Category: Jeanne’s Barefoot Heart (Page 34 of 99)

Jeanne’s personal creative pursuits of stories stitched, written, and spoken

Communion 7: The Little Cloth that Could

November 12, 2013 / jeanne / 11 Comments

This latest addition to the Communion Series (cloths that visually describe what it’s like to have a conversation with Nancy) comes with a subtitle: “And Then . . . ” or maybe “Well, shoot” or maybe “I Think I Can . . . ”

Communion7a

Things went okay . . . at first.

Communion7b

Communion7i

I tucked all the assorted colorful bits of fabric under the veil then added some that escaped, some that seeped out from under the veil.

Communion7m

Even though chaotic stitches held everything in place, I decided to stitch a spiral down over it all, never once considering that it might turn out looking much like the rocket bra that one never-to-be-named relative wore to Thanksgiving 2004.

Communion7o

Even with the surprise 3-D element, it looked kinda’ plain and unfinished, so I added French knots around the rocket bra-ish spiral . . . only I didn’t have enough black floss and couldn’t find any at the beach, so I bought some black crochet thread and used that (which was hard on the fingers) (but I actually wound up liking the shade and substance it added) (though not enough to take out the knots made with black floss. As it turns out, the blacks were divided kinda’ half and half on the piece, so I decided to pretend that was part of the design.) (Two people in communication and all that, you know.) (I can justify with the best of ’em.)

Communion7d

Ordinarily I like softly frayed, unfinished edges, but this fabric was especially bad to ravel, so I added a healthy coat of Fray Check to all the edges . . . and let me tell you: there wasn’t enough rubbing alcohol in the entire state of Alabama to get rid of that Fray Check after it dried. So I cut the “tails” off and added new ones, attaching them with more black French knots to make it look like it was part of the plan from the Very Beginning, you know.

Communion7f

And eventually Communion 7 is finished (if you don’t count that there’s no way to hang it and no label) (yet). (I’ll get around to that, but right now 7 and I, we need a little space.)

Communion7j

[ ::: ]

Jeanne Hewell-Chambers figures that sometimes it’s not (just) the end product that resembles a conversation with Nancy, but the process itself.

have studio will travel

November 2, 2013 / jeanne / 0 Comments

OrangeBeach01Nov13b

Sunsetinthestudio

This is my makeshift studio for two weeks. Bless my heart, right?

Speaking of shopping (not that I was, exactly, but it’s never a big leap to shopping), as I dashed through a fabric store recently, I happened to catch a glimpse of stick-on finger protectors. Bought me a package and they work so good, I’m planning to buy ’em in bulk from here on out. Not like I need a bonus, but I figure I’ll make more friends now that I don’t have to walk around with my middle finger stuck up in the air to stop the throbbing.

The Whole World’s a Stage, You Know

October 31, 2013 / jeanne / 5 Comments

Back in The Day, I smocked their clothes

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and sewed their costumes.

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Sometimes they costumed themselves,
often for no special reason.

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I guess it’s no wonder they both grew up to become actors.

I See Them Everywhere

October 17, 2013 / jeanne / 2 Comments

The Short Version:

I continue to stitch the second set of Nancy’s drawings.
A set = the drawings she makes each time I visit, that is to say a set = a visit.
In Our Own Language 2.2 is what I’m currently working on. It’s the second of three panels of the second set.
When I work on it, I see likenesses pretty much everywhere.

The longer, illustrated version:

They say when you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
I guess that’s why while stitching In Our Own Language 2.2 and creating a base of collaged doilies

Doiliecollage1

I see a collage of leaves.

Leafcollage

And while I seal the four layers together with scatter stitches

Scatter

I see scatter stitches of pine straw.

Pinestrawscatter1

( :: )

I had to take a break from stitching these big pieces (each panel is 60″ x 90″ and four layers) and stitch smaller pieces instead because working on the rather large panels in the In Our Own Language series is hot work, and we don’t have air conditioning. It’s cooling off now.

yesterday was . . .

