.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.

.holding on until it fades.

    It might feel like I keep posting the same pictures, but this spring I can't seems to shake the awe and wonder of walking the vibrant foothills. I know this season is short. The heat was late to arrive this year, but it's here and increasing by the day, which means the vibrant yellows and purples will soon disappear until next spring. There are more blooms to come in the shrub-steppe, the bitterbrush is emerging and the buckwheat and rabbitbrush are still to come, but it's the balsamroot and lupine that kickoff the season. They're still here. I find myself walking the same path a few times a week, attentively observing the rhythm of blooms. Last night I could tell the blooms were fading away. There are still brilliant arrangements in small pockets, so I'm holding on while it's here. I've been thinking a lot about the beauty/vibrancy of the native plants. I wonder if the beauty is magnified by the limitations. The fragility of this moment. The miracle that all the elements come together to allow this tiny season to exist. The contrast of muted arid lands that make these bloom feel so shockingly joyful. I think it is the tenderness, the softness of these weeks. So often it's the time that gives the highest value but there's so much to learn from the seasons of nature. To appreciate and be fully present to this moment. How can I bring this understanding to my day to day life? How can I practice deeper presence and release the need to attach value and time? I'm working on jewelry regularly again. It feels good to have constant studio time. My jewelry practice is a reflection/expression/journal of where the inner and outer world intersect/combine, so it makes sense that my current pieces are influenced by the shapes and teachings of the spring, the vibrancy of tenderness. 

.blooms emerging.

 Spring is coming. 

This year we had late March snow, then almost 60 degree days, and now back to frosty mornings, but spring is coming. 

I took a quick walk on a path in the foothills last night and was surprised to see so many tiny blooms. Yellow and blue bell wildflowers slowing emerging amongst the mostly brown grass. The land is so dull and the blooms so few, you still have to look for a second for your eyes to acclimate to the burst of color. Then, I saw the fresh greens of lupine and balsamroot pushing through the hard soil. I wondered it the first signs of lupine greens could be just as beautiful as their sweet purple blooms? Can I appreciate each part of the process more? I feel like I could, it's not an easy to see the beauty at first, but it's the process/cycle that holds the magic. How can I slow down to appreciate all the tiny moments that make up season?

.open call for creative collaborators.

I’m working on a new creative project - a practice in listening: HERE. It‘s a collection of sound recordings capturing a moment of HERE! I’m looking for collaborators to record 20-60 secs of sound from their HERE. I’ll be collecting and posting sounds on a blog. The intention is to find connection between these tiny moments from HERE + THERE. See below to learn more and how to participate! I’m excited to connect!!

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THE PROJECT

the why:

I'm HERE - daydreaming of THERE during this time of quarantine. Although I've come to accept that it's really all the same. There's a deep need for connection, to recognize that HERE is THERE, and the only way beyond is through connection. Let's share our sounds of HERE and THERE! I'll be sharing all submissions on this blog.

the ask:

Submit an audio recording of 20-60 seconds of any sound from your HERE, please include the location + description of place (i.e. Leavenworth, Washington, my backyard.)

the how:

email: apracticeinlistening@gmail.com

text: ‪send your audio file to this number, (509) 433-7488‬. don't forget to include your location + description.

call: call (509) 433-7488 (this is a google number, no one will answer) and record your sound on the voicemail. Please also text your location + description!

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Here's an example of a sound recording:

a practice in listening: here · Icicle River, Leavenworth, Washington 8.9.20