handstories

heaven's heart

    Yesterday morning I awoke to the rain.  Everyone was still sleeping.  Flinging open the studio window, I stood there listening, smelling and hearing the low rumble on its way.  (The photo is a screen shot from the video I took when the thunder and lightning were coming one after another.) 

    I love a good storm, but all I could think pf was that the Sky/God/Universe was grieving, that there is so much sorrow and angst right now that the heart of the heavens is breaking.

    It rained all day... and then an alarm went off on all three of our phones...

    We turned the news on...

    And this is just Seattle.  

    

    It's almost midnight.  It's still raining.

tangled up in freedom

    This is the square that came from the Social Justice Sewing Academy @sjsacademy.  It is an organization dedicated to empowering young artists.

    "A youth education program that bridges artistic expression with activism to advocate for social justice. Through a series of hands-on workshops in schools, prisons & community centers across the country, SJSA empowers youth to use textile art as a vehicle for personal transformation & community cohesion and become agents of social change. Many of our young artists make art that explores issues such as gender discrimination, mass incarceration, gun violence & gentrification. The powerful imagery they create in cloth tells their stories, & these quilt blocks are then sent to volunteers around the world to embellish & embroider before being sewn together into quilts to be displayed in museums, galleries and quilt shows across the country. This visual dialogue bridges differences in race, age & socioeconomics & sparks conversations & action in households across the country."

    Click HERE to listen to an interview with the rockstar young woman who founded the organization and one of the students.

    I had thought this would be an easy thing to do, the kind of thing I've done with hundreds of students over the years.

    The first step was to secure the edges of the pieces, easy enough.  But then, what?  This square came with no instructions from the artist.  Not knowing them, or their intentions has thrown me.  At school, I was able to have conversations with the students- hear their thoughts, have them pick colors, etc. 

    Wanting to respect and keep with the artist's vision, I emailed the organization, and was told to feel free to do whatever I thought.  My thoughts were panicked.

    "What if I get it wrong?  What if they don't recognize their own creation?  What if I'm somehow silencing or not seeing their truth?"

        I think too much, I know...holding my breath and hope, and continuing on...

an enchanted evening

    The Cotton Building in Port Townsend was a beautiful space, and the rain stopped in time.

    So pleased to have had my little squares next to the wonderful work of Tininha and Tracy.

        Tininha's weavings are as joyful and passionate as she is.

    Tracy's patchwork brings to mind the wonder and fascinating stories of her life.

    I loved how children were drawn to the textiles.

    My favorite moment came near the end, looking around the room...  Seeing K. (who is such a good guy, and who was my rock around this whole thing- supporting, encouraging, enduring a few meltdowns, and knowing how to do the credit card thingamajig!).  Across the way were my three oldest and dearest friends laughing and talking together (their support and help, before, during and after, went above and beyond, and held me together).  There had been reconnecting with people, meetings for the first time in real life, friends, and friends of friends, and such kind and generous thoughts shared... I realized how rich my life really is, that all of these folks are a part of my world, including those of you who come here and have given such heartfelt cheering-on and support, that I'm able to spend time doing something I truly love...  The night was, and my life is, so full of goodness.

    It really was a lovely evening.   

This...

        Read the whole article here:  Knitting Has Always Been Political

    In other knitting news...  This swatch of "Persian Lace" is my contribution to the Barbara Walker Knitting Project.  It will be part of an exhibition and artist book that will pay homage to Barbara Walker ("who’s work in the knitting field has inspired - and continues to inspire! - generations of knitters.").  This will all be a part of Blue: The Tatter Textile Library in Brooklyn, NY.  I hope to visit this bluetiful gathering of textiles and wonders someday...

    When they sent the pattern I was to knit, I thought, "Easy-peasy, I can follow 16 rows of a pattern...".  I copied the pattern off of the computer, and sat down one evening with a glass of wine and a movie, the swatch was started, and started again.  "Ok, no movie."  And again.  "Ok, maybe another try tomorrow without the wine."  The next day without distractions didn't go any better.  "Maybe it's the yarn?"  Switched yarns.  Nope.  Again, and again, I even recopied the pattern in larger, easier to read, writing, but still something was wrong in row 15 every time, the count was off.  I even tried it in orange so that I could really see the stitches.  Flop.  Ordered Barbara's book from the library, to work from the pattern directly.  Flub.  Sixth, seventh, eighth try... Fail, fail, fail.  

    "Sorry, Barbara, the pattern is wrong!"  Knowing what it should look like, I was determined to rewrite the pattern.  Row 14 was worked carefully stitch by stitch... and then, finally, the light bulb came on.  I had written it out (twice) and read it wrong every time.

    "K-1b" not "K-1fb"  The ninth time was the charm.  

    Happy and relieved, I went to find K. so as to explain it all to someone (even if he didn't care, and it's a foreign language to him).

    So sorry, Barbara, I should never have doubted you!

neighbor days

    The neighborhood has had plenty of stories this week.  

    We attended the memorial service for Mr. C, he was 96.  Mrs. C. is 96 too, in great shape, still gardening and a pillar of her church community.  She looked beautiful in her black sequined hat at the service.  (She has an amazing collection of "Going to Church" hats.)

    They built their house in 1956, and have always kept it up impeccably.  We've lived next door to them for the last 27 years.  He mowed the grass and cleaned the roof himself until the last couple of years.  I would watch him up on that ladder with fear and awe.  A quiet man, always cordial, knocking on the door now and then in summer to hand us zucchini and tomatoes from his garden.  He'll be missed.

