In late May of 2025 I visited McFarland Park and captured this view of the adjacent vineyard in bloom: and not only the vines, but the wild daisies growing so beautifully between the symmetry. The distant typography reveals the wonderful perspective of rows tapering to their vanishing points – at least two. A stand of trees in the distance balanced against the “long-armed” birch in front provides the scene with a lovely balance and focal points – thanks to my customers who pointed this out. So, here we go!

Prep. Work: There are many phases to a large 76 x 32 inch work, all adding up to at least 4 – 6 weeks of work. At first there is the “mapping” which determines technical aspects, including the complicated perspective of the scene. The second row in from the left will provide not only a horizon point, but also another where the midground is divided into two planes: fore and aft we could call them, where the ground rises up – who would have known that Niagara on the Lake had much in the way of visual typography! Here are 3 images showing my earlier work at the Jordan Art Gallery which inspired this larger version. The “cartoon” as artists often call the layout/mock up, allows for working out the linear perspective and other main details. I don’t typically go through this process with smaller works as all of that can be readily worked out with the compositional ground of wool fibres (you can see that on most of my former blogs). Technically, I have divided the composition, vertically, into thirds, and horizontally into quarters and thirds. The image itself was very conducive to these divisions.

Before starting with any fibres, I also made up a second version of the layout with parchment/tracing paper. I will use this version as a guideline to lay out my wool fibre ground.

Once approved, I began the actual work. First the measuring and cutting of the quilt batting, foundation support – cut larger than the 76 x 32 inches that the finished work will be. Under this layer I will use a layer of tulle fabric which I discovered only recently acted as a perfect stabilizer and prevented the felting from imbedding itself into my sponge/foam work surface. I had a bolt of this fabric left over from a wedding and have used it for many other purposes as well.

Starting in with the first compositional layer: In a scene that has many layers from closest foreground to distant background, the needle felting process requires you to lay in the most distant grounds first, otherwise the fibres will tend to interfere with the foreground structure. In a work with a sky feature, that is generally where I begin.

Laying in the foundation: With a background in hand-spinning, I have used many of the skills learned in that field. One of them is “carding” which is the process of brushing the fibres so that they easily separate and can be controlled into whatever thickness and “spread” that I wish them to be. My fibres are bought as factory dyed “rovings”, a product whereby the dyed fibres are also factory carded and attenuated into fist-sized “ropes”, as you can see below. Hand spinners can easily use rovings straight from the package.

First layer of detailing: There are many, many what I like to call “lay lines” in work like this one: rows of vines which are supported by fences made from round wooden posts and many angel-iron posts between. These support rows of wires on which the grape-vines have grown and now bear their May blooms. Behind and in front of each row are the daisies which I will have to graduate from foreground to background using slightly different mixes of silk and wool to show “atmospheric” perspective. The tracing paper has enabled a way to establish these lines, some of which might stay, and others that I might replace.

The posts have been made from my own wet-felted material and cut to their length and diameter. For now they are pinned and lightly needled in place, but later will be hand-stitched and rounded into shape. The last job that I did on this day was to go over the sky once again with a light-colour mix of viscose (bamboo fibre) to give the sky its own perspective (light in the distant horizon and more saturated colour above).

September 6: Uncovering more information.

It always amazes me that the more you work and observe any particular image, the more you begin to see details that weren’t evident previously. I like to tackle one area at a time. Today my first job was to begin working on the fences to the right of the work. The fenceposts need more rounding off and the tops have to look “flat.”

There are many layers of grapevine fences here, in fact they will all lead to the horizon and looking closely, there are four distinguishable rows. I will need to pull out the fibres of distant rows to the centre right to match up with the four main rows that start at the right foreground. I started mixing silk noils into the longer fibres and needle felting them into the background rows to represent the thousands of daisies. I will have to come up with a larger foreground alternative.

Between the rather tedious work of placing background rows, I worked on the stand of trees in the distance: defining the shadows beneath the canopy and adding light to their tops. There is still work needed to be done on the sky. I want to add a little more blue to the horizon and eventually add in some very subtle wispy clouds.

September 9: Fun with handspun grapevines.

I am now running low on previously handspun singles that I like to use for vines (single ply tends to curl up against itself, whereas a 2-ply used for knitting is stabilized). I would now have to spend some time creating more yarn.

Over the weekend: I have reached a point where refining and detailing have become the focus of the work. The rows of earth in front of each vine row need daisies added and at the same time shadows beneath them. There’s still refinement with shading needed to create more perspective to the entranceway.

I had a little fun with the larger daisies and decided to try cutting up a white 2-ply silk and wool mix and blending that with green silk fibres. All will be anchored with tiny stitches.

Foreground: I feel that I can leave the vineyard now (although there’s still more detailing to be done) and focus on the foreground. This is a mowed area of grass that I will lay in horizontally to create that illusion. It has lovely rich stripes of yellow green and deeper shades between. I think it will need a little blue added later to tie in with the sky and to soften the overall yellowness of this area. All has yet to be firmly felted in place. Remember, there will also be a powerful tree feature on the right side that will add a shadow across the foreground.

September 14: My goal this week was to get the felted composition completed so that I can move into the second phase of the project: hand stitching over the whole to anchor and texturize the fibres.

In the images below I am felting the foreground place. I have laid the silk fibres in horizontally to create the impression of long mowed lines. I will later add in vertical fibres to better indicate the grass blades. Between this ground and the vineyard area, is a ditch. Looking at it closely, there are long grasses growing in this, likely, wetter area. I have also been looking at the daisies, and think I might add more larger ones.

I have created a wispy, two-tone nuno felt (wool base with silk and viscose (bamboo) fibre laid on top and wet felted. Each fibre shrinks as a different rate (wool less than silk) creating a lovely rippled effect. I will use this fabric for the tops of the vines. When cut and felted into place the effect was a little too bright and needed some softening with a darker mix of colour. The hand-stitching will further texturize and soften the look.