October 13, 2013 / jeanne / 6 Comments

the High Line in the former meatpacking district (where fast-moving freight trains once moved perilously close to pedestrians) and where we were treated to interesting preserved remnants like this:

Highlineremnant

and scenery like this:

Highline2

the Chelsea Market . . .

Chelseamarket

where we stumbled (which is about the only way to move forward cause there were SO many people) into an exhibit of hand made items, like this bicycle:

Bicycle

and this bicycle (why yes, that is bamboo):

Bikebamboo

and this rather odd (yet strangely intriguing) collaborative thing that included a human vertebrae:

Oddity

Yesterday was The Skyline and all sorts of architecture that just sorta’ puts you in your place:

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Architecture3

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and the Clement Clarke Moore Park on the campus where Stacy attended Seminary:

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and stoops (New York’s first cousin to the front porches of The South) that invited us to come sit a spell:

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Stoop2

There were rides on the subway in buses and in taxis . . . but not on any farm equipment like the front-end loader that passed us as we walked along Madison Avenue:

Tractor

And then we came home to Annie (who had her legs crossed cause it takes a mighty long time for people to see so much):

Annie

It was another gloriously good day.

But you knew that.

Here’s the Church and Here’s the Steeple, Open the Doors and . . .

October 12, 2013 / jeanne / 6 Comments

The Short Version:

New York is fun.
And beautiful.
And a bit wacky.

The Longer (Illustrated) Version:
I am in New York City visiting my cousin Stacy and my other cousin (and his wife), Ginger. Being here in their beautiful 3-bedroom apartment on the Episcopal compound (don’t know the official name since I’m not exactly fluent in Episcopal) is like being in the magical world of Hogwart’s . . .

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Yesterday I spent some time roaming the Cathedral of St. John the Divine where I saw some pretty magnificent things . . . like stained glass:

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Stainedglass

and likenesses carved into pews:

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and floors that sure look like quilts to me (quilts that were much more captivating when I stood right there on them than when I climbed up high and tried to get a picture of the “quilt” in its entirety):

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Quiltedfloor6

On the way back to their apartment, I looked at the cracks in the sidewalks and saw churches and steeples, some caught in the act of being struck by lightning:

Crack2

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Fortunately the lightning only took half the steeple each time:

Crack4

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Sometimes lightning only sheered off the point at the top:

Crack9

I saw a high rise church built on a mountain (or half a high rise church built on half a mountain for those of you who are more factually inclined:

Crack11

And best I can tell, this is 5.25 of the Ten Commandments, undoubtedly put on legs to save them from The Flood:

Crack12

Oh, and we rode the subway last night (a first for me on my fourth visit to The Big Apple) to Little Italy for supper, and I want you to know: I hadn’t been on the train a nanosecond when a fella in a red jacket hopped up and offered me his seat. He’s in construction, and I’m a little offended that he didn’t whistle at me as he offered me his seat. I broke all the rules, though, and not only made eye contact with him, but enjoyed talking to him. (Something that would’ve been much easier had he come with subtitles.)

A Belated Homecoming

October 3, 2013 / jeanne / 6 Comments

Memorial

Shorter Version for those with little time:

~ Stories are the shortest route between two people.
~ It’s never too late to thank a Vietnam veteran, ask them to share a story, then thank them again.
~ Listening deeply, attentively, and without judgment to stories from anybody (but especially veterans) can be healing for the teller and educational for the receiver.

Longer Version:

Our daughter loves history and hates injustice, so last spring when she discovered that this year is the 40th anniversary of the last US troop withdrawal from Vietnam, she decided to throw a belated Welcome Home for the Vietnam veterans, including a parade and a program. It took place last Saturday, 9/28/13.

Mustang

The parade boasted fly-overs by Vietnam helicopters and airplanes, along with various other Vietnam War vehicles. There were cars – now vintage cars – that veterans ordered while they were in Vietnam to have waiting on them when they got home.

