Quilt Market and Festival in Houston are now only a couple of weeks away, so it is appropriate to do what we are doing these days, namely preparing for the luncheon lecture that we will be giving on Monday, October 27.

It may sound as a tedious activity, but it isn’t – not at all. Actually it is very nice in that it provides an opportunity to meeting many of our quilts again – those with people in the motif – that is – since the subject of our lecture is “About Us and People In Our Quilts”.

Some of the quilts have links to people we know or have known, other are based on pure fantasy, so a walk-though of the presentation brings back a panoply of memories of situations that motivated us to make the quilts and/or our  deliberations on compositions and ways to implement them.

But, in the course of the lecture we are not only going to talk about quilts with people in the motifs, we are also lifting the curtain a little bit on who we are – in other words talk a little about ourselves, the two of us. It was when reviewing the section about us that I – once more – realised how fast time flies.

In one’s life there are certain “markers” or milestones that spontaneously and uninvited, nevertheless regularly remind us about how fast time is passing. Quilt Festival in Houston is for us one of the more pleasant of such markers. Funny thing you know, it presents itself in a very modest way on the first morning after arrival. After having ordered my fried eggs – easy over – I’m spontaneously motivated to say to Inge: “Now we’re sitting here again – it feels as if it were only a couple of weeks ago since we were here last time”.

And that happens every time we go there.

When traversing the north-western region of France on our trips to England there are two distinct silhouettes we have always noticed in the distance, but never investigated further.

Think about it, one of the silhouettes is that of the tallest complete cathedral in France, the Cathedral of Amiens – a World Heritage thing! And the other is that of the Cathedral of Beauvais which albeit never fully completed features incredible achievements in gothic architecture and the highest vault in Europe.

This weekend we decided to make up for lost time and visiting these two cathedrals. Our initiative was rewarded with the most splendid weather that early autumn can provide – you know, sunny all day long with this light haze, which works so well with the changing colours of foliage, grasses and herbs. La France was indeed belle and douce.

When approaching the towns of Beauvais and Amiens their respective cathedrals appeared as soft silhouettes and when up close they were bathed in light diffuse enough to present the limestone structured at their best and harsh enough to render all the details in their constructions.

These ambitious constructions were started in the 13^th century and must in complexity and boldness have been comparable to that of undertaking the construction of a complex space infra-structure in outer space today. The cathedrals were not only very elaborate in their architecture – also in their interior. My attention was in particular drawn to the three dimensionally biblical scenes in the cathedral of Amiens, sculpted in limestone and coloured according to medieval fashion.

Interleaved between the visits to the cathedrals we had the more contemporary experience of visiting the tapestry museum of Beauvais. This visit was also a first for us, which is remarkable in a way, since we have been interested in textile art and crafts for several years now, and the city of Beauvais is only about an hour’s drive away. We should actually go there twice a year, since this is the frequency with which the museum changes its exhibitions.

For us they had on display tapestries and entire sets of upholstered furniture featuring motifs of well known expressionists and modern artists. It was a delight for the eyes. You know – the large scale designs and deep colours of tapestries, their surfaces totally free of reflections and that inviting “something” which is only found in textile art and craft.

So, at the end of the day our initiative had not only been rewarded with a splendid autumnal weather – the last of that calibre this year, I believe – but also by an encounter with visions, ambitions, ingenuity and their implementation by skilled craftspersons and artists.

When arriving at the hotel I realized that I had not been shooting any photos all day, and consequently had nothing to propose for the Photo-a-Day challenge. Those of you, who know that we hang in there for more than one and a half year to continuously hone our flair for seeing potential motifs in the environments where we live and breathe, will understand that I had to get out in the streets, so that I could deliver.

Being in the centre of Toulouse I would have no excuse for not delivering at least a few candidate shoots. So I left the hotel, turned left and headed towards the old quarters of town Inge introduced to me when the summer was still in its prime.

