odds & ends

JudeheartblogLife has become a new thing.  I'm glad I'm able to say that even though this particular new thing is unknown to a large degree.  In some ways it's defined by the old things I'm inclined to keep.  Or in this case, complete and then keep.  I know exactly what I want to do with this.  Made in a Jude class that had hearts in the title.   I also made this in the same class:

Georgeglassesthese psychedelic sunnies were inspired by this:

Beatle George Harrison tours the Haight, 1992 ...

and now that J works from home and keeps misplacing his special working mode spectacles, I'm going to to use the motif as can't-miss-it-embellishment on the case I'm going to make for those glasses.

GaiacuInstead of overdosing on news articles I've been spending the heat wave experimenting with getting more detail shots from some of my art quilts.  This is a detail from Gaia Heals Herself.  Considering gift giving in the coming season(s).  What will it look like?  I thought about printing postcards to bundle with other little trinkets that are useful and fun to share.  Really like the idea of generosity large enough to spread bits and pieces of our special personal treasures here and there.  Placed into new context and sparking unknown creatives to make something new of their own.

Gaiaheals
 As current events give us an opportunity to consider female power and potentiality I've been looking at a book that's new to me.  And I really love it.

Psychedlicmysteries

Sacredfeminine Artwork2 Artwork3
Wish there was more artwork.  The essays I've looked at so far have been nourishing and thought provoking. 

The plentitude of electrical storms have put a huge crimp in my stitching plans.  There's only so many times I can stab myself with a needle or drop a really sharp scissors on my bare foot before it starts to feel like a losing proposition altogether.  I want to be near cloth and thread, though, so I've been going through stuff, again, to see what might be bundled and re-distributed somehow.

The other day I wrote on my main blog about how much trouble I had not going to garden centers and greenhouse throughout the spring and early summer as I normally would have.  Have also had a lot of trouble not redistributing books, clothes, creative supplies, and so forth.  It isn't, for me, about de-cluttering it's about the redistribution of energy.  Something wishing to re-create its own relationship to sharing.  Not to mention discernment.

Gardenia71320


still feeling disjointed

ShiboriscrapsOne day over the weekend I chose scraps to use in making nine-patches for my Spiritcloth tribute.  During the heatwave I lurked in my summer studio.  Aside from the basement it's the coolest place in the house.  Marked the scraps for cutting and sewing lines and got the individual squares cut.

Littlesquares72820I followed grace's advice the other evening and listened to the 1619 podcast she recommended on her blog.   It took me a day and a half to get that kind of quiet time within myself.  As I listened I stitched a couple of four patches.  Three and a half, to be exact.  One was stitched badly because I was saddened and increasingly focused on the podcast's narrative.  I really wasn't paying attention to the stitching at all but simply doing it because that's what I planned in advance.   Have since taken it apart to restitch later today or this evening.  But leaving the image of it as part of this ongoing creative record.  It shows how I felt while listening to the podcast and everything else we take some measure to absorb in an ongoing way: out of whack and consequently vulnerable.

SquaresMost of my free time - including that in which I'd normally write emails and get my packages packed up and ready for mailing - has been feeding my need for a reliable fulcrum.  Something I can turn to for the beginning and ending every day as a reliable place to stay focused beyond all the things we're all doing in whatever ways we can to absorb or reject just what we need to have/not have too close to our fractured minds and hearts.

coyote medicine says:  when you get to the end of reality make another one.

so that's what I've been doing.  and lo and behold -

Writing more diligently and carefully has begun to result in also writing more fluently.

To that end I've opened a password protected blog on which to share a few of the first-round results.   At the moment I've got one block of writing posted with the intention of posting two more that are very much inter-relational.  It's a contemporary narrative that strays a good bit farther afield than I stray here on my two blogs.

closer to heart in many ways.  and in others most definitely a word on the street/beach book kinda thing.

Leave a comment or email me if you'd like to take a look and I'll send you the keys you need.

Patchesinarow


Sympathetic Evolution (tm jude)

Creatorstone My response to recent community truth tellings and the resultant supportive growth tendrils pushed me all the way beyond words.   Obviously where-ever I was going expressively would be cloth driven.  Somewhere around 2 a.m. on Thursday I understood I wanted to make a tribute/protection quilt for the community jude created and has tended in much the same style I tend to my gardens. 

I've never wanted to do this before.  For one thing - precision and math.  Planning that's focused rather than a rough suggestion.   For another - I learn best when I incorporate rather than emulating.  But for this purpose it doesn't feel like my expressive style serves the purposes.  So what's coming to life is a bit sympathetic magic and a little evolutionary cloth/work approach and whole bunches of sympathetic evolution.    I don't remember when it was that jude put her stamp on that phrase and its brilliant articulation recurring throughout her work and teaching development.

Wheelassquarebegin She sent me this I don't even know how many years ago.  It was last resurrected for ongoing contemplation shortly before the shit hit the fan COVID-wise here on the east coast.  I thought I would like to make it the center of something bigger and somehow aquamarine-ish. 

