Tuning

 

A glimpse inside the sausage factory

 

Milly has claimed the sewing chair for the moment. At least she's content to watch - no kittenish interference or playing from this one. She conserves her energy in an admirably human fashion. 

The studio is mostly reconfigured, but I have orders to fill. 

The scrap basket was looking a little anemic when I spied a stack of really colorful cottons on the shelf. I was well into ripping into them when I realized that this was the Kona cotton that I bought and dyed to make a couple of summer shifts for myself. Last summer.  Oh well. Nothing like a change of plans. If I had made a couple of schmattas no one would ever see all this glorious cloth. Now it's going to be in the world. 

If you buy a scrap bundle, a suggestion. Fill a big bowl or the bathroom sink with warm water and drop or two of Dawn. Give it all a gentle wash and rinse. There might be a tiny bit of pink in the water but it won't stick to anything non-organic. Finger-press the bits out to dry flat on an old towel. You might even get crazy and iron them! 

painting to move the needle

 

 

Some time ago, years now, I bought some stuff to paint with. The intention was to paint directly on unprimed canvas. Straight to the cloth.

The project got derailed and the tools tucked deep away.

During the reorganization, I found them. Golden color concentrates. Medium and heavy gels, matte and gloss.

No canvas around, so 18x24 inch multimedia paper. Heavy. A step away from card stock. Brushes that I have had since the late '60s. I never went cheap on paintbrushes.

Once the pallet is set up, I'm off to the races. No plan, no direction, and sure enough, no backing out. Every stroke a commitment. 

And it's messy AF. I'd forgotten about that part. Clean-up time

I have them both up on the blank wall in the studio. Tomorrow I'll know how they stand up to the light of day. Think about how this fits into my profound lack of plans.

 

The morning after

January 1. 6:49 am. 

This is fog and smoke from the ton or two of explosives set off within a mile of my house. I don't want to call them fireworks because there's rarely anything visible. They just don't get high enough. But the noise! Poor Bailey spent the night under the bed. The girls were unphased.  There was a surprising lack of gunfire throughout the evening. 

It was almost 8:30 before the day could show its face.

And here's mine. Unfiltered and not-yet-caffeinated. Gimme a minute.

A year of unexpected grace

 

2022 was very hard on people in subtle ways. 

There was no pre-pandemic normal to go back to.

People craved escape, in any form. Some creators came through in astonishing style.

Some of us makers muddled along.

Little birds grew strong wings. Families found new nests. May 2023 be gentle on us all.