carlyn yandle
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Drawing on our true colours, for social change

6/26/2024

 
PictureSan Francisco Pride float, 2022 (Carlyn Yandle photo)
Two years ago to the day of this writing, my sweetie and I arrived in downtown San Francisco the day before the Pride parade and the day after the U.S. Supreme Court struck down Roe v. Wade.

​By the time the Dykes on Bikes marshalled in the rest of raucous procession the celebration had morphed into a colourful protest. Democrat House speaker Nancy Pelosi was perched on a red convertible, smiling and waving to the cheering crowd just 18 months after her life-threatening ordeal at the Capitol (and less than six months before her husband would be bludgeoned in a politically-motivated home-invasion). That's some chutzpah, even with her hefty security detail and tank-like SUV with blacked-out windows following close behind.

​She may have led the Pride news coverage that night but to me the most potent part of that parade was the hasty cardboard signs. The scrawled messaging radiated with the heat of that moment and the passion that fuelled some riled-up people to come together for an immediate mark-making response.

Picture(Carlyn Yandle photo)
These handmade expressions stand out in contrast to the increasing commercialization of this and most Pride parades I’ve been to, or have been in (in hot-pink wig and silver boots) for my past employer’s marketing interests. San Francisco may host one of the biggest parades on the continent but I feel for any of the tech company employees there who would rather be hiking on a weekend instead of holding their company’s logo banner for several hours.

The opposite of this experience was the nascent Puerto Vallarta parade of 2017, a sparse but sparkly procession of sexy cowboys, drag Virgens de Guadaloupe and piñatas in the likeness of Trump with a gaping hole where his tiny mouth should be. I love the notion of traditional piñata-makers paper-maché-ing the bulbous  bodies and cutting Velveta-coloured paper hair fringes to make the Trumpiñatas. The intensity of that parade was in all those non-commercial, handmade costumes and flatbed floats, at a time and place where flying your true colours is not only gutsy, but dangerous.

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I gravitate toward these political acts of craft. It’s a little like making as a kid: a spirited or mischievous testing of the boundaries of materials and manners. Making with kids is a lesson in the power of putting ourselves out there creatively, to let go of control and all expectations.

How to harness that drive to make without fear that it’s not good enough or that it’s too didactic or that it will inflame the trolls — this is my challenge. My sweetie, a career political cartoonist, also wrestles with getting it right, worried that all the cross-hatching and caricature honed over a lifetime won't stand up to a particular idea, or that the idea won’t resonate with readers so doesn’t warrant the mark-making. Those adult worries are fun-killers.

But the San Francisco Pride parade dislodged something and we decided to go all in, which since then has become a series of his drawings, my stitching, our painting on linen, with the news item for context printed around the edge of the embroidery hoop that holds it all together. These are Points of Interest, a blend of journalism and craftivism, a series of tangible historical documents in a virtual world. They are not decor-pretty but function as a virtual archive of hand-rendered images and text, shared digitally for the purpose of community engagement and further exploration into personal and political creative processes.

We may not ever get back in the fold of newspaper journalism but we're having some fun riding that vehicle for social change through photography, drawing, painting, stitching, writing and sharing on our socials, without fear or favour.
​

Below: Other social activism that have inspired acts of craftivism:

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(Left: Kelowna Daily News photo)
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(Top: Reddit image)

Just a reflection, of a reflection, of a reflection, of a reflection

6/20/2024

 
I have my share of obtrusive thoughts but this week it’s an ear-worm: Arcade Fire’s "Reflektor."
​

It jumped into my head while on a brilliant morning bike ride this week, after passing someone walking while talking into her phone raised in that most flattering angle of a few inches above her face. A few minutes later I passed another camera-ready performer, also sharing sunny enthusiasm into her screen. And before I finished my ride I saw another person in the same mode of performance. Aside from the tricky logistics of walking with a screen in front of one’s face, I wondered if an authentic, personal experience of the physical world is possible if you’re doing it while engaging through the mediated space of a tiny screen. 