Wheel transferIn this busy multi-plexic portion of the growing season yesterday afternoon was sending me to the big bad tizzy place.  I realized cloth work would help slow the revs as well as elevating my perspective of the moment.  I sat down with my intentions to just go in the sympathetic evolutionary magic sense - having earlier stolen 10-15 minutes to anchor stitch the green and blue/turquoise fabric to the under-side of jude's corduroy base. 

 once this was done I sensed the soft collaboration I was seeking.  And remain pleased that I gained the most beautifully moody moon circle to dream over.

Next will come a border of small four patches.  To adept lovers of small piecework the size will probably feel overblown (1" finished) but for me this level of literally scaling down is an exercise in trust that time and providence can hold the care I'm taking. Last night after I got this far I adjourned to fictionland but not before I located my embroidery hoops with today's stitching time in mind.

***

Appliqueing the stone into position was so gratifying at a stitch level.  Was a little worried I'd cut too scant a turn to prevent the corduroy unraveling but there was no such problem.  Later today  I may stick it in a hoop and do a little noodling but that could well be a plan to procrastinate marking and cutting the little squares. 

slowly but surely I'm coming around to the understanding that neurological abrasions shouldn't keep me from stitching just because I can no longer manage a fine seam.  I probably could if I spent more time with it but that's the Catch-22 that this endeavor may help me mend a lot more effectively.

Backsideofstone


so here we all are

Collageadditions72120Last week I found my way back to paper collage.   You might recognize the bones of the above because it was my Above/Below/Within creation during the collage challenge.  Within the remake I'm speaking to the experience of my uncovered eye gazing out at the inferno of psy-ops and dis-information.   What I can personally do to counter-act it, sure, but for me the true lede centers on the fact that it's a pic of myself when I was quite ill.  In re-working the original statement I see that Below hovering somewhere between my sense of energetic taproot and a constantly roiling sense of fragmenting reality/root chakra I remain sickened. 

I mean ... I know that intellectually and experientially.  I also think at this point I'm perceiving everyone I talk to or email in a mutually honest way to be sickened.  We often use the word repeatedly.  Some are very clear what it is.  Some don't know but they realize it isn't any closer to normal than it mirrors their organic comfort zone.  Some are painfully aware of their escalating mental health issues.

When this whole debacle first started debacle-ing there was only one thing that was really clear to me.  We'd all collectively been thrown feet first into an abusive relationship (a-hem...) the [utterly pathetic] likes of which the world has never seen.  And given that fact pretty soon the whole world got dragged into what happens when you let a country simmer and stew in its own exceptionally un-exceptional juices for far too long.

The entire planet and all its life forms are now engaged in an existential corridor of life: not-knowing when or how exactly but being unable to always completely forget that It is out there.  And now it's got the overt totalitarian paramilitary backup Howard Zinn illuminated as inevitable once a country lets such a regime gain a viable toehold.  I think about those lectures a lot - and I think of the direct impact it had on me and all his other students through the years.  But especially then being carefully and thematically awakened back when the world seemed fully dystopian to our still-young eyes circa '80-'83. 

WhatisaliciaThis is the first collage I made after a 4 month absence.  The ongoing farce of meaningful existence in the face of an endless bad news monsoon season has baked my noodle to the point of one night telling J I need an entirely new brain while you take this one through the car wash for me.

2020 being the absolutely brutal annus horribilus that it is I found I had no taste for taking pieces of things that used to be whole and recombining them with other no-longer whole things.  In order to express what, exactly?  And why was it my job to do this kind of work?  Shouldn't, I don't know, this be added to a certain son-in-law's portfolio or something?

Projection, internalization, personal grievances galore endlessly piling up in my psychic mudroom because I left them there to wither-down before I dealt with getting it all composted.  Creatively I found myself with a bad attitude.  not a vibe I wanted in this space - not in my home/summer studio or up here in the real thing on cool enough days - that's a haven for much light brought to bear upon dark things.

LettherebelightA lifetime of somatizing disavowed feelings has taught me not to do it anymore.  But what could I do?  Where could I put the stuff that was my honest response to insanity layered-over with all the unique strength/endurance qualities those of us who are trauma survivors have been leaning into all along?

The voice I heard the loudest wasn't even my own.  It was a considerably younger subset alterna-culture voice - the voice I most identify/empathize with in today's world three quarters of the time for sure but definitely not my own.  This merged with Dee Mallon suggesting my fictional characters might be getting restless.  Well hell yeah, yes they were!  And one of them was top dead center the loudest voice I heard in my head.  So my imagination swiftly gave him a brother in arms level of friend that could solidly (reading and writing-wise at least) ground the narrative by spinning through the necessary thematic calls and responses in between major plot exposition points.  Or maybe at least in part so a reader wouldn't notice that mechanical moving along stuff happening quite so much.

And then!  I was driving home from an errand when I was struck with that all too rare but also true pure creative thunderbolt of awareness that the person who'd just helped me in a store was also part of that call and response.  BAM so okay.  As I'm driving home I felt my mind reshaping absolutely everything I thought I might be doing in the fictional sense.

