This won't be the first time I pulled a UFO from the basket and fiddled it into something with a backstory. A few of my more successful pieces were days away from an industrial shredder when I set them aside and came back with fresh eyes.
All I know right now is that I need something to hold on to and don't have the desire to start anything from scratch. This piece from sometime in the last five years has a little promise.
Of course it was the blue and gold that pulled me in first, but what was she trying to say with all the trixie little stitched passages? What was the tight focus about?
Was it language or placemaking?
I'm going to lean into mapping. I love maps. I used to have a glove box full of them. When I was young, a neighbor who worked for State Farm used to give out their annual road atlas. I used to read it like I was going somewhere and didn't want to be followed.
Then, once I got my licence, I found out that there were a lot of roads and places that didn't get onto the printed page.
My room was papered with maps pulled from the never ending stream of National Geographics I got from wherever they were dumped.
When I lived in Provincetown, I bought a stack of outdated nautical maps and eventually wallpapered the bathroom of my first solo apartment. Same colors as these only faded away to whispering.
I don't even have a project in mind and I took these two for my own. I looked at one or two unfinished things in the river basket and put them back. I am unsettled.
I'm still drawn to fierce colors, but I wear mostly denim or black or white. I dress like Salem. Dear old lady has been clingy with me and grumpy with the kittens who are both a year old now and don't cower when she or Bailey command the room.
The best part of these beautiful days is sitting outside with her and Bailey in the shade reading, pretending to write, talking on the phone, trying not to scroll mindlessly.
I did take the time to refresh my freak flag. This is Royal Plum by Overtone. After a month or so, it fades away through burgundy to pink. I want to try some other colors or do my whole head, but I'm just not feeling all that bold these days.
★🌑★
Talk about easily amused.
Someone, somewhere, who has Kindle Unlimited has found my book and for few days they have been working their way through the pages. It's been a long time since I've done any advertising or had any sales, so it was a lift to my writing spirit.
KDP authors (ugh, I know.- in thrall and bondage to 'Zon) can get near real time data when a KU subscriber reads their book. And yes, you read the money part right. We get a princely .0045 cent for each page read, by thier count. Sigh.
What I really want to do gather up some lawn chairs and stumps, arrange them around the fire pit out front and have live readings after dark. Bring your own beer and marshmallows. There will be a tip jar. It's enough.
This reader devoured books One and Two in four days and were 75 pages into the third when they stopped reading cold. I pulled up my copy to see what was happening and all I could think of was that I had freaked them out with a passage of rather shocking violence.
"Oh please, get past it," I muttered as I obsessively checked the page count almost hourly. The fact that this reader had a life and was busy did't matter. All I could think of was that the scene, which was pivotal, was a dismal failure. This was a major contributor the weeping and wailing.
Then, sometime last night, Dear Reader dove back in and the numbers started to climb. I was cheering them on and rereading my own book and I kept coming across things that I had forgotten. Things that worked well and surprised me.
Writing is NOT like riding a bike. You get rusty and getting back on is scary.
I'm out in the front yard soaking up the glory of one of the few days in Georgia without mosquitos. Somewhere nearby, jasmine is blooming.
I brought some of the new cloth out to photograph. If you zoom in you can catch the textures. The top is the bodice of a linen blouse. Under that, a square of the cotton gauze I was gifted. In places it resisted the dye, even though I scoured everything. More interesting textures. On the bottom, a piece of a vintage damask tablecloth. All of these will be cut or torn into smaller bits and go into the basket for scrap bags.
I posted the first of the 420's to the store this morning.
Bailey and Salem making sure I don't start chasing school buses when they rumble by. I wish the little ones could join us but there'd be no getting them back inside.
Difficult days happen. When and why, no telling. Sorrow, loneliness and tears. Lots of them.
And the universe answered. Out of the wild blue, one of Jim's nieces called to let me know she has a trove of old photos to send me. I will close the day with deep gratitude and ask for grace for those who need it.
Finally. I'm calling them the 420s which is usually a celebration, but I'm holding my party until there is really something to celebrate. Impeachment and indictment followed by incarceration will be a hat trick worth lighting up over!
The first batch took longer to dry because Bong decided that the empty bottom compartment of the mesh tower was a hiding place. The whole thing fell from the shower rod. I had to re arrange everything and hang it in my closet.
