Textile artist Aby Mackie works from a former bread factory in Barcelona’s Poblenou district, where domestic life and studio practice share the same uninterrupted space. Here are reflections on the materials, histories, and instincts that drive her work.

In a fading corner of Poblenou, textile artist Aby Mackie lives inside a former bakery where nothing is polished away, not the industrial scars, not the clutter of family life, not even the ghosts held in cloth.

Barcelona has always known how to reinvent itself, Mackie says. Warehouses become galleries, fishermen’s quarters become boutique hotels, factories soften into loft apartments advertised in the language of “authenticity” and “creative living”. But in Poblenou, the city’s old industrial heartland, some buildings still resists the smoothness of redevelopment. For now, at least.

On an unassuming street between construction sites and old workshops stands a former bread factory dating back to the early 1900s. It operated as a working bakery until 2015.  Today it is home to the textile artist Aby Mackie, her husband Laurence and two teenage children, two cats, a dog, and an ever-shifting ecology of cloth, furniture, ceramics, books and salvaged objects. 

“There’s never really a distinction between work and living here,” Mackie says. “The work exists inside the house, and the house exists inside the work.”

The statement feels literal. Folded textiles spill from shelving. Fabrics wait half-stitched across large tables. Antique chairs hold piles of cloth in various states of repair and transformation. Kilim rugs overlap beneath olive-green 1960s leather seating. Mid-century shelving bows gently under the weight of books, vessels and material samples. The walls are layered salon-style with vernacular ceramics, found mirrors, tapestries, paintings and objects gathered from Barcelona’s Encants flea market or rescued from the street.

That accumulation mirrors Mackie’s artistic practice. Working predominantly in textiles, she deconstructs existing fabrics, often domestic linens and once-intimate household cloths, before reassembling them into tactile works that retain visible traces of their earlier lives. Her pieces hover somewhere between fine art, archaeology, and repair.

“There’s a history embedded in textiles that interests me enormously,” she says. “A worn edge, a repair, a stain, those things aren’t imperfections to erase. They’re evidence of life lived.” Throughout the house, evidence is everywhere.

In the bathroom, collections of hand mirrors are hung rhythmically rather than symmetrically, multiplying reflections and fragments of light. In the open-plan living space, the skeletal base of the building’s enormous former oven remains intact, anchoring the room like an industrial ruin incorporated into domestic life. Part of the metal oven pot make an improbable lamp shade. Nearby sits a 19th-century four-poster bed, improbably grand within the old factory volume.

Like much of Poblenou’s remaining industrial architecture, the former bakery is slated for demolition in the coming years as the neighborhood continues its transformation. Mackie understands the precariousness of occupying such a space. “There’s a temporary feeling to it now,” she says. “You know these buildings are disappearing one by one.”

Perhaps that impermanence explains why the house feels less decorated than inhabited, less concerned with permanence than with continual adaptation.

Objects arrive constantly. Barcelona’s weekly ritual of leaving unwanted possessions on the street has become an informal sourcing network for the family. A discarded tapestry. A stack of ceramic plates. An abandoned chair with good bones.

“People leave incredible things outside,” Mackie says. “Things that already contain a life.” The city itself becomes part of the work.

Originally from Leicester, Mackie studied in Nottingham before traveling extensively in her 20s. She arrived in Barcelona 23 years ago intending only to learn Spanish before moving onwards to Mexico. She never left.“Apart from a short time living in Chile, Catalonia became home very quickly,” she says.

That sense of rootedness exists in tension with her practice, which is fundamentally about transformation. Cloth is cut apart, reconstructed, layered, distressed, and repaired. Histories are preserved but altered. Critics increasingly situate her work within conversations around sustainability, material memory and the politics of domestic labour. Yet inside the former bakery, theory feels secondary to touch.

The atmosphere of the house is overwhelmingly tactile. Aged leather. Glazed clay. Raw wood. Woven wool. Fraying linen. Oxidised metal. Every surface invites handling.

Even the architecture participates in this material conversation. The factory was never aggressively renovated after the bakery closed. Rather than erasing its industrial character, Mackie and her family have adapted themselves to the building’s existing logic.

During the day, textiles move constantly through the space. Materials are cut on dining tables. Cloth dries near bookshelves. New works lean casually against antique furniture. The boundaries between production and domesticity collapse entirely.

“The house isn’t styled around the practice,” Mackie says. “It’s produced through it. That distinction matters.

Many artists speak about blurring art and life, but here the overlap feels genuinely unresolved. Family existence leaves visible marks. Teenagers move through spaces filled with fragile artworks. Pets sleep beneath unfinished pieces. Daily routines interrupt concentration. Nothing is isolated or protected from the mess of ordinary life.

And perhaps that is what gives both the work and the house their unusual emotional texture. Textiles, after all, are among the most intimate materials humans produce. They absorb bodies, habits, histories, and time. Mackie’s practice depends upon recognizing that emotional residue rather than sanitizing it away.

arttextstyle

This year’s Spring “Art in the Barn” exhibition at browngrotta arts is Transformations: dialogues in art and material. In Transformations, we’ll highlight the unique materials adopted by artists we represent, including lead, stones, feathers, seaweed, and coconut fiber. We’ll also explore the singular results achieved by different artists approaching the same material.

One of the those materials is linen — we’ll exhibit “quivers” by Gary Trentham, figures by Mary Giles, vessels by Carol Shaw-Sutton, and wall works by Chiyoko Tanaka, Sara Brennan, and new to browngrotta audiences, Merja Keskinen.

Merja Keskinen is a Finnish artist whose explorations of color and linen intrigued us. She is an illusionist, creating single surfaces that appear dimensional like that in Rhthym of Colors which gives the impression of a three-dimensional work. Her method provides additional surprises.”The texture and structure of the surface imitate woven fabric,” she says, “but I make the works without looms by braiding and sewing. I wind my yarn around frames of different sizes. Usually, the warp thread continues unbroken in the direction of the weft. I weave parts with a simple plait binding, threads of different colors cross each other vertically and horizontally, one over, one under.”