I spent a fair bit of time pulling out the bottom row of long fibres between the grapevines and replacing that line with distant daisies. Even though it’s there in the photo, there is something that I didn’t like about the way it looked. I have also added in vertical stems and shadows to the grassy areas between the vines. There is more of this darkening and distancing needed in the background rows.

As well, the wooden poles that anchor each vine row, still need more rounding off with shadows. I will also add in chunky vines to create more depth to this vineyard area. The distant trees on the horizon still need a bit of refining with shadows and depth. I guess I’m actually at the stage where I begin to be more and more critical of the work leaving each session with an idea of what I need to do next time. But, the most exciting part is going to be placing the foreground tree in place.

Placing the feature birch tree: I had a leftover work that I was never really happy with, and decided to repurpose the felt for the tree. The day arrived when I could put my sewing scissors to work cutting the truck and main branches of the birch tree. There was a lot of white and grey in this piece, as well as sky blue, which lent itself to the new composition. Felted fibres can be pulled out fairly easily if not anchored with stitches, hence this time-consuming but important finishing step.

Birch trees have a wonderful sheen to their patterns, and I have successfully created them before. I was looking forward to this new challenge that also had a lot of shadow caused by its new spring canopy.

The birch tree is a prominent foreground feature and will have a 3-dimensional/relief form. I have begun to fill/stuff the trunk with strips of trimmed quilt batting which I save for such a purpose. I think most artists value the “waste” materials that they produce. At this time the limbs are needled in place but will be firmly secured with hand stitches.

Time now to create a nice piece of green/s nuno felt https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iKQvhNbqO0 for the canopy (inserted link takes you to the process). Birch trees have very distinctive leaves, as well as thicker areas where they cluster together.

Tackling the canopy: No matter how many times I create a piece of felt, it’s just instinctive I think, that you want to preserve that work in itself. But, this one was created for a purpose, so here goes with the sewing scissors.

First: The wool backing was a little thick in places, especially around the edges of the felt. Trimming this excess off in little pieces produced exactly the right material for individual leaves. “Sprinkling” them on the added twiggy branches (these I finger spun) gives a more organic feel to the image. I would add larger pieces of the nuno felt (pulled apart to expose the sky and underlying branches) and whisps of it to the leafy areas, not only to lightly anchor the leaves, but to add muted background leaves. All was then felted in place with the 5-needle tool.

To extend the eye through the sky area, I added some very light wispy clouds. Cultivated white silk blended with viscose made a perfect blend that both separates as its laid in and adds a lovely soft luster to these forms. But it’s still a back and forth process with white and blue to blend the edges.

The foreground lawn was vertically texturized to very subtly give the impression of grass blades – then needled in place. The shadows added next to the lawn to tie both tree and ground together. Around the tree I used my rough silk to naturalize the unmown patch. I think I will further texturize this area with the same finger spun fibres. I also want to add a slightly lighter layer of nuno felt to the thicker areas of the canopy, bringing that area out a little and leveling it with the “dimensionalized” trunk. I have also put aside some white handspun wool that I’ll cut and use for a layer of larger daisies in the foreground vineyard area.

I think I’m pretty close to the point where I can remove the work from the working surface and attach it to a stabilizing backing. Once this is done, I can begin stitching. Refinement of the image can still continue as I work through this final phase.

This was one of the first images I captured on my recent return to New Zealand. It’s a place along the South-West coast of the North Island a little north from Wellington called Paremata which adjoins the newly developed Camborne suburb. I’m looking South-East towards Pauatahanui inlet. My walk there brought back memories of childhood when our family of 5 children travelled to Paremata on day trips by train to this inlet beach to gather clam shellfish that we called “pipis.” We worked hard digging in the tidal sands for these small white mollusks, gathering a bucketful to take home for the next day’s meal, as they had to be left in fresh water overnight to spit out sand from their shells.

At some point Mum would send me, along with perhaps my next youngest sister, to the local fish and chips shop to bring back a large bundle of steaming hot fare (of course wrapped in newspaper) that we’d spread out on a picnic blanket and dive into with our fingers. There was usually a baby in a pushchair (stroller) and this device offered a handy means to transport the heavy shellfish back home after an invigorating and tiring day in the sun.

It occurred to me that what I was revisiting impacted in such a profound way that the imagery and memories would lend themselves to a new series of needle felted artworks. This Paremata memory (here at high tide) is the image the I decided to begin with.

Using wool fibre then silk in subsequent layers I have recreated this scene captured on the walk with my sister around the Paremata harbour/inlet. The feature plant is flax which may be one of 2 indigenous species, either Phormium tenax  (harakeke). Likely this one as its a larger species than the mountainous Phormium colensoi (wharariki). As it had just flowered, I am unable to tell if its flowers were red (tenax) or yellow (colensoi). New Zealand flax (not related to the European variety) is a hardy plant which was traditionally used by the Maori people for woven mats and baskets, ropes and clothing. It was also cultivated by the European settlers for their own and commercial use. Now reintroduced in many areas, the plant attracts native birds such as the Tui – a black song bird featuring a white ball of feathers at the throat.

On my next work depicting part of this Paremata walk, I will discover more about what I am seeing in the image. I will also travel up the coast, into thicker forest and make a trip down to Christchurch in the South Island.

The second work in the series is a view returning to the start of the Paremata walk, now looking west towards Paremata. We are now on the sand dunes close to where I recall those childhood days at the beach.

Work no. 3 is still looking westwards. The expanse of tidal waters struck me with its very distinct tidal patterns. This work was a little more of a challenge although it may at first seem more simplified in its composition. The striations of the water became too dominant and the subtle perspective of the cloud formations became just as important. I took a bold move by removing the entire layer and moving is down to create a horizon that would share both water and sky equally. By doing this I disturbed the vertical striations such that it softened the look and I was able to direct the water movement horizontally as well. I felt this worked better.

Snow-laden branches have been a fascination and source of inspiration for some years. Standing under a bower or cathedral formation, has been a compelling inspiration in many recent works. I started work on this needle felted work after gaining permission to use Anita Payne’s photograph from early December, 2023, based on a walk that she and her group took in Perth County.

