iphoneography + encaustics

yesterday i spend some time playing in the art studio, exploring the process of making encaustics with my iphoneography. while setting up my supplies i took the above self portrait (because if you know me, you’ll know that this is how i process new things, always in the NOW of the moment with selfies)

for the past month or so, the word “encaustic” has popped in and out of my peripheral vision making its way into my vocabulary. then, at the beginning of february when i stood before a variety of artwork hanging at the Enormously Tiny art opening at Nahcotta in Portsmouth, i was completely smitten with a variety of mixed media collage. i felt myself drawn to the surface… and knew i had to get my hands on some wax. i happen to have a partner that is completely supportive and inspiring when it comes to trying out new art. together, artfarmer and i ventured somewhat excitedly into encaustics with the supplies we had on hand (and a studio with glorious light).

there’s something about the encaustic process that i love, yes, the making with my own hands. but there’s also something about the finished product that is very inviting. it’s quiet and non-obtrusive. it’s warm and subtle. i thought it would be a fun process to work with some of my iphoneography and now i’m hooked.

after posting that self portrait on instagram and flickr yesterday, quite a few people were interested in what i was doing or how i was going about doing it. so i thought i’d put together a tutorial of sorts to describe my process. (now, keep in mind, there are millions of ways to create encaustics, and mix encaustic paints, and encorporate them into mixed media collages. once you get your hands into it, you’ll find a rhythm that best suits you and your project. since i am coming at this medium as a photographer, i might do things differently than other tutorials you’ll find online. i wanted my finished product to be quiet. i wanted the image to draw you in closer, i didn’t want the wax to jump out loudly to get your attention, and so this is how i approached learning how to make iphoneography + encaustics.)

…that said…

these are the supplies i gathered:
wood painting panels from the local art supply (4×4, 5×5, 8×8)
square print photos from postalpix
synthetic beeswax
spray adhesive
torch/flame
wax paper
exacto knife
iron

i want to talk for a minute about the wax. i plan on trying a variety of waxes, i chose synthetic beeswax over pure beeswax based solely on color. like i mentioned before, i really wanted to add a subtlety to the image. most of the images i wanted to remain golden but not too dark. the first few encaustics i made i really loved. the surface was smooth like butter. later, i tried my hand with paraffin wax because some of my more blue and turquoise photos i thought would look good with a clear wax. i found the paraffin not to be of my liking for this particular project. it melted rather quickly and ran like water. because of this, i found it more frustrating to work with and i wasn’t pleased with the final product. any bit of heat from the iron removed all the paraffin wax very quickly. the process was unsatisfying and so i went back to the synthetic beeswax that i preferred.

how i began:

• i laid out the wood panel and image i wanted  to use (dusted off the wood and laid both on a clean paper surface on my work table)
• i sprayed both the back of the photo and the front of the wood panel with spray adhesive, making sure to cover all the corners well
• then i let it sit and dry for a minute (i took this time to do others, by the time i was done with the last one, the first one was dry)
• at this point i turned each wood panel over and got out my exacto knife to make sure i had a nice clean edge to my image. this meant sometimes shaving off 1/8  inch of the photo using the wood edge as my guide to keep things straight and square.
• gather up your torch and wax, with a low flame begin dripping the wax onto the image (i like starting out thick, so i cover the entire thing completely leaving no holes where the photo is not protected by wax)
• let it sit to dry for a minute or so

at this point it begins to look very milky and thick. i lay my wax paper down over top the image and with the iron set on low heat, i begin ironing. this heats the wax and helps it move in whatever direction i choose. i learned that if the iron is too hot it can pull up the image from the wood panel (or worse, can peel some of the image off the actual photo paper!)  i’ve had great luck with the prints i had printed from my iphone via postalpix. i tried one image printed on hp matte paper and it burned in a weird way under the wax… now whether that was me or the photo paper i’m not sure. for now i’m sticking with postal pix as my source for printed iphone images as i’ve had the best luck with their prints.

i like texture, but i really prefer a smooth surface. i just don’t want the introduction of wax to take away anything from the image but add to it in a complimentary fashion. so i might iron once or twice or three times to remove as much wax as i feel the image needs. the above photo is after i ironed the image just once. it was still thick in parts and i believe it only needed one more push of wax to get the surface how i wanted it. this is when i would get the feeling that the piece was nearly done.

i’d pay special attention to how quickly i move the iron, what weight i am pushing the wax, and in what direction i move the iron. in one final movement i move the wax paper with the iron, then lift the wax paper as quickly as i can to leave a smooth surface. if there are bumps or streaks i may iron them out or just leave them on the image to add to the texture (to me, it depends on where the thickness is placed over the image as i want certain parts of the image to stand out more) i try to push the wax in the direction of the composition of the photo, if that makes sense. vertically if the image calls for it, or diagonally as i did with the image of river with his cousins on the tire swing.

you can see something of the texture here in this mosaic. it’s difficult to photograph, and yet it’s exactly what makes the finished product for me. the texture and the surface draw me in and also let me know when the piece is done.

when it’s done i let it sit and dry for a minute or so. there will be wax drips down each side of the wood panel. i prefer to iron these out rather than leaving them thicker and streaky (i press the iron to each of the wood sides) to make it look more sealed and clean (and ready to hang).

and then it’s done!

i’ve made about a dozen of these encaustics with my iphoneography, choosing images based on preference and what i thought would work with with contrast and depth coated with wax.

together, artfarmer and i have quite a collection of iphoneography for our art wall. it’s always growing and changing, and a favorite spot in our yurt. it’s a collective mix of framed prints, aluminum prints (also from postalpix) and now encaustics on a variety of wood panels to round out the collection.

static

your voice sounds so little and faraway. a tiny girl trapped in an elderly woman’s body. when you lose your memory and forget your self, are you still who you are? the people around you keep you who you are. you will be momma… even now as you have slipped completely out of that role. you will be momma because i will make you so. because i still need you to be so.

