Indulge me in the mushroom pic; I can't resist the sculptural quality and the fact that it so unassumingly exists near the sidewalk on Jefferson Street in Paducah. It's a quiet discovery that makes this overcast day magical.

The Paducah School of Art & Design, West Kentucky Community and Technical College, casts its own magic. Thanks to Carrie and Gustavo, I am warmly welcomed as I drop in to visit both of the School's locations: Broadway and Madison streets, the former anchors downtown Paducah while the latter anchors the Lower Town Arts District. Pristine, naturally lit and well equipped, the newer Lower Town location boasts studios for ceramics, small metals, sculpture, wood, metal fabrication, and a foundry. Dark but workable, with a set of creaky stairs, the older downtown location currently houses the drawing and painting program. I say "currently" because the doors to a rehabilitated Lower Town building will open in 2016 - literally across the street from the arts district PSAD - for students pursuing drawing, painting, photography, visual communication and multimedia. 

Here's another part of magical: nontraditional and traditional students work alongside each other and, for those age 65 and older, tuition is waived. I might have to move here.

Yes, I am working in the studio on the walk-in piece...until 2am yesterday. Well, technically, today. Except that it's 1am, so it's actually Thursday. Never mind.

I find that living with work in progress, greeting it daily with fresh eyes, and listening to visitor's reactions is a good recipe for creative brewing. And I have to be honest with you that today I am struggling with the energy of the work. Is it too produced? Is it now missing that "raw" quality so palpable in earlier pieces? Installations are at a scale that require either large elements or a large quantity of elements, that demand engineering and logistical thinking as well as conceptual. Where to find the balance and the truth in the midst of it all?

While I ponder all of this, an invitation to a delicious meal at the home of Bill and Patience Renzulli, amidst their seven (!!) whippets, is such a welcome addition to the day. And when I mention that I plan to visit Paducah again one day following my artist residency, Bill offers to cook pasta.

"Short and sweet" could be the title of today's blog. Basically, I post yesterday's blog this morning, procure more project supplies, and experiment with the large suspended piece. As you can see, part of the process is clipping materials to vertical strips - in this case, what is referred to as "decorative mesh"; all suspended from the metal (wreath) armature. Admittedly, I appreciate the kinetic nature of being an artist: sitting, standing, and even ladder-climbing. Conversely, I exercise patience with the repetitive and sedentary tasks: cutting, connecting, sewing and weaving. Process, process, progress...and finally, product.

Highlight of the day? Well, one is when Jay intuitively walks into the large in-progress suspension. And smiles. Yes! Five years ago when I created a walk-in "kimono," more often than not, I had to invite viewers to enter the interior of the suspended piece. It's permissible. It's intended. It will be interesting to see the response of gallerygoers to this walk-in piece next week at the installation's opening. But if you've read this blog, you'll know that it's a walk-in. Yes!

This is gratifying: cutting the 192 x 7-inch paper weaving into seven strips approximately 32 inches in length each, then reassembling the components into a more three-dimensional suspended piece. And it looks less like a snake skin, the most common response upon viewing the mottled tones; even I couldn't get past the association - one I was not purposively trying to achieve. 

I am also beginning the largest installation piece of my residency, a walk-in (potentially) suspension. In the wings is the Postcards from Paducah artwork, an ongoing effort: incorporating strips of printed blog ("Postcards from Paducah") as they are written, published online, and then inserted into the drum-like armature.  Yet one more armature patiently waits its turn before I install the October 24 exhibit here in Paducah. Amidst this experimentation, there is the realization that in less than 18 days I begin the process of disassembling and packing all of these creations for the return trip to Greenville, South Carolina. Yikes! Push that thought into the far corners of my mind and enjoy the moment.

Enjoying the moment is one of Paducah's fortés. Yesterday, over a dozen blocks were cordoned off for Bikes on Broadway - not a race or marathon, but simply a courtesy the town extends its citizens for the pure joy of bicycling to the river sans traffic concerns. This coming weekend, everyone is talking of donning appropriate cultural costumes for the 4th annual Maiden Alley Cinema's Oktoberfest. I have just learned of yet another annual event: Halloween on Jefferson Street, where six residential blocks are, once again, cordoned off for a massive candy giveaway. I understand that in previous years, despite tornado warnings and rain, between 3,000 to 4,000 trick-or-treaters were treated to an extravaganza. So that the homeowners don't have to take out second mortgages, friends and volunteers are recruited to donate the sweet treats, as well as distribute them. See what I mean?

