handstories

Gathering light

"How it Would Be"

    A thin moon layer of Heike's dyed silk allows Deb's wonder cloth to shine through.

"Unexpected Rainbows"

    Bigger than usual, 9" x 7".  More of Deb's cloth sailing in the breeze.

    My favorite spot.

    Life is in a tunnel right now, but there are a couple of lights twinkling at the end of it. 

    Spectrums.

    I have the hardest time photographing paintings.  The light is rarely right.

    Two friends, by two favorite artists.  "Story" made by Cathy Cullis many years ago (resting in a bluebird tea cup that matches one belonging to a dear friend.  She gave it to me so that we could imagine having tea together anytime), and a painting by Amanda Blake, "She Kept Herself Safe".  It was a rare spontaneous instantaneous purchase a few years ago.  I named her "Lucinda," and just looked up the meaning- light, of course.  They are across the table directly in front of me as I stitch.  Keeping company and an eye on things.  There are a few more friends here, but these two are giving me meaningful looks today

    The teacup friend texted today, "Are you ok?" 

        "Nope.  But trying to be."

"Gathering Light"

   Or "Audrey the Third" if you're Dee (ha, inside joke).  A Threadcrumb moon, deep purple wave by Tina and the sky, and reverse-side patch in the bottom corner, are a Maiwa cloth.

rosy curation

    Some of Heike's lovely soft pinks.

    The roses were a surprise from K.  I was going to crop the chaos of my table out, but it is how it is.  Clearing a spot on it would have taken until tomorrow.

    Scattered around on the table are these little painted swashes of color.  Every so often, one is unearthed and turned into a gem.  It's relaxing, and it's silly how much I enjoy making them.

    Lest you think this group of photos give you a true picture of my life...

    There was a virtual therapy session the other day.  One that went fifteen minutes overtime, as she tried to get through to me, as I shook my head "NO," saying "That's NOT going to happen," and realizing that I was stabbing a notebook with scissors.  It ended with her asking me to at least try to imagine it. 

    A peaceful pretty stitching in progress.  All of these-stitching, painting jewels, soft petals... I think that they are a way of imagining it.

filled & finished

    Seven boats.  Seven stories with moons, seas and a few trees.  Started with a wish for balance, distraction and floating.  Stitched out of cotton, silk, damask, tulle, thread, beads, one little button, and a whole bunch of daydreamings.  (Some of the makings are from last summer's indigo vat or the walnut and iron filled cast iron pot.  Many others came from the gifts of others- Jude, Deb, Tina, and Heike.)

    Balancing seven stories was a little like being tossed at sea.

    I'm attached to the smallest of spots...  Droplets of moonlight,

    Bits of Borealis-like light,

    A lace of craters,

    A tangle of roots and jeweled seeds.

      It was a different kind of a challenge for myself, giving focus and helping to keep things afloat.  I wonder what the next cloths will hold?

    These stories are sailing into the shop tomorrow morning. 

edges

    Imagining the edge of the world holding wonders rather than monsters. 

    This one began with an old and current wish to see the Northern Lights again, it's been thirty plus years.  Its sail is a scrap of fragile silk, courtesy of Heike.  During the stitching, it flowed and wiggled, changing shape until secured.  In the right light a few stars can be seen twinkling through.

    Today Moon asked if I had any New Year's resolutions?

        "To spend more time quietly stitching."

    "That's what you said last year."

        "To spend even more time quietly stitching!"

    He gave up then. 

in & out of order

    I don't remember when this was started?  Or have any idea where it is going.  It was found while refolding a tumbled pile of cloths.  Made of cottons, linens and silks (both the rough raw and the silky water-like kind), It's delicious to stitch into, all of the fibers seem to melt together. Some are from Heike, others are swatches or from the remnant bin at Maiwa's, the rest . . . who knows?  

    I think this silky piece came from a walnut and iron filled cast iron pot.  I wish I was better at keeping track, but that's probably not going to happen.  

    I can barely keep myself in order.  For example, yesterday was a stay at home day until the evening.  Walking out the door as K. came home, he said, "Have you brushed your hair today?!"

    "I don't know?"

        "You're welcome!" he called after me as I headed to the bathroom.

    Funny thing is, looking in the mirror, I didn't think it looked that bad.  I've definitely seen worse.

a whole lot of thoughts, links & excitement

    Kind of how things felt this morning.  

