This sweater is nearly done – about 85%. I’ve had to modify the pattern a bit to meet my needs, specifically having yarn that could not be knit to gauge. I have completed the first sleeve, which has knit up quite easily. I picked up 80 stitches total around the armscye.
If you look at the pattern photos from an earlier post, the sleeves are wrist length. As I am notorious for catching and ripping anything at wrist level, including destroying metal bracelets, I always roll my sleeves up, no matter what, or try to find clothing with 3/4 length sleeves. So, I decided to do this with the sweater as well. And, the end result (hopefully) will be that I have a very comfortable sweater which will have nice cuffs over time, and not be as hot as full-length sleeves would make it.
I’ve set Ishbel aside until I’ve finished this project – I think I have made a mistake in the current row of the lace, but don’t want the stress of finding right now.
And, admittedly, I have other knitting projects I’m putzing with . . .
In Southern California, the normal scenery is beige in the hills during the winter – lately, black – but in the towns, landscaping tends to be green year round.
Seldom do you find leaves changing like you do back east – which is anything inland from the Pacific! – but in our front yard we have a tulip tree. In the summer, the shade and leaves keep our house cool, to the point we seldom have the air conditioner on. In the winter, with fewer leaves and shorter days, the light comes in the windows, and the branches are silhouetted against the sky.
And as the year ends, it drops it leaves. This year, we had a short cold snap that came with rain, and the leaves are so beautiful, more so than usual. Soon they will all drop off. I caught this picture in the late, late afternoon.
Hirokazu Kosaka made a series of four videos, all of which are readily available on the different video services. These videos are particularly interesting to me because of their content: the Japanese brush, and calligraphy.
A brief biography of Kosaka can be found at the Montalvo Arts Center, which has this to say about him:
Born in Wakayama, Japan in 1948, Hirokazu Kosaka now lives and works in Los Angeles, where he serves as Visual Arts Director at the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center. As a student at the Chouinard Art Institute, where he graduated with a BFA in painting in 1970, Kosaka began to explore the art of performance, looking toward artists such as Wolfgang Stoerchle, Allen Ruppersberg, William Leavitt and Chris Burden for inspiration. As a young artist, Kosaka also began to incorporate Eastern traditions in his art, drawing from his appreciation of the centuries-old traditions of Noh drama and Kabuki theater, his knowledge of the ground-breaking experimental art of Japan’s Gutai Group in the mid-1960s, as well as his own experience with Buddhist chanting and Zen archery.
Today, Kosaka is known for his large-scale, performative pieces, which often use publicly accessible space as a platform for dance, performance, and visual art practice. Kosaka’s work has been seen and performed at venues including the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; the Japanese American Theatre, Los Angeles; the J. Paul Getty Center; the Seattle Art Museum; and the Indianapolis Art Museum. Selected grants and awards include a Creative Capital grant, a Rockefeller Foundation grant, a California Arts grant, and a Los Angeles Endowment for the Arts grant.
In 1973, Kosaka returned to Japan where he completed a three-month long performance piece called “Soleares” and later embarked upon a traditional 1,000-mile Zen pilgrimage called “The 88 Temples.” After completing this spiritual journey, Kosaka remained at a Buddhist monastery and was ordained as a Shigon Buddhist priest. He later returned to Los Angeles where he began to create large-scale, process-oriented artworks infused with the teachings he learned as a priest.
Dating back to the 11th century, Japanese Kyudo – or archery, literally meaning “way of the bow” – has been used as an art of purification in ceremonies within the Imperial Court of Japan and within Zen Buddhism. Practitioners of this ceremonial and contemplative form focus on attaining “the perfect shot.” In order to accomplish the perfect shot, one must have immediate action without any intervening thoughts; this entails proper form, physique, patience, and dedication.
Reverend Hirokazu Kosaka can trace Kyudo in his family’s lineage back multiple generations, and often responds “300 years” when asked how long he has studied the art. His father began teaching Kosaka when he was 10 years old, just as his grandfather taught Kosaka’s father, as was done in previous generations. Kosaka says, “My art, and therefore my life, is the result of centuries of ‘spiritual mutation,’ the manifestation of my experience with Kyudo.”
