Hello Again

Has it been that long?
I'm still around.
There have been setbacks to pulling the home together as I wish.
But the thing with setbacks is they are very often totally beyond your control.
And that is fine. I keep trying. And then the dishwasher goes out.
Boxes are moving to storage, a bookcase went yesterday.
Little by little the place is getting to be how I want it.
I've been sewing a little. Easy stuff, no concentration required.
I find it relieves stress.

I like living by the beach.
Hearing the waves.
Watching the sea faring traffic, and the way their lights provide atmosphere at night.
There is ample light and fresh air, and what more could one ask.

Again

The beach house is calming, and I look out to sea water and curious little tug boats hauling around all manners of big ships. I feel blessed. In abundance.

I look around and there is everything that remains to make a home a home. Boxes to sort, items to put away. All manner of things to be cleaned, polished, washed, and deposited in a new home that will function with purpose.

This stage is the awful stage, the stage of dancing around boxes, and looking for five minutes for things that should be at hand. The frustration will subside, and once the utility items are put away, then it is time to frost the house with the beauty. To put up the pictures and the art and the quilts that make a home into something personal. To tell the story of a life, as an exhibition of fine art.

Summer

The summer is going well.

The boxes are being unpacked.

I see the sea everyday.

I've made one quilt block.

I'm not sure there is anything more eerie than being in an empty home on a nice day scrubbing in silence. Meditation is found in many ways, but manual labor seems the most instant for me now. I'm letting go of this house in the country. The yard has grown up and daisies speckle the field.

It is a morning for water skiing, and following that shiny black lab that wanders about on the beach all by itself, like it were just a step behind a ghost owner, or it had a mind of it's own that it couldn't make up, and it was freed to go about and snoop in seaweed filled corners and claw at the pebbles.

The beach life is much different. To me it truly feels like home. I love the privacy of space and the green of pasture; but my heart stops truly for the sea and shore. The roses were watered and they have bloomed with all this change, and I take that steadily to heart.

I'm still working on closing this chapter before I start another. It has worn me down: the cleaning, the closing up, the thinking about the "lasts". The last meal and the last . . .

I'm thankful for this time. For the sore muscles and the fatigue, and the feeling of satisfaction when a room is done and ready for someone else. I exist day to day now with just the basics, and nothing I really want to find yet packed up in a pyramid in the new place. My mere annoyance that I cannot see the sea from the kitchen because this marvel of boxes blocks the view.

I long for creative time and in the quiet moments I search for the creativity in repetitive tasks. I fear that the only creating is in the new cleanness and not making something from separate pieces. So in the now I will rise and go back to finish out the old life so I can get on with the new, I am just a crab after all leaving the old skin behind and letting my sadness go with it.

Harder Said Than Done

I am going through the withdrawal of not having a studio. It is almost packed and ready for arrival in a heated local, and I'm not sure how long it will wait to see the light of day again. So I am taking comfort in my bravado for now.

I'm not going to stop creating art, so I think for a bit it will just be downsized. Smaller pieces that lend to faster completion. I have paired down my studio to the basics and will use those at the new place, then I can visit storage as needed.

Someone told me that maybe for a while my studio wasn't supposed to be at my home. And I wonder about that comment and so many others that are brought into our lives by people, some close, and some seeming strangers. How does one take these messages and heed them, and yet know what is of importance and what is not?

What I've Been Up To Other Than Packing

This is an earlier shot of a rose planted. It's purple tiger, a long awaited find. I just this past weekend planted two others that sat on the porch for way too long, they are doing well, and one even has color on the bloom.

I find myself in a bread making phase? There is something about kneading. I really don't eat that much bread, although my husband does, but I have been making it, cooling, wrapping, and freezing. It so meditative and it transports me back in time. Plus I can use organic flours.

The packing is continuing, and one knows there are seriously going to move when the cookbooks are packed. I saved one new local one on the Skagit Valley, and I will work my way through the recipes in spare moments when I find my moving sickness approaching. Up until the last moment when it is time to go.

One puts so much care into creating a home. And then it is dismantled and wrapped, and almost like the bread, put into the freezer to open and enjoy some other time.

