Libby Cerullo creates textile art inspired by the trees around her home in rural Pennsylvania. Her series Portraits of Women as Trees has expanded from female archetypes and her thoughts, memories, and dreams, to layered narratives of identity, relationships, and culture.
How did you find yourself on an artist’s path?
It started with a table runner in 2009. And I swear, I don’t know what happened. It must have been a Eureka! moment, because the next thing I made was a 5-foot tall “art quilt.” I didn’t even know that was a thing until a year later.
I found that working with fabrics created a space for my soul to rest at a time of chaos and the competing demands of a new marriage, five teenagers, a full-time job in another state, and a huge dog. And, unlike a lot of other media, you can walk away from fabrics and stitching when you hear, “Mom!”
The trees around my home in rural PA were my muses and quiet companions. Memories surfaced of my mother, her artistic practice, painting at her side, and the hours we spent together paging through Vogue magazine. I have also been a big fan of Christo & Jeanne Claude’s buildings and landscapes wrapped in plastic and Andy Goldsworthy’s dark trees embellished with colorful leaves. It is not a huge leap from there to dressing trees, although it took a long time for me to see the connections.
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Seven years later, I completed the first in a series called Portraits of Women as Trees. Today, the series has expanded from female archetypes and my own thoughts/memories/dreams to layered narratives of identity, relationships, and culture. The series continues to evolve as I explore metaphors of the cycles of life, renewal, hope. I think the series also invites the viewer to think about how we protect and/or express our identities and values by providing access to the trees’ character through the transparent layers.
How does your environment influence your creativity?
My environment influences my art very strongly. Most of the trees in my work are from my local area and the physical attributes of a tree are central to how I interpret its ‘portrait.’
The tree I used for The Growing Edge stands relaxed with one hand in her pocket, confidently waiting to be called forth by spring. As a gift for her patience, I dressed her in a bouquet of flower petals. The title was inspired by a poem of the same name by Howard Thurman (1899-1981) “…The roots are silently at work in the darkness of the earth/Against the time when there shall be new leaves, fresh blossoms, green fruit/Such is the growing edge!
Wyeth’s Laundry was inspired by local Mennonite communities where drying laundry outside continues to be a way of life. I was going to name this piece ‘Women’s Work’ but was cautioned against using a stereotype that might detract from the beauty of the piece. It was suggested that the color pallet was like Andrew Wyeth’s (whose family home and studios are nearby), so it became his laundry (sorry ladies), although some woman undoubtedly hung it. I am of an age that the clothesline also connects me to memories of doing wash with my mother. Life is art; art is life.
I saw the tree that inspired Party Favors on a city street during a trip to Sicily. The tree was intentionally polled—an aggressive pruning technique to promote rapidly growing suckers. The result was a frenzy of branches competing for space and light. It looked like debauchery within a creepy drama. The title of the artwork I made is intended to be ironic and imply a cynical view of modern life.
Up to this point, I think the images I created with trees was mostly about expressing myself and my relationships. Other people recognize themselves in the trees, and I love that. Party Favors was a transitional piece: from anthropomorphizing a tree, to looking at the effects of humans on trees, and by extension, the effects we are having on nature and climate. It’s a subtle shift from using trees to illustrate human psychology, to using human psychology to express what trees and nature are going through. Of course, our perceptions come with BIG limits, but…well, let me try to explain this way:
In 1911, Umberto Boccioni completed a series of three paintings exploring the psychological dimensions of the transitory nature of modern life. The series, called “States of Mind,” was set at a train station and included three paintings: The Farewells, Those Who Stay, and Those Who Go. Inspired by these paintings over a century later, I created a parallel series called “States of Nature,” in which trees in my local area express, to us, the psychological dimensions of man’s subjugation of nature. They are titled: The Farewells, Those Who Stay, and Those Who Go.
In The Farewells, tree trunks tower over a cut pile of their brethren. I hated discovering this scene. Extensive contour stitching continues from an oblong pile of cut logs up through the background, interrupted by the vertical trunks of remaining trees. The contrasting forms and cold winter white space convey a sense of separation, quiet, and reverence.
