looking and looking, and cutting out triangles

Making squares into triangles... the darks are cut and stacked. I'm half-way through the mediums. Lights still un-ironed in their pile. I'm loving some of the batiks, the infinite variety and the mysterious voluptuousness of the colors... the abstract patterns in some of them, reminiscent of geological maps or kimono... most of the darks are leafy batiks, plus a few birds. The mediums strongly favor green, which is good since the recipient of this quilted throw has a STRONG preference for greens. Fewer batiks, more prints, in a certain shade of grasshopper-green; and in fact there is grass, as well as flowers, pebbles and a vaguely Polynesian pattern... the lights are mostly batiks again, plus some birds and dragonflies.

I remember when I was a child...my mother sewed, mainly clothing and functional items when I was younger. The patterns of the fabrics she chose often captured my imagination, and I couldn't help visualizing worlds within the colors... magical gardens, dangerous mazes, a curtain of live flowers that might conceal a secret passageway to a beautiful, enchanted place where girls had special powers and mythical friends to help them along the way -- a world like the ones I read about in books, an imaginary world, full of beauty and safety. I could pack a LOT of imagining into a piece of cloth! And still can... I buy too much lovely fabric, as much for the pleasure of seeking, and viewing, as for utility. But it feels good to move away from scraps and collage for a while (my normal art-quilting mode) and use these quarters and half yards for their intended purpose -- to cover someone in color and warmth.

moving in a different direction for a while

I had two days off from work -- in a row -- so I cleaned the sewing room. REALLY cleaned it. Sorted the scraps from two consecutive projects (an unfinished wall hanging and maybe eight to-go warmers made up as Christmas gifts.) Cleaned out a drawer full of socks and moved them to the bedroom so I could make a new home for all the blue cottons; transferred another drawer of random odd supplies (doll heads, prefab lace appliques, dryer lint etc) to a large plastic bin to make room for the purples and browns. Sorted a 10-gallon bag of kimono scraps by color and transferred each pile into a separate ziplock (before putting it all back in the 10-gallon bag.) Dusted. Broke down the sewing machine for the time being, and wiped down the cutting mat.

 Haven't seen the floor for weeks...

I'm ready for some geometry, ready to start that large throw my husband's been asking for, just a patchwork quilt in the double-pinwheel pattern. After creating lots of smooth, flat, horizontal surfaces, I pulled out all the batiks and leafy prints I'd been saving over the past three years for this project. Lots of rich greens, browns, purples and rusts; faded celedon, watery aqua, and more. He wants lots and lots of greenery in this, and doesn't care for the regular contrasts the pattern calls for; he wants the darks and lights to merge and blend from one end of the quilt to the other, like a spectrum. So this afternoon I washed, ironed and cut all the dark triangles. I also washed the rest of the fabrics. Tomorrow will be busy, but hopefully I can spend Thursday and Friday in good part on finishing the mediums and lights; layout will be time-consuming, and I'd like to move ahead with that soon. I have cloth ready for the back and borders as well.

While I could do without the backaches it entails, I find the rotary cutting process very soothing, a clearing of the mind, repetitive action bringing some peace to this one.

The other image, the bird, "trying," will have to wait. She can't seem to get off the ground.

 One of the last to-go warmers.

a break

Artists write about their process, and I find it comforting to read in some way, more often than not; so why shouldn't I? First hurdle, to dismiss the concern that no one will read it, no one will care.

I'm stitching up coffee-cozies this evening, little blankets that wrap around a to-go cup to protect your hand, and to jazz up your cup. They're an easy use for scraps (even the tiniest, which I tend to keep along with all others). Take a small piece of flannel or felt, couch or applique and stitch down your scraps in vertical rows or strips over this ground, layering and changing thread colors and stitches along the way -- a tiny, chaotic crazy quilt emerges. Using a template I cut from a magazine (though any disposable cup holder does just as well) I cut the curvy strips from my crazy-quilt one by one, saving even these scraps; then customize each one, zigzag stitch the edges a bunch of times, maybe add some couched ribbon or some low-relief charms... and enough velcro to fasten the cozy around any size cup in the standard coffee shop repertoire. Easy holiday gifts. Fun to make. A nice break from whatever I'm laboring over on the table, because this is easy, this is fun.

