A crocheted tree with boobs, an interspecies “beasty,” two activist hooked rugs, a macramé conjuration by a Welsh enchantress, a modernist weaving of birthing, and three intertextual tapestries manifest the prevalence of the body and importance of feminism in Prairie textile practices. The latter half of the 20th century witnessed a vast expansion of Feminist and Craft practice, theory, criticism, and curatorial methods.¹ While many artists in Prairie Interlace: Weaving, Modernisms, and the Expanded Frame identify or identified as textile or fibre artists, and as feminists, not all do or did. These divergences reflect a textile and/or feminist identity navigating an artistic and social space where the very notion of identity was being questioned.²

Phyllis Green wears with confidence many hats. An early feminist, she is a celebrated mixed-media sculptor with a keen knowledge of fibre and ceramics. Boob Tree, 1975 (cat. 18), was a breakthrough for the twenty-four-year-old art student. Green recalls:

I had loved making things for as long as I can remember, but I was astonished when my sculpture Boob Tree was accepted for inclusion in the exhibition Woman As Viewer at The Winnipeg Art Gallery in 1975. It was the first juried show that I had entered. A few months earlier, I had carried my art piece into the yard of my rented apartment in Vancouver, loaded my 35mm camera with Kodachrome film, and shot my first slides. I identified as a feminist, but not as an artist. I was too shy to travel to the opening, but I enjoyed from afar the stir that the exhibition, and my entry in particular, created.³

Boob Tree is a crocheted palm tree with pink breasts and crimson nipples. It was selected as the poster image for the all-female survey organized by The Committee for Women Artists at the Winnipeg Art Gallery. The exhibition was a feminist riposte to the in-house exhibition Images of Women, ostensibly celebrating the International Women’s Year but dominated by images of women created by men.⁴ Boob Tree encapsulates many feminist strategies of the time. It invalidates the modernist canon of abstraction by being figurative. Using crochet, it ironically expands the modernist tenet of experimenting with materials and forms, and playfully reclaims female anatomy, while parodying masculine tropes. It absurdly exaggerates the western view of nature as female. Boob Tree is the precursor of Green’s multifarious self, where she performs in hybrid fibre constructions to produce contextual subjectivities. She makes a comparison with Lion/Lamb, 2020.

Though more than forty years separate the completion of Boob Tree and Lion/Lamb, years in which my technical skills increased and my career as an artist and teacher developed tremendously, I find similarities between the two sculptures. Both are inspired by objects in the natural world and both appear as constructions of fiber, establishing their relationship to craft.⁵

Maija Peeples-Bright crocheted Sunny Snail Woofish, 1970 (cat. 41), a cross between a fish, a snail, and a dog, as one of her many “beasties.” Her other crocheted “beasties,” dresses, sweaters, and cardigans share non-hierarchical titles and are simply referred to as Knits followed by a number.⁶ When Peeples-Bright wears her textile creations, she integrates fully her exuberant zootopias: her reality is a matter of worlding and inhabiting the worlds she creates. Kathleen Stewart’s definition of worlding refers to the “affective nature” of the world in which “non-human agency” comprising of “forms, rhythms and refrains” reaches a point of “expressivity” for an individual and develops a sense of “legibility.”⁷ Donna Haraway describes “companion species” as engaged in relentless processes of “becoming with” a world in which “natures, cultures, subjects and objects do not pre-exist their intertwined worldings.”⁸

Peeples-Bright specifies: “Beasties are EWEniversal ambassadors of interspecies & stellhare selections, who create a world without judgement.” She also declares that “Godliness is next to Woofiness.”⁹ Woof W. Woof, a shaggy black cocker-dachshund, made regular appearances, starting in 1968, in a fresco in The Rainbow House, the home Peeples-Bright shared with her husband, David Zack, in San Francisco.¹⁰ Woof notably provided the artist with a surname, between changing her name for her husbands’ names (three times). A founder of Nut Art, Peeples-Bright fully incarnates its belief in creating phantasmagorical and humorous worlds reflective of the artist’s idiosyncrasies. Even if she was the only female founding member in a group of white male artists, she sees herself as “Totally UN-Political.”¹¹ Nut tenets invalidate identity politics (most notably gender, race, and class) by claiming a position beyond hierarchies.