Keskinen’s explorations of color are equally mesmerizing. “I combine colors and threads according to a preselected system. The impressions and changes created by the colors are based on mathematical considerations and systematics. In parts of the works, the thread colors change a few threads at a time according to the chosen system.”

The colors blend optically; subtle shifts and delicate changes are optimized. In Horizontal Colors 1 and 2,  the starting point for each work is three colors — blue, red and yellow, and three different shades of the colors —  nine thin linen threads each. The combinations of three colors created different shades of brown. The combinations of two colors created different shades of violet, orange and green. The works consist of all 81 different color combinations according to Keskinen’s predefined system. Rhthym of Colors consists of 184 differently colored parts.

For viewers, the experience of Keskinen’s work is multifaceted. The different colored threads can be distinguished when viewed closely, when viewed from a distance, the color is formed by the combined effect of the shades. The third element that impacts the viewer’s experience is spatial. “The delicate works made of transparent, light structures take their final shape only when hung in the space…, “ Keskinen explains. “The colors live according to the space. The same work in different spaces can appear as different color experiences. Light plays an important role in shaping the works.”

The artist, who graduated with a Master of Arts degree from the University of Art and Design (now Aalto University) in 1988, lives and works in Helsinki. Keskinen’s career initially focused on industrial textile design and expert positions on textile collections for public spaces, eventually becoming a full-time visual artist. She has held several solo exhibitions and participated in group exhibitions with her works at home and abroad. Her commissioned work for the Finnish Embassy in Paris was completed in 2012 and for the Finnish Pensions Agency in Helsinki in 2020. The Textile Artists Association TEXO awarded Keskinen with the Textile Artist of the Year award in 2019. The Arts Promotion Centre has granted Merja Keskinen a 5-year state artist professorship grant for 2022–26.

The artists in Transformation: dialogues in art and materials, including Merja Keskinen, all meet curator and historian Glenn Adamson’s definition of material intelligence, that is: “a deep understanding of the material world around us, an ability to read that material environment, and the know-how required to give it new form.” We hope you’ll come and see her work this May.

arttextstyle

Last month, I received the deeply saddening news from Hisako Sekijima that John McQueen had passed away. I was filled with a profound sense of sorrow and regret. Meeting John McQueen remains one of the most meaningful and unforgettable experiences of my career as a curator.

I first encountered John McQueen around 1997, while I was planning the 10th-anniversary exhibition at the Yokohama Museum of Art. I was responsible for the crafts section. At that time, I had the uncomfortable sense that there was a noticeable divide between fine art and crafts in the Japanese art world. Even in our museum, which focused on modern and contemporary art, the crafts section was often undervalued, and I frequently found myself frustrated by these limitations. I began to wonder whether it might be possible to curate an exhibition that transcended traditional art categories and explored the origins of artistic formation.

It was during this period that I came across Hisako Sekijima’s book, The Formula of Basketry. Although Japan has a longstanding tradition of bamboo craft, her book transformed my understanding of basketry—not simply as the weaving of plant materials into containers, but as a medium of dynamic expression with limitless potential. Basketry, I realized, could incorporate not only natural elements but also paper, wire, and other materials, to create both flat and sculptural forms from linear elements.

Hisako Sekijima began making baskets in Japan, but her time in the United States from 1975 to 1979 exposed her to basketry as an art form. She was captivated by the spirit of freedom and experimentation she found there. Participating in John McQueen’s workshop during that period was a turning point for her. Her vivid recollections in the book sparked my own interest in both McQueen’s work and the artist himself.

When I first encountered his art, I was immediately struck by its originality. McQueen used a wide range of materials and weaving techniques to create abstract forms, alphabetic characters, and large-scale figures of people and animals. His works were not functional baskets but powerful sculptures—three-dimensional expressions of contemporary art. The materials and weaving methods themselves appeared to alter the forms and movements they expressed. They overturned my preconceived notions of sculpture.

The act of weaving — strands forming two- or three-dimensional shapes — is one of the most fundamental, universal methods of making. Practiced globally since ancient times, it holds an infinite capacity for expression. I felt it could offer a way to bridge the gap between fine art and craft. This realization led me to curate the exhibition Weaving the World, Contemporary Art of Linear Construction, which brought together works from both craft fields such as basketry and textiles, and contemporary art that used linear or woven elements.

For this exhibition, John McQueen contributed one bird’s nest-like piece and two human-shaped sculptures. The bird’s nest-like structure was constructed from short wooden branches inserted and layered to form a structure that, while sturdy, appeared almost fragile—like it might collapse at any moment. The human figures were created using branches and vines secured with plastic cable ties. One figure was made by weaving taut, slender vines into an airy yet resilient human shape. It maintained a strong presence, offering glimpses through its woven mesh to the inner space and the world beyond. The other was composed by densely interweaving branches to fill the interior form. Although it was structurally solid, it lacked the gravitas of stone or bronze, instead possessing a lighthearted, even humorous character. McQueen’s work effortlessly transcended the boundaries between sculpture and craft.

The exhibition featured artists from Europe, the United States, and Japan, spanning both the craft and contemporary art worlds. These included browngrotta arts gallery artists such as Norma Minkowitz, Markku Kosonen, Toshio Sekiji, and Hisako Sekijima; sculptors like Richard Deacon and Martin Puryear; installation artists working with natural materials, including Andy Goldsworthy and Ludwika Ogorzelec; Supports/Surfaces artists like François Rouan; and conceptual artists such as Rosemarie Trockel and Margo Mensing. Though diverse in practice, they were united in their exploration of “line” as a medium – unfolding into inner landscapes, social commentary, and artistic forms Viewers could deeply appreciate the richness of art created by weaving linear materials as they moved through the exhibition space.

During the exhibition, we held a three-day public workshop titled “Weaving Yokohama, Crossing Paths” led by John McQueen and Margo Mensing. Takahiro Kinoshita, an educator of the Yokohama Museum of Art’s education group, organized this workshop. He spent an entire year coordinating the event with the two artists. Fifty participants and twenty-three volunteers took part. On the first day, there was an introduction to the workshop, consecutive lectures from McQueen, Mensing, and Sekijima. The following two days were dedicated to creation, taking place in the museum’s open-air portico, where the public could observe the process.

