Once and Again: Alterations by Susan Lenz

Once and Again: Alterations by Susan Lenz

Exhibition Proposal

Contact Information:

Susan Lenz

2123 Park Street

Columbia, SC 29201

(803) 254-0842

susan@susanlenz.com

Brief description:

Once and Again: Alterations by Susan Lenz is an exhibit of vintage textiles and objects altered by the artist for contemporary expression. Included will be The Feminist To Do List and Sue's Environmental To Do List and Sue Goes to the Protest, three collections of Sun Bonnet Sue quilt blocks with hand embroidered calls-for-action, and The Clothesline, an installation of textiles onto which found fabric hand prints are stitched. This installation promotes energy conservation and other common sense reasons to line-dry textiles. Yet the hand prints also serves as a reminder of the COVID-19 pandemic, a time when washing ones hands and avoiding social contact influenced day-to-day activities. Other altered works include CRAZY (In the Millennium Age), Second Marriage, My Bluegrass Roots, Oswald Home Laundry, collection of altered cross stitches, and Susan’s Found Object Mandala Series. In each piece, Lenz uses a familiar object in an unexpected way to voice current ideas and social concern. Her hands-on approach bids viewers to pause for reflection, whether the topic is their own precious antique possessions or their reliance on mechanical conveniences.

Availability:

This exhibit is currently available. Three other exhibitions are scheduled at this time. (August 16 – October 14, 2021 at Central Piedmont Community College in Charlotte, NC; April 23 - July 16, 2022 at Artisan Gallery in Greenville, GA: and March 31 – May 13, 2023 at Piedmont Arts in Martinsville, VA.) Susan can conduct one-day workshops that focus on hand stitching vintage materials into new keepsakes. She can present opening and/or closing talks.

Brief artist bio:

Susan Lenz describes herself as the daughter of German immigrants, a soul mate of a wife, a failed mother, a frustrated homeowner, an involuntary business woman, an avid traveler, a custom picture framer, a college graduate, and the servant to an adorable cat. Yet, she is first and foremost, an artist. Using needle and thread for self-expression, Susan works within the scope of an overall theme and toward a final, mixed media installation. She stitches both by hand and machine but also indulges a passion for book arts and unique, 3D found art objects. Altering found photos is an obsession. In another life, Susan is convinced she was a kidnapper whose fixation with letters snipped from assorted, antique ephemera continued into her current life and studio practice.

Susan’s work has appeared in national publications, numerous juried exhibitions, and at fine craft shows including the Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show and the Smithsonian Craft Show. She has been featured on art quilting television programs and on South Carolina Etv’s Palmetto Scene. Her work is in the permanent collection of the Textile Museum in Washington, DC and the McKissick Museum in South Carolina. Her solo installations have been mounted all over the country including the Mesa Contemporary Museum of Art and as far away as the Festival of Quilts in Birmingham, England. Susan is represented by the Grovewood Gallery in Asheville.

References:

Dolly Patton, Executive Director of the Kershaw County Arts Council, 810 Lyttleton Street, Camden, SC 29020 (803) 425-7676 Dolly.Patton@fineartscenter.org

Chris Robinson, Associate Professor, Studio Art, University of South Carolina Beaufort, 801 Carteret St, Beaufort, SC 29902 843-521-3142 ROBINSCT@mailbox.sc.edu

Images with captions:

 The Clothesline, hanging on the upper front porch at the Enos Park Art Residency Program at the Springfield Art Association, Springfield, IL. 2020. Flexible dimensions. More individual pieces are in production, including vintage garments and household linens

Aprons for The Clothesline.

For a video of The Clothesline when installed outdoors at the Rensing Center outside Pickens, SC, please visit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30SAn8O-gnM

 

The Feminist To Do List, 2019. 6' 10" x 6' x10". Vintage Sun Bonnet Sue quilt block, thread, 10" embroidery hoops. Click on image to enlarge.

 

Sue's Environmental To Do List. 70" x 126". 2020. Vintage quilt blocks altered with hand stitched call-for-action phrases. Each piece is mounted in a 14" wooden embroidery hoop.Click on image to enlarge.

 

 Sue Goes to the Protest. 2021. Nineteen, vintage Sue Bonnet Sun blocks altered with miniature, hand-stitched protest signs. 49" x 100". Individual frames: 16 1/4" x 16 1/4". Click on image to enlarge.

 Black Lives Matter. 2020. 22" x 46". Altered cross stitch profiles with affirmative phrases mounted in 10" wooden embroidery hoops.

 

 

CRAZY (In the Millennial Age). 64" x 59". 2020. Antique crazy quilt embellished with hundreds of anonymous photographs previously fused to unbleached muslin, keys, clock gears, buttons, charms and trinkets, beads, embroidery floss. Hand stitched.

 

Details of CRAZY (In the Millennial Age.)  Click on images to enlarge.

 

 

Second Marriage. 46" x 57". 2019. Antique double wedding ring quilt section altered with acrylics, staples, metal washers and nails. Click on image to enlarge.

Black Lives Matter, 2020. 22" x 46". Altered cross stitch profiles with affirmative phrases mounted in 10" wooden embroidery hoops. Click on image to enlarge.

 

Oswald Home Laundry. 2020. 44" x 61". Digital image transfer and paint on antique Irish chain crib/lap quilt with buttons and a hand-stitched outline. Click on image to enlarge.

 

 

 

My Bluegrass Roots. 45 1/2" x 35". 2012. Image transfer on vintage quilt with buttons. Hand stitched. Click on image to enlarge.

 

One of more than nine altered cross stitch patterns. Click on image to enlarge.

Mandala XV. 30” x 30”. 2020. Found objects hand-stitched to a section of a vintage quilt. Click on image to enlarge.

