Tag Archives: emerging

A Stink Bug Moment

21 Aug

I’m sitting here watching a stink bug crawl across the window screen.  It grabbed my attention just as I was thinking about time.  The different qualities of time.   Times that speed by.  Times that don’t.   Thinking how months and years seem to be moving faster.  Remembering summer days as a kid.  Months between one school year ending and another beginning stretching on forever.  And so I’m watching this stink bug. It’s not in much of a hurry but it clearly has something to teach me.   My scalp is starting to do the funny thing it does when this sort of thing happens.  I have a hunch what this demo is about but I’m going to really sit with this one because I sense that it is important.  And I don’t want to trivialize the message.

stink bug

But besides just the quality of time’s speed, I’ve also been thinking about its structure. And before I go any further, I need to clarify this. When I say “thinking,” I don’t mean I sit around for hours or even minutes at a time really pondering time. I simply mean thoughts about time run across the ticker tape periodically. There they are, and then they’re gone. But still, time has been somewhat of a theme lately. And about the structure of time, I’ve been wondering–is it linear? is it circular? is it some other structure outside of our habituated 3-dimensional perspective? I think so. Yes. I think it is some thing else. But like the stink bug’s message, it eludes me. Teases me. Feathers my nose. Does that thing to my scalp.

So yes, I was surprised to see it’s been two weeks since I last posted. Two weeks of intense shepherding of the grandchild variety. All summer, actually, but much more so this past bit. And today school started. So.

This is what I want to show. The morphing of cloth. A project that started out with potential. Earth tones from black walnut and the pinks– Amma roses. Maybe I should have stopped there. Maybe it was finished. But it didn’t feel like it was. and then…heart with filter Then it stalled out. Completely. And waited and waited and waited. Until a Rumi quote came to me. I wasn’t looking for it but clearly needed to have it. And it seemed the cloth needed it as well.

Then this:back to sleep
and a step is missing. The way the cloth looked before the entire thing went back into the black walnut vat. That’s the missing step. And the black walnut bath–made the words almost impossible to read. Darkened things up way more than I wanted. It seemed unredeemable. Ruined. The cloth barely escaped scissors several times. Shuffled around the work room looking for a landing spot and ended up wadded in the corner. Very sad. Both of us.

Segue. I’ve mentioned Jude and spiritcloth frequently. No words really to describe the experience of being her student. And now her focus has shifted again to color and I have been inspired to play along–experimenting, exercising. With colors other than the “saddened” ones I get from backyard dyeing. I love those muted tones, yes, but sometimes nothing else will do but pure, vibrant color. So several samplers for sampler’s sake color chart

and then this:breeze at dawn

In person it’s better. The walnut stain is more pronounced. The colors are more vivid. The purple is really intense–not blue. But overall, this is what happened. The story of one cloth’s journey. It reminds me of my own life. The changes. A consistent underlying direction perhaps–but the unimaginable changes. And I think it’s o.k.

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A Crone’s Story: On coming full circle

29 Jun

First there was this–moon sketching. Two eyes, wide open, witnessing acceleration. Expansion.

seeing at the speed of light

… a visual portal for seeing what now seems very obvious. Upon reflection and a week of sitting and holding the feeling that some thing was not quite right. We were missing some thing–Crone and I. And yesterday, in a moment of silence, we heard as if with one ear, this: “Transcending difficult situations is only one part of what you will do. But ‘transcending’ does NOT mean cutting yourself off from your ground, from your roots, from your past. You may try to do that but it’s impossible, for one thing, and it’s counter productive for another.”

What? What? We sat together with this, Crone and I. She was the first to nod. Yes. So clear now. what were we thinking when we slashed off the bottom part of the cloth?cronecomplete

Simply a knee jerk reaction that provided a much-needed sense of space. A Gap.

True. The foundation of her life WAS complex. It was. And there were parts that felt scary and confusing. But they were hers and by accepting them back, she reclaimed some thing.

So. A bit of space was added. A blue strip provided perspective–space–and the cloth grew a bit and was whole again. And funny now how the red puppy, fangs and all, seems so benign. To think that a week ago it was all so overwhelming. But the red thread–the life force–remains entact. And Crone marvels at its ability to stretch and accommodate her need to fly.fearless flight1

And because they are also part of this story, part of the nudge that opened our ears, I want to thank Mo, Dee and Julie for showing interest in red puppy. And I want to thank Grace, who said some time ago, “Just stand and face.” And of course, thank you, my Crone, for listening.