Tonight I am treated to a potluck and show-and-tell at the meeting of the Paducah Fiber Artists group. The massive rainstorm that pummeled through the neighborhood earlier is deterring many of the regular attendees. Among the handful of animated members present - sharing stories, book recommendations, career updates, and current projects - are host and quilt artist Rose Hughes, fiber potter Lily Liu, fiber artist Freda Fairchild, curator of the National Quilt Museum Judy Schwender, and owners of Jefferson Street Studios art-quilter Helene Davis and Nerokomi beadmaker Bob Davis. Lily offers to accompany me on a visit next week to the Jefferson Street Studios. In the meantime, she is working nonstop to meet her goal of 50 handmade scarves for an Oktoberfest booth. Yes, the one this weekend.

It is quite tempting to simply walk, visit artist studios, take in a film or performance or event, watch the seagulls at the river's edge - you know, enjoy the moment - but I must maintain my focus and "visit" the Artist-in-Residence studio so graciously provided me. Sigh. I'll save some of the fun for my return to Paducah.

Sunday in Paducah: a stroll with an artist and her dog to the river, quiche at the local coffee shop, several visitors to the studio, a phone conversation with a Rochester, NY-based artist, and the ongoing work. Including separating diecut gingko leaves from their pages. Let me explain. To date, all of my signature templates - such as the gingko leaf and butterfly - are hand-traced and hand-cut, literally hundreds of them. However, in order to utilize thousands (instead of hundreds) of these elements in my installation work, I need to change my strategy.

Over the past month, I've been communicating with Laser Cutting Shapes, an Ohio-based company that accommodates fine art cutting. The day before I head to Paducah for this artist residency, I send a box of 100 pre-coated and preprinted sheets of shoji paper to Laser Cutting Shapes. Ten days following my arrival, I receive a box of 1,000 gingko leaves - approximately 3-1/4 x 4-1/2 inches each. My digits are dancing for joy. One little catch: the 12 leaves per letter-size sheet are attached via eight flashing junctures and require extrication. All 1,000 of them. Still, it beats the handiwork, and there's a bonus as the sheets themselves are now negative leaf silhouettes. All the more to work with.

Oh yes, I locate a few royalty-free photos of the river in my town, Greenville, SC (population 61,000), to share with you. Although the Reedy River was once a commercially viable waterway - as I hear the Tennessee and Ohio rivers referred to - it is recently transformed into a downtown tourist attraction. The Riverworks Gallery, where in 2015 I'll share the fruits of my installation investigations from this residency, sits on the Reedy River's edge.

Let my clarify: your river town, Paducah, KY (population 25,000), is the setting for the inaugural "sharing of the fruits of my installation investigations from this residency." Do mark the calendar for Friday, October 24, 5-7pm, at Studio Mars. Come, see the gingko leaf, a symbol of longevity, hope, resilience and peace - sentiments I wish for the residents in both of our river towns.

This is a birthday to remember. Bittersweet because it is a first without my Mother, who died less than 2 months ago, and because I am 481 miles from my husband, son, and cat. Bountiful because the artists of Paducah are open-armed, and the art life is pulsing.

I'm driving around the corner this morning and there is Anita Stamper, hostess of the Paducah Arts Alliance dinner last Saturday night. The very same Anita who intuitively baked a coconut cake without knowing I am nutty about coconut. We chat in such a friendly and easy manner that I almost feel like a Paducahan, after only 2 weeks.

Now it's Noon, time to open the Pinecone Studio doors for Second Saturday. Before the close at 5pm, Char Downs and I will welcome over a dozen people, visitors from St. Louis, Atlanta, and down the street. Outside, the air is humid, occasionally wet, overcast and cool. However, at S&M Studios - metalsmith/jeweler Shand Stamper ("S") and ceramist Mitch Kimball ("M") -  the wood-fired soda kiln blazes, providing a toasty and welcomed warmth. I'm invited to circle back to the bonfire tonight, as the firing is anything but a solitary venture; it's a community event. Mitch just might be up after midnight tending to this aspect of his craft.

