The Dixie Mink

right shoulder

From what I can tell, I coined the phrase "Dixie Mink" referring to an oversized, denim jacket usually the property of her old man, or boy toy.

It's coming up on time to give it a gentle soak and rinse inside out, line dry and tuck it away until the cool weather comes back.

But before then, I think I'm going to build some snakes down each sleeve from the heart to the cuff.  

right upper arm

left chest 

left upper sleeve

 

Pointillism

 

This took forever to finish. The design is by illustrator Roger Dean. I wish I hadn't been so set being true to his colors. Any interpretation on my part was due to being stuck with whatever colors DMC had in stores. I did it on an insane forty stitches to the inch canvas. 

Even so, I'll never stop being irked by the flattening of the circle in the lower right quadrant. 

Remember when the football player Rosey Grier revealed that real men did needlepoint? I taught Jim with yarn on a more forgiving size canvas and he duplicated a few album covers but lost interest once the details were accomplished. I'll look for them. We used to listen to music and stitch like a couple of old ladies. 

I remember an elementary school teacher speaking about pointillism. I started a project using dots of colored paper made with a hole puncher. Library paste, yummy. I was butting the tiny circles of paper up against each other and halfway through my design when I thought "Why can't they overlap like scales on a snake?? ....Project abandoned. 

Finished, but not out of my system. I may modify the original drawing and start over once I have a fresh pallet of colors. I really struggled to complete this with what I had on hand. Parts work for me and parts don't. 

A closer look here.

nest material

The OG cusspot was crafted when I was still working in the whine mine, in person. I remember being so satisfied with the shape and the speed at which it manifested. It's been hard at work in the traveling stitch bag for all these years catching the stuff I stopped throwing on the floor when I found bits of string in some cat hurk. I still don't know which hairy fool was dumb enough to swallow thread. 

This morning, it was so full I had to decant it. Amazing how much was crammed in there. Later I'll take it up to the grove and hang chunks in the crape myrtles for the birds to take as nesting material. 

Before I hear from any ornithological experts, there is no piece of thread longer than two inches, so no bluebirds will be garroting one another. I am that cheap. 

 

The deck is a mess, but the thyme, lavender and the dumpster rose bush made it through the winter.

Inventory

Some keep calendars. Some journal. This is the place&time marker that I look forward to each year. 

Instead of keeping this somewhere I can refer to it (as if) I'm going to cut out the samples and tape them to the outside of the jars. The names don't do a good job of conveying what's in those little pots of dust~

  

~ speaking of dust, I just made the mistake of sneezing in the vicinity of the open container of Raven. I'm only grateful I had my glasses on. I had to start this over as the whole sheet was contaminated with particles of dye. Cleaned my face, blew my nose, and brushed my teeth again. I'm afraid to look in the mirror~

I rarely use colors straight from the can, but I need to keep in mind:

 

BRONZE, BUTTERSCOTCH, AVOCADO and ROBINs EGG. How their voices are clear and strong. 

And that RAVEN can whisper.  

And Tangerine, Marigold, Golden & Bright Yellow can easily stand alone. 

There was also a pillowcase half full of undyed cloth and three yards of garment-weight linen landed on the doorstep. 

 

Signs (updated)

      🐲 Yes, the Dirty Threads & Hot Scraps Page is missing~

                                                        ~Will be until Summer checks in. 🐲

 Crazy, but true. I'm putting this and all stitching projects on hold until I can make more threads. I realized this morning that a big part of the slowdown is me staring at what's left of the stash and not finding what the piece needs at any given moment. I don't want to settle, so, a pause. 

Something I've noticed. I need a wider range of VALUES no matter what the hue. 

Does anybody have any strange questions regarding my process? I'm starting to put together a tutorial. 

Do I really have to do a history?       (Why not, lazy bitch. Maybe you won't forget something important.)

Right here I have to remember that Less is Often More.

                                    According to the editing team, I have a lot of other things to do.

Organically slow

 Why is it that the smallest hurts take longer to heal as we age? 

I did some lefting for a few hours here and there. My thumb is better. But placing and drawing needle and thread with your non-dominant hand does things to the brain. Found myself on some unexpected and revelatory thought trains. A mini acid trip. Spring (mental) cleaning. 

I remain a NYer at heart not trusting March for much. Here, I may still have a jump on some gardening. I have weeds and seeds and hope. 

(I forgot about the music. That's some sexy shit, eh?   "Night Lights" by Gerry Mulligan, 1961)

~caesura~

 

 

Just when I'm finding a rhythm outside the heaat space/shape, I tore my right thumbnail to the quick and cannot hold a needle. Typing reverts to hunt and peck.

So, a few days away. There are many other things. 

I found the perfect ampersand and the title of my next book. 

Maybe it will be stitched.

Note the changes in the pages bar. Scraps and threads are sold out for now. 

Bridge

 

Apologies up front to songwriter Amanda Mcbroom and Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp.

I don't know if stitching words on a pillow that will never leave your home means you owe someone something. 

How close is it to singing in the shower?

So here, as visual, only fractions of the whole. It's my font and stitch that I'm keeping my fingers on. Remembering to loosen up a bit. 

On cloth and on paper.

This project is taking on a life of its own.

New and Old

We scoured the yard for windfall sticks until I ran out of gas (pretty quickly). The wind was kicking up and I mentioned that it was good kite-flying weather. Charlie quickly produced a kite that had to be hatched out of its packaging and assembled. It flew! We got about fifteen minutes of launching and flying before the wind decided enough was enough. 

I wanted to stay outside and absorb a little more vitamin D so Charlie went inside for tools and quickly taught me how to lose at tic tac toe. Who knew the Corner Strategy?

I responded with my favorite, trapped at a desk time waster, the Knight's Move number maze. I drew him a ten by ten grid, explained the rules,  and he was off to the races with a vengeance! I can't remember seeing him so focused. 

Later the same day, he broke out his tablet and headphones and dove into his first audiobook. He was trying to work the puzzle at the same time as he was listening to Diary of a Wimpy Kid. It was a toss up, but you could have set his hair on fire and he might not have noticed. It was wonderful to behold so much focus on something that was not hand-held and full of batteries.

 An old friend reached out and we spent our quarterly hour and change on the phone catching up. She reminded me about a piece that she once admired. I knew exactly where to put my hands on it for a change. Dug it out of a pile of mostly finished what-nots and made sure it was worthy and ready. It is.

Also yesterday, the family in NY gathered to celebrate our Dad's birthday. Pop worked and drank at the Blazer Pub where he is still fondly remembered. I wish I could have been there.  

Again yesterday, an old friend let it be known that her husband had passed away. We had lost touch over the years. Just a click away, yet....

Connections. I think the ease of digital communication is overated. Too tenuous. 

fine focus

 

.

Carving out the internal shapes with color is intoxicating. The base is 40's era service weight linen. My name for it. Loomed at 27 inches wide. The thread count is tight. Mistakes will slap the eye so best to slow down and place the needle rather than stab with it. It's hard to resist the "punk, punk, punk". 

A drawing from my ancient history. In the inside cover of one of those little pink and black test prep books. Copied to tracing and graph paper and enlarged many times. Kept all these years and many iterations. 

It had to be my third year taking the course. The was something on the board, a bunch of lines and arrows. I was listening intently. My flare pen was on autopilot. 

 I believe the 66 I got on the final was a mercy grade. 

How have I not watched Vanilla Sky before now?