Inventory

This is "Pastorale" 2013.   25x13

I was so ambitious . It makes me smile to reflect that every day was and is, worth showing up for.

Needleturned, hand dyed vintage cloth.

Ready to go.
 

~

 

🌙 The day has walked its final mile,

Let the heart be still a while,

Breathe out the weight of all you’ve known,

And touch the peace you call your own.

(from the Monks)

Hemming

 

Does anyone else love the mindless, yet productive activity of hemming?  A true hem stitch is almost invisible from the outside. It was the one really useful skill I remember from Home Ec. We used a fine silk ribbon to finish the edge of the cloth before the actual turning and stitching. 

This is where I stop and wonder if I've told this story.

We were supposed to make a simple skirt with a zipper. Waistband, darts, plackets - all of it. I had a scant yard and a quarter of a fine, forest green wool. Leftovers from my Mom's wedding suit. She could have used a little help fitting the jacket. 

She kept the scraps like a true daughter of the Depression and was happy to give them to me.

There was just enough cloth to lay out and cut an straight skirt like this one, only well above the knee as it was the sixties and not the forties.

It came out perfect. Cute little matching green zipper under a placket, button and buttonhole, and a kick pleat and that fancy hemming.  

It looked like a lampshade because I made it in a size 4. It would have fit my Mom, but I was a size 14. 

The teacher didn't know whether to shit or go blind. She couldn't fault my workmanship, so she gave me a C for being a smartass.

She didn't think I would actually wear a skirt, did she? 

Anyway~

I pulled this piece of linen out of the wicker closet without a lot of intention. Then I looked at the date. March 28th, the next NoKings action will be on me before I know it. I need a new, vibrant banner and this cloth as background will be perfect.

Before anything else, I need to give it a quarter-inch hem on all four sides. This linen frays like it's fun.

The symbols might just come down to white, reflective paint if I can't find cloth with enough contrast. I'm thinking it through as I type this. (A white, rayon table cloth. Cut two and applique them on both sides?)

After a little futzing around and this cloth demanded PINS. The nerve that it would not just lay down and behave to my finger pressing. It's 36x60 and 192 inches of holy rolling nun's work lost its appeal, but a nice tight running stitch with King Tut cotton thread went like butter. 

Strange keepsakes we'll be leaving our grandchildren. 

A

She looked on

At the end of a strange day. Dusk falling, a deep peace in a very small cocoon. 

I had a follow-up today with the PC. I did myself an injury last week thinking I could hoist 20lb bags of birdseed and cat litter as if I was still twenty. 

The next day, all I could do was lay on the heating pad and find something to watch that would not provoke screaming, sneezing or laughter. All of those hurt too much. Morgan Freeman narrating Dinosaurs worked for me and Sophie. I read that cats see blue and yellow. This creature also made a gutteral mewing sound. She was spellbound. 

The doctor assessed a muscle sprain and made sad faces when I asked about heroin. She gave me a shot of Tordal, a powerful nsaid, and when I got home I slept the afternoon away. When I woke, I had no pain and went about my business. The conclusion of the long day had me just soaking up the unseasonable warmth outside until it was dark enough to bring Bailey inside. 
 

Moomba Masters broadcast live from Australia was a glitchy mess, but JP did well. Waterskiing on a river seems to be a different beast. He still revels in what he does.

While searching for the Bad Smell that usually means there's something DEAD in here, another box of pictures demanded attention.  

I might be ten or eleven. My sisters and brother in flannel, footed pj's and me still running the summer baby doll. This picture makes me want to cut my hair. 

The smell? A half cup of milk I had left on the desk beside the stitching chair. Second only to dead frogs.

The Shadow knows....

Colin continues his calling as Nature nurturer. No pictures, but yesterday,  I rousted him from a deep sleep because a squirrel had fallen into our pool and was unable to climb out. Rescue accomplished.

Then, while he was at work, this cardinal bonked her head on one of the big windows. He warmed and protected it for a bit, then watched it flit away.

Goodbyes

We took the show down yesterday morning. These pieces didn't come home with me.

Isn't that the goal of making art that you're willing to display? I feel like I've misplaced something important.

"As Yet Unbaptized" with its new owners. 

The All-Seeing Eye has a new home.

     

And the surprise, out of left field, 

"Night Gardener", was sold. This one really wrenches. When I look at the detail shots, I can remember laboring over each choice. Thinking through the story it was setting the scene for.

I had a hard time choosing which pieces to include in this show. After the fact, I realize that I based my choices on how deeply the work resonated with me. 

No thought at all that they might resonate with others.

Voicing these feelings. Even thinking about making art again, feels vapid and self-serving when half-way around the world, the US military is murdering children so we won't talk  about the fact that Trump is a treasonous, degenerate pedophile and is terrified of being exposed.

It' not working Shitweasel. 

Solutions

 It was bound to happen. I left the room and came back to the thread stash overturned. The mess was not photogenic so I sorted them. There was no way these were all going back in that box.

A solution.

I picked all the fat ones and set them aside. For whatever reason, my color eye just never chose them. 

The skinny skeins left in the box? Much loved favorites, some with only a yard or two left.  Summer will come.

In the meantime, these colors will be looking for a new home.