Not new things, just patching them together to make them useful.
The top from an old garlic keeper. Clay. The bottom broke. I had to grind the holes a bit larger to fit the incense sticks.
The little jug, an old mustard crock. From a time when I was into mustard. Now I am just into crocks.
The blue bowl, Dad bought in New Mexico. My parents used to go camping across the States. And my dad used to seek out this particular potter. He used to sell somewhere out there. Blue bowls. I took one after Mom died. My brother has the others.
The cloth... Nine for Peace. Now aka A Newer World Order. Part of the Crossroads series.
I am thinking a lot about which things I will keep when we move. We want to stay loose and light.
I took some pictures of the moon through the trees. And even though I couldn't get the camera setting right, I liked them. Like ragged holes in the sky.
They reminded me of these. Holes in the earth.
Which on this cloth are also holes in the sky.
This morning the cloth we call home was a curtain. Hanging between me and the bright morning sun. Useful. Shielding me. But at the same time filtering through the cloth to help me complete this Ring of Vision.
It is interesting to be mending the cloth with holes. New eyes. Space. Less.
A sense of winter's departure. A sense of spring's arrival. But more than that the sense that they are the same. A different face of how it might go.
The cloth is now in my lap. The table lays bare. I like looking at it like this. The wholeness of the quiet room, just being quiet. There is a sense of natural order that comes over me. It might just be like this and bring me a sense of usefulness. This is what I thought today.
The magic beans stitched on the one side, easily melt through to the other. Or at least the sense of them. The joy in them. I've taken care to let that happen, now that I know it can. Even though I could sew only through the top layer. Again I enjoy how they might wander through without intention. Even more so. Even more so.
I like that they seem to give the impression of appearing. Or disappearing. That either is ok. I like the feeling of traveling across both sides with out turning the cloth. Knowing that is happening.
(Comments are disabled this week as I talk to myself a bit).
And the feeling of clearing space. It spread throughout the house. Some local charity called and left a message. Do you have any clothing or household items you might spare? I called back, yes. Yes, I have things.
This is the beautiful bowl my son made. It holds the safety pins that I have been removing from the feather cloth. The ones that have been replaced with stitch. I call him. "Make another that I might send to Wendy's kids." Send that one he said. It means more.
I have this idea that things might be pinned to the cloth, for safety. Or pinned anywhere. I like the idea of a safety pin.
That a large cloth might simply be a safe haven for smaller cloth.
This old house, like any old house, is slowly falling apart but still holding together. Like people, that's ok. If it is slow enough, falling apart is quite beautiful. There is time to witness a kind of lightening. A peeling away of layers. But of course some things just won't do really.
And so, after a small meltdown, there is no power in the studio. At least for a while. Some serious work needs to be done in the walls and that cannot happen now. I moved everything that needed to be plugged in. The man has all his electronic stuff on a table in a spare room that we have not been heating. On warmer days the room is somewhat usable. On colder days he uses his laptop in the warm room. I moved all my wired stuff in there. He has a table at one end and I now have one at the other. We are not facing each other. We can work as if alone. Since the room is mostly cold, I simply do not sit there in my "plugged" chair as much. And I think that is actually just fine. Checking email etc... once a day is enough.
And so, maybe a simple and perhaps surprisingly pleasant inexpensive solution. A quiet room. I cleaned up, got rid of more stuff. I pushed the tables together. Made room for a few things but really a lot less. I like being able to walk around the perimeter of the table space. No wires to run to the walls. Not even a lamp. Room to work on some large cloth. And now I am sorting through pencils and paper and books! A change. It's good. This quiet room. No technology hum. It's been warmer too. One small fire keeps it comfy when the sun is out.
But still the rain comes in. We have to do something about that. Soon.
It's been a strange week. I feel as if I gone somewhere I can't remember and returned renewed.
Needle and thread, paper, paint, books are all waiting. And Soul-o is just fine.