bookmark_borderSuprematist Composition #01

Suprematism was an early twentieth century art movement that started in post-revolutionary Russia, and embodied the idea that humanity had to free itself from the past and move boldly into the future with new concepts of everything, including art. My personal attachment to Suprematism dates back just a few years to when my Aunt found a book about the city of Vitebsk.

In the early Soviet era, Vitebsk became a city-wide art colony. The Suprematist school was one of the largest and most influential schools of art in Vitebsk at that time. On one page of the book, there is a full-page photo of a delegation of artists from Vitebsk who are traveling to Moscow to lobby the government for increased arts funding. Right in the front of the crowd is a person who looks like he is a relative of mine, and the caption of the photo identifies him as having the same family name as my maternal grandmother. My guess is that he was probably a cousin of hers.

So anyway, that is the origin of my preoccupation with the Suprematist movement. There is way more to know about Suprematism than I am willing to include in this post. The nutshell version is that the Suprematists believed in the supremacy of geometric forms and subjective emotion over the functional objectivity of representational art. The most iconic painting is by Kazimir Malevich the founder of the Suprematist school, and it shows a large black square occupying the center of a square white canvas.

A couple of weeks ago, my mind presented me with an image that I recognized as a Suprematist composition. This image popped up daily from then on. From previous experiences with this kind of mental obsession I knew that only bringing this urge to physical form would get it out of my head. Yesterday, I finally walked to the art store, bought a canvas, and made it into an actual painting.

Five Black Bars (2026, Acrylic and Canvas, 14 in. by 14 in.)

There it is, displayed in my home office as Malevich displayed his painting Black Square. It is one of the few projects I have ever produced that is a genuine attempt at artistic expression. You are, of course, entitled to your own opinions on “modern art” or my own clumsy execution. The composition was laid out by hand with ruler and pencil, and the paint applied to canvas by hand with brushes. This is not a joke of any kind. This composition has meaning to me, and this work has personal resonance.

A common criticism of abstract art is, “A child could have done this.” In this case at least I disagree. Not only was this work technically difficult to compose (Can you divide ten by nine using a ruler?) it relied on lengthy experience with brushes and paint to execute. A child who could do this should be sent to art school, engineering school, or both. Another criticism is, “I could have done this.” Again I disagree, because you did not. You did not have the combination of knowledge, emotion, history, experience, and desire that demanded the creation of this painting. If you have the basic skills necessary to replicate this painting (and I have no doubt that many of you who bother to read this far can exceed any rudimentary skills I have with paint) then by all means do so. If my painting inspires you to make your own painting in response, then I encourage — actually, I demand — that you do so. Even if your painting looks just like mine it will still be yours. Your painting will not be my painting.

I look forward to seeing your painting.

bookmark_borderTrio of Triangular Braids

Back in the Spring, I started teaching myself a new kumihimo braiding pattern. It’s called the “Sankaku-kumi 1” braid. It is #116 in Makiko Tada’s Comprehensive Treatise on Braids: Marudai. It is a triangular braid with fifteen strands.

Most marudai braids have a number of strands that is divisible by four. Eight, sixteen, and 24-strand braids are the most common. Odd-stranded braids are uncommon. I’ve done a 9-strand braid and a 17-strand braid in the past, and I’d love to be able to run a workshop on odd braids. This one seemed like a good candidate.

First, I did the braid in some acrylic yarn I keep around for learning purposes.

First try at the sankaku braid

It’s a pretty thick braid because I used two plies of yarn on each tama. You can see that there are a number of errors in this braid. Most of them seem to be of the “doing the wrong step at the wrong time” kind. There are 9 white strands, and 6 red strands. They are separated into six positions around the marudai: RR WWW RR WWW RR WWW. Each iteration, you move one white strands from each group two positions clockwise, and one red strand from each group one position counter-clockwise.

Second try at the sankaku braid

For the second try, I used cotton crochet thread, and reversed the colors. I don’t think there are any visible errors in this braid. There are some structural twists in it, though, that keep it from being smooth.

Third try at the sankaku braid

For the third try, I went with lace-weight silk yarn. I got started on this, then it sat on the marudai for at least six months. I got side-tracked onto other things and it stared at me accusingly for all that time like a one-eyed daruma doll. For this try, I used back and gold threads for the 6 center strands, plus red and white threads for the 9 outer strands. I did not quite plan out the color pattern well enough, so you can see where two white strands come one after the other. There’s also a big error from when I got started on the braid again and did the wrong thing at the wrong time. I’ve hidden it in the photo, though.

Anyway, this is a nice, fast braid when you don’t take a six month break in the middle of it. I’ll probably give it a rest for a bit, then do a fourth try to lock the pattern into my memory. Once I do that I can create my own instruction sheet and I’ll be ready to teach a class on it.