Immediately I started trying to weave by taping and laying colors over and under each other forming a waxed surface of warps and wefts . I loved the adventure of seeing where each new taped “ thread ” would take me . I suppose when I was a weaver that I loved the order of not only the product but the process . Treadle , lift , throw shuttle , relax the treadle , beat the weft . Repetitive . Hypnotic . It made sense for the order to exist because the end product was strong and would not unravel . Controlled-which was so unlike my own life . In my approach to encaustic , I struggle between the desire to “ let loose ” and express freedom and my natural inclination to follow my instinct and “ build ” or “ construct ” my story . Always , the visual image is secondary to my stored emotional catalog and not one piece is anything but a self confession . So I weave the foundations and make marks and find that the history , the poem , the light or the dark follows on its own .
Varanasi , encaustic and papers on panel , 18 x 18 inches , 2011
The Ganges runs through Varanasi and the Hindus travel there to cremate their dead and anoint their bodies and drink from “ Mother Ganga ’ s ” waters . It is the holiest of places for them and the colors , smells , and sounds of the place are simply unforgettable . Tragic and beautiful at the same time , it haunts . I took a photo of one of the boys who use long poles to transport people out into the river so that they may gently lay a marigold candle wreath into the water . It was sunrise and saris were draped over the balconies of the ghats and shrouded bodies were smoking on the banks . The strip of paper is literal in that is from India and is part linen like the shrouds and it drapes from the sky over the water . The cross hatching is the mix of grief and joy and abject poverty mixed with the assumed joys of heaven .