Tag: hymns of cloth

sometimes i think . . .

Apocrypha1e

that those who can’t drive a car
are the very ones we need to be asking for directions

Apocrypha1f

that those who can’t cook a meal
are the ones who nourish us most deeply

Apocrypha1a

that those who can’t tell their own story
are the ones with the stories we most need to hear

Apocrypha1g

that those who can’t add 2 + 2
are the wisest of us all.

Apocrypha1d

Apocrypha1b

i have reworked and renamed this quilt.
it is now titled Apocrypha 1.

[ :: ]

Stitching Nancy’s drawings since June 2012
and still loving and learning with every single stitch.

breadcrumbs

Evidence01feb14i

meet Evidence, the hymn of cloth that documents this year of my life – the year dedicated to building a body that works and a body of work – beginning on 11/15/13. (because every day is new year’s day, right?) it’s color coded by what elements constitute, for me, a day well spent:

red = moving (as in walking, yoga, etc.)
orange = making (stitching, mostly, but also collages and photographs)
aqua = marking (writing, as in journals and books and blog posts)
purple = laughing (as in the surprises and wonders of the day that don’t go unnoticed)

Evidence01feb14m

i was filled with excited anticipation when i started work on Evidence back in november, and decided to use my sewing machine (a christmas gift from my husband 40 years ago, bought and paid for with winnings from a radio show contest) instead of stitching it all by hand as is my standard, my preference, my love. it quickly turned unfun, though, on account of the bulk. and if all goes according to plan, the bulk will become greater and greater.

Evidence01feb14d

today i pushed up my sleeves and set about getting caught up. with the walking foot on the machine, i put an audio book on and started, telling myself that i would not abandon this project and i would make this enjoyable and worthwhile. period.

as i sewed, i noticed that i had a tendency to push and pull the fabric in an effort to speed things up. sewing was much easier and more enjoyable when i relaxed and worked with the machine instead of against it. ditto when i quit disregarding and underestimating the flexibility and forgiving nature of fabric – when i let it be what it is instead of trying to make it something else, like a glass or an egg. this may be a transferable epiphany.

///

later, along comes this David Walcott poem titled Love After Love sent by my friend tom:

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott

which is what often happens when you capture and preserve your life stories . . .

hooked

i’ve finished stitching Nancy’s 454 drawings in set 2, and now that we’re home for a while, i’ll be pulling them altogether in In Our Own Language, 2 this week.

Complete1

i’ve been amassing a collection doilies for this one, and truth be known, i’ve never really liked doilies. i crocheted a lot of afghans – in fact, my husband’s grandmother and i had such similar tension, we could pick up each other’s crochet and never tell where one started and the other left off. it’s the funniest thing though, in that way funny way that doesn’t make you laugh: as i’ve quietly acquired these doilies over the past 5 months, i’ve come to really enjoy looking at them . . . and i suspect that i’ll miss going on doilie treasure hunts.

Doilie1

some seem downright happy and carefree.

Doilie2

Doilie4

some seem to represent individuals in community, something that can sometimes be tricky.

Doilie3

some make me think of fields freshly plowed and ready to plant.

Doilie5

and some seem like optical illusions and threaten to make my head hurt.

Doilie7

Doilie8

some leave me gobsmacked with their intricacies.

Doilie6

Doilie9

and some seem quite fragile . . . but you’d be surprised.
(i am leaving the stains and discolorations of age because it makes them real somehow.)

Doilie10

i see spiderwebs in some.

Doilie11

some make me think of mandalas, and i swear just looking at them calms me.

Doilie12

some beg me to ponder negative and positive use of space.

Doilie13

some are crocheted metaphors.

shoot, maybe all are crocheted metaphors. my father-in-law always said i read too much into everything.