As soon as I finish the first two I'll post an image. I should make a bunch of them and let friends choose which they'd like. More soon!

work in progress...

the bird

 Early in the day, last week, I found this bird on the side of the road as I pedaled to work on my bicycle. I needed help from my husband to identify it - he took ornithology seriously in college whereas I am an amateur birdwatcher.

 I thought flicker at first, but was soon disabused of this notion -- totally wrong markings, though the size was right and the long bill threw me off.

Finally I rode back to the site of the bird's demise to snap a few quick shots with my phone. Upon viewing the husband immediately emailed me a link -- "It's a woodcock" he proclaimed. As indeed it was. A night-migrating woodcock, met with an accident in the chilly darkness of the city.

Artwork Around

Hi All - Just a quick note to let you know that I have artwork in two shows this fall -

I have one newly-completed piece ("Walking At Night," see below) at the Tamarack Nature Center in White Bear township (Woodbury): "Studio Art Quilts Associates" Exhibition, Opening Reception on November 5, 2010, 5:30pm to 7:30pm.This is group show, presented by members of SAQA-MN.

I have one slightly older piece ("Keep Looking") in another group show of "spiritual works" at St. Martin's Table on the west bank, Minneapolis. This show was installed today. There will be two artist talks; the second is tentatively scheduled as a "closing reception" on December 18, 2010. More info as it comes to me. The show was curated by Lynnette Black and Betty Olson.

Who says I never finish anything!

"Walking At Night (I smell lilacs)"

18X24 inches, 2010

CLICK IMAGE for a closer view.

Appearing at the Tamarack Nature Center: SAQA "Art Quilts at the Tamarack" exhibit, Oct. 22-Nov. 30, 2010. 

(detail)

Found fabric and objects; commercially produced fabrics, laser prints, yarn, dryer lint, paper, beads.

Moonlight on the brightest nights allows some colors to come forward while most recede; pinks, blues, pale yellows, others. Birds, sleeping or silently watchful, rest in the trees. I walk a great deal and used to enjoy going out by night, feeling invisible, listening to sounds that the day conceals and imagining the lives behind glowing windows on quiet streets. I don’t feel safe anymore (as a woman alone) taking walks at night; but I have a friend who still enjoys that freedom, who sometimes reports back to me the sounds and scents of a midnight walk in the city. I sometimes dream about flying at night, safe above the trees, transformed and weightless.

avoidance

Rice Freeman Zachery has an insightful post on her blog, titled "Escaping from Your Fabulous Life" which addresses both creativity and our urge to run from it. And, hopefully, she's following this up with a podcast interview that goes into this subject of blocks and avoidance with more depth. Stay tuned...

I struggle with this a lot. I'm doing it right now: sitting in front of the computer instead of working on either one of the two lovely and satisfying projects all cued up and ready to go on the sewing table. I KNOW that three nights out of five I'm avoiding sewing not because my back is tired or my eyes are weak or any of that -- I do it for the reasons Rice begins to enunciate in her post -- because it's WORK to create, much more work than laundry, way more work than effing around on Facebook for hours at a time. And sometimes it's lonely work -- good alone time, but a kind of time I seem disinclined to value. Apart from the surfing, I do that other nasty thing - shopping. Shopping for thread, for a new lamp, for more fabric; for supplies I seem to require urgently, which then sit in the bag on the floor in the sewing room while I surf the Internet...Yep, a nasty truth, and it's true RIGHT NOW. Fortunately, I get to surf some more while eagerly awaiting Rice's podcast.

Damn.

another rainy day

It looks like Japanese paper, or leaves at the bottom of a murky pool. A television still-frame of a gale-force wind -- something falling, flying, frozen in ice.

