigo dye pot. It all comes down to the subtle variations I can achieve by hand dying my threads, and then weaving them in a fluid progression.
The 56″ 8 H work horse!
Shuttles at the ready.
This month I have been busy with the weaving of a series of large panels of these gradated blue linens. There is almost an unspeakable beauty about this progression of blues, from deep to pale.These panels are about 4′ by 6′ - and will ultimately hang side by side to giving the viewer the feeling of a wide oceanic horizon.
Progression of bobbins.
Washed and dried
New Old
Check out the new images of recently completed works in the Weathered and Rusted section of my Gallery.
Enduring – detail
Looking for Answers – detail
I continue to make “Small Parts.” Enjoy a couple here – and more on Instagram.Small parts = we are all small parts of a bigger universe. These little weavings a wee bitty mediations on that concept.This week I will head out to sunny California (we’ve had rain here in Maine for the whole month of April!). The show “Excellence in Fibers IV” opens on May 11th at the Craft in America Gallery. I’ll be delivering my piece “Well Used, Well Loved.” Super excited!!
“Soul Boat” – Small Parts weaving with seed pod and indigo linen
Small Parts
Evidence
The Evidence
EVIDENCE is “the available body of facts or information indicating whether a belief or proposition is true or valid.”
No surprise, this word is currently part of our political climate.
Just back from a month long sojourn in warmer climes, I laid out and examined the “Small Parts” that I created while away – examining the evidence of my own life.
Leaf with Blue Hole
These little works of art- the woven shells, embroidered leaves and netted horseshoe crab shells – are physical objects that are evidence of a period of contemplation and curiosity.
But these concrete things are really a gateway to the unseen, the invisible.
Here I am reminded of what the Little Prince says
Rusted Chip
“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
It is easy to get caught up in the evidence, the concrete and physical. Perhaps the truth lies in the invisible, not necessarily in the evidence.
Small Parts
Shell Weavings
This winter, I am away for a month, renting a small bungalow in the Florida Keys. On this trip I decided to test the idea that limiting one’s tools, materials and palette has a way of forcing new paths of creativity.I intentionally limited my “art bag” to a few materials and supplies. I brought drawing supplies, water colors, and a sketch book. I brought some embroidery threads and a bunch of bobbins with indigo dyed linens, needles and scissors. Thats it.I have always believed that to make art, I do not need to have elaborate equipment or materials. My teaching mantra has been “any solid object can be a loom.”
Years ago, during a solo residency on a White Island (off the coast of NH), I tested this theory and built looms out of driftwood, found ropes and other flotsam.So are I am again, testing this idea, opening doors to new ways of making art.
Horseshoe crab #1
These little weavings and embroideries are a small part of a larger story: my curiosity about the invisible mysteries of life, the infinite wisdom of the natural world and the beautiful potential of each moment.This collection of works is titled “Small Parts” in reference to the idea that we are all small parts of a larger Universe.
Pondering 50 years
A long time ago.
I was recently asked to write a blog post for Brittany Whittam McLaughlin’s forum, “The Common Thread.” It was a real treat to have the opportunity to think back and look forward while standing in the spot that marks my 50th year as a weaver.This month also marks the end of two exhibits: my solo show at Maine FiberArts (until 1/12/19) and the Cahoon Museum (ended 12/22/18). However the Center for Maine Contemporary Art Biennial is still up until March 3.I hope you get a chance to read this short piece I just wrote. I think it sums it all up.Thanks.Sarah
When you know it’s right
This is right.
I have been a weaver for more 49 years. No matter how many threads I have spun, dyed and woven ….each time I sit at the loom there is a sense of “rightness.” The action of throwing the shuttle, beating it neatly into place and then doing it again and again……..row upon row, thread by thread. This feeds my soul.This linen fabric will be washed, rusted, bleached, embroidered and who knows what else.There is something sacred about this process of creating cloth from beginning to end.If you want to see a large collection of my work – please visit my show at Maine FiberArts in Topsham ME.