handstories

Trying to get somewhere

    Ideas are coming, words are not.  There is something about my stories.  There is something about everyone's stories.  And something about wished for stories.  They take hours that seem like minutes.

   

    In between, I'm stitching moons.  Resting places.

    Worked and worked on this one, until there wasn't anywhere left to go.  I appreciated the time and idea, but it wasn't how I thought it would go.  Folks on Instagram really liked it.  Sometimes I think that I don't know anything and can't see what's true at all.

Trying to see & hold all of it

    (First of all, I don't know what's going on with the comments.  I'm going back and forth with Typepad.  They don't see a problem, but while I can read them within the host site, I can't see or respond to them on the blog.  Also, photos still come and go on whims.  I really don't know what to do other than keep going until I can't.

    Update:  At the moment, I can see and reply to this post's comments, but not older ones...sigh, and onward...)

    The piece above- "There is So Much" was made with some cloths that I dyed in a couple of workshops over the years.  Don't remember all of the how's.  Cyanotype, potato paste resist, other things?  One thing that I've really been enjoying is finding marks in the fabrics and finding ways to continue them.  You can see it in the light blue vertical stack stitched lines and the squiggling line around the moon.  I like pushing myself to find a way to make connections.

        Most of my cloths are unplanned, just goings, but then the other day, doodling..

 

    I've been drawing things coming out of heads, moons, trees since college (The margins of my Western Civ notes were jammed with similar sketches).  What was new was a wondering if I could create it in cloth?  I think it was the weekend mending's influence.

    It didn't go quite how I wanted, but the basic idea was there.

    The next morning's attempt with eyes closed.

    And it made it past the moment of "never mind".

    Still going... and wondering what all I'm trying to say to myself.  Something good, I think, about there being so much, who we can be, and the choices we might make.

Tending the Mending

    It started with this blanket last week, a well-used gift from my sister some years ago.  It was originally stitched with only white thread, but after years of use and washing, many ends had worked their way out.  They were replaced with lots of colors, and I think I like it even more now.

    Then came this guy...

    A childhood buddy of a good friend.

    Poor thing.

    He got worse before he got better.  First wool was stuffed into the vacant eye sockets.  Referencing an old photo, new eyes, nose, tongue, and belly button happened.  It was hard maneuvering.  Especially the eyes.  The fabric and foam stuffing are old and disintegrating.  It felt like surgery.

    Before handing him over, I warned that he would not stand up to being played with by a child.  Her reply, "Only fity plus year old women want to hang out with his kind."

    I wish I had a photo of her face when I pulled him out of the bag.  She was so happy to see her old friend again.

    Next came this old, stained baby quilt belonging to the same friend.  I've had it for over a year.  It was made from a kit in 1941 for her mom.  Fear of hurting the quilt kept me from facing it, but I was on a mending roll...

    Cutting away the stained cloth was the scariest part.

    I tried just putting the patch over the stain, but it showed through.

    She came out all right, I think.  Silly thing.

    And here's the thing I'm thinking about... I love stitching the story cloths that I usually make- the process, not knowing where the story might go, just following inspirations, playing, and what if's. 

    BUT, there is something about mending... I tell people that it sometimes feels like a superpower, bringing something back to life, back to usefulness.  There is such satisfaction in it.  It lifts my spirit and feeds my love of being (inner need to be) useful.  Whichever, I love mending.

The Coast

    Stitched last week on the Oregon Coast with my mom and sister (who I usually join on the east coast).

    We had perfect weather, wonderful views, lots of walks, memories, laughs, and food.

    The house was on the beach, a dream place for all three of us.

    It was the first time in decades that it was just the three of us for any length of time.  Fascinating to observe and be a part of new dynamics.

    It seems that the neighborhood heard that I was coming.

    There was a night that boats scattered near the shore (and an egret, I think).  We made up all kinds of stories of what they might be up to before deciding they were fishing boats.  (The stories were much more interesting.)

