Peach Fuzz was the Pantone Color of the Year for 2024, but artists at browngrotta arts don’t seem to be finished with color and adjacent tones just yet. Our Spring exhibition, FIeld Notes: an art survey, featured several works including pink, rose, and related shades.
As the mix between red’s passion and white’s purity, traditionally, pink symbolizes love, nurture and compassion. It also evokes feelings of comfort, warmth and hope. And these are the themes that many of our artists were channeling in these unsettling times.
“The language of textiles speaks of entanglements and connectivity ” explains Caroline Bartlett, “of continuity and severance, and pink might be considered as a field for nurture.” For Bartlett, her work Juncture, suggests “a point of time, especially one made critical or important by a concurrence of circumstances.”
Stéphanie Jacques works with a dark pink wire cable in works like Retournement en cours IV to create figures that illustrate transformation. “The cable consists of two twisted copper wires sheathed in plastic film; one white, the other dark pink,” she says. “The varnish that covers them gives a beautiful finish. Sometimes the white is twisted with a red or orange thread, but it’s the dark pink that I prefer.”
Polly Barton’s Pivot is imbued with pink and other colors. Barton finds solace in “[C]reating a surface to rub color in a variety of forms; dye, pigment, pastel, ink. I weave the liminal space between a painted surface and the woven structure.”
Totems, by Wlodimierz Cygan, is a study in color — pink is only one of the shades it reveals through fiber optic lighting. “The introduction of the motif of changing light into this system,” he observes, “turned this small weaving form into a magical, magnetizing object, encouraging meditation.”
26.5″ x 26.5″ x 2.5″, 2023. Photo by Tom Grotta
Neha Puri Dhir writes eloquently about the color in her work Shifting Horizons. This intimate textile artwork, inspired by Akbar Padamsee’s Metascapes, transforms handwoven silk into a whisper of unseen change. “I have painted the silk with earthy colors,” she says, “gentle teals for my quiet unease, warm yellows for a flicker of hope, and soft pinks for the tender ache in my heart — capturing a shift I feel but cannot see, like a storm brewing beyond the horizon.”
In her work, Emotional Summer, which includes pink and other pastels, Young-ok Shin has a message to convey. “I want to express the power passed down from tradition as work full of vitality that is given meaning, rather than innovation.”
Also expressing a message are Shed on Ice and Dark Shed. “Since moving to a rural community in southern Indiana nearly 20 years ago,” Laura Foster Nicholson reports, “I continue to be fascinated by the simple forms and light of the landscapes.” The mood in Shed on Ice, with its early-morning, rose-colored sky reflects Nicholson’s concern about climate change. “The farms, which seem so evocatively beautiful,” she says, “are contributing radically to climate change.”
You can see more on our website: browngrotta.com.
Art & Identity: A Sense of Place
In our 2019 Art in the Barn exhibition, we asked artists to address the theme of identity. In doing so, several of the participants in Art + Identity: an international view, wrote eloquently about places that have informed their work. For Mary Merkel-Hess, that place is the plains of Iowa, which viewers can feel when viewing her windblown, bladed shapes. A recent work made a vivid red orange was an homage to noted author, Willa Cather’s plains’ description, “the bush that burned with fire and was not consumed,” a view that Merkel-Hess says she has seen.
The late Micheline Beauchemin traveled extensively from her native Montreal. Europe, Asia, the Middle East, all influenced her work but depictions of the St. Lawrence River were a constant thread throughout her career. The river, “has always fascinated me,” she admitted, calling it, “a source of constant wonder” (Micheline Beauchemin, les éditions de passage, 2009). “Under a lemon yellow sky, this river, leaded at certain times, is inhabited in winter, with ice wings without shadows, fragile and stubborn, on which a thousand glittering lights change their colors in an apparent immobility.” To replicate these effects, she incorporated unexpected materials like glass, aluminum and acrylic blocks that glitter and reflect light and metallic threads to translate light of frost and ice.
Mérida, Venezuela, the place they live, and can always come back to, has been a primary influence on Eduardo Portillo’s and Maria Davila’s way of thinking, life and work. Its geography and people have given them a strong sense of place. Mérida is deep in the Andes Mountains, and the artists have been exploring this countryside for years. Centuries-old switchback trails or “chains” that historically helped to divide farms and provide a mountain path for farm animals have recently provided inspiration and the theme for a body of work, entitled Within the Mountains. Nebula, the first work from this group of textiles, is owned by the Cooper Hewitt Museum.
Birgit Birkkjaer’s Ode for the Ocean is composed of many small woven boxes with items from the sea — stones, shells, fossils and so on — on their lids. ” It started as a diary-project when we moved to the sea some years ago,” she explains. “We moved from an area with woods, and as I have always used materials from the place where I live and where I travel, it was obvious I needed now to draw sea-related elements into my art work.”
“I am born and raised in the Northeast,” says Polly Barton, “trained to weave in Japan, and have lived most of my life in the American Southwest. These disparate places find connection in the woven fabric that is my art, the internal reflections of landscape.” In works like Continuum i, ii, iii, Barton uses woven ikat as her “paintbrush,” to study native Southwestern sandstone. Nature’s shifting elements etched into the stone’s layered fascia reveal the bands of time. “Likewise, in threads dyed and woven, my essence is set in stone.”
For Paul Furneaux, geographic influences are varied, including time spent in Mexico, at Norwegian fjords and then, Japan, where he studied Japanese woodblock, Mokuhanga “After a workshop in Tokyo,” he writes, “I found myself in a beautful hidden-away park that I had found when I first studied there, soft cherry blossom interspersed with brutal modern architecture. When I returned to Scotland, I had forms made for me in tulip wood that I sealed and painted white. I spaced them on the wall, trying to recapture the moment. The forms say something about the architecture of those buildings but also imbue the soft sensual beauty of the trees, the park, the blossom, the soft evening light touching the sides of the harsh glass and concrete blocks.”