In truth, these leaves are plastered by heavy rain to the roof of the bus shelter near the river, on Central Ave, and they looked so strange and lovely from beneath, in the morning light....

what's happening?

Recently ordered some hand-dyed remnants from Gerdiary and received my deceptively small padded package from Germany after just a week or so of waiting. Gorgeously dyed and textured scraps that are worn and soft, with a lot of "found" appeal... sweetly packaged, here pictured with a work in progress inspired by a class with Jude Hill.

state fair

One of several sketched from the State Fair last week. 8/28/10. More State Fair images and commentary here and also here.

fabric tattoo

http://www.sprayblog.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/spraygraphic_glenn-arthur-010.jpg

Getting ideas for a fabric-inspired Glenn Arthur-inspired tattoo... especially after the dream I had last night...

so lovely

Gonul Paksoy Gossamer Cardigan on Selvedge Drygoods

The sort of thing my soul would wear, if it had its way.

A wonderful link

America In Color: 1939-1943. Not only are these stunning historical records, but the fabrics used (and worn out) in the dresses and aprons are just incredible...

spiders and curtains

I wish I had my camera at home this morning. There are six narrow lacy panels hanging on the clothesline, in alternating arrangement, blowing gently in the morning breeze and catching the dappled sunlight under the maple tree. My son is weaving in and out of them at a run, shuttling back and forth -- "It's like a maze!" he says.

I washed the basement curtains. Funny curtains they are, came with the house -- thin, gauzy white, completely inappropriate for an unfinished basement. I think she sewed them up right before she put the place on the market, back when the basement was completely devoid of dirt and bugs. And there have they hung, four years now I should think, attracting house spiders who are in turn attracted to the crawlers and things that creep in around the basement window sills. Dirty, dusty used web threads and insect carcasses everywhere. First I taped a paper towel to the basement broom, tied on a head scarf and gritted my teeth. I swept up as much as I could from the window wells, and then removed the curtains and threw them in the wash machine. By themselves. With lots of water and soap. I only had to transplant one fat house spider. She won't like the corner I left her in. Too damp. I watched her climb up another spider's web, belonging to a much smaller one, which scurried quickly away at the site of her. I'll call her Aunt Fanny.

But if I had a camera, I'd post a picture of those curtains, on the line.

world without end

I think that everything real, everything worth having in the sense that an object might be worth clinging to, is old. Worn, carried and possibly discarded, sometimes unwanted.

I look at people, all the time, every day, young and old and in-between. I look at their creases, at the marks they wear and their imperfections. I look at my own body -- still a good shape, but criss-crossed by scars and veins that have aged, threaded with grey hairs, unexpected in places and overgrown, overlooked maybe...but mine. Some people call me pretty, and so it might be hard to believe I could see myself as "overlooked"... but I know who I am naked, and I mostly look my age. It's important to me to be strong and flexible, too. And to last.

I pick up what I find on the street. What is old and forgotten. There is STILL beauty to be found there -- it never dies, not as long as there is light and vision.

still in progress...but coming along...

As usual, I have no idea where these photos will wind up in the post....
these are details from the current project. Right now it may be called "I smell lilacs," or "Birds at night," or both... layering.

I get caught up sometimes in worrying about what I can't see yet. How will the bottom of this composition resolve itself? How will I finish the back and borders? Will I add trees? Where will it end? This one has been in the pipeline A WHILE... I have given myself the deadline of July 27th, the SAQA meeting, to have it completed. Because I like to spin these projects out past their useful span... I love them, then leave them, then renew my obsession months later. When I finally allowed myself a break from worrying about missing pieces, and started layering in some of the objects I've hoarded away (like a bower bird, but not as monochrome in my tastes)... well then. Things begin to bloom.

