.open your life, open your hand.

It's August, some how. The summer seems to be evaporating faster than last. I've spent the last two days at Lake Chelan, a place I visited every summer growing up. A place of endless days of sun and swims and no schedule.

It's been a wild and full few weeks with a busy schedule, teaching a slow stitch class, work, unexpected news, slow days, fast days, river dips, community meals, evening walks, good conversations, more unexpected news, art shows, lake swims, and an expanding heart.I saw this poem a few days ago and it felt so true.
---------------------------
Let July be July
by Morgan Harper Nichols

Let July be July.
Let August be August.
And let yourself

just be
even in
the uncertainty.
You don’t have to fix
everything.
You don’t have solve
everything.
And you can still
find peace
and grow
in the wild
of changing things.
-------------------------------

but maybe the most summer of all summer poems is this one, a Mary Oliver classic.

-------------------------------
I don’t want to live a small life.
Open your eyes, open your hands.
I have just come from the berry fields, the sun

kissing me with its golden mouth all the way
(open your hands) and the wind-winged clouds
following along thinking perhaps I might

feed them, but no I carry these heart-shapes
only to you. Look how many small
but so sweet and maybe the last gift

I will bring to anyone in this
world of hope and risk, so do
Look at me. Open your life, open your hands.
-------------------------------
The fire season sunsets are electric - quick explosion in the sky before the night settles in. The days are getting shorter with full darkness by 9:30 PM. The summer is fading but it's still August. Unexpected and full and alive.

I don't want to live a small life.
Open your eyes, open your hands.

.finding softness.

I was driving through the vast wheat fields yesterday and the expansiveness felt like a prayer

That some how the limitlessness of  h e r e  was a prayer that all beings may be free

I don’t know how to describe what I feel when I’m in vast spaces. It’s a practice for me to witness the radical openness of nature, to see my own reflection or maybe the stark contrast of my limitedness I burden myself with 

I arrived at deep lake to kayak and there was a softness, a gift of new eyes from the wheat field prayers - 

the glimmering light

the applause of dancing leaves

the chorus of birdsong

the reflection of above on the life below the water 

Asking:

How can I hold more softness?
How can I listen deeper?
How can I afford more grace to myself and world?
How can I say thank you more?
How can I hold my joy + grief with tenderness?
How can I be more free?

.I am expanding.

Suddenly, it's summer solstice. The dark days of January and whirlwind of April have evaporated into the longest day of the year. 

I didn't make it up for the first light. By the time I woke up at five, my living room was already full with light. Today the sun rose so far to the northeast I couldn't even see it from my window, falling exactly where the corner of my house meets between the two windows, making the softest filtered yellow glow this morning. 

I decided to restart my 4-15s creativity schedule. I'm feeling very creative lately, so many ideas! The structure of the morning routine (dedicated short readings) presents new perspectives! Today I picked up Designing from Nature: A source book for artist and craftsmen by Esther Warner Dendel. A book I found last year at the Grunewald Guild. Esther was an eccentric artist, sculptor, and prolific writer from Iowa, who was deeply informed by her time in Liberia. The book serendipitously opens talking about light. 

"Really noticing how light changes from hour to hour and trying to catch these changes in words makes any day interesting. The interest has to be in you, not in the sky. People say, "That doesn't interest me." They should say, "I have not interested myself in that." As soon as someone realizes that interest has to reside inside oneself, not in the thing being observed, the first step has been made toward richer life."

What I've interested myself with this week is an idea in the form of a quilt. There's something about the building of a quilt, the ritual - measure, cut, repeat - a meditation

piece, pin, sew, iron

piece, pin, sew, iron

The idea came to me, or revisited me from last summer, on an seemingly endless drive on I-90 East, the flat straightaways through the rolling wheat fields en route to Montana. 

A vision of expanding lungs, inspire - to inhale - expand. The embodiment of expansion. The reflection of my own ability to stretch/extend myself further/beyond in moments/seasons of connection and awe. The electricity of feeling alive, awaken from the monotony that we can some how get lost/numb to, on this beautiful magical journey of being human. 

Although, on this drive to an adventure, a new landscape, a reprieve. I imagined the idea in the form of a large scale sculpture - to be experienced walking in and around, eliciting wonder and awe in the manifestation of its form. I made a quick sketch when I arrived in Montana, and with no further care, the idea left. Monday the idea came back - all of a sudden - this time in the form of a quilt, making an abstract interpretation of ribs inspiring. 

