handstories

Trying to get somewhere

    Ideas are coming, words are not.  There is something about my stories.  There is something about everyone's stories.  And something about wished for stories.  They take hours that seem like minutes.

   

    In between, I'm stitching moons.  Resting places.

    Worked and worked on this one, until there wasn't anywhere left to go.  I appreciated the time and idea, but it wasn't how I thought it would go.  Folks on Instagram really liked it.  Sometimes I think that I don't know anything and can't see what's true at all.

Trying to see & hold all of it

    (First of all, I don't know what's going on with the comments.  I'm going back and forth with Typepad.  They don't see a problem, but while I can read them within the host site, I can't see or respond to them on the blog.  Also, photos still come and go on whims.  I really don't know what to do other than keep going until I can't.

    Update:  At the moment, I can see and reply to this post's comments, but not older ones...sigh, and onward...)

    The piece above- "There is So Much" was made with some cloths that I dyed in a couple of workshops over the years.  Don't remember all of the how's.  Cyanotype, potato paste resist, other things?  One thing that I've really been enjoying is finding marks in the fabrics and finding ways to continue them.  You can see it in the light blue vertical stack stitched lines and the squiggling line around the moon.  I like pushing myself to find a way to make connections.

        Most of my cloths are unplanned, just goings, but then the other day, doodling..

 

    I've been drawing things coming out of heads, moons, trees since college (The margins of my Western Civ notes were jammed with similar sketches).  What was new was a wondering if I could create it in cloth?  I think it was the weekend mending's influence.

    It didn't go quite how I wanted, but the basic idea was there.

    The next morning's attempt with eyes closed.

    And it made it past the moment of "never mind".

    Still going... and wondering what all I'm trying to say to myself.  Something good, I think, about there being so much, who we can be, and the choices we might make.

Reshaping

(There are all kinds of wonky things going on with photos, comments, and spacing right now.  Crossing my fingers that I found a workaround with this post...)

    

    "Holding Memories"

    Yesterday I was thinking about how my stitching is about creating possibilities.  That stories can come together to make new places.  

    Recently, when asked if they liked me, I was told that I'm "a mixed bag".  My first reaction was sad and hurt.  Then came the thoughts, "Who says that?!" and finally, "Well, who isn't?"  Realizing that every experience is a learning adventure, I decided to be grateful to know more... about others and myself.

    "Mystique" Tree Token

    I think my stitching is about believing in the possibilities of and for stories.

    "Time, love, and work.  That's all you have.  And, hopefully, a few trips to Italy."- Maira Kalman

    Maira Kalman is a favorite soul of mine.  There were hours of listening to (gobbling up) old podcast interviews with her this week (again).  She's funny, charming, wise, and so talented.  I found out that someone I know knows someone who knows her.  Even though I will most likely never meet her, just the idea that she's only a few degrees of separation away makes me giddy.

    Nights have taken on a strange pattern.  Waking around 4 am from intense dreams (a sky full of pink moons, starlit gardens, terrifying shadowy corners...), and then drifting off again around 5 am for an hour or two more of dead to the world sleep.  The morning paintings have become reflections.

    Also, I've started playing in this "seeded notebook" made a while back.

    Really, life can be rearranged and reconnected in so many ways.

Working at Playing

    One of the things that I noticed at the workshop is how hard it can be for me to do things in a different way.  Sometimes it's because I can't think of a new way.  I want to practice playing.

    Nancy's fortune teller is helping.  Repeating the back-and-forth movements takes me back to fourth grade recesses, seeing how fast we could whip through the ritual, how tiny we could make them, trying to force friends to choose certain colors, numbers, fortunes...  (I keep picking #4 because I love seeing her searching bird.)

    Other toys on the table- Jude's beast who wanders through rearranging hills, the Venetian paperweight for peering out of the window, and the smokey quartz that likes to catch the light, or just be held.

    Recently, there was a spontaneous trip to the water.  I wanted to tell the driver, "But wait!  I need to stop at the house for stitching, book, knitting, pencil... anything to keep my hands and head busy, to not "waste" time just sitting!" 

    There was no detour to the house.  I told myself it would be ok, and that I wouldn't crawl out of my skin.  And it was.  And I didn't.  A few lovely hours were spent watching the waves, my mind drifting and floating along with them.

 

    Yesterday I loved putting these cloths from Deb L. and Maiwa's together.  Soft, thin, blue and brown.  This morning, wishing for the arcs to show up better in the lower half, I started adding echoes in white stitches.  The dark day was making it hard to follow the lines.