The workshop used bottom trawl nets previously employed by Yokohama’s fishermen. Working in pairs, participants traced human shapes onto the nets, cut them out, and wove various materials into the forms. On the first day, they completed the human-shaped silhouettes. The second day focused on filling the interior spaces by weaving in different materials. Though more challenging than expected, the collaborative process allowed each pair to create a unique piece through trial, connection, and creativity. Even beginners were able to experience the satisfaction of shaping and completing something with their own hands. Each work reflected its creators—different in material, method, and spirit—shining with individuality.

The exhibition and workshop were warmly received by the public, and the exhibition was honored with that year’s Ringa Award for the outstanding exhibition that year. I believe that by focusing on the elemental act of weaving, visitors were able to rediscover the joy of form-making and expression—beyond the confines of any genre.

I remain deeply grateful to John McQueen. He reminded me that even the most humble materials and methods can give rise to profound beauty and meaning. His inspiration continues to live on, not only in his works but in all of us who had the honor of working with him.

May he rest in peace.
Hideko Numata
Professor, Showa University of Music
Former Chief Curator of the Yokohama Museum of Art Curator,
Weaving the World: Contemporary Art of Linear Construction, 
Yokohama Museum of Art, Japan 1999

arttextstyle

Kay Sekimachi has always had fans. She is known as a “weaver’s weaver” because of her technical mastery and extraordinary textile innovations. Her work has been recognized and exhibited widely since the 1960s, yet it has been 50 years since she has had a solo exhibition in New York. In 1969, Kay Sekimachi’s “‘sketchy’ and transparent” [ ] free-hanging, gossamer piece of nylon monofilament was included in the seminal Wall Hangings exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. In 1970, there was a solo exhibition of Sekimachi’s monofilaments at the Lee Nordness Gallery in New York.

Fast forward to 2025, and Kay Sekimachi’s work is featured in a solo exhibition Kay Sekimachi: a personal archive at the Andrew Kreps Gallery (394 Broadway, New York, NY, through November 1, 2025, in conjunction with browngrotta arts). Kay’s work is also on exhibit at MoMA in Woven Histories: Textiles and Modern Abstraction (through September 13, 2025). And, as of September 24th, Sekimachi’s remarkable monofilament weavings are a part of Sixties Surreal, an ambitious, scholarly reappraisal of American art from 1958 to 1972 (through January 19, 2026), at the Whitney Museum of Art in New York. 

It’s official — September 2025 is Kay Sekimachi month — feted in New York and in California where she will turn 99 years old!

It’s a fitting capstone to Kay’s string of one-person exhibitions in other locales. 2001 saw Intimate Eye: Paper & Fiber Forms of Kay Sekimachi at the Mingei Museum in San Diego. In 2002, it was Kay Sekimachi: Fiberworks at the Craft and Folk Museum in Los Angeles. In 2009, Kay Sekimachi: Fiber Artist opened at the Sonoma Art Museum. In 2016, the year of Kay’s 90th birthday, the Craft and Folk Art Museum presented Kay Sekimachi: Simple Complexity and the de Young Museum in San Francisco presented Kay Sekimachi: Student, Teacher, Artist. 2018 saw the opening of Kay Sekimachi, Master Weaver: Innovations in Forms and Materials at the Fresno Art Museum in California. In 2021, BAMPFA in Berkeley, California opened Kay Sekimachi: Geometries. In 2023 and 2024, a comprehensive survey of her work titled Kay Sekimachi: Weaving Traditions was presented at the SFO Museum. And right now, Kay Sekimachi: Ingenuity and Imagination is on exhibit at the San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles.

In between, there were significant group and two-person exhibitions. In 1969, her work appeared alongside Anni Albers, Sheila Hicks, Doyle Lane, Lenore Tawney, Peter Voulkos, and others in Objects: USA, which traveled after opening at the Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington D.C. In 1971, there was Deliberate Entanglements at UCLA. In 1973, the 6th International Biennial of Tapestry in Lausanne, Switzerland. In 1986, FibeR/Evolution, Milwaukee Art Museum, Wisconsin. Then in 1993, the two-person exhibition, Marriage in Form: Bob Stocksdale and Kay Sekimachi  traveled from California to Arkansas, Missouri, Florida, DC, New York, and Rhode Island followed by In the Realm of Nature: Kay Sekimachi & Bob Stocksdale at the Mingei Museum in 2015. Then Woven Histories debuted in Los Angeles in 2023, traveling to Ottawa, Canada, Washington, D.C. and now New York, New York followed by Skilled, Subversive, Sublime: Fiber Art by Women at the Smithsonian American Art Museum in DC in 2024.

There is more well-deserved recognition to come — a major retrospective on Kay Sekimachi will open in the Summer of 2028 at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. 

Watch for it and in the meantime visit Kay Sekimachi: a personal archive in New York if you can. (Here’s a short video to pique your interest.)

arttextstyle

The passing of John McQueen in midsummer 2025 made me look back over the strong impact he has had on me and other artists, an impact that has never weakened. In my early days, I learned a lot from both his art work and articulate statements in teaching. Writing this remembrance has replaced my grief with my refreshed excitement of those days. In it I also want to convey deep regret about his passing from other Japanese basketmakers who studied in his courses. 

As a tribute, I have included an illustration of his workshop at Peter’s Valley Craft Center in 1978, from my book Formula for Basketry. It was republished last year, 36 years after its original in which I discussed my 10-year artistic exploration, starting with problems thrown at basketmakers by McQueen.

Twelve participants of his course, including myself, triumphantly carried a group project, a big basket like a geodesic dome, on the top of a car to the auction site of the Craft Center. Requiring us to put it upside down, I now realize, symbolized very well his intent to throw us all outside of the conventions of basketmaking. At that time I lived in suburban New York City and was anxious to take his course. His Untitled Basket overwhelmed me with beautiful forms made of low processed plant materials with totally original structural mechanisms. I had visited exhibitions to see his work at the Museum of Contemporary Crafts and galleries including Hadler/Rodriguez, Florence Duhl, and Helen Drutt.

