Mixing in the world

 

Debra Steinmann

     

As soon as I found out that five of my pieces would be included in "The Material is the Message" I resolved that I would not be attending the opening. The list of reasons was long and boring. Then I remembered. 

This is your new life. Live it. 

I had no "nice" clothes. Turned them all back to Goodwill. Comfort was key. My favorite Led Zip t-shirt and khaki clamdiggers were clean and presentable. Hair, clean and bunned up. Purple cane ready to rock. 

I drove into the heart of Atlanta under a raging thunderstorm--the order of every afternoon these days-- and let the phone talk me through the maze Inside the Perimeter to my friend's home. Left my car and rode with her because parking would be limited.

Even though we were prompt, the place was buzzing with people. So many people. We all seemed dazzled to be out.  A reporter from some local cultural media outlet interviewed me. She was probably sorry she picked me. Diarrhea of the mouth and all. Pictures even.

I met so many nice people. Got to see some great textile work and meet the makers. (One by one I will match the makers to the work and update this page.)

Lisa Rich and Clare Butler

Then someone nudged me, gestured at Cephalopod, and said, "Look!"  

Hell yeah, I squealed with delight!

a catalyst

 

I treated myself to a very special book. Six, eight pounds? A big book for big art, to quote my son. You'll be lucky to find one in a library and if you come across it in a bookstore, don't be shocked at the cost. It's full of magic.

I have Lorraine Glessner to thank for a FB post about the Joan Mitchell exhibit at the Baltimore Museum of Art. With a slew of amazing pictures. 

Messy March, 1969. The last gasp of my time at the School of Visual Arts. I was just coasting at that point, knowing that I wouldn't be back in September. 

Cutting more classes than I sat through,  I spent a lot of time wandering aimlessly, tiptoeing around in galleries. One day, behind the plate glass of a closed gallery, one painting took up an entire wall. I could make out "Joan Mitchell" on a cardboard placard on the floor. All I remember was an explosion of energy in line and color.  It was both deafening and perfectly silent. What it did was clarify for me that I lacked the drive, the talent, and the chutzpah to set foot in the same world as this woman.  Joan Mitchell made leaving art school easy for me. I never looked back or regretted that decision. 

How could I have changed the ripples in the pond of my life to not bring me to today?

The first day (digital) of third grade for Charlie.

This year, I pretty much sat back and leafed through a fabulous book of "very messy paintings" in Charlie's opinion. 

But we both noticed that someone had chosen a screen wallpaper for the Art section that looked quite lifted from a Joan Mitchell painting. 

Eight

 

What a treat yesterday was. Away from the house, out in nature. Visiting with people most of whom I haven't seen in over a year, probably more. Family, friends, food in an amazing setting. 

Jake and Missy did an amazing job all around. We will be eating leftover bbq and sides for days which means, everyone had all they could hold at the party.

Lake Hartwell is a good two-hour drive from home but absolutely worth the drive. It's been a while since I've had Jack Flash out on the big road and forgot how easily we ease into 90 miles an hour. And still, there were cars that blew by me so fast, I couldn't tell you what they were! 

Then, off the main road, the map voice took me winding through a few small towns that made me think of 1950's movie sets and endless stretches of fields of (stunted!) corn and those giant rolls of hay.

The water is warm and soft, flecks of mica stuck all over everyone. There were the water people (twice what you see here) and the lawn chair folk up the bank in the shade. Not everyone has gills, but you know where I was most of the time. What a day!

Charlie and I were sharing a giant pool noodle and one of the little girl cousins paddled nearby. I asked him her name, but he gestured broadly and said, "This is my TRIBE." It wasn't so much about a birthday as it was just gathering. Of course, the birthday song was sung with cupcakes all 'round. 

The brand new day

Always, while searching for something else, things I didn't even know were missing coyly show themselves. 

This clutch of misfits was rolled up in a two-foot square of linen spangled with all these colors. 

I was looking for my black Fiskars. They are probably in my purse which Charlie now calls the Black Hole of Calcutta. That called for a lot of internet research. Now to find the purse.

Anyway, I'll divvy these into sets of four and post them to the store after I finished getting those pieces ready for delivery to the gallery on Saturday.
 

Nice that my nails were mostly clean. Pool Life.

Colin's sunsets have a lot of fans. This one is actually a sunrise from one of his overnight stints. I will keep treating each new day as a treasure.

colorwinds blowing updated

A package from Prochem was delivered and I never even opened it until today.  Inspired choices then and now. Then, like always, I tossed them in with all the others to communicate. Get to know each other. Learn to play.

On other days, I'd put some on paper and see how well the names on the labels reflected reality. Too hot out there today. 

We are in high summer now.  Extremes are the rule. Still, it's been the standard fry and steam routine compared to the rest of the county. 

I have to do a little more cloth scouting before I plan a dyefest. I have a lot of that great, lightweight linen, a set of vintage cotton sheets, but I needed some Strange. 

Skeins are being wrapped and readied. 

 This is an AZZBAG. I may have written about this in previous posts but couldn't find any.  Long ago --pre-Internet long ago-- I designed a pattern for making these bags from old jeans. 

Hand drew the diagrams. Hand lettered four pages of directions. Marketed them from tiny little one-column inch ads in the back of various craft magazines. 

People sent me three dollars, mostly in cash. I signed the last page with thanks and mailed them the directions. It was a cool little business that I never pushed beyond the fun level. 

 The "trick" was opening the right seams at the crotch, then cutting and layering them in a sequence that eliminated any bulk and lay flat. 

Used blue jeans went for a few dollars a pair. I lined them with cut-up print blouses, shirts, and dresses --whatever I could find that pleased the eye. I cranked out dozens of these in varying sizes on the old Kenmore and sold every last one at local craft fairs when the boys were little and portable. Because jeans used like this just don't get a chance to wear out, I'm betting there are dozens of these hanging in closets and attics all over Westchester and Putnam county. 

Yeah, those were my favorite levis that I never could get back into after Colin and before Jake. Couldn't wear them, but couldn't give them up so I put them to work with a nice fat quarter of fancy batik for lining and a scrap of print for an inner pocket. (Update. THOSE favorite Levi's had rust and paint stains all over them. Memory Fail. these were Goodwill Jeans refashioned in 2016. No surprise I could make them in my sleep. 

I still love it. It's been holding the dyes for a few seasons but as soon as I can find the right size container for all the pots of dye powder, I'm taking it back and using it as intended. A haul all. the pockets are all deep and functional. The only problem I ever had carrying it was putting too much in it. 

If I ever come across the original instructions, I'll share. I scanned them to digital somewhere around here.

Thanks, Liz. I'll keep looking for the other three pages. I was SO snarky.