handstories

A kajillion little things

    "In the Glory of Light"

    I spent this week making so many tiny stitches, hour after hour.  After the previous week of sunshine and open windows, it's turned dark and gray with occasional downpours.

 

    I don't mind.

    "Amidst Joy"

    Quiet uneventful days are a gift.

 

    Still looking at and drawing/painting boats.  This one was from a photo on our friends' boat last summer.

    Blue sent photos from his weekend in the port town of Valparaiso, Chile.

 

    Inspired by song that our community singing group sang. The lyrics are, “I have a million nightingales on the branches of my heart…. Singing, freedom, freedom, freedom.”  An adaptation of a poem written by Mahmoud Darwish-A poet and writer, who was considered the national poet of Palestine.  A beautiful song.  Listen here. 

    If we all had birdsongs in our hearts... can you imagine?

    “Freely”

 

Sailing

    I’ve decided that I can paint whatever I want, whenever I want.  So simple, yet so hard for some of us.

    "On Her Way..."

    So, I’m drawing, stitching, and looking at photos, figurines, paintings of boats… boats, and more boats.

    And I’m even allowing myself to keep my eyes open.  Doing the blind paintings was a way of just being in the moment and also of not judging myself. If my eyes are closed, of course it’s not going to be perfect.  For the last few drawings, I've kept my eyes on the reference mostly, but peeked at the paper now and then. Trying to work quickly and loosely, to remember the childhood joy of drawing.

    I gave dyeing with black beans a whirl. Easy peasy- dried beans and cold water.  Left the cloth in overnight.  Depending on the fabric, it came out shades of purple to gray (that bright purple piece started out pink).  

    “Going… Without knowing or caring”

    I used some of it for the lower sky here (below Deb's dazzling dyeing).

    While doing this one a memory came…  Growing up I drew all of the time, but then the teenage years made way for other things – theater, writing, basketball… (a few boys, too, including K.!).  One birthday, 16th I think, my brother gave me a gift. We weren’t close anymore, avoided each other or spoke in snarls.  As I opened up a small sketchbook and set of colored pencils, he said, “You don’t draw anymore.”  I was so touched that he had noticed and cared. I still have that little book somewhere.

    Rhode Island sister is coming to town tomorrow.  Looking forward to our time together, and some sea. And probably another boat...

Elegance in Pink

    I just can’t settle down into a routine or direction.

    Digging through a box of scraps until one catches my eye and then another.  On Lucky days, scraps that belong together are near each other.

   The Studio was quiet this week.  The same taxi driver came.  This time parking in front of the door, and avoiding eye contact with me, even though I was waving a "Hi!" at him. 

    At first, Monica’s collage above seems to be just a gathering of pretty pictures that she liked. Looking closer, I noticed all of the pinks and soft greens in the photos, and how they were brought together by the surrounding paint colors she chose. 

    Monica alternates between collage and drawing. Often covering a big piece of paper with rows and rows of small circles.  She is a sweet soul of few words.  Yesterday, she was waiting for her ride, just sitting there smiling. When I asked her what she was thinking about, she responded by slowly, turning her neck and raising her chin, stretching it to look up to the left.  “Swan princess,” she said.
  “You’re thinking about a swan princess?”

    Nodding, yes, she repeated the gesture, gently tipping her chin skyward as before.  “Swan princess.”
    I realized that she was imitating the graceful swooping neck gestures of a swan.  “Are you thinking about “Swan Lake"?”

    Another nod and swoop of her neck. She was a swan princess.

    (A group of swans can be called a flock, bevy, wedge, lamentation, and a ballet.)

Claiming the elephant in my room

    A few days ago, thinking about the love/hate relationship with my birthday, feeling pleased that it was in a few days and there was only a little of the usual pre-birthday gloom going on, and then realized that it was actually a couple of weeks away, and that there was still plenty of time to go into the dark side.

    And then I found this childhood drawing.  Five years old?  A circus theme- there is a trapeze artist and a clown on a unicycle on the other side.  I remember drawing it at Great Aunt Peggy's house.  We all loved her and her tiny house, and I'm sure that the blue walls of her living room are where my desire for blue began.

    Anyhow...

    The drawing triggered and fed a whole lot of old things.  And then it became a "pet pebble," an assignment for the Creativity Lab class.  The goal was to use tape and paper and get in touch with making in a childlike way.  It worked.  There was a need to do more with this elephant, some memories, and birthdays...

      Channeling my inner five-year-old, I'm going without a plan.  No rules, other than not undoing anything.  If something doesn't fit, I'm making it work with scissors, more fabric, or stitches.  I stitched on it all day Friday with a lot of joy and some tears.

        Still going... I don't know where.  Maybe more sequins and beads, and, if I can find it, silver thread.  It's a celebration.  I'm loving it.  It's still growing.  Me too.

Arcs

    Recent stitching- a series in rainbows.  (Inspired by and created with the dyeing talents of Deb and Tina.)

