It seemed like a safer option...
so I made a needle book.
with probably more pages than I need.
Room to add stories.
Found one on the back already; outlined so that I can remember.
Made with a Threadcrumb, Deb Lacativa thread, fabric that I dyed with some plant or another and a piece of paper inserted between the two pieces of fabric that make up the cover for a bit of stiffness.
I cut apart one of the cyanotypes to use as a cover for the book I've been making.
Still working on captions.
The caption for this would be:
What Widget thinks about 90+ degrees F.
I agree.
Out in the garden I noticed a bald eagle, blue heron, and the first swallowtail sighting of the year.
Watered everything well in preparation for 90+ temps.
First:
And then:
A very subtle addition of a stripe. I also added a filter that changed the tone just a bit.
The combination of baby photo and claim check made me smile.
I was in a bit of a mood today, not liking what I was making. And then I found this quote that I had stashed away...
"The best way to hone your skills and develop your style is to just do the work, over and over again. The more you create, the more natural it becomes. The more natural it becomes, the less you think. And when you stop thinking, this is when the magic begins to happen." Seth Apter
I also took a nap.
This morning's harvest:
When I make a pouch with my shirt to carry something, I always think of other women in my family. Pretty sure I've seen everyone on my mother's side of the family do this.
I also gathered scraps and made a book. The class was called "Seeded notebook." With a name like that how could I resist?
The image to the right is a photo copy of a project I stitched. It includes an edge of lace made my Grandma Iside.
I am pretty sure I won't ever buy a book to journal in again...
I'll just keep making them.
I am using a little book I made with scrap paper, tulip petals, onion skin, and rose leaves to collect words.
I love finding shapes in the random prints.
Some I've outlined, others I've left but imagine what might be there.
There are two purposeful images, the rose leaf and a heart I cut from the onion shell.
The words so far: fragile, complicated, solitude, portal, resilient, resist, empathy, care-giving, gentle, exhaustion, permeable, pollinate, division, mask, vent, wait, community, sing (NPR community choir), migrate, sanctuary, and transform.
The challenges of making right now continue so the cat chronicles continue as well:
She is a wild one and every movement of the hand is an invitation.
My hands are a wreck at the moment, despite trying to keep her claws trimmed.
This morning she let me fold paper for a book. That's as far as I got before having to get out the 6 foot strip of canvas I use as a "toy." I drag it across the floor or dangle it in the air, Widget attacks. She runs, she leaps, she somersaults.
Lola watches it like a tennis match.
I wish I got as much exercise...
I think this is rock shield lichen.
Something new I've learned from Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, is that lichens are a fungal/algal symbiotic relationship. I'm going to be sad when I finish this book but luckily have Gathering Moss to read too.
"When times are easy and there's plenty to go around, individual species can go it alone. But when conditions are harsh and life is tenuous, it takes a team sworn to reciprocity to keep life going forward. In a world of scarcity, interconnection and mutual aid become critical for survival. So say the lichens."
From Braiding Sweetgrass
I'm cleaning up my stash of "fabric for work projects" and am making dinosaur pillows.
More details coming soon.
My book holds time, generations, and place...
Family, friends, places I've lived, places my family has lived, and color as memory (redwood cones, indigo, avocado pits, pomegranate, walnut).
A fragment of pattern as a reminder of a baby quilt made by my mother.
A sense of childhood, a sense of place.
Gifts from: Hazel, a bit of Deb Lacativa dyed fabric; fabric from one of my grandmothers, some of the lace my great grandmother made and part of her wedding dress; and from Jude.
Transformation.
There is breath and raindrops (not quite how I intended but maybe better?).
The end but not the end.
There is still room for notes.
The workshop, "Binding Time" by Christine Mauersberger