Tag: stories in cloth (Page 2 of 3)

My Tree Of She


i am a grove
a copse
a rich, fruitful orchard.

my tree of she
bears the fruit
of music
and cloth
and sparkle
and words.


my tree of she
bears blooms
of food
and flowers
and a strength
so soft,
it’s often mistaken
for weakness.

my tree of she
bears leaves
of dance
and duty
and generosity.
leaves of
and nourishing
and protecting.


my tree of she
is rich
in the red roots,
of blood
and hearts
and spirit,
and tears,
in the determination
and tenacity
and quiet boldness
of the women
who precede me.
their fierce independence,
their unbounded love,
their unending creativity,
unlocking the wonder
and the aching beauty
that is
my tree of she.


Today’s post is inspired
by the lovely Lindsey Mead
who sweeps me away regularly
with that special brand of wisdom
she shares over at a place called
A Design So Vast . . .

she, more


in the beginning
there was light:
the lightness of laughter,
the lightness of femininity,
the lightness of self-assurance.
she was fiercely delicate,
this one,
fluent in the strength of vulnerability.

eventually her sure and tender feet
encountered the straight and narrow,
a path lined with directional signs
and dire warnings,
a path with unwavering rules,
a path that blistered unprotected souls.

then came the day when she
stopped –
she just stopped,
i tell you.
picked up the fabrics of her life,
and ripped them to find the straight grain.

she wove
then stitched
the strips together,
the up/down
eventually blurring the lines,
fraying the edges,
unraveling things just enough
to form
a whole cloth,
a blank slate
a stout, staunch cloth
on which to write
the rest of her life.

weaving blooms

first, the seed.
from my writing partner and friend julie daley:


which sparked this in me:


which became this:


and you know how it goes.
one seed blooms,
then another,
then another
which is to say:
there’s more.
just you wait.



It’s been such a lovely day – filled with such productivity and possibility. At one point, I felt totally in control of my life – like I am right where I’m supposed to be.

But now . . .

See these lovelies? They are from the talented hands of my friend Glennis who really knows her way around shibori. I have held these bits of cloth in their cellophane wrapper for so long, keeping them segregated from the general fabric population. Today I pulled them out not just to look at and drool over, but to weave together into cloth for a Very Special Project. Then shoot, before I could start, doubt crept in and hissed me into paralysis. So I return them to protective custody and prepare to stitch on an existing cloth – one I created last night – one that’s ready for layers of embellishment – while the blue lovelies resume their patient, optimistic wait.



weaving disparate things together.
combining things in unexpected ways,
ripping to find the true grain,
laying the foundation
and building a basecloth
for possibilities.



from bandages
to bindings
(not necessarily in that order).
whether part of some great plan
or a contract signed before birth
or just the luck of the draw,
they’re here.
so what’s a girl to do?
weave them into the bigger cloth called life,
of course.



don’t like what i see,
but rather than toss it all aside,
and render it useless
and unworthy,
rather than walk away,
i rip out the stitches,
saving the bits of cloth
and threads,
(it is, after all, my cloth)
the mere act of
enkindling ideas of
other uses for them
in this project
that i’m now calling
my legasee cloth.

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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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