It's a gift to be visited by ideas, so this time I took more care. Trying to tether more fragments than last time, I made a sketch, found scrap fabric, and started the meditation. 

measure, cut, repeat

align, pin, sew, iron

align, pin, sew, iron

adding a piece, adding a strip, adding the section

building/growing/expanding

with a special invitation to hand sew/touch every piece - slower - as my machine isn't working right now. It's a welcomed invitation to be more presented and grounded. To feel the expansion in this season of my life 

of summer, long days, adventures, dreams, and cosmic connection.

I feel myself expanding.

With the pieces coming together, I felt a hesitancy to the straight-ish lines. I don't tend to work in a very geometric approach. As everything I make is heavily touched by my hand and basic tools. But since I'm hand sewing the entire piece, I decided to use strips of fabric as soft start for hand piecing. Although, as I kept reading Designing from Nature, and it offered a new perspective on language of lines and my feelings of resistance to the rigidity.

"Speed, motion, rest , nervousnesss, strength, dignity, confusion, serenity -- all these quality can be communicated by line. What does a straight vertical line seem dignified, conservative, and astute? Why do we feel pensive under a weeping willow tree? 

"When one straight light crosses another at a right angle, the horizontal sometimes seems to be launching an assault against vertical. Yet, nearly all nonindustrial societies assign magical properties to crossroads. This is the spot where vital things happen. This is where the gods are to be invoked." 

She went on to explain the the asterisk is called the magic square by the Yorubas of Nigeria. 

"The arms of the cross point to the cardinal points of the universe and the diagonals to all four corner. You who make this sign are at the center were cosmic forces meet and concentrate"

To me THAT is true expansion. Esther's perspective feels like a beautiful invitation to reflect on the power of a line and explore/soften the lines into becoming a spot were vital things happen and gods are invoked. 

We'll see where it leads me! 

.the season of lush abundance.

 

The season of lush abundance, the tiny space right before spring wilts into summer. The days are stretching out to the furthest corners. The light enters my room some time before 4:50 AM, so early. I'm not greeting the day anymore, instead waking up to the glow. It feels so comforting to wake up to a warmed house instead of the dark starts, although I do miss watching the day slowly rise. It's this time in the year I wonder how much sleep I actually need. Can I spend every moment with the light? Maybe I should get up earlier. 

I've been outside, a lot. I want to see it all, greet all the flowers, not miss any tiny transitions. the moments, the blooms, the colors are so lush. Everything feels more beautiful in this shoulder season.

All of a sudden Memorial Day weekend came and went, summer is here. I'm in disbelief and so grateful all at once. It feels like this unknown year continues to surprise me. What a gift to be surprised and open.

I would love to live like a river flows, 
carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.

—John O’Donohue

The season of lush abundance, like that moment on a new hike with a winding path, you turn the corner and find the unexpected/the awe - a new landscape - a new connection, overwhelmed by the beauty and grateful to be so fully surprised by the magic of life. What a honor to be greeted by the unbelievable mystery. 

To be alive. 

To connect. 

To feel seen. 

To travel all these pathways and find tenderness. 

Maybe I was always on my way to this moment. I don't know what's ahead. Who would want to know - who would need to - that's where the magic lives, the unknown, the splendor, the overwhelm, the reverence. As John O'Donohue says, “when we enter into reverence, we are aware of the deep beauty of things” and “a sense of reverence opens pathways of beauty to surprise us.” Yes! I've been reading a lot of O'Donohue lately. He's someone who saw and felt the tenderness of life deeply. 

The balasmaroot season was such a creative container for me this year, working on pieces both in fiber and metal. I'm finished several projects as the season was ending, a quilt and a small series of earrings. It's feels good to finish with the moment and be open to what comes next. With the heat rising and the colors fading.What will the next season bring/reveal to me?

I went on a walk yesterday and had another moment of surprise, milkweed! Such an incredible bloom with so much purpose. The color and blooms were awe-inducing and I immediately wanted to make a quilt. I'm thinking about colors and have plans to dye fabric this weekend. 

I'm also listening/reading to a lot of Michael Singer. I really connected to something he shared on a recent podcast,

"All things are life. You have to attain a state where your state of consciousness is. The planet does not belong to me. And the people on the planet don't belong to me. I am a guest, a visitor. I'm here for a few years spinning around the sun.

I'm happy to be alive. I'm happy to have these experiences happen. I am the Self, the Atman. I sit behind. I watch the world dance. And I watch the humans react and respond. All of which is beautiful. I'm willing to learn about everything. I'm willing to experience everything, Alpha to Omega.

Light and darkness are the same to me. Beacause I am the one who sees them both. That's what it means to be transcendent."