Before I started, I had been thinking about spirals and Fibonacci’s sequence (13th century Italian mathematician) which is a universal and mathematical calculation of spirals from the smallest unfurling fern frond, an unborn fetus to the universe itself – truly a wonder of nature. Here is the unfolding of Snow Bower:

The centre is the “tunnel” or eye of the spiral. The way the light filters through, inviting the hiker or “viewer” into the work, and from there, using the spiral sequence, the layout of trunks and branches begins to take shape.

I am using felt-covered ropes left over from the previous project “Into the Forest” and adding more that have been newly hand spun. All will have to be hand-stitched to the base (a white baby’s acrylic blanket found at one of my favourite charity store). Before beginning the composition I had needle felted the entire surface with a mixture of white wool and acrylic fibres.

I wanted to add the 2 photos taken on a January walk through our local Friendship Trail. When going through my album to choose studio shots of the process, I almost didn’t see these images as something else.

Below: Once the trunks and branches are in place (although more will need to be added), I am able to add snow. My first layer is made from a mixture of viscose and acrylic fibres blended together. Viscose is made from bamboo and provides a wonderful luster. Later I will add cultivated silk which has an even brighter property. In these photos I am showing not only the building of snow, but the deepening of the forest perspective background by using finer handspun yarns.

I especially love working on the foreground trying to give the viewer a feeling that the branches are reaching forward as if they are wanting to be touched. This thickening of snow can be achieved by pre-felting and cutting the white felt, which is then needle felted to the surface.

I pondered whether or not to add actual colour to the work. I loved the grey tones which reflected the greyness of the day that the photograph was taken. However, I also wanted to add a some coolness and warmth (contrasts) through the use of colour. Mixed blues and some yellow is now embedded in the highlights of the work. From a distance it’s not even noticeable but there all the same.

The process at this point involves a spiraling in itself, working between what has been laid in and what the composition demands to add more depth and “reach.” I have laid in the horizontal branch and want to pull the composition forward toward the viewer. I sort out the opinion of my fellow SAQA Niagara pod members to help at this point.

From this point on my work involves fine tuning the composition to bring the branches forward, push others further back. The forward-most tree trunk was also repositioned to be more perpendicular which seemed to work better than when diagonally angled. A week has been spent stitching all in place to not only anchor surface applications but also to enhance texture and form. A few more days has completed the stabilizing backing and then the final backing. A studio photography session completed now. The finished work is the featured at the beginning of this blog.

All-in-all, I estimate about 100 hours of work has gone into this quilt. The finished work now hangs at the Jordan Art Gallery in the village of Jordan, Ontario. If you are interested, please contact me through my website or at ghildebrandartstudio@gmail.com

For some years now I have had in my posession a tapa mat (runner) that was gifted to my father while he was working for the British Government in the Fiji Islands. In 1953, my parents were newly married and expecting their first child (me). December of that year was also the inaugural visit to Suva of the newly crowned Elizabeth II, head of the Commonwealth of which Fiji was then a member. Elizabeth made her way to the podium on this runner. Seventy years later, we lost her and I felt it an appropriate time to refresh this relic. My mother who is part Samoan (and will have bearing in this work) believed the tapa cloth (made from beaten mulberry bark) to be intact; however, inspecting it more closely, the actual top layer had been cut away and removed. What we have, is the poorly made underside which had somewhat deteriorated. I felt it worthy of resurrecting and this better than being tossed at some future date. I tried to retain the very best of the edging that will have a visual prominence in the finished work.

I had a sketchy idea of how this work would incorporate 70 years of heritage and history, meaningful to myself as well as my parents: a challenge to harmonize all into a unified artwork.

I wanted to incorporate one of a series of quilted headstones (photographed at the Fonthill Cemetery) that I had worked on during my convalescence from radiation and chemo. therapy in 2009 (never completed or shown). This component I felt was symbolic of rebirth that would tie into the concept of our monarch now passed and replaced, but at the same time, denoting the ongoing changes to rule by monarchical power throughout the Commonwealth.

A secondary theme is that on my own history having been born in Fiji, schooled in New Zealand and having lived my last almost 50 years in Canada: all countries having been formerly under colonial rule. Layers of traditional design elements would be a way to make this presentation. Metaphorically, I see the overall work as a series of connecting roots entwined through layers beneath the ground with a new life emerging above.

I ordered a roll of mulberry paper, and although from Korea I didn’t think it deterred too much from the authenticity. Polynesian cultures originated from Indonesia (and the Mulberry tree from Asia) The now submerged Pacific coastlands are purported to have been the origins of West Coast Indigenous Canadian cultures. Mulberry paper is made from the same plant that traditional tapa cloth is made from – beaten fibres of mulberry tree bark. The paper is very strong, resilient but also transparent. It can be painted and stitched.

Below I show my underlay incorporating the various elements and modified Fijian design drawn and painted onto the first layer of mulberry paper. My headstone will form the top of this work. You will note the freehand drawn designs (traditional) and bleeding of the butternut dye, but this is a feature that I like as it adds to the natural look and significance of the subject.

Working on a project such as this one is a process: doing, thinking, repeating, undoing. I don’t show the discarded attempts at design and remodification of ideas, all of which involve the cycling of process work. It is akin to life itself.

At this point however, I feel like I’ve discovered the pathway and what I need to do. Doing is actually more relaxing and rewarding than the “thinking” process. Here I’m blocking out the areas with natural soya fibres using my silk fusion process (cellulose paste that bonds fibres into layers) that will be visible around the headstone. I’m also stitching “roots” using cloth that I texturized with pit charcoal and coloured with natural dyes. These have been washed to shrink and add more texture to the forms. There’s a job for any time whether in the studio or sitting and “relaxing.”