I have a friend who walks each night before bedtime. Sometimes he emails me his thoughts while walking, BlackBerry-style; and one night, while lamenting the increasingly-likely demise of a suffering acquaintance, he paused to type "I smell lilacs." It was early spring. And I thought, of night, and death, and flowers blooming in the dark; this is layered across the earlier mental image of birds on their branches at night, birds quiet, sleeping birds, silhouetted in their secret nests. The colors visible in bright moonlight, and the things you can sense, but not see...

time flies away too quickly, and my head is so full

Starting my first online workshop with the wonderful Jude Hill on July 15! I can't wait. Another set of deadlines to motivate me, along with the SAQA meeting later in July.

I'm at home this morning, having a little "just BE" time - probably won't produce anything artistic, because it takes the whole morning just to find my way back to a comfortable headspace right now... There's much too much on my mind, too much happening at work. But later, maybe tonight, I'll be able to create.

I thought I'd post a detail of the current piece so you can see what I did with the cemetery flowers, but I think my camera is at the office. Later then.

a moment's pause, a gift

It seems sometimes there is nothing more beautiful than rain coming down in the spring, and wind in the thick leaves of trees. The leaves which only recently budded, not yet gnawed by insects or curled by cocoon-spinning worms; not yet browned by drought or darkened by summer's heat. Today is such a day, and this morning is a gift, time off of work after weeks it seems of pressure and tension; only a morning off, really, but a gift just the same. I'm listening to the wind and rain; to the whistle of a train as it approaches a grade crossing nearby to the north. Long stretches of cloud and rain become stressful, but a regular reprieve from the full gaze of the sun is a good thing. More smells and gentler sounds.

I'm in the sewing room this morning, moving a bookshelf and taking out a layer of clutter. This summer I'm hoping to switch rooms with my son; maybe I should wait until fall, since this room is warmer in winter by far but may not ventilate as well in the heat. We'll pull the last remaining carpet out of his room, exposing the wood floors beneath; and I'll have more space for all my supplies and equipment. He will still have room for most of his toys and books, but at his age he doesn't spend tons of time in his room, preferring still to be where we are. When he's older, we'll give him the option of a remodeled basement, to make into his boy-cave. All boys (and men) seem to need a cave of their own somewhere. Fine with me.

I may or may not sew this morning. It's bubbling away in the back of my mind, the current piece, but it feels good just to putz around in here. Attention to self in this way. The sewing room isn't really a cave -- more of a nest, to be sure. My nest. I feel guilty for comandeering a space in our small home in this way, but I can't help it. It's what I need, and has been since I can remember. I've never compromised on this. Though I sometimes feel too accommodating, in truth I am quite rigid about certain things. I must always have a studio space of some kind. I must never curate for free. I may never sell my work, since that makes me uncomfortable, but I'm happy to give it away from time to time. Much of my world, my feelings and opinions, seem swirling and variable. This artist space, the physical studio and the corresponding room in my psychic interior, the principles that apply, that dramas played out therein -- these are a constant. This is the core. I throw a fair amount of energy into most of what I do, and so I get pulled away from this space -- g-forces. Sooner or later I'm desperate for this balance.

Rain is thumping into the downspouts and pattering on the maple leaves. Birds chirrup pleasantly from their perches, since the weather isn't all that heavy. The train echoes on in the distance. The mail carrier clatters past the front step, swaddled in plastic. In between, lots of quiet.

Vintage aprons!!

at the cemetery

Yesterday we went up to the cemetery: an hour drive there, an hour or so in town, an hour back. I picked up stones from nearby sand-hills and the roadside, to place them with my son's help on the markers for my father's parents. We paced the miniature lawn of the tiny small-town graveyard, and my son explained to me the meaning of the American flags ranked before the white cross, twined with roses; carefully reiterating a new wisdom imparted by his father.