Bill Renzulli lives and works on the next street parallel to North 7th, where Gallery 5 is also open for Second Saturday. I am particularly drawn to his clay monotypes, a process best described in a website to which Bill refers me. When we begin discussing my work, he promptly posts the "will return by 3:30" sign, locks his studio door, and proceeds to Pinecone Studio.
 
Back at Pinecone Studios, a relatively new member of the Paducah Arts Alliance, watercolorist Stefanie Graves, drops in, and then invites me and another PAA member, Rosemarie Steele, to her studio a mere block away. You must read the website intro to appreciate her studio's name, Cowango. And I dare you not to smile.

What's not to love about the immediacy and accessibility of the arts in Lower Town?

Time for the opening of "Circles into Snow: Paintings & Watercolors" at Ruth Baggett Gallery 1025, for which a short auto drive is recommended. What a perfect venue for the work of longtime friends and colleagues Ursula Schneider and Ann Provan (website under construction). One gallery room is dedicated to an exhibit of Ann's work on paper and Ursula's on a multilayered substrate she invented; the other room to an installation - Ursula's suspended and Ann's wall mounted. A classical guitarist adds to the ambience of the reception, which is well attended. But Rosemarie and I missed the artists' talks. I make up for this loss by querying both artists, together and individually. We artists want to know everything: process, materials, innovations, concepts, the past, the future. Ann and Ursula are patient, generous.

This might be a good time to wander down to S&M Studios, to see how the firing is going, before the clock strikes midnight, before my official birthday is over. Thank you, Paducah, for a birthday to remember.

Rain is so conducive to staying indoors. Except for a few errands yesterday -  groceries, laundry, I've been in the studio working. I can hear my artist colleague and friend, Terry Jarrard Dimond, speaking of her artist retreat experience: "You won't believe how much time you have." True, Terry, but I don't believe how quickly the time is dissipating. Simply by being in Paducah, KY, by the artwork being created and viewed in a new context, a fresh dialogue has begun.

Sometimes the fresh dialogue arrives in old snippets I have dispensed to others, such as "less is more." For example, the dictionary-weave suspension hung in the studio overnight but is greeted this morning by the glint of scissor blades. Snip the cable ties and rearrange; discard ill-fitting elements, cut and carve the remains until the cocoon I envisioned now rotates before my eyes. "Less is more" applies to my art, too.

Artists often work on several pieces simultaneously, such as Terry's spouse, Tom Dimond. I rarely do, which I attribute to the need for resolution before moving on, and also because each piece informs the next - technically and symbolically. Once the dictionary-weave piece resolves, I move on. First I construct a drum-like armature of metal and polymer grid, cable-tied together, then I find that my first thought is: weave. Thanks to Paducah artist/Paducah Arts Alliance president, Freda Fairchild, I now possess a shredder that spits out 1/4-inch paper strips. Weave is what I usually do. What don't I usually do? What else can I do? Let's try this: insert the strips. Hmmm. It's textural, has different ergonomic demands than weaving, and - whoa! - there is a three-dimensional explosion on the armature's interior.

Ah yes, another labor intensive piece of art to create; all because I like the effect, am excited about the potential, and it resonates. It is suspended high enough to view the interior, that wild three-dimensional explosion, although you'll have to bend over a tiny bit. If I suspend it any higher, you'll miss the up-close-and-personal textural beauty on the exterior. A visitor to the studio today just had to touch it. That's a good sign: it's irresistible. Tomorrow will be interesting as it's Second Saturday from Noon to 5pm, where at least a half dozen Lower Town studios will be open to the public. Let's see if it's still irresistible then, too.

The strips are shredded digital prints of my blog, Postcards from Paducah, so it has an immediate hometown connection. Yes, this blog. Which reminds me; I need to print this edition and then plug in the shredder. Thank you, all of my supportive and wonderful artist friends (and all my supportive and wonderful family and friends). You're irresistible.