I never became a participant of one of his workshops again after Peter’s Valley, because while there, John McQueen gave me a basketful of homework that put me on a lifetime path of extremely experimental exploration. After returning to Japan in 1979, I enthusiastically set up his workshops as a planner, adviser, and assistant or interpret/moderator, in order to introduce a Japanese audience and my students to the fascinating gateway to the basket world that John McQueen was discovering.  

In 1978, John McQueen’s work was exhibited for the first time in Japan in a survey show of contemporary textile arts from Europe, America, and Japan (Part I: Fiber Works – Europe, Japan; Part II: Fiber Works – Americas, Japan). It was curated by Shigeki Fukunaga as a two-part series in 1977 and 1978 for the Museums of Modern Art in Kyoto and Tokyo. The next time McQueen’s work was exhibited in Japan was in 1989 in an exhibition of American contemporary crafts entitled The Eloquent Object which started at Philbrook Museum of Art, Tulsa Oklahoma and travelled to the Museums of Modern Art in New York, Kyoto, and Tokyo. In those years in Japan, contemporary basketmaking had just started attracting a few weavers’ attention. In narrower circles,  those who knew more about contemporary baskets as new art forms through slides or publications I brought back from America and through John McQueen’s early innovative work were intoxicated by the vast possibility of asserting modes of sculptural basketmaking. 

In the winter of 1997, I planned, with Kazue Homma, basketmaker and publisher of a mini-circulation for basketmakers, to invite John McQueen to Japan. We set up a series of events within his one-month stay: in Tokyo two-day workshop with a slide lecture, a slide lecture at Gallery Isogaya, and a joint lecture for three art schools. In Kyoto, he would conduct a 5-day workshop at Kawashima Textile School.

For Kyoto, I scheduled his course in place of a basketry course in the school’s “Hands Week” program that was scheduled annually. I had been teaching a one-week basketry course for 15 years before then. I intentionally planned his teaching to be not too conceptual but quite technical, in consideration of the preference of Japanese participants. Even so, McQueen’s method was so extraordinary and innovative that all were intrigued or taken out of their conventional thinking. For example, he taught how to transfer a vessel form step-by-step into a two-dimensional template, which was necessary for his signature method of “weaving a basket on the loom.” Just the idea shocked all in Japan, where good baskets ought to be made of stiff bamboo or akebia without any mold or shaping gears!! 

In Tokyo, McQueen’s course was filled instantly with 20 participants, mostly fellow artists and ex-students of mine. We financed his air fare by the admission costs paid a month ahead to reserve entry. When he showed how to join patches of tree bark, everyone was very pleased, as well as surprised, that he generously shared this technical secret. But, as Kazue Homma, wrote in her report of his workshop in Basketry News, “Being taught has two sides. A taught way would better be avoided, though the teacher said taking someone’s way is not always bad.”  She noted that he added “one’s own original [way] is much more difficult and so valuable.” One year after the workshops, participants of both venues had a group show John McQueen was there at Sembikiya Gallery in Tokyo to show each breakthrough.

In 1999, the Yokohama Art Museum presented Weaving the World: Contemporary Arts of Linear lConstruction. The curator, Hideko Numata, invited John McQueen and Margo Mensing for a joint workshop. (Hideko Numata’s recollection will appear in an upcoming arttextstyle.)  During that trip, I joined McQueen and Mensing for a three-day joint workshop at Sapporo Art Park in Hokkaido.  It was organized by the Art Park in collaboration with the Hokkaido branch of Kawashima Textile School’s alumni. Participants, mostly experienced weavers, had a choice of three projects: McQueen’s “stick project,” Mensing’s three-dimensional knitting, and my material transformation. Stick project, being well received in other workshops, was what can be called a portraying of a soft object in short, straight, linear materials: composing a free-standing new object with use of short sticks and other items in combination. What he explained to participants was that they should be conscious of portraying a certain aspect of the object, which he said was to be the subject of a new object. It was a very new experience to Japanese weavers. For them, making an object with a concrete subject was not familiar, because until then, more emotional or impressionistic expression had been preferred. This project, I think, reflected very well the new direction of his work which seemed getting more figurative and narrative year after year.        

McQueen was a great educator in that he showed us “unlearning is a true learning.” I would like to say thank you and good bye to him with a following story. In the workshop at Kawashima Textile School I saw him teaching plaiting by aligning components on the edge at the beginning, but not on the bottom. He reversed the common procedure most basketry books take as basic. Everyone got “his new basic.” The reversed process made them give up the convention. I realized that John’s teaching skill had advanced since the time I studied with him at Peter’s Valley, in that he came to teach it from much more elemental point. He taught us in 1978 to start from the bottom, a conventional way. In due course, I got fixed in its convention. It took years to liberate myself from the basket “trap” until eventually I came to “discover” an approach based on reversed engineering on my own!!  Looking at this, I got another priceless lesson from McQueen: “Do not take for granted someone else’s basics.”

This is how I shall remember him always.  

Hisako Sekijima

Yokohama, Japan

arttextstyle

Residencies are prized by artists — they offer dedicated time, space, and resources for artists to focus on their creative work, often in a novel and inspiring environment.  “[B]y inserting artists into a different environment, a residency lifts them out of their ordinary routines and obligations, conferring new perspectives as a result, and potentially fostering new creative works.” (Katy Wellesley Wesley, “Sweet retreats: everything you need to know about artist residencies,” The Art Newspaper, May 27, 2022.)  Specifically, they offer time and space — dedicated periods free from daily distractions, allowing artists to immerse themselves in their work, experiment with new ideas, and develop their practice; new environments — Living and working in a new place can spark creativity and offer fresh perspectives. financial support — Residencies can provide financial assistance making it easier for artists to focus on their work without financial strain; professional development — Some residencies offer opportunities for mentorship, workshops, and networking; and opportunities to experiment and innovate — the freedom and resources of a residency can encourage artists to take creative risks, explore new mediums, and push the boundaries of their artistic practice.

