1. A decorative design, as for fabrics, wallpaper, china, or rugs.
2. Decoration or ornament having a design.
3. A natural or chance marking, or design: patterns of flowers on a fabric.
Moving through the Penland studios, you see patterns emerge everywhere.
As the first week at Penland progressed to week two, the piles of books on our studio meeting table (and the individual studio tables) have grown substantially. We have spoken of so many things and explored SO many ideas. Here are a few of the volumes that have made their way into our conversations:
Thank you to Pinkney Herbert’s studio at Penland…
Just when I think that it can’t get any better, it does. A weekend in the mountains was what I needed and it’s the first time in ages that I meet Monday morning feeling rested, relaxed (beyond measure), and balanced. The highlight of my weekend was certainly a swim in the North Toe River: icy cold waters, a gentle rain, friends, a series of rapids, warmer pools of water carved into the rocks. I often forget how MUCH I NEED to be outside.
While I swam, my studio continued their adventures in stenciling and sewing.
After two hours of restorative yoga, a walk around the studio reveals beautiful progress.
It’s been raining every day here at Penland—such a change from the dry, dying fields of North Alabama over the last weeks. Like a miracle, it rained on our cotton field, too (more to come on that next week). My father reports that we did get 3 inches of rain at my house and I love how he called it a “good rain.” “Long and slow,” he drawls. I know what he means. It has been the same here at Penland, but I have a pair of rubber boots and, thanks to a Spruce Pine store, a camping poncho. And the mountains here just feel like they are particularly beautiful in the rain… I believe that they call them the “Smoky Mountains” for a reason. Continue reading
I was about 22 years old when I entered my first design studio. I felt like a baby. I had rarely taken an art class in school. When I say rarely, I mean there had been a few special days of art in grade school – nothing particularly formal, and certainly nothing recent. At that time, I didn’t think that I KNEW how to make. In that moment, those grade school classes and the lessons of my grandmothers in living arts didn’t seem to matter; I was scared of the entire process and frozen. The freedom that seemed to stretch before me was too much for my young mind to handle. As a young adult, my best friend was a budding artist. I remember her beautiful drawings so clearly and I began to think that that art was fascinating, but something that OTHER people did. Prints of Pinkie and The Blue Boy in gold foil frames, purchased at the local furniture store, were the only “art” that hung in our home.
Even when I land in one of the most beautiful (peaceful) places on Earth, it takes me time to settle in, to relax, and to feel like I belong. Regardless, there is already a sort of “hum” in the studio, as my friend Cathy Bailey might say. You can “hear” thoughts coming together, the whisper of thread through fabric, and hands moving, all mingled with an underlying buzz that permeates the Penland campus.
I flew out of hot and dry North Alabama on Saturday afternoon and woke up in room #2 surrounded by the cool mountain airs of Penland, North Carolina.