Let's begin with clarifications:
1) The link to the Artists U site for downloading Andrew Simonet's book, "Making Your Life as an Artist: a Guide to Building a Balanced, Sustainable Artistic Life," in yesterday's blog, is not behaving; use this link.
2) Naively, in discussing river commerce, I referred to a towboat as a "tugboat"; thanks to Char Downs' husband Jay Downs Siska, a teacher with the Seamen's Church Institute, I stand corrected.

Now, about today. Deep breath. I am taking several as I recover (especially my index finger) from xacto-editing my dictionary weavings. I daringly trim while ensuring that the cuts don't compromise the structural integrity of the strips. Tedious, labor-intensive, and exhausting but the resultant effect makes it worthwhile, opening new portals of visibility. Yes, I promise a photo later.

When it is time for a sanity break, I take my hour walk-about, always being drawn to the water. Although, honestly, I only need open the back door at Pinecone B&B here in Paducah, Kentucky, to hear the gurgle of flowing water and catch the beauty of a koi pond. Greenville, SC, artist Tami Cardnella specializes in capturing koi. It's a popular subject; one commercial website displays "2,180 koi paintings for sale." I'm overwhelmed, but not with my firsthand experience of the pond outside the door.

Speaking of koi and of dictionaries: growing up in the household of my family-of-origin, dinnertime was constantly interrupted by my bursts of curiosity. I'd dash off to procure the dictionary or encyclopedia, in between bites, to sate my desire for knowledge. It's a standing family joke. Laugh if you will, siblings, but I am still curious and am now deconstructing dictionaries to create art. Thanks to the internet, I have a dictionary and an encyclopedia just a few finger taps away. So, of course, today I begin researching koi but end up reading about Japanese aesthetics, including the concept of yūgen. Yügen is profound grace and subtlety. Ooh, I like this. Among the concepts in my previous series of work are wabi-sabi, ethereality, and layering. In considering an underlying element in all of these concepts, in how I express these concepts in my work, I do believe that yügen is present. Profound grace and subtlety. Yes, I really like this.

If it weren't for the wind exacerbating whatever allergens are present, I'd be enjoying my afternoon walk all the more. The truth is that I need a break from "xacto editing" previous installation elements that I plan to use in my Paducah exhibit. The elements are woven strips of a deconstructed 1966 dictionary, ones that I created 5 years ago but continue to serve each new site-specific venue as if they were born yesterday. It could be said that I'm stealing from myself. 

Okay, here's the scoop about the word "steal": I'm reading Austin Kleon's "Steal Like an Artist - 10 things nobody told you about being creative." I stole his exercise on blackout poetry for a creativity workshop, although my co-presenter and artist colleague Kathryn Schnabel do give Austin his due credit. For me, it's not about stealing or feeling a need for more creative juice; I simply love the chemistry of creativity and can't resist the book. Quirky but spot on.

Speaking of books, here's another - "Making Your Life as an Artist" by Andrew Simonet, founder of Artist U.  During a 2013 Artist U weekend workshop sponsored by the South Carolina Arts Commission, I identify a focus on installation work and an artist residency as two career goals. A year later, I am here: an Artist-in-Residence at the invitation of the Paducah Arts Alliance, working on an installation. Whether you are a beginner or seasoned professional, this book is a gem, one which Andrew invites you to "steal" (actually "download and share"). Please do.

Back to my walk. I consider my destination before I open the door, in part because I am directionally challenged but also because I am still soaking up Paducah. I return to the Quilt Museum for the previously bypassed gift shop, and to the Yeiser Center for the retrospective exhibit of Ron Fondaw. I need to insert a comment: sometimes less is more, and this applies to retrospectives. The artist's rock wall installation does provide a fresh appeal to the crowded exhibit which spans decades of two- and three-dimensional work. Perhaps the entire exhibit just needs more space.

And then an indulgence, an ice cream cone that I consume in record time, while observing a small powerboat launch from a tugboat toward the Ohio River shore to retrieve supplies. Onward to the Mississippi? There are moments when I feel the ghost of Mark Twain nearby, in his white suit, mustached and pithy, but probably not licking a dripping chocolate cone. I head West toward the studio, the sun as my guide.

