handstories

waves of things

    Family gathered at the Oregon coast this last week to put Dad's ashes into the ocean.  The four of us siblings, partners, and a few of our next generations.  

    Jude's comfort cloth came along in my pocket, it was held, clenched and washed in the sea.

    The day was stormy.  We laughed at the thought of what Dad would've said about us all standing there precariously on the wet rocks, wind whipping, rain soaking us through.  I'm sure it would've included a muttering of  "bunch of goddamn idiots".

    A bottle of my brother's homemade blackberry brandy was passed, and the rest poured in after the ashes.  They had planned to share it on their next fishing trip.

    There weren't a lot of words, all of us stood there with our thoughts, memories and emotions.

    The thirteen of us were in a big house with an amazing view.  It's been more than a decade since we siblings have stayed together.  Among the various breakfast makings, one sister made a pot of oatmeal each morning.  Seeing that the four of us all scooped up a bowl, was oddly comforting.  Moon commented that we all had the same sense of humor, and was a little taken aback (but enjoyed) the brashness of most of my family.

    A sock was started on the drive down, and finished during hours of watching the waves.

holding time

    These are pages in progress from my book created in the workshop.  (This pretty wave is an indigo gift from Deb.)

    I loved how Christine's prompts gently brought focus and honing to our stories.  There was an exercise that I thought would be a few quick words that turned into a rough fairy tale that helped to make a bit more sense of myself.

    Another assignment, that I thought would be a short story, became a long list, and later lines in stitch, of memories in rivers, pools, lakes and the sea.

    And yesterday, I took the book completely apart, and started this new page, not wanting the lessons and feelings of the gifts of this time to end.

playdate for new old friends

    After years of "knowing" each other on-line, Deb and I have finally met!  How great it's been to spend time getting to know each other in real-life.

    We're spending time in Coupeville, WA, as students in Christine Mauersberger's workshop.  She has brought us a world of techniques to explore.  

    Here are just a few from the first two days...

    Cyanotype prints- this one had seed beads and buttons on it.

    Geli plate prints.

    Strike-out poem.

    A happy accident with a piece of Velma's beautiful handmade paper.  After dipping the edge into the indigo, it caught on itself, folding up into a wave... more to come with this page.

    The indigo drying tree.

    There's a lot more, too... Christine is filling our minds and time and with creative play, with two more days to go!

mapless

    Things were meant to be different.

    There was, and there wasn't, a plan...

    Sometimes I feel out of ideas, or the ability to carry them out.

    Wishing... still in progress.

    (wishing stars inspired by Jude's workshop)

Story #_________

    "How Stories Tell Each Other"

    I think this one is done.  Maybe a border, but not today.  It was started a year ago, some of the stories have faded, but others showed up.  Today I wondered if maybe all of my pieces could/should just be titled "Story".

    Stitching has been beyond slow this last week, almost at a standstill.  I don't know if it's the shift into autumn, this season in life, or what, but I find myself with very little to say.  There's a lot going on, and not, and last Saturday night, somewhere between the airplane and getting home, my knitting bag fell by the wayside- the yarn, needles, favorite knitting supplies, best reading glasses, a half knit sock (I had just turned the heel), and my wallet were inside.  Didn't realize it until Monday.  Sometimes I just overwhelm myself.

gambling

    Vegas.  Wow.  What a different world.  There was fun, heat, and a wide variety of folks to wonder about.  Twenty-four hours was more than plenty.  

    There was another trip there, twenty years ago.  K. had a week long conference, baby Blue was one.  We invited K.'s recently widowed conservative mom to come along.  It was August.  All of it...what NOT to do. 

    I am not a risk taker.  I like to Know things, see where I'm going.  And how I'll get there.  

    Cloth has helped in loosening that.  But still...

    There is work to do.

Change of pace

    It has been a good, and unusually social week with lovely interesting people, and this introvert is on overload.  

    Stitching was even a struggle.  I managed to patch my jeans, badly.   

    A green sock was finished.  

    Sunday was wedding dress shopping with best woman friend (which proves how much I love her, because I didn't even do this for my own wedding).  Her criteria is- Not white, not slutty, and a little funky (she's hoping to make certain folks roll their eyes).  

