bee creative

quiet...mostly

Playing with pigments again. 

Two new inks are steeping...Douglas Fir cones and rose hips. 

color play

It's been stormy, but not as stormy as other places. 

One day last week I heard someone call out "rainbow" and went outside to take a peek.

And then it rained again...hard.

This weekend I processed what is probably the last of the indigo.

(I may have said that before...but there was more! No hard frost yet.)

The leaves were fermented and then calx added.  There is a step where the liquid needs to be aerated; the hand blender works beautifully.

  This (Caitlin ffrench) is where I learned about processing the indigo this way. 

There are two layers of pigment here.  The top is where the foam settled and the blue sitting on the bottom of the pot is the remainder of the pigment. 

And this is a sample of the pigment:

I've set aside some of the pigment and calx water to see if I can make a baby indigo vat. 

Until later...

I wanted an x-ray for x

I love the idea of x-rays. 

The ability to see inside of something.

But I don't have one to share.

So...some things that are not an x-ray, but another way of seeing.

1. Breaking things apart.

This is a collection on things from my last beach walk.  I thought the clump of gray was a rock but it crumbled easily. 

It's a piece of clay from the bank.

It was easy to grind into a pigment.

2. Looking out the car window on Monday. 

Atmospheric rivers.

The rain was streaming off the windshield.

Looking into the weather?  

3. Layering, vellum doodles over ink doodles. 

I am taking a class from Aris Moore hosted by Carla Sonheim.  It's giving me some ideas...

Not an x-ray, but another way of seeing.  

Another way of understanding.

words, wonder, and wool

I am still reading In Kiltumper.    This morning I found another passage that I need to keep track of.  The passage refers to plants that self seed and come up in unexpected places.  

"These surprises are small reminders that you are part of a living, changing space, and also, that you are not in control of everything, a good thing for me to remember.  Another, that you can't imagine what will lift your heart tomorrow.  But somewhere, today, it is already starting to happen."

The book has also taken me down a bit of a rabbit hole. On Niall Williams' website I found a podcast called Shelfmarks that featured the book.  I am now working my way through the series. It's a mixture of poetry and natural history. 

And...today the indigo that I grew this year (started by my mother),  is lifting my heart. 

I made the pigment on the right with indigo that has been fermented and with calx added.  The one on the left was done with fresh leaves and as a lake pigment.  The lake pigment won't work as a dye (I am pretty sure) but the one made today can be used that way.  I have a copy of John Marshall's book Singing the Blues.  It's been very helpful (for the fermented pigment, no information about lake pigments).

I still have a tiny bit of fresh indigo and might dye part of this wool a third time. I want to use this for a lap quilt and am thinking that some applique on top might be nice.

 

this place (value)

I've been coming to this beach, this place where land and ocean meet for over 35 years. 

There were a lot of logs along the edge of the bay, some large pieces of drift wood and more seaweed than usual.  A huge wind storm on Monday seems to have stirred up things.  

I watched a seal for awhile.  The seal was up and down, making rings while diving since the water was fairly still.

The light was amazing. The water changing color constantly depending on clouds, ripples, and my perspective.

Looking back today, I wonder was the water really this color?  I think so...it's why I took the picture.  I was looking straight down from the boardwalk.  It's shallow there and crushed clam and oyster shells create large white areas that reflect the light differently. 

(The little spot is a leaf.)

The last of the leaves (the yellow is Big Leaf Maple) glowed. 

The contrast between sky and tree sharp. 

I love this place and value it for so many reasons. 

It's a place where species of all kinds live or visit...

A liminal space between wild and not. 

A place of work and play. 

It shapes and reshapes and nurtures me. 

things we share (value)

Tuesday night I stood outside for a moment after coming home. 

The evening was clear and crisp. 

There was a sliver of moon and a flock of geese. 

I could hear the geese first and then there they were, in formation. 

Light from something was reflecting off their wings so I could see them as they went, a shadow moving across the sky. 

It's not the first year I've watched this...it is another season passing.

Earth pigment.