On the way to the car, I noticed a few brightly-colored patches among the wheel ruts in the grass. Weathered petals torn from silk flowers, and bits of tattered ribbon. The detritus, wind-blown, of scattered offerings. I picked up a few ribbons and a handful of beautifully faded blossoms where they were pressed into the earth, and brought them home, and added some to the piece I'm currently working on (deadline July 14). Pictures soon.

shopping, reading and not cleaning

Look! Cotton Garden Japan.
Look! True Up, my new favorite blog.
Look! "Masters: Art Quilts," a gorgeous must-have that I just purchased today (along with $75 worth of other luscious procrastination fodder, including treats like Fiberarts and Surface Design and Quilter's Home, and this book, "Hobo Quilts", which while not a particularly academic resource is still interesting and charming.)

The sewing room is a mess. It represents the utter chaos of my life right now, instead of being a refuge from chaos. I really ought to straighten up in here so I can work...

Kimono and obi scraps from the Textile Center Garage Sale. Ten gallons for $10!



(My favorites have the topographic pattern!)

more sale scores!

Ah...nothing like a couple of tough weeks on the job to throw off the creative rhythm. Someday I will MASTER resilience and learn to use my art as a shelter from the world, instead of relegating it to a dusty corner, when I'm struggling. Other adjustments have been made that'll help me get back on track; but what I might need most in this regard could just be... discipline.

I've had the bird's nest pinned to my current piece for a while. While at the Textile Center sale last week, I found and cadged several tiny feathered birds, the sort you might find on a Christmas tree ornament or an elderly lady's hat. I also found tiny nests -- and tiny eggs to lay in them. I haven't tried them out against the quilt yet -- I'm a little wary of including such ready-mades, though of course it's done all the time. I think ready-mades have to be carefully integrated into the work or they just distract, hanging there like... well, like something on a lady's hat.

song of the day

Oh.....(imagine me singing tunefully)
I went to the Textile Center to-day
to visit their Annual Garage Sale,
I bought sixty-nine bucks worth of fabric
includes 10 gallons of kimono!

Three giant tote bags full of goods,
the ill-gotten booty of an aaaaaaa-dict;
all on the back of my bicycle.
I've got a bad fabric haaaaa-bit!

work in progress

...close up of the bird's nest.
5.5 x 3.5 inches. Various types of dryer lint; yarn, plastic netting, tulle, found fibers, MistyFuse. Pins keeping the tulle overlay in place.

work in progress

A larger view...

work in progress

detail of "Birds by Night"

Fog Linen Work

I am in love with this apron -- with the skirt and tank too, with the whole image. It's by Fog Linen Work, and I've been to the Selvedge Drygoods website easily a half dozen times to admire and sigh. But the truth is, I am not living a long-apron-linen-skirt sort of lifestyle, and would probably look like a Mennonite in such an outfit. I should be able to sew something like this myself too -- it's a fairly simple pattern.

But, nevertheless -- I am in love.

The Good Friday Project

What: A spoken-word and dance performance lasting twelve minutes, inspired by the presence of cloth throughout the narrative of the last hours of Jesus of Nazareth.
Where: Northeast Community Lutheran Church, Minneapolis MN
When: April 2, Good Friday evening at 6:45pm.

Conceived and produced by Jennifer Schultz; written by Jennifer Schultz and Dean J. Seal; with choreography and movement performance by Tracy Vacura and Blake Nellis. Presented in cooperation with Northeast Community Lutheran Church.

Two nights ago, a group of artists and I presented a short performance for a church audience of about 40 people, which culminated our congregation's Good Friday service. The performance included text written and read aloud by me and my friend Dean Seal, a professional director/writer/producer. The text was interpreted as movement by two dancers, Tracy Vacura and Blake Nellis, who incorporated significant props into their narrative performance. The theme of the the performance was the last utterance of Christ on the cross: "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." The subject was the tearing in two of the temple curtain at the moment of Jesus' death. (See SIDEBAR for a page link to the script.)