    Seeing that the lines were clear as day (not this day) on the backside, I flipped it over and stitched from the back, noticing that I had to give myself a short pep talk, "It's just thread.  If it doesn't work you can pull it out."  It was weird, such a simple thing, and I pull out plenty of stitches all of the time.  There wasn't even anything complicated about it, just a plain running stitch.  Once I let go of whatever my crazy is, it was fun to let go of knowing what was happening on the other side.

    Loosening.  I'm going to ponder and practice the idea of it. 

"Thoughts of Light"

Crux

    Walnut ink painted onto cloths dyed with fresh indigo and in that turquoise wash.

 

 

    A moment from yesterday. Rainbow in my blue room (on a wall that could use repainting, just like the rest of the house), Story quilt, and the bedpost of the childhood bed. I should say childhoods...Moon’s, Blue’s, nephews, brother’s, mine, and Dad‘s in the foster home that he grew up in. 

    I’ve been thinking about the soul this week, what it is, how to stay in the space of it.  I was told that it’s a place of who we are, all we are, all we might be.  That all the things that we think and believe about ourselves are just thoughts, reactions, responses, and often judgements. So, I’m spending moments trying to step outside of thinking, and observe the What and Why.

    During the first attempt, I remembered watching Dad at his mom's wake as he struggled to grasp timelines and his past.  Suddenly, I could see the small boy of who he had been, who didn't know what had happened to his world or where his parents had gone.  It was the first true understanding of the why he was the way he was, and the beginning of feeling some compassion and forgiveness for him.

 

 

    I’m also trying to understand walnut ink.  It was dried, ironed, wetted, and then smooshed with a couple of indigo leaves and salt.

 

    What a beautiful green it was.

 

    After drying and rinsing, the rings were barely visible.

 

    And begin again.  I don't know anything about this ink.  It is from a workshop a few years ago.  Maybe I need to make my own?  Either I will figure this out or just keep the ink away from water.

    A Table Story...  Years ago, at a craft fair, M., a friend, bought the bear necklace.  I loved it too, but there was only one.  Recently, M. gave it to me.  She lives on my worktable.  Her occasional adventures are photographed and texted to M.  Yesterday she and the "Story" doll (made by Cathy Cullis years ago) celebrated the finishing of this piece under a sunny scrap of Deb's cloth with party favors of a jay feather and a piece of a tumbleweed from a road trip with M.

    It's funny how elements of stories that have been looked at over and over can suddenly take on new meanings.  That memory of Dad, after all of these years, seems to have opened a door to some understanding and compassion for me too.

"Soul Work"

    I'm keeping this one.

Considerations

"Moon Life"

    There were some days with family in Oregon this week.  So much storytelling happens when we're together.  My brother is great at the "gotcha" ones, just like Dad was.  There was a comforting happy comment from K, who said that if something ever happens to me, he'll need to spend more time with my sister, "I love watching the two of you, you're so much alike, and so funny together!"  We are a funny group.  At least we think so.

 

    I stitched myself into a starry corner with this piece, it seemed there were never going to be enough stars to fill the space I wanted covered.  I was seeing stars in the end.

 

"Sky Spells"

    There is no memory of where the textured cloth at the top came from.  It's silk, I think.  Is it considered seersucker?  I think the indigo was my doing.  So much is lost in (or out of) my head anymore.   

    I want to learn how to talk about making more, and need to, as I've just committed to doing it for a zoom hour next March.  My reaction to the request was the usual:  Flattered, sure that I didn't have anything worth sharing and couldn't possibly, panic, wondering how to graciously say "No, thank you", wishing that I could pull myself together to do such things... and on and on.  All of the usual well-practiced and repeated, fear-based things.

    The only thing that I did differently was to recognize that there is a middle place between yes and no, besides fear...  Maybe.  Possibly.

    My reply held questions, concerns, and a confession to never having done this before and not being sure how.  The response was warm and reassuring.  Realizing that I am tired of saying no out of fear, I wrote right back with a shaky "Yes."

    There is a notebook, once used for Moon's "Spanish 1, Ms. Perez, P-3" class, abandoned a few pages in, that now also has the word "Zoom" written on it.  It's where things that might be of interest to other stitchers are being written down as I work.  "Jude" and "The Circle Community" are a few of the first words.  

    Friends and therapist have reassured, "Just tell your stories..."

"In Her Dreams"

Forward...

"The Night's Blue Magic"

    Regarding taxes- I hate feeling stupid, it helped that K (an accounting major) wasn't able to figure out the problem either.  A very patient soul, on the other end of the state taxes helpline, held my hand and walked me through the issue.  Notes were taken, in hopes that next year might be the one without tax tears (a person can dream).