Nevertheless, the artist’s persistent celebration of decoration, ornament, and domesticity deviates from Modernism and its negative association with the feminine. Miriam Schapiro’s notion of Femmages would help to better situate Peeples-Bright’s paintings as textile collages or as paintings of sewn objects. “Femmage,” or feminist/female collage, was defined as an activity “practiced by women using traditional women’s techniques to achieve their art—sewing, piecing, hooking, cutting, appliquéing.”¹² Femmages undermine art hierarchies through domestic strategies very often used by Peeples-Bright. Haraway’s question, “Whom do we touch when we touch a dog? How does this touch shape our multi-species world?” seems to be addressed by Peeples-Bright’s crocheted Sunny Snail Woofish (cat. 41).¹³

Sunny Snail Woofish shares with Green’s Lion/Lamb a concern with how humankind can understand differently relationships with non-human animals. The former performs cross-breeding among non-human species, while the latter enacts a more profound métissage; Green becomes the Lion/Lamb when she puts on the wearable sculpture.

Nancy Crites is a recognized fibre artist who has lived in many Prairie locations, including Edmonton, Saskatoon, Regina, Prince Albert, and now Calgary. She inherited her passion for textile practice from her mother, who taught her knitting, sewing, and embroidery at an early age. It was through an extension class with Pirkko Karvonen that she first learned to weave while at the University of Alberta. For multiple years, Crites participated in the summer workshops at the University of Saskatchewan’s Kenderdine Campus located at Emma Lake, and she also attended the Saskatchewan Summer School of the Arts in the Qu’Appelle Valley.¹⁴ Crites lived in Prince Albert in the 1980s where she was an active member of the arts community, including the Prince Albert Weavers and Spinners Guild, a lively and supportive society with amazing facilities and equipment. The back-to-the-land ethos of the times promoted self-reliance and self-sufficiency, which included learning all processes linked to weaving such as shearing, carding, spinning, and dyeing wool.¹⁵ She credits her artistic development to individual artist grants from the Saskatchewan Art Board (now SK Arts). The late Jane Turnbull Evans of the Saskatchewan Arts Board was a strong influence on Crites’ development as an artist which saw her move from traditional fibre methods to employing found objects as well as mylar, ribbon, wood, metal, and paper in her weavings.¹⁶

Threshold: No Laughing Matter, 1991 (cat. 9), and is a hooked rug composed of latex condoms that was made in response to the AIDS epidemic. Crites, a self-taught rug hooker, created it as a conceptual “welcome mat”; it was exhibited the same year at the Mendel Art Gallery in Saskatoon as part of an all-female exhibition titled Laughing Matters.¹⁷ Now in the permanent collection of SK Arts, it is accompanied by a second welcome mat titled Threshold: No Laughing Matter II, 2022 (cat. 10), which was donated to SK Arts as a companion to the more ephemeral latex version. Both rugs share a similar design, but the materials differ and dictate a shift in content. Made during the COVID-19 pandemic, the second welcome mat is hooked using natural, traditional materials: wool, silk, and mohair. If both mats address welcoming as a concept that implies respecting personal space, they differ in how they convey the effect of uncertain times. During the 1990s AIDS epidemic, Crites was a mother of pre-teens. She recruited them by asking them to unwrap and wipe the blue and pink condoms. This maternal hands-on teaching ensured that her children would be comfortable with condoms in the context of sexual security and self-respect when it came to sexuality.¹⁸ During the COVID-19 pandemic, Crites came to the conclusion that to be a relevant update her companion version of the condom rug needed to stand the test of time and be more publicly accessible. Welcoming is fraught with difficulties during our era of pandemic uncertainty; Crites believes that stability and care are what we need.¹⁹ Like her welcome mats, Crites’ recent rugs favour “schematic, symbolic and simplified imagery to tell a story.”²⁰

Cindy Baker is a performance and interdisciplinary artist, LGBTQ2+ and fat activist, university art teacher, and cultural worker with a love, since her childhood, for all that is crafted. In all her work, she excels in skewing/queering contexts to allow for deviations from social norms that expand identity politics. All materials and techniques in Baker’s practice are performative.²¹ I know people are stealing my things, 1998 (cat. 4), is part of a larger series of latch-hook Welcome Mats for those who are not necessarily welcome. The artist explains:

