Made for Glennis, from indigo dyed cloth dyed by her. For display at her booth at the Quilt Festival.
Along with plans to join her there. And then not possible because of MoM and other things.
And then returned to me, because someone wanted to buy it.
And then Not.
And hanging there . In the loft. So long. Who knows how long?
I took it down to paint. A very light cloth. It has inspired new thoughts about old thoughts.(and probably eventually new stitches)
Thinking back to a time when I began to work with indigo cloth and could hardly find reference to Indigo online, much less information on anyone who was dyeing with it. . There was Stephen and Glennis and Laura and Tiggy.... quietly going.
Now it is literally BLUE everywhere.
Note to self: Trend is such a swift thing. All of a sudden everyone is doing the same thing. I wonder what the next one will be?
Funny how this cloth named Time Flies has now become a time keeper. Helping me to remember. To measure flow.
Today, while making a birthday card for my brother, I stopped.
Noticed how a thought folded gives it new form.
I think I will write:
"Evolve. Keep changing."
He will be 60 this round. Like the Man, he will always be younger than me.
I posted a question on Facebook last night. Is blogging dead? Because I have heard a lot of folks talking about that lately. Almost 100 responses. And very interesting. Yes and No and everything in between. Not dead but it has become old is what I came away with. I am considering what getting old means. Often we speak of something becoming old. I think it might simply mean useless. Or at least less useful in the context of what's new. Maybe we project that on ourselves when we use the word as well. I am simply considering "old" today. As a word and how it is used. Considering change and how vital it is. Considering the form of what we do and its use. Considering all of these things.
And a note to self: Now that I am older I feel more useful in a way.
But early yesterday afternoon he was just That Dog. The dog that showed up on the deck outside the studio. That ran all over the property . The dog that ran right in the door when I opened it. That tore through the house , ate the cat food in 2 seconds. Knocked everything over. The dog that ran out again. The dog that Soul-o chased. The dog that turned and chased him up a tree. And then into the woods. The dog that came back and I tried to catch and finally did. The hungry and thirsty dog. The exhausted dog. The very dirty dog. The dog that seemed starved for affection. I called the number on the tag. An 800 number. Gave them his ID number. Waited. Not being a dog person, worried about my cat. Waited. A call back. Lots of questions. To make sure it was the right dog, and not a different dog with the wrong tag. ???? Waited hours. For the someone who would come get the dog. And then. After hours, a call back. He was a neighbor's dog. The house below. That guy that doesn't like the smell of woodsmoke or stray leaves on his side of the fence. Or dandelions. Or me.
Two questions I was left with.
What kind of system is this?
Why was the dog so dirty, hungry, thirsty, and sleeping at my feet?
The owner came. The guy's wife. Come George (who was not very excited). Into the back of the van. The person who was supposed to come came just then. Ha ha ha while the dog waited. And I was left standing there on the driveway. A brief sort of thank you with no eyes meeting. Except me and George. Goodbye George, I said.
Soul-o returned after dark.
The electric is fixed. Done. Paid for.
Although still cool, today will be a bit warmer than yesterday.
I have in my mind to check on George now and then.
Over the quiet time in December, I stitched a little on this cloth. It is an oldie. Goes back to a simpler time, one of my earlier what-ifs. Like many cloths rolled and stored, it surprised me a bit. It is not large, about 22 inches square. And it is more "quilterly". Like things I was making back then, I put it away for that reason actually. I felt I had outgrown that I think. I was swept up into something and lost touch with work that didn't seem to fit that ideal. Still, after sitting with it for a few days I came to know it again. As me. And wondered who was I? Who am I? Who will I be? I added to it. Like the line of text above. It once was something about edges. I can't remember exactly but the edge that was is no longer the edge that is now. Which makes the words edge that are floating around rather funny actually. Some of the other edge words were removed and used for edges of other things as I recall. So it was edgeless for a while as I was on to something else...Many something elses.
Thinking about edges today. How sometimes we use them to define finished. In between. Use them like fences. To mark a safety zone. A boundary. To compare. Measure. To stop. To accuse. To reassure. To look back. To go forward. And even to make time stand still.
In this year after The Year I Became Old I feel the need to erase my sense of edge. The line, that is, that separates things in my mind and encourages fragmentation. Comparison. Judgement.
I only have a sense of this. So that is all I can say.
Except I added this today. And made a note to self...I am the edge....