Russ Little found his calling as an artist. Open to exploring any media, Russ finds himself gravitating to fiber and textiles. Look closely at his work for the small stitching details.
How did you find yourself on an artist’s path? Always there? Lightbulb moment? Dragged kicking and screaming? Evolving?
I’ve answered this question many times over the years, but our origin stories are worth retelling as often as folks want to hear them because I think we learn and find connection from each other’s journeys. I suppose my story incorporates a bit of all the elements of your question: always there, some lightbulb moments, perhaps a bit of kicking, and most definitely always evolving.
The short version goes like this. I went off to college with the intention of becoming a dentist. Freshman year I stumbled through the heavy math and science courses and found myself lost until I happened to pick up a friend’s cartography textbook. I was completely mesmerized by mapmaking as a synthesis of art, design, math, and science. I changed my major, finished two degrees in geography, and spent 10 years in map publishing, before shifting to IT management.
In my mid-40’s I began to experience a sort of unrest–essentially a rather cliche midlife crisis. A renewed faith journey collided with a sense of advancing time and a desire to do something more “meaningful” with my life. Technology project management just wasn’t feeding my soul.
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For a variety of reasons I interpreted this unrest as a call to ordained ministry. A couple years of supervised discernment with some smart and insightful people led me to realize that I was indeed experiencing a “call”, but it was not to Episcopal priesthood.
Rather, it was to live more fully as my authentic self as an artist–a ministry of a different sort. I will always be grateful to those folks–my husband, my friends, my spiritual director, my rector, and a monk at a weekend retreat–who helped me to open my eyes to the thing that was obvious to everyone but me: I am an artist. I’m also the sum of all that I’ve been and done, which is true for all of us.
When was the first time that you remember realizing that you are a creative person?
I think that I’ve always known I was “creative”. Cases in point: I tie dyed my underwear in Cub Scouts; I made the curtains in my childhood bedroom; and, decorating gods forgive me, I faux finished everything that didn’t move in my first house, but it was the 80’s. There’s always been something that seemed perfectly normal to me, but others regarded as “creative”
Owning my identity as an artist came later, as I just described.
How did you get started making fiber art? Why did you choose that medium?
Some of my earliest and most vivid childhood memories involve yarn, fabric, sewing, embroidery, and crochet (learned from my grandmothers).
If I made a choice to gravitate toward fiber, then it was an unconscious one. I’m fortunate to have grown up in a household where I was provided access to an array of craft and fine art supplies, as well as power tools, and encouraged to explore all of them. That seemed normal to me because it was all that I knew.
I realized at some point in my youth that my parents were exceptional in many ways.
What different creative media do you create with? How has this evolved and changed over the years?
I do my best to remain open to the possibilities of exploring all media, but most of my work finds completion as textile of some sort.
More than 30 years ago I made my boyfriend-now-husband a quilt for our first Christmas together. I made 2-3 traditional quilts before embracing art quilting and that’s been my primary focus ever since.
For several years my quilts have been digitally printed whole cloth compositions based on a combination of works on paper (paintings, prints, and collages), digital paintings, and graphic elements created with computer programs of my own design. Many of my works incorporate hand or machine embroidery.
My quilts are finished at a sit down long arm machine in a dense free motion style that I treat as a final drawing layer in the composition–in this case, drawing with shadow to enhance or stand in juxtaposition to the elements on the printed cloth.
Abstract cut paper collage is an important element in my studio practice. I use it to explore new ideas and exercise a part of my creative voice that only seems to come out on paper. These compositions sometimes feed directly into quilts.
Finally, in the last few months I’ve given in to a long held curiosity about weaving, which has led in rapid succession to the purchase of an 8-shaft floor loom and an electronic spinning wheel, as well as pounds of yarn to weave and fiber to spin. I’m trying to be gentle with myself and treat this as an important exploration–possibly an evolution–rather than a distraction. It remains to be seen where all of this new learning will lead, but it will lead somewhere.
Do you do series work? How does that affect your approach?
I do indeed work in series. I think that doing so is an important step in developing one’s artistic voice.
Making several or many pieces around a common idea is an excellent way to refine your thinking. For these reasons, I make a concerted effort not to do one-off pieces, but they do happen, most often as the beginning of a possible series that just doesn’t develop further.
I’m resistant to responding to calls for entry that specify narrow themes or constraints that distract me from my chosen path.
I find that many artists regard the idea of a series intimidating. “Where would I even start?” is a common refrain.
My series almost never begin with an idea. They start with a doodle or a sketch (and no, I don’t keep a sketchbook) that prompts an idea. Sometimes I don’t know the title of a work until it’s almost completed.
I realize that it sounds all mystical, but the artwork speaks its own name. The series happens when I reply, “Oh, that’s interesting. Let’s see where that leads.”
When it comes to creating, are you more of a planner or an improviser?
I’ve done project planning in one way or another for most of my life. So, yes, I am a planner.
That said, time and again I’ve created a detailed plan for artwork I want to create, begun work, and found that my plan wasn’t producing the hoped-for result.
I find that my best work comes from a call-and-response relationship to the artwork. I do something (make a mark, add an element, etc) then stand back, look at the piece both critically and emotionally, and ask what comes next. It’s a dialog–call and response–between artist and artwork.
Are you a “finisher”? How many UFOs do you think you have?
