Are our ideas out of the water? Or do they sit there until we have time to breathe, to bring them up above the surface and write them down, or begin to create them?
My personal time lately, which is very limited, is centered on building quadrants of the art quilt that is currently on my wall. Sometimes I want to flee from it and run scurrying to the hum of just fast and furiously stitching or strip piecing. Funny, the result of the art quilt is so much more satisfying, but sometimes I just need to put in some time with my machine humming so I can think.
I've been concentrating on the clothing part of the image, and I find I really have to stop and think about light and reflection, as it concerns the folds and drapes that a human body produces when clothed. I think of statues and sculptors, and marvel at how they achieved these affects, especially I ponder veils and chiffon brazing the human form.
I begin to get ahead of myself thinking, wow, I will need a bigger space to finish this piece. Then I remember the floor. Or, how freakin' long will the quilting take on this one - longer than the construction (because that is where the real image will come into it's depth and form)? And I forget to slow and just take rest in the cutting of one piece or the turning of the edges with the mini iron.
The Orcas visited the other weekend. I happened to have my tripod out with my camera taking pictures of friends. I flipped on my telephoto, and was able to capture the above photo, thinking "What are the chances?" The chances I would be set up, outside, that the weather would be still enough to hear the barrel like hollow of a resonate breath of a whale puncturing the calm.
They have to come to the surface for each new breath. They don't take them for granted, there is effort, they perhaps wonder if they will make it to the surface before their lungs burst?
O.k., maybe I'm wondering if I will make it to the completion of this piece? I see the vision in my head, I think out the how I want to do the quilting and thread detail. Maybe it's just the lack of personal time that makes the progress seem so slow? Although, if I think where I was a year ago, I feel pleased. And yes, there are just some visions that take way longer.
Perhaps these long journeys are the ones which I learn best. You have to reach for that next breath. Like the Orca, I can't take for granted that I will make it, and having to surface means that I can't see the full picture yet but just in my minds eye, and how will it appear when I finally reach the surface of the last stitch?
I think the best part of constructing an art quilt is watching how it changes with each addition, and centering your focus on just a small part of the larger dimension. Like the astronaut with many screws to remove to repair a component, who must not think about them all, about teetering in space, but concentrates fully on the success of each screw as it is turning, and then removed.
When they surface, the first breath of an Orca is deep and forceful. It inspires me to express my ideas in the same manner.
