handstories

Friendly Ghosts

    "Floating into Being"

    A happy accident led to a lovely reunion. A couple of weeks ago, I sent a text by speaking rather than typing and hit send before realizing it was going to someone whose name sounded very similar. This someone was a classmate in those painting classes at the local college years ago.  One text led to another, until the two of us, along with a third friend from the classes, were sitting down for lunch this weekend.

    Not having seen either of them for more than five years, it was fascinating to me that my usual social anxieties didn’t kick in (for the most part). I rarely go back in time to meet up with people. It’s usually not about the person from the past, rather more of a fear of running into old, unwelcomed ghosts of myself.

    But this time, there was calm. Near the end of our time together, I told them so, realizing that being with them took me back to those calm, peaceful hours of painting in that classroom. I had forgotten how much I loved being there. 

    "Spells for Well-Being"

    In the Studio...  These two, they are like an old married couple, how they check in with, keep track of, and bicker with each other. And then there are moments like this, when he brought his drawing to show her, and she gave him sincere admiration.  It’s such a gift to be there.

    The Studio has moved to a new location (much further away, challenging my driving anxiety).  A new big room that is all their own, with no need to take down tables, pack everything away, etc. at the end of the day so that another class can come in afterwards. Happily, the artists all seem at peace with this shift.  

    "Into the Unknown"

    Working in the bigness of this (13 1/2 inches square), felt very good.  (With thanks to Jude, Deb, and Tina for their generous sharing in this piece and/or those above.)

    There is also a new book to share.  I will try to put it here in a couple of days.  Typepad was a struggle today. 

Thinking

    As usual, I’m all over the place. Stitching here…

    Practicing birds…

    A few words…

    Another ship…


    And today, thinking about practice and process…

   It may not look like it, but it's a purposeful experiment. 

   Somewhere inside of connection and story.

On the brink with pink

    Recently, I wrote a friend about feeling on the brink, and that I didn’t know why, but making a boat always seems to help. And it did.

Actually, I made two boats.

    Another “I don’t know why…“ is the reason that there is so much pink in recent pieces?  This one was actually started a month or so ago and put aside when I got stuck. There was a lot of heavy stitching in it. I finally got out of my own way, took out the stitches, and replaced them with so many tiny ones- to hold it together and echo the beautiful dyeing by Jude (moon) and Deb (pink fabrics). 

    Another of Jude‘s moons and Deb’s threads- a kind of remembering of how much small spaces can hold.

    July 1st, a third boat... without words. 


    Today’s.  I wanted a pink house from the get-go, and one thing led to another. There were a lot of thoughts about process.  Wondering if it was a kind of doodling- adding something here, there… But I think it’s more connected to writing for me. Starting with a “Once upon a time…” followed by the “and's…”

    Whatever it is, it feels good today.

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”

 

The sea and the sea and the sea...

    A long while away to the Oregon Coast.  With Mom and my two sisters.

    For Mom, who turned eighty.

  

    I thought of Deb and her clouds on this eve.

    There was only a little stitching.  Lots of walking on the beach.

    Even more wave watching.

    Great views and weather.  Better each day and the sunsets more beautiful each night.

    "When She Dreamed"

    I started this piece there but got stuck.  Thought about taking it apart.  Fortunately, decided to deal with it when I got home.  A personal piece to add to the few other faces made a year ago, after last year's ocean trip for Mom. (The others can be found by clicking on the "Her Stories" category below.)

    There was so much to think about on this trip.  Some things were said that surprised and silenced.  It's fascinating how the same and different we all are.  How we hold, hide, or hide from our truths.

    This one is about making our own skies.

In the pink all around

    I was happy just looking at these cloths together for a while.  Jude's moon and Deb's pinks.  I have often wondered about curator or artist in my making.  Thinking about it more, there is an artistry in gathering, and I love putting cloths together, combining their stories into one.

    Blue's autumn views from his new apartment in Santiago, that he shares with his new roommate from the UK, near the apartment of his new girlfriend from South Africa (Now we really wonder when we'll see him again!).

    It's great to hear him sound so happy and much more settled and self-assured as he begins his second year in Chile.  We've both grown up so much.

    Dearest friend is on an adventure in France and sending fun photos of flowers, cafes, the countryside, and sewing pins in a castle gift shop.

    Another spring evening.

    We only had cloudy skies for the eclipse.  I watched the news instead.  They shared beautiful footage as it happened across the continent- Mexico, Texas, Indiana, Cleveland, Niagara Falls, and finally, Maine.  Watching the excitement of the people and the beauty of the diamonds, beads, and pink flares had me in tears.  What it must have been like to be there!  Three of our neighbors went to watch in Texas and Indiana.  It will be great to hear their sun and moon stories when they get back.

