American textile artist Merill Comeau’s installations, wall hangings, paintings and garments have been featured in over 80 exhibtions. Her work investigates ‘current socio-political issues,’ and her ‘choices of materials and processes are informed by trauma and feminism and reflect my concern about the environment and unequal use of resources.’

Firstly where did you grow up and where do you live now? 

I am a born and bred New Englander.  I live in Concord Massachusetts – a town of historic significance to the American Revolutionary War of Independence and a birthplace of Transcendentalism.  The town is also characterized by a rich history of and thriving contemporary scene of writers and family farms.  People say New Englanders are unfriendly, but I think we are just shy and reserved.

What is your background in textiles?

My undergraduate degree is in social theory and political economy; a major that involved forays into women’s studies, philosophy, sociology, and psychology.  I am interested in the ways we organize as societies and how material culture communicates our values.  I studied architecture in my thirties and worked as an architectural designer for 25 years.  I’ve studied art and textile history and feminist theory.  In my strong palette, all-over imagery, and hanging of loose fabric on the wall, I owe a debt to the Pattern and Decoration Movement.  In my use of recycled clothing and sewing construction, I pay homage to precedents such as women patching together salvaged bits of cloth to make quilts.  My background supports my conceptual underpinnings and formal elements of design.  I love being an artist — I synthesize my disparate interests in my work.

What is it about textiles as an art form that appeals to you? 

I choose to work in textiles because they are essential to everyday life:  we are swaddled at birth, sleep in linens, bundle up to protect ourselves from weather, don fashion to assert our identity, use ritual cloth to evoke meaning, and reverently dress our deceased for burial.  I collect textiles as a form of ‘souvenir’.  I acquired my first piece at age 15, a delicate and damaged Chinese embroidery that I painstakingly restored.  Other collected textiles of meaning include a piece of a crewel embroidery curtain from a distant relative, kimono silk from my husband’s grandmother’s trips to Japan, an antique paisley tablecloth from my mother, and rustic woven towels given to me on a trip to Transylvania.  I also collect abstract patterned 50s bark cloth seeded by leftover scraps of my parents’ drapes and African prints some of which were purchased on a trip I took with my niece to Ghana.  My collection carries memories and symbolizes lives lived.

In addition to the symbolic qualities of fabric, I greatly enjoy the sensual pleasure of working with cloth.  I enjoy creating pieces on a large scale and then switching to focused fine motor skills of hand stitching.  I like the processes associated with textiles:  marking making (dying, stitched resist, block printing,) construction (sewing, 3-D fabric manipulation, seaming, repair) and decoration (embroidery, applique, embellishment.)  I like the forgiving quality of cloth, you can reconstruct, mend, and repair.  Ninety percent of my materials are given to me by people in my community and I feel surrounded and comforted by their presence.  In addition, I enjoy the artists I meet in the fiber world – they are so welcoming and generous.  

How do you describe your work?

I investigate current socio-political issues while creating installations, wall hangings, paintings, and garments.  I am inspired by traditions of craft and the history of ‘women’s work’.  My choices of materials and processes are informed by trauma and feminism and reflect my concern about the environment and unequal use of resources.  

I employ worn fabrics of the domestic sphere and expressive stitch to convey contemporary narratives of mending and endurance.  My multifaceted approach uses text to convey or imply meaning, abstraction to mirror the cacophony and complications of everyday experiences, and imagery from nature as a symbol of our life cycle.  As I stitch hundreds of snippets together, each part becomes integral to the whole, akin to the sum of the many moments that make up a lifetime.

How do you create a piece?

I am very planful about my time, goals, and commitments.  I research, write, and sketch developing my studio objectives and the conceptual underpinnings of my work.  In general, I work in series exploring narratives of common human concerns.  My first source of inspiration is autobiographical, the next circle comes from my surrounding community (family, friends, students,) and the wider ring of influence is my awareness and understanding of issues and experiences that bind us together as human beings.  At the start of every project, I have something I need to say, get off my chest, or puzzle through.  

 A variety of sketchbooks support my artwork development.  In one I keep a myriad of images that inspire the abstract printing blocks I use creating patterned yardage.  I dedicate one to observational drawing and another is filled with images of beautiful flora.  Most important is my idea book in which I make rough pencil sketches and jot down brainstorms.  

My storytelling is stimulated by my constantly developing stash of repurposed textiles.  I consider it my ‘job’ to translate materials from their original form into my own language.  I deconstruct with seam ripper, tear, or cut.  I degrade by composting (in my garden bin of leaves, kitchen waste, and worms,) rusting, staining, dyeing, or painting.  I add and embellish with thermo-faxing, block printing, and drawing.  I use vibrant colors for stories of rebirth and abrading techniques to express the ephemeral nature of our existence.

I may start with a preconceived image of a result, but once I’m ‘in the zone’, my pieces take on a life of their own.  I begin by laying supplies down on the floor, almost immediately nascent images appear.  I intuitively rearrange and move elements into place pursuing form, line, and movement.  All my choices reinforce the story I’m telling.  I tentatively pin or adhere then hang the work to edit.  In the final stages I sew, my variety of stitching styles further reinforce my tales.

I know this is a hard question but how long does a bigger piece take?

Estimate:  If I did one at a time, the large wall textile murals would take four to six weeks to complete.  It is hard to know exactly because in my working method I usually have six to ten projects going at once.  Some projects are so complex and such slow processes that they take five or more years to complete.  For example, the piece Comb Your Hair and Put on Some Lipstick created from a shirt of my deceased mother that I am lining with my hair is in its fifth year.  My installation Women’s Work is Never Done took seven years to complete.

You’ve had work in over 80 exhibitions. What are you most proud of in your art career so far?

I am very fortunate to exhibit as often and widely as I do.  Most meaningful to me are the conversations I’ve had with viewers when they tell me their observations and reactions to my work.  Art is my attempt to communicate.  When my work ignites a conversation in which we discover what we share I feel a circle is completed.

Do you have any advice for aspiring textile artists?

Don’t let people discourage you because of potential income limits.  There are related jobs in arts administration, education, and community programming that will support you as you build your practice.  

Be a person that is planful about studio time – devise strategies to keep your self-directed artmaking going.  Create and/or join artist groups; surround you self with generous people who support your efforts, remind you that you are an artist, and inspire you to keep making.  

Although creating art is the most fun, being an artist requires running a small business.  For instance, I spend at least two days a week on administration: writing press interviews, formulating proposals, filling out loan-agreements, ordering supplies, etc.

Everything you make will not be a masterpiece.  Often, you will find that you do not like your output.  Turn that discouragement into energy that propels you to make the next, better piece. Don’t fear fallow times and be grateful for fertile times.  

Apply, apply, apply to opportunities.  Pick yourself up after rejections and celebrate your successes.  For artists, tenacity is key. 

There are some people in the art world who see a hierarchy.  For example, they see painting as a higher art form than textiles or they see craft as lower than fine arts.  My advice specifically to textile artists is that this is a small-minded idea so don’t it influence you.

One special opportunity for creative folks is the extensive international array of artists residencies available to you — research to see if you can find one that fits your schedule and budget, apply, and attend.  

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