Many of the artists who work with browngrotta arts have used residencies for just these purposes — to explore, experiment and engage in a new environment. Sue Lawty of the UK took part in the highly selective International Artists Studio Programme In Sweden (IASPIS). Occupying nine visual art studios + a dance studio in an old tobacco factory in Södermalm, Stockholm, a 50/50 bunch of diverse Swedish and International practitioners met, lived and worked alongside each other for three wonderful creative months. “I approached the opportunity with a completely open mind –– no agenda –– simply to be available to what Sweden had to offer and to my response to that,” Lawty says. “I found myself standing back from my work, an observer, assessing.” The north northern hemisphere had its effect, “SO good and now lodged deep in my soul …” In the west she found inspiration in: “keen winds and the intense low sunglow of the winter solstice across icy slabs of rock – visceral experiences of living within feet of the ocean on the tiny outcrop island of Rörö at the north of the Gothenburg archipelago.” In the east: “bright/ low/north light/ greys and blues, textures of snow/ ice/ water/snörök and the crumpled frozen Baltic Sea stretching towards the horizon.”

Location impacted Neha Puri Dhir, too, who travelled from India to Latvia for a residency at the Mark Rothko Art Centre. In her case it was aesthetic proximity and contact with the natural environment. What Dhir realized studying in the environs of the legendary artist was that Rothko was expressing essential human emotions that are invariably layered and multifaceted like his work. “The layering of colors and mixing of oil and egg-based paints for expression — have all left an indelible mark on my art,” she says. Dhir’s resist-dyeing based art practice also involves extensive interplay of colors brought in by layering and multiple levels of dyeing, but in her case the genesis is one thought or emotion, which has been triggered by some experience or conversance.  “The works that I created at the Mark Rothko Art Centre were solely influenced by the environment, the emotions which were triggered by the abundance of maple leaves in the glorious fall.”

“The time we spend in a residency always adds up to a new result,” Baiba Osite says. Osite travelled from Latvia to the Icelandic Textile Centre in Blönduós. The Centre has extensive facilities: a weaving room with looms and a professional specialist who helps residents realize ideas, a large workshop space with tables and a beautiful view of the sea, another workshop space in a smaller building across the yard, with yarn-dyeing capabilities, where digital looms are located. Osite pursued her own projects, offered a workshop on silk painting to local artists, and traveled to northern Iceland and Reykjavik. “The Icelandic landscape has not directly influenced my work. But the harsh northern nature of Iceland with its open spaces, mountains, sea and strong winds left a deep impression.” It’s trite, but true, she concludes, travel broadens horizons.

For Christine Joy, it was less a change of surroundings than the “quiet and uninterrupted time to think and work and weave” that she found at a solitary residency in Willow Creek, Montana. “I am still trying to capture the movement of nature,” she says. There were two pieces she worked on while there. “I think just getting out of my studio and looking at them in a new place and with new perspective helped me see the direction they needed to go. I really found the direction for 3 Circles at Willow Creek. I love the movement it developed. Now it is like weaving on a big knot and trying not to lose the looseness.”

Misako Nakahira found her residency an opportunity to learn new techniques. “Last year, I stayed in Melbourne, Australia, as an artist-in-residence at the Australian Tapestry Workshop. ATW is one of the leading tapestry studios in Australia, and I became deeply interested in their work,” she says. “I was particularly influenced by their high level of technique and use of color. Since returning to Japan, I have been incorporating the methods I learned from them into my own work.” 

During  the month of February, María Dávila and Eduardo Portillo were Artists in Residence at the Glass Pavilion of the Toledo Museum of Art in Ohio. The Museum invites artists who work in other mediums to experiment in glass. “We had an extraordinary time getting to know a fascinating material and amazing process,” the artists wrote. “We had the support from great artists and specialists of the Glass Pavilion team and we were able to make some pieces that link our textile practice and glass.”

Paul Furneaux’s experience underscores how impactful a residency can be. He ventured north from Scotland to Norway, near Stavanger and the work that resulted transformed his art practice. In Norway, he had a pivotal day. “I was surrounded by huge fjords, full of magic, with colors that were intensified by rich sunlight. I observed the immense powerful nature that surrounded me, looking from one side of an enormous fjord to the other and down towards the sea,” he says. “That evening, I worked on a small series of prints, simple prints about that physical, yet abstract step of land into sea; I worked and worked, slightly frantic and frustrated.  It was two o’clock in the morning and I decided to wrap and paste one of the small prints around the oval date box from which I had been snacking. I went to bed exhausted but early in the morning I ate more dates for breakfast so that I could wrap another print around another box. There I found a conceptual shift in my work.” Furneaux returned to Scotland and decided to try to work full time as an artist and began to wrap other objects in mokuhanga (Japanese wood block prints) in earnest. “The immense overpowering fjords, the shadow casting and echoing of one side of the fjord to the other, was what I was trying to reflect in this new artistic dialogue,” Furneaux says.

“A new beginning, a unique voice, an undiscovered method,” what Paul Furneaux found in his residency aptly summarizes the appealing potential of an artist’s residency.

arttextstyle

Dorothy Liebes (1897 – 1972) was an influencer before the term was coined. Known as the “mother of modern weaving,” and initiator of “The Liebes Look” she served as a national arbiter of interior design and fashion trends reaching thousands of people through print magazines, television, film, and significant collaborations with architects and corporations from Frank Lloyd Wright to Dupont. Liebes created luminous, jewel-toned fabrics, often incorporating nontraditional materials and metallic threads.

Her influence extended well beyond influencing consumer trends. She impacted the careers of numerous artists – some who only met her and studied her work and others who worked in her studios in San Francisco and New York.

Ed Rossbach met Dorothy Liebes only in passing, but her influence on his work was marked. In 1940, after he had finished college, he visited an International Exposition at Treasure Island in California and saw the decorative arts exhibit that Dorothy Lieber had installed there. “I didn’t know anything about Dorothy Liebes, naturally,” he told Harriet Nathan in 1983. (Charles Edmund Rossbach, “Artist, Mentor, Professor, Writer,” an oral history conducted in 1983 by Harriet Nathan, Regional Oral History Office, The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley, 1987, p. 14.) “I saw these contemporary textiles and weavings and wrote in my diary that I would like to learn how to weave so that I could weave upholstery.” Years later, when Rossbach had moved to the Bay Area, he visited Liebes’s studio. He recounted being awestruck by the things she inserted into her warp, by her whole personality, and how she interacted with those who worked for her. (Lia Cook, “Ed Rossbach: Educator,” in Ed Rossbach: 40 Years of Exploration and Innovation in Fiber Art, Lark Books and Textile Museum, 1990.) Liebes “had a sense of [her] own importance,” he said later, in an interview with the Archives of American Art. (Oral history interview with Ed Rossbach, 2002 August 27-29. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.) Like Liebes, Rossbach would become known for incorporating non-traditional materials into his work.