    Everyone is home for a few days, which is swell, but crowded in our little blue house.  And the neighbor practicing his drumming, and the garbage, recycling, and then compost trucks coming through, and neighbor children knocking, wanting the big boys of our world to join them, and the phone ringing . . . you get the idea.

    And my mind is bouncing, looking forward to listening to Velma talk about Shifu tonight, and then being a part of her workshop this weekend.  There is also the second painting class tomorrow, so curious to see if that painting really did look like the photo from that post last week (because I swear it didn't), and too many new ideas for cloth, there just aren't enough hours.  

    In the midst of all of the noise and thoughts, there was a lovely email, sharing a beautiful poem by John O'Donohue (again, thank you, Dianne).  Listening to him reading it, over and over again here, and then to his interview here, and things settled down, found a way, and are going.  (Star by Jude, sail and sea from Heike.)

    

    Beannacht/Blessing by John O'Donohue

    On the day when
    the weight deadens
    on your shoulders
    and you stumble,
    may the clay dance
    to balance you.
    And when your eyes
    freeze behind
    the grey window
    and the ghost of loss
    gets in to you,
    may a flock of colours,
    indigo, red, green,
    and azure blue
    come to awaken in you
    a meadow of delight.

    When the canvas frays
    in the currach of thought
    and a stain of ocean
    blackens beneath you,
    may there come across the waters
    a path of yellow moonlight
    to bring you safely home.

    May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
    may the clarity of light be yours,
    may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
    may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
    And so may a slow
    wind work these words
    of love around you,
    an invisible cloak
    to mind your life.

recess

    Day One of Spring Break:  I think I've quickly, easily and completely slipped into vacation mode.  So has my needle.

    That pretty pink piece is the work of Heike.

rosé & colored glass

    The weariness is beginning to wane, thank goodness.  Even my dreams have been wearing me out.  Two nights ago I dreamt of crying, of being so-so sad and unable to stop, and waking up with a headache that lasted the day.  Last night's nightmares- of murders and a child being stabbed in a fight, picking him up and running for help, he shrank into a baby that was starving, and I had no milk to give him.  

    There were more dreams along the same lines, but in the last one, I was sadly packing to leave a long ago friend's home, and found a pink silk slip.  In real life it was silly, ruffled and over the top, but in the dream I wanted it, thought it was so beautiful and soft . . .  After thinking about it all morning, I found some pink silk and started stitching for the first time in days.

    Later I read a little of a favorite childhood book, and then went for a walk.  Wandering to the library, and then into a funky little gift shop (where the owner loved my handspun/knitted hat and asked if I would make them for her to sell?  We both realized quickly that my time and costs were not anywhere near what she could pay me, but it was a nice conversation to have had).  

    There was a last stop at the wine shop, where I bought a pretty pink bottle of rosé that had a sweet write-up with "rose petals" and "raspberries" in the description.  By the time I wandered home, things seemed lighter, and I began filling the little house's "windows" with cheery colors to see the world through.

    "They came to the chocolate-colored house . . . It sat like a big plump chocolate drop on the square corner lot . . . The pane of colored glass over the front door shone ruby red in the sunlight." - from Betsy-Tacy, by Maud Hart Lovelace.

    (All of these fabrics were dyed by Heike.) 

a lot of photos, not much sense

    There were a few days of noticing.  At Moon's baseball game, a nest atop of the light pole, with baby birds yelling for food.  A swooping parent came and went.  We think it was a condor.  Spotted three rabbits that day, too.

    And the day before found a jay feather in the yard, and a little plastic number three off someone's uniform at the field of Blue's game.

    The three year old next door brought flowers, and later the six year old across the street came with chives.  Then yesterday, just as I was taking the feather photo, a neighbor yelled out, "Don't look at the news!"

    Followed by phone calls with family.  There are things going on.  Which drums up things from the past, and how they layer with the now.

    Went looking for the thinnest of thin**.

    It's not done, probably it never will be. 

    Sanity is a very thin thread.

(**most of these cloths are from Heike- love her gentle colors)

moonrise

    The moon didn't quite land where intended.

    And not being one who likes to backtrack, sailed into a new vista.

    Well, really not so new, more sea and sky.  I wonder how many ways there are to look at them? 

    This tiny vessel just about did my eyes and finger tips in.

    (The beautiful golden-orange fabric was dyed by Heike Gerbig.)