handstories

In Seattle & thereabouts

    There are days when you just need soothing.  Stitching this silky moon from Jude was just that.  Like stitching water.  It grew into the tenth moon cabin block.

    Favorite fabrics, some took a while to find.  Somebody really needs to get some ducks in a row over here.  That pink cloth looks like it might be too much, but I'm hoping it will be balanced out once it's surrounded by other blocks.  Or it can come out later.

    A visit to the Bainbridge Art Museum...

    Upstairs, in the Sherry Grover Artists' Books room, there is an exhibit going on... "Every Day & Special Days".

    What a happy honor to be a part of it!

    And to share a space with so many wonderful works, including dear Velma.

    There has been some searching for my best Self .  She seems to be M.I.A. a lot lately.  It seems Moon and I are working hard to create many memories that we will hopefully laugh about some day.

    Also on Bainbridge Island is the beautiful Bloedel Reserve.

    Most of the photos I took were of water.

    I just love this willow.  It holds the memory of another willow, that held a memory of another willow for my mom.  All of the willows held/hold happy moments.

    The day ended with a beautiful ferry ride.

    Wishing you the bluest skies.

Listening to myself

    I played with them this morning, thinking about Deb's comment, "There is a sense of seasons".  It happened rather quickly.  Each of them seemed to fall into place with a feel of a certain time of year.  A visual calendar, at least to me.  Thanks for the idea, Deb!

    Something else that I've learned about myself lately... After finishing a project I seem to just run out of stitching steam.  I wander around, sometimes carrying cloth and thread (in case the urge to make happens), but usually it's a nothing day.  Often it feels wasted, which leads to guilt, which leads to glum.

    This time I saw it coming.  When the trees were finished I made a list of doable-things-to-do and none of them were stitching.  Yesterday was spent ticking them off.  Pencils were sharpened, the piles of cloth all over my table were sorted, threads gathered and put back into their places, emails were returned (emails that had been written and thought sent, were actually sent), the missing eye glasses were found (under the cloth), a book was read, etc.  Nothing terribly exciting or productive, but everything that was expected to happen did.  I'm calling it a win!

    New to me bird sounds woke me up this morning- two birds in a call and response conversation, high and low songs, and then there was an old familiar calling from the sea...

    (PS.  The tree tokens will be in the shop this Friday, April 16th, 9 am Pacific Standard Time.)

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.

All Stitched Up

    This weekend was the opening reception for the "All Stitched Up" Book Arts Exhibition.  

    I'm very happy to have my "Rhythm" booklet included in this beautiful gathering of artists books "celebrating the work of book artists’ where stitching has become an integral part of the visual design... To stitch is to join together, to mend, or fasten as with stitches – to sew. To stitch is to bring together fabric, paper, wounds of the body, or cultural divides. Stitching can be an act of healing, hope, practicality, creativity, and revolution."

    I really appreciated and admired the creativity of the many artists who went outside of the traditional book shape...

    “Stitching the Forest Together” by Lucia Harrison

    "Trial By Fire" by Catherine Alice Michaelis

    "How a Bandage Works" by Lucy Childs.

    Really wished I could have flipped the pages of this one, "Embroidered Stories of Migration" by Ricardo Gomez, Angie Tamayo & the Jluchiyej Nichimetic Cooperative.

    The exhibit of over fifty books is lovely- in curation, display, and in the variety of medium, techniques and stories that each book holds.  It's an honor to be a part of it.

poem

    There were many missteps this week.  In cloth- this piece was almost done, went all wrong, couldn't stand it, ripped most of it out, but now it's back in calmer waters.  At school- one very bad interaction with two students who were fighting, tried to intervene, only to have them unite against me, and finally realized that it was my own issues that allowed for that to happen.  I need to learn when to walk away.  There were several other fails with students, and lots of mutterings of, "Maybe I'm too old and grumpy for this?" 

    Then, on Wednesday, a student, who I haven't had any kind of connection with, was having a bad day.  Came in late, couldn't get along with his table mate, was sent to the back of the room, and now he was supposed to write a poem?  He was having none of it.  The assignment was to write a poem inspired by one of the poems used in Sharon Creech's book, Love That Dog.  It's a fabulous book about a boy learning to write and love poetry, and the power of expression that it offers.  

