Last Sunday's newsletter from "Poetry Unbound" quotes a letter from Emily Dickinson. The phrase that caught me, "and so I sing as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid-"
So many different reasons to sing.
And...something I shared on Instagram in response to the prompt "unexpected." Something I've been meaning to share here, especially after Nancy wrote about the bridge and not having her camera.
It was amazing.
My aunt sent these to me, something she found at my grandparents and thought I would like.
I do, thank you!
Yesterday morning I woke up mid dream.
Mary Oliver was telling me something.
I wish I could remember what.
A weekend spent with family, Mom and Dad, both brothers.
These were taken through the car window, while moving.
We took the long way, sometimes the best way.
Maybe usually the best way.
I have a thought...100 days of moving dots around.
To return to the On Being conversation with Christiana Figures, she introduced me to a new to me word...glocalization;
"think global, act local."
Thinking about that as I move pigment dots around...
local color, sharing globally.
The two small circles are the pigments that I made from rocks. The moment that I hit the rock and it shattered...I don't know that I've shared how that felt.
Amazement, awe...a sense of gratitude.
Rocks are so old.
To transform a rock to something else, it's something to do with respect.
And here, a little something different.
Pigment made with willow leaves + pressed leaves from high bush cranberry (viburnum family) and red twig dogwood. The willow not native to this area, the other two are.
Looking closer gives a better sense of the willow pigment,
there along the edge...liminal space.
Mostly it's been a stormy weekend. Early Saturday morning there was a gust of wind measured at 63 MPH.
During this week's On Being interview with Christiana Figueres, Krista Tippett says,
"When I was growing up, when you were growing up, the weather was a matter of small talk. The weather and the seasons had a predictability that was a rhythm of our lives, and how quickly that has shifted, and we just kind of — It’s so interesting to me and a little bit terrifying how we so quickly move into accepting that there’s fire season."
I was stitching the edges of a cloud patch while I listened to this.
It is the wind season, the season of power outages and floods.
The cloud patch is now attached to my blanket that I call "Peace and Plenty." It's the name of the quilt square that is on the upper right hand side.
(There was another cloud close to this spot, it has been temporarily been removed.)
Somewhere on the blog I know I have shared about this blanket (it's mostly 2 layers so not a quilt) but I want to share again.
It started as a memory blanket for my grandfather. The chambray fabric in the Peace and Plenty squares are from my grandfather's work shirts, the ones he wore gardening.
Originally the plan was to have a whole quilt of the squares but I needed a blanket and started stitching everything that was handy together and they just seemed to fit.
I've been adding patches to it for awhile now and suspect that eventually it will be more patches than not.
It is becoming a story quilt, every patch and mend making the story more clear to me.
I am thinking about choice, and trust, and love...and other things too.
Farmer's market trip today:
Grown in hoop houses...the last of the local strawberries and probably zucchini and cucumbers.
I also stopped at the local bookstore to pick up a book I'd ordered...Prairie Up. Maybe a bit of a strange thing, but it was on the "recommended reading" list for the ruderal and invasive pigment class. I loved the phrase "pocket prairie" that I found.
The other two books caught my eye... The World Central Kitchen Cookbook has the best chapter names, including "hope" and "joy."
While I was paging through the books I noticed the charcoal ink sitting in the sun...how it sparkles.
Thinking about charcoal as a fertilizer in the garden.
And then the pigment that I made with a rock last week.
A rock that would have eroded to soil eventually.
Even as a pigment, it might grow something...
Yesterday I updated my CPR/first aid card, went to the beach and then the farmer's market.
At the beach, I picked up one clam shell, one oyster shell and a piece of brick. I noticed the way that some of the old posts are breaking down; looked at the mix of broken clam and mussel shells, the rocks, glass, and brick.
Wondered about the things I couldn't see...not just the physical but also stories and history.
Thinking about erosion.
I listened to the On Being podcast with Baratunde Thurston for a second time and read the transcript. During the "On Being" conversation he talks about "citizen" as a verb and describes it with four principles: to show up, invest in relationships, to understand power and all the different ways we have it and to value the collective.
It seems so timely with everything that I am thinking about.
I've started listening to some of the episodes of his podcast "How to Citizen." I know that I will be listening to more. One thing that I love is that the episodes include suggestions for reflection and action...participation!
It's hard to push past (edited, what I mean here is to think of anything else other than...) what is happening in our world right now, on so many fronts. Some of the instructions given during the CPR/first aid class: stop for a moment and slow down, assess the situation, start over when you have to.