Ode To The Next Chapter

BLUE

You give your love and friendship unconditionally. You enjoy long, thoughtful conversations rich in philosophy and spirituality. You are very loyal and intuitive.

Find out your color at QuizMeme.com!

It's been a little time since I posted. Life has edged in and I feel that all the changes which surround me are good for the soul, and I breathe. Blue is definitely my favorite color, always has been. I like the colors of the sea's palette: blue, green, and all the soft shades in between that range to violet and grey and white.

Somehow moving brings up ideas of sufficiency, and my husband and I had a conversation about the idea of self-sufficiency and how perhaps it is a misnomer. I agree to an extent, but I am much more an advocate of people creating things with their own hands.

I think about the stuff in our lives, and I want to make sure I pack my boxes with only very important things.
~What are my favorites?
~What are the things I cannot live without?
~What are the things that wear me down and I need to quickly get rid of?
~What are the things that I don't want right now, but are important enough to keep?

These questions are spurred by the moving process yes. I am finding things that do not belong in my life anymore. Things that are space fillers that I do not love, but have acquired through chance and the freedom of passage for which free things boast. But they are not my favorites, and they surely will obscure the windows in the new place that I will live.

I am also finding objects which perhaps have not been given their "due" and I will arrange them in a more prominent place next time. There are things which I know will go to someone else whom will need them more or be able to re-purpose.

I have vision of simplicity, yes. I have visions of that palette of the sea, the type of home where the focus is out towards the horizon, and the objects which compose it aid the mind in reaching out for new things and accomplishments. So they must themselves speak of that.

We will be living by the sea for a year. It will be a change from the country, and the valiant mountain sunrises that I am use to now. I will miss the deer and the lengthy buttercups, and hanging the wash to flap in the hot sun.

The back of my mind had been filled with a picture, a picture which contains sunset and the movement of water. Had I been able to clear away the debris of life, I might have allowed this vision prominence, as it now seems strangely a flash of the future, although I never gave it it's "due" at the time.

So excuse my absence, anyone, if you are out there and you read such blatherings. I am filling the boxes right now, making my decisions, allowing my future in by the things I exclude. I want so much to not to let who I am and the choices I make be defined by my "stuff".

I have decided to pack much away, and spend a year living and writing overlooking the sea.

I am giving up a lot, namely space and my sewing studio, the china of course will go into storage the the collection of crystal will rest somewhere as well. I remain confident of being lead by an invisible hand. And there are places in life which call us forward, challenge us to find ourselves not in the echo, but in the sun as it rises anew.

Please check in, I might need support. The sewing machines will come, but no longer have a room of their own, and my fear is surely that they will come to rest in the corner during the very time which I deemed to create a portfolio. But book #2 needs to be completed also, and these character hang in my mind like a nagging wife raging with a teenager who doesn't want a curfew. And it has been too long since I could indulge them, enter a space, a calm frame, where I can give them life on the page, enter into their time and their space, and forge them onwards to deal with their own changes and passions.

Here I go, where I stop? Moving along is about being open to being moved along. To letting that inner self be a guide, and quieting that nagging devil on the shoulder that says, "You can't do that, but what about.....

Draw a new circle people, do it, or else all you will have is truly an echo.

Walk with me in a meadow clothed by God. Sense why your path is bathed in purple and flecks of little yellow droplets loaned to the grass by the sun. Wonder, just what is beyond this ridge, and further what becomes of one when they try to be carried by the sea?

It rained this morning, and the cows lumbered into the barn sogged through. They did not receive a nice warm mug of tea as myself while I watched them in their slow lugging motion, as I somehow thought of the power of a tug boat and farm animal at once.

Our world can make one into a pinwheel, and the breathe of our anxiety will whirl us around into places we have no wish to go, and far from the places we seek to discover. We still question the brad that marks our center and believe that the stem which supports us will never allow the contortion of the blades to unfurl.

I am saddened by the rush. The need for more and the demands for speed. There is a time for speed, but we forget that we need so little. Shoes and food and a few threads of clothes, and a chance to sit at our table and have a meal which hasn't touched a box, nor known a life on the shelf.

