handstories

painting again

    Class began again.  My second session of "Abstract in Oils & Cold Wax Medium."  A year ago was the first watercolor class.  When the list of supplies was sent out, I was overwhelmed with it all.  An artist friend suggested just getting a few things and seeing how it went. I said, "Have you met me?" And took my Rule Follower Self to the art store and ticked them all off.  

    This time I didn't even read the list, and just took unfinished works from this summer to continue on.  (Although, I did apologize to the teacher, telling her I wasn't trying to be disrespectful, the week just got away from me.)

    Oils still feel awkward- the mess, the clean up, the waiting and waiting for each layer to dry.  With watercolors it felt like an expression of the moment.  Working in oils is more of a physical reaction to the last mark made, usually the week before.  Layering, scraping, scratching.  Taking off almost as much paint as is put on.

    My favorite tools are an old hotel key-card, toothpicks and a chopstick.  Yesterday the chopstick snapped mid-scrape, so it has a new sharper texture.

the heart can hold, or be, anything

    A full pink moon hearted butterfly for the "Child Cloth".  Jude made the moon, as well as the magic black and white thread outlining the wings that are scaled with Deb's rainbowed threads.  I see here that the antennae are missing.  They will weave into and tangle with the child's hair.  That will be good.

    This cloth is almost done, I can feel that.  I'm missing it already, but it has things to do.  I think I will need to always have a cloth going for Wendy's children, for me, as much as them.

creating company

    (I started this post typing too fast and the first couple of letters of the title didn't appear.  It said, "eating company".  Ha.)  

    In Anne Lamott's book Bird By Bird (which I'm slowly reading), she talks of "that great line of Geneen Roth's:  that awareness is learning to keep yourself company."  She goes on to say that we should then "learn to be more compassionate company."

    Learning to talk to yourself in new ways is an odd hard thing.  Actually, it's the learning to listen in different ways that's the tough one.  Just to listen, take things in, without the old altering filters.  

    Moon came home in a mood.  (He is fifteen after all.)  After trying listening, comforting, talking, matter-of-facting, cajoling, etc...  I pulled out the piece I'm working on.  

    I danced it in front of his face.  He refused to leave Moon alone until a smile appeared.  Even a moody fifteen year old couldn't control laughing at the silly low growly-gruff voice coming out of his mother saying, "Hey!  Look at me!  I got a leaf crown.  You're liking it.  Yeah, I know.  Everybody wants to be me.  The guy in the crown.  And there's berries, too.  Purple berries."

    Moon and I are cut from very similar cloth (never tell a teenager he's just like you.)  A few light hearted minutes did us both good.

friends

    On Friday, worn out and needing a break, I sent an "S.O.S." message to a friend, who then cancelled her hair appointment, made a hotel reservation, gassed up her car, and whisked me away for the weekend!  What a very good pal.  

    Talking, walking, eating, wining, relaxing . . . it was just the ticket.  

    A little box of cloth and thread came along.  Another woodland creature is in the works.  I'm enjoying the quiet conversations with these forest folk.  Once their eyes appear, we really start getting to know each other.

    Shop update today . . .

brimming

    Under a blue moon's glow.

    It should be held close.  Gazed at so hard you can see yourself in it.  Wandering the woods.  Deep in the silence and the cool stillness, with the soft sounds of quiet life.

    I wish I were smaller.

deeper in

    Making my own woods.  The first tree.

    “Embodied knowledge . . . how do we cultivate that? And how do we trust it? I think that’s a big thing. How do we listen to it?

     . . . So, you have to kind of cultivate the space around you, where you can trust the thing that you can’t name.  

    . . . And so, how do you kind of cultivate a space that allows you to dwell in that not knowing, really? That is actually really smart, and can become really articulate? But, you know, like the thread has to come out, and it comes out at its own pace."

    -Ann Hamilton from her "Making and the Spaces We Share" interview with Krista Tippet's at On Being.

into the woods

    Yesterday I was daydreaming about being alone in the woods.

    Last night I dreamt of such a place.  It was deep and dark, full of greens and stillness.  

    A place where a soul could just be.  

    Where anything might be.

There was a time . . .

 

    For evening making it's mostly knitting, because my eyes are too tired for small cloth stitching by night time.   Usually, it's socks, and usually it's the same old memorized pattern I've made for years.  I thought I'd mix it up and try a new pattern.  Our library had this great book, and this is the "Firefly" pattern.  I've started it a couple of times, and have had to tink back in several spots (evidenced by the kinked up yarn) .  It's not the pattern's fault, rather user-error.  Concentration, memory and focus seem to have gone by the wayside these days.

    But there was a time when I could KNIT.  Really knit.  Anything.  Cables, color-work, intarsia, anything.  This is the sweater I taught myself to knit with both hands on, carrying two colors in each AT THE SAME TIME.  I barely remember doing it.  It was long ago, in the 90's, before children, menopause, and brain blur.

    This morning I went to the basement for a pair of socks.  While down there I did laundry, looked for something, brought up toilet paper, etc... On the third trip down I remembered to get the socks, only because I chanted "socks, socks, socks" the whole way.  

giving all around

    Working in the art room is good, very physical, but that's good for me, too.

    There were a few other things going on this week, inside and out.  They still are.  Things are ok enough, but I am weary and out of words.  

    There was, gratefully, a lot of time alone over the last couple of days.  That felt like a gift.  It was spent building ships.  They are all gifts, many made from gifted cloth.  I like the circle of that.

    Some are peaceful . . .

    Some are peace-filled, such as these two that fly Liz's cochineal dyed silk sails.  

    Carrying thoughts of peace this way and that.

    These pretty colors were dyed by Tina, another generous gift.

    And this one has bright cheery cloths that came across the seas from Els.

    And a wild trip through Blandina's makings.

    It felt good to stitch and stitch, to get lost in cloth, especially in the kindness of others' gifts.  They are setting sail soon, I hope they continue their journeys of giving once they land in their new homes.

gifts of peace

    Liz sent a wonderful Peace package containing one of Barry's beautiful leaves, a lovely letter-pressed message by Fiona, and a gorgeous piece of her own hand dyed silk.  Each item made with an artist's hand and heart, carrying hope for our broken world as a part of the International Day of Peace on September 21.  Liz shared about it here.

    I am touched by their spirits and generosity, and as I said to Liz, I am ever grateful and uplifted to be a part of this beautiful community.

    The silver sail of peace is being exchanged for one made of the deep cochineal pink of Liz's cloth.  Both shimmer with tenderness and passion.  

    Thank you so very much, Liz, Barry and Fiona.