“hi momma” i say.
“hi momma” you say.
so tiny like, with barely a voice at all.
“it’s meredith” i say.
“it’s meredith” you say.
i smile to hear my name from you.
the name you gave me, the sound of the sea.
“i love you” i say.
“i love you” you say.
then a pause while brain synapses fire and misfire.
“i love you” you say again.
“mmm, I love you” you say again.

the only thing worth saying: it’s what you remember. in all that you have forgotten, it’s all that you remember and all that truly matters.

the static started nearly three years ago. in winter. when there’s static in the air anyway … it buzzed across phone lines that stretched the 1535 miles that divided us. through cities .. across fields .. over state lines: silence is heavy. it came from conversations gone limp, from all the summer and fall conversations. from all the talk of life and death and the space that lingers in between us buzzing with nothing but static.

when it’s all been said, there is little left to say. but we kept reaching out in our disconnect back then, just to know we were each on the other end of the line. you didn’t always understand me in those early days of dementia. and so to fill your silences and mute the static, i would ramble about the birds flying overhead and how they reminded me of that one time, you remember? when i was little and you carried me through boston? remember my son is that age now, and i seldom carry him anymore but when i do i think of you and how strong you were. and the birds… oh, the birds were soaring overhead so gracefully awaiting spring much like we are now … landing and taking flight again, lifting off from the phone lines that connect us now with all this static.

it’s nearly march now. and i’m feeling the silence of our winter. mourning the disconnection. hushing the static. and finding the beauty of birds in flight.

three years ago i had trouble with the static on the line. it was heavy with loss, with the unknown grief that lingers longer than anyone wants or expects. now we celebrate if there are words. and each word is cherished and meaningful feels like a secret code connecting me to you by our mother daughter heartstrings. now the concept that there is a voice at all, is a simple gift. we’ve come along way stumbling as we have on this crooked little path of dementia. perhaps it took me longer than i wanted to finally realize there’s no need for talk. that i don’t always have the words. that i don’t always know what to say or how to say it or what to share or if it needs to be shared at all. it comes when it comes but seldom leaves when i ask it to. grief is a sullen house guest that has taught me there’s no need for sentences any longer than two or three words in length.

no need for anything more than i love you.
and i love you.
and i love you, again.

taproot magazine

i am so pleased to share some exciting news with you! today, amanda soule announced the welcoming of Taproot Magazine to the world. i am beyond happy to be a contributor for this print magazine, you will find my photography and words in between these pages joined by an amazing group of artists and writers… it is everything i dreamed of (and more)! it’s a project steeped in something i’ve been craving, something my life has pulled me towards and now embraces… witnessing the birth process of this print magazine has been so good for my heart (and to be part of this creative process, i feel much gratitude)  so today is most definitely a celebratory day when it is announced to the world!

in her own words, amanda soule, editor of Taproot, expresses the magazine’s ethos so well:

“At taproot, we believe in place. That in this modern world with technology and noise coming at us from every and all directions, that we need even more real and tangible skills and connection in this world. Which is why you won’t find taproot as an online magazine. You won’t find us on Facebook or Twitter. We won’t be one more place online you need to ‘keep up with.’ And you won’t find our pages full of the noise of traditional print advertising, either.

taproot is, instead, intented to encourage a slower, more mindful presence as it comes into your home four times a year. We hope that the art, stories, crafts, food, and poetry in the pages of taproot will serve as entertainment, education, and inspiration on your journey.”

we will be having a Taproot Magazine launch party in Portland, Maine this March. if you’re in the area, you should stop by and say hello!

“We’re celebrating our launch at Longfellow Books on Sunday, March 18 at 2:00PM. Editor Amanda Blake Soule, publisher Jason Miller, writer Stacy Brenner and artist Meredith Winn will be on hand to share stories from our first issue, hot off the press. Join us! And yes, there will be some snacks (all local fare, natch!).”

between here and there

so much can happen in a matter of minutes.

it happened as i stood on this coast, facing down the beauty of my path. {the reality that surprises me with strong emotional bear hugs} i live here. i live here now, after years of pining, after years of knowing that my world was larger than what austin texas could provide. after years of working towards a goal a career a passion, after years of watching relationships grow and bloom behind art and photography in the online world… i live here now. after knowing my place, the place that called to me from a deep sleep. moments after this coastline: i stepped out into a gallery opening, saw smiles in person, saw art that resonates, met like-minds, and laughed at life.

i am here, exactly where i am supposed to be.

as i stood on this coast and took this photo at ten after five last friday evening, he fought a house fire and parented three boys through emergency. flames and electricity and gas lines and fire extinguishers and burning insulation and water from our stream collided with the reoccuring dream of his youth.

smoke and ash.
burnt smells don’t leave willingly.
everyone is ok. the pets are ok. we are ok.

we are extremely grateful.
and yet it’s heavy still, the face of fear.

as i stood on this coast i had no idea how quickly it could all vanish. poof. it goes up in a cloud of smoke that the wind carries to the barn and apple orchard. yes, i know how life gets taken slowly, painfully, with children to witness. but what i had forgotten was the speed at which it can change if you don’t respond, react, and fucking jump into action.

pay attention to the hairs on your neck.
pay attention to your dreams.

we have tremendous family support. we have our home and our belongings. we will have power and running water again soon. we have each other. and as cliche as that sounds, it’s the only thing that carries us through this space

{between here and there.}

thanks for all the love and support
xo, meredith