Feelings can be gentle in spirit, and they like to hid and be covered by the vices of the world, do they not? And what can we make of them, but that they are a big clue to our purpose, our work here on earth. And why can they become so dead on, if we wish to pull back the clutter?

The week is passing by, and I am longing for nothing. I see the richness contained in moments of trivial necessities. I see the care placed in unexpected places and often it's intent never revealed. I delight in the curiousness that makes each new day something to play with.





Week 2 quilt a long!

What's Happening in the Studio?

My first block for the Quilt a long 2 (unpressed)

For the quilt a long I have decided to pursue yellow and blue. I may come in a little shy on this neat yellow background, but I figure I might make it if I use another color for a border/do the square blocks in another similar background so I made the decision to just risk it and solve the problem if it is a problem later creatively.

As for the first quilt a long, I am awaiting the delivery of the fabric to use as the sashing. I cut up one, but the hubby didn't like it, and I agreed, and as my huge stash just didn't have anything (I can't believe it) I was justified in actually needing to order fabric!

For my sister in law I ordered some college fleece and coordinate and will do a fleece blanket pillow combo for her for graduation as she is off to Virginia.



On the docket right now

This has been providing challenge to me as an artist. I am slowly learning better technique. Tape is part of this improved skill, lots of tape. I ran out and had to by more. But it works great. I have taken to doing smaller sections at a time, using an X-acto knife, and building a section from the worktable, and then taping it up to the growing art piece on the wall. The quilting is going to really carry this piece, and I have to remind myself of that so often when I make color choices, and I start pondering what is really going to light up behind lots of thread work.

The completed dress! It is from an old Vogue I posted about before.

This was really more of a challenge for me to cut out than to sew. I did really well on the pleats in front. The bodice came out just a bit snug on me, but that is part of the pattern in a way. I need to wash it and remove all my sewing markings.


What a man!

I saw this guy and his dog when I was out hopping around town with my friend. She thought I was nuts, but the picture came out pretty good for through the windshield. Her thought was about the dog jumping out, but he looked like a pro rider to me.

Next of the agenda, I got some embroidery ideas up my sleeve which include a custom monogram, and a lot of unessecary beauty.

Fort S

Sometimes the studio feels about this big. And quilts are big things. They require space. As does the creation of projects. It's Friday and I'd like to say the studio was ready for some creating this weekend. It's well loved and well used, and I am convicting myself of piling.

The weather is suppose to be cruddy. So maybe I will hole up in there and spend and hour or two clearing out, and the rest of the time either machine quilting or working on my art quilt.

I'm guilty, I bought some new fabric at just stupid prices. I'm thinking of making lawn chair covers and matching pillows and so what if they fade. There is some striped stretch duck that I was thinking about for a trench?

Quote of the week:

Brick walls are there for a reason; they let us prove how badly we want things -

Photo Essay - Spring

"But there is a special place where good work is done, a place where elegance is spun out of snippets and scraps"

-from a greeting card by Whimble Designs



The work week closes and the weekend is set to begin. I have a new goal. So I must share. It is the kind of goal that perhaps makes no sense. And yet I have never lived my life to make sense. It involves expense, time, and effort, and could realistically have little financial reward. But aren't those always the best goals?

I've decided I'd like to try out the possibility of getting a degree in fiber arts. It's not a matter of can I, I know I can. I suppose it's more a matter of time and chance at this point. Will my local institution of learning have me? Will the department? I start work on building a portfolio up: novel number two is running along nicely, the roses are sprayed and the house is clean, and a mini adventure is planned for tonight.

I feel a period of resurgence on the horizion. Not just because it is Spring, and the sun has finally appeared after all the wet, but because I have delineated my next step. This has been something I have pondered for sometime. I have achieved a lot of the goals I have set for myself (degree, international travel, work, marriage, getting in shape), excepting the challenge of creating new goals, which I think I just attained.

