sunset stitch

 

        If the day has gone well, I indulge myself with a little stitching while the sun slips down through the trees. Today I listened to the last Braves game of the regular season. It was a nail-biter. They lost but if I was playing for a team who just clinched a playoff spot, I'd be hard-pressed to be going all out. Still, it was an exciting game. Listening to a baseball game on AM radio. Imagine that. How many people do you know still do that? I do. It's like a portal to the past. 

This, from a birthday card I sent. He won't mind.

~~But sometimes I fear the challenges we faced when we were growing up are so different from what today's young people are dealing with, that we can't step into each others' worlds, unless we, who have been there and done it,  pass off our experience as something magical, even when we know better.  

The choices remain the same: Be hopeful. Build a ladder and reach down. Stay in touch with those closest. Do right by others. Believe in Love.

So those of us who make stuff from almost nothing but sweat and blood - writers, musicians, artists - get to spread our reach a little bit farther than those who don't. 

It's important work we'll all do until they touch a match to our pyre. 

Play the music that tells the tale of who we are and why. 

Happy Birthday, halfway between yours and mine,

Deb

Stuffed cusspot

I spent this glorious morning updating the dirty threads inventory, here and here. 

Then this little devil crossed my radar.

Before one of the demon cat posse decides that this is a new toy, I've decided to let it out into the world of usefulness. $65 includes postage anywhere in the US.

There are four full skeins of Dirty Threads in the bottom. I have topped it off with hand-dyed scraps until it feels like a ripe avocado. You know the kind- use it today or tomorrow at the latest. I chose the scraps with an eye toward variety.

The cusspot itself is crocheted from Lily Sugar & Cream cotton thread and then hand-dyed with my mix of Procion MS dyes. Once you empty it out, it can be a great thread and scrap catcher.

You can put loose change in them. All manner of little things that shouldn't be left wandering around.

I have dipped them in a water and acrylic medium sauce, shaped them, and then allowed to dry hard.  Hung one up to be a birdnest but had no tenants. 

 

The original is now stuffed with cotton and catnip leaves and sewn shut. I think I want it back. And I still have a half cone of that thread just waiting for a frosty day.

Commiting

 

I cut this one roughly in half. There was too much going on to use it whole. Still not sure what direction the story will be taking. 

Hating some of it and being wonderstruck by other parts reminded me of the earliest stages of one of my favorite, most successful pieces, Blue Wave.

Created in a time of turmoil, I remember so many times when I'd pick it up to work on it and say "What the fuck?" as if elves came in at night and messed with it. I was ambivalent to the very end, and then I fell in love.  

I've been studying the process pictures and remembering how much depended on being open to changing directions, staying in the moment, and not settling for anything less than Wow with every session.  

Most importantly not allowing whole cloth to dictate the story. Others must come into play. 

I was in the stitching chair from 10 to noon waiting for the Xfinity guy to come and make a miracle or two and I've already messed up by spending too much time stitching on it when I haven't spent a minute on composition. 

Tiny Gingher storks to the rescue. 

Time to clear the design wall and dump over the River basket.

Shop keeping

Here and there. 

I've also done some over-dyeing today and will be adding new sets in a day or so.

The wax this time

Before anything else, I have to tell all of you constant readers that I finished reading Dee Mallon's novel yesterday and I was deeply and profoundly moved. 

Works of literary art are few and far between these days. I feel privileged to have seen this one come into its own. Congrats, Dee. Now, for wings to fly! 

~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~

There was no crone stirring a steaming vat over a fire, but there was a sweaty woman stooped over a kitchen sink, swearing every time the water - -from a boiling kettle -- got too hot even for gloves. 

If sweat and cursing is the magic ingredient, so be it. I had forgotten just how wild, beautiful, and unpredictable this process can be. 

A week ago I was hoping for a better camera. This week, I'm giving thanks for the old one still doing its best.

The linen fought the wax just a little. The quandary comes when you have to decide if you want to use the hard or soft side of the cloth. Crisp lines and sharp images or the slightly blurred ones that have their own little ghosts inside.

The wax hits hard and fast, sometimes preserving the existing color, sometimes not and there is no controlling it. Best you can hope for is to not get burned.

These pieces are large, the smallest up top is 41x29. Loomed vintage linen. Middleweight, a little slubby, like silk noil. 

All of them have been ironed which could be a sign that end times are nigh. 

This one is larger. I'm going to take it outside to get some overall shots.

All of these will be for sale, either whole or in pieces. That's up for discussion.

 

Raven dye is forgiven for being less than black. That was all on me but this stony mossness is all its own. I had forgotten how gorgeous cotton damask shines up when you iron it, giving up the ghosts of its original designs. This one is also large. Heading out to the park for a photo shoot, if the skies don't open up in sympathy.