There are currently more than ninety found object mandalas ranging in size from 38” x 38” to 14” x 14”. All have been stitched since August 2020. Pricing is by size from $900 to $195. They debuted at the 2021 Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show, November 5 – 7, 2021 and will be available at the 2022 Smithsonian Craft Show, April 20 – 24, 2022.  To see the entire series, please visit: https://foundobjectmandalasbysusanlenz.blogspot.com/

SUSAN LENZ

2123 Park Street - Columbia, SC 29201 (803) 254-0842 

www.susanlenz.com

Education: BA in Medieval and Renaissance Studies from Ohio State University

Representation: Grovewood Gallery, Asheville, NC

Selected Art Residencies: Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Salt Flats, TX, 2021; Great Basin National Park, Baker, NV, 2020; Enos Park, Springfield, IL, 2020; Homestead National Monument, 2017; Hinge Arts, Fergus Falls, MN, summer 2016; PLAYA, Summer Lake, OR, December 2016 and October 2015; Anderson Center, Red Wing, MN, May 2015; Galesburg Civic Arts Center, August 2012; The Studios at Key West, March, 2012; Hot Springs National Park Artist Residency, 2011; MacNamara Foundation, 2008.

Selected Solo Shows:

2021 The Cocoon, Lake City, SC; Blues Chapel, Camden, SC; Last Words, Sumter, SC; The Big Day, Pickens, SC; The Clothesline, Guadalupe Mountain National Park, Salt Flats, TX.

2020 Anonymous Ancestors, Lander University, Greenwood, SC

2019 Anonymous Ancestors, Gadsden Museum of Art, Gadsden, AL

Last Words, Caldwell Arts Council, Lenoir NC

2018 Anonymous Ancestors, Eastern Shore Art Center, Fairhope, AL; Theatre Art Galleries, High Point, NC

Last Words, Greenville Center for Creative Arts, Greenville, SC

2017 Susan Lenz: In Stitches, The Grovewood Gallery, Asheville, NC

Anonymous Ancestors, The University of South Carolina-Upstate, Spartanburg, SC

In Stitches, Waterworks Visual Arts Center, Salisbury, NC

2016 Threads: Gathering My Thoughts, Mesa Contemporary Art Museum, Mesa, AZ

Anonymous Ancestors, The University of South Carolina-Beaufort, Beaufort, SC

Last Words, Georgia Agriculture Museum, Tifton, GA and Univ. of South Carolina-Aiken, Aiken, SC

2015 Last Words, Southeastern Quilt and Textile Museum, Carrollton, GA

2014 Decision Portraits. Vision Gallery, Chandler, AZ; Univ. of South Carolina, Sumter, SC

2012 Decision Portraits. International Quilt Festival, Houston, TX

Last Words. Imperial Centre, Rocky Mount, NC.

2011 Personal Grounds. Waterworks Visual Arts Center, Salisbury, NC

Last Words. Vision Gallery, Chandler, AZ

2010 Personal Grounds. City Gallery at Waterfront Park, Charleston, SC

2009 Blues Chapel. Greater Denton Arts Council, Denton, TX

2008 Blues Chapel. Pickens County Museum, Pickens, SC; Edgefield Discovery Center, Edgefield, SC

2007 Stitched! Hyman Fine Arts Center, Francis Marion Univ., Florence, SC

2006 Markings. University of South Carolina-Aiken, Aiken, SC.

Blues Chapel. Sumter Gallery of Art, Sumter, SC

Selected Collections: The Textile Museum, Washington, DC; McKissick Museum, Columbia, SC; Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Salt Flats, TX; Great Basin National Park, Baker, NV; Hot Springs National Park, Hot Springs, AR; Homestead National Monument, NE; DP Professionals, Columbia, SC; City of North Charleston, SC; County Bank, Greenwood, SC; First Citizens Center, Columbia, SC; South Carolina Bank and Trust, Columbia, SC; Chattahoochee Valley Art Museum, La Grange, GA; Farmington Museum, Farmington, NM.

Selected Group Exhibits since 2010:

2019 Color: Classic to Contemporary, Hudgens Center for the Arts, Duluth, GA. Juror’s award; Things that Matter, St. George Art Museum, St. George, UT; Child's Play, Foundry Art Centre, St. Charles, MO; 30 Years of QSDS, The Dairy Barn Art Center, Athens, OH; 701 CCA South Carolina Biennial, Columbia, SC; Fusion Mid-Atlantic, Virginia Beach Art Center, Virginia Beach, VA; Celebrating America Craft, Sarratt Gallery at Vanderbilt, Nashville, TN; 3D Expressions, Gerald Ford Presidential Museum, Grand Rapids, MI; Freed Format: The Book Reconsidered, traveling book arts show throughout libraries in the northeast.

2018 Photographs and Memories Invitational, Pacific Northwest Quilt and Fiber Museum, La Conner, WA; Transformers: Artistic Alchemy, Agnes Scott College, Decatur, GA; The Nature of Stitch, Whitman College, Walla Walla, WA; Fiber National, Workhouse Art Center, Lorton, VA; Things That Matter, Vision Gallery, Chandler, AZ; Books Undone, Penn College, Williamsport, PA; Raw, University of Indiana, Kokomo, IN; Art Quilt Elements, Wayne Art Center, Wayne, PA; Guns: Loaded Conversations, a traveling SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associates) exhibition; The Smithsonian Craft Show; The Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show.

2017 In Death, Wisconsin Museum of Quilt and Fiber Arts, Cedarburg, WI; 35^th New Legacies Art Quilts, Fort Collins, CO; All Things Considered 9: Basketry in the 21^st Century, National Basketry Association traveling exhibition; 2017 Form Not Function Art Quilts, Carnegie Center, Indiana; H2O!, Studio Art Quilt Association traveling exhibition; Ironic Designs, Gadsden Museum of Art, Gadsden, AL; The Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show

2016 Between the Covers: Altered Books in Contemporary Art, Everhart Museum, Scranton, PA; Stories of Migration: Contemporary Artists Interpret Diaspora, The Textile Museum, Washington, DC; National Fiber 2016, Workhouse Art Center, Lorton, VA. The Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show.

2015 Natural Dye Showcase, Mendocino Art Center, Mendocino, CA; Intertwined: Contemporary Southeastern Fiber Art, Hudgens Center for the Arts, Duluth, GA; Art from the Ashes, Invitational Exhibition, Tapps Art Center, Columbia, SC; The Velocity of Textiles, Ernest G. Welch Gallery, Atlanta, GA; Crafting Civil (War) Conversations, McKissick Museum, Columbia, SC, purchase award; At the Edge of the Quilt: New Work, Bilston Craft Gallery, Bilston, West Midlands, UK; Maker, Making, Made, Invitational exhibition at the Festival of Quilts, Birmingham, UK; Southern Highlights, Ruth Funk Center for Textile Arts, Melbourne, FL; Independent Spirits: Women Artists of South Carolina, Columbia Museum of Art, Columbia, SC.

