handstories

Moon medicine

    Filling out a partial ThreadCrumbs moon.  A moon mend.  Once again turning to the gift of threads from Tina for a just right aqua blue.

    There was a dream of being gifted crystals, and another of only having moments to decide what was needed as I left my house forever.

    The ideas of moon- roundness, filling, holding close, silvery, buttery, cool and glowing... fills, mends.

    The tear in K's coat was stitched up and laundry is going.  Small things, as Deb and Liz say.  Manageable.  This moon didn't get very far.  I was distracted by a book that's been read before.  She saves herself, and the others.  A fairy tale.  Another kind of mending for me.

Enough for now

    A few weeks ago, a friend shared something hard that is going on in her life.  This piece was started that afternoon.  The words "knowing" and "believing" went through my thoughts.  Knowing and believing that she will be ok, and wishing for her to know the same.  "You are a phoenix," I tell her.

    I say good things and really wrong things, and ask her to know that they all come from the same place of loving her.

    There was a struggle with this cloth, so many stitches were not right and pulled out.  I wanted it to be a beautiful glorious rising.  The threads, cloth, skill couldn't hold enough of what I wanted to say.  Sometimes there is no right, and all you can do is be there... and love.

    "Knowing & Believing... She Rose"

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.

rocking in the forth & back

    Almost all day, every day, for the last week, six days left.  Things have been stitched, unstitched, rearranged, restitched...

    The wings became much bigger than planned for.

    Making the letters not fit as expected.

    Tomorrow more cloud work and connections.

    And finishing the "B".

    And then the stars...

Wings for Michael

    Thank you, everyone for all of the kind supportive comments on yesterday's post.  I love how we hold hands in this circle.

    Last night cloud and wing shapes were basted on.

    This morning I woke up early and wanted to get right to stitching- to see if the ideas might work, and with a little anxiety about getting this done by the July 8th deadline.

    Feathers were basted all day long, with thoughts of Michael.  Thinking of the cloud angel he saw.  Imagining him in wings, rising to a better world where he might be free.

    Moon looked at Michael's photos, listened to his story, and is taking an interest in this piece.  That does my heart good.  He'll turn eighteen next month, the same age Michael was when he was killed.  This project breaks and fills my heart.

Michael Orlandus Darrion Brown (1996-2014)

    A few weeks ago, I volunteered do more stitching for the Social Justice Sewing Academy, this time for their remembrance project for the victims of violence and their families.  When I signed up, the projects were just being formed, I really thought I was signing up to work on a lap quilt of a victim's clothing for their family.  Something cozy and comforting, but said I was willing to do whatever I could within my skill set.

    On Saturday a request to make a square in honor of Michael Brown came.  Michael was shot to death by a police officer in Ferguson, MO, he was just eighteen.  Upon reading the email, I was overcome, overwhelmed, and sure that I couldn't do it.  Also, on instagram, I had seen the first finished square for this project.  It was beautiful and expertly created- a photograph in cloth.  I really couldn't do that.  I replied that while I felt humble and grateful for the opportunity to participate, I was not sure I had the skills required to do Michael or the project justice.

    While waiting for the reply (which was lovely and encouraging), I began reading everything I could find about Michael.  At first, I was done in by stories of the shooting, but then found this NYT article and a few others that shared more about Michael's story. 

    What I kept coming back to is that he was just a kid.  Born two years before Blue.  Like Blue, Michael was born in May, 6' 4", loved video games, music and hanging out with friends.  He had just graduated from high school, with plans to start college in a few weeks. 

    Earlier that summer he had called his dad and stepmom in the middle of the night to describe the after-storm clouds that he was looking at.  He said that he saw an angel in them, being chased by Satan and running into the face of God.  "Now I believe." he told them.

    So, with a mama's heart, I've started a square for Michael, and will try to hold all of this.

    Michael Brown was just a kid, who had hopes and an openness to wonders in this world.

 

Looking

*** Depression (noun)

a depressed or sunken place or part; an area lower than the surrounding surface.

sadness; gloom; dejection.

Psychiatry. a condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objective reason.

 

 

*** Peer (verb)

to look narrowly or searchingly, as in the effort to discern clearly.

to peep out or appear slightly.

to come into view.

    Noticing the differences and connections between the noun and verb above, and thinking about "choice" and "choosing" (another noun and verb), and the power that they hold.

(***https://www.dictionary.com/)

glimmers of light

    A friend sent an email asking how things were going?

    "Depression is a bitch," I wrote.

    It's been a long long time since depression and I have hung out together, and it creeped in so quietly, that I didn't recognize its presence for a while.  In the past, it was a comfortable companion...something to slip inside of, and let everything else slide away from. 

    This time is different, it isn't an ally, and I'm trying to fight this go-a-round.  Treading water to stay afloat some days and looking for islands to swim towards, and rest in, when I can.

    The friend wrote back with, "Make depressed cloth, anything."

    I had been working on the Story blanket this week.  Not feeling creative or up to decision making, I had switched to stitching long lines.  Long mindless lines.  I wondered if this was a depressed cloth?  I don't think so.  It's a just-keep-going cloth.

    And today there were stars.

love sutures

    Good thing that bag was packed.  There was another trip to Urgent Care that day.  While waiting for the next thing to happen, out came a needle and blue thread to mark the blanket covering my friend.  "There!  You've got a kiss on you!"

    And on the sheet,

    the pillowcase,

    the curtain,

    And her sleeve.

    The stitches and photos are wonky, quickly done just in case the next doctor/nurse/CT scanner/whoever appeared.  They probably won't be noticed, and if so, maybe they'll make someone wonder, or even smile?  Or they will be unwelcome graffiti (that isn't knotted, so easily removed).

    Anyway, they helped to pass the time, and made her laugh during four stressful hours.  (And things were ok in the end.)

holding it

    I don't know what I'm doing when I'm painting.   Talking about it is awkward and stumbling.  

    This one came after some hard days, and a nightmare that has stuck with me all week.  One with Dad's ghost yelling and cursing at me, taking me back to old sunken things.

    So, I painted.  With dark and heavy feelings, but when I took the pen to it, some light came in, and a sense of being at the sharp edge of the cusp of where sorrow and joy meet.

        Today is Blue's 21st birthday.  It holds both, too.

    "I collected my thoughts and got up again." -Yayoi Kusama