I thought I found the connector. It’s just a reflektor.
PictureInside Teamlab's 100,000-square-metre Borderless Digital Art Gallery. Photo by Charley Yandle
My nephew, a fine-arts student, just returned from Japan where he spent many hours at various digital installations presented by the Tokyo-based Teamlab “artist collective.” The images and videos he took while moving through the 100,000-square-metre Borderless Digital Art Gallery show multi-levelled mirrored spaces, light shows and walls of sound.

Just a reflection, of a reflection, of a reflection, of a reflection, of a reflection

The several Teamlab immersive experiences in different regions were the highlight of his month-long trip. Is it just for young people?, I texted. All ages, he replied. As these massive permanent installations sprout up in shiny boom cities from Singapore to Abu Dhabi I am seeing a more dystopian view of humanity crowding into these cool sensory retreats from some burning global realities. 

I scanned the website for any writing on social or political context beyond “Life is a miraculous phenomenon that emerges from a flow in a continuous world.”

Thought you would bring me to the resurrector. Turns out it was just a reflektor

I’ve learned to trust the confluence of obtrusive thoughts and my experience of the world. It’s a brain-hurt process that I work through by writing and through conversations that might begin with my four favourite words: “I have this idea.”

I have this idea, I said to a different young nephew a couple of months ago. Soon we were doing photo portraiture in the forest, exploring a mirror’s ability to erase the subject.
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Above, left and right: Forest portraiture with subject-negating mirror.
I have this idea, an artist friend said to me last month, and soon I was sewing up a garment from the picture in his head. This became Abyss, a wearable artwork featuring two FaceTiming iPads to create the illusion of a torso with a large hole straight through the back. Performing Abyss attracts attention to the self for having nothing of substance at the core.

Will I see you on the other side? We all got things to hide
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Above: Testing the invisibility effect of ‘Abyss’ by artist/architect David Weir (@djweir.art)
I guess I’m reflecting on that notion that is as old as Greek mythology: one’s mirrored reflection is a seductive trap, or a distraction on the path to complete social disengagement. And I’m reflecting on the opposite, that mindful reflection and self-reflection is the route to social engagement.

​Crawling out of that trap, or taking a different path, may be as simple as reflecting on the sign on the door of my old apartment neighbour, a social worker: “Don’t just say something, stand there.”
​

Audio version of this post is at carlynyandle.substack.com

Stitching a story of a final send-off

6/16/2024

 
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This one’s for my brother, on his second memorial Father’s Day.​

I started the artwork just after returning from his ashes-scattering ceremony on one of the Gulf Islands, as he requested in the few weeks before his death. I had suggested a flotilla led by his “Brudderhood” of friends, on the Sabine Channel. He liked that but said, with some difficulty, They’ll never make it.

But they did, buoyed by a legendary/hazardous flotilla at one of their dads-and-kids camping trips. It was everything he would have wanted. An odd collection of watercraft was rafted together and his two teenage sons poured the ashes into the ocean, creating a cloud of what my brother would have called “a lovely turquoise.”

My sisters and I would exchange smiles whenever he described his many plans as Lovely, usually emphasized with a fluttery hand gesture. It was his signature descriptor in his otherwise utilitarian, East Van vernacular.

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When I got back to the city and into my studio I was listless, managing only to fold and re-fold my stash of old work jeans, many of them contributed by my brother for my art purposes. The scraps of indigos and greys, rips and frays reminded me of that shoreline and those mountains and soon I was layering the pieces together in the sashiko (Japanese for “little stabs”) way, working up a boro (indigo textile repaired and reinforced through sashiko) from memory. 

The urge to use those jeans stitches up nicely with the waste-not-want-not sensibility of mottainai that has been informing my work and life since living in Japan in my early 20s. Old jeans are too rich in embedded modern culture to not use. And these particular jeans needed a new narrative.

When the chaotic patchwork became too heart-heavy I tucked it away. In the year that followed I traveled back to Japan, then Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and central Mexico, where the connecting threads of narrative fibre-art fuelled new energy for the boro-project.