In 2009, Hirokazu participated in ACTA’s Apprenticeship Program with apprentice Ferris Smith. The apprenticeship deepened Ferris’ training in form, patience, and the historical pursuit and endless search for the perfect shot.
Interestingly, Kosaka does not seem to have a personal web page, and so in a way he becomes an elusive figure. Searching for him on Google, it becomes clear that this is a man who is creative in ways not traditionally recognized, and his art is experiential to a great degree. It makes the search for the evanescent tangible, and should one find a scheduled event, it may be worth the enquiry. I certainly am curious.
According to the Google Chinese translator, 国画兰花 means “orchid painting.” If I plug in the characters, sure enough, that is what I get! There are a lot of really beautiful orchid paintings, both Japanese and Chinese, and some from other parts of the world.
The Four Gentlemen
In learning to paint in sumi, the student first becomes acquainted and accomplished in painting the orchid, bamboo, plum, and chrysanthemum. Practicing each, the student learns critical brush strokes, and while one may become adept at the strokes, mastery is where the artist steps in.
Painting the orchid allows the student the opportunity to practice long movements with the brush. This requires moving with the arm, rather than the wrist, which is very strange to us in the west. Those of us who learned to write script hour after hour in school learned to control our movements. Big, sweeping arm movements were not encouraged.
In addition to learning to control large movements, the student also works with varying shades of ink, from light to dark, to create a dynamic painting. The leaves require darker ink, and the flowers require lighter. In addition to lighter ink, the flowers require smaller, controlled movement. Finally, “dotting the heart” – the black ink at the center of each flower – requires the patience for the ink to dry. Applied too soon, the elegant shape becomes a blurry spot in what might otherwise be a perfect flower.
Besides being an elemental step to learning sumi, the orchid represents spring, as well as the virtues of noble behavior and modesty. In Japanese, the “Four Gentlemen” are called “shi-kunshi. Each plant has a corresponding season and virtue. In contemplating paintings of these subjects – the orchid, bamboo, plum, and chrysanthemum – one also steps into the symbolism of each.
Painting the Orchid
Of the “Four Gentlemen,” the orchid is the most easily learned. The long flowing leaves are delightful to paint. The flowers are as well – a great deal of satisfaction is found in mastering the curves of the strokes. Most difficult is “dotting the heart.”
That said, the mastery of the orchid, or any of the Gentlemen, is a lifetime experience. The expression and shape and composition of such simple subjects becomes increasingly more interesting, and more challenging.
The Video: Painting the Wild Orchid in Sumi-e
Here is a video showing some of my orchid paintings in color, as well as a demonstration in sumi. I have not annotated this video, but am leaving it for you to observe. Let me know what you think!
Fields of wheat are found throughout the world, and it is a grain of significant nutritional importance to many populations. Technically a grass, wheat originated in the middle east, and was the agricultural foundation for a number of early civilizations.
As a subject to paint in sumi-e, it provides a number of interesting lines and planes. Using a diagram of the plant, pictures of wheat found on the web, and dried grasses for arrangements, there are many resources for the artist. I’ve used a combination of all three as references.
Painting Wheat
The first area to be painted is the seed head. It weights down the plant, and gives a graceful direction to the subject. By painting these first, the focal points of the picture may be chosen. As wheat rests on a top of a tall stem, consideration should be given to the composition – is the wheat going to be upright and tall, or bending over in a graceful curve?
The seeds are painted dark to light, with the ink on the brush being used until gone. Next, the stem and the beard may be painted. The beard is lightly done, with quick graceful strokes. The stem may be created with a pause and pressure at the beginning of the stroke, before continuing on and completing the stem in one movement.
The leaves are done at the end, using the side-brush stroke in combination with vertical strokes which change direction and pressure for character. Finally, the veins of the leaves are done in medium-to-dark ink.
My own wheat is rather amateurish in execution, but that is how one learns. Many sumi artists and calligraphers will practice a subject over and over until the right combination is reached, and the seemingly effortless execution of a painting is done.
Ink, Yarn & Beer 