    This student was not in the mood.  

    Sitting down next to him, "Which poem do you want to think about?"

    "None."

    "Which one did you like best?"

    "None."

    "Come on….choose a poem."

    Rather than looking at the pages of poems in the back, he flipped to the first pages, where the narrator says, "I don’t want to.  Can’t do it.  Brain’s empty."

    "That does sound poetic," I said, undeterred, and copied the lines into his notebook. and then added prompt after prompt, talking fast, about how he felt, wanted to feel, wished for . . . writing down his responses, stopping often to read it aloud to him…talking about rhythm, repetition . . .  Until it felt like the end, wrapping it up with a modified version of the opening lines, "Do want to, Brain's . . . ?"  

    "Empty."

    "Really?  This doesn't sound empty at all.  Listen again . . ."

    And after the final lines, "Do want to, brain's . . ."  

    "Full."

    "Yes, it is!  This is beautiful, I feel choked up with its fullness.  How do you feel?"

    "Good," and his eyes were welling, too.  Those moments, and the hug that followed, refueled us both, I think.

    J's Poem

    Don’t want to

    Brain’s empty

    Feel angry

    Feel mad

    Want to feel good

    Good like scoring a game winning point

    Like getting some new shoes

    And seeing my sister winning a soccer game

    I wish I’ll be famous one day

    I wish I’ll still have a good family

    I am going to win the championship one day

    I am going to have a family

    Do want to

    Brain’s full.

rhythm

    The booklet of "rhythm" . . .

 under, over, under

reach and fall 

round and round

    According to the dictionary . . . "A harmonious sequence or pattern of masses alternating with voids, of light alternating with shade, of alternating colors, etc."

looking for the right words

    The stitching is done for this booklet, just need to add a few words . . .

    Moon and I are alone for a couple of days, as K and Blue have gone back down to be with K's mom. 

    Twelve year old Moon asks such questions . . . "What is the big deal about dying?  Why do some people fight to live and others don't?"  We talk and talk, and wonder.

synchronizing

    I have been thinking about the daily rhythms in our little house.  Such as the staggered start to our mornings (mostly due to having only one bathroom).  We usually weave around each other in familiar patterns- K getting ready for work, Blue with the sports page, Moon feeding Twinkle and cooking himself omelets, my tea and oatmeal . . .

 The notion of "family" is a cloth created out of individual threads that have somehow come together.

    This page started as this . . .

    Now I'm going to work on composing a meeting place for the inner movements.

    I can hear it humming . . .

piano tuner (aka therapist)

    It's been hot.

    Twinkle and I have been melting the last couple of days.  There has been very little  movement, some napping, and lots of whining- mostly by me.

    But today . . . cooler!  Breezes!  Things could happen again.

    The best thing, besides the weather, was that the piano tuner came.  It's been years.  

    While listening to the boys practice, a friend commented one day, complained another, and finally insisted that the tuner be called.  She claimed "it will be a life changer!"  

    So, the tuner came.  (This is where I should tell you that I have huge anxiety about people coming into my 100+ year old house and judging the piles, unfinished kitchen, funky old furniture, over flowing surfaces, etc...)  Upon entering, she said, "I seem to remember that you make things I really like."

    We looked through some of my stitchings, and then she got to work.  A while later she commented, "I love coming to a house that isn't all tricked out.  You've left it being what it was.  When I walk into a house like this, I just feel ahhhh!"

    When she finished, she announced she was going to have another look at the cupboards, then left saying, "Keep doing your beautiful work!"

    I feel like Glinda the good witch came through, the piano sounds like a completely different instrument, and Twinkle liked her, too.  I am definitely going to remember to make an appointment with her every year.

slowly she turns . . .

    These days I wake up thinking about stitching.  As soon as the oatmeal's done and the tea is brewed, I get to it.  It's slow going, but really, it's changing.  

    I think this spot is done.  A moment about the rhythms of nature, around and in us.

    I'm turning the page . . . maybe, by the time I finish this booklet, I'll be able to spell "rhythm" without looking it up?