Bio
Linda Rees was born in St. Louis, MO in 1940. A class in tapestry weaving in college changed the course of her life, and she would go on to weave nearly every day for the next fifty years. She earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology and worked briefly as a social worker before choosing to become a stay at home mother, pursuing tapestry weaving as a career as her daughter grew older.
Linda relocated to Bellingham in 1970, where she became one of the founding members of the Whatcom Weavers Guild, volunteered weekly at the Whatcom Museum of History and Art, and contributed essays and commentary to magazines such as Shuttle, Spindle and Dyepot and Handwoven, and served for several years as Editor of the American Tapestry Alliance monthly newsletter, documenting contemporary tapestry and providing a critical connection for the tapestry community.
Linda’s primary interest in weaving has always been color; she loved the challenge of taking colors that traditionally don’t “go” together and creating an abstract design that made them work aesthetically. Early sources of inspiration that were to have an impact on her art for decades included Mexican sarapes and Navajo rugs. Although Linda is no longer able to weave, she is curious and interested in the colors and people around her and remains actively engaged in the weaving community.
Linda relocated to Bellingham in 1970, where she became one of the founding members of the Whatcom Weavers Guild, volunteered weekly at the Whatcom Museum of History and Art, and contributed essays and commentary to magazines such as Shuttle, Spindle and Dyepot and Handwoven, and served for several years as Editor of the American Tapestry Alliance monthly newsletter, documenting contemporary tapestry and providing a critical connection for the tapestry community.
Linda’s primary interest in weaving has always been color; she loved the challenge of taking colors that traditionally don’t “go” together and creating an abstract design that made them work aesthetically. Early sources of inspiration that were to have an impact on her art for decades included Mexican sarapes and Navajo rugs. Although Linda is no longer able to weave, she is curious and interested in the colors and people around her and remains actively engaged in the weaving community.
Artistic Development: Color
“At the age of twelve I saw a film about weaving and told myself that someday I would learn to weave. I had been exposed to Mexican serapes because a friend of my parents had sent us several. They were not of the refined Saltillo style but the vividly striped ones characteristic of Mexican restaurants. I studied the serapes, fascinated by what I considered to be astoundingly odd juxtapositions of colors. Red next to pink or even next to yellow was shocking for a young girls of the era when anything that “clashed” was decidedly “not hip”. But I was swayed by their pristine surface and the fact that they were attractive despite their novel combinations.
“I brought this connection to color with me in 1965 when I signed up for a class in weaving in college while majoring in psychology. Walking into the weaving studio felt like taking control of my life. I like the effect of the rich depth of color that dyed wool imparts. I like the surface and the patterning it affords. In addition, there is pleasure in the process of forming an image row by row; the physicality and mental freedom achieved during the repetitive movements opens up a creative force.
“Despite the fact that I had such a strong commitment to the medium, once I learned the basics, I did not try to attain more technical training. I had not intended to be an artist nor considered myself as someone with a message to get out. But there I was, wanting to spend my time combining colors in unique ways on a woven surface. I was very introverted and discovered that the process was a much-needed means of nonverbal, highly personal expression.
“The first ten years of weaving were spent trying out many techniques but by 1975 I knew that I wanted to specialize in tapestry. Having observed a local print maker working in a minimalist style gave me the reinforcement I needed to pursue the simple color field graphics liked.
I saw an exhibit in 1978 of Polish tapestries when painters in Poland were restricted by government sanctions and many had turned to tapestry for greater freedom. They were producing huge, exceptionally expressive tapestries that were by far the most stimulating examples I had seen. I wanted to capture that expressiveness but within a tighter structure. Soon after, I started an intensive project in which I sent away for 50 pounds of unpopular yarn colors, determined to find ways to use them that would highlight them positively.