While traditional rug hooking enjoys a position of honour among traditional craft forms, latch-hooking as an activity (as well as the finished product) for the most part is seen by the craft and mainstream communities as an amateur form evocative of a 1970s aesthetic. It is actually for these reasons that I am attracted to latch hook; the potential for emotional and aesthetic baggage carried by the medium itself is the perfect platform for my work. It is a craft form within the field described by the artist and cultural theorist Allyson Mitchell as “abandoned craft,” and as such, most of the materials for these works have been found in secondhand shops and at garage sales.²²

The pseudo-paranoid voice in I know people are stealing my things is a precursor to Don’t open the knife drawer, her ongoing series of etched knives warning the viewer not to open the knife drawer after the fact.²³ Both series create what Claire Bishop describes as “relational antagonism” in which the impetus for transformation is provoked by unease and sustained tension, leading to negotiation, thus defining democratic spaces.²⁴ Baker queers materials, processes, and contexts to shift meaning through unease and to reveal another possibility of being. Using the latch-hook grid, more suitable to symmetry, she imposes a handwritten text with a careless slant; this intervention on the modernist grid effects an inescapable change.²⁵ The artist accumulates deviations from modernist canons, not only through the use of hobby crafts but by adding text. Using text is antithetical to art for art’s sake, the modernist motto that, among many things, invalidates body and identity politics.²⁶

Many artists engaged in craft express a pervasive social commitment. By making rugs with an activist intent, both Crites and Baker critically activate the potential of domestic textiles to explore relationships between handmade and body politics.²⁷

Jane Sartorelli’s Cerridwen, 1975 (cat. 50) takes its title from the Welsh enchantress of the same name. Sartorelli studied anthropology, a field of study that might account for her attraction to understanding belief systems across cultures. Cerridwen is the goddess of rebirth and transformation, and her cauldron signifies knowledge and inspiration.²⁸ I envision Sartorelli as one of Cerridwen’s descendants; the attributes of invention and transformation distinguished her fibre practice. Sartorelli invented her own material practice. In 1971 she began to experiment with cloth cards and yarns in the construction of large wall hangings in high relief.²⁹ A variation on macramé, her new language transformed ways of tying, wrapping, knotting, weaving, binding, and braiding: old stories were made anew by her novel manipulation of fibre. Sartorelli reclaimed mythology and artmaking as processes of “becoming” through transformative states. In a similar vein, feminist witchcraft has reclaimed the figure of the witch as a positive symbol of suppressed female knowledge, power, and independence.³⁰ Cerridwen is an impressive wall hanging that reads as a larger-than-life-size mythological being in a womb. Or is it a mask? Or an abstract jumble of lines and tubular fibre forms? However, all possibilities recall the Goddess’ myths; from ingesting a being to create another, to her ability to shape-shift into various animals, to brewing life-altering potions.

Margreet van Walsem had a short but prolific career as a fibre artist, cultural and craft advocate, and teacher.³¹ Ann Newdigate recalls: “What Margreet taught was absolute professionalism. . . . She demonstrated that within the pleasure and sensuousness of the medium resides a very serious time-honoured pursuit.”³² Originally from the Netherlands, van Walsem came to Canada in 1956 with her husband Jan van Walsem and a young son. It is in Saskatchewan that her career as an artist began when she was forty-six years old. Her first foray into textiles was with batik, followed by weaving. Van Walsem embraced and taught all aspects of the medium from carding, spinning, and dyeing from natural sources, to constructing “primitive” looms, before finally weaving.³³

One tenet of Modernism is “truth to materials.” The return to natural materials was textile’s modernist equivalent, while controlling one’s means of production extended the artist’s agency. In 1996, the Prince Albert Spinners and Weavers Guild created a collaborative tapestry to honour the life and work of Margreet van Walsem and Kate Waterhouse (cat. 40).³⁴ The celebratory tapestry was made with natural hand-dyed fleece resulting from the numerous experiments left behind by each weaver. Waterhouse and van Walsem were extensively known throughout Saskatchewan for their natural dyeing processes. They both taught spinning, dyeing, and weaving. Van Walsem contributed to the progress of Waterhouse’s book about her experiments (cat. 58).³⁵ The act of caring about materials and processes linked to nature generated a new form of consciousness: “Weaving involves a sense of harmony and rhythm—one’s understanding and use of time changes, when trying to find the essential link with growth and decay, light and darkness, sun and rain, warmth and coldness.”³⁶ Van Walsem’s tapestries indicate a strong relationship between working with the land as a journey into self-reliance.

