.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.” 

.may first.

It's May and finally the blooms have arrived. The balsamroot is in full bloom, the purple alpine lupine is here and even the bitterbrush is growing new leaves, soon to bloom its delicate butter colored blooms. The spring in the shrub-steppe is such a shocking time, a brief moment of lavish color before it all goes brown, muted again. It makes you pay attention and be present for the beauty of the season. 

.spring is blooming.

 

Balsamroot is the sure sign of spring in the Shrub-Steppe landscape. I went on a walk Friday night after some colder days and was surprised to see bright yellow petals of balsamroot slowly emerging. Spring is blooming!

.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?