Good grief. I am on my way to completing a rather obsessive-compulsive piece of work, in perhaps just another hour or two. It will have to wait until the morning.
Yesterday, Sunday, I begin with 16 feet of gutter guard (aka "polymer substrate" for the art world), pre-coated shoji paper onto which I inkjet-print an image of one of my previous artworks (aka "referencing my own work") in both color and black/white. Follow this by cutting the shoji paper into 1/4-inch strips, by hand, with an xacto knife, and trimming the flashings off the polymer substrate. At this point, I wish I had ordered that pasta-cutter for generating those 1/4-inch strips.

"Why?" you ask. Good question. It starts with a concept, an idea, a "what if?". Then I begin weaving the strips and I like what I see. But I need to see more, and so it goes, hour after hour. At this point I am grateful that Studio Mars has such high ceilings, and that soon I will give my back some much-needed rest.

Returning to yesterday: I walk to the river in the sun and warmth. Plural, actually, as the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee rivers is in plain view once I pass through the flood wall. By the way, if modern technology ever devises a transparent flood wall, the view would be oh so much more natural and enjoyable. Still, it is quite a sight, as you can see for yourself. People are fishing, walking dogs, and relaxing on park benches. A couple is posing for their engagement photo shoot. Along the way I stop for a nosh and coffee at Etcetera, a sweet little business with a Lower Town and a downtown presence. Bicyclists don't even lock, and a group of teens is playing Scrabble outdoors. It is a slice of Americana.

The slice, however, is much more homogeneous than I find in more urban areas. I am not sure why ethnic diversity is not greater in this city of 25,000+, but it is noticeable. And the barges on the rivers are moving a lot of coal, which raises questions for a visitor, i.e., me.

Ah yes, time to think about all of these observations; of which I have plenty as I weave my 1/4-inch strands.

Bookends to Saturday in Paducah: crisp and cold at the Farmer's Market this morning, nestled between The National Quilt Museum and the riverfront - a nice way to start the day, and camaraderie around Anita Stamper's dining table, in her turn-of-the-century Lower Town home/B&B - a delicious and delightful way to segue into the night. I stay up way too late working and reading to post before the clock strikes twelve.

Sandwiched between these outings is the tedious task I have set for myself: removing blue guide-threads on a swath of rug-hook backing. Sturdy, composed of waxed cotton, the grid provides yet another perfect armature for one of my suspensions, where translucency - muted transparency - continually captures my attention. And now that a date, October 24, has been penciled in for exhibiting my installation at Studio Mars (literally across the street from Pinecone B&B), my adrenalin has kicked in.

Barely a block away is the residence/studio/gallery of BiLan Liao. Tonight she is hosting a reception for the exhibition "8 inches of separation," a horizontally-oriented installation of a diverse body of work. Here is a photo of the artists: Char Downs, Paul Lorenz, BiLan Liao, and Maureen Ursery (Michael Crouse not pictured). And, yes, they are enjoying the event as much as it appears!

Another brief walk, and I am at Anita's home sharing a potluck dinner hosted by the Paducah Arts Alliance. In addition to attending PAA members  - Freda Fairchild, Mitch Kimball, Randy Simmons, and Paul Lorenz, are Mitch's spouse, Shand, their bright toddler, and several small canines. Nothing pretentious, everything elegant and welcoming. Love it, and looking forward to a firing in Mitch's kiln, which I understand as a real community event. I've directed you to the members' profile page for info and links, which do better justice to these artists than I can here. 

During the course of my four days in Paducah, I am fascinated to see how the installation idea I arrived with now demands a more site-specific response to this particular town - its energy is so different from urban settings. PAA members share that this is a typical and appropriate experience for their artists-in-residence. 

Which leads me to share how it is that I can walk out Pinecone's front door, turn either left or right, and be within walking distance of dozens of artist residences/studios/galleries: the Artist Relocation Program. Begun in 2000, the program is now a national arts and economic development model. Best to point you to the website to tell the rest of the story. By the way, there is one building remaining.