Three other artists whose work is shown by browngrotta arts in Wilton, Connecticut – Sherri Smith, Glen Kaufman, and Mariette Rousseau-Vermette — were among Liebes’s studio alumni  — their experiences with the designer were evident throughout their artistic careers

Artist and educator, Sherri Smith, went to work in Dorothy Liebes’s studio after she completed MFA in weaving and textile design at Cranbrook Academy of Art in Michigan in 1967. From there she went to Boris Knoll Fabrics, where she headed the Woven Design Department. Smith was well situated for her first major museum success — the inclusion of her piece Volcano No. 10, 1967 in MoMA’s Wall Hangings curated by Mildred Constantine and Jack Lenor Larsen in 1969.

Glen Kaufman spent a year at Liebes’s New York studio from 1960 to 1961, after a Fulbright in Scandinavia. Kaufman was also a Cranbrook graduate. There he created handwoven pile rugs among other items. At the Liebes studio, he and Harry Soviak, a Cranbrook classmate, concentrated on carpet designs and created pillows in “wild colors.” The pair would try to “out-Dorothy Dorothy Liebes,” making pillows using Liebes’s daring color combinations and metallic yarn, Kaufman told Josephine Shea in an oral interview in 2008. He recalled that the designer “had this reputation of being the arbiter of interior taste. And she would put together things like red and pink and orange, which were absolutely out in left field,…”  (FN4 Oral history interview with Glen Kaufman, 2008 January 22-February 23, Josephine Shea.)

Kaufman’s work from the early 60s like Banner, paired vibrant colors. In others, like Herringbone, Odd Man In and Polymaze, Kaufman continued to explore carpet making techniques. Over time, however, he adopted a more muted palette. Liebes remained enthusiastic but bemoaned the color change. In her essay for Cooper Hewitt exhibition on Liebes and her legacy, Erin Dowding quotes a 1967 letter from Liebes to Kaufman in which the designer writes about seeing his works, “which I thought were wonderful. I missed color, though, and I’m sure you do too.” (Glen Kaufman essay by Erin Dowding, Cooper Hewitt Museum).

Mariette Rousseau-Vermette’s experience with Dorothy Liebes was perhaps the most formative. The details of the year she worked in Lieben’s California studio have been compiled and generously shared with us by Anne Newlands. Newlands is the author of Weaving Modernist Art: the Life and Work of Mariette Rousseau-Vermette and the guest curator of an upcoming retrospective of Rousseau-Vermette’s work at the Musée National des Beaux-arts du Quebec in Quebec City in 2025.  

After graduation from the École des beaux-arts in Montreal in 1948, Mariette, then Rousseau, later Rousseau-Vermette, looked to the United States to further her education, unlike fellow students who travelled to France. She was inspired by a 1947 issue of Life magazine in which an article titled “Top Weaver” introduced her to the innovative Dorothy Liebes studio in San Francisco. Years later, she described the impact: “The article blew me away — this magnificent woman was radically changing textiles in the United States, she was returning them to art. For her, textures, colours, techniques had no limits.” (Mariette Rousseau-Vermette, public lecture, Musée du Québec, 23 August 1992. Translation by Judith Terry. Cited Anne Newlands.) In addition to Liebes’s innovations with non-traditional weaving materials, Rousseau-Vermette said she was captivated by Liebes’s “prophetic instinct for trends in color.”

After graduation, despite the fact that she spoke little English at the time, Rousseau traveled to San Francisco for two reasons: to secure a job or an internship at the Liebes studio and to study at the California College of Arts and Crafts in nearby Oakland. Her mornings were spent at the college in Oakland, and in the afternoons she waited patiently in the reception area of the Liebes studio, her thick sample books from the École des beaux-arts on her lap, trying to convince the studio to hire her. With a determination that would become legendary, Rousseau-Vermette returned daily and finally Dorothy Liebes relented, saying that she could not pay her (although later she would), but that she would let her work. (Material on Mariette Rousseau-Vermette. Cited by Anne Newlands.)  “Try — Do not be afraid — Make ‘research’ a pleasure – Share with others. These are the ‘gifts’ I received during my stay in Dorothy Liebes’s studio.” Rousseau-Vermette wrote. “At the end of the 1940s, Dorothy Liebes’s endless energy and joie de vivre, and the friendship among her thirteen assistants, started me on the path that became my way of life.” (Mariette Rousseau-Vermette, “Fiber-Optic and Other Weavings,” in Wired, browngrotta arts, 2001.)

Like Liebes, much of Rousseau-Vermette’s career was devoted to creating textile works on commission to mediate architectural spaces, notably, The Royal Bank of Canada in Toronto, Exxon in New York City and Arthur Erikson’s Roy Thomson Hall in Toronto. Working with architects was central to Leibes’s practice. As Alexa Griffith Winton has noted, “Liebes encountered architectural blueprints and quickly learned to read them.” (“’None of Us is Sentimental’: About the Hand: Dorothy Liebes, Handweaving, and Design for Industry,” Alexa Griffith Winton,The Journal of Modern Craft, Volume 4—Issue 3, November 2011, pp. 255.) Rousseau would follow suit; her most preferred commissions would be those that involved collaborations with architects. Her files were thick with blueprints and architectural drawings. Where buildings were hard and cold, Liebes’s textiles were warm and soft says. Like Liebes, Rousseau-Vermette’s brilliance came from building and bridging a tension between textiles and architecture. (“How the Mother of Modern Weaving Transformed the World of Design,” Sonja Anderson, Smithsonian Magazine, July 19, 2023.)

