handstories

gaps

    Yesterday, I completely messed up the indigo vat.  There are still some cloths in the bottom of the bucket, also some down in the washer, needing a second rinse.  Disappointed and discouraged, I've decided to ignore it all today.  Wandering around this morning, wondering what to do instead (besides housework that I'm also ignoring), the missing cloth was found!  

    Someday I'll figure out how to take good photos of it, maybe.  It's so big, and all of those woven white muslin strips with single thread stitchings, they just fade away in photos.  There was one square stitched each day for a year, an August to August (2011-12).  Most were just expressions of a mood, others reflected something from the day. 

    I have no idea about most of them, gone, like memories.

    Today I'll continue working on stitching the backing on.  There is no plan or order here, just vertical or horizontal lines, not even straight ones.  There are places where they cross, miss each other, or just stop mid-stream.  Maybe the thread ran out, distractions came along, or who knows?

    I think I'll look for the small empty lost places today, and try to fill them.

photo bombed

    If you find you need a photo of yourself...

    Check your background.

    ...and your head.

     Check your hair.
     I repeat, check your hair.

  ...and your attitude.

    Moon gave it a whirl, but the lighting wasn't right, and he had to get to work.  So, then K. was called in... furniture was moved, door was opened for light, closed for too much light, opened again because the light changes when you do something for a couple of hours.  Different cameras were tried, cameras were adjusted (without knowledge of how to do it, just a bunch of guessing and pushing of buttons).  Tempers were lost, found, controlled.  

    Finally an acceptable one.  Sent to photo-tweaking-skilled sister, who called and said, "Could you have sent me a worse photo?!"  

    More playing with camera controls and lighting, advice from Blue (who tried to avoid the whole situation as much as possible).

    A new photo was sent, approved enough, touched up.  Another phone call.  She had done what she could, she wondered about the redness in skin tone, but quickly realized that had to do with the frustration level the model was experiencing.

    This model, she was difficult and hated having her photo taken.  Once it was all good enough, the guys got out of the house, and she had a glass of wine for recovery purposes! 

summer daze

    Some new pieces will be in shop tomorrow morning...

    What a strange odd summer this has turned into.  Do I say that every year?  Things are moving so slowly, cloth, people, thoughts.

    I've been trying to find a certain cloth that was stitched a few years ago, looking everywhere I can think of, twice, working up a sweat in much this too hot summer day- lifting, moving, digging through the boxes/tubs/baskets.  So much for reorganizing.  There is a fear that it found its way into the donations...but I don't think that's possible.  The search has stopped, so that I can hold onto the belief that it's in this house somewhere...

not very exciting, but...

    Working on the last of the four tops needed to make blankets for Moon and Blue's Christmas gifts.  (Hopefully, this year's!)  It's been fun remembering the boys' passing passions from long ago.  Moon's fascination with robots, and how Blue loved his knight figurines and castles.

    Moon had a savant like thing for the states and their shapes when he was two and three.  He could put the wooden state puzzle together faster than I could, and if you held up the back of one of the pieces of the puzzle, turned any direction, he could name it.  During that year he was invited to the fourth grade class (they were studying the states) as a Special Expert Guest Speaker.  He dazzled them all.  It's funny how this skill slipped away from him. 

    The dish ran away with the moon, time, and my little boys...

greening

    A hot week in Seattle.  The family is bracing themselves for my certain meltdowns...  

    Stitching on cool greens helps.  There was a phone call with my sister yesterday (who's in the east coast rain and humidity, but doesn't whine).  Thinking of Dee's video, I started a conversation about the parks and rivers of our childhood summers. 

    Our favorite spot was a big park beside a the river.  It had a wide dammed up area for smooth swimming, below it flowed into a rapid run ending in a deep swimming hole.  

    We usually went with our cousins.  Eight kids- who spent hours swimming and riding inner tubes down the rapids, we'd catch crawdads under the rocks, filling up our sand pails to take to our parents, who would cook them up for lunch.  The usual hot dogs, chips and potato salad rounded out the meal.  The food would be scarfed down as fast as possible, because of the required (seemingly-never-ending) hour long wait before we could swim again (to avoid those mythological cramps).  To pass the time we would explore the trails through the trees, or sometimes the dads would start up a make-shift softball game.  

    But really, it was about the water.  As soon as the moms gave the go-ahead, we'd grab the tubes and run as fast as we could, splashing back into the cool green water, to float the rest of the day away.

moons & no memories

    It's Moon's birthday today.  SIXTEEN.  The guys are at a baseball game, later we'll go out for dinner and then light candles on a stack of apple fritters (his choice).  

    Over breakfast I started the "Sixteen years ago today..." story, but was cut off.

        "I know, Mom!  You tell this story every year."  

    "Someday I'll be gone and you'll wish for my stories..."  

        And then Blue chimed in with, "Then we'll just go read your blog."

    Sigh.  Someday...

    Moon seemed to really like the bear-like critters I stitched last winter, so I painted one for his birthday card.  She looks a lot like his mama.

 

weird day

    Yesterday, after a long while of not painting, it began with this soft stack of peaceful stones, started on another day.  (Sorry for the bad photo editing, there was no "before" photo.)

    Things came crawling, flying, climbing, stomping out...

    And some doodling happened...

    During all of that, She showed up... 

    Dearest Friend called, suggested, nudged, saying, "Come Out, get on the bus and Come."

    On the bus, I wondered while I stitched on this, what that man looking over my shoulder thought?  Or how odd I looked searching the floor of the bus for the dropped needle?  (Yes, it was found.)

    Today I'm going to doodle some more and work on taming her rough seas...or not.

unearthed

    I remember working on the big squares below, but not when?  A year ago?  Three?  And there is no recall of this creature, but I like her, and she suits my mood these hot muddled days.

    Continuing on, using up old prints, long straight seams that are invisible basted open...very very slowly.

slow burn

    I'm feeling the need for a change, but have no idea what that means.  In what gets made?  Or in how it gets done?  Or maybe I just need to change my attitude?  

    Or maybe it's just the heat?

    Yesterday there was a house fire a few blocks away.  At first the smell came.  "Why on earth would someone be having a fire in this heat?!"  But then the sirens, and truck after truck, at least six came up the hill.  Two got stuck in the winding roads and had to maneuver tricky turnarounds in the intersection.

    Dad was a fire fighter in our small town's volunteer department for thirty years. It's the thing he's most proud of.  I remember the adrenaline rush when the siren at the station would sound across the town, we'd run to the plectron radio to hear the location.  Someone would stand by the desk and hold the keys out, another would open the door as he ran through.   (Somehow this made me feel like I was playing a part in saving the day.)  The furniture of the living room was arranged with a clear path to the door. Sometimes there was shouted cursing in the middle of the night when he tripped over something in the way.  You did NOT want to be the one who left it there.

    So, yesterday...standing outside, watching smoke pour into the sky, adrenaline rushing, hoping all was well, being grateful that it was over quickly, so many stories filled my mind...

    And today, I've almost finished another heart, and am wondering what might happen next?

13th

        The last heart for the "Boy Hearts" piece.  This one is mine.  Raw, ragged and old.  From a favorite childhood sheet, my "soft" sheet, soaked in walnut and dipped in the dying indigo last summer.  So worn and fragile that it was torn into shape without scissors, but still it's here after fifty-ish years, so it's strong, too.  Depending on the light it's barely blue, tan or silver, and the soap line that I drew to guide the tearing turned dark brown under the heat of the iron.  I'm sure there's some science to it, but I kind of like the surprise of it.