Stories told in cloth throughout the world are often worked up not as a pre-planned design but as a journey. This is one of those. After I stitched together the scraps of the memory landscape I traversed it with more sashiko in different blues, then added french knots for sand, and in the centre, swirls of stitches in shades of turquoise. I considered adding the kayaks, paddleboard, my skiff, his motorboat, maybe an air mattress or a driftwood log or two but decided against adding that cluttered narrative to the already raggedy, improvisational patched piece.

I chose instead to stick to the feeling of that golden moment of that lovely final goodbye.
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"Lovely", 2024, Found denim, embroidery thread on stretcher, 24" x 24"
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Detail of "Lovely", 2024. Found jeans, embroidery thread on stretcher, 24" x 24"

Faith is key when you're cutting up family heirlooms

6/7/2024

 
Is it easy to cut up hand-embroidered linen tablecloths, runners, pillowcases?

It is not. As an adequate hand-stitcher I understand the skill, labour, time and patience that goes into each linen. I understand the desire to cherish these vintage domestic-craft objects made for the joy of it that are eventually passed around and down the generations only to be hidden in some drawer or closet. I understand the impulse to rescue them from the humiliation of their thrift-store price tags of maybe five dollars.

Cutting through all these layers of meaning feels a little like slicing into someone else’s skin. What right do I have?
PictureAm I ruining family heirlooms? Or daylighting unused linens that have been in the dark for decades? (Carlyn Yandle photo)
As word got out that I was amassing old embroidered linens for an artwork I gratefully received donations from friends and family. It’s a lot easier to be the rescuer of those tragic cases dotted with stains or holes. At least I can console myself that I’m ending the quandary over whether to keep this piece of Grandma or let it go.

But the weighty, pristine Irish linen tablecloths that bloom with finely stitched bouquets and drawn threadwork borders are quite another thing. I take a deep breath and make mental apologies and thanks to the unknown or long-gone maker. I remind myself that I’m not ruining a family heirloom but daylighting the work of handmade things that have been in the dark for decades. Then I let the rotary-cutter rip. I am Edward Scissorhands. I can’t help myself. Sorry, not sorry.

This is the struggle behind Forage, an under-construction field of improvisational log-cabin blocks in my preferred scale of queen-sized. Each embroidered scrap is a literal snippet of a larger piece, the analogue equivalent of a digital thumbnail image. Machine-stitched together the blocks are as cacophonous as an Instagram Explore field.

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That effect grows exponentially as the blocks are stitched into rows, then rows onto rows. I’m now part-way through constructing the thing as a single field (“top”, in quilt language). Viewed horizontally it is a chaotic community garden of 42 unwieldy plots that spill out into the paths (“sashing”). I find new patterns for connection while merging the embroidered elements of one block into another block through the sashing, in a sort-of snail’s trail of stitches. As I mimic these markings of those makers, I feel a connecting thread. I am walking in their stitch-steps.

Despite the garden-plot references, this work is defying the horizontal, offering a reverse-side textural experience of an unstable grid of frayed edges. The maker-contributors never intended for the ‘wrong side’ to be seen, but when it’s all brought into the light, the translucent stained-glass effect cannot be denied. Suddenly I see connotations of religious symbolism, and I’m wondering about the power of the loose threads and those cryptic-looking stitches when viewed from behind the scenes. Something about sacrifice or at least about having faith that the discomfort in detaching from nostalgia is for good, not evil.

That openness is rich ground, another area to forage.
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Connecting embroidered elements feels like walking in the stitch-steps of past makers. (Carlyn Yandle photos)
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A backlit view of this work-in-progress adds further layers of pattern, texture and symbolism. (Carlyn Yandle photos)

Circular thinking can be a flow state too

6/2/2024

 
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I opened up my studio yesterday to the public to get some general feedback on a new series of paintings. Because even though I’m compelled to keep working on it and even though I’m enjoying a growing proficiency in this mash-up of stitching and painting I’m having trouble articulating why — or if — they’re not just pretty faces. Mostly I've been answering their questions with questions of my own.