I’m really looking forward to creating the first overlay which will have the important Samoan designs. I have many “lava lavas” (wrap around dress cloths commercially produced, likely screen-printed, with ink on fabric) which my Mother has given me over the years. These vary in design, but some of the more complex cloths incorporate both angular and organic lines.

Yesterday I started the most rewarding part so far: Beginning the top layer of Samoan designs. The paper was fused to a backing (to provide additional strength) before beginning to paint. I envision stitching through the layers then cutting sections of this layer away to expose the Fijian tapa designs below (part of which will be the original cloth) and to enable the “roots” to feed through, binding both layers together.

Above images represent about a week of work, but the overall concept is beginning to come together. Small changes and surprises such as the Maori component looked much more subtle in colour. I didn’t want this part of my heritage to overpower. My father was born in New Zealand and took us back there to live in the early 1960’s. I was schooled in Wellington then left for Auckland in 1972 where I attended Elam School of Fine Arts, within Auckland University and graduated in 1975. I did a year at teachers college in 1976 and left for Canada in 1979. My mother and 4 siblings all remain in NZ, so it is important to me but I don’t feel that the indigenous Maori culture is really part of my heritage. The design I chose and modified, is called Rauru: This shape is similar to the spiral, and it shares a similar meaning to a koru, representing new life, growth, strength and peace.

I needed to go back now to the underlayer representing the Fijian component of the work: the face to the Queen’s runner (on her inaugural visit to Fiji/South Pacific) in December 1953, that was defaced before my father received it as a gift, and representing the place of my birth June 1, 1954. The mulberry paper had been fixed using cellulose paste, but this would not stand the test of time and handling. I needed to sew the triangular designs down. Using my machine was certainly a challenge; however, getting the large runner through the arm of the machine required rolling the cloth and manipulating it in various directions, which softened the mulberry of both the original tapa and the newly overlaid paper – much like a tanned hide might be softened through manipulation. Both layers seemed to be very durable, especially the paper.

Now the overall composition is started to come together. I have worked on the “background” to the headstone by layering/fusing soya fibre directly onto the tapa cloth. My aim was to cover the bold diagonals enough that they didn’t dominate the work, but still have some visibility through the fused fibres.

The headstone that represents both death and rebirth was completed as a series of quilted works during the period of my cancer treatment in 2009. The black areas were worked using firepit charcoal rubbed into the cloth support. Butternut dye was used as well to colour the fabric. This broken headstone was photographed in the Fonthill Cemetery during that period and dates to the late 1800’s when the first British colonists settled the area of Pelham (heartland of Niagara). The rounded headstone form was padded a little more to add dimension, and, as above, is being stitched to the tapa cloth backing.

I could now hang the whole work vertically to assess how is fell and what needed to be done to correct anything, and my list was fairly long!

In the first image I was laying out the first of the “roots” and had cut through the backed layers of the Samoan, mulberry paper design. In this test run I discovered problems that needed to be worked through:

The underlying Fijian design did not stand out as a deeper layer. I darkened this design using willow stich charcoal which both darkened to the more traditional tone of the Fijian designs and tied this component to the headstone which was originally worked with fire pit charcoal.

The whole of this layer needed further backing: I used canvas to provide a little more rigidity as well as to strengthen as the support for the roots which would be woven through this layer.

I would need to design some way of lifting the top layer off the underlayer to create a “pocket” through which the underlayer could be seen: I used an offcut of quilted fabric and formed a “sleeve” through which a 1/2 inch dowel could be fitted. At the same time, I had to unpick the bottom edges of the headstone to allow more excess fabric to prevent “pulling” in of the background and to accommodate the inserted roots at the edges.

I also created several more “roots” going down a size for the finishing interwoven layer. I achieved a variety of tones throughout these forms with charcoal, butternut dye, spray bleach and tea bags squeezed over while sitting in the sink.

I the images below I am creating that sleeve, stitching roots to the underside and twisting a knotting the roots and adding a quilt-backing to prevent the ends from showing through. I would stitch these roots together, strategically, to help prevent them from shifting and pulling the Samoan/root layer out of shape.

Not shown is the turning back of edges, backing the entire underside with an interfacing layer, finishing top and bottom of the work. More of my cellulose paste, mixed with a small amount of white glue, was used to further repair some of the original tapa, and to seal cut edges of the canvas and rolled sleeve. I have now to add the final backing with hanging sleeve attached. Photographing will be left until our weather improves and some sunlight comes through my windows.

The thought process: I started thinking about creating “Into the Forest” some years ago when I created a miniature felted work. Into the Field captured my imagination and desire to offer an “experience” to the viewer. In this work I hope to invite you into the forest at Centralia (actually located on Thunder Bay Road) on the edge of Lake Erie between Ridgeway and Fort Erie. Fall offers the perfect time to experience a living forest. Aside from the forest itself, this pathway runs right through a natural beaver dam which can be seen once the foliage has died back for the winter.

Going through my resources recently, I pulled out work that I had woven many years ago and decided to repurpose rather than store. A handspun, dark brown woven piece with macrame textures seemed a likely candidate. I had in mind what I could do with the twisted macrame itself. All was disassembled, washed and dried outside while the summer lingered into early October.

Preparing the base: As I normally do, the foundation layer and composition is worked first with fleece/wool. I had recently bought new supplies from the Fibre Garden in Jordan Village, ready to go. I always card my fibres to enable a control over the way I lay them in. The term “attenuating” comes from my spinning vocabulary, which basically means “drawing out the fibres from the supply using your hands/fingers. The dark brown area which needed to become “sky” had to be covered to enable the illusion of blue sky. It took 3 layers of white, then the mixed and graduated blue mix with silk to create this portion of the work.

The first fibres are “tacked” down using the single felting needle, then worked in using a 5-in-one tool made by the Ashford spinning company. It’s a lethal tool that has to be used with utmost concentration and care; but was the one needed to penetrate not only the laid in fibres, and the cotton warp of the underlying weaving.