 

 

    New ideas- abstracted rainbows, black thread.  These pieces felt like drawing more than usual.

    On Instagram, someone asked if I would ever be able to go back to my usual palette after working with in such vivid colors?  I really enjoyed playing with these brights, being braver with bold, and there was already a piece in dark blues going by the time I saw the comment.  I am going to do more with these ideas.  They feel like an expansion rather than a shift.

    I don't have a lot of words for here or in regular life.  Things are ok, swell mostly.  Life felt really good for weeks, and then there was a head-first dive into a downward spiral last week.  Sometimes I do myself in.  It's an old habit, but at least I recognize it now.  This is progress.  Onward...

Three!

                "The Poignancy of Light & Time"

    So many swirls lately.  I love their scribbling-feel.  New thoughts about them came while doodling along in a Carla Sonheim zoom class.  She began calling out kinds of lines to draw with- straight, round, etc.  Which led to thinking of different ways to draw trees...

    They look simple, but I felt my mind opening.

    Everything really does inform everything.

 

Here

    So it seems photos come and go now... me, too.

    Back to the murder nightmares, balanced with dreams of making salads and trying to host parties while having the house evaluated/judged by a stranger.

    If you have Netflix, do watch "My Octopus Teacher."  It's beautiful.  It brought back so many water memories.  (Including skinny dipping nights in the Pacific with a girlfriend back in college.)

    The "Rhythm" booklet has found a home, it is now a part of the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, Cynthia Sears Collection!  Inspired by Langston Hughes' wonderful book, The First Book of Rhythms, creating it was a meeting place of a love of books, language, cloth and stitching for me.

    Many of the techniques in Jude's workshops were used in the making- weaving, integrated applique, cloth layering, etc.  I'm full of gratitude to her, Velma and Catherine who have all had roles in guiding the way.  This community is a heart filling thing.

    There is a video of looking through the book over on Instagram, click HERE to see...  Also, you can click on the "Rhythms" category below to read old posts about the process, if you like.

More trees & seas

“It Was a Map of Possibilities”

    Trees and boats, back and forth.  Grounding and going.  Holding on and trusting.  Knowing and wondering.  Strength and bravery.

    I'm really liking the grays lately, and how they add to and deepen other colors.

    This painting makes me think of an inukshuk.

"Anika"

    The tree tokens are being named now.  Names from heroes, storybook characters, former students, and ones that I just like.  Sometimes it's clear who they are while stitching,  others take a while to get to know.  I'm hoping a Ramona will show up.

   How many trees does it take to make a forest?  This small stand will be in the shop in the morning (Saturday, 11/14, 9am PST), along with a handful of story cloths.  Thanks for taking a peek.

Translations & transformations

    My first memory of beautiful stones is seventh grade science class.  The geology study.  Mr. T. passing out pieces of cardboard with rows of rocks glued and labeled onto them.  Rose quartz is the one I remember, I appreciated that it was easily identified by its soft pinkness.

    Ten years later, I met a woman with an unusual name who was to be my trainer at a new job.  She shared the how and why she had she had chosen this name for herself and given up her birth name.  I couldn't even imagine such a thing (Ha!).  We talked for a long while, and when we finished sharing stories, she pulled out a pouch of stones and crystals.  She placed pieces of rose quartz and tiger's eye in my hand saying, "You need these."  I thought that she was very kind and quite "woo-woo," but I carried them in my pocket, just in case there was magic to be had.

    Thirty years later, I still don't know what I believe about the powers of stones and crystals, aside from thinking that they're beautiful and I love getting lost looking into the light, lines, cuts and colors of them.  There is a piece of smoky quartz sitting here next to me.  Spotted at a booth in an art fair one day, it called to me.

    I don't know, maybe, I hope so. 

    Jude nudged me into trying to stitch a crystal.  First attempt.  Eh.  I suppose I should finish it and see, but there are already things that I know I should have done differently.

    It's been ten or more years since I last saw that woman.  At the time, she had changed her name to Ruby.  I wonder who she is now?

Vacation

    Mornings, days, even evenings have such a routine right now.  Rarely is any day different than the one before.  Wake up, shower, start oatmeal, closed eyes drawing, stir oatmeal, paint drawing, tea kettle whistle blows to be poured, stir oatmeal, finish painting, eat oatmeal, and then, aside from a lunch break, stitch for much of the day, an occasional chore, make dinner, etc... repeat.  They are fine days for the most part.

    Today, awake before dawn, the drawing came first, with eyes open.  After painting and oatmeal, I left the studio, announcing, "I'm taking the day off."

    Curling up with the cat in the front room, I watched TV, and knit on a plain sock for hours.

    After lunch, there was a little stitching in a book I made, on a page where I had wiped the extra paint off of the brush this morning. 

    It was a very nice day of playing, and playing hooky from myself.  Time to make dinner...