But, to my disappointment, the La Vielle Ville was totally lacking the magic Inge had introduced me to, the subtle play of light and shadows in the old brick walls, the violent contrasts imposed by the intense daylight as it fell on the narrow streets. Now it was the twilight zone of the day that reigned and in those narrow streets I found absolutely “nothing” that inspired me to get the camera out of the pocket.

It was when I passed the Brasserie des Beaux Arts that the thought installed itself in my mind that perhaps inspiration was to be found in there, well helped by a nice meal and a glass of the local wine. Well, for some reason I continued my walk, now along the embankment of the river La Garonne. Perhaps due to the fact that the open space over the river made me notice the interesting light a beautiful day provides when it turns into a pleasant night. So I continued and passed the school of fine arts, Beaux Arts – more art, I thought, and felt the distance to inspiration being extended.

A left-right turn of the street led me right to the Café des Artistes! Boy, I thought, it continues! But I was familiar with the place, because Inge had introduced me to it as well. This familiarity was perhaps what made me sit down at a free table on the pavement in front of the café – and, when the waiter showed up, order a glass of dry white wine.

It appeared to me that these days it is only in this region of la belle et douce France that the weather is really mild, so I leaned back, let a certain degree of calmness install itself in my body and started to notice the life around me. There were the passers by, students and professionals on business trips, a few motorbikes and scooters and cars and bicycles – and the other customers of Café des Artistes conversing at the neighbouring tables.

Some of them, perhaps the majority, sat there in the mild evening with their aperitifs – and some of the professionals on business trips were not just promenading, but heading toward the various restaurants the town is full of. When this thought crossed my mind, my stomach involuntarily send a signal to my brain that it might be a good idea if I moved on as well and found a place to eat.

Reacting positively to that prime signal from my body led me not only to a delicious dish of tagliatelle with pesto sauce seasoned with garlic and freshly grated parmesan – it also led me to an indirect introduction of artists in another genre than ours.

Did I talk to them? No. Did I eavesdrop? No. Was I indiscrete? No. But in French brasseries the tables are so close to each other that I would have to sit with fingers stuck into both ears not to overhear their conversation. So, instead of being irritated of my quiet corner of the restaurant becoming a lively place – I leaned back and enjoyed the rest of my glass of read wine from Gaillac, and let my neighbours introduce me to their sector of the professional world.

They were dancers! Two male dancers, who after introductory words on how to connect to the internet gradually opened up for a mutual exchange on how it was where they presently worked, and what they had heard and knew of other places, in particular inspired by one of the two’s one-time experience in Paris.

Their aspirations were tightly connected to Paris, to the dreams of one day dancing in Paris! Whereas I could understand them from a professional point of view, I kind of felt pity with the lovely, lively city of Toulouse which their dreams reduced to a second order place of provincial orientation.

But, perhaps this is perfectly normal and how it should be in any profession.

With these thoughts I left the restaurant – and on my way back to the hotel I shot what I consider a good candidate for the Photo-a-Day challenge…

There is this about intensions – they always sound very plausible when formulated, but so often something comes in the way when time comes to implement them. Some say that the way to Hell is paved with good intensions. I take it that we here talk about unfulfilled intensions and do hope though, that all those of that sort I have formulated in the course of time are not paving stones on that particular way, but on ways that lead to more pleasant places.

Since that is metaphoric, I will of course never know where my unfulfilled intensions became fragments of some infrastructure. It is not that interesting either. What can be more interesting is sometimes to reflect a little over why I eventually did not implement some of my (always) good intensions. Well, what would that help, some may say, since this is reflecting about something in the past and they would point towards the future where a lot of undone activities may profit more from the energy spent on this kind of reflection?

That may well be true – of course it is – but while sitting painting today I nevertheless allowed myself to reflect about coincidences related to that of not implementing ones good intensions. My reflection was linked to the carwash.

Last weekend it was my intension Sunday morning bright and early to drive the little car, which Inge primarily uses, to the carwash. Due to some reasons I already have forgotten, perhaps it was pouring down, it did not happen. Because that did not happen, the car’s fuel tank was also not replenished at the garage I pass by when going there. And because of that Inge had to pump herself the other day.