Now comes the fun part: My macramed cut-offs would serve nicely as trees and branches, but the colours were not exactly in keeping with the lighter bark of the maples and poplars. I prepared some dark and light grey fleece to wrap the cordage, trying a couple of methods before finding that attenuating the carded roving, wrapping and rolling by hand was almost sufficient to cause the fleece to cling. In some spots I used the felting needle for extra “hold.” (The final stage will be hand stitched to hold all fibres in place.)

Next the cordage would go to the sink where hot water and soap and more vigorous rolling between the palms help it cling even more – not 100% but that, I thought, would give the trunks and branches a more natural look and create shadows as well. They were very wet and the inner core was a sisal that soaked up water. I tried the salad spinner and it worked! Lots of excess water came away and they the cords were left out in the sun to dry – nothing like a hot early October when you need it. This session ended by roughly laying out where the trees would go.

Hand stitching all in place: Now a lot of needling to secure the trunks and branches, and to start adding background trees and undergrowth. Textures of the undergrowth and the dappled sunlight through branches is now a challenge. I’m working with images taken during the summer, but am envisioning a fall canopy of colour – very carefully muted – I don’t want a garish fall scene.

I am going back to the woodland walk from time to time to update my photographs. Colours are slowly turning. This has been a prolonged and dry fall with no real cold snaps overnight to turn the colours, as yet.

I am reading a fascinating book by German researcher Peter Wohlleben titled “The Power of Trees.” Did you know that yellow leaves are the result of chlorophyl being withdrawn by the plant to store for winter? Red colour is produced by the trees and pumped into the leaves. It’s not exactly known why, but one hypothesis is that the red acts as “camouflage” against insects that lay their eggs in the bark of trees, only to result in damage during the next season. Insects do not have receptors to see the colour red, which may cause the tree to become camouflaged and protected against these insects. Early brown leaf fall is either a result of stress from a dry summer and early fall or the abundance of sugar and no need to carry leaves into the late fall. Prolonged green foliage gives the tree more time to produce and store sugar for winter hibernation/dormancy.

Preparing the fall colours: This is a good time to prepare some felted swatches to use for the fall canopy. Wool is blended in the carding process and laid out on the sponge felting block. A blended silk layer is overlayed and lightly needle felted. From there is goes to the kitchen sink where the swatch is placed on a dish cloth. Boiling water and dish soap are combined then agitated in the rolled cloth. I am not trying to produce an even felt, but rather something that will be distressed through pulling and separating to give the appearance of foliage.

November 6: I have been busy working on the project adding foliage, adjusting and bringing the sensory aspects of the walk in the woods to life. It’s not until the work is viewed in a vertical orientation that it’s possible to get a real assessment of how it’s working.

Looking at the work critically I can see that the pathway is too narrow in the foreground. Leaves have been roughly placed to get a feel for their dynamic. Too much yellow and too much of the same size at the moment. I have also placed a temporary bough across the path at “head height” to see if it’s going to work. Perhaps? I’m thinking that this branch will be a more vibrant colour to set foreground apart from background.

Hours of stitching gives me time to reflect and think more about what the feltwork needs to bring components into the correct perspective and the deeper significance of the work. Peter Wohlleben’s “The Power of Trees” is truly an eye-opening revelation in its natural and political research, but so too is David Suzuki’s “Nature of Things” documentary on logging practices of Old Growth forests of the west coast (Canada). Forests have the remarkable power to help heal our climate crisis, and us as humans if we’d just give them a chance. Fall is the perfect time to embrace what we have of these living organisms. I have inserted a photo of the place that has inspired this work in progress.

November 14: During the last week I have been thinking more about the foreground and widening the pathway. As I’ve spent many hours stitching down the mid and background areas, I left the foreground so that I could pull out the fibres if I so decided. Out they came and were turned into more pathway to lead the eye into the image. I think however, that even more of the foreground could become pathway. The shadows on the pathway tend to give the illusion of “mounding” on the left now that I’ve added more shadow. I’m going to correct this visually.

My main branch feature was laid in and stitched down. Some branches and finer stems were added to hold the leaves. I had collected some small maple leaves from our own front lawn tree to press and use as “patterns.” A good idea, but in time the crispy points began to break away. I resorted to replicating with study paper before they were completely broken. Looking at photographs that I had previously taken of red, fall maples, I see that the brighter colours recess to pink-orange and yellow into the background. Diminishing size will also create this illusion of perspective. What I don’t want however, is a pattern-like effect. Some leaves will be overlaid and even partial forms will be used. I’ll also distress and roll the edges to give a more natural effect.

Last images taken today that will give me more guidance in my fine tuning. I think I will pull the pathway even wider in the foreground and help “level” the shadows so as not to give the illusion of the steeped left edge. Some of the very close leaves on the path will be larger and more obvious in shape as well. I have lots of prefelt swatches to work with.

Fine leaf stems have yet to be added, then all needs to be stitched down on this branch, as well as the foreground area. Once the image is fairly complete, I will begin work on the backing. There will be an interfacing to correct and pull the work into a right-angled shape and give consistency to the vertical and horizontal dimensions. The final backing comes once all is complete.

Work is now completed and sold.

A new 60 x 45 inch felted work inspired from one of my previous series. Early summer update: this work has sold and now has a home in Algonquin Park. Its owners were inspired by their own backyard view and memories of childhood.

Inspiration: This smallish needle felted work from my exhibition “Along the Way” became the inspiration for a more “open” and interactive work. In order to offer a real experience to the viewer, the image would have to be “life size” in order effect a feeling of walking through the wildflowers and grasses, into a field.

If looking for deeper significance to this image, and others of this series, we have only to look at the Green Belt of Niagara and the politics behind its continual erosion. If pressed for my own reasons, I would say that my work aims to highlight the often passed by. There is beauty along the way if we wish to take a deeper look. I will explore more as this work progresses.