Outside on my deck would be nice but I need a new hook in the overhang - I like those windchimes right there. The new hook will have a loop of rope so I can reach it without help. There's always a way.
This morning, I discovered that I ordered the wrong size envelopes. Four skeins fit, but barely and not without a struggle.
A new technique for getting a fat card into a skinny envelope is waiting to be discovered. I think a small chute of parchment paper might be the answer.
Before I make up any more sets, does anyone have any preferences? All of something and none of the other?
Max blues? Greens galore?
My neighbor just gifted me a packet of brown-eyed Susan seeds. Even though we are well past Frost, I'm going to start them in little cups so I can put them in safer places than under the dye deck.
Before anything else, Thank You to Colin, who did all the stuff I can't anymore - set up the tent and table, hauled the hose and turned on the water. Got stuff down from the high places of storage.
The first Table mopper of the year is a fine linen bedsheet from Cuddledown. Instead of letting it hang down on all four sides of the table, I've folded it rather randomly to collect and record any spill, drips or draining. I also splashed a little magic sauce on it. No washing, I'm just going to fold it up and stow it with the rest of the equipment. Let it accumulate a whole season of color.
This happened by accident.
I wasn't going to use all the skeins at once but they slithered out of the bag together and plopped into the sauce.
Ready, boss. Proceed.
Oh well.
I need a pair of wooden tongs to slow me down. My gloves wee failing fast. Lesson: Kosher salt is harder on gloves than table salt.
I was regretting Pagoda & Valentine from the start.
Even under the shade of the tent, it was hot. Lunch and hydration.
The Goddess of Light demanded a sacrifice. My favorite cotton blouse caught a splash so I took it off and refreshed its colors. That's how I discovered the madness of the wrong red. But it's okay. Amendments happen.
The setting sun rolled over the days results and I just sat back and savored it. I'll start the washout tomorrow to proceed in slow small increments. It requires standing at a sink for a good bit, that half bent posture wears on me quickly. I will also be mindful that the little dose of Dragon fruit that I gave Pagoda has a bit of Demon Fuschia in it. I will be disposing of that color asap. Tired of it's wandering.
As much as green has been on my mind, this color crew has been getting into my eye at every turn.
This has been up on the wall over my head for some time now. I'm finally at a place where I want the words to come forward. Shadow work.
The kind that comes from needle and thread.
I could have started auditioning dark colors (shadows aren't all black) but, I didn't get sidetracked ....much.
Although they have recently asked people to stop sending gifts, I'm going to make a cloth and thread bundles in the colors that work for them. Repair stuff. Wait until they get back to Texas.
I made this two days ago, but didn't get a chance to make a meal from it until tonight. It's true what they say about leftover pasta. It really is better.
For the first time in memory, I pre-washed the cloth that I'll be dyeing. It's been in a plastic bag for over a year. I wan't even sure what was in that bag.
Hot water, bleach, a heavy thrashing.
One of the pieces is double cotton sheet. I'm guessing cotton because it has no label. A very unusual weight of cotton for bedding. Heavy, a gentle grain to it that I don't think will lay down to a hot iron. No. I'm not going off that deep end, but I like this cloth.
If you close your eyes and snap this sheet, you might think it was flannel.Finally a cloth with enough spine to make a robe. Now, all I need to find is a pattern.
The rest, an amazing array of natural weaves and textures. A drift of cotton lawn that I'm praying is 100% cotton, but could I get that lucky? Crinkly gauze, a few pieces of Irish double damask. Linen that might be flax.
I'll have to research the burn test for some of these. A mystery bag of cloth with almost no labels.
It's a warm slow day. The wind moving just enough to let you know it's there.
The players are all in camp! The late arrivals are some dazzlers, but it remains to be seen how well they get along with the others.
I'm only going to have 8 or 9 of these in the first outting - I only have that many of those little cheese shakers and, really, it's still all about Yellow, Cyan, Magenta, and Black. The permutations of same are where the mystery (and a little mastery) come in.
There WILL be an ebook coming out eventually. I already have years of material to draw from, but the plan is to work some some really gorgeous images for same.
My dmc thread order almost caused me a breakdown. There were a handful of deliveries while I was at Charlie's. One package was left with the neighbors who were kind enough to bring it to the doorstep. (Also quite likely that no one in that household wears 42DD)
Colin piled up the packages on a side table as usual. When it came time to bring the box with the cones of thread up to the studio, it was no where to be found.
