Tag: altarcloth

altar cloth: and underneath it all was love





they treated us to a trip on saturday, my son and his girlfriend, the gondola dropping us off at the tiptop of keystone in colorado right as the sun retired for the day. it was magnificent – the togetherness, the thoughtfulness, the planning that went into it, the fondue dinner we enjoyed there, singing edelweiss, doing the chicken dance (timed perfectly to occur between the main course fondue and chocolate fondue dessert), and the ride back down the mountain in darkness.
moments in time,
certainly worthy of
a block in my ongoing altar cloth
(not that i’ll ever forget it, mind you.)
because this kind of day
is nothing short of


~~~ and underneath it all was love ~~~

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after spending a day (a day that seemed more like a decade) of paperwork (thus the decade) (and i’m not finished yet, i have hours to go before i sleep), i crave the life of a simple 9-square, though i can’t help but wonder if less paperwork really does equal simple or if it just seems that way because i hate paperwork more and more every month. wait . . . does living the simple life mean doing less of things i despise and more of things i enjoy? could it really be that simple or is that kinda’ like thinking living life on the prairie in a dugout was simple? either way, today’s altar cloth is a simple 9-square. (a.k.a. wishful thinking.)

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a dove is born


Talk about living in the realm of unknowing, that’s where I seemed to have pitched my tent today. This piece of my altar cloth started out as the image that appeared as a response to Pablo Nerusda’s poem called An Ode to Ironing:

Poetry is white
it comes dripping out of the water,
it gets wrinkled and piles up.
We have to stretch out the skin of this planet.
We have to iron the sea in its whiteness.
The hands go on and on
and so things are made
the hands make the world every day,
fire units with steel
linen, canvas and calico come back
from combat in the laundry
and from the light a dove is born
purity comes back from the soap suds.

I saw a sky filled with clothes (probably dirty) falling to earth, forming a dove. But somehow in the stitching, my hands created this, and because I have no idea what my hands are trying to tell me, what they wish to convey, I will leave you with this:

Creating art is like dreaming; there are a multitude of layers that can’t be exhausted with just one sitting.

and this:

In creating altars, we fill a personal space with the power of our own intentions and longings. We take seriously the deep desires of our hearts.

both from the pen of Christine Valters Paintner.

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Hey, Sugar! I'm Jeanne Hewell-Chambers: writer ~ stitcher ~ storyteller ~ one-woman performer ~ creator & founder of The 70273 Project, and I'm mighty glad you're here. Make yourself at home, and if you have any questions, just holler.

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