Some context: Each year the church worships Good Friday Tenebrae service with a meditation on the "Seven Last Words of Christ." The "last words" are phrases found in the various Gospels; church members chose one each of the phrases and prepared a five-minute reading based on their own reflections on the text. We did basically the same thing this year. Those texts are:

1. "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." (Luke 23: 33-34)

2. "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise." (Luke 23: 39-43)

3. "Behold your son . . . behold your mother." (John 19: 25-27)

4. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15: 33-34)

5. "I thirst." (John 19:28)

6. "It is finished." (John 19: 29-30)

7. "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." (Luke 23: 44-46)

Notwithstanding the book of John, which leaves it out, each of the Gospels includes a verse describing the moment of Jesus' death and the tearing in two of the temple veil, or curtain - Mark 15:38, Luke 23:44, Matthew 27:51 (with mass resurrections too.) It's an astounding image on several levels (not to mention a really arresting sound effect -- some fabrics tear more dramatically than others): The rending of the curtain as the "opening of the way" -- bringing mankind into intimate contact with God -- while at the same time symbolizing grief and mourning on a cosmic scale.

What I originally envisioned was a bit of spoken word culminating in the actual tearing of fabric. The two renders of the curtain would do it with some pathos inherent and would rehearse it ahead of time. Cloth has many uses, and many meanings, and appears continually in one form and another in the narrative of the last days of Christ -- a "thread" that continues on into Easter.

What transpired: My friend Mandy Herrick (of Ready At Will Dance Collective) introduced me to Blake and Tracy. Together the four of us (with Dean rather than Mandy) collaborated on the artistic interpretation of the script. Dean and I worked through several drafts of what became a kind of dialogue: beginning with my continuing obsession with laundry and the intimacy of fabric in our daily lives (read by me), moving into the meaning of the temple curtain, its location in history, and the revelatory nature of its self-destruction (read by Dean). [Katya de Grunwald approaches these notions in a brief essay for Selvedge's March/April issue (which I finally received April 5) -- "Its history is contextualised by religious symbolism -- white linen on the altar representing the winding sheet that covered Jesus in his tomb..."] We rehearsed several times, sometimes as a group, other times meeting separately as writers and dancers. I planned the performance to be short: normally, a meditation on one of the Seven Last Words for Tenebrae would last only about five minutes. We settled on ten to twelve minutes, and the written portion of the work took ten minutes exactly to read through in rehearsal.

The performance takes place in the sanctuary of a small German-Lutheran church now situated in the inner city. The ceiling has exposed dark wood beams; the pews and altar are of carved dark wood. There is a small balcony in the rear, above the narthex. The sanctuary seats 200 people.

As the hymn which followed the sixth reading was sung, Blake and Tracy took their positions in and beneath the balcony. Dean sat in a front pew holding a basket of laundry. I walked up two short steps to the lectern, where I retrieved a clothesline we had hidden there. Already secured to a pillar above the lectern at one end, I stretched the other end across the altar and hooked it to the opposite pillar, stretching the clothesline tightly. I then returned to the lectern, carefully closing the gate in the altar rail along the way. Meanwhile, Blake had dropped a bundled cloth many yards long into the waiting arms of Tracy down below, positioned at the head of the center aisle. Tracy stretched the billowing blue cloth as she moved slowly down the aisle, twisting the yardage overhead until it stretched behind her like a cloak, an elaborately elongated bride's veil. (The cloth was lovely deep blue upholstery fabric, shimmering with subtle two-toned stripes.) Tracy half-walked, half-danced up to the altar, pulling the long cloth behind her (the end of which still stretched up to the second-floor balcony), and paused, kneeling, before the rail with her head and shoulders covered. Blake followed carefully behind, and as Tracy emerged from her hooded shelter, the two of them caressed the cloth before carefully draping the end over the rail. Then they turned to face me at the lectern, gazing upward to a point above my head.