I spoke of this goal to a new friend, and she maintained that, "That would keep you busy". I felt somewhat insulted, as she proclaimed that I was merely doing this to keep busy, when in reality, the one thing that I have never had a problem with was inventing things to do to maintain productivity. Was this out of envy or just plain dissmissal, I wonder? And why the harsh tone? I hope I never reach the point where I bash down a fancy.

So here we go, check back. I much prefered my husband's response to these outlandish dreams,
"I'll support you with what you want to do"

"But fiber art is also a visual language which helps us to grasp the world around us, to explore new ideas, and to define our sense of being"

-Polly Ullrich

The first day of Spring in the county brings the wind. The clouds can't decide what to do, and the sun likes to try and dry the vibrant grasses which play against the sunlight as it turns on an off again.

I've finished two garments this past month, and hopefully pictures will be posted soon. I have pinned a couple quilts, trying to finishing up some of the lingering objects in order to clear some room.

I cannot imagine "being" without color. It cheers and it energizes, and it can also subdue. I like the equation of color and language, and further that being can be captured by physical representations- a manifestation of soul.

While I was working on the hand in the picture above, I was rustling around different fabrics not at all satisfied with them, and in the process I lost the paper hand. Well, that increased frustration until I bent over and noticed another piece I had forgotten had fallen to the floor, and then as I stepped on a thread spool I lifted my foot in pain, only to burst out laughing, because there was the hand I had been looking for.

Fiber art is the visual language through which I can center myself and get into the mood of peace. I am then better able to see the world, even if by accident that is around me, and explore how my ideas can come into being in the world. Often when I step back, or return to a finished piece sometime later, that is when I find the being reflected back to me.

Brilliant

"I TRY TO MAKE THINGS IN AN ENVIRONMENT OF CONTROLLED LUNACY"
- Danny Mansmith

In the Dec 06 issue of Fiber Arts, (a little behind, I know) there is an inspiring article about Danny. I appreciated the found style of his workspace and his originality.

Part of the problem with fiber art is materials have to be very available to work with in a studio environment. This can lead easily to chaos.

An so Danny teaches me that it is o.k., it is part of the process. But he takes it a step further. Into his art. I always knew I was good at making things. And when I hear an artist like Danny talk about making things, in fact making things full time, I smile.

Been In The Studio

I am making some impressive progress on the art quilt on my design wall. It feels great, but something inside me all of a sudden screeches for traditional, - why? I found a new pattern I want to do also, doesn't that always happen when you dig in and work to finish one thing?

It is a blustery cold day in the Northwest. Perhaps that is best remedied by homemade brownies and soft music?

Tonight, no DVD's, I am going in the studio, and working on the art quilt, I have a bunch of pieces ready and waiting to be glued and stitched.

Peace

Doesn't It Though?

It is a beautiful house. The kind one works their life away for. The kind that has a jet tub that looks onto a fireplace, and almost as much garage space as house. I looked at it today and the story it told has a great message.
The husband lost his wife, he fled to the palm dessert. Everything is still on the walls, all the furniture in place. His wife died of cancer. Her touches are everywhere, they were married thirty years, no children. He still hasn't been able to pack her away, there are memories hidden in these things.

She liked roses. That is clear. The guest bedroom is done up in them. And interesting finds also, things which tell a story. She was able to blend formality with comfort, modernity with the past, and she must have been a wonderful person to create such a warm home.

I came away from this experience a whole lot wiser.

1) Having the house doesn't matter
2) Having the furntiure doesn't matter
3) Having the toys doesn't matter

All that matters is being together with the one you love.

I know this lesson well.

But sometimes in this modern greedy America, we all need reminders like this one.

Grow Up, What?

You Should Be an Artist

You are incredibly creative, spontaneous, and unique.No one can guess what you're going to do next, but it's usually something amazing.You can't deal with routine, rules, or structure. You're easily bored.As long as you are able to innovate and break the rules, you are extremely successful. You do best when you: - Can work by yourself- Can express your personality in your work You would also be a good journalist or actor.

What Should You Be When You Grow Up?