    Our youngest neighbor across the street (9?) is a musician, and has had a guitar or drumsticks in his hands as long as I can remember (I can hear him playing right now).  His School of Rock concert was at the Hard Rock Cafe downtown yesterday.  They passed out much needed earplugs on the way in.  Someday we'll be able to say we knew him when.

    And then there was the trip to visit with old neighbors...  K. and I drove up for a day to have lunch with my Iowa friend, who used to live a few blocks away, but has retired up on the peninsula.  

    We also saw our old next-door neighbors (on the other side), who moved there a couple of years ago, too.  We miss them so much.  Just swell people, both artists, with two sweet boys.  He's a painter, and a house builder by day.  Tininha, is now weaving beautiful passionate textural creations. 

    While there, we met their lovely friend, Tracy, also an artist, who weaves, stitches, works on paper...the list goes on.  It was so nice to sit and share about making.  The big news is that we've started plans to have a show together later this year.  Excitement and nerves abound, but the two of them are full of grace and know-how, so it should be swell.

    There are so many un-knowns right now.  Focus and stitching are all over the place these days.  Nothing's quite done, waiting for more story to come...  And I keep thinking of something Jude said to me years ago, "...and it all formed as it might."

returning & gifts

    The "Love Can Mend" pennant is back from being a part of Mo's powerful installation of love, "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer".  Mo's vision, talents and magic gathered together love and hope from around the world.  I wish I could have been in that room and have been surrounded by the energy of it all.

        There is some weariness going on here, just as there was in the making this, and remembering what I wrote, back in November, when sending it off to Mo, "...maybe this is how it really is.  This work and struggle for peace, healing the earth, trying to find a way through-  It doesn't usually happen because everything is a calm and hunky-dory garden of sweet peas and roses.  The ripped and rough places show us what's really going on, and call to us for mending.  For most of us, we do what we can with what we have.  Piecing together whatever kind of inner scraps we might have within.  And just maybe, all of the frayed worn bits can be brought together and worked into a kind of wholeness again."  

    While I'm sad that the gathering is over, it's been good to have it back, as a reminder that there is love and beauty in mending.

    Mo's generosity continued with the added gifts of one of her brilliant stars, bit of blue and a cloud of wedding cloth (I see some sails in there...).  And while wrapping the ties in the tree for photos, there was a sudden movement to the left, turning my head, there was a hummingbird mid-air,  eye-level, within arms reach.  We looked at each other for a split second before it zipped away, another gift.

    A heart-deep thank you to Mo and the Gathering, oxo.

making home

    Thinking about...

    Home and community.  How we make them, how they shape us.  

    Grace's comment on the last post, "Back. To the Home You created."  (A very good centering reminder.)

    Talking with a friend last night about the trip, the place, the feelings there.  She asked, "How did you get out?"  I heard myself saying, "I was going to, or die trying."  Which made me laugh, because that was one of Dad's sayings.

    And talking with my sister today about our hometown, and how glad we are to be back in our now homes.

    There are some good memories, too.  Scraps of stories came back while walking down our old street, naming the families that used to live in the houses... Paula's grandma's where I saw my first bleeding heart flower and learned that yogurt was made from live bacteria, and couldn't believe either things were true.  Maxine's, where we watched "The Wizard of Oz" and ate too much salty popcorn one night.  Coach Cook's, who saw me running one day and said I would be joining the cross-country team.  Charlie's with the empty lot next door that we all called "The Field".  Once a year he'd mow it down, in-between we would run, hide and play in the tall tall Queen Anne's lace, grass and weeds that covered it.

    I just keep stirring this pot of self and the past, waiting for it all to come together into something.  I was going to apologize for that, but I'm not.  I'm tired of being sorry.  So, if folks don't mind, I'll just keep whisking and folding the thoughts, and hoping that nothing curdles.

winter light wishes

    Taking a few moments for stitching and sending thoughts of peace and light to you all!

    With love, Hazel

love can mend

    When Mo sent out an invitation to join in the making of her installation "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer," I had visions of a little boat on a calm sea under twinkling starlight, all being peacefully stitched on lovely summer days.

    Well, none of that happened.

   Giving up on the idea of making it with a peaceful spirit, it was dipped into the fading indigo vat.  After washing it, I started to iron it, and before I realized what was happening, there were holes melted into it.  At first there was panic, but then Mo's phrase "our beautiful broken world" came to mind, and it began to take shape.

   An earth of scraps and stitch was made. followed by a golden moon with the warm sun below, a few patches of deep space and starlight, and a scattering of stars across it all.

    And while making, there was thinking, confusion, and a wondering if... maybe this is how it really is.  This work and struggle for peace, healing the earth, trying to find a way through-  It doesn't usually happen because everything is a calm and hunky-dory garden of sweet peas and roses.  The ripped and rough places show us what's really going on, and call to us for mending.  For most of us, we do what we can with what we have.  Piecing together whatever kind of inner scraps we might have within.  And just maybe, all of the frayed worn bits can be brought together and worked into a kind of wholeness again.

    With a heart full of gratitude for Mo's vision and spirit, I'm sending wishes and prayers for, and into, the bigness of the Universe and our own small wished for cosmoses within it... May they all be patched and held together with our threads of hope and love. 

ever grateful

    Thank you, again, for all of the very kind comments on the last post.  I wanted to be sure that you all saw this paragraph from the article...

    While being in the magazine is very flattering and confidence-boosting... at the heart of everything I'm grateful for in this stitching world, is this circle of makers.  Finding Jude and this community of kindred spirits has been the very best gift of all, another "Thank You" to all of you!