The tree in Those Who Go (was apparently hit by a truck many years ago—it is not old enough to be a ‘signal’ tree, but I digress) is actually two trees fused together into a figure that appears to be carrying the body of another. The going and the gone. With reverence and grief.
In Those Who Stay, there are three isolated tree trunks, at diagonals to each other and the ground but each is balanced/stable. These disconnected but stable specimens, laced together with contrasting diagonal shadows and extensive contour stitching, convey a dynamic tension between the serenity and vulnerability of being left behind.
So instead of human psychology being the subject of the art, as in Boccioni’s paintings, tree ‘psychology’ is the subject of my art. (I’m only continuing what scientists are discovering about the responsiveness of trees to adverse stimuli and their ability to communicate with chemical signals above and below ground.)
Does your work have stories to tell?
It occurs to me that because it takes so long to create these pieces (I’m very jealous of plein air painters for instance), that I spend a lot, a LOT, of time thinking about them. So, I discover/make up a lot of content about them as I go. It doesn’t stop when the piece is completed. I write about my work and edit over and over. Over time, the content evolves, especially when talking with others. Other people’s insights, knowledge and experiences educate and help me mine deeper meaning in my work—or, equally helpful, identify when an idea is not connecting.
What about workspace and process?
Workspace. LOL. By necessity, I believe that constraints are very…valuable. Makes making decisions easier when the choices are limited.
Artists are problem solvers. I work in a guest bedroom that is also my home office. I may have multiple projects going at once, but in reality, only one is the ‘real one’ and maybe a second one is floating around, being moved each time #1 needs its space. Any more, and my space is a complete mess.
That said, my space is a complete mess. I don’t have UFOs. Ok, two. I manage my project plans with a spreadsheet of works in progress and less-formed ideas waiting for their turn. They wait until I know what they are, particularly, how they fit into the big picture. Because it takes so long to make each piece, I’ve potentially wasted a lot of time if a piece doesn’t fit. Sometimes I make them anyway, and they find their way into the big picture on their own. I guess I have an ongoing relationship with my art.
Yes, I use a sketchbook; not so much for random play, but to work out dress designs, how a drape should look, etc. I make tiny sketches…it’s laughable, and sometimes not scalable. I amuse myself a lot.
One of the most important parts of my process is my participation in a critique group. I have been meeting monthly—in person—with a small group of textile artists. We are all very different in our styles and subject matter, training and life experiences. We bring respect and open mindedness to each meeting and have fostered a trust among us that allows each person to put their questions, uncertainties and wild ideas on the table to see what bubbles up.
WWe give space for talking about our art and for getting ideas, no matter how vague or wild, out of our heads/hearts and into the visible and written world. It is no coincidence that this group helped me find my artistic voice and make better art.
How do you stay inspired?
I find inspiration from being outside looking at nature, architecture, land art, and being inside with books about art and artists, searching for specific images online, essays, images in any medium: painting, collage, photography, craft, music, even science journals (I was a biology major in college), advertising, manufacturing design, and TV/streaming media. ANYTHING.
I go to museums and galleries. I frequently have given myself an ‘assignment’ to solve something. Sometimes I need to make a ‘poster’ of a bunch of stuff I love, and just consider what it is that I love about that collection. I sometimes research elements that I might incorporate into a piece—it comes in handy, for a current work in progress, that halos also appear as squares (as early as the 8th century).
A note on juried shows. I do not use their themes as inspiration. I do enter, occasionally, if I have a piece fits with a show’s prospectus; I’m on my own path.
Where can people see your work?
I live an hour west of Philadelphia. You can find me on the cover of the June 2024 issue of Art Quilting Studio (Stampington) with an accompanying article p. 72. You can also follow me on Instagram (@libbycerullotextileart) and purchase fine art prints and originals or contact me through my website at libbycerulloart.com. I would love to hear from you about this interview, art, speaking invitations, commissions, and questions about my creative process.
I also exhibit at the Art Plus Gallery in West Reading, PA @artplusgallerypa
Interview posted July 2024
All images are the property of Libby Cerullo, and may not be copied or used for commercial purposes without written permission.
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