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Woke early. Tired from company still here. Probably because I derive my energy through solitude.
As the sun rose, I thought OK, just stitch Nine. Maybe just Nine for No Reason.
But then I thought oh! A reason. Season. Shift.
A little Nine for Equinox . A little Equinox cloth then.
Nine for Shift
I'll save Nine for No Reason for another day.
I got a lot of emails yesterday. Can't even count them. I am in between selves at the moment. Putting together some ideas in order to transform my approach to teaching. Gathering the courage to move forward. Based on the huge response, I may change my original idea a bit. I have canned the mailing list idea. Too big. I will post information here sooner or later. Probably sooner. But after the company leaves. On the Equinox oddly enough. As always, thank you for your support and patience.
The center square here was done as an indigo resist over the seam in a patchwork. One of many components I began developing in a past workshop. I will be sharing more about that here, soon, but now I must go to the market and shop for many people.
I am smiling because I am happy to celebrate with him.
He is smiling because he is younger than me.
No gifts. Just smiling. He likes it that way.
I used one of the Pairings waiting for stitch on the wall, just to illustrate the fact that I think (a note to self) it is just grand that after all these years we might still be smiling. And that's enough.
Tomorrow is July. And I will be back to stitching and sharing and not just imagining.
Because I decided it might be that for a while. Again.
Today I squared the basket. In some simple exercise. To see what I had previously imagined. I'd been thinking about that. I played around with a new patching technique. All the while thinking about the way things form. Rather than wallowing in confusion, how being able to understand that is helping me develop my means of expression. How I have become driven by that.
Technique is important in expression. So is idea. So often they are separated. One given more value than another. Sometimes though it is important to understand them as equal components of personal style. How one supports another.
There have been so many discussions about the relationship between these things. For me they carry the same weight. Every technique started out as an idea. No idea will live to be shared with out a path to execution. In my mind it is a simple math.
technique + idea = form
evolution of technique + evolution of idea = new form, eventually.
Process is evolution.
Sharing process insures the survival of form
which in itself is the essence of thought.
Anyway, the basket self is enjoying this squaring, For now, a new form to play with. While thoughts about sharing brew.
This one unrolled on its own. With a little help from a wild cat. I was drawn in. I began to stitch. Basket rings. I thought..
A woman is like a basket. Full or Empty. Still a vessel. A mother. Built to hold. Hold on. Built for safekeeping.
This one is not perfect. It's old. Ragged. Not a circle. It's been cut, it bleeds. It has a dark side. The center is unclear. There are so many layers I lost count. Most of them are not visible. But it is soft. Yet strong. Each ring will make it stronger. It is many mothers rolled into one.
Today will be warmer. Rain has waited till tomorrow.
Early this morning Mr. Robin ran by. So quickly I could hardly catch a shot. I caught him between breaths.
Last night I turned the cloth. This morning just looking. Like some sort of Permaculture. All there underneath. Waiting. Supporting growth. This is the earthen side.
Yesterday. It was Easter. I do not celebrate. But Mom did. I was reminded of how she would line up jelly beans in the hallways while we slept. Little candy breadcrumbs we could follow to find our Easter baskets. She always told us the Easter Bunny must have dropped them on his way through I smiled to myself and said maybe I should make a little holiday cloth. Stitch some jelly beans. But I sat, lost in thought. I thought about my Mom. Who she was. What she gave me. What she gave everyone.
Holidays were not rituals to her. Not banners of belief and doctrine. They did not include or exclude. They were for everyone within reach. They were a way, excuses really, for her to return to a simpler time. Childhood. And share that. Give that back over and over. The love and the fun and the sense of simple joy and laughter. And she did. Over and over. As long as she could. I see it now as a reminder. To push the pause button. To get back.
And when I sat with the cloth this morning. With it's simpler side. I saw them. The stones that trace the rings of my basket-self. The jelly beans.
CandyLand was always my favorite game.
I am going outside. For the day. To stick my hands in the dirt and let winter blow off me. Ride my bike.
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