Since Inge is a motorist living according to the dogma, that real women don’t pump, you can understand that this was a serious consequence of me not following through on that intension. So yesterday I said to myself that – come Hell or high water – that car would be washed this morning. And I topped that intension up with another intension, that I would leave bright and early – not only to avoid a potential crowd at the carwash, but also to do some highly aesthetical photographing over the race course when dawn turned it into this ephemeral softly lit place that requires sunshine from a low angle and early morning mist in the autumn.

All good and noble intensions, right? I was about to write “Yes”, but realised that before you came to that word, you’d already started to speculate what came in the way of these very noble intensions, right?

The answer is that I didn’t fall into a sound sleep last night. I remember reading 05:00 or thereabout last time I checked the alarm clock and thinking that in an hour’s time I surely would be awake again and then get out of bed as intended.

When I woke up 07:30 I knew instantly that it was too late for that ephemeral soft light over the race course. I nevertheless took the camera with me to the carwash and going there I passed by the race course. It still had the hazy atmosphere of the morning mist, so I made some shoots. But I couldn’t change the fact that dawn had turned into day and that special light I had had in mind was gone.

So, what can I conclude from this reflection about intensions? Perhaps that it shows a good will to formulate good intensions, but some universal principle has arranged it so that they cannot all be fulfilled. Now, that would be comfortable, wouldn’t it? But it probably does not work that way, so I have to console myself with the thought of knowing that the little car distinguishes itself in the parking place by being spotlessly clean.

Drove a retro-car this week. A reminiscence of the legendary Fiat 500. Well, it was perhaps only long after that it had been phased out of production in 1975 that this little car was recognized as a legend. The Fiat 500 was introduced in 1957 – I was 7 years old then and of course already into that boy-thing of knowing which car models were the hottest. That is, the hottest amongst those we saw in the middle-sized provincial town where I grew up.

They were not that many, and surely the Fiat 500 did not count at all, when talk was about fancy cars. But the Fiat 500 became part of the street-life, and continued to be until up into the 70′ties. When I by the end of the 60′ies visited Italy for the first time, these small cars were of course everywhere. They didn’t count at that time either, when it came to desired cars. Then, I remember vividly, it was the Alfa Romeo Giuila Sprint GTA, a coupe with wooden steering wheel and knob on the gearlever.

But this week, the Fiat 500 suddenly came into the picture again when I on a trip got the opportunity to rent one for a couple of days. Ha, when seating myself I flashed back to the end of the 50′ies and I had great fun of driving the car. The designers of this retro-model would of course be very pleased to read that it set me back, further back in time than most of the present clientele for this retro-model will ever be able to remember, all the way back to the 50′ties – since this was exactly the designers’ intensions. Of course!

But, what was it, I wondered, that gave me that feeling of flashing back in time? And, flashing back at all was also a mystery – since this car had air conditioning, 5 gears, rev counter, stereo radio, adjustable seats and several other gadgets no one dreamed about in the context of small cars for Mr. Everybody way back in my childhood.

There were two factors, I concluded. One was the fact that the dashboard was of painted metal, the same white colour as the outside of the car. That was very normal for smaller cars in the 50′ies and 60′ies, and I have not seen this since we sold our VW beetle in 1977.

The other retro factor was the tail gate. In the 50′ies it opened up to the small straight-two engine of 479 or 499 cubic centimetres, only. Today the engine is in the front so now the tailgate opens up to a diminutive boot. But that didn’t change it – the retro feeling, I mean, because it was the small size of the tail gate and the feeling of something light and cheap – characteristic of small cars way back then – that made it.

So, with me behind the steering wheel two relatively simple factors played in favour of the designer’s intensions of giving the driver a retro feeling: A painted dashboard and the feeling of a cheap tail gate.

While looking for another book in the cabinet this week, I came by chance across one I bought some years ago, which in a broad sense discusses the colour theories of the German writer Johan Wolfgang von Goethe. I realized that I actually never read that book, so I took it out and made it my commuting fellow for a couple of days.