I am holding this thought close, the one that has been in my side bar for years and is one of my touchstones:
"It's not about healing the world by making a huge difference. It's about healing the world that touches you, that's around you." Rachel Naomi Reman
One thing I can do right now...
The two pots yesterday. The pot with the mullein has been simmered for a few hours. The willow has just been soaking but I will heat the water soon and see if the fabric will absorb more color. The fabric was soaked in a mordant.
Thinking about the act of absorbing.
There is enough fabric to make a top, both pieces are leftover from other projects. I will probably over-dye with indigo to make a green.
Both of these plants (although maybe not this specific willow) are sometimes considered invasive. Both have traditional healing qualities, color to share and their own natural beauty.
Thinking about the definition of ruderal again...
plants that grow where the ground has been disturbed.
Yesterday Jude posted about audience and blogging. Early this morning I wrote a long journal entry about this that went off on all kinds of tangents. That is one of the differences between writing to an audience and something private. The effort to be coherent, to say something meaningful, to be thoughtful. I am still trying to wrap my mind around what I want to say but here is some of it.
Accountability and participation. While we can make goals and live without sharing in such a public way, it is helpful to be able to put what we are doing out into the world: "I have this goal and I am showing up as a way to motivate me to keep trying."
Community. An audience often implies information flowing in one direction, a producer and a consumer. A presentation. A healthy community invites participation and conversation.
Teachers, mentors, facilitators, caregivers. To teach is often someone imparting information to an audience. The others involve a more complex relationship, one where there is a possibility of learning from each other. Participation comes up for me again.
Validation. This is the messy and emotional part about sharing (Alfie Kohn,"Five Reasons to Stop Saying Good Job"). We all appreciate a "good job" as human beings occasionally. Buying something that someone has made is a form of validation. It's hitting the "like" button. And it can become about popularity... sometimes that is necessary for survival in the society we live in.
When I consider it, I am not very interested in being part of an audience (but I am not judging people who choose that role, it is a way to participate). I want conversation, space to be curious, room to grow and be creative...
Bindweed, Morning Glory, Calystegia sepium or Convolvulus arvensis (I am not sure which I have, it's one or the other), weed, invasive, ruderal species (plants that grow on disturbed soil); all names or identities we give this plant depending on your perspective.
It's also a plant with potential.
I took a terrific lake pigment class from Natalie Stopka this weekend. The focus was on making pigments from plants considered invasive or ruderal.
For the homework, I started by making a dye bath with bindweed leaves. The fabric samples are cotton and silk, both mordanted with aluminum triformate. The paint sample is the pigment "in process." It should be the same color when I am done, just a smoother texture. I also gathered some vines for basket making.
I love the idea of finding ways for something that is considered unwanted or waste to be useful or appreciated. There is such a need for us to do this in our world...and to redefine what is unwanted into something that just hasn't found it's purpose yet.
Next up, buddleia, which is a concern in this area....
The fabric that went into the indigo vat is done for now, washed and dried.
It will be cut and sewn and then perhaps dyed again.
Not sure what to do with this piece. It was going to be part of a shirt but maybe not. Or maybe differently than first intended.
I love how the dots aren't a solid white.
The last of the lilies in the garden is blooming. The variety, Scheherazade, was breed by someone here in the area where I live. The flowers are where I walk so I decided to remove the pollen right away, before they stained something.
Pollen with alcohol added.
It's a kind of magic when there is a shift in color.
I started subscribing to the Wild Pigment Project's "ground bright" shortly after taking a class from Tilke. It's a really great opportunity to interact with pigments that I might not be able to gather on my own. The pigments being gathered are "waste stream" pigments; so important to me... I also love that I had something to share, waste not!
During the class I realized that I had a lot of branches with gum on them that could be collected by soaking the branches and then filtering the water. I had shared with Tilke that it had made a lot more stone fruit gum solution that I thought could be used before it went bad (it ferments) and she suggested drying it. And then she asked if I'd like to contribute some for one of the ground bright subscriptions.
My subscription arrived today and I have to admit it was a bit strange (but not an objection of the label) to see myself described as "artist." Maybe because it is strange to see someone else describe who you are? And artist isn't a label I tend to use ... it's a word that I am still working on defining. Either way, it's a lovely and thoughtful description and one that I appreciate!
I highly recommend watching the Feedback Friday that featured Tilke and Natalie Stopkka to anyone wanting to know more about Wild Pigment Project, Tilke, or pigments.
And here is one of the guilty parties who broke a 1/2 gallon jar of gum solution that was sitting on the floor by knocking something on to it during a "zoomies" session.
When did his ruff get so big?