Some little girls know they want to be nurses or teachers, SAHM/W's, doctors or lawyers when they grow up. They have a firm handle on where they are intended to be and what they want to do in this world. This knowledge seems gifted heartly and lavishly upon these individuals.

What about people like me that don't really grow up in a sense? Sure we are responsible individuals but lacking in that divine ordinance so to speak.

How can we possible decide on one thing when there are so many good possibilites? And if one doesn't feel "called" to a certain field, how do you go about creating another route? I think the actor option is out because I hate the idea of fame (but would like the yacht). Although, I do think the connection a performer has with the audience is powerful. I think the reclusive artist picture is much more of a romantic domain.

I was reading yesterday about the idea of creating a lot of mistakes, or uglies, en route to the really good stuff. And maybe that is what trying is all about. Producing a lot of ugliness that somehow later looks really good? Our perspectives, our views change, we have distance and see through altered eyes? Or we just improve.

And how does one express personality through their work? Well with an artist, I suppose that is natural. In the written word, presumable - doing the dishses? Well, I guess there are ways to spice that up as well, soft music or techno and a few drops of grapefruit essential oil.

I like the idea of the impressionist that I just read about - Degas. He was a recluse in Paris. He lived in a quarter where all the art supply stores were located and a lot of the other painters lived. However that is not his genius. His genius was that he hired a housekeeper (He was a bachelor). My favorite work of his is Woman Ironing. I think about what keeps me from my own art and writing, and generally it is housework and homekeeping. So I put it out to the universe that in time, I will be like Degas, an employ a housekeeper so I can focus on art. Also that I should write about it as some textile art journalist extroadinare.

Some mornings I really like my hands warmed by the hot dishwater. Once I get into them anway. And the view of my roses from the kitchen window, still and bear in winter - formed alive in my imagination, is the only peace in the world I'd want to know.

Happy Birthday

I made it around again. I earned this year.

Some years define us so sharply

we become grooved

Pattern cannot tell me the movement of the sea

it hides amoungst the random

it does what it pleases

we look to it as proof of God

that he put us here as if to order something

we cannot touch

There is no room for saddness

ballons and flowers and little pieces of romance

each trip round we want to mark

Float along, my piece of drift

that you may never touch the same swath of sea

nor get too entagled in the banks

or beaten upon the shore.

Shift Gears Already

January is almost through, and I have been in a frenzy of cutting things out. They get cut out, put neatly in a bag, awaiting the seamstress in me to ignight. I like the feeling of having a project all ready to just sit down and sew. No back and forth between the cutting area and the machine. I must admit that while I may loose some of the initial flow or enthusiasm for the project, I am attracted to the compartmentalized idea of a garment all ready to be sewn. I ponder my motivation for all this cutting:

merely because I have the dining room table fully extended?

a response to the grey days of winter which is no doubt eased by bright fabric?

a way to feel like I have used my fabric without really?

So then, as the law of nature would have it, I pile up all these cutting for use, and then a friend throws a project my way. And who can refuse a pillowcase to attempt when the fabric and pillow come accompanied with a caddy full of stamps?

Do you get in creative modes? Cutting mode, sewing mode, studio reorganization mode (I have been stuck here for awhile before the current cutting mode, embroidering mode, and etc. ?

My Ugliest (ehm charming) Block Yet

Da Bloc

Up close and personal

Some of the 30's
Not enough contrast in the block I know! I just didn't have many reds so there you go.
Snow, rain, rain, snow, rain. Wind now! Hmm, I think I will have more tea. Feeling under the weather, but wanting to do something creative. Maybe it just all stems from the love of color and since color is on vacation where I live for the month of January, I have taken to wearing fuchsia, lime green, and all manner of bright colors which are in my closet. I think these quilt a long's could get a tad addictive. I am holding to my promise that the upcoming star one will be made from STASH ONLY!