At this point I read the Biblical text, and after a short pause, began my portion of the reading. I spoke of the temple curtain in Jesus' day, which separated the Holy of Holies from all human presence save that of the chief priest; and of the meditative aspects of doing the laundry here at home. There was consideration of the baby blanket, the bathrobe, the head scarf and the winding sheet. I talked about productive servitude, and about the washing of the disciples' feet at the Last Supper. I introduced the idea of Jesus removing the barriers between himself and those he loved, by simply washing -- and drying, with a towel -- the feet of his loved ones. In doing so, "Jesus had left the temple behind." Dean and I read that line together, and then Dean launched into an explanation of the Temple layout and hierarchy, and the importance of the curtain -- and its sundering -- to our understanding of the crucifixion and Resurrection as they re-ordered the human relationship with God. As we read, the dancers acted out various interpretations of the script, moving smoothly from one line of narrative to the next, hanging dishcloths and strips of linen on the line, folding other cloths away in the basket. Near the end of my reading, on cue, the dancers produced a curtain I had sewn which loosely corresponded in color to descriptions of the temple curtain. They took down the laundry and instead hung over the line the curtain, which was three joined panels of crimson, purple and blue. (I sewed in weights on the back corners to keep it from slipping off the line -- 5/8 inch nuts that I purchased at Home Depot.)

The dancers' movements illustrated the relationship between men and God and the curtain. In the end, again on cue, the dancers tore the curtain in two down its middle. The sharp cotton tearing, in one fluid motion, elicited a gasp from somewhere in the audience. The dancers followed the motion through in a slow march up the aisle toward the rear of the sanctuary, dragging the pieces of the torn curtain behind them. The lights had been extinguished along with the altar candles, a bank at a time, until our performance ended in near-darkness. Finally, in the blackness of the end of the Tenebrae, our music director performed a solo rendition of "How Can You Refuse Him Now?"

It went well. The performance left several impressions I think; and moreover, served to continue a gradual introduction of dance and drama into our liturgical expressions at church. I'm hoping we have some photos of the rehearsals, taken during daylight hours. If I find them I'll post them here.

birds at night

So, working a bit more on the youngest of the UFOs, the "birds" -- which has in its longish progression stopped having so much to do with nests. It is rather about this simple thought:

At night, there are birds in the trees.
You can't see them. You can't hear them (ordinarily.) But think,
all the birds you see everywhere, every day --
they're all hidden in the branches at night.

So the piece is a kind of landscape, several landscapes, as much"fabric collage" as "quilt" in execution I suppose. I'd upload a shot of where it's at right now, but I'm too lazy. It's been beautiful weather today, breezy and warm. The sewing room window is still open, and I can hear the wind in the pine trees, the bells chiming on the clothesline. It's lovely. I have a terrible cold, which does put a damper on things. Still. Spring.

And out there among the whispering boughs, tiny silhouettes and quiet wings.

nest

I found a palm-sized bit of nest in a hedge, one morning this week. It was something from last year, plainly, shredded by a bird as it foraged for new materials with which to rebuild for the spring. Dirty and wind-frayed around the edges, still the construction was fascinating. A large quantity of 20-pound test fishing line was included, as well as a strand of black plastic and a variety of dried bits of grass and thin muddy twigs. The best part though -- I found the nest near the beauty school, and the bulk of the bundle is woven from gray hair, human hair. A soft lining, warm when it was still clean and comfortable, undoubtedly collected near the Aveda building's trash bins. Someone's hair, trimmed off and swept away, put to new purpose by a sparrow of the city.

kindergarten quilts - finally done!

Blocks designed and partially constructed by my son's fellow students. I finished them with batting, backing and quilting. The next step is to tie them all together (in class) to form a single large "quilt" of about 32" by 55". The quilt will be displayed in the classroom for 2 weeks, and then moves to MPS headquarters in April.

Something wonderfully archeological, polluted and awful, and strangely beautiful about the end of winter in Minneapolis.