2014 Fiber Fever, Foundry Art Center, St. Charles, MO; How We See Her, Foundry Art Center, St. Charles, MO; 26th Annual Decatur Fine Arts Exhibition, Decatur, GA; Mending: New Uses for Old Traditions, University of North Carolina-Wilmington, Wilmington, NC; 2014 Instructor Exhibition, Arrowmont School of Arts and Crafts, Gatlinburg, TN; Fantastic Fibers, Yeiser Art Center, Paducah, KY; Radical Elements, Cafritz Foundation Arts Center, Montgomery College, Silver Springs, MD.

2013 Quilt National, Athens, OH; South Carolina Biennial, 701 Center for the Contemporary Art, Columbia, SC; 34^th Annual Contemporary Crafts, Mesa Art Center, Mesa, AZ; Text Messaging and Metaphors on Aging, Studio Art Quilt Associates’ international traveling exhibitions; National Fiber Directions, Wichita Center for the Arts, Wichita, KS.

2012 33^rd Annual Contemporary Crafts, Mesa Arts Center, Mesa, AZ; Craft National, Mulvane Art Museum, Topeka, KS; Art Quilt Lowell, The Brush Gallery, Lowell, MA; Meet the Designers, Columbia Museum of Art, Columbia, SC; La Grange National XXVII, Chattahoochee Valley Museum, LaGrange, GA.

2011 Green: A Color and a Cause, The Textile Museum, Washington, DC; Re-Tread Thread, The Textile Center, Minneapolis, MN; Art Quilt Lowell, The Brush Gallery, Lowell, MA; National Juried Art Quilt Exhibition, Delaphaine Visual Arts Center, Frederick, MD; 9^th Annual National Art Quilt invitational, Earlville Opera House Art Center, Earlville, NY; 14^th International Open Exhibition, Woman Made Gallery, Chicago, IL; Wearable Arts Awards International, Port Moody, British Columbia, Canada, First Place Recycling.

2010 ArtQuilt Element 2010. Wayne Art Center, Wayne, PA; Fantastic Fibers, Yeiser Center, Paducah, KY; LaGrange XXVI Biennial, Chattahoochee Valley Museum, LaGrange, GA. Merit Award; Art Quilts XV: Needleplay, Chandler Center for the Arts, Chandler, AZ; Wills Creek Survey, Allegany Arts Council, Cumberland, MD, First Place Sculpture.

 

My Mentor

Bastille Day 2001, personal date of independence. I fire my head mat cutter and cannot do his work and mine; the two jobs total twenty-five hours per day. My custom picture framing business must be forcibly downsized. I must admit the reason for such a drastic action: I want to be an artist.

This is ridiculous, of course. I have no training, no experience, no academic background. My last art class was in the eighth grade. I don’t even paint. There’s just this silly notion, a dream. Maybe, just maybe … pulling thread through fabric might constitute art making.

No one kills a wildly successful business for a pipe dream. Art is a fantasy and I must be crazy. People will undoubtedly laugh. Others will think me more insane than ever before. I need someone to talk to. I need advise, a sounding board, direction, hope … I need a mentor.

That coming Monday morning, my utility van almost drove itself to Prentice Avenue, to the home of a client, a self-supporting landscape oil painter, Stephen Chesley.

Stephen Chesley has talent in spades. His brushstrokes tell stories of atmospheric conditions on sun soaked afternoons and fire fly evenings. Smoke vapors rise from red primed surfaces and reflections of dawn ripple across inlet coves. Chesley’s oils are magic. Chesley’s pastels ooze with the sensation of mud between barefooted toes that creep across relic sand on twilight lit beaches. Chesley is an artist, the kind of artist I longed to be on that Monday morning.

He made tea. I cried, self-pitying tears of fear and doubt. What would he think of this hair-brained idea of mine … me, setting off to be an artist, thinking I might one day be a peer, gambling with my family’s entire income, doing something totally irrational?

“I want to be an artist.”

“You already are one. Now … just go do the work.”

For two hours the conversation meandered through the details of a creative existence. He talked about juried exhibitions, portfolios, resumes, labeling slides, charity events, daily commitment, greed, talent, skill, gallery representation, and how to keep an inventory book. He never laughed. Lastly, he reiterated, “Now … just go do the work.”

The van seemed to know its way back home. Good thing. My mind wasn’t on the traffic. It was trying to absorb more practical information than most studio art majors hear in four years of college. Stephen promised that a career in art was simple. He said, “Here’s a pencil. Here’s a piece of paper. All you have to do is go out and make a living.” He wasn’t trying to change my mind. None of his statements were issued as a warning. He knew just what to say and how to say it … straightforward, almost blunt, totally honest. “Now … just go do the work.”

No one said it would be easy. Stephen certainly didn’t suggest a painless path. I got a studio and an ordinary accountant’s ledger to track my progress, my finished pieces … just as he’d advised. I went to work. Most of what I made was rather pathetic. What did Stephen say? “Only you can make an original Susan Lenz. Now … just go do the work”

When I complained, he had a suggestion. “Make a series … one hundred pieces. Explore every possibility. Make sure the last one is as fresh, spontaneous and full of life as the first had been.” Stephen knew what he was talking about. He knew the dedication and challenge such an adventure requires. He understood the growth an artist experiences while creating one hundred related pieces. More than an exercise, Chesley’s proposition implied deeper concepts and a richly saturated journey. He’d been down this path before and I knew it. I’d seen and framed such a series, his series, 107 Ordinary Days.

During the first half of the year 2000 Stephen Chesley created one hundred and seven consecutive drawings in as many days, graphite on toned paper with China white highlights. I framed them; he crated them. A decade went by until they emerged as an October exhibit at Gallery 80808 in the Vista, Columbia’s arts and cultural district. Stephen called the works “timepieces”, fresh and new, from a long gone day and an imaginary place. They are back in their crates again. Viewing is only possible via an unbound mind … until 2020.

During that same month, my Decision Portraits were on view at City Gallery at Waterfront Park in Charleston. I don’t know how it happened. It certainly wasn’t intentional but there are exactly one hundred and seven pieces in that series. Good number. Good advise.