Improvising: After weeks looking for a reusable underfelt, I resorting to cutting into my supply of wool batting. I measured and cut a piece that would lay vertically 60 inches x 45 inches, which would hopefully comply with any future calls for entry – a few of which are back of mind. My challenge here is rearranging the small studio space to accommodate two, 6-foot folding tables. And, finding a large resilient covering to take up the needle piercing. I repurposed the foam insulation boards made up for photography (these enable me to suspend large quilts vertically, using sewing pins to hold in place). The resilient underlay worked with a single felting needle, but once I switched to the 5-in-one, not so well. I gathered up all my sponge pieces – you can see the corner of one in the first image. These can be easily re-positioned as needed.

A found treasure: I did find something “reusable” that I hope will be an essential feature of this work. Over 40 years ago I made a handspun and knitted lace shawl for my mother-in-law, Mary. She passed away about 12 years ago and the shawl has been in my cedar chest ever since. Somehow, the moths had found it, but no matter if I can now repurpose as a part of this new work. It’s place has not been found yet.

Groundwork: Moving on to the composition, based on the feature image of wildflowers at the edge of Point Abino Road, I needed to lay out sky, background and mid to foreground. My aim is to have the viewer feel as if he/she is walking into the field beyond; therefore, the horizon line would need to sit at about eye level if the work were hung about 12 inches off the floor. Fibres are laid out in the direction of their natural “gesture” or movement.

It’s always a feeling of accomplishment to see the first “draft” in place. It gives you a roadmap from which to navigate. If I were painting this scene, I would lay the paint onto the surface in a frenzy of energy and movement, trying to capture the direction in which clouds float by, trees in the distance form a background against the horizon and the fields, too far for visible detail and only movement. The foreground weeds are the essentials of this work and will need vertical height with movement from wind and rain, and the viewer pushing his or her way into the scene. All a real challenge for the artist! Take out the biggest brush if you’re painting; use raw wool, and large needles if you’re a needle felting.

Moving beyond: My next day on the project allowed me to begin filling in – enriching, providing depth, texture and light. I like to work from the original image at this stage and have found that my old laptop is an invaluable tool. I bought a “mouse” to enable me to scroll in and enlarge any portion that I need to see in detail.

It’s almost like an indulgence once you get to this point: laying in more fibres, and here’s where I switch to my various silk fibres and sometimes incorporating white viscose into the sky to build cloud formation and movement. I find this a smoother “mixing” fibre than cultivated silk. My rough tussah silk is invaluable for the textures of trees and shrubbery. For the distant fields I like to work horizontally giving the illusion of various grasses and cut crops. I use the single “spiral” needle to “tack” the fibres in place, then use one of my multi needled tools to really compact the fibres latching them securely through the wool base.

Challenges: I am getting excited about the work and its coming to life. The next step will be to create the “illusion.” At this point it’s really a process of trial and error. I’ll have to search through my original photographs to find something more accurate than my memory, when it comes to the actual pathway in.

Cheating: My bin of leftover colour and fibre mixes is invaluable for creating backgrounds. There are wool, various silks and even some plant fibres like linen tow in this mix. Little hints of colour provide the illusion of plants in the distance and beneath shrouded layers of plant material. I use the carded bats to overlay the wool-base composition. The far background fields show in the second two images, as well as the tree-line and sky with its cloud formations.

Evening work: I have been working with the shawl, mentioned earlier. My evening work was to unpick the hundreds of tassels that were not only handspun yarn, but cut and looped around the 45 x 45 inch border. Forty years helps to distance you from the work. I’m still looking at how the actual knitted fabric will be used. It can’t be just a shroud, as it would cover too much of the background detail and become a predominant feature – not at all what I want in this work. For now though, I’ve been laying in and tacking the individual strands to create the background grasses. Each row has a subtle shading at the base – the shadow lines.

Here I am about 10 days into the project. I retrieved some of my old handspun and naturally dyed yarns, skeined and washed them to ensure no moths would come with the project. These yarns are invaluable for stems, many of which will have to be created in this work. Thistles are the predominant plant in this image – various species from the giant thistles, the tall yellow sowthistle to the small plumeless thistles with their purple tufts, that we easily recognize. Purple knapweed and Queen Anne’s lace will also occupy a space in the foreground tapestry of colour.

Here’s the moment: I’m now cutting into the shawl. It’s okay, I don’t have any regrets and just have to trust that the lacey pattern will suggest where the cuts should go. Yes, prickly leaves and stems of thistles. I’m liking the way it works, but there will have to be more subtlety if they are to blend in with the silk fibres – it will happen. Just be confident. The opening into the field will also need lots of work to soften and to create the feeling of pushing back the grasses and plants on either side. More shadowing too. I like to leave my studio each day with a plan for what needs to be done tomorrow.

Reviewing: A winter walk is what I need to do now. Just a refresher, even though what I see now won’t exactly match, but who knows what I’ll see. It’s been so drab over the last weeks that a walk into the Shagbark meadow will be just the thing. I also need to get a better feeling for the pathway parting in the work.

Comparisons: I’m surprised at how much the summer image is similar to the winter views, especially with the use of the white wool shawl fabric. In my work for Colour with a U, still to be exhibited in Toronto at Campbell House this April, I combine summer sumac beneath winter hydrangea branches, allowing cutout sections to become windows to the bright colours beneath. I remind myself that the artist does have the license to create the surreal. I’m not sure that this will be the direction my Into the Field work will take, but I’m letting it guide or speak for itself. I’m continuing my journey.

Adding more depth: Now that I have some basic groundwork in place, I can begin to think about the illusion of depth using shadows and highlights. First though, the distant plants need leaves. I have found that pulling tufts off prefelted pieces, sometimes consisting of a wool base with silk top (Chris calls these nuno felts and they are wonderful in that the silk shrinks and puckers at a different rate causing designs that emulate the natural lines and patterns that you find in nature – see the little green piece in the first image).

The plants look a little sparse at this point, but more can be added at any time. A mid-ground tree needs to overlap anyway, so I don’t want to make that too dense. I’m also adding in the heads of thistles, Queen Anne’s lace and various other weeds. I’m still playing with the white stems from the knitted lace.