Brilliant coloration also featured in Rousseau-Vermette’s work and she utilized unique materials as Liebes’ did. Canadian architect, Arthur Erikson, wrote of a series of color fields of luscious color and texture composed vertically or horizontally of combed wool that he commissioned for a building in Vancouver, B.C. “I found the simplicity of her work blended perfectly with the simple structural expression of the building, the building transformed through the artist’s eye.” (Arthur Erickson, “Introduction,” in Wired, browngrotta arts, 2001.)

In the 1990s, Rousseau created a series innovative weavings, like Elegante, that incorporate optical fiber. Another work from 2001, Hommage á Liebes, incorporates silk, leather and fluorescent tubes, some of it material that Rousseau-Vermette had sourced from Liebes. In its title, the student explicitly credits the mentor as an impetus for her work. Liebes also influenced the way in which Rousseau-Vermette would manage her studio. Like Liebes, Rousseau-Vermette created detailed cartons and maquettes for each of the 644 tapestries she created in her career. Her meticulous notes are now in the archives of the National Gallery of Canada. She was motivated by Liebes’s success as an independent owner-operator, holding as she did a singular place in the male-dominated business world.

Want to know more? Liebes’s life and design have received renewed attention in the past year as a result of the expansive exhibition at the Cooper Hewitt in New York, with many resources available online. A lush volume accompanied the book, both entitled, A Dark, A Light, A Bright: the Designs of Dorothy Liebes.

arttextstyle

Rothko’s work has been a potent influence for several of the international artists who have worked with browngrotta arts. Mariette Rousseau-Vermette’s appreciation is perhaps the most literal. The Canadian artist saw an exhibition of the Rothko’s works in Italy in 1958. It was pivotal in inspiring her “to produce strictly artistic works in weaving,” Anne Newlands wrote in Weaving Modernist Art: The Life and Times of Mariette Rousseau-Vermette (Firefly Books, Richmond Hill, Ontario, 2023, p. 32). Throughout Rousseau-Vermette’s life, Newlands says, Rothko was a powerful influence, “triggering compositions with floating blocks of color, soft edges and her signature brushed wool technique to create a blending of colors and a sense of inner light.” Her interest in Rothko “marked her as a colorfield artist-weaver, fueling her ambition to create large-scale tapestries that would engulf the viewer and employ powerful chromatic contrasts of light and dark to evoke an emotional response.” 

Rousseau-Vermette’s work Hommage á Rothko was included in Three Canadian Fiber Artists at the Art Gallery of Windsor, Canada in 1981. In 1997, browngrotta arts exhibited Si Rothko m’ était conté une histoire, 1997 at the SOFA art fair in Chicago, Illinois. “With its large scale, densely brushed woolen surface and stacked blocks of color in velvety jewel tones of deep blues and shadowy reds,” Newlands notes, “it underlined the artist’s enduring admiration of Rothko and her lasting desire to create contemplative, atmospheric tapestries.” The tapestry was purchased at the exhibition and later donated to the Art Institute of Chicago. 

American artist, Sheila Hicks, who studied with famed color theorist, Josef Albers, also found Rothko’s use of color an inspiration. She was one of the artists included in the 2021 exhibition, Artists and the Rothko Chapel: 50 Years of Inspiration, at the Moody Center of the Arts at Rice University, in Houston, Texas. “Like music, color is the almighty mood determinant: It sets the stage for emotional depth and inspires an expansive range of responses from joy to despair, from a sense of wonder to an affirmation of life,” Hicks has said. “Rothko’s painting did this for me.”  (“5 Artists on the Influence of Mark Rothko,” Artsy Editorial, April 13, 2021).

Color is an important element of Lija Rage’s work, too. Rage is from Latvia, as was Rothko. In her one-person exhibition at the Mark Rothko Art Centre, Daugavpils, Latvia, entitled Colours, she described how she determines the colors she uses. “For digital printing,” Rage said in conjunction with Colours, “I use my own photographs. Real to begin with and taken in different seasons, they are processed until I’m left with blurred color fields. Color as a flash, an abstract field, a vision.” The color in her fiber works are drawn from nature. “Green – the woods outside my window; blue – the endless variety of the sea; orange – the sun in a summer sky; brown, grey and black – fresh furrows and the road beneath the melting snow; red – the roses in our gardens.”

The Mark Rothko Art Centre also hosted Indian artist Neha Puri Dhir. In 2016, she was chosen with eight other participants to participate in an International Textile Art Symposium. ” I was fortunate to attend an art residency at Mark Rothko Art Centre as part of Textile Art Symposium at Daugavpils, Latvia and got an opportunity to study the great artist in the environs of his birthplace,” Dhir writes. 

“What Rothko brought to the world was very unique and personal. He looked at his works as an environment in themselves, works which transcended emotions and he did not like any academic dissection of his art. At Daugavpils, understanding his world and spending hours trying to seek a glimpse of his mind, re-affirmed the beauty of a unique creative self-expression for me. I realized what Rothko was expressing was nothing but very basic human emotions which invariably will always be layered and multifaceted. The layering of colors and mixing of oil and egg-based paints for expression has all left an indelible mark on my art,” Dhir says. 

Gizella Warburton of the UK and Gudrun Pagter of Denmark also reference Mark Rothko as a influence. “He manages to create a great image-based experience with his clean and focused divisions and distinguished color schemes,” Pagter says. UK artist, Rachel Max, read From the Inside Out by Rothko’s son, Christopher. Max says the artist’s meditative sensitivity and use of color inspires her. She was particularly interested in the chapter on the emotional power of Rothko’s paintings and its parallels to music. Christopher Rothko draws similarities between Mozart’s melodies and his father’s transparent textures, clarity, and purity of from in order to give what he calls greater expression  – for both artist and composer alike nothing was added unnecessarily. “I grew up surrounded with music,” Max writes. “The relationship between music and weaving is something I have been exploring and this particular essay resonated with me.” 

While Rothko is best known for his paintings, he also created nearly 3,000 works on paper (the subject of the National Gallery exhibition). He mounted them similarly to how his canvases would be hung. “They’re attached to either a hardboard panel or linen, and wrapped around a stretch or a strainer to give them this three-dimensional presence,” says curator Adam Greenhalgh said. Another parallel to contemporary fiber art work, in which dimension is often an element.