By this time, Stephen Chesley had moved into a rental space at Vista Studios. It is literally across the hallway from my studio. Good advise floats over the partition walls with the steady stream of artists seeking counsel. Some don’t even know they’re looking for direction. They think they’re just visiting, having an idle conversation, talking about mutual concerns or complaining about the economy. Supposed chitchat, but not really.

They leave after a creative alignment. They leave after conversations about pricing or the bare bone facts on taxes or artistic investments or the power found in hours of drawing and weeks of historic research. They leave with a final statement from an ultimate mentor, “Now … just go do the work.”

I’ve overheard frequent discussions about artistic influences … a Who’s Who exchange of A-list names … Innes, Homer, Whistler, Hopper, Ryder, Gauguin, Turner, Kline. But, Stephen is wise. He listens while others talk of out-rightly “borrowing” subject matter. He is patient when others suggest directly referencing ancient brushstrokes and usurping visions from past centuries. Stephen listens until he can calmly explain by example. Stephen knows how to translate inspiration from others into very personal explorations, the sort of work that remains true to his individual voice.

After seeing Turner to Cezanne: Masterpieces from the Davies Collection, National Museum Wales at the Columbia Museum of Art in 2009, Stephen Chesley was profoundly struck by the lone Vincent VanGogh piece on view, Landscape at Auvers in the Rain. Stephen knew the masterpiece was painted less than two weeks before VanGogh took his own life. Stephen also knew how to take such powerful emotions and influential desires and make them his own.

Research. Contemplation. Adaptation.

Stephen learned that VanGogh created twenty-three works in July 1890 … before the 27^th day, his last. Stephen researched the sizes … to the inch … built stretcher bars to these dimensions. He pulled and stapled linen and primed the surfaces. Then, on July 1^st, Stephen immersed himself in a parallel endeavor, a physical challenge to address painting as Vincent had done, to work through inclement weather, to load his brush and twist paint into lunar orbs against starry nighttime skies. Stephen pushed through the demands of long hours in order to achieve the same square inches of perfection as Vincent VanGogh had done. Stephen quit on July 27^th. This was “work” like Vincent … that’s “work” as in labor. The “work” however … that’s “work” as in ARTwork … was decidedly Chesley. Inspiration became an experience.

Stephen Chesley exhibited 27 Days in July later that same year. It was a perfect example of artistic influence without sacrificing personal stylistic choices, without stealing content or meaning, without compromise. “Now … just go do the work”. Chesley did. He still does …every day, day after day.

Productivity can be assumed when one is living such a creative, professional artistic life. Stephen’s studio is a maze of oils on panel, piles of sketches, stretched linen canvases stacked against metal sculptures, reference books mingled between folders of pastels, and frames in various conditions. (The frames were all perfect when I delivered them. Cramped conditions and the constant arrangements result in too many nicks and bumps!) How does Stephen keep track?

Well, there’s a series of inventory books. On my very first day of “being an artist”, Stephen instructed me to keep one too. They are just ordinary accountants’ ledgers. Each finished piece is listed beside a thumbnail sketch. Next come the dimensions, media, completion date, notations on “anything special or unusual”, price, and an inventory number. Hopefully, several of the entries will later come to include a buyer’s name and contact information. My last number in my inventory book is #1819. Stephen’s listings have five digits.

A couple of years ago, my husband Steve and I went to the National Gallery of Art to see the Edward Hopper retrospective. It was wonderful, of course. We wandered from room to room trying not to become overwhelmed … until we nearly bumped into a large, Plexiglas covered pedestal. Inside … inventory books … Edward Hopper’s inventory books … each with a thumbnail sketch, dimensions, media, completion date, notations, price, and an occasional buyer’s name. I was stunned. I had no idea.

Within the week, I told Stephen about the show, about the inventory books. He laughed. “I thought I told you! I’ve always kept such an inventory book because … well … if it were good enough for Hopper, it was good enough for me.” Funny thing is, I’ve always kept such an inventory book because “if it were good enough for Chesley, it was good enough for me!”

It’s been just over eleven years since I started that inventory book. I’ve grown to be a professional studio artist, the kind I longed to be. I was lucky in many respects but there wasn’t luck involved in the advise I’d been given … just truth, brutal and honest. I still struggle with too many moments of doubt, pitiful emotions, and issues of low self-esteem. Stephen Chesley rolls his eyes now … but with a smile. He’s well aware that I know what to do.

“Now … just go do the work”.

 

“Last Words” at the Appalachian Center for Craft at Tennessee Tech

 

Do You Ever Sleep? Article for the GA/SC SAQA Regional newsletter

This article was written for an on-line newsletter for the Georgia/South Carolina region of SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associates) by Susan Lenz

Spring 2020

 

"Do you ever sleep?"

I've heard this rhetorical question so many times that I almost expect to hear it again whenever I'm with other people, especially other artists, particularly at any art reception. The answer is obvious: Of course I sleep! I sleep an average of eight hours a night, soundly. In fact, I'm an "expert sleeper". I'm just not good at responding to this absurd inquiry. Seriously, what is one supposed to say?

This meaningless question is an absolute conversation-ender. There really is nothing for me to say. I'm just supposed to stupidly smile as if accepting a compliment for my productivity. I am left feeling that the sheer number of my finished works outshines any quality, concept, craftsmanship, or general appeal that one of them might possess. Within a minute, I want to dissolve into the carpeting or floor boards. Generally, I head for the door with my mind spinning in low self esteem. By the time I'm on my moped and turning onto pavement, the pity party in my brain is in full force asking me another rhetorical question: Is that all anyone ever sees? My productivity?

When the COVID-19 closures and shutdowns started happening all across the globe, I was even more depressed. Two solo shows and four group shows were in closed venues and all sorts of upcoming opportunities got indefinitely postponed or outright canceled, including Art Quilt Elements and ArtFields. Also, I had been looking so forward to finally going to Paducah during Quilt Week and to seeing my Lucy Stone in Sandra Sider's invitational show at the National Quilt Museum. March and April went from being very, very busy to blank calendar pages. What's worse, my limited custom picture framing shop was deemed "non-essential". My husband and I had to close our doors to any income at all. Like everyone else, the pandemic turned a lovely springtime into a scary nightmare. There was only one thing for me to do: Make art.