Challenges: These are all challenges that are exciting but at the same time continually playing with each other. I’ve added in a soft layer of fibre to soften the look and am not really sure how I’ll treat the heads – they’re a little more like a fantasy plant right now. And the two “propeller-like grass heads in the centre are bothering me. It’s easy to simply pluck these felted features right off the surface right now and place in different directions or places – what a versatile medium! I’m also working on the centre parting and don’t want it to look like a spray of stems – a denser, more natural look is what I’m aiming for. There is also the balance of colour throughout the work and leading the eye around. Still the journey continues.

Detailing: I am looking at colour within the overall composition. The “end-of-season” thistles have begun to yellow, providing that rich, illuminating glow. I have been looking forward to adding some of that into the work.

I have used pre-felts in much of my recent work, which I describe earlier. Sometimes I cut the shapes, but have also found that ripping the lightly felted fabric, emulates the sensibility and gesture of foliage. When the viewer looks at any scene – first hand, only portions stand out as truly recognizable shapes. We rely on colour, texture, line and basic shapes to fill in what we know from our own experience. Light illuminates and shadows provide depth and dimension. Perspective, both linear and atmospheric, add to that illusion.

I am looking forward to standing the whole piece up vertically. However, there are the more distant background plants to work on before I get that far. Once I do, I’ll have some space again in my studio. Not sure though how needle felting will work on a vertical plane. Hopefully I won’t break too many needles. Hope to get a few hours in today.

Another day layering and composing: Although these new photographs look similar to the previous ones, they represent a few more hours spent adding more of the cut foliage to the foreground, adding in more heads and working on the taller plants. I’m still not satisfied with the white stems but I can still reposition them and once I start on the overstitching with thread, I can tighten up their thickness. More shadowing might be needed for depth in the foreground as well.

I’ll get a better look at the overall composition once I stand the whole work upright. I’m almost afraid to do that as I’ve become familiar with it all on a horizontal plane. For now, it’s time to take a week away and see what the Caribbean has to offer my creative senses.

Several weeks have come and gone and the above work has transformed: more layering, changed composition in the tall plants and more depth to the entranceway.

My main goal was to get the work to a point where I could raise it to a vertical position where I could stand back to look at it as a viewer. Trying to needle felt in this position is difficult and “tacking” is about as much as I can achieve. Many poked fingers occur because of the awkward angle. The backboard is made from polystyrene and is light enough to flip up and lower again to the horizonal table top.

The work has been lifted to the vertical several times now as I work on the composition trying to intensify the depth of field and create visual transitioning from one side to the other using line and colour. The yellow of the lower left (thistle leaves) is reflected in the mid-foreground on the right side and then back to the left in the yellow flowers of the sowthistle plants. I have added more “heads” being aware that I have might have added too many. I love making them and then creating the 3-dimensional form using the felting needle to enhance the form, and once into the stitching will accentuate that even more.

The last few days have now been focused on stitching. This process allows for more texturizing as well as securing surface details. There will be approximately a week of this therapeutic work ahead. As I complete an area, I needle felt to add depth and further secure any loose fibres that have been disturbed by handling. This is also a useful way to cover any stitches that I don’t want seen although the thread (just ordinary sewing thread) usually disappears into the fibres. Once stitched, the composition is pretty well set in place.

Work was completed at the end of March, exhibited in the Jordan Art Gallery, and sold a week later. Although sad to see it go, I’m also happy that it found a home with owners who appreciated the work. I had fun creating it.

Last fall I began taking photographs of images along the Friendship Trail: some close up, some mid-distance and others further away. I didn’t really know where I was heading at the time but knew that what I was seeing must be shared with others.

Almost a year later I have covered four seasons and accumulated enough work to present as a “work in progress.” I’m hoping you will enjoy what has evolved from the first of dozens of photographs above, to more than a dozen completed works. My fibre work has lent itself as a medium that creates the tapestry-like texture and colour that these images so closely align with.

The exhibition was at Lakeside Books and Art in December 2022, but a selection still remains. Others are at the Jordan Art Gallery. For specific information, please contact me.

I began this project as something “just for fun.” For a few years now, photos taken of the giant Iguanas on the island of Cayo Largo, off the southern coast of Cuba (Iguanas below), have been waiting for an opportunity to realize themselves. SAQA’s call for entry, “Fur, feathers, fangs and fins” seemed the perfect fit!

Here we go: I envisioned a wall mounted work to reflect the rock face with the Iguana basking on a rocky ledge. I had saved a silk fusion “skin” from a previous rock sculpture which was never completed. This I thought would give me a leg up on the project. I had also envisioned some very textured remnants of handwoven fabric from my weaving days, covering the rock face and in fact, the Iguana itself – a perfect camouflage fit.

That aside, I began with the construction of the creature. What to use as an armature? I could see some left over pool noodles as just the right size and nice an squishy to shape the body, but wire was also necessary to keep that shape and to fashion legs and toes – oh those toes! How many are there? I researched on line only to read that they could be anywhere from 3 – 5. I zoomed in on my own photos and determined in the end that the Cuban species had 5 and that was what I would go with.

I built a “cage” around the noodles to flesh out the body; however that would not be enough to support the outer skin. I filled the gaps between with leftover polyester stuffing. This all had to be covered to create a nice even and solid surface onto which I would “dress” the Iguana. I searched through my tape supplies to find a cloth tape that would both smooth and hold everything together quickly without having to wait for drying. When fashioning the rock, I had used both PVA and cellulose paste with strips of cotton and cheesecloth – hours of work and time to wait while it all dried.

This rudimentary Iguana shape took about 3-4 hours to construct and was about life size. Gee, I had looked over the prerequisites for SAQA’s call and recalled a very large window of sizing options, so dismissed that and became immersed in the creative process.

I’m starting to “see” an Iguana and it’s turned out life-size. All has been formed by looking over a selection of my own and some posted images of Cuban Iguanas from Cayo Largo and one of its outlying small islands. Apparently, you can take an excursion there to be among the creatures on the beach! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZFskkl3yEo you might like to check this video out. The face was certainly far from correct, but, understanding anatomy, there has to be an allowance for the eyeballs, so plenty of that space.