    The ER bill arrived yesterday.  I can't even wrap my head around how those numbers are real?  How is this ok?  Combined with the plumbing work, what an expensive month January was.  Today I am just being grateful that we have resources and am moving on...

    Maybe because of this, I'm working harder at being disciplined with my time and stitching.  Routines work for me, so I'm trying to keep to a schedule. This is mostly easy, because I love it.  Now, if only some headway on the business side of things can be made.  Not so easy, but it will be better in the long run if I can just sit down and make myself figure some things out.  I also need to make myself get up and stretch more!

"Hesper" Tree Token

    A piece of all of this is thinking of stitching as a job, which plays mind games on me, spinning me back and forth between joy and weirdness, and even some guilt (or is it old shame?).  I worry about losing my way in it all, losing the heart of it, about valuing myself, about not being who people might think I am.

    With all of the recent trips to Oregon, time with family, I finally pushed myself to talk about my stitching, to call it "My Work" out loud.  Things about it were brought to share for the first time- pieces, the Stitch-illo book, etc.  It was hard to put myself on display with faces looking back at me.  Good and bad comments undo me.  It's fascinating and feels like drowning at the same time.

    My brother (who uses the words "I'm sorry" to begin most sentences) said, "I'm sorry, but they really feel like watercolors to me."

    "That's a wonderful thing to say, thank you!" His words filled me with joy.

    Onward...

 

"Where Dreams Begin"

    With admiration and thanks for Deb, Tina and Jude for sharing their gifts of and with cloth and thread (among other things!).

Last week & today

    Yesterday I stitched a star.  The first in a week.

    When I got home last Monday, there was a lot of laundry and picking up to do.  Chores had been ignored by all of us for the last few weeks.  We all kind of threw in the towel and just got through...  I didn't stitch at all for a couple of days.  There was putzing, tidying, show watching... dinners were cooked.

    After a couple of days of nothing, I continued quilting on the woven blanket.  It was on the end of the couch, right where I left it.

    Each night I would fall asleep thinking, "Tomorrow I'll get back to making pieces, blogging, instagram, get focused, get going..."  And then another day of just quilting would happen.

    Friday I went up to the bookroom.  The room where you can't see the books because of all of the stuff that all of us have thrown into it over the last decade or so.  Using Moon's bedroom as a staging area, I pulled out a couple of boxes, started sorting, got overwhelmed, went back downstairs and went back to quilting.

    "You have until Monday," I told myself.

    On Saturday, K said that his sister wanted to borrow something, did I know where it was?  We dug around in the bookroom piles...nope.  Which could only mean that it was in the basement.  Sigh.  It's in about the same state as the bookroom, plus twenty years.  (There was a big clean out some years ago, but still... this nest is anything but empty.)  I headed down. 

      And I've gone down for an hour or two each day since.  The thing was found!  The car trunk is full of donations... with many more trunk loads to go, but it's a start.  Photos and question marks are sent to the boys, piles are left in the living room for K to decide about when he gets home, and "Donate!" has been the reply most of the time.  We are all ready to let go.

    And this morning, a blue pen was used.  It was sitting there, I reached for it, but then thought, no, it's always the black pen, size S.  An unwritten rule.  A pause happened, and then a realization that I made the rules, and could change them, or just break them.  A small thing, but still not so easy for this OCD soul.

    There are more pieces to these stories, but I'm still not focused, my thoughts are scattered all over the place, or gone altogether, but I'm good.

    And today this piece was finished.

    It's about making one's own magic.

When we speak of moons

    Friday morning, a cloth of gifts that felt full from the start.  (Thank you Jude, Deb, Deb and Tina.) That hill, from the get go, felt moon-ish to me- color, shape, and connecting with the pink moon above.  I've compared hills to cakes.  So cakes can be moons, too.  Maybe everything can be a moon?  And a cake?  Maybe everything is everything?

    This was my daily painting first thing that morning.   I hadn't connected them until just now. 

    And then, in the afternoon, a dear friend on a road trip, sent this from Utah...

    Everything is connected.  I'm pretty sure of that.

    I had thought that this was done, but after looking at this photo... no.  More balance was needed in the lines around the hill- a wider arch, and a wanting to carry the lightness of the hill color beyond.  Also, that top "circle" filled with golden stars and dots... not right.  (It's so hard and tedious to pick out those dots, especially when they're double stitched, tweezers help.)

    Yes.

    And YES.

    I seem to be disappearing or is it fading?  From here and other places, too.  Jude says that she can't comment here.  Wondering if there are others?  And what to do?

    Keep looking for moons, I guess...

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.)