But that was last week which feels like several by the now.  So I'm relatively adjusted to the reality of doing something new and mildly terrifying if only because it boils down to meaning I wasn't really very deep into my characters until this other character showed up fully formed so as to fit right in and amplify the true terrain of a story that hadn't quite articulated itself upon its initial resurrection.   Kind of happy and gratified to be pressing forward with a more fully layered tapestry of generational skews.     the next time I post concerning my word slinging ventures you'll see some of the results in a bigger chunk of text that relates to itself sentence by sentence. 

hopefully anyway.  There's a piece right past the middle of the section I thought it would be fun to share that's still pretty murky in a way that clunks rather than evoking mystery, magic, or even plausible mayhem among the sentences.

SameoldcavalryThis is my favorite movie quote to include in visual journals.  It's from Thunderheart and over time I've used it as a tl:dr footnote of administrative terrorism and 'soft' forms of genocide.  


old ideas forming a new shape

Hermituprightcommercially printed cotton fabric glue-stick collage mock-up of The Hermit card from an unnamed oracle deck of my own device.  Tarot-centric but only as a jump-off in terms of symbology and its placement throughout the deck . 5 x 5 recycled cookie packaging substrate.  circa 1999.

 One of my long-term ultra slow creative endeavors involves collaging a full deck of tarot card prototypes with quilter's cotton prints.  If I can get that managed I've envisioned painting myself a one of a kind deck - thinking I'd use the prototypes as reference for creating and completing the deck.  I mentally committed to this in the late 90's a/k/a a time when today's calender numbers felt waaaaay in the future.  All the same I've always kept the cards readily to hand as if I might re-commence engaging with the process at any moment. 

About five years ago I unearthed an unrecognized and uncharacteristically small notebook in which I'd written (undated) about the specific types of wisdom I'd gotten old enough to appreciate as a matter of ongoing progress and process -- the tricky business of having more confidence expressing myself in relationship to both painting and successfully creating a viable tarot deck to use for my own readings.  Am now planning to start working-out the concepts as rough graphic mock-ups in my current favorite sketchbook.  Maybe collect and collage a few relevant color stories and also a small glossary of relevant glyphs and similar stripped-down symbols to fit the themes of the cards.

turn something chronically loose and fancy free into something actively structured and officially recognized as a Thing I'm doing with intention to complete it in whatever way providence wills.

Kingofearth Earth Alpha (king)

For the earth cards I'll be embedding the original five pointed star from the traditional assignation of pentacles.

***

In recent times I've been spending 3-5 hours most work week days in fictionland.   Really like what's happening with both the novel's particular story arc and also the way it's had such a positive settling and grounding impact on my daily ebb and flow. 

When I'm out in the garden I tend to think more about non-fiction writing endeavors and goals.  More specifically I think about my planned organization (and far more to the point - congruent elucidation) of subjects related to areas of long term interest.  It's frustrating me how long it's taking that seed of intention to germinate effectively.  Feel like I need to give this level of planning enough form so I understand why I'm drawn to continuing. 

~*~grace's influence.  know why before proceeding. it might change what you bring along with you and also what you choose to leave behind.~*~

Over the past five evenings I've spent something like 1.5-2 hours a night reviewing individual segments of accumulated daily writing sessions.  Bringing both the text and its story-serving context to a stronger voice so as to get this draft beyond the skeletal stage one paragraph at a time.  It is as tedious as it is engaging.   It's also somewhat unnatural or at least well past contrarian (whenever I'm not actively engrossed in writing or thinking about writing, anyway ...) to prize and consistently foster an ability to disconnect from reality simply so one might develop A Story and then persuade others to engross themselves in something that doesn't exist right along with you.  Avoiding distraction - especially those caused by some place/somebody/something real - so that I can commune instead with one or more imaginary people during any given block in time.  I like to keep in mind that's what I'm doing in the final pragmatic analysis.  It keeps me real and consistently demystifies the process as well.

In any event all the imaginary people live in real places so I suppose there's that tenuous connection between hemispheres of cognition.

Bigmedenchantthe deck's first of two sacred pairings bond male and female energies traditionally called the Magician and the High Priestess.  I re-named those archetypes Big Medicine and Enchantment respectively.

Bigmedicine I began making these cards after much encouragement from some UK friends who felt I had the chops to do it even though I did not.  Chose at once to work with a square because I very much liked the idea of geometric grounding/containing the experience of creating and reading these cards.  It also gives my reading interpretation a little more room to grow on both its vertical and horizontal axes.

EnchantmentI've not designed a lot of cards or otherwise come close to justifying how long it's taking me to get immersion-level engaged.  But I do have an excellent reason.  At a certain point I grasped I'd have to start learning to paint one slow step at a time or I'd have no idea how to succeed once I was ready to paint these cards and then tried to learn how.  Learning  to simply handle paint of various kinds is proving to be far more compelling than creating cards to match the vibe and feel of what I started so long ago.  Especially since I set them aside, as one would, after the ongoing burning passion phase of tarot involvement seemed to have left the building.  Until it came back rather suddenly and without preamble.  That occurred maybe 3 months before the collage challenge and Liz sharing ongoing additions to her splendid Texas Tarot project.