Some Vietnam veterans (including some of my friends) couldn’t bring themselves to be in or even watch the parade – they just couldn’t – but others did, some at the very last minute. Wives came with husbands and beamed with pride as their veteran stood in his uniform when his branch was recognized. Adult children came and were amazed at some of the things they learned that day. Parents and grandparents who have no ties to the Vietnam War brought their children and grandchildren, giving them an opportunity to learn history from primary sources and encouraging them to talk to the veterans then quizzing them about what they learned.

Stories floated through the air. Oh my goodness did we hear stories . . .

Flags

You may remember POW/MIA bracelets, and how we wore them until our soldier came home. The program started by remembering those who did not make it home, and David, our first speaker, told us about his brother Gary who was Missing In Action for 41 years – forty-one years – then he thanked the US military for not giving up until his brothers remains were found, identified, and given appropriate burial.

You may remember that returning soldiers were spat on, shunned, had tomatoes thrown at them. We heard story after story of how badly they were treated by people who were actually angry with the decision makers but took it out on the veterans. It was not America’s finest hour.

Tom flew missions over Vietnam, and he’s still very angry (as are many other veterans). We heard lots of anger, and I don’t know about you, but I think these fellas have earned the right to be angry.

Billy was responsible for sweeping mine fields, and he closed his story by telling us that while they may joke about Air Force people getting manicures and pedicures, they were and still are brothers. It took a team, he says. Without one branch doing their job, the other branches were in peril and unable to do their jobs.

You may remember the casualty counts reported at the end of the daily 6:00 newscast. Stubby drove a truck and told us bout making deliveries. They’d unload the trucks, then wait while their trucks were loaded for the return trip. Other people loaded the trucks so that Stubby and the other drivers wouldn’t know which ones were carrying supplies and which ones were carrying the KIA’s (Killed in Action).

In between the stories my daughter and her trio, Bombshells United, performed period music specially requested by the veterans. The number one request? The Animals singing We Gotta’ Get Out of This Place. After hearing their stories, I understand more than ever why that song holds such a special place for them.

It was a magical day, a healing day, an educational day. It was a day when grown men cried, and we cried right alongside them. It was a day when we came together to honor these men and women, giving them the homecoming they should’ve received 40 years ago. If you know a Vietnam veteran, how ’bout thanking them for their service for me, will ya’? And ask them to tell you a story cause their stories need to be told . . . and heard.

[ :: ]

Jeanne Hewell-Chambers is at the International Storytelling Festival this weekend, which means she’s a happy, happy girl.

Not an Insignificant Exchange

September 23, 2013 / jeanne / 10 Comments

DahliaStruts

The short version for those who don’t have much time:

Where I live, there are 3 Great Voices of Authority: God, Doctors, Football.
Single words, short phrases, or simple sentences, have The Power to change lives.
When something stupid, thoughtless, inconsiderate, moronic, or potentially harmful falls out of a mouth – even the mouth of one of the 3 Great Authorities – you have not only the Right but a Duty to speak up.
Speaking up at times like #3 can change lives, too.

The longer version:

Two years ago, at our first visit, the cardiologist looked at my husband (who was then a recent recipient of a stent in his heart) and said, “You’re lucky. You know how you’re going to die.” I sat there and said nothing, in part because I was struck speechless with such a stupid thing being said by one of The Great Authorities, and in part because this was a conversation between my husband and this doctor to which I was a mere observer who didn’t want to risk the doctor “taking it out on my husband.”

Today, this same cardiologist walks into the room, and instead of saying “Wow, you look great. I can tell you’ve been seriously exercising” or anything comparable, he immediately starts hammering away at Andy about nutrition and eventually says (and I quote), “If you want to live to be 88, you need to watch what you eat and to cut down on the fried foods.”

Having heard enough, I take Andy’s face in my two hands, look into his retinas, and say, “Baby, we’re shooting for at least 98, okay?” When he nods, I turn my attention to the cardiologist . . .

