On the wall for a while longer.
And now, not. Ready to stitch/quilt the edge. On the Big Round Table, in the room that was named for the Big Round Table. This cloth would make an awesome table covering. But it is a blanket. What if it could be both?
Anyway, it begins.
Another way it might happen.
The other side of Holding Pattern. Coated with mostly plant dyed silk.
The pattern emerged because I quilted the darker squares with darker thread. Something I call coloring book quilting, where the thread color is chosen in sympathy with the patchwork colors on design side. It has a double effect. It helps the design remain clean on one side and also brings it through to the other side.
I had to load smaller picture files today. I am just having so much trouble here. I think my path forward has been chosen for me.
I'm going to take this off the wall now. Probably not going to put it back up. It's about to be the blanket I imagined it to be.
link to audio if you see no player above
Big wind here today. Drying some cloth that emerged from the dyepo(e)t. As Mom used to say...
"Think I'll go outside and let the wind blow the stink off me."
Have a good weekend.
23. 23 degrees.
First glance out the window and my thought was, it's true, the aliens have landed. Or maybe they are leaving. In any case these are strange days.
I missed yesterday's train . Of thought.
I added a layer of drawing over Holding Pattern. I talked to myself.
audio link if you see no player above.
I did more drawing. Thoughts for quilting/securing the space around the pattern. Which is a kind of basket. Self.
The question, not so much about pattern but the visibility. Darker thread? Or lighter thread? And will visibility disturb the space? Maybe just walking stitch or ? a more textured thing? I will talk to myself again.
Holding Pattern. All quilted except for the border.
In looking at it on the wall, I realize the edge is a bigger part of the whole than I had a sense of. This is something worth considering. How we perceive edge. And then...will I complete this gift by year's end? Maybe it doesn't matter.
84" square-ish. Big.
The stitching is intense. Rows, close together. Rippling. Feels good. A little video over on Instagram because, honestly. it's easier. I seem to need a bit of easier lately.
I rescued a little roof moss that fell to the deck. I made a tiny terrarium. To hold green.
We've been maneuvering through big wind , power glitches and tornado watches. Now just cold. And then of course, the virus has returned to the area in a big way.
New Roots.
At sunrise. Roots always seem ancient to me. But they are also a symbol of continuing. And newness then, a way to hold in the going. I was glad to see these this morning. The year has been so destabilizing. And these new roots make me feel like I am more at home.
I just kept stitching. This morning I sense a sea of stitch has formed. I am resting, floating in it.
Honestly I feel more puzzled than ever. Stitch is simple and I can understand it.
Out walking. Still learning the land.
This might be a favorite place. Old Earth is such a Timekeeper. A Story Teller. A story cloth I may well rest beneath one day... I made a new category, Old Earth. The Earth seems older here.
Another day, that's a start.
A soft wishing star on the Holding Pattern Cloth. Knowing that we ALL wish for something. Wondering then, how All our wishes can come true. Certainly there isn't much evidence of that working out. I wonder how that works? Renaming this the Hoping Star then.
Stuff to deal with here, but trying not to make today about me. I have replaced my computer. Yet, these troublesome times have me reconsidering people, places and things. I will take it easy for the next months. Finish this cloth by year's end. I am going to test some project pages over at my free teaching site. I will use this one as a test.
This star was made from what I call Marshmallow dyeing. Soft edge dipping. I will be adding that to the Methods Index soon.
I was recently a target of unsolicited rudeness and baseless attack. Not the first time. It's the world we live in. Yesterday I slid right into it myself, wanting to retaliate. I made a rude comment back and then deleted it and closed comments realizing this person indeed began to attack you! After deep thought...I, WE, cannot let this happen. It's hard. Please help me. If you ever see any rude comments here, directed to you or me, Please just ignore them. We simply have to be a community that is better than that.
Thank you.
Wine is on the menu this evening.
But there are stitches.
They can be like words. Let them be that.
Strings.
The Man spent some time untangling this puppet that made the journey here in a box with a lot of stray stuff. It was a time consuming effort. But now in working order.
It was so appropriate for these times really. As I ended up making a note to myself:
I've worked myself to the edge of the pieced area on one side of Holding Pattern. Working slow and steady, an hour in the morning with coffee, and hour in the evening before sunset. Up to here there are seam lines, blocks of space to help me not only keep track of progress but also provide a frame of reference. I am thinking I will have to continue soon, not knowing where I am.
Looking.
I altered these photos with a filter to make them look worn. I put a few pieces together on the wall. The ones within reach. When I do this, it is an exercise in probability. They will probably fit together. That is my Seeing theory... if I remain true to my vision. And then, you know, even if they are "new" they always seem like something ancient when they are put together as one. The filter was used to emphasize that. They are just pinned over the cloth I call A DEEP Pool of Thought.
Last night I unfolded Holding Pattern. I am holding and will be holding this one now. It is a gift for My Son and The Woman, and I want to finish it before the end of the year. I have been working on it for so long, it is an old cloth.
So now, just quilting, while I wait for a new computer.
The time it takes.
If the path before you is clear,
you are probably on
someone else's.
-Carl Jung