It interests me - how things once central to our sense of creative engagement can recede and yet rather than compartmentalizing it off to the side a person could let that medium and methodology stay relevant enough in their ongoing life to return to slow moving projects at other points in time.  Creatively this often brings a level of subliminal cohesion and mapping ability into play at the design level even/especially when an idea is very fresh.  

FertilityAs for the other sacred archetypal pairing within the Major Arcana  - The Empress could only be distilled as Fertility.

VolitionAnd the Emperor as Volition. 

Most of the prototypes I've created are major arcana.  I also created all the aces, an alpha/king and the minor card that dismayed me the most at that point in my life.  At the time the 9 of swords (arrowheads in this deck) showed up so much that I stopped reading for myself and spent that same amount of time and level of effort in routing-out my seemingly endless inner cascades of fear & anxiety.  One thing that helped a lot was articulating how the card felt to me any time I saw it there on the reading cloth.  And then translating that to a prototype:

Acoyotes9ofarrowheadsIn recent times I've been re-considering these cards and the others I created so long ago.  Never actually put them away or otherwise 'cancelled' them.  They've always sat on the long artist's altar in the studio.  One day when I was walking past them I glanced in their direction and asked myself a question:

what if tarot cards are like flower essences in that those that interest you the most - the essences you feel you really need - are those you need to learn from in order to express slow but clear understanding that what you feel beyond words also has the capacity to express itself in spoken and written language? 

It would seem that, for me, "needing to learn from the most" relates quite tangibly to my ongoing creative lessons that all seem to boil down to learning how to complete things to my own satisfaction level.  In the past I've always believed if I put something aside I would pick it up again when I had the chops to complete my original idea in some form.  In this case I don't need to successfully paint a deck of cards that I actually use or share with others.  But I do think I owe it to myself to finish collaging the proto-deck and sketch-level paintings.

Have also been journaling of late about my seeming disconnect to collage more generally.  This led to an awareness that this unwelcome development first bloomed right around the time my style and construction objectives became some other previously unknown thing the more my rational mind imploded many times a day.  For all the same reasons so many other peoples' minds have been similarly imploding plus my kid being so ill.  The point is that the shifts in style are actually perfect for digging into the nuts and bolts of creating more collaged tarot card mock-ups.  Not to mention getting my desk set up for more  sketch and paint exploration. 

I seem to be coming back around to where I'd originally hoped to be by the end of February in terms of how I'm using studio space as well as my time within it.   Maximizing my creative output is the most reliable way I know to keep an effective counter-balance to the mayhem and escalating sense that all of life is becoming one harsh dividing line after the next. 

JusticeJustice


merging hemispheres/summer studio .1

Canopy252620

Back on a later May morning when the freshly unfurling spring canopy of hardwoods looked like the image above  J and I took a gorgeous drive to pick up our last bread order of the winter share season.  As we drove I noticed something with the eagle eye of one who was raised to see and swiftly respond to certain visual cues.   High on that list would be:

a cardboard box nestled just off the road very conspicuously labelled FREE. 

I made happy noises and talked to myself for a good 15 seconds during which J kept driving.  My internal joy stemmed from having not very successfully resigned myself to a summer season devoid of treasure hunting due to the [potentially permanent] closing of our town's freecycle shack at the dump.  I rapidly understood that, deprived of seasonal yard sale clutter busting options, any box by the road might contain more interesting pickin's than the usual sad college era mugs and commensurate coasters.

Somebody, I swiftly concluded, had gotten hunker-buggy and been unable to stop themselves from getting rid of stuff they never use/really don't like once and for all.  My first peek in the closest corner of box seemed to confirm my hunch:

Thekeys

I don't know what these keys were meant to decorate but as soon as I saw them I imagined them hanging right as they do above - on the southern corner of an enclosed space within the evolving sanctuary garden.  J really enjoys them.   We agree we wouldn't like them anywhere in the house.  But hanging from a post on a wire fence in the yard seems pretty close to perfect.

the wide shallow bowl below is (I think) 18 inches.  

Outsideofbowl But ... 'way before I got as far as seeing the keys or the above bowl I had the previous conglomeration of thoughts while J continued to drive until I suddenly found a collection of relatively cogent words. Hey!   There's stuff back there that I want!  Didn't you see it? I didn't actually know I wanted any of whatever was in the box but by this time strongly intuited it was likely.  My level of what he called 'imperious certainty' led J to conclude (and this was somewhat disconcerting for me to process after the fact) that we'd just passed a plant nursery of some kind.  What else [apparently. per my husband.] could possibly rouse me so?

I explained as briefly as possible.  Then he turned the car around while sharing the assumption I'd seen a nursery and couldn't just let us move on without stopping.   Is that what I'm normally like when we're out driving around in the non-pandemic reality??!?  To the point he'd think I'd also be that way withIN this reality????  The questions distracted me in a way that allowed me to keep the tightest lid possible on the ingrained Pearl-indoctrination that once you saw something FREE you had to be lightning fast before somebody else got to it first.  