I am about half way through reading In Kiltumper by Niall Williams and Christine Breen. I love this passage that I found...

"Being in rural west Clare, and living the quiet way we do, some days meeting no other person, it is a garden seen by few.  So, it is not grown and cared for with the goal of display.  It is simply the natural extension of our living here, and as close as we get to having a relationship with the earth, not the one with a capital E, not the grand vast ungraspable wholeness of the thing that the steel turbines are said to be saving, but the portion of mud, clay and stone that live with us."

This passage resonates with me so much.  I don't think too much about what others think of my garden; it is about love, nurturing and healing. It is a place to rest and a place to grow; it is about place.  

I am thinking that the geese that have been flying over know more of the earth "with a capital E" than I do. They fly all the way from Russia each year for the winter. 

Today I am going to work in the garden some.  Wendell Berry has come up in my reading of In Kiltumper.  I suppose because of that a fragment of his poetry came to mind, "Having once put his hand into the ground, seeding there what he hopes will outlast him, a man has made his marriage with his place..."  From "The Current."

 

 

r,s,t... I have to go backwards to go forward

Rest and release...I suppose I have been indulging in some.  I've been going through days either so involved in what I am doing that there hasn't been room for anything else or so full of thoughts that I can't find the words I want. 

Story ... Something I've been thinking about. About a month ago Nancy wrote a post about the things we save and why. 

I've been thinking about how story adds value to what we choose to have in our lives. It's not just about sentimentality or usefulness. 

I've realized that I am always layering story into and onto what I make and what I choose to save.  The deeper I can go, the more connections there are, the more story there is.

The more story there is, the happier I am.*

For example:

Transform...from brick to pigment.  I love brick as a pigment because it is a building material.  The brick for the pinkish pigment below came from the waterfront; a fragment of location and the history of where I live.

The black is a charcoal ink.  Made from plants (blackberry, rose, hazelnut, quince) from my garden or my parent's.

The brown is an ink made from coffee beans.  Thinking about how they are seeds.  How they came from very far away from here.

And do you see the human figure, making and thinking so hard there is steam coming out of her ears?  I didn't see this until I covered the bottom paper with another layer while I was playing.

Thinking about how it is our nature, human nature, to create meaning and story. 

*I just finished listening to This is Happiness by Niall Williams.  I've also listened to History of the Rain and loved them both.  They might not be for everyone as there isn't a linear story line that is plot driven. The story is built up through layers of character development and descriptions of location. Williams writing is beautiful. 

 

time and to-do lists

Time...today I had some for myself, a day off work.

I decided to not make a to-do list. 

It was sunny so I spent most of the day outside.

I pruned hops for baskets and gathered rose hips for ink.

And then picked the last of the dahlias.

There was dyeing with some of the last of the indigo plants...

A paste of leaves and salt rubbed in circles to make polka dots. 

It was so good to sit in the sunshine and just play.

I added another layer of color to this silk and wool.

And worked with pigments a bit. 

The indigo and lichen lakes; brick and earth pigments. 

There has been more poetry too,

Mary Oliver... "The Summer Day" on an autumn day. 

"Tell me..."

 

season and storm

This is the season the blueberries plants turn red...this one more so than the others.

It is also the earliest to set fruit.

And this is the season that the tea plant, Camellia sinensis, blooms.

I've never been quick enough to harvest the leaves in the spring to try making tea with it. 

I do have leaves from the pruning that I did in the summer to soak for a dye bath.  Tea leaves are high in tannins, good for dyeing. 

Today I found this moth on the side of the house. 

Something to wonder about. 

We are having the first storm of the season. 

High winds and rain; making me think about shelter and places to rest.

 

sunrise

Plus one more r...robe.  The one that I started a long time ago for one of Jude's classes.  I have been wearing it but am also ready to do a few more things with it. 

More layers of wool, pockets, and a button or two. 

Not the picture I wanted to post, Typepad seems to prefer landscape oriented photos right now.

Yesterday's sunrise.  It's been a beautiful couple of days. 

Out on the porch I found my indigo pigment ready to wash.  It's so beautiful...

Satisfying.