Van Walsem’s practice also exemplified what craft theorist Peter Dormer describes as “a workmanship of risk”: a process that celebrates variations every step of the way.³⁷ By 1973, when van Walsem made a study trip to the Lausanne International Tapestry Biennial, fibre art had generated many new directions. As Dormer notes, new possibilities in weaving “go back to very ancient techniques used by Peruvian and Pueblo, Egyptian and Eastern European weavers, and inspire limitless possibilities and special qualities in modern work.”³⁸

Birth, 1971 (cat. 56), is exemplary of the artist’s themes and modernist designs.³⁹ Van Walsem states: “Legends are important, as are old sayings, embodying old truths. It also involves being surprised with and wondering about familiar things: birth, death, dance, giving, taking, justice and injustice.”⁴⁰ Birth is quintessentially modernist in its rejection of a realistic depiction and tendency to abstraction with its reductive, flat shapes, expressive, sleek, clean, simplified lines, and natural colours that emphasize the surface. Conversely, Birth is a feminist view of childbirth in its exploration of vaginal imagery, the naked goddess figure, and material defiance. Birth is a public representation of birthing as an imaginary female construct that makes the mother and child equivalent partners in action. Both figures slip off the modernist flat picture plane screaming with wide-open mouths.

Sartorelli and van Walsem opted for weaving and a “workmanship of risk” in order to assert birth-giving as metaphorically equivalent to the women’s creative process. Both precede Judy Chicago’s acclaimed Birth Project, 1980–1985, in which the birthing process is likewise seen as a metaphor for creation. Chicago enlisted the domestic textile practice of needlepoint with over 150 needleworkers stitching her wide-ranging images of birth.⁴¹

Joan Borsa asks, “How do we make space for stories and lives for which the central interpretative devices of the culture don’t quite work?”⁴² Ann Newdigate’s practice makes that space primarily through weaving tapestry. She states, “I work in tapestry primarily for its materiality and its capacity to shift within traditions, to shuttle between theoretical positions, to hover around borders, to challenge hierarchies, and to connect with many different resonating imperatives.”⁴³ In particular, Newdigate’s tapestry and preparatory sketch titled National Identity, Borders and the Time Factor, or, Wee Mannie, 1982 (cat. 38 & 37), illuminates the artist’s investigations.⁴⁴

With assistance from the Saskatchewan Arts Board, I was able to spend an intensive year at the Edinburgh College of Art working with Maureen Hodge and Fiona Mathison. Through my self-directed studies, and from many catalogues, I had realised that this was, at the time, the only place to study tapestry within the rigorous dictates of a contemporary art school. I needed to learn to translate my drawings on paper into tapestry with enough accuracy to satisfy myself.⁴⁵

The tapestry and drawing are heavily layered surfaces. Newdigate’s layering makes apparent the ways in which official history layers over other stories and their voices. The haunting figure of Louis Riel inhabits the scene. The Métis leader was hung for treason but later revered. This interest in layering multiple voices favours a feminist stance outside binary configurations, one that favours conflicting or unresolved voices and appeals to the body through its materiality. Mary Scott’s Imago series shares the exploration of transient bodies and locations in a perpetual state of becoming (cat. 52). Scott’s unraveled silk presents frayed and shredded surfaces that invoke the impossibility of locating unconscious, idealized psychological constructions.

Newdigate has always been aware of coming from there (South Africa) and living here (Canada). The need to shift, shuttle, and hover around borders and margins are states of being she expresses through a medium that embeds similar paradoxes and ambiguities. Newdigate, like Scott, weaves the possibilities of being in transit or existing in between states.⁴⁶

Then there was Mrs. Rorschach’s dream/You are what you see (cat. 39) is the third of seven tapestry panels titled Look At It This Way. It makes a parallel between the invisibility of Mrs. Rorschach and Tapestry in official history.⁴⁷ Based on the Rorschach inkblot test, it conveys “that tapestry as a medium acts as a projective test producing different reactions in different people depending on the presuppositions they brought to the work.”⁴⁸ Ann Newdigate explains:

Having become aware of the way in which a medium or process affects readings of visual art, I decided to make a series that would be an intervention in the dominance of painting conventions. Each work had two titles. The first title addressed the initial response of the viewers on seeing the work installed in a gallery, and the second echoed the adjusted reception that was made on realising that the images were in a woven form.⁴⁹