    One day we drove up to the Tillamook Cheese Factory.  Growing up, the family would stop there now and then.  We enjoyed watching the cheese makers pulling giant wires through the cheese, seeing the curds and whey, all through a large window over their work area.  Afterwards, there would be sample cheese squares on toothpicks.

    Now it is a huge building with large windows, displays, etc. looking down through rows of windows onto modern machines that hide much of the process.  There were sealed samples to take, a LARGE eating area featuring cheese sandwiches and many kinds of ice cream, with a huge gift shop nearby, and a cheese truck to pose for a photo op in.  A kind of a cheese Disneyland.  It was interesting and a fun stop, but the quaintness and charm were missing.

    I did love seeing that one of their symbols is the silhouette of the Morning Star.

    "1854-  Tillamook's farmers had butter and milk to sell- but hauling it over rough mountain roads took so long, that it would spoil.  The fastest route to Portland is by water, so they built Oregon's first official ship- the Morning Star- to carry their dairy goods to market."

    Home now to a short heat wave, but there's hopefully a storm brewing tonight.

    But I keep thinking of the ocean.

    And thinking about all of the different kinds of light.

Speaking of Sea

    The watery background fabric had me imagining that this tree was growing under the sea.  Her name is "Doris" meaning gift of the ocean.

    A recent discovery...Alfred Wallis.  His boats!

    The library had this slim book about his works and story.  I haven't read any of the words yet... except for titles of the paintings.  I'm a bit obsessed with it- carrying it from room to room, in the car, etc... just in case there's a moment to study one of his blue green seascapes. 

    I think his work is beautiful, solid, earthy (which makes no sense, as they are mostly water views).  They are simple and deep.  There's an essence of something.  They make me feel a longing for something, like lost memories.

    "Blue Ship" by Alfred Wallis.

 

 

    A few of the morning paintings have been done while staring at one of his works, with my hand held up to block the paper, so they are still blind drawings.

    This one was inspired by an old tea box.

    And this one was done on the morning of Blue's 25th birthday last week.  He’s having a wonderful grand adventure in Chile. 

Sky Stories

    "When the Sea Dreams"

   

    Very tired the last couple of days... the dreams, the drippy gray sky.

    A couple of dreams of seeing my Iowa friend- her confused and me trying to reassure her and encourage her to let things go.  I don't know what's after this life.  I believe/hope that there is something next, beyond, more, and I hope that she's settling in ok.

    An old spice jar for a vase.  Today was the first time that I noticed the words written on the top of it..."Pure. Simple. Joy."

    I thought this was going to be a quiet calm cloth this morning.  Ha.

Pink Season

    Things really are in the pink right now.

    Still walking every day.

    Blooms everywhere.

    "May"

    Quiet happy days.

 

    There's a hint of pink in these stars.  A photo taken by a friend of Blue's when they visited Valle Del Elqui in Chile for a stargazing weekend recently.  Blue says that it's been tweaked, and that it was only 70% as wonderful as this photo.  I say that 70% of this would still be plenty enough amazing to behold.

    I dream of seeing stars like this.  I did see the northern lights in Alaska when I was eighteen, and there were gorgeous stars over Shi Shi Beach at the very northwest tip of Washington in our camping days long ago, but a sky full of wonder like Blue's photo would be truly something.

Wandering in Erythroniums

    Still having hill thoughts...

 

    Maybe it's the photos Blue sends from his weekend adventures in Chile?

 

    This was me talking myself into joining a friend at a deep water aerobics class.  I did go.  It did kick all the parts of all of my body.  I was sore for two days.  I Will go again.

    THIS was a lovely afternoon... woodland fairy flowers and a wonderful gathering of quilts and their makers.

    The Dunn Gardens were new to us, beautifully designed by the Olmsted brothers, and only twenty minutes from home.

 

    There were delights around every corner.

