What do see you in each exquisite sample of craftsmanship that the artist may never have envisioned?
Each work has a label giving information about its title and about the person who made it. You might want to read the labels after immersing yourself in the artwork, the better to give your Imagination free rein.
Abstract Landscape Tree Fiber Art
Jacque Beck - Jacque Textile Designs Ltd
Hand Created Fabric Artist Panel Abstract Landscape Tree Fiber Art Quilting
Found on etsy.com (out of stock)
Betty Busby - Binary Fission - some gorgeous close ups of fine stitch work on this website
I'll Take Door Three
Abstract Landscape Tree
I'm enamored of trees whether real or in art so I had to post the picture of this textile. Sorry 'bout that.
I have little doubt this is part of a swamp--the reflection of dim sunlight--very possibly the reddish hues of sunset give it away. Once I "saw" the tussocks and scummy floating plants pretending to be reflections on the surface of the water, I really couldn't see anything else.
Having our imaginations constricted so quickly can be a bummer but it's my fault for choosing a picture that wasn't sufficiently ambiguous.
When I was young, my family would travel south to visit relatives. Back then, we had no choice but to drive through what was called the Dismal Swamp. Further south, is the huge Okefenokee Swamp, home to cypress their branches often burdened with something called Spanish Moss. After all these years, I only know the words and have no clear image of what I could see back then out of the back window of our car.
Having established that much to me semi-satisfaction, I began wondering about the rosy light in the middle of the textile. I simply couldn't think of the light as emanating from sunset. For one thing the brightest light shafts down at a sharp angle. So too early for sunset. The rosy-pink hue failed to convince me that it was sunlight filtered through earth's atmosphere. I said "failed to convince me" since I'm not about to say that sunsets never glow with this particular hue.
Still... I think this warm glow comes from some other source. See how solid the surface is directly behind the single beam of light? Beats me what that is. Probably not a door. An odd-shaped mass of stone rising above the water? Well, maybe... In which case, what are those two (or is it three?) black objects bolted to--maybe growing out of--the stone?
Hmm. Don't know. Or rather, I can't imagine...
The first thing I imagined was an aerial photograph of the river's floodplain. I'm not ruling that out; however, I began to wonder if a river which created such a floodplain could have dried up entirely. Its surface refused to appear muddy. More like nearly dry mud. And my floodplain wanted to be fissured rocks.
I didn't like this at all so I started over. My Imagination kindly cooperated. I realized that I was looking straight up rather than down. Already much better!
Hah! The black "cracks" were tree twigs, the fine texture between them leaves--mostly likely spring leaves not yet unfurled.
The brown "branch" troubled me briefly. (It wanted to be pesky no matter what my Imagination came up with.)
I told it that this was a birch and, before it could protest, that the topmost branches of a birch always appeared darker than sky filtering through immature leaves! Hah!
Seriously though, that's what I think I remember from decades ago, when I would take my breaks just outside where I worked nearly surrounded by birch trees. White bark at the bottom silhouetted by dark-green leaves of ground cover--the reverse contrast high up in the branches.
Sigh. I used to love taking breaks out there!
I'll Take Door Three
There's no way I could force my Imagination to un-see a door.
Seriously don't ever force your Imagination to see something besides what it gloms unto when you look at something. Otherwise, you've stopped imagining.
So, a door. I liked the stones serving as the door frame with larger almost foundation stone blocks at the base. Notice how the steps are not just uneven? The surfaces are actually a bit concave. So old steps, suggesting that the door frame is equally old. The wrought iron handle and hinges on the door confirm this.
Why is there a narrow bit of stone on either side of the arch about two-thirds of the way up from the steps? Maybe the original mason determined these to be necessary? Maybe these are repairs? Beats me.
Meanwhile, I kept getting distracted by the black edges of the textile--particularly the concave wedges at the top on either side.
Mundane explanation? The craftman's decision.
Imagination's theory? I was about to step out of a lightless tunnel into a brief patch of daylight before opening to door and walking inside. What's inside?
I don't know. Actually the door refused to open no matter how hard I tugged on the ring. No keyhole. Bummer!
Hmm. What are those thin wedges of stone? Do they hold the secret to opening the door?