gifts

I have been stalling posting about this gift, partly because I really wanted to photograph it outdoors on a warm sunny day - wishful thinking even here in Georgia. Secondly I want to write eloquently about the artist and her devotion to her family and her art but she does it so much better here.

I was gifted with this exquisite and exuberant crib quilt just by raising my hand and saying "ME" at the right time. She makes traditional,completely hand made quilts because she simply wants to. needs to.  Her reasons are complex and personal but like any artist, she wants her work out in the world, not folded up in the closet. Alhough it came to me untitled, I'm calling it "Serena's Pride".

the missing weekend

Argh...is it Monday already??  What became of my weekend? It was a blur because I spent the whole weekend in the company of cranky cats. Jim and Colin both had to work this weekend making Saturday and Sunday feel like any other week days. The big outing was a trip across town to Whole Foods where a party was going on..samples of everything under the sun around every corner, even wine.
 
So I got some reading done, cooking, cleaning, and stitching on a few different projects at once - the piece that's becoming the Monster dream and those aforementioned postcards. I decided three was plenty. It's clear to me that on any given day it's either the needle or the pen.

basking

"Now" by Clara Fialho"

Clara Fialho is a New York artist who makes magic on a grand scale, this one is 48"x60".
Nothing like starting a studio day with a little sunshine. thanks Clara!

I want to finish off those postcards  on the machine, but first, I have to find it under an avalanche of crapola but I'm not going to let housekeeping deter a little creative time. The other day a friend of ours who organizes estate sales gifted me with a large bag of really fine table linens, mosly vintage damask napkins. "Smallish" I sighed as I started going through them but after the wash and dry it occurred to me that lots of small things seamed together could create a grand grid, a starting place for whatever comes next.

I've been spending an hour or more each morning writing and it feels as if  I have been working my way down inside a nautilus shell, almost claustrophobic with the isolation of the activity. Writers  really can't just hang a work in progress on the design wall for all to have a look at; editing and rewriting are essential steps. It looks like you have to be a little bit crazy to be a writer and if you're not when you start, you probably will be once you get into it. Today I will get out of my own head for a while.

visiting the past

That's my copy of "Art & Fear" acting as backdrop for the first of what promises to be a slew of potato chips, I mean postcards.

There's a stack of books that need reading and re-reading and reams of research material, now that I stumbled across the online archives of the historical society of my first hometown, Armonk, NY.

I spent hours last night trying to find out if the crossing guard had a real heart attack after I threw myself under the oncoming bus (I really did misread her signals) or just a purple fit of fury after she dragged me out from under the front end of the bus, beat my four-year old ass and sent me on my way to school. Such were my days.

I am derailed and under the spell of the past.

postcards

I've been asked to make a fiber art postcard (just one?) and I'm tickled to have a needle and thread task. These are some that I made in past years on the machine.  After working on my series a 4"x6" canvas seems vast.