“The most consistent feature of my work is the limited number of colors used in a composition, generally under six yarns. The restricted number in itself forces a level of abstraction that is well suited for the medium and that is integral to my aesthetic sensibility. My early pieces were symmetrical fields of color similar in proportion to Navajo trade rugs. They incorporated the most basic of shapes to produce tapestry. The designs loosened up after time as I started experimenting with less geometric and more flowing curved shapes. I discovered that by creating two or three-color patterns, especially in transitional areas, the pointillist blending that occurred created a lively, and surprisingly descriptive, interaction.
“What I produce is emotionally guided. I do, however, take steps to help define what emotions are brewing in what seems to be empty space in my head reserved for creative coalescence. My first step is to select yarns. Generally one color draws me to it and I sample what other colors seem to fit with the lead one. Once the colors are chosen I make a yarn wrapping in whatever proportion appears appropriate. Then it is time to find content for the colors. I do not know its style, geometric or pictorial until, having studied the simple yarn wrapping, an idea emerges that makes sense to me. I also enjoy working out a title that fits; sometimes the whole concept comes together at one time. Ideally what is revealed is a surprise, a result I had no idea existed in me.”
“At the age of twelve I saw a film about weaving and told myself that someday I would learn to weave. I had been exposed to Mexican serapes because a friend of my parents had sent us several. They were not of the refined Saltillo style but the vividly striped ones characteristic of Mexican restaurants. I studied the serapes, fascinated by what I considered to be astoundingly odd juxtapositions of colors. Red next to pink or even next to yellow was shocking for a young girls of the era when anything that “clashed” was decidedly “not hip”. But I was swayed by their pristine surface and the fact that they were attractive despite their novel combinations.
“I brought this connection to color with me in 1965 when I signed up for a class in weaving in college while majoring in psychology. Walking into the weaving studio felt like taking control of my life. I like the effect of the rich depth of color that dyed wool imparts. I like the surface and the patterning it affords. In addition, there is pleasure in the process of forming an image row by row; the physicality and mental freedom achieved during the repetitive movements opens up a creative force.
“Despite the fact that I had such a strong commitment to the medium, once I learned the basics, I did not try to attain more technical training. I had not intended to be an artist nor considered myself as someone with a message to get out. But there I was, wanting to spend my time combining colors in unique ways on a woven surface. I was very introverted and discovered that the process was a much-needed means of nonverbal, highly personal expression.
“The first ten years of weaving were spent trying out many techniques but by 1975 I knew that I wanted to specialize in tapestry. Having observed a local print maker working in a minimalist style gave me the reinforcement I needed to pursue the simple color field graphics liked.
I saw an exhibit in 1978 of Polish tapestries when painters in Poland were restricted by government sanctions and many had turned to tapestry for greater freedom. They were producing huge, exceptionally expressive tapestries that were by far the most stimulating examples I had seen. I wanted to capture that expressiveness but within a tighter structure. Soon after, I started an intensive project in which I sent away for 50 pounds of unpopular yarn colors, determined to find ways to use them that would highlight them positively.
“The most consistent feature of my work is the limited number of colors used in a composition, generally under six yarns. The restricted number in itself forces a level of abstraction that is well suited for the medium and that is integral to my aesthetic sensibility. My early pieces were symmetrical fields of color similar in proportion to Navajo trade rugs. They incorporated the most basic of shapes to produce tapestry. The designs loosened up after time as I started experimenting with less geometric and more flowing curved shapes. I discovered that by creating two or three-color patterns, especially in transitional areas, the pointillist blending that occurred created a lively, and surprisingly descriptive, interaction.
“What I produce is emotionally guided. I do, however, take steps to help define what emotions are brewing in what seems to be empty space in my head reserved for creative coalescence. My first step is to select yarns. Generally one color draws me to it and I sample what other colors seem to fit with the lead one. Once the colors are chosen I make a yarn wrapping in whatever proportion appears appropriate. Then it is time to find content for the colors. I do not know its style, geometric or pictorial until, having studied the simple yarn wrapping, an idea emerges that makes sense to me. I also enjoy working out a title that fits; sometimes the whole concept comes together at one time. Ideally what is revealed is a surprise, a result I had no idea existed in me.”