Insideofbowl
  The first thing I saw beyond the keys was the bowl pictured inside and out above.  I thought, since I only touched it through gloves, and it was profoundly shiny in the bright morning sun, that it was metal rather than glass.  And my eye's mind saw holes drilled into parts of the edge and then attaching it somehow to the front of the potting shed.  Putting directly beneath it a birdbath and letting the blackberry canes I'd been planning to pull grow unchallenged all around it.  Hoping/intuiting this would keep the jays away from my tomatoes.

Alas it's undrillable.  This fact led to an awareness I intend to write about in more depth.  And from there  - all during the extended decontamination period we agreed mandatory because how do we know What Went On - I've had a series of increasingly impractical ideas of how to give this object a second life/designated purpose.  Followed by how to give it a single finite (but entirely appealing) purpose in another few days.

BrushmugAlso in the box - assorted glassware and the mug above.  Intuited it would be just right for holding my brushes here in the summer studio a/k/a our dining room.

  Didn't forget about attaining this stuff but got put-off and overwhelmed when I realized the big metallic disc was actually a glass bowl so shallow only a set-dresser (or possibly the exact right kind of instagram influencer) could love it. We had so many other things going on, after all!  so I left the box lurking in our garage until J started making noises about everyone doing their part to clear away some of the [admittedly out of control] clutter out there.  Earlier this week I washed everything dishwasher safe on the extended sanitizing function.  And then considered my pandemic-induced free stuff with a greater measure of focus earlier today.  

Newvignettedish
Understood straight along I'd use the not-my-style dish of some sort (at first I thought it was the lid of a particularly obnoxious butter dish) to hold stones and shells and crystals.  Had forgotten the simple enjoyment of arranging such display bowls.   And dallying among things brought to life by the addition of previously unknown things. This tableau will need some editing and additions but for today we're in prototype-land.

SandysglassesBecause I have zero clue what was in style last year-  or five or six or eighteen years ago - I did not understand at first that these shot glasses have bubbles trapped in the glass. Prior to going through the washing machine  I thought the bubbles and blurs were evidence of a DIY event gone bad.  Think their actuality is somewhat appealing and almost magical in nature.  Because. Soon after I set them out to consider how I might transform them into miniature containers filled with even smaller things I began to spontaneously narrate deep in my brain.  Just looking at the glasses there on the windowsill gave me a viable section of new skeleton territory for The Novel. The specific scene I envisioned in a whole cloth way gave me a much deeper way-in to a character who has always existed among this crew but she was never previously given her own narrative voice or even a shimmer of POV status.

CandlestickcomparisonI thought to compare and contrast the flower-shaped candle holder (there was a pair in the box) with a different glass holder that actively reflects my personal taste and style preference.    I thought I could use one of the pair as a marking tool on my gelli plate.  While taking the pic I realized I could fill the other with sand/dirt/very small pebbles and use it as an incense holder. 

Gravyboat

Have always loved gravy boats and if I were a completely different person I would have spent some period of time heretofore tra-la-la-ing my way around flea markets scooping up an entire lifetime in the making collection.  But I'm me and in that capacity have only three - each with strong family significance.    And now i have this one, too.  I like the lines of it a lot and am fully cognizant it may be a vase.  In which case for me it will always be thought of as the gravy boat vase.

Today I studied it just as it appears.  And asked it aloud what it might like to become.  And then actively imagined it replying

think of me as a vessel of cosmic good will.

I mean, sure.  Why not?  And I can't think of anything that personifies 'cosmic goodwill' more eloquently than a cluster of amethyst crystal clusters.   What comes next for this combo remains unclear.

Amesthystclusterwet

Oldnanadish

The blue dish above has a peak old Nana vibe for me.  I mean that in terms of Pearl and her friends and my adoption of Emrie's name for grace as a collective name for them.  Between now and the autumn season of ancestors I'm going to collect small notations concerning details I recall from the women who set the tone as I grew into my teenage years.  Then some type of ceremony I might be right on the brink of visualizing somewhat cogently.

who knows.

guess this is just my as upbeat as possible way of welcoming myself to our collective new third world summertime. think we already know it's gonna be a challenge of noise and happenstance.

Buttonuncertainty


first studio day since last post!

Chrysochollawetfrombowl

Since then I've been spending most of my waking time outside in the sun-struck gardens.   Temps have been high enough to make this space largely uninhabitable even in the productive phases of early and middle evening.   I've brought painting and stitching supplies downstairs to the dining room and more or less found storage space that's functional.  

As I sit here and compartmentalize how I've been using my energy I see that not a lot of active "official" creativity is in evidence.  But there's been a lot of gestation time related to both writing and Pearl's log cabin deconstruction.

FirstglimpseinsideThe day after my last post I followed through on removing the log cabin borders.  Cut solidly through all layers and then carefully looked inside.  Saw just enough to need to see more.  To know Pearl's life in the cloth trail of, well, threadcrumbs.

Stood in front of the studios big front window with a candle burning on the cleared coffee table workspace.  The work of literally cutting ties with what the object of quilt used to be was as energizing as it was meditative.  I was moved through and through with a sense of my grandmother's spirit urging me forward:  Know me.  Understand the larger context of what you recall being told of my life's history.