“You deal with hearts,” I say, “I deal with psychology and emotions, the driving forces in life.” And before I can finish that train of thought, he says, “I deal with more psychology than you might think.” I am both relieved and borderline thrilled to know he realizes that.

“Then you understand about the power of suggestion,” I tell him. “When you put a finite number on how long my husband or anybody else, for that matter, will live, you plant a seed that might grow into a self-fulfilling prophecy. So what say we leave out the finite numbers and ages and stick to concepts, information, and most important of all: encouragement and support.” I guess it comes as no surprise to hear that my contribution quickly brings the visit to a close.

To his credit, though, when the cardiologist shakes my husband’s hand as we exit the office, he says, “Okay, we’ll shoot for 108. Or 109. Yes, 109. Let’s make it an odd number.”

And me? I just smile and say, “I like odd.”

[ :: ]

Jeanne Hewell-Chambers has long owned and seldom apologized for her authority issues.

The Engineer and The Artist Walk

September 17, 2013 / jeanne / 2 Comments

Rock

Every morning we walk up the falls together, and when we come to the fork in the road, he goes left to walk down to the lake, and I go to the right right to walk up the Way Big Hill. This morning he invited me to join him, and I did – reluctantly. While The Engineer likes walking downhill first (says it warms and loosens him up), I prefer to get the hard stuff out of the way first, then go downhill all the way home. He starts hard and finishes easy. I prefer starting hard and finishing easy.

He listens to music while he walks, I enjoy the sounds of my own thoughts, and the music of the falls. This morning I had three impossibly good ideas (or just impossible, depending on who you ask).

He carries a weight in each hand, and for the life of me I don’t know why, but I always like to have my hands free and uncommitted. Ready.

Then there’s this: I like to stop and take photos. Enough said.

Feather

Purpleflowers

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Tree1

Pull Your Soapbox Right On Up To The Table

September 11, 2013 / jeanne / 9 Comments

TreeBeauty

9/11.

A day we Americans stop and pause in a moment of silence, in a day of remembering.

Let me be clear about this: I mean no disrespect when I tell you that as much as I enjoy the stories of where you were and what you were doing when you heard, I want more. I want to remember with a wider lens. I want to move forward as we look back. I want . . .

I want to know what you learned on That Day or because of That Day.

I want to know how you changed since 9/11. I want to know if it’s a lasting change or was it a well-intended but short-lived change.

I want to know how you think our country changed on That Day and if you think it changed for better or for worse.

I want to know how you think the world changed on That Day, and again – did it change for better or for worse?

I want to know why countries and people can’t leave each other alone to live according to their own belief and economic and political/governmental systems. I want to know why people don’t just move to another location that suits them better rather than strike out in a desire to take down those who would not be, think, or worship like them. I want to know why it’s not enough to live with Epictetus’s notion in mind that a noble life is one spent being the best woman, the best man you can be. I want to know what it will take to end the conquering mentality, the arrogance of my-way-or-the-highway mindset.

I want to know how we teach people that the way to change an undesirable life is to push up your shirtsleeves and get to work changing what you don’t like about your current situation. Will that be easy? Most likely not. But since when do we turn away from hard work? Which reminds me of another thing I want to know: when did “earn” become a 4-letter word?

I want to know how – on a community level, state level, national, continent level – we instill in ourselves and our children open-mindedness, and not just a tolerance but a love for difference and individuality. How? Tell me how. Please.

So much of what we hear and read today will be about lives lost on That Day. I want you to tell me about your loved ones (people and/or pets welcomed) that have died. Maybe they died in that horribleness we’ve come to call 9/11. Maybe they died somewhere else for some other reason on that infamous day. Maybe they died before the tragedy, maybe they’ve died since. Tell me about them. Tell me why you miss them and how they touched your life. Introduce me to them and tell me why you wish I could have known them. Tell me and know that your missing them today does not in any way diminish the tenderness we feel for all those who lost their lives and whose lives were irrevocably changed on That Day.

[ :: ]

Jeanne Hewell-Chambers has a wildly inquiring mind. Always has.