The book is written by the Danish ceramist and industrial designer Lone Schmidt and my version of it was published by Klematis A/S in 1995. Its title is unsurprisingly “Farven og Lyset” (The Colour and the Light).

Standing with it in the rush of the Parisian Metro I learned about Goethe’s friendship with Schiller and their discussions on the phenomenon: light. These two gentlemen were not only interested in the physical properties of light, but more, it seemed to me, in the human perception of light and thereby perception of colours. As an additional branch of their interest they apparently also attempted to map colours vs. the states of mind of people. I found that amusing.

Noting the importance in particular Goethe put on the perception of the phenomena related to light made me reflect a little. Not in the direct line of an analysis, but merely as a reflection on the importance we put on how colours in our works will be perceived by the viewers.

It dawned upon me that we usually do not explicitly think of colours that way – instead we seem to be more focused on whether a colour from our vantage point “works” in a given design or motif. That is, whether we think it is in harmony with the other colours of the applied palette and if it supports the expression we are seeking.

Well, this is natural, since we are principally producing – not acquiring. But the reflection left the question in my mind as to whether we were missing out on an important aspect in our creative endeavours?

I thought about it and came to the conclusion that we are not missing out on this aspect – we are just not explicitly focusing on the perception of colours per se. Instead, we cover this aspect implicitly when determining the palette for a given work, because in this action we also determine the mood we want to connect to the motif.

So, it was interesting reading I had stowed away in the cabinet for those years – and I’m glad I came across the book. And you know what was particularly interesting? It was the fact that two writers had taken up this interest and pursued it to such depth – and not two physicists. Through their interest the concept of colour became richer with the inclusion of the aspect of perception.

In July I reflected about that good feeling of looking forward to the summer holidays and how busy we were in cleaning the plate, so that no old projects would be waiting for us upon return and so that we could start right away on new ones – unloading the mind for tons of new ideas.

That was very good – then. Now, when it is now, I have it somewhat like our little friend in the cartoon above. I do not exactly feel the ideas standing in a long line, either – just waiting for me to formulate them.

So, am I presently in the Artistic Doldrums where there are no inspirational winds to fill the sails? Is my only hope that Cyrus the unsinkable Sea Serpent will pass by and pull me out and haul me to the Sea of Many Inspirations?

Somewhere in the back of my mind there is a feeling that the situation is not that dramatic, after all. And it probably is not like in an adventure game where I must find a key to open for whatever has accumulated during the holidays. The feeling in the back of my mind tells me that it is through dialogue with Inge on upcoming new projects, that the inspiration this holiday inevitably must have brought me – if not explicitly, then surely implicitly – will emerge.

Perhaps we are here seeing the beginning of a demonstration that, contrary to the old myth, inspiration does not come to artists as a godsend flash from somewhere and that one does not just have to sit in the old red armchair waiting for it.

This summer’s inspiration is rather likely to be revealed in various subtle ways through a continuous engagement with the art, through the thinking required for our coming projects.

This is not bad at all. Imagine I had to rely on Cyrus to pass by…

Yesterday we visited a gallery featuring three contemporary Russian artists using oil on canvas as their medium for artistic expression. We spent a good time there and before leaving we did what we usually do in galleries and at exhibitions – we asked ourselves the question: “If we were to take one with us home, which one would it be?”

For us this question triggers a very useful dialogue between us. The opinions and mutual deliberation open eyes to aspects not thought about by the other and we establish some kind of a closure of the visit in the gallery.

Today, Saturday the 16^th of August, the exhibition “On a Grand Scale” opens at the Museum of the American Quilter’s Society – MAQS for short. It will run until the 15^th of November and is a so-called dialogue exhibition featuring examples of quilts from our studio on the one side and quilts from the studio of Eleanor McCain from the US on the other.

As was the case with us visiting the gallery with the Russian artists yesterday our 19 works included in “On a Grand Scale” not only form a dialogue with those provided by Eleanor McCain for the exhibition, they will certainly also enter into dialogue with the visitors.