I cut each tie with mindful care.   A couple of times I heard myself saying aloud "I believe this belongs to neither of us".  There was a lot of sadness being released.  I suppose from me but mainly, as the doer, I was conscious of confirmation concerning my original hunch that Pearl made this quilt in large part to stay constructively occupied while she healed more subtle layers from her despair to suffer two miscarriages after moving to the house where I was raised.

 I told the floating sense of dissipating sadness that I understood.   And me too'd what remained as drifting residue until it too had dissipated.  By then all the physical thread ties were cut and I'd gently pulled them free.  I peeled aside the cotten sateen then flipped the quilt face-up and did the same for the piecework.  What remained as a batting was a layer of brown flannel that Pearl had pieced to size. 

FlannelbattingStaring at that line of double-threaded running stitches I saw how honestly I come by all the things that I do - and yet.  When it came to needlework Pearl hoped to turn me into the second coming of her husband's sister, for whom I'd been named.  Thus she stressed methodology and a layer of excellent execution she didn't ask of herself - at least under the duress of what I presume is an accurate interpretation of where her head and heart were at during the time of construction.

The quilt is entirely handpieced.  She sat with the comfort of cloth wherever she could find it and moved steadily forward one strip of self-made life at a time.   And I came to realize how my ongoing yearning to know more of her as a woman who survived a great deal and never failed to go to bat to me until she was too sick to bat for herself was being fulfilled in an unexpected and entirely tactile way.  I smiled and imagined gently washing the pieced layer of living soul's comfort.  Became focused on rinsing it after washing and then doing a second ceremonial renewal clearing with rosewater added to the rinse bowl. 

As groundcloths for the individually constructed 3.5 inch blocks Pearl used serviceable scraps from old clothes.  This was a whole ongoing category maintained by the two sisters.  When handmade cloths were too threadbare for other purposes they were still given due respect because parts could still be salvaged for their serviceable scraps bundle(s).   In this case the scrap groundcloths (here and there I found some pieced examples) were sometimes oversized and in other instances barely serviceable.  All of the backgrounds appear to have been scavenged from old clothes representing her youngest married life.  It's as far as I'm going to deconstruct her efforts. Am not going to attempt a cleaning of the top's outer layer but I'm going to continue clearing the entire be-ing of it of sadness and other energies for as long into this calendar year as the windows are consistently open to keep residue moving out and away.

BlockbackingsectionSome portions of the inner quilt are quilt clean, as directly above, and then uncomfortably soiled in others.  Am beginning to wonder if at least some of the most corrosive looking damage is actually accidental water spillage (or deliberately spewn florida water) damage from times over the years when I employed this quilt as an Ancestor altar cloth.  

I am still immensely surprised by how poorly her joined seam lines are worked.  It was another tangible clue that she was keeping her hands moving without a lot of mental and emotional hook-ups firing as they did in my years of knowing her. 

***

Concurrently I'm going to consider making low-loft patches I plan to apply to the surface of piecework. Have decided I do want to have this quilt contain elements of my direct matrilineage but I don't want to use the worn gauze of a garment I took-over from my mother after her death.  At which time I inherited unused yardage of the gauze.  Sold most of it to my friends and other friends of theirs in three yard lengths.  Then had to deal with the unanticipated dissonance of going through a few summer seasons of seeing various people I knew using it for summer wear of their own style. 

JoycegauzeI have two pieces of roughly the same size.  Ripped in half at two in the morning a few nights back because I realized I wanted a curtain in our front kitchen window that wasn't thrown together from an ancient sheet until I came up with something better.   And then belatedly realized this cloth was less than useless in filling the need at hand. Sure would have been quicker than what I'm very simply and slowly stitching by hand but this is a lot more satisfying. Every time I start to over-graze the not unrelated territories of civil unrest and bottomless corruption I put it down until my head's in a better place.

obviously enough that's why the time it's taking to complete the straight forward endeavor is way overdue even by super slow standards.  Didn't quite put that together until this moment.


one of Pearl's log cabin quilts

Pearlslogcabin

Hand pieced and tied baby quilt made by my grandmother Pearl during her reversal of fortunes/young mother/diligently frugal wife stage of life during the 30's.  She does not appear to have pre-sorted her scraps or limited the scraps' color/design nature or type of fabric.

Jude's focus on baby quilts and quilts still in their infant stage(s) has slowly pushed my mind into a state of active inspiration related to what's on hand and already of strong interest to me.  To the point where yesterday I planned to start deconstructing the quilt above.  Have been previously inclined to work with the blocks just as they are but separated from the heavy cotton sateen borders and backing.  The sateen used to be a not entirely unpleasant acid green that made the somewhat subdued color range of the quilt sing more prettily.   

Pearl had a knack for clashes that work.  I didn't realize that was something I came by honestly until this past weekend when I sat with this quilt on my lap and carefully studied each individual block.  I chose to spend the better part of an afternoon that way in honor of the many hundreds of afternoons I did not have a chance to spend with Pearl.   Despite all the more pressing and seemingly non-negotiable things that needed doing I did this instead.

zero regrets.  A much stronger and radiant heart center.