Rothko’s son, Christopher, has said something about viewing his father’s works that applies to anyone for whom Rothko is an influence. “I often think about going to Rothko exhibitions,” he told CBS News. “It’s a great place to be alone together. Ultimately, it’s a journey we all make ourselves, but so much richer when we do it in the company of others.”

arttextstyle

Welcome to Noteworthy, the first in an occasional series on topics we think are worth a closer look. In number one, our focus is on Jo Barker and Sara Brennan, two contemporary tapestry artists from Scotland.

Scotland has a storied tapestry tradition, from the well-regarded Dovecot Tapestry Studio, founded in 1912, to the program at the College of Art at the University of Edinburgh. The country’s most ambitious entry is the Great Tapestry of Scotland (though technically an embroidery). It was hand stitched on linen woven by Peter Greig & Co in Kirkaldy, who have been at it since 1825. It involved 1000 people from across the country, 160 linen panels, and 300 miles of wool – enough to stretch the entire length of Scotland. 

Two of the artists that work with browngrotta artists, Jo Barker and Sara Brennan, studied together at the College of Art in Edinburgh where the basic assumption is that tapestry can be used as a visually rich and dynamic medium in contemporary art practice. 

Barker and Brennan were born in the same year and their studios are in the same building in Edinburgh now. They exhibited together in A Considered Place at Drum Castle in Aberdeenshire a few years ago. Both artists are accomplished and well recognized — Barker is a recipient of the Cordis Prize for Tapestry. Each creates elegant, evocative works that provide a painterly experience from a distance and a remarkably tactile encounter up close. Their approaches to tapestry, however, vary, particularly their use of color. 

Jo Barker begins by taking photographs and drawing designs — often influenced by the Scottish countryside where she likes to walk. She builds collages with her images, manipulating them online and capturing gestural movement and deep color. The artist is interested in qualities and patterns of light: transient and ephemeral starting points translated slowly into woven form. She sees contradictions between the flowing nature of ink and paint and the illusion of fluidity translated into soft, richly colored yarns. “The finished images are consciously abstract and ambiguous. I want to create a sense of something as opposed to an identifiable object or picture,” she says. 

Sara Brennan is also inspired by landscape, responding with a very simplified and reduced use of form. “My work has vertical and horizontal blocks,” she says, “lines and areas that can be traced back through all my work. There is also a consistent color palette. One or two predominant colors, a slight twist to some of the lines, a hidden line of red and yellow giving a subtle definition. I use different whites to change the planes ,..” Brennan weaves from her own drawings, no digital manipulation is involved. “Choosing each yarn is as important to me and the tapestry as making the original drawing,” she explains. “The yarn must work to help balance and convey the feel and mood. It is vital in the interpretation of the drawing, bringing the tapestry to life …”

You’ll find more about these artists at browngrotta.com.

arttextstyle

Renowned for her exceptional fiber art, artist Mary Giles blended organic textures with meticulous craftsmanship, carving out a memorable niche for herself in her lifetime. Mary Giles’ artistry centered in the realm of fiber art, a space in which she has had a profound impact. Fiber art encompasses textiles, natural fibers, and innovative techniques to create striking three-dimensional forms. Giles studied fiber technique with artists such as Ferne Jacobs, Lissa Hunter, Diane Itter, Jane Sauer and John McQueen. 

Giles’ unique ability to manipulate materials such as waxed linen, porcupine quills, metal, paper, silk, and copper wire allowed her to craft intricate sculptures and vessels that blur the lines between the natural and the imagined. This juxtaposition exudes messages of both strength and fragility, inviting viewers to contemplate the symbiosis of these elements. Throughout her diverse portfolio, this contrast is oftenfound. For example, in her piece titled “A Gathering Bowl”, she utilized woven waxed linen along with copper to help achieve this effect — using a hard material to create a remarkably sensuous form.

Giles’ fascination with the natural world played a significant role in shaping her art. She explained when she received the Master of the Medium Award for Fiber from the James Renwick Alliance, that “my ideas are an accumulation, my sources most often from nature and my palette is drawn from the colors of earth, water, wood and stone.” Natural formations; the fluid curves of a leaf, the intricate patterns of a spider’s web, or even the rugged textures of tree bark and bouldershave all found their way into her creations. Her distinctive approach involved incorporating thin metal strips to create texture, light and shadow, and often, small human figures, as in Anointed Rank. It enabled Giles to breathe life into organic forms through her artistic expression.

Growing up in a rural setting, she developed an early connection with the Earth’s elements. Giles said in 2013, “I’ve been drawn to the woods most of my life, from childhood summers at a log cabin in northern Minnesota, to the redwoods of northern California, to the tropical jungles of Costa Rica, and now at our current home on the banks of the St. Croix River.” Her art often serves as an homage to the natural world.

Giles found solace and strength through her craft. Her art became a sanctuary—a place where she could confront her vulnerabilities and transform them into something beautiful and resilient. Giles observed about her work, “I interpret and express explored communication and intimacy in relationships. The results are reflected in my figural work. I admire the directness and honesty I see in tribal art and I try to incorporate those qualities in my own.” This intimate relationship between her life and art allowed her to create pieces, like Lead Relief, which resonate on a deeply personal level with audiences, evoking emotions and contemplation. In the piece, dozens of tiny figures cluster around the center seam, while fewer individual figures stand alone in the periphery, seemingly lost, amongst faint marks where figures had once been. The work conjures thoughts about connection, community, identity purpose, and more.

Mary Giles’ artistic legacy extends beyond the boundaries of her individual works. “She is one of the people who took the concepts of basketry technique and pioneered using them to make sculptural work,” Lois Russell, artist, collector, and former president of the National Basketry Organization has noted. Giles played a role in elevating the profile of fiber art, garnering recognition and respect for this unique form of expression. Her artwork is featured in a number of  museum collections, including that of the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, Racine Art Museum, Wisconsin, Contemporary Art Museum, Honolulu, Hawaii, Detroit Institute of Arts, Michigan., the Yale Art Gallery, New Haven, Connecticut and the Museum of Arts and Design, New York, New York.

Giles work will be featured in browngrotta arts’ Fall Art in the Barn series, Vignettes: three exhibitions, one venue, from October 7 – 15.

arttextstyle