Open, aka not closed. What I like here is the personal image of self conforming to some sort of pull. In. Out. There is a Rocking. And it creates a kind of distorted balance. Its center is weave. To me it is tremendous. But it would also make a great bookmat. Small enough. Holding it in the dark is just as good as looking at it in the light.
The basket is it for me. A path. A sympathetically evolving form. A choice. A way to full-fill my quest. To communicate something through cloth making. As a symbol, it is a metaphor for many things I have tried to express.
I've decided to formalize it. The Basket Diaries. Share it in a different way that has to do with both open and closed . But not closed. I have a lot to say. Many notes to self. I need to go back and collect my thoughts.
When I began this blog, the header said SPIRIT CLOTH, a journey into gift giving. Now it says stitching a story. This post is #2753. Many small journeys. A story is a gift.
Soul-o let me touch today. Just a little. I know there was big fear, but it happened anyway. The leaning out. I came away touched by the opening.
Just like it is sometimes difficult to simplify the expression of what you do, it is even harder to express one's sense of self as something tangible. To be shared. It may be quite important then, I have been thinking. To think of ones work as oneself. To shape it into a simple understandable form. And still let it remain personal. To have the patience to let the unique emerge. Evolve. Shed its false skin.
I have chosen the basket. I have chosen it for many obvious reasons. Obvious to me. And then some reasons that are still finding reason. But mostly I have chosen it because I would like to think of myself as a vessel. Something ancient, simple, useful. I might want others to understand that. Respect that. Know it as not more than that.
I was thinking a lot about language. Symbols. How we might adopt a common language system to communicate. But also how we might lose ourSelves in it. How often that happens. Just last night in what seemed like a dream I screamed
"Rescue me, from the Sameness..."
In the year that I became old I realized that finding self is not is not something you learn from others. It is not about approval. (even your own) It is a lonely journey into your own heart. It can hurt (even to know). It can leave you penniless. It might never end. But it might very well be worth everything to give form to it. And it starts by talking to yourself. Listening. It's almost a foreign language when you begin. Perhaps because it hasn't been the one you have been so used to using for so long.
Solstice came like a crack in winter. Warm rain. Windows open. The year winds up with many questions. Like cracks in my mind. Spaces that have not yet become places but possibilities all the same. Off to wander in a warm December rain with a list of questions a mile long. Thank you for your loving travelling companionship.
See you next year...jude
PS - Fringe has evolved into my personal symbol for continuing, aka Just Going.