Over decades of me hanging this particular quilt on one indirectly lit wall or another the color has faded considerably and is now completely unpalatable to me.  I think because, before it faded, it used to hang on a wall where it should have looked smashing but it didn't.  At the time I thought that was the fault of the wallpaper in that particular apartment hallway.  But now I think it was the fault of non-existent light sources beyond recessed fluorescent light bars.   Since moving to mid-state places I've hung it in spots with enough light to properly showcase the way the bright green enlivened the smatterings of bright strips in the primarily muted tones of her scraps to hand.

I loved and admired my grandmother passionately for (a) making palatable and effective creative resolutions with whatever was right there in front of her.  and (b) the wisdom to understand the profound satisfaction (as well as self-sustainability) of wasting-not.

Quiltcu4

Unless she was making something special and tailored to specific tastes Pearl worked at making patches from the ubiquitous paper grocery bag not quite hidden beside her place at the dining room table.  By the time I came along she wasn't sewing as she once had.  The grocery bags were vintage scraps she hadn't gotten around to using.   She was very un-precious about her piece work.  She'd pick up one thing and then another and sew them together.  

In my youth I thought this was an example of how girls raised "in the old days" were taught domestic skills as a form of robotic conformity.  But now I see what's obvious and far-more likely.  She was selling hand pieced and tied quilts made from wool scraps by the time she was 11.  Undoubtedly she kept an ingrained eye on the clock to insure maximum return on her time and skill investment.

It's obvious to me this top was made from quilt blocks pieced in the moment and without a lot of pre-amble.  in terms of her go to underlying traditional pattern structuring - she focused a great deal the dark/light contrast design staple of successful patchwork quilts that are timeless in nature.  She also took care (AL. WAYS.) to space the red scraps evenly throughout the piecing.  That was one of her Things:  Red scraps were highly prized and a mandatory inclusion whenever possible -  but also she felt the color to be inherently tricky and thus subject to innumerable rules/taboos of her own device. 

The immediate present tense source of construction/design inspiration also comes from jude and her working methods that are equal parts construction and subtraction.  I don't generally have compulsions to stitch through layers that are barely existent but having spent some quality time with the Summer Bitch in my hands as I prepare for the coming season - I can definitely understand the appeal of such working.  So I got it in my head I would liberate the pieced blocks from the borders and backing - then tell some kind of relevant (appliqued and stitched) story upon them.

Thought I would indulge in a super-soft collaboration and stitch-in cuttings from a scrap jude sent a staggeringly long time ago.  a scrap from her grandmother's silk kimono.  I want to tell some kind of story to Pearl in these choices and what I make of them.  I guess it's kind of the inverse of what grace does with her blog - as a chronicle of self for Emrie to keep as providence wills.  I want to bypass time and sequencing all together.  Just showing my grandmother's spirit who I am and how much of her I carry within me.

Blockscu1

All these ideas and frames/spheres of influence & inspiration has been a nice thing to consider slowly as the weeks move closer to the season of life force's rapid growth.  In that time I've grown accustomed to handling this quilt as Pearl herself probably handled it.  Previously I've been careful with its heirloom nature.  In the past twenty years I've often kept it rolled within the top layer of a cedar chest full of family linens and needlework.  But now I've been carrying it around so that I can arrange it in different ways in different places.  Trying to learn what it wishes to become.

For starters I decided it wished to become two distinctly different things.  I envisioned working with the ground of pieced blocks.  Assumed the cut-off sections of the border would be repurposed.  Perhaps as a book cover for an album of family photos I'm amassing.  Thought it seemed like a summer project so I put it aside until last week.

Then, once I had it out and had solidified the practical steps of initial transmogrification something happened that's happened before.  I have never liked the green sateen finished treatment because it wasn't the right green to harmonize in my eye's mind. I think it would sing a lot more convincingly if she'd gone with a rich dark jade.  Think how the BLUE would have popped then - as well as the darker rusty reds and browns. Not to mention the glimmering radiance it would lend the whites and light pastels.

Indeed I have come to this moment of truth four or five times now.  I get exactly this far (my goal used to be to get one of those glass-topped table display cases for displaying and contemplating the deteriorating pieced blocks) and then I see the places with visible stitching lines and marvel at the knots of cording - all chosen and placed with my grandmother's hands.  And I just can't bring myself to undo the work.  So I thought I'd do what I can and in the process approach much bigger work.

Cabinblocks

I'm not going to undo all the ties and thus create sight-based cutting lines.  I'm going to cut away the sateen in strips just shy of the seam lines.  Will pick out those stitches and then see how much I can or cannot de-layer.  And I think questions to myself over and over such as:

Will I repair anything?  Or just let it be with some kind of very delicate binding and then whatever I make on the 'other side' If I decide to go all in on the symbolic family lineage I may use as a ground cloth a very well worn cotton gauze nightgown of my mother's.  It was floor length but after she died I cut it down to a short swingy sort of lounge top or a mini dress.  On the other hand - I'd just as soon keep her out of this.  So I could use some of the same fabric but crisp and new rather than worn thin.  There'd be more strength and body to it.  Hmmmmm.