To conclude, a feminist crocheted tree with boobs, a Nut Art interspecies “beasty,” two activist hooked rugs, a macramé conjuration by a Welsh enchantress, a modernist weaving of birthing, and three intertextual tapestries interlace Prairie textile to body politics. These works are or were a material manifestation of a desire for connections, smooth or snagged. They took up modernist key gestures such as truth to materials and abstraction, and intertwined activist, affective, poetic, and aesthetic purposes to suggest how textiles can be used to advance a political agenda as well as to make material engagement synonymous with community participation. In every act of making there is an expectation for meaning, but it is rarely an explanation or a proposition. At best, it is an insinuation that opens up a space for complicity, contrast, equivalence, confirmation, or conflict. These textile works invented new interpretative devices to foretell other ways to tell stories, lives, subjectivities, and bodies from the cradle to the barricade.

Notes

1. 1 To mention just one unique feminist Prairie collective, see MAWA (Mentoring Artists for Women’s Art) https://mawa.ca, and for textiles the many Prairie Weavers and Spinners Guilds; The Prince Albert Weavers and Spinners Guild is credited by Nancy Crites, Margreet van Walsem, and Ann Newdigate.
2. 2 Textiles sismographes : Symposium fibres et textiles 1995 (Montreal: CATQ/Conseil des arts textiles du Québec, 1995). Of note, intersectional feminism, a term coined in 1989 by Kimberlé Crenshaw, was not yet part of the discourse for most of the selected artists.
3. 3 Phyllis Green, email to the author, March 22, 2022.
4. 4 Doug Harvey, “The Contrarian’s Engagement: Current Figuration in the Art of Phyllis Green,” Border Crossings (December 2018): 54–59.
5. 5 Green, email.
6. 6 Maija Peeples-Bright/Sam Spano: Dinner for Two, Guerrero Gallery, Los Angeles, January 20–February 17, 2018, https://www.guerrerogallery.com/maija-peeplesbright-sam-spano.
7. 7 Kathleen Stewart, “Worlding Refrains,” in The Affect Theory Reader, ed. M. Gregg and G. Seigworth (London: Duke University Press, 2010), 339–53.
8. 8 Donna Haraway, When Species Meet (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008).
9. 9 Maija Peeples-Bright, Maija Peeples-Bright: beautiFOAL, exhibition catalogue (Los Angeles: Parker Gallery, 2020).
10. 10 Peeples-Bright, beautiFOAL.
11. 11 Julia Krueger, “A Feminist Lens on Six Female Ceramists in Regina,” in Regina Clay: Worlds in the Making, ed. Timothy Long (Regina, SK: MacKenzie Art Gallery, 2005).
12. 12 Miriam Schapiro and Melissa Meyer, “Waste Not Want Not: An Inquiry into What Women Saved and Assembled—FEMMAGE,” Heresies 1, no. 4 (Winter 1977–78): 66–69.
13. 13 Haraway, When Species Meet.
14. 14 Nancy Crites, telephone conversation with the author, April 2022; and email to the author, May 12, 2022. It was in these sessions that she mentored with artists such as Judith Mackenzie and Jane Kidd (also in this exhibition), Deborah Forbes, George Glenn, Martha Townsend, Joan Borsa, and Richard Gorenko.
15. 15 Crites, telephone conversation and email.
16. 16 Crites, telephone conversation and email.
17. 17 Crites, telephone conversation and email.
18. 18 Crites, telephone conversation and email.
19. 19 Crites, telephone conversation and email.
20. 20 Nancy Crites, artist’s website, https://nancycritesfibreartist.com. Note: She designs these narrative rugs herself and at times in collaboration with her husband, the artist Richard Gorenko.
21. 21 Cindy Baker, artist’s website, http://www.populust.ca/cinde/wp/2009/05/bait/.
22. 22 Cindy Baker, artist’s website.
23. 23 Cindy Baker, artist’s website.
24. 24 Claire Bishop, “Art of the Encounter: Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics,” Circa, no. 114 (2005): 32–35, https://doi.org/10.2307/25564369, accessed May 3, 2022. Ted Hiebert needs to be credited for this reading of Baker’s work. Ted Hiebert, “Introduction,” in Casual Encounters: Catalyst: Cindy Baker, ed. Ted Hiebert (Victoria, BC: Noxious Sector Press, 2021). This publication is also highly recommended for an informal biography of the artist and her work.