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Evolution

4 Mar

Sitting in stillness this morning. Then noticing. The play of light and shadow. How both are essential. How one part will either recede or move forward, wholly dependent on where I place my attention. homer Yet each part of this lightness/darkness image requiring the other.

At a workshop this weekend I  experienced what I can only call a fundamental shift in the arrangement of pieces of self–the experience of coming together of disparate parts. A melding. Into one.  And I’m calling this evolution because it was an organic experience–  an adjustment, adaptation–natural selection.

For ever, my m.o. has revolved around “getting rid of.” Banning, removing, resisting,  purging the disparate pieces of self that seemed problematic.  This “getting rid of” model was a futile Promethean endeavor–exhausting and depleting.  So this weekend’s epiphany –that the getting rid of paradigm simply DOES NOT work for me–was both profound and a huge relief.    And the experience itself –well really words diminish it.  But put simply,  all that was required was a “welcoming” attitude. An embracing. A shifting–a making room for– a scooting over to offer ALL these pieces of SELF a place at the table.

And as a post script: One of the guests at the table is voicing doubt with this post. Wanting to be sure I clarify something–that being this: the welcoming is on-going. Never finished. Sometimes guests leave and return. This shift is only that–an opening, an awareness–and it will need be applied to almost each moment, each day, from here — to here on.

And as it happens so often,  again  the metaphor of whole cloth.  The integration of disparate parts and scraps that eventually merge into a unified, strong fabric.  Here is the continued evolution of Primordial Soup.  More kantha stitches completed on the tree curtain.  More on the way.  The addition of a few more thread bumps in the soup itself.  More on the way.soup2

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Primordial Soup

24 Feb

There’s a certain kind of day in early early spring–a day like today–when it’s absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to stay out of the dirt. The feeling is ancient, primordial. The need. To feel the cold soil. To smell the earth. To cradle seeds in the palm before sowing.  I’m in a different planting zone now, here in NC, but I trust that instinct that arises and says NOW. Do this NOW. And so today mulch was pulled back and beet and spinach seeds entered the earth.  And the snow peas are UP.   Today.  The beginning of another growing season.

And I’ve started a new piece. Wanting to use some of the fabric I dyed last summer and fall.  Fabrics are mostly linen–except for the found cotton used on the birds–and dyes were from pomegranate/indigo/rust/black walnut–and I think that’s it.  My record keeping is non-existent.  I keep telling myself I’ll remember what I used, what I did–ha.  Maybe this year I’ll write stuff down?   So anyway.  Today.  Another beginning.    No idea where it’s going but I’m calling it Primordial Soup.

ps2

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January Stirrings

23 Jan

There’s a stirring that starts this time of year.  It’s predictable and welcome.  The urge to get ready for . . . .  Some thing.  Planting.  Discovery.  Creating.  Growing. seeds It’s a stirring connected with a visceral need for action.  And except for vegetable/garden plans, everything else that arises during this stirring season is generally  totally UN scripted.  This year the un known becomes a need to organize.  workspaceTo make room for…to utilize space more…to work better with what is, rather than wishing for something else.  In this case, a bigger studio.  What I have is tiny– barely 8 x 10.  workspace 2 And there’s so much Stuff.  Right now it’s all over this tiny house.  Or it was.  Now it’s moving back to its own room and by this evening, when the additional shelves arrive, the table will be totally clear.  A blank palette.  Space.    After storing cloth in plastic bins stacked ceiling-high, it became clear that shelving would be better.  More efficient.   Would allow the cloth to be seen.  And so the first unit of shelving went in quickly and easily and I’m loving the floor space it opened up.  This evening UPS should be delivering two more smaller units.  To house the supplies that are  now stacked on my work table.  Tomorrow morning I think I’ll feel like this–coming out of a long winter’s hibernation:

Emerging

Emerging

And it doesn’t escape me that I actually have More space than many.  And it doesn’t escape me that Space is precious and valuable–to be honored and nurtured.  Moving into the smaller footprint.  Embracing less.

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