 The blocks themselves are a trove of fabrics my grandmother used to outfit herself, my mother, and all the windows, tables, etc.  She also made men's dressing gowns and camp shirts for hunting excursions arranged and guided by my godfather.   I spent a bit of time really studying the blocks and touching all the fabrics.  Letting the sensitive edges of my finger tips linger over the confident knots she made without a single one slipping over time.   
Logcabincu2

For the center chimney squares Pearl used a shiny silky gold fabric.  I love the places that are worn-away.  I thought of here and there very lightly needleweaving.   I thought I might ask her questions I've so wished I could ask over the years.  stitch them here and there.  Or maybe I will just think the questions as a rolling mantra while I work on this in whatever capacity.

have wanted to do something of this sort for 46 years.

and in doing so grieve her death as I did not have the ability, on any level, to grieve at the time when she died.

So I am going to cut-away the faded green panels, leave the ties in place and dye the pieces in a mourning color - either deep purple or grey.  Perhaps a bit of both.  Have a strong hankering to do this with ink rather than dye.  Then I will piece them back together and include fabrics I have that I would like to be able to share with her.  To see what she might create from the scraps. 

And also I really need to speak a quiet language of sorrow that's gone unexpressed until now - that she didn't live long enough to see my ways of embracing the things she taught me that have become the most significant cornerstones of my life.

it's finally do-able.  this particular release & goodbye...

Things that fit.  One step at a time. 


the studio is morphing in its basic purpose/need equation

Studiowindow60920

Nearly everything plant related is out of the studio for the summer season.  This always opens up the space creatively as well as spatially.  I anticipate this yearly marker with a lot of building/gathering energy making itself known from mid-winter forward.  Never knowing for sure what form it's going to take but understanding it's always something meaningful creatively.

  What's happening in this particular season's iteration involves word-slinging in a capacity I've not seriously attempted in I don't even know how many years.  Every day for almost two weeks now I've spent the bulk of my studio time writing.  It seems the closest I can come to sorting out my own thoughts, feelings, and opinions about life as it's changed and continues to put everything plutonic and massively uncomfortable right in our faces is to run deep into the wild and wacky hills of fictionland.

it wasn't a decision - or even a reflex- so much as an inevitability.  The experience has been a collaborative effort (or so it seems) because I've been living with this imaginary group of people for a very long time.  Dee Mallon somewhat recently encouraged me to talk about this/them which I did after inwardly scoffing that I didn't 'need' such talking.  Then I scoffed while writing out some - not exactly pointless but ultimately known by me to be irrelevant - plot point noodlings in a couple warm up/character voice reconnection files. 

true story:  right at this point, of which she knew no details, Dee remarked that it seemed my characters might be getting restless.  and in response I had a sense of them  (the non-existent people in my head) collectively experiencing gratitude and relief to be understood.   I actively imagined the patriarch of this clan saying I've always liked that Dee.  She sees what's there.  Nutty af but totally run of the mill fiction writer stuff. 

considered - albeit belatedly -  what's involved with writing a novel.  Realized first and foremost I'd have to get and remain diligent about committing to words ONLY what I actively saw and felt to be truly The Story.  In relation to what I knew inside my head, sure, but also what I understood/saw/felt at the heart and gut level.

this development dovetailed with:

me reaching a specific but now indeterminate mentally & emotionally unacceptable point in the past 10 or 11 days when I abruptly opened my laptop and checked all the way out because by then I was as restless as my characters. 

So there's that and all it entails going on.  Have been also considering ways I might develop a sustainable system of organizing/clarifying my thoughts on a few key non-fictional/spiritual topics of interest to me.  With the ultimate goal being a series of essays or as I'm thinking of them relatable modular units.  At the moment most manifestation of said units is at a mind-map stage with the details on that level growing a lot more focused and coherent. The main point where non-fiction writing is concerned is that I'm thinking like a communicator.  Wasn't sure if I could (or wanted to) do that anymore.  But now I am - both sure and able.  am not at all sure why but it's what is happening.

***

 have also accessed another piece of automatic grief moon writing.  This grouping pertains to both my recently observed and internally experienced forms of white fragility.  It's fairly unusual for me to let myself sit in the parts I embody without reflexively working to shade, shape, and otherwise alter the overwhelming sense I'm being swallowed alive by ideas and certainties, expectations and unresolved needs that are not authentically my own.

and yet they are quite thickly pooled within the matrix of how that authenticity has learned to recognize and define its other-ness.  not just trigger but also cause.  that's a huge perceptual shift.  Not just trigger.  Also cause.  Puts a whole new spin on acts of self-sabotage and why/how they may occur specifically when and as they do.

***

moons of realizing we are nothing like we imagined.

moons of cherished narrative and our very best

myths of origin crashing with elegant finality.

moons of disavowed emotions squirming like snakes.

slithering throughout what we thought

we knew. believed in.

and felt to be of value within ourselves.

moons of clarity we never sought

and may never learn how to embrace.

moons that laugh shrilly

at the moments when we

most need peace shrieking

youfoolyoufoolyoufool