Forty-plus

    “There is Light in the Waves”

    Our story started in July 1979.  Sixteen. A first conversation on someone's deck stairs.  Talking and talking... I'm sure I've told it over and over here... Writing in my diary that night, "I'm never getting married, but if I do, it will be to someone like K.F."  (I was dating someone else at the time!)

    Spring 1982.  Freshman year of college.  In front of the blue house I grew up in.  Please admire my Gunny Sax dress!  Purchased for high school graduation.  I begged Mom to split the $80 cost with me.  (Do not admire the gardenia corsage- it made my nose run all evening.)  I loved that dress and wore it over and over.  K's wearing his old high school singing tux.  Both are in the closet upstairs.

    Wedding 1983.  I'm sorry that Mom's beautiful smocking work on my dress doesn't show up very well.  She worked hard on the making of it.  It was worn a few times, too.  To an anniversary dinner at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, Michigan and one Halloween as Emily Dickinson.  It's upstairs too, in her old cedar chest.

   2023  So many stories... 

Blue, Books, Blanche, & Boats

    Indigo did happen, but I timed it wrong, forgot about a zoom appointment.  The result was meh at the hottest (whiniest) part of the day.  The main goal of blue wrapping cloths for the shop was accomplished and there were a few of these overdyes that made me happy.  (I wonder if I will ever stitch a piece that turns out straight with 45° corners?)

    There was another unexpected happy place... I've been thinking about zines, small books, as a way to bring some things together- stitching, painting, writing.  Also, a friend likes the boat paintings, so I've been thinking about how to make a little book of them for her.  On Thursday, a favorite artist/teacher of a friend posted a photo of blue papers with the words "the sea" announcing that he was teaching a zine class... sold!

    I meant to work on the boat idea, but Grandma showed up.

      Her name is whited out here for privacy, but it's a long list... Blanche Ione Sp., Sh., W., St., St., and Ab.  Born Sp., married Sh. (who died while she was pregnant with my mom), married W. (who only lasted for six months when Mom was in first grade. A mean man.), married, divorced, re-married, and re-divorced St., and then Ab was her on-again/off-again boyfriend in the later years.  (She said that she was done getting married.)

    I loved Grandma, but not her cooking.  I remember begging to go over AFTER dinner.  You never knew what would be on the plate.  Especially when it was a last minute invitation, which meant one of the old-timers at the bar had offered some of their catch of the day. 

    The frog legs were chewy.

    There's a growing list of ideas for more bite-sized booklets of Blanche.

   

    And the boat idea was begun...  It was a really good day.

She did, and she did.

    I went, got in, and alternating laps with and without a kickboard, went back and forth for twenty-five minutes.  At the end of the first length without a kickboard, so happy that, oh so slowly but without stopping, I made it to the end, I started to cry.  (I don't recommend doing this in swim goggles.)

    Back home, I started this piece about water, waves, sunsets, and memories of nighttime skinny dipping in the ocean long, long ago.  Jude's moon swam to the top of the basket at just the right time to float above Deb's sunset.

    Those front waves are from this Maiwa cloth from our last trip to B.C..  I just love the crackles of blue in the white.

    Pencils were sharpened.  It always seems like such a chore, but so satisfying once I sit down to do it.

    There was a phone call with Mom.  She had been to the beach with her sisters and had an "awesome" time.  She talked about waking up at four in the morning and watching "the brightest and fullest" moon set into the sea.  It was nice to hear her happy.

    And remembering our recent ocean trip...During our time together, we visited old haunts- the beach camp we kids went to for years, and a beach town where Mom had lived growing up.  The whole time, as we drove there, walked on its beach, and driving away- she recounted story after story of her time there.  Where she played with friends, the hideout in the rocks on the shore, where they caught the school bus, the boy that lived down the road...  On and on her happy clear memories poured out.

    Later, we were surprised when we asked her how many years she had lived there?

    "Only about nine months, when I was nine."

    How the ocean has held my family is really something.

    I went back to the pool this morning.  It was harder.

    I think I'll start this summer's indigo vat today.

    Have a good weekend. 💙

Will she or won't she?

    Yesterday things got done.  Packages were packaged and sent, including a six-month overdue one.  Emails and texts were sent, a letter was written, things were found, and I stopped at the Y to see what it would take to get this chubby older woman back into the pool.  The nicest young man at the counter said to call our insurance and they might pay for it!

    A phone call was made.  Twenty minutes later, the nicest woman across the state said that I wasn't old enough but encouraged me to still go back to the pool.

    Another phone call to the Y.  Another nice man, who was kind and helpful, sent the scholarship application.

    I spent the rest of the day getting carried away with this one.

    This morning forms were filled out.  Suit and cap have been found.  I'm going to eat my oatmeal now, and then we shall see...