KYLA SJOGREN

For this project, I knew I wanted to create several pieces that were interconnected, but I didn't know what they would be.  The first piece was The place where silt stuck to our bare feet; they were free and didn’t know this would be enough.  It is of the wrack line with rocks and washed-up plant matter on the Nehalem Bay. It is best described as I wrote it here:  

There’s a place where my tiny family likes to go when it is sunny and not so quiet. The tide has to be just right. We carefully climb down rocks; I remove my shoes because it feels right to have a connection with the ground. It’s a commitment because the silt and sand will be impossible to remove when we are finished. The boys (dogs) take off over barnacle-covered rocks at full speed. I always fear they will find something better and fail to return. It’s so hard to keep from calling them back. Shane is often excitedly pointing things out or recalling a unique story from the day. I’m both trying to listen and fighting the urge to interrupt him to have him reassure me that the dogs will return. I breathe and dodge the sharp barnacle rocks with my feet. Everything in this moment can seem so small, but I think it’s going to be better than most things I will remember in this life. This piece was made to capture this snapshot memory. I often experience similar experiences and feelings when walking by waterways. Weaving this piece was a deliberate effort to pause and reflect on these moments. Due to the multiple colors and shapes, this piece of the series took the longest. 

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The second piece, The beauty of what some may call nothing: in lightness, can be described below: 

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When walking along the wrack line, I often notice sun-worn, water-carved driftwood, plump or faded seaweed, bright plastic shards, and vacated crab shells. When I pause and look, I see feathers that may have fallen from a seagull. The feathers have a quiet presence; they steadily exist when most may not be looking. I have seen these feathers for a long time, but in the past year, I’ve been able to SEE them.

Seagulls can be varied in appearance, most often clean and crisp against a grey sky. I want to know more about them, but I only want to watch them and wonder. I prefer the mystery and rambling of my imagination. Tactility within my ethical material selection and a prolonged study of feathers led to the composition of this piece. I weave with the technical back of the tapestry facing me. As I am weaving, the result is often a mystery until I remove the finished work. This piece was my first attempt at weaving feathers. I wanted to weave in actual feathers, but I found it might not be ethical or legal. A friend suggested I weave the feathers, and I had to convince myself that I could. I wanted the feathers to have a luster unlike most of the Weavings I have made. I decided to use linen yarns ( gifted to me). These fine yarns were dyed with synthetic dyes - something I don't use. The linen yarns were cradled by mohair boucle and Navajo churro yarn. I had used this in small amounts for a previous weaving and fell in love with the textural combination. My hope for this piece is to share the quiet beauty of things that often go unseen.

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The third piece, The beauty of what some may call nothing: in darkness, can be described below:

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This piece was made to be a counterpart to The beauty of what some may call nothing: in lightness. After reflecting on feathers and having the time and space during my residency at the Oregon Coast School of Art, the composition resulted in something entirely unexpected. It felt vulnerable to shift intentions and directions. I called my partner, whom I trust the most for honest feedback. Through that and the time-walks on the beach, hours of nothing but my thoughts, I started. At times, this felt like a race, and other times, a slow act of devotion to my craft. I don’t know if I will weave feathers again. The world is too vast a subject to gaze upon and appreciate in the form of weaving.