Most everyone has UFOs. I’ve got them. I even think that finished work can morph into unfinished work over time, opening up the opportunity for subtle or radical revision.
But, I am mostly a finisher. I might work on 5 or more pieces at the same time, but they get finished one way or another.
Describe your creative space.
My studio occupies most of the lower level of our house (aka the basement). There is an area for dye work that’s separate from the rest of the studio.
The dry studio area has a design wall with shelving behind. My sewing table, work table, quilting machine, pressing table, and loom are all on wheels and can be moved around as needed to make space for specific activities.
I’ve never met an artist who said that they have too much space or too much storage.
I’m grateful for the space and equipment I have, and don’t take any of the privilege or opportunity they afford for granted.
You can see a video tour of my studio online at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B61mQRKVN0Q
How does your studio organization contribute to your work process?
I try my best to organize my workspace so that I can move easily from one work area to another–cutting table to design wall, to sewing machine, to pressing table.
My areas of interest have shifted over the years and that’s meant that I’ve needed to gradually purge some less needed supplies in favor of the stuff that supports what I’m doing now. That’s never easy.
Lately I’ve been using a rule shared with me by an artist friend: If you haven’t used something in two years, you have no plan to use it in the near future, and you can replace it in 20 minutes for less than $20 then consider finding a new home for it by selling, donating, or giving it away.
What inspires you to create?
If you are asking why I create, then the answer is because that’s the way that I interact with the world. It’s in my DNA.
If you are asking about my sources of inspiration for art making, then the answer is curiosity. The more something intrigues me, the more time I spend thinking about it. That usually leads to a little light reading, background research, and more thinking. Even if the object of my curiosity isn’t directly related to art, all of that thinking tends to influence my artwork.
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve received?
The best advice I’ve received might be one that I struggled most to embrace: You don’t need an art degree to make art.
Education has always been important to me, and I enjoy learning. I don’t want to be the smartest person in the room, but I do want to know as much as I can about the things that are core to what I do.
My knee jerk reaction has always been that an MFA would greatly enhance my ability and my “worth” as an artist. That might be true. There are also many reasons to suspect that it might not.
The advice that I’ve received that I freely pass along to artists who have already done their schooling in other disciplines is this: Get the education and training you need as you need it and however you can, but don’t equate a degree with an identity. You’re already an artist.
To young people considering a degree and career in art I say go for it, but do so with open eyes. Learning for the pure joy of learning is a wonderful thing. However, you need to be clear with yourself about how you might earn a living and be realistic about what that might entail.
Trying to make a living as a full time studio artist right out of school is not for everyone. That doesn’t mean you can’t get an art degree, but maybe consider a minor or a double major that incorporates another area of interest and might broaden your employment prospects.
What do you do to keep yourself motivated and interested in your work?
Learning is always a good motivator for me.
Early in my adult journey as an artist that meant workshops and classes. They were exciting, even intoxicating.
Intense group learning experiences also have a downside. In order to get the most out of the experience I find it necessary to fully embrace the instructor’s way of thinking, and in doing so I tend to lose my own voice temporarily.
There are still a couple of teachers with whom I have an ongoing relationship, but in general I’m much more careful about how, when, and where I study.
For many years I’ve had the habit of setting aside the month of January for study and reflection. It’s a good way to decompress after the busy holiday season, and the ideas that bubble up tend to set the stage for the year ahead in the studio.
All that being said, I have had a couple of life events over the years that have taken me away from the studio for months at a time. In each case, returning to the studio was a high priority but my mental and physical stamina were not at the level they had been. It took a good deal of mindfulness and patience to get back to work in any real way.
Sometimes motivation is more a matter of determination than anything else.
Do you critique your own work? What is your process?
Yes, I do critique my own work, but it’s more of a critical inventory.
Sometimes I photograph the artwork then leave the studio and spend time looking at the picture while considering the formal elements of design.
I ask myself questions about the graphic elements and their color, flow, and hierarchy. I look for focal points–or the lack of a focal point. I consider figure ground relationships.
Sometimes it can be helpful to write about the artwork as if you were writing a description for a friend. The careful looking and narration that requires can reveal new insights.
Fresh eyes are a big help too. Put a piece out of sight for a few days and then try to critique it, especially if you’ve been working on the piece for a long time. This process argues in favor of working on more than one piece at a time.
How do you know when a piece or project is finished and needs no additional work?
I sure wish that I knew of a hard and fast rule for that one.
I suppose it’s a little like a conversational topic. You reach a lull in the discussion and things go quiet. That often means that we’ve arrived at a possible stopping point.
If I’m struggling with a piece or I’m weary of a particular activity that’s also a good sign that it’s time for a break, which could be hours, days, or weeks.
Stepping away to do something else or work on a different piece usually means that when I return to the first piece I do so with fresh eyes and I either know what comes next or I am better able to recognize that the piece is indeed finished.
The same holds true for series work. I know that a series is complete when I no longer feel inspired to add another piece. Forcing just one more piece for an arbitrary reason like, “I want an even dozen,” more often than not results in a weak finish.
There’s some logic to the adage, “Quit while you’re ahead.”
Where can people see your work?
You can see my work online at:
My website: http://russlittlefiberartist.com
Instagram: russlittlefiberartist
Facebook: russlittlefiberartist
Interview posted August 2024
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