    "Rhian" (Welsh for magic maiden)

    There is a new energy balanced with my usual clutter and chaos.

    "A Song of Moonrise & Sunset"

Personal Magic

    "Living in Moonshine"

    Katherine May's audiobook, Enchantment was ready to be checked out yesterday.  I finished listening to it this morning, and have begun it again.  It's just the get-together of thoughts that I've been craving.

    "Enchantment is small wonder magnified through meaning, fascination caught in the web of fable and memory."  Katherine May, Enchantment.

    Which explains why, weeks ago, when I accidently tipped the pin bowl, and out spilled glass headed pins, a shard a quartz, a sprinkling of seed beads, and a punched-out paper cross, that there was a moment of being mesmerized by this tiny pile.   Of course, keeping things besides pins in the pin bowl makes for a more difficult quick grab of one of them, but it also offers moments of light when the crystal catches the sun and thoughts of hope with the tiny cross.  Taking notice of how happy this gathering made me, I jotted down, "I am creating my own fairytales." 

    This is not a new thought.  I've written and talked about it when describing my own marks and makings, but it was the first time that I realized how much I do it in regular life, too.  

    "Singing Stories With the Sky"

    Between all of the piles, I try to set and surround myself with small spells of light of wonder... Velma's soapstone bear and her fierce mama energy, tokens of the sea, that piece of smokey quartz that I love so much.  I don't know what properties it is supposed to carry, but I hold it with thoughts of strength and centering calm.  (Once there were smokey quartz earrings, but they were left on a nightstand in Venice...sigh.)  

    These little vignettes are places to rest and remember the childlike feelings of believing.

    “Darkness & Starlight Wove Through Her Story”

    (Speaking of magic, I wish I had a charm for making the photos show up properly on posts.  If something doesn't look right, please click on the photo or the jumble of letters & numbers where a photo should be, and then you should be able to see it.)

A dusty picture of things

    Received the best text from a wonderful someone this morning (probably because I was thinking about him yesterday, wondering when I would hear from him again...).   It sums up some of how I feel here...

"HOLY CRAP! Hi! Good morning! Missed your birthday, missed your dad’s birthday, missed a whole bunch of other days too, including Pi Day, April Fool’s, and I think national Pizza Day too possibly—all my misses keep building up like tiny bricks and then I find myself behind this wall of “well it’s been too long” and “I’m a terrible correspondent” and those big bricks hold down the little bricks and the wall begins to feel nigh on unbreakable, but I think of you and K and the boys and the tree house and wonder about you all the time, and wonder what you are wondering about, what you are doing and making and all that…so here I am trying to break through my own wall, but I’m afraid the effort of breaking through may have taken most of my energy and now I have not much interesting to say…;) (I’m humming the tune of Tiny Bubbles but singing the words “tiny bricks…in the wall…”

Whew!  And now I have to go downstairs and head out into the world for work…but at least there is brick dust everywhere…;) I will try to keep the construction noise down to a dull roar…love."

    And so, here is some of the dust of my life...

    Deb's wonderful paints, with thanks to her for sharing them and a lovely evening with me.

    I really love watching the blue bubbles through the window on the side when it reaches the boiling point.

    It was awful.  Eventually, there is a nightmare about absolutely everything it seems.  All of my quilts and stitchings cut up into piles to be used in someone's workshop.  I was screaming.  She wasn't sorry.

    I'm working at getting healthier- moving more, and less of other things.  I get in the car as K is heading off to work in the morning and have him drop me off on the way, forcing me to walk if I want to get back home.  

    I didn't paint the frozen mother and child that were on the bench in this nightmare.

    Someone said that all of these dreams are processing my days, that they are a way of working through all of the thoughts so that I can face the next day.  I don't know.  Sometimes I wonder if my days are ways to balance out the images I dream up at night, that I try to look for light while awake so that I can face another sleep.

    Onward...  Hope you are all swell.