Walking for Inspiration

No sewer can linger, back arched at a machine for too long. Walks are required for mediation and advanced thought, for the clearing out- enabling focus to spin around to what is important in one's art.
This weekend I did my block of the week, and was able to carve a linoleum block stamp. I hope to do some printing on fabric soon.
I have been wavering about a decision. I attend a weekly quilt group. I feel like I have given it a good go. However, due to some of the personalities in the group, I am feeling like I would like to step back from it. As of late, there has been gossiping about absent members, harsh and bossy directions and criticism, and just an atmosphere of intimidation and making people feel less than. This comes from the baby boomers in the group. The older ladies are very sweet. I think this group which I wanted to be a growing opportunity has degraded into making me worse at my craft.
So do I just quit? I want to. I can't abide these behaviors and I don't want to become like that. That said, I do enjoy the time just that one hour, to work. So I am thinking of starting a group myself.
In life and in art it takes courage to cut out what is not working. There is a difference surely between "pruning" and just "quitting" wouldn't you say?

Opinions Anyone

I've been away. I know, bad blogger. Sometimes I feel I would rather not post than post something I am not enthusiastic about. So I have about a yard and wanted to see if anyone had any ideas about which top I should make.

I didn't get my garment sewn that weekend, but I did get it cut out. I was gladly interrupted by rare sunshine, and so the opportunity to walk in the woods arrived.

This new year is going well. I think that my luck has improved somewhat. I am sticking with my whole foods diet, and my exercising.

I have started on my rack covers, hopefully pics will follow soon. Would you believe it possible for me to be out of navy sewing thread?

So what do you think, anyone still out there, which one would you make?

Flecks of Joy

As Friday draws to the lull in the afternoon, we all know the moment, where the week seems to stretch out with the anticipation of some time off, I take a break and marvel and just what a good week it has been. Visits with old and new friends, new fabric acquisitions, a trip to the big city, a movie in the evening, the better part of a morning spent in thought while doing the dishes.

My goal this weekend is to sew a garment. So if nothing comes up, I will do so. The house is caught up, and the laundry - I really should take a picture just to prove it. Soft piano plays in the background, and I have inspiration to write. I should get to the second novel waiting in the wings. The characters are probably starting to believe that I have forgotten their moments and emotions.

I'm thinking about how we all live our lives so differently. Everyone has their peculiarities which somehow fleck off onto everyone else- if only to take for in a passing thought up in the brain that is flushed out as soon and the chin darts to the other shoulder.

What is the message that you brought to someone today. And what was it they gave to you in return?

Puttering

The table and its supplies are the heart of the home and the expression of its highest attainment in finess of living, and for the sake of all who gather about it let if be as perfect as your means can buy.

I'm getting ready for a lovely Christmas party with my friends. Except the decorations are mostly put away. We will exchange gifts and laugh, and I am hoping that a special engagement will be announced. I need to buy a gift for a person, and the only thing I really know she likes is the color pink, so that will be the theme for my gift.

I puttered in the studio this weekend, basically this and that without really achieving that much, but puttering can be useful, just time spent at a slower speed in the presence of creative material. Why do we always think we have to accomplish so much? What is this American work ethic that stops us sometimes from just enjoying? Often times we are too tired, and walk in these rooms across America just to pet things and little dreams bubble up and take hold while we arrange cords and machines and plastic tubs full of possibilities.

The unruly weather of the weekend has past, and the sun shines in on my late paperwhite and the most sluggish amaryllis that I have yet known. House plants are getting repotted this week, and the silver will be shined and stayed next to the Federal Cobalt Platinum, and I might even splurge for some roses to arrange on my cobalt, white, and silver table. I take true joy in setting a fine table, and if that be a faint mark upon the world, then alas, I will make it true. There is an impact to beauty in our surroundings, give me the tired, overworked, overstressed young people, and just for a brief moment may these girls feel that they have walked into a fine hall and dined in excellence.

I have been ruminating in this new year, what kind of quilt do I want for my our bed? I am a lover of white on the bed, and yet I do desire a quilt, but want one that is simplistic and restful and also a showcase of fine workmanship. Any ideas out there for a white Cal King quilt????

Well the preparations will continue. I find soul in the helping; in the picking up and the putting away, in the shining and the buffing, in the making lists and following through, in the dusting and the polishing and the tidying. For all that is really left are memories. And how can I help if I want them to shine?