    On the third trip out, I laid my hands on the two latest possibilities, saying, "One of these will be IT," because definitely none of the others had been.  Hallelujah, she looks good in both of them.  She just needs to choose, and then we'll start shopping for mine...sigh.

    A purple sock was started, because the green was just not doing it for me.  

    On Tuesday, K. very nicely offered to drive the five hours, to and from, to meet up with the women I'm having the art show/sale with in December.  Stressed about catching the ferry, and all of the unknowns of hosting a show, and tired out from teenager issues, and, and,...  When he made a wrong turn, I shouted at him, in near tears, "I am coming unglued!"

    He offered to bus home from the ferry and let me drive myself.  I apologized, and regrouped.  Eventually.

    Yesterday there was a little watercoloring.  Making these jewels is meditative and calming.

    There was also a haircut, long overdue inches and inches were cut off, in hopes of feeling a bit more presentable in the world.  We'll see.    

    Today, I so enjoyed Jude's latest entry in her Patchwork in Perspective class.  Her "skatchwork" technique was just the ticket to get things percolating again.  A very good brain and needle stretch.

    I also tried to figure out the best public transportation route to get to the airport on time tomorrow with the same friend.  After much thinking and rethinking, and sending her the plan, it became clear we should just meet there.  As I like to have plenty of time to spare, to avoid the stress from fear of missing a flight, and she will most likely come dashing in during the boarding.

    "Where will you be?" she asked.

        "Sitting at the gate, reading a book."

    "And stressing that I'm going to be late."

        "Probably."

    And, because this week hasn't been busy and odd enough for my hermit lifestyle...  

    Tomorrow morning I'm taking a bus to the light rail, to the airport, and then we're flying to Las Vegas for 24 hours.  The star is packed and coming along.  Things are wild and weird over here.

All Stitched Up

    This weekend was the opening reception for the "All Stitched Up" Book Arts Exhibition.  

    I'm very happy to have my "Rhythm" booklet included in this beautiful gathering of artists books "celebrating the work of book artists’ where stitching has become an integral part of the visual design... To stitch is to join together, to mend, or fasten as with stitches – to sew. To stitch is to bring together fabric, paper, wounds of the body, or cultural divides. Stitching can be an act of healing, hope, practicality, creativity, and revolution."

    I really appreciated and admired the creativity of the many artists who went outside of the traditional book shape...

    “Stitching the Forest Together” by Lucia Harrison

    "Trial By Fire" by Catherine Alice Michaelis

    "How a Bandage Works" by Lucy Childs.

    Really wished I could have flipped the pages of this one, "Embroidered Stories of Migration" by Ricardo Gomez, Angie Tamayo & the Jluchiyej Nichimetic Cooperative.

    The exhibit of over fifty books is lovely- in curation, display, and in the variety of medium, techniques and stories that each book holds.  It's an honor to be a part of it.

moody blues

    It's interesting that the moods of both this piece and myself completely switched places by the time it was finished.  I suppose it has very little to do with the cloth and thread.  Rather, it was what was happening when time wasn't being spent in stitch.  Maybe I should never put the needle down?  Or use it to stitch my mouth shut?  And eyes and ears closed...

the games of childhood

    Finished "Playground" is hard to photo.  The many, many, many tiny stitches don't show up very well.

    But, sitting here holding it...blue marbles and purple hopscotch squares whisper memories of a blacktop full of monkey bars, swings and see-saws... games of Jacks and chalked Tic-Tac-Toe created with stolen pieces of chalk from the classroom.  

    Swinging from ring to ring felt like flying.  In those days, girls had to wear dresses, but in order to play on the equipment, you had to prove to the recess teacher that you were wearing shorts under your skirt.  On days that they were forgotten, a good friend could be convinced to share hers by sneaking behind the huge tree in the center of the playground to slip the shorts from one to the other.

    In winter, when the big long puddle that ran along under the second grade windows finally froze, we would line up a ways away, and take turns getting a running start towards it, hoping the momentum would allow us to slide the entire length.

    Bottlecaps was a favorite.  Gathered from home and the streets, twenty-five tops of beer and soda bottles were carried to school in pockets.  Two players would take turns removing one, two or three.  The goal was to force the other player into having to take the last cap.  I figured out that if it was the other person's turn when there were fifteen left, that I had won.  I used to be very good at survival tricks.