The head structure took a little problem solving: I had some silk fusion fabric left over from the “rock” structure, some toy animal eyes, lots of cheesecloth for a cloth version of papier mache and determination. The head was shaped by building up the structure of the skull, mouth and eyes temporarily inserted (they were blue which didn’t work, so that had to be sanded off and painted white – on the back). With a series of pleated silk fusion shapes, handstitched, the head slowly began to take shape.

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Now for the actual “dressing” of the Iguana which I am separating in this blog, but during the actual process, both head and skin were developed simultaneously.

A new update on “WordPress” is allowing the descriptions to show on the actual image, so here in sequence, you can now “read” the process. With a combination of stitching by hand and machine, and using PVA glue to adhere the skin to the body structure, the Iguana is beginning to take on an almost “lifelike” form. It’s almost creepy to hold the life size creature. When our children were young, we had a “pet” Iguana. I don’t believe I ever held it!

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Key concepts from 101

Linear perspective, atmospheric perspective, horizon line, vanishing point, organic lines, foreground, mid-ground and background.

This time we are going to apply these ideas/concepts to this architectural form of a modest country church. This is not my own photo.

You will need a regular sheet of letter size paper and a legal sheet (or 2 sheets of letter paper taped vertically) and soft, sharp pencil.

Please do not use a ruler and avoid an eraser until the end.  You could spend the entire exercise erasing and becoming frustrated.  Practice with your pencil until your lines are soft and easily corrected—without an eraser.  Curl your hand so that you can use the outer/baby finger side to slide across the paper as a guide.

In this exercise we are going to use 2 point perspective where previously we used just a single vanishing point.

1.To create markers:  Fold your larger sheet in half horizontally.  Make a visible dot on each end of the horizontal line.  These indicate the horizon and are your vanishing points.  In the picture, the trees obscure the horizon.

2. Take your smaller sheet and fold in half horizontally, then again horizontally to divide the sheet in quarters.  Do the same vertically to create a second set of quarter lines.  There should be 16 rectangles dividing your sheet.

3. Place the smaller sheet vertically on top of the horizontally oriented, larger sheet.  Centre vertically but align the bottom edges.  Tape to hold in place if you like.

4. To create the first pencil line indicating the line of the church where front and side walls align:

Step 1: From the right bottom edge count one and a half spaces in and mark with a dot in the centre of the space.  Step 2: Count 2  half spaces up and make a second mark. 

Step 3. Make a line to create the vertical wall abutment which is closest to the eye (between the window and door).

5. Getting the perspective of the walls:  Without using a ruler, draw a line from the bottom dot to the right hand vanishing point ( on the bottom layer of paper).  Again, the top dot to the same vanishing point—you should have a long, narrow triangle.  Do the same from the top and bottom dots to the left vanishing point. 

6. Create your outside verticals:  The left is about one and a half rectangles in and the right about 3/4 of that rectangle in.  You should now have a box with slightly diagonal lines top and bottom but should have true vertical walls.

7. Roof:  Make a dot in the centre of your page.  From this point join with a line to the left outer wall and a second line to the centre wall. You should have a triangle.  From the centre dot, extend your line to the right hand side vanishing point to determine the slope.  For the top of the roof, count one and a quarter squares in and make a mark to join the roof to the top of the right hand wall.  Join the 2 lower points to form the bottom edge of the roof.

Window and door:  determine the height with small dots .  Although they are actually centred on the building, the near wall portion should be slightly wider than the distant portion to allow for perspective. When adding any detail that requires perspective lines e.g. sills and lintels, use your vanishing points to determine the slope.  Guessing could give you a line that looks askew.

8. Bell tower:  Start with the vertical join which is slightly to the right of your centre line.  The top is slightly higher than your first fold at the top of the page.  Mark and joint with a vertical line.  Extend upwards for the cross.  The top of the cross should be on the same slope as the walls—use your left vanishing point.

9. Roof line slopes:  From the ball, make a diagonal about 1/2 inch out on either side and about half way down.  Notice that the tower is joined into the roof about 1/2 inch down and the top structure sits on a small “foundation.”  Use the vanishing point on the right to determine the angle.  Create the inner framework of the window openings and extend the roof seams  of the tower from the window peek to the tower peek at the ball.

At this point you can take out a ruler and eraser to neaten things up—but you may like the way it looks drawn freehand.  Be sure that all vertical lines are TRUE verticals and all lines that would be “horizontal” on the actual structure, go back to the vanishing points on a diagonal, even if they are just tiny window sill lines.  This drawing will serve as your pattern.

Now that you have your church drawn (congratulations, this was not an easy exercise), continue to add the background and any details that you would like to add in, although that can happen as you work on your textile or fibre piece.  Just remember the perspective rules:  Objects and details are larger in the foreground than in the distance and atmospherics can create more depth to your work. 

Steps outlined visually.

The SAQA pod has taken up the challenge to render this more difficult exercise.

Effie took the concept to re-imagine the traditional “log cabin” quilt. Here she has placed the structure within a forest with a path leading to the front door. The colours give us a “rustic” feel and even earthy smell of an evergreen forest.

Pam has interpreted the “grain elevator” icon from her connection with the “prairies” of mid western Canada. The beautiful perspective of the structure and linear rows of grain is enhanced by the addition of the foreground hay wagon. The eye is led into the scene and wanders through via the linear connections. Colours and fabrics are well-chosen to provide the illusion of light.

Comments: A little more angulation upwards of the cabin’s right side foundation line and windows would give a feeling of receding into the distance. Exaggeration of the path’s width as is leads forward would provide a foreground dynamic and work in conjunction with the larger tree forms.

The wagon in the prairie scene is beautifully rendered. A slight exaggeration of this form would also provide further dynamic to the feeling of foreground perspective.

Both wonderfully executed.