Quilts n Kids

Teaching contrast and making quilt blocks with my son's kindergarten class this past Monday night! I was nervous earlier in the day, not having heard from my son's teacher and unsure who was taking the lead with the lesson -- but she came in and handled it adroitly, and the kids and parents (ten kids and maybe 12 parents) had a blast. I precut 8x8" squares for the ground and cut triangles in varying colors (and textures) that fit within the square. I backed each of the triangles with fusible, the paper-backed kind by Heat N Bond. After learning about the idea of contrast, and the differences between high, medium and low contrast, the kids colored in a "template" with a contrast style to pattern their block after. Then they picked a fabric square and a set of triangles (4 or more). Moms and Dads helped them iron on their triangles, and voila! Quilt blocks, no-sew. Now I'll gather them all together, add stitches for decoration, quilt batting and backing to them, and add yarn ties at each of the corners. Next week the kids will tie their pieces together to form a big "quilt" for display, and later, they'll take their own blocks home with them. A fun project!

Read about this wonderful corset by Queenie (and see the rear view) HERE.

aprons, underwear, layers

Earlier today I was reading my Nov/Dec issue of Selvedge, a second copy (new subscription, bought the first copy from Barnes & Noble.) And I was reading about Iwa i Walla, a Swedish purveyor of clothing in a very romantic, linen-y, layer-y vein. In the photos that accompany the article, I noticed that underneath all those scrumptious crinkled and worn-looking layers, there are undergarments so practical and yet romantic that they totally steal my focus -- three-quarter sleeved undershirts with an itty bitty lace trim, crinkled pantalons that reach half way down the calf and peep from under crinoline-like skirts, etc. I WANT real underwear! Especially in the winter -- I want layers of soft stuff between me and the world, the cold parching winds.

This made me think of my aprons.

I have lots of aprons -- forties, fifties, sixties aprons, mostly homemade, flour sack and cute motifs; breakfast aprons, filmy cocktail aprons, the works. I love them. But I don't own many dresses or skirts that I can wear with them, because that's just not where affordable fashion goes these days -- and, I confess I've never sewn a skirt, or any item of clothing. Just quilts, bags, artworks. But I'd better learn. We had a pancake breakfast fundraiser for church yesterday, and I wore one of my aprons. I also brought a handful of them to share for the event, which were quickly snatched up.

I think I could design things easily enough -- I've never followed a pattern for bags etc, I just figure out how they should be made and then put them together. But I don't know the tricks -- darts n things -- so I need someone to show me. That's how I learn best. There's a local place that's perpetually offering classes on basic skirt making, and I should get off my scaredy-cat butt and take one.

Oh, aprons -- feminine layers. I'm not all that prone to frills or push-up bras; but I think aprons and underwear can be both history-laden and sexy, narrative and practical. I have some unsatisfying shots of the aprons, which I won't post yet. But soon. It's another theme...

The moon looked just like this last night. Thin like a nail paring, antiqued, already setting in a winter haze as I stood on the hill at the bus stop, 6pm. New moon, new beginnings.

the in-between times

Ah the fickle muse.
What have I made in the past few months? Well, there were those Bible-book-bags in October; and the workshop with the Confirmation kids, making their stoles. Over Christmas break I prepped a quilt-block project for my son's kindergarten class which includes fusible iron-together blocks and worksheets on contrast (a family project for the kids, this, but when we're all done the blocks will be tied together to form a large quilt. Later we'll untie them, and the kids will bring their blocks home.) In and around these little projects I've done some work on the birdnests/moonlight piece; but I'm stalled out again on that one, wondering what the central focal point should ultimately become. Stacked with two other art-quilts-in-progress, here in the sewing room, while books and mail pile up on the sewing table. Hmm.

Work has been a major distraction. The job. And a desire for more sleep to offset some stress. But it's all still percolating slowly, deep inside, and by keeping my hand in I know my time will come again. Wrapped up the year of book arts round-robin and haven't started a new altered book yet...trickle trickle trickle, the modest watering of my creative landscape by my fickle muse. What happens next?

At some point this year, it appears I'll have to opportunity to establish an artspace for the community in the brand new community center my church is preparing to build. But that will happen in the context of many other changes, and much work. Where will the energy come from?