Guess what happens when an artist goes into her studio all day, every day? Well, artwork happens. In my case, a lot of artwork happens. Looking in from the outside, I went from being "productive" to being "super productive". Several friends wrote emails and private social media messages asking what I was doing that was so "right". All of a sudden, productivity became a topic of interest, not just a conversation-ender; and even though I don't feel like an "expert" (except in my ability to sleep every night), I learned that I might actually have a few tips to share during these dark days and for the "new normal" that is coming.

At this point, I'd like to back up a bit and tell a story from around 2003 or 2004. After all, if I intend to offer tips for productivity during a crisis, it is likely important for me to share how to be productive even when the world isn’t facing a pandemic.

So, back 2004 at age forty-five, I was less than two years on my new career path to be "an artist when I grew up.” I went to Sumter, South Carolina for the opening of a grand art event called Accessibility. It was a curator selection of site-specific installations noted for being international, cutting-edge, and critically acclaimed. The most important artist participating was from somewhere in South or Central America. His installation required dozens of people to dig a shallow moat around a flat area of dirt on which piles of dried kindling and timber sat waiting for him to ignite a big blaze.

He spoke briefly before lighting his match. It was a lot of mumbo-rumbo spiritual words of praise for the "Great Creator". Just picture a Southern crowd of wannabe hippie-dippy types closing their eyes, arms up, and embracing their spirit animals. He invited everyone to send up their silent prayers for future creativity. There was chanting and swaying. Smoke vapors raised. Flames made the scene into a nice, summer bonfire.

(Please note, I might very well be exaggerating the details, and I have intentionally not shared the name of this artist because it really isn't important to the story at all. Basically, I was having a major, mental pity-party. After all, I'd been a Girl Scout all through elementary, middle, and high school. I knew very well how to build a bonfire, and I would have at least collected my own wood for it! To me, the whole thing was absolutely stupid, semi-pagan, and everyone there was overly impressed by a bohemian approach to a supposed sacred setting. In a word, I was JEALOUS!)

In my jealousy, I looked up to the heavens and whispered to myself, "Okay God! You want my prayer? Here it is! I want to be a full-time artist!"

Before the words were totally formed in my brain, I had an epiphany, a real honest-to-God epiphany the likes which had never before and have never since happened. The answer was there, clear as day, right from that installation, from that seemingly silly bonfire.

What was my answer? Full time! If I wanted to be a full-time artist, all I had to do was put in full-time hours. Period. It really is that simple.

Full time means something in just about every other profession in this world. Generally speaking, full time is forty hours per week. Full time has nothing to do with money or quality or sales or education or talent or income level. It is an accounting of TIME ... period. For the next few months, I got a time card and wrote down the hours I spent in my studio. It showed just how little time I was actually using to make art. With help from my husband, I rearranged my life to have more time in the studio.

That did not mean that what I was making was great. Far from it! Yet, I remember telling my kids what my mother told me about playing the piano: Practice makes perfect. The more time I spent making art, the better the artwork got. Guess what else happened? The more time I spent making art, the more art got finished. Productivity is the result of putting in the hours. Nearly seventeen years later, I no longer need the time cards. Working is a habit. It is my lifestyle. It is who I am.

So ... my first tip is simple. Give yourself a break. Productivity is often the result of a habit that took years to adopt. Get yourself a time card. Track your hours. This isn't about the quality of the work or the amount of money you have in it or might get out of it. It is about the time you spend trying. It is about the hours you actually work. Nothing else matters, but it does take time to change one’s lifestyle. It takes time to establish the habit of working regularly regardless of inspiration. Yet, it is never too late to start. Now is the time to establish a habit of working, putting in the hours.

Here are some other helpful tips that keep me productive. These might be the simple suggestions that will help those experiencing the doldrums during these dark days of the COVID-19 pandemic. I hope they help.

First, resist finishing a task at the end of your work session. Leave about ten to fifteen minutes of effort. This is an excellent way to start the next session because you've already figured out what you want to do. You can pick up the work instantly. Once you are working, the next project will flow more easily.

Have more than one project on hand. If you get stuck on one, move to the other. It is amazing how the answers you need will occur while working on something else.

Have one or more other, smaller projects going while working on something major. We all benefit from the "high" of starting something new and the "high" of finishing something. Major projects can get bogged down because we haven't felt the exhilaration that keeps us moving forward. I generally have a small project on which to work just before bedtime or for the first ten to fifteen minutes when returning to my studio. It jump-starts the session. Starting and/or finishing something small gives me a “high” of accomplishment that keeps the major work going.

Totally finish your work and then document it. This means adding a hanging sleeve and an identification label. If you blog, write a post. If you use social media, share the work. I recommend an inventory book too. Write down the date, dimensions, and price. Write a short statement too. Doing these things when the work is fresh in your mind will save you time in the future. Who likes having to make and attach a dozen sleeves because an unexpected opportunity arose? Who likes trying to write a one-hundred work statement for a juried show application on the date the submission is due? These are the tasks that professional artists must do to progress their careers. Doing them right away feels good, and the time it takes often helps an artist’s mind relax and prepare for the next project. The hours it saves when putting together a solo show or any sort of invitational or sales event will allow extra time in the studio instead of time spent trying to prepare for the opportunity.

Face procrastination honestly. Most artists have a love affair with some activity that seems like a really good idea but is actually a diversion. The first one to come to mind is shopping. How many art quilters go shopping for a quick-fix of so-called inspiration? How many times have I heard that shopping “gets the juices flowing” (a lot!) but how many times have I heard a cause-and-effect story resulting from a trip to the fabric store? (Never). Reading on-line articles or numerous fiber arts publications might provide plenty of new ideas but if one rarely uses any of these ideas, isn’t this use of time really more of an avoidance technique than it is a research mission? Collecting images on Pinterest, scrolling through Instagram, and buying books are frequently ways artists fill their minds but not their creative souls. All these activities seem “good for an artist”. My tip is to examine the truth behind whatever ones diversion(s) is/are. Years ago I asked myself questions about my magazine subscriptions. Did I read them regularly? Could I honestly say that any article made a serious difference in my artistic life? What, exactly, was I getting out of all these publications? My answers were more about the time I spent than the results they offered. Subscriptions were canceled and I haven’t missed any of them. I’m not tempted to read magazines that aren’t already coming in the mail. Now I only get quarterly journals from SAQA and Surface Design. They are more than enough.

