Elements became story

(I was plotting even back then. This post from February 2012)


"Grand Rêver"  2012

It's been pinned up to the design wall where I can see it while nothing much is in my head.

It provokes stories.
How words become sentences and sentences take on life when they gather to become story.

( turns out this is my 1400th post. Sheesh, what wind.  I could have had that bloody novel in the can by now!)

consumerism Tuesday

I'm off to the post office with Fat Baggie orders picked from this wildly bunch. I dug a big tote from deep in the back of the closet and uncovered some wild and dangerous characters.  There are three bags available and a whole new batch of screamin' dirty threads getting ready to post.

in the works

Despite a heavy round of what's now called "adulting" I prepped and dyed a new batch of dirty threads and while I was slinging crystals, I put this sleeveless linen blouse down on the deck boards to catch the overspray and scatter.  They have all been batching a while now.

I'm thinking through how I want to handle dyeing shirts. This is a test.


These are two views of the table cover that I've been using all season. It's a flannel fitted shit that probably has a high percentage of synthetic in it. I don't expect it to hold on to these colors. Sad that.

a double header

I had a Charlie Sunday and Monday this week. Just enough hours both days for us to have all the fun and none of the "gotta" stuff. A Nana's delight. Early, early on Sunday got my day in gear instead of languishing and today, a lunch & park date.  I'm a lucky gal.

He was not amused about my choice in music in his Dad's car but driving it was work enough for me to be fooling with the radio so I shut it off and we just talked. Conversation with a three-year-old is an adventure unto itself.

Being useful

I love reading about artists using and enjoying my raw materials. Thanks, Grace, Joanne, Hazel and Liz for loving my Dirty Thread.

the big gift

a big box filled with wonder turned up the other day. shirts and pants in the size and style that I like best, in cloth I've rarely worn. certainly never appreciated. linen and cotton/linen and every piece a blank canvas waiting for....

plum, daffodil, robins egg blue, golden brown, gun metal, raven

in addition to all the others

and the vintage flatwork...amazing. Many thanks, JS. Now all I need is for summer to hang on just a little longer.

.

I'll leave just this one white.

almost showtime

Getting these and seven others ready for a gallery show ..delivery Sunday.

Under the gun much?

I forgot how pesky the detail of backing small hand-stitched pieced can be..thanks Joanne, for a trove of the perfect sized napkins to close the deal.


And thanks, Colin, for the orientation advice. I never know which end is up.

False Fall (I hope)

I call him "Git 'Er Done"...by Jude Hill and I have to take that direction.


It's dark, rainy and cool here. Snoozing in weather. Reading weather. The pool is finally recovered from a bout of "vacation neglect" algae, but by the time the sun finds time for us again, I fear the water is going to be pretty chilly.

I'm finding I'm not as Atlantic Ocean hardy as I used to be. Numb is okay, but not when it persists for an hour after you get out. I blame air conditioning.


I'm in the fiber studio today making a bunch of pieces ready for a small gallery show coming up in September.



There's always the one thing that you can't put your hands on and, not finding it will drive you to distraction (a short hop for me) until you find it.
Nonetheless, I'll git 'er done.

The Wheel

It's been a fraught, lost weekend. Last post I was crowing about having salvaged a batch of rags from a bad dye-job. Hah! Such Hubris! Today it's back to the business of making a living, caring for family and self and worrying about things that I don't have a lot of influence over. (Note to self, I used the word "influence" rather than "control").

I have family and friends in the wake of Hurricane Harvey. All of us are in the wake of the subhuman at the helm of our country. We all do what we can.



Yesterday with Charlie was a great respite from all these cares and concerns, even if I am paying the price today. Getting him and two other stray toddlers in and out of those bucket swings and keeping them going has me longing to be just flat on my back studying the ceiling, but I know that ceiling too well and there is shit that has to get done.

Charlie and his Hero!

Down demon pink!

Curry, bronze, daffodil, and peacock got the job done. Fuschia rescue a success.

a day outside of time

It's been a long difficult week for a lot of people close to me. They said the eclipse was going to rock boats. No shit.

Friday is my one day off from the paying job with no outside obligations. I spent most of at a much-needed writers day with part of my crit group. The bitch-kitty scene that's been defying me for a month (as I putz about around it) fell in flames and rose from the ashes reborn in glory even as T. and I solved the problems of the world. From the writing blog a month ago:

Revision

Is like shaving off prison tattoos a square inch at a time.

So far it works like this. I'll read the last scene that WORKED and then the new victim,
the next one and the one that follows it. If it fails on enough fronts - and I've had more than
half do just that, I brood over the truth of it. The five 'whys'.

Then I start the autopsy. Print and then redact - just like in the movies- with the broad,
 black marker anything that's crap. Anything that's not a jewel.

Then I brood on it some more and find a different way to set some, not all of those jewels.
A setting that not only makes the scene worthwhile but nods to the one before it
sets up the next. Dominos dipped in nitro.