making blah blah (again) over Jude Hill

The thing I love about Jude Hill's fabric work is how little it takes itself seriously, even though it is thoroughly addressed in detail and design, and is always always gorgeous. I hate to use words like "whimsical" to describe someone's artwork (it feels like a crafty putdown), but Hill's pieces are so joyful and frequently funny, so accessible (another dangerous word), that their richness almost always gives way to a pleasure that's immediate, that's based in her personal view of story and narrative. Hers is the only work I see these days that makes me want to DROP EVERYTHING and sew. And in the "art quilting" world, where computers and Lutradur and Angelina fibers are always the thing, Hill's hand-sewn, visible-stitching, raw-edged pieces are refreshingly real. Of course, I think I first read of her work in one of those art-quilting magazines (my subscriptions are all lapsing, shit.) But she's talent.

Why am I all crazy over this one woman's tiny fabric creations? It's not as if I've met her, and most likely never will. I found her work via the blog of another artist and writer I've never met, and I can't even recall from there where the chain of association first began. I suppose it's due in part to the tiny artistic corner I've got myself wedged into, "quilt art" -- and occasionally "altered books" -- areas that don't enjoy a broad shared lexicon of names and techniques, where it's hard to make friends in the real world (not too many shows of this type of thing, even with the Textile Center right here in town.) I'd curate a show for Jude Hill, if I had a real venue to do it in. I'd probably make a real goober of myself if I met her. I'm a lonely little artist, hanging out on the internet -- this is what happens. I have to laugh at myself.