Stop fretting over the “right choice”. I can’t remember how many times I’ve made four or six pieces that were all the same size and approach. One seemed “off”. I didn’t really like it. The mental demons in the back of my head chastised the selection of fabric or the approach to sewing. I was sure I’d made a poor choice. I wished I’d spent more time on it; I wished it was “perfect”. Then, that problematic piece is the first to sell. Someone else just loved it. This has happened enough times that I am no longer tempted to fret over choices that at first seem like stumbling blocks. If I’m confused in the design process, my option now is to “make two”, exercising both options. The time I would otherwise spend fretting over the decision is often the time required to finish two. In the end, I generally like both approaches equally. Basically, DONE is far better than “perfect”. Doing the work is far more important than worrying about the process.

Consider your personal advantages. Ask yourself some important questions and answer them truthfully. Are you a morning person or an evening person? Do you work well in a messy studio or a clean one? Do you prefer to work larger or smaller? Do you really like 2D or is this something that seemed required when working as an art quilter? What parts of the process do you really hate and is there a way to eliminate them? If you could do anything, what would it be and how can you change your life to make these dreams come true.

My answers will likely be different than yours but I’ve asked these question of myself and periodically ask them again and again. During my first art residency I learned that I am not an early morning person or a late night owl. I sleep an average of eight to eight-and-a-half hours per night, from 11 PM to about 7:30 AM. My best studio time is in the afternoon to early evening. My husband Steve and I now have dinner after 8 PM and he does the cooking so that I can be in my studio. I work best in a messy studio. I clean up when things start sticking to my shoes and following me out the door. I have no scale preference. I work equally well in 2D or 3D. I let the concept for the work dictate its size and dimensions. I am conceptually driven. I don’t like sewing straight lines and only ever use those “dog feed” or “feet dog” things (whatever!) when making a hanging sleeve. There’s no reason for me to really attempt work that fights my natural inclination. There is no way that I could attach binding with the same width on two sides of a quilt. Thus, I blanket stitch just about everything. It’s “my thing”.

Back in 2004, I wanted to be a full-time artist. I shared my dream with my husband. It is amazing the support I found by simply admitting my passion, holding myself accountable to the hours needed, and asking for help from family and friends.

During COVID-19, I acted on all sorts of hair-brained ideas for making art. Why? Because I could, because time was available, because I am used to putting in the hours, because I don’t allow road blocks to interfere with my creativity, because I have support, and because making art is my dream-come-true, I hope this article gives its readers some pause for personal consideration. The world should be filled with art! The images I’m submitting with the article are of pieces created in response to the pandemic. Please note, I didn’t stop making other work. I just used the additional time to make additional art!

Melting Lunette XXIX

Artist Profile in Dale Rollerson's IN FUSION e-magazine

(Above:  The first page of my artist profile in the March 2014 issue of In Fusion, an e-magazine published by Dale and Ian Rollerson of The Thread Studio in Perth, Australia.)

Recently I was honored to write both a feature article, called Hot and Hair-Brained, for Dale and Ian Rollerson's In Fusion e-magazine as well as this artist profile called Never Enough ... Art and Hours.  This Internet publication is loaded with interesting techniques, supplies, ideas, and insider information into the lives and thoughts of many of today's contemporary stitchers.  At first I was a bit stumped when asked to write a profile.  It is harder than one might think to write about oneself.  What "part" of me would be best?  I wondered what to share ... my melting pieces, my art grave rubbing art quilts, my 3D assemblages that include fiber and stitch?  All of my work?  I worried that I'd come off as schizophrenic.  I go in so many different directions that it might seem unrelated (though for me my work is completely interconnected! LOL!)  I talked by my husband Steve about it.  He asked me, "What would you like to say to Dale's readers? Isn't it more important to "say something" than to "show something"?"  This got me thinking that many people don't really care what it is that another artist makes, but they really do care about the journey that artist took and how it might impact their life and art.  So, I wrote a profile that is meant to communicate the uphill battle of becoming "full time" ... the humble and silly thoughts of a once "wannabe" artist figuring out how to work seriously and with commitment.  The article is shown with loads of images of my work ... from every series ... and hopefully comes off in a "sane" manner.  To read the article with the accompanying images, get a subscription HERE.  Below, however, is the text.  Enjoy!  I sure enjoyed writing it.  (I also have another article in this issue.  It is on my melting techniques and called Hot and Hair-Brained.  It can be read HERE.)

NEVER ENOUGH ... ART AND HOURS
by Susan Lenz

Being a full-time, professional studio artist is a complex, lofty goal.  It’s been my dream since I embarked on this creative fiber adventure just over a decade ago.  At that time, I thought to myself, “Susan, if you could simply create a body of work … say eighteen related pieces … you could call yourself an artist.”  Well, I made those eighteen pieces.  I asked a local coffee shop to display my work.  They agreed.  Then it dawned on me that I had all my work there.  I had nothing in my little rented studio to show for myself.  My next thought, “Susan, perhaps a body of work should number thirty-six pieces”. 

I made the new work in time to accept the coffee shop’s offer to hang pieces in their second location.  Believe it or not, they had a third shop too!  By the time I’d made enough work for all these locations, I’d learned that the number of pieces isn’t important.  I would NEVER have enough new work.  There will ALWAYS be a need for “more”.

Hanging artwork in an alternative location was wonderful.  I got plenty of feedback from the community and some pieces even sold.  This gave me validation and enough guts to start entering juried exhibitions.  Since I don’t come from a traditional background of sewing, quilting, or any sort of needlework, I looked to the fine art world for opportunities.  I asked other artists about shows they entered.  I used google to locate regional, national and even international calls-for-entry.  What did I find? Too many possibilities!  I came to realize that I’d have to pick and chose because I still didn’t have enough new work. 

Likely my ignorance helped.  I had no problem entering shows despite the fact that many exhibition prospectuses didn’t specifically call for “fibers”.  My work was 2D … just like a painting or pastel or photograph.  If a show had a quality juror; was in a respectable, insured venue; promised new exposure; offered a prize fund; and looked to be a “good fit” for my work, I entered.

At first, entering shows felt like going to the post office and pouring cash into the mail slot.  Rejection hurt but there were always other shows waiting for my application.  There were some early acceptances too.  Moments of pure joy were generally followed by hours of panic until I figured out how to ship my work and include a pre-paid, return-mailing label.  Like anything else, there is a learning curve.