I SWORE I saw a box big enough to hold two cones of thread on the table. Positive to the point that I accused the Basement Troll of attempting to gaslight me. (The Basement Troll is a story for another time).
Colin remembers that the box barely fit into our mailbox. From there? He had a lot on his plate with work and opening our pool, so I decided to bring myself back down from Mt. Rage and Make Your Hair Fall Our, and treat this with some "Que Sera, Sera". Better for both of us.
After a 24 hour cool down, he made another search of his car and found the package.
I got comfortable and got out the yardstick for the annual ritual - the Measuring of the Skein - confirming that forty turns around this particular glass equals 12 yards, as if something about the physics of the glass or the thread might have changed since last dyefest.
My Luminarc tumblers. I got them as a wedding gift so long ago and still have three shorties and three tall ones. Just a tool that I favor.
It's heavy and slightly tapered which makes slipping the thread off the bottom easy and snag free. It holds a full can of gingerale and my left fist fits in it perfectly.
I snip a five inch piece of thread and tie a double knot (not too tight!) where the beginning and the end cross over each other.
I hope my descriptions are adequate. There is no way I could film and do at the same time and keep from babbling.
I love these Japanese snips so much even though they cost me blood on a regular basis.
I had a wonderful time away. I hadn't seen Charlie in three weeks which might be the longest we've been apart since he was six weeks old.
They got Nibbler a kitten so she will remember she is a cat and not an evil spirit from the Netherworld. Milo, who is as sweet as honey, is bringing her around.
The chase and tag games go on with Nibbler dominating but the vet says that Milo is going to be a big tiger once grown. Nibble remains freakishly small for a year and a half old.
If you can't get enough kid and kitten, I'll be putting more pictures over at Eyes Wide.
Both of the felines wanted to share my bed because that's not something the family does. I spoiled them and didn't get much rest.
Although properly weaned, this sleepy head was rooting around under my chin with little kissy noises when it occurred to me he was looking for a nipple.
I spent easter Sunday alone and watched Nuremburg. Rami Malek was terrible. Russell Crowe terrifying.
Every American should watch it to remember that Nazis are not just disagreeable punks.
I'll be away a few days. Doing my best to avoid social media. This--these places, our stories--doesn't count.
The other night, I was a half gummy lit and wrote for about two hours. Here. Not for my book. I had things to say, but in the morning it was all gone. In herba, veritas.
It always sneaks up on me and pounces. The trees are splashing pollen everywhere. The first crop of squirrels are out on the roads being stupid, and my indoor kitties are losing their minds staring out the window at the impudence of birds picking snacks off the screens.
I need to cut these out and glue them to the lids of the dye powder tubs. Looking at the names, when I'm in the middle of mixing never seems to work well. What will cool or warm which. Or not.
I've ordered some blues: Electric, Sapphire, Robins Egg, Intense, Plum, Hyacinth and Cotton Candy for fun.
That should do it.
I have to DO SOMETHING.
Summer will be on us like a starving panther on a hog. (That's a southern thing). The great Pool Clean out is underway. Hope the infrastructure and plumbing give us one more year.
I want to sit under the tent on the dye deck and listen to jazz while I sweat and invent some new colors. Hope for an afternoon thundershower to get things blessed and rinsed. Cherries, plums, gingersnaps and ginger ale on hand. Somebody might be grilling. Not I.
I want to sit in the yard after dusk and watch the fireflies courting. Have a touch of herb to keep the skeeters high. Come in and put The Madison on. It's quiet remarkable, for TV.
Why is it that none of these things seem right or fair as long as that bloated, orange cancer is killing our country? It's a comfort to know I'm not the only one working roots for a coup.
The time has finally come to take control of The Island. Personally, I don't mind this view, but from the street it looks awful. Abandoned. I found a guy who came with a bush hog and promised me "scorched earth," and he delivered, shredding everything - privet, briars, poke, ivy and creepers --on the spot.
Now Colin is in the process of raking up all the shreds. After a few days of drying the green stuff, we will have a small bonfire, legal here until the end of April, and a hose standing right by. I bought an herbicide to deal with any regrowth and the English Ivy will be girdled off the trees. Once we get some kind of consistent ground cover going, I'll think about planting something to screen that red door.