It offered such a moment of deep clarity. Of course that's it - I'm willing to experience everything. Life is an experience. 

How can I continue to ground into myself/life experience with greater perspective that allows me to be present to and hold all these experiences and layers of life?

.emerging softness.

 

Earlier in the year, I had a moment of a deep awareness of the limitations of receiving energy. In a moment of feeling overwhelmed I had clarity to see how my limits/assumptions/expectations prevented me from reconnecting with the energy. If I could stay open I could receive what I ask for, which might seem obvious, but asking to receive and being vulnerable enough to receive I realized are very different things for me.

As always, nature is the most perfect reflection and teacher. This moment happened in early March and the shrub-steppe was slowly waking up from a strange and dark winter, with the first signs of balsamroot pushing up through the dried blooms of last season - a reemergence. There's something so striking about the new growth rising about the dead - the resilience to bloom in what can be such a delicate time of unsure weather. It's a season of delicate strength. The emerging softness to absorb the faint warmth of the early spring sun. 

As I was going on walks and observing the budding landscape of the foothills, I saw another layer or perspective, the blooms as a returning to self - the healing of self-renewal. The beautiful and sometimes agonizing moments of disconnect and hurt and shame that can, if we are open bring us back to ourselves - forever healing and reemerging over and over again into a more authentic version of existence.

I was finishing a series of classes with Alice Fox about seasonal colors, taking lots of walks, observing the slow unfolding of the season taking my sketchbook - a new practice for me. The idea of this quilt came to me - the awkward first blooms - petals slowly emering. I envisioned the quilt on a walk - the muted winter hillside with the striking vibrant yellow petals.

With Alice's class focusing on finding local color as a way to capture a season and integrate more place into a piece, I only used natural dyed pieces for the quilt top. The cotton cloth is dyed acorn foraged from trees on the Columbia River and marigold blooms from a farm in Washington. The thread is a silk yarn dyed with Sycamore, also sourced from trees on the Columbia river and turmeric. 

With the quilt design, I wanted to play with a more minimal approach after my last stitched pieces, to see what impact more space/saying less could have. I love the contrast, the looseness the piece has and the concentrated energy in the pockets of blooms. I want to continue to play with the contract of density and sparseness of stitch in future pieces.

The piece measures 42 x 76 inches and is made of naturally dyed cotton, linen, and silk yarn.

.balsamroot season.

Balsamroot season is one of my favorites moments in the Shrub-Steppe landscape. The first declaration of spring and return of color to the foothills after a long dark winter. They don't stay long, so they demand attention. Depending on the year, maybe only a few weeks is all we get. I find myself walking the trails around town several times a week to not miss a moment. Last night, I went to a trail I haven't been to in a few days and was shocked to see so many blooms. I love this teenage awkward phase of blooms - slowly pushing towards full bloom, but not quiet. They each have their own personality. 

 

.spring equinox.

Happy Spring Equinox! It feels like the weather is a little bit ahead of the days, with 70 degree temperatures this past weekend, it feels like we jumped into summer. It's interesting with such a small space between a snow storm on the first weekend of March and 70 degree days, there's been little to no transition between the dark cold days and the increasingly long and warm ones. I can palpably feel the swell in energy. The hibernation is over and I jumped out of bed. 

I went paddling last weekend and not yet ready to head home, ventured out on a hike after. I'm ready to be outside all day. I found a copy of my favorite regional books, Washington's Channeled Scablands Guide and making a list of all my spring hike aspirations. I love the energy of spring. The wonder of finding wildflower blooms, the flash of color in the muted Shrub-Steppe landscape. Yesterday I saw the very first balsamroot petals emerging. It was the best surprise.

The Power Path says the equinox "marks and anchors a new path, a new trajectory and allows for the creative current of the time to forge its way forward and support progress as we envision the future." What creative projects are emerging? I feel like my head is overflowing with ideas. I'm also hungrily reading several books lately. 

Projects:

- Finding local color, inspired by a class with Alice Fox

- Finishing a winter sky inspired textile piece in response to a piece I made last year

- Walking memory - an exploratory abstract drawing from walks

- Basket weaving

- watching the spring wildflowers emerge

Books:

- Community: A Structure of Belonging by Peter Block

- The Cassandra by Sharma Shields (a Spokane author I met at the recent library conference)

- Coyote Stories by Mourning Dove, a Colville women

- Anita de Monte Laughs Last by Xochitl Gonzales

 I lit some candles yesterday and made some spring wishes. I'll leave you with a beautiful spring quote by Andrew Doerr, “A spring night is a power that sweeps through the crowded sheaves of blooming tulips and pours into your heart like a river.”