As soon as a piece of artwork was accepted, it became “unavailable” for other opportunities.  Sometimes this “unavailable period” lasts for as long as two years.  Sometimes it is “forever” if the piece sells while away.  What did I learn from this?  I needed more work, of course!

I also learned that keeping good records of absolutely every little detail is really, really important.  Over the years I’ve had respectable institutions forget to mail checks for sold artwork, forget to return artwork, and forget to send a monetary prize.  Without a three-ring binder holding all the paperwork (including correspondence, tracking numbers, contracts, image lists, etc.), I couldn’t manage the life of a full-time, professional studio artist … and I wasn’t even one yet!

A couple years into making work and learning these early lessons, I was also feeling rather small and puny, unsuccessful, and under appreciated… and also very “middle aged” in a world of bright, academically educated, young artists.  Sure, I was working hard but I wasn’t “full time”.  My initial dream seemed very far away.  Then a miracle happened!  I had an epiphany!

It happened during a contemporary installation art event in a small town near my home in Columbia, South Carolina.  The local organization brought in internationally renowned artists with Central and South American roots to make site-specific works of art.  The climax on opening night was a giant bonfire.  Sure, it was conceptually more involved than just lighting a match to a bunch of twigs, but I didn’t want to see it that way.  I was too jealous of the status, the accolades, and the entire public perception of “big name” artists who enjoyed “full-time” studio careers.  (Picture me “green” with envy and not appreciating the work appropriately!)

The bonfire was meant as a symbolic gesture, a chance for people to offer up their prayers and multi-cultural believes in the many creative forces beyond a single evening.  In a self-pitying way, I said to myself even more than I said to God, “Susan, you could build a stupid bonfire.  You were a Girl Scout after all.  The most important difference between you and this artist is “full time” status.  So … okay, God, here’s my prayer … I WANT TO BE A FULL-TIME ARTIST”.

Before the thought completely formed in my pea-brain, a truth was made obvious as if by divine intervention.  (Please imagine a lightening bolt obliterating my “green-with-envy” attitude!)  Full-time has absolutely nothing to do with academic standing, age, gender, financial status, a lengthy CV, loads of juried shows, sales of work, or anything other than TIME.  “Full-time” in any other profession means putting in the hours … generally forty a week (or 37.5 by US government standards).  Being a full-time professional studio artist doesn’t mean making a living.  It means making art … forty hours of art per week.

This might seem obvious but it really isn’t.  Too many artists equate “full time” with financial rewards.  Too many people think “professional” means “earning income”.  They think that the money ought to be at least a “living wage”.  This just isn’t the case.

I talked about my epiphany with my husband Steve.  He agreed to help me rearrange my days so that I could spend forty hours making art.  He took over all cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, yard work, and any other domestic task in our lives.  From that moment on, I became a full-time studio artist. 

It was harder than I thought.  First, one must fill those hours actually making art … loads and loads of art.  Ideas that had kept me up at night seemed to evaporate from memory during the day.  My four studio walls seemed to encroach upon my creative energy.  There was only one solution.  I got a time card and simply worked.  It didn’t matter if that work was “good” or “bad” or anything else.  I just worked … putting in forty hours a week in addition to my job as a custom picture framer.  In the process, I was also working through several mental blocks.  I had to ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head that insisted this path was impossible.  Instead, I had to act on hair-brained ideas that popped into my imagination.  I also learned that daily writing is a very helpful way to tap into my natural talents and make sense out of the visual stimulation of day-to-day life.  I write almost every morning now, stream-of-consciousness journal entries.  This practice helps me while I’m in the studio.  It fuels my concepts and defines workable plans for artistic execution.  It is how inspiration becomes art.  Eventually, working forty hours a week becomes a habit.  The time cards aren’t needed.  They are replaced by routine.

Every month the transition from “part-time” to “full-time” got easier.  In addition to embroidery, I started making 3D found art assemblages, art quilts, artist and altered books, collages, and fiber vessels.  The more time I spent making art, the better the art became.  This was a funny realization!  I could almost hear my mother’s voice saying, “Susan, practice makes perfect”.  Even if “perfect” never happens, “better” almost always does. 

Yet, the funniest thing about becoming a full-time studio artist is the fact that I still need MORE art.  There’s never enough of it!  There never will be.   

HOT and Hair-Brained, My article in Dale Rollerson's e-magazine

(Above:  Hot and Hair-Brained ... as seen in Dale Rollerson's In Fusion e-magazine.)

Recently I was honored to write both a feature article and an artist's profile for Dale Rollerson's In Fusion e-magazine.  (Dale and her husband Ian own The Thread Studio, my favorite Internet shop for contemporary embroidery supplies.)  The issue, which is by subscription, has just been released.  Dale has given me permission to re-print my words.  Of course, the rest of the magazine is absolutely outstanding.  Each issue is devoted to some aspect of the contemporary world of fiber and stitch.  This one is called "In the Heat of the Moment" and includes lots of melting, burning, and HOT techniques like Wendy Cotterill's "Sashing and Burning", Jacinta Leishman's embossed velvets, and textile techniques by Margaret Beal ... plus plenty more.


(Above:  One of the pages of my article.)

The article is accompanied by lots of great images ... but to read it in this fashion, get a subscription!  CLICK HERE to do that.  Below is the text!  Enjoy!  I sure had fun writing it!  I also wrote an artist's profile for this issue called Never Enough ... Art and Hours which can be read HERE.)

HOT and HAIR-BRAINED
by Susan Lenz

Once upon a time … when dinosaurs roamed the earth … I was a wannabe embroiderer who only got around to finding her needle and thread once a year.  I’m not kidding!  I had a pledging custom picture framing business that required more than full-time hours and two toddlers.  Once a year, I treated myself to a vacation.  Wherever the Embroiderer’s Guild of America was holding its annual, National Seminar, I went.  Due to my busy life, I never sent my application in a timely manner. Instead, I dialed the seminar’s registrar at the very last moment, asked which classes were still available, and gave my credit card number.  That is how in 1996 I ended up in Charlotte Miller’s 4-day workshop called “Autobiography In Stitches”.  I opted for this experience because … well … the word “autobiography” meant that I had to know “something” about it.  Had the registrar told me it was a “design workshop”, I would have panicked and selected anything else.