25. 25 Baker, artist’s website. Note: in her famous essay “Grids,” Rosalind Krauss explains: “Yet it is safe to say that no form within the whole of modern aesthetic production has sustained itself so relentlessly while at the same time being so impervious to change.” Rosalind Krauss, “Grids,” October 9 (1979): 51–64, https://doi.org/10.2307/778321.
26. 26 “Art for art’s sake,” Encyclopedia Britannica, January 23, 2015, https://www.britannica.com/topic/art-for-arts-sake.
27. 27 Anthea Black and Nicole Burisch, The New Politics of the Handmade: Craft, Art and Design (London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020).
28. 28 “Ceridwen,” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ceridwen.
29. 29 Candas Jane Dorsey, “Textures of Her World: The work of fibre artist Jane Sartorelli,” exhibition catalogue (Edmonton: Lefebvre Galleries, 1983).
30. 30 Wendy Griffin, “The Embodied Goddess: Feminist Witchcraft and Female Divinity,” Sociology of Religion, 56, no. 1 (1995): 35–48, https://doi.org/10.2307/3712037, accessed May 3, 2022.
31. 31 Margreet van Walsem had five exhibitions (two solos) from 1969 to 1979; made a study trip to Lausanne in 1973 for the 6th Tapestry Biennial; was one of the three delegates from Saskatchewan to the World Craft Conference held in Toronto in 1974; and taught numerous workshops and courses all over Saskatchewan. From Jan van Walsem’s CD compilation “Margreet van Walsem Artist SK Canada 1969–79, 2006, Mann Art Gallery archives, Prince Albert, SK.
32. 32 Ann Newdigate, “Weavings by Margreet van Walsem,” The Craft Factor (Saskatoon, SK) 4, no. 2 (June 1979); reprinted in n.paradoxa, online issue 4 (August 1997).
33. 33 Jan van Walsem, CD compilation.
34. 34 Ann Newdigate, “Kinda art, sorta tapestry: tapestry as shorthand access to the definitions, languages, institutions, attitudes, hierarchies, ideologies, constructions, classifications, histories, prejudices and other bad habits of the West,” in New Feminist Art Criticism: Critical Strategies, ed. Katy Deepwell (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995): 174–181.
35. 35 Jan van Walsem, CD compilation. See also Kate Waterhouse, Saskatchewan Dyes: A Personal Adventure with Plants and Colours (Prince Albert, SK: Write Way Printing, 1977), and the Waterhouse dye samples collection in this exhibition.
36. 36 Marg Jasper, “Tapestries, Batiks reflect Nature,” Daily Herald (Prince Albert, SK), December 2, 1974.
37. 37 David Pye, The Nature and Art of Workmanship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968).
38. 38 Pye, Nature and Art.
39. 39 It was exhibited in 1979 at the Norman Mackenzie Art Gallery in Regina in the solo exhibition, Margreet van Walsem: Fabric Artist. Jan van Walsem, CD compilation.
40. 40 Jasper, “Tapestries.”
41. 41 “The Birth Project,” Judy Chicago Research Portal: Learning, Making, Culture, https://judychicagoportal.org/projects/birth-project; and “Birth Project,” Through the Flower, https://throughtheflower.org/project/birth-project/.
42. 42 Joan Borsa, Making Space, exhibition catalogue (Vancouver: Presentation House, 1988).
43. 43 Newdigate, “Kinda art, sorta tapestry.”
44. 44 It was exhibited in 1982–83 in the solo exhibition, Ann Newdigate Mills: Tapestry, Drawings and a Sense of Place at the Norman Mackenzie Art Gallery in Regina, and later toured Western Canada.
45. 45 Ann Newdigate, “Edinburgh Work,” artist’s website, http://www.annnewdigate.ca/archives/pages/JOURNEY_details/Journey_2detail.html, accessed April 2022.
46. 46 Newdigate, “CV/Bio,” artist’s website, http://annnewdigate.ca/cvbio/
47. 47 Mrs. Rorschach was a practicing psychologist, just like her more famous husband, Swiss psychologist Hermann Rorschach, who gave his name to the inkblot test.
48. 48 Lynne Bell, Ann Newdigate Mills: Look At It This Way, exhibition catalogue (Saskatoon: Mendel Art Gallery, 1988).
49. 49 Ann Newdigate, “The Look At It This Way series,” artist’s website, http://annnewdigate.ca/archives/pages/JOURNEY_details/journey.html.