How these dialogues will evolve is outside our sphere of control. This is no surprise – we know that this will be the case at the moment our works leave home. We usually say that they now have to continue their lives with the viewers and whatever our opinions may be about them, they do not count out there. Put differently, the works are in the hands of the viewers.

They are also in the hands of the curator. How will she arrange them, how will they be combined mutually and with those of Eleanor McCain?

MAQS is made for displaying quilts, so conditions will probably be as optimal as possible, and the curator, Judy Schwender has arranged numerous exhibitions, so we believe the dialogue exhibition “On a Grand Scale” is in good hands.

Understandably, we would have loved to be at the opening today – to experience this event and to “take in” the exhibition as it presents itself to the viewers. Believe me when I say that we would not have left the exhibition without asking the usual question: “If we were to take one with us home, which one would it be?”

A couple of weeks ago we cleaned the artistic plate and went off on vacation to recharge the creative batteries – not knowing what would impress us during the days ahead. Impress us in the sense that it would set off lines of thoughts in the creative department.

Although we have had a variety of experiences through visits in the Danish regions, e.g. going to the capital by train (a first in 30-40 years for the two of us), seeing people, dining excellently, etc. the most impressive one was nature. The land is relatively flat and especially in coastal regions the horizons are wide, very wide indeed and the sky as high and far stretching as one can ever wish for.

Yes, we have had rainy days, but changing and unstable weather conditions do provide for a pay-off in the form of the most fantastic skyscapes. When we yesterday drove up north and entered the coastal regions up there the skyscapes became just magnificent. Wild and broken sections blended with high layers of haze, again blended with portions of cobalt blue and Payne’s grey where respectively clear sky and heavy, rainy clouds dominated.

Although I know the region very well, I found the landscape rather boring and the sky so much more rewarding to follow as we approached the tip of the peninsula. Maybe the landscape was not that boring after all, maybe it was as good as I always thought it was, but yesterday the skyscapes just took centre stage.

And today the skyscapes continued to impress as we strolled along on the wide beaches – now accompanied by the lively seascape, all the way from the breakers to the horizon. It was just fantastic!

Every place has its own rhythm – over the year, the week and the day. Does this rhythm influence the senses? Can it be rendered artistically?

Limited to the scale of a day, the rhythm of a place is from an overall point of view ruled by the light as it varies over the 24 hours, moving from night over dawn, morning, noon, afternoon, evening to night again. But under this rhythm every place has its own sub-rhythm, if I can put it that way.

The hotel where we stay has its own rhythm, determined by the needs of the guests, reception of deliveries, cleaning of rooms, change of staff, etc. It is situated on the shore of a narrow strait, which also has its own rhythm, determined by the traffic of ships, yachts, fishermen in their dinghies and the alternating current.

Just in front of the hotel there is this small yachting harbour, which is also home for a handful of small fishing boats and dinghies. It also has its own rhythm determined by the activities in the morning when the sailing people wake up, cook breakfast and when they later leave for their next port of call. The rhythm of the harbour continues with the arrival of the first new visiting yachts and motor boats and later in the afternoon when the small harbour has its rush hour.

In our view there are two bridges. To our left there is the “old” one with its own rhythm determined by the traffic of local, regional and international trains, supplemented by limited traffic of cars and trucks. To our right, and further away, there is the “new” bridge with its rhythm of motorway traffic.

And above us there are the seagulls with their own rhythm determined by the light of the day and the behaviour of the fish in the water of the strait.

It may sound as if we are in a very busy place. Perhaps it is, on its own scale, but it does not feel like being busy. Actually the opposite is the case. The place has a very relaxed atmosphere inviting to observation and reflection over things and preparation for letting in new inspirations.

The first reflection was about the rhythm of this place – leading to the questions as to the degree with which this rhythm influences the senses, and whether it can be rendered artistically? I believe it influences the senses, because it influences the mood; but whether the rhythm of a place, like this for example, can be rendered artistically remains an open question to me.