It was a pivotal experience.  Charlotte Miller was the perfect teacher for me.  She never used the “big, bad D word” (DESIGN); she told us to “arrange our elements”.  I’m a natural “arranger”.  By the end of the week, I had two completed pieces and a third nearing the finish line.  Other workshops visited our room.  As a class, we visited other workshops too … especially the two that were “the talk of the convention”.  Of course, I’d never heard about these two, international instructors but everyone’s conversation was a-buzz with excitement.  Who were they?  Jan Beaney and Jean Littlejohn.

I was at least ten yards away from an eight-person round-top table filled with the most glorious fabric and amazing samples when my knees went to jelly.  Right there, on the spot, I was madly in love.  I vowed that I would never stitch another pattern or kit and that I’d somehow figure out what was on that table, how to make it, and to spend the rest of my life in pursuit of this sort of art.  From a wannabe embroiderer, an artist was about to be born.

Of course, it took me another two years to get into one of “Double Trouble’s” workshops.  Then, I took several … right in a row … one after another … experiences of pure joy, fiber exploration, and free stitching by both hand and machine. 

In the meantime, my business was still growing.  My family was too. Time for art was very, very limited.  I was frustrated.  I wanted more.  I forcibly downsized my business in 2001.

The last workshops I took under Jan and Jean took place in 2003 in Alaska.  We saw a moose!  It was fantastic.  There were only four other people in my two days with Jean, so the experience was like a one-on-one blessing.  This individual attention forced me to focus on my life, my art, and my dreams.  I realized that I didn’t want to be in anyone else’s footsteps.  It was time for me to quit taking workshop, strike out on my own, and develop my own ideas.  Jan and Jean had already taught me two critical things:  1) soldering irons melt synthetic fabrics and 2) how to act on hair-brained ideas.

It wasn’t long after that when one of those hair-brained ideas popped into my head.  I continued to hear Jean’s voice cautioning students, “Don’t push too hard with the soldering iron.  You don’t want to go all the way through the fabric.”

I thought to myself, “Why?  What will happen if I go all the way through?”

A hole, of course!

“Why is this a problem?” I thought.  Then my brain started swirling with ideas for holes.  I already had the knowledge that synthetic materials MELT and that natural materials DON’T MELT.  (They “burn” … and there’s a difference!)  I’d watched other students trying to melt through cotton fabric with a soldering iron.  It doesn’t work.  I asked myself, “If cotton fabric doesn’t melt, would cotton thread also hold up against the heat from a soldering iron?  From exposure to an industrial heat gun?” There was only one way to find out.  Act on the hair-brained idea.

My first attempt was small, under 10” x 8”.  I layered squares of polyester stretch velvets (another material used in Jean and Jan’s workshop) with WonderUnder/Bond-a-Web on a piece of acrylic felt.  They were arranged like a grid with space between the units.  All these fabrics were synthetics.  Next, I free-motion stitched links between the units using 100% cotton thread.

Guess what?  It works.  The soldering iron made holes right through the layers of polyester velvet and acrylic felt.  The heat gun melted the thinnest layer away within seconds.  That thinnest layer was the space between the velvet units.  It was just the acrylic felt.  Zap!  Gone!  Yet, the cotton thread held up.  The next piece was considerable bigger.  Because I was using little squares, I called them “In Boxes”

I continued to experiment.  Metallic foiling added a touch of dazzle.  Chiffon scarves made my machine glide over the uneven surfaces and its adhesives.  I found a source for recycled acrylic felt.  The felt I use now was once the packaging material for a kayak or canoe being shipped from a distributor to a local outdoors shop.  People seeing the resulting artwork often commented, “How do you stitch those squares together?”  I’d laugh and explain that I didn’t stitch them together; I melted them apart!  Finally, I wrote a free, on-line tutorial on the process.  It is called How To Make An In Box.  It can be found at: 

http://artbysusanlenz.blogspot.com/2007/07/how-to-make-in-box.html

This is a step-by-step tutorial with plenty of images.

The work, however, continued to evolve.  It was accepted into several regional and national juried shows.  I also hung pieces in my studio and at my business.  Positive comment continued … including, “Susan, it looks like stained glass”.

The next hair-brained idea popped into my head.  I found myself wondering, “What would happen, if you cut the polyester shapes differently … in ways to better emulate the look of a real stained glass window?”  Guess what!  It works. 

It has been several years since I first embarked on this incredible journey of my own making.  Now, I am not alone with my soldering iron and heat gun.  I have a studio assistant helping with the HOT techniques.  We both wear a ventilator.  The fumes really are toxic.  Four years ago I found representation at the Grovewood Gallery in Asheville for this work.  It sells well.  Last year I ventured into a big arena … the world of 10’ x 10’ Pro Panel booths set up in classy convention centers!  I’ve been successfully juried into the Washington Craft Show, the Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show, and the upcoming American Craft Council’s flagship show in Baltimore.  I even have available pieces posted on a blog at:   

http://inboxseries.blogspot.com/

I currently make the “In Box” series in three sizes and can accept commissions based on the need for other sizes.  I make four different sizes of “Stained Glass” pieces:  Windows, (small) 17 1/4" x 15 1/4" framed; Lancet Windows, (tall and skinny) 31 1/4" x 11 1/4" framed; Lunette Windows (the only horizon ones) 23” x 29” framed; and Large Stained Glass Windows, 62 ½” x 22 ½” framed.  I’ve taught these techniques in several great locations too:  The Studios of Key West in Florida, The Society of Contemporary Crafts in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, The Columbia Museum of Art, and elsewhere.  I’m also going to Mary McBride’s Focus on Fibers Retreat at the Atlantic Center for the Arts in March to teach and am available for any other, wild and wonderful adventures!

The most fun, however, still happens in my garage watching the soldering iron melt its way through as many as seven layers of polyester velvet and seeing the acrylic felt seemingly evaporate through exposure to the heat gun.  Yes … I’ve even got a video of that process.  It’s like magic and HOT, HOT, HOT.  Being “hot” is never a problem for a middle-aged artist!

My advice:  Get HOT and act on your hair-brained ideas!

Video of my melting out the work with a heat gun is at:

http://videosbysusanlenz.blogspot.com/2012/10/fiber-art-melting-felt-with-susan-lenz.html