“Why” has always been the trouble. Also aggravating: Why ask why?
This is the reason I’ve named this growing collection of paintings that all basically follow my own set of rules of engagement Circular Thinking. The connotation is negative but hear me out.

Asking ourselves existential questions while we create is infuriating (Shut the hell up, Inner Critic) but it’s also part of a process that can guide us to where we want to land. I would like to be settled with the obvious reason that it’s my route into flow, or actual, real fun. (The “so fun” episode of the We Can Do Hard Things podcast here was recommended to me by my sister.) And they do get me there: into the flow of playing with colours and opacities, of focusing on one stitch at a time, watching how each layer of paint or stitching changes perception.

But I can’t settle with just what’s in it for me. Making is my way of connecting with the world. Much of my work is collaborative, so those involved naturally have a stake in the final projects. Often that’s in the gathering of abject materials, or the actual simple hand-working methods that bring folks together. So it’s easy to see the ‘why’ in these crafted objects and fields; beyond their own resonance they stand as an archive of the social interaction, an artifact of the engagement with materials.

The Circular Thinking series has none of that. Each painting is a singular, intimate effort. It does not reveal any agency embedded in unwanted/useless materials and objects. So in the making, despite the flow part, I feel a whisper of guilt and shame that many women of a certain age might also hear when not doing for others: selfish, self-indulgent, self-absorbed.

There is definitely something in the ‘self’ there that is the driving force in these improvisational, unpredictable and unsettling paintings: self-care. I ache for solid, reliable ground in these perilous times so I start with a grid, like the criss-cross of rebar that sets the concrete footings in every new tower crowding the Vancouver skyline, or a typical nine-patch quilt block. Nine eight-inch-diameter circles in a 24" x 24" "block" anchor to that grid and then I’m off, free of all straight lines, off-setting those circles by half in paint, offsetting again with more layers of colour in paint or thread until I arrive at an attractive/distractive done-ness. It is an improvisational process of revealing and concealing (repeat!) petal-like sections of circles, creating unsettling, kaleidoscopic fields. It is the kind of all-consuming process that reduces hours to minutes, that absorbs all attention, a safe space away from the visual onslaught of social media, yet reflective of our ‘everything is awesome’ screen-field of vision.

​It might be easier to eat this elephant one bite at a time by knocking down specific why-questions:
​

Why paint?
Colour-play. Especially important in this watery corner of the world. It can also act as a dye/stain.

Why canvas?
It’s fabric, with so much possibility for exploring its essential characteristics.
​
Why the wood stretcher?
Another fibre product that is a natural with fabric. It's basically a quilt frame or embroidery hoop for painters. Building stretchers and stretching the canvas is an investment in the project ahead (a trick I learned from my father @dennisyandle).

Why the stitching?
I like to needle at the hierarchy of painting over craft processes. Each stitch feels like I’m sticking it to convention. Stitching into painting offers the digestible label of “expanded painting practice.”

Why all the quilt references?
The geometry of quilt designs is fascinating, mesmerizing. I have little aptitude but a lot of respect for the beauty of mathematics. The tactility of that geometry connects to present and past makers of objects that exist as art pieces or as items of comfort, utility and gifts, an expression of love. This is a less-digestible "expanded quilting practice": improvisational, mixed-media works with none of that cushy filling.
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The geometry of circular quilt designs remains a beautiful, captivating mystery.
Why this scale?
24" x 24” is my standard sample-block size. I dream of an exhibit of all my sample blocks blanketing white-cube gallery walls. 

Why two-dimensional?
Closer inspection reveals the third dimension, in the stitching. Also, the aforementioned sample-block dream show is a three-dimensional, immersive space of pattern and colour chaos. (I want to go to there.)
​
Circular Thinking is both the name of this latest series of grid paintings and shorthand for how I approach every new project: 
play, think, write, share, think, research, share, write, repeat.

Through this writing part of that feedback loop I can see I just might stop torturing myself with the existential Why and get back into that flow.

@carlynyandle
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    Cross-posted at
    carlynyandle.substack.com

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