I took photos of every length of cloth and finished product that I could lay my hands on over the last week. The result? Well, I suppose it's predictable. The camera gives a distance and an objectivity like no reducing glass ever could. As I work to assemble my portfolio (or at least the beginnings of one) I'm struck that some things that I thought were just so-so perhaps are better than I thought, and that some beloved pieces are kind of just there--nothing special. I'm struggling with that little voice of self-doubt that says, "Just who DO you think you are? What are you playing at here?" I'm proud to say that for the most part I've be able to answer with a defiant, "Shut the f@#$ up.
It's reassuring that the stuff that I like the most is generally all from the last few months, so I think that means that I'm growing--hopefully getting better.
The one on the left has definite quilt potential. It needs some embellishment and some black detail, but I love the uncomplicated deconstructed squares. The piece on the right is on silk habotai. I think is beautiful in person and has such great drape. I've thought about making it into a scarf. However, this might fall into the "boyfriend" category. Jane Dunnewold used that term in a workshop to refer to that point in the life of a piece of art cloth when it's just too cute and friendly to give up. You sort of have a crush on it and quake at the thought of doing anything that would change it. But, then it's time to move on. We'll see.
As if photographing and critiquing my own work isn't sobering enough, I've also had to work on a resume. Hey, no problem. I've got an 18-year career in publishing and project management under my belt. That, however, has nothing to do with my fledgling career as an artist, the resume for which amounts to, "studying hard, working as much as I can, and need to start showing my work." Of course the footnote has to be, "Everybody's got to start somewhere."