.becoming and becoming.

January is the perfect season for slow stitches. I find myself squeezing in time to finish the quilting on this lap sized quilt I'm calling "becoming and becoming." Not for the need to finish it quickly but the need to be in the meditation of stitching. 

It's been a very slow project, starting with the hand dyed indigo cotton from over a year ago. I knew when I dyed the yardage I wanted to include it in a quilt. It's such a beautifully rich color. A quilt is something the quilter has to spend a lot of time with, so you need to find joy in the fabrics and indigo seems to be a color that just pulls me in.

In July, after my slow stitching class at the guild I knew I was ready for some hand sewing. I pieced together a tiny little log cabin square of indigo and white. I imagined a quilt of nine or twelve smaller log cabin squares but when sewing machine broke, I decided to let that be a creative invitation. So, by the time I added the fifth layer of the first square, I decided to keep building on the one square,  hand sewing alternating strips of indigo and white. After a few more layers, I allowed myself to release further into the project, letting go of the classic log cabin style, allowing improv and chance to design the quilt. If the indigo exceeded the length of a side, I cut it and continued onto the next side, disrupting the balance of the pattern, until suddenly I introduce bright yellow triangles illustrating the radiating/expanding energy of intention of the quilt - the forever process of becoming. 

This is my first fully handsewn lap quilt. The project has taken months and has been picked up and set down over and over again until finally layered and pinned up by the end of the year. That was my goal, to fit the quilt into 2024, perfectly lining up for a slow stitch project of January. I think this should always be my plan because the big canvas to stitch on feels like salve for the cold and dark soul of winter. 

To find the sweet meditative rhythm of holding all the layers together - round and round and round - until you read the edge and at that point I'm planning on adding an electric yellow/green stitches in a larger circle. 

And then I found this poem online, which seems to give words to all the feelings of a slow stitch and finishing this slow quilt in January. 

.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! 

.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.

.8:48 sunset.

The sun will set at 8:48 PM tonight. Maybe it's been a few days now that the sun has set before 9 PM but it just hit me today, the light is already fading. Of course it is, but seems like summer fades so fast. Just a few weeks ago I was getting off the river on an extended paddle trip with still enough light at 9:45 PM. There's still summer left, but the shift has started. It makes me reflect on how I'm holding presence in my days - absorbing the now. 

I just finished a quilt I named "The First Day of Summer" inspired by summer solstice. It's a super minimal lap quilt playing with scale and the log cabin quilt pattern. I love it. It's so simple and holds so much energy. Here are pictures of the front and back of the quilt. This has been the second project where at the beginning I had a more elaborate plan and then decided to simplify. It's enough. It's not that I want to be done with the project, but I know that the project is done. It's been beautiful to witness and learn from to let it be enough. To appreciate and release it. 

 I've had so much energy for quilting in the past few weeks. I finished this project and immediately started a new project playing with two colors and the basket weave pattern. It's other strip design. It's another iteration of the same foundation. It's been too hot in the jewelry studio the past few weeks and the focus on just fiber reminds me of the different teaching of each material. 

.winter sunset.

 

I struggle to appreciate the winter months, but each winter seems to bring more appreciation for another season of learning. This winter I was struck by the magnificent sunrises and sunsets. A vibrant display of color for the short, dark, and cold days of winter.

I've held onto this batik for some time, maybe I bought it in North Carolina. I can't remember, but one evening in December watching the dark and cold day slowly illuminate into cotton candy sky of bright pinks and soft blues, just for a moment. It seemed like a tiny gift for these hard moments. I came home and knew how to use the batik fabric. Slowly working on a patchwork. I started with a square and then another until I decided I needed nine patches. I worked on it for a few weeks, not knowing what direction it would take, just letting it slowly unravel. Then when it felt done, I stitched it onto a drop cloth, no batting and no binding. This is something new for me but it felt right to leave it open, expanding.

It's a interesting piece that from a distance you can see the ombre effect with more batik squares at the bottom of the piece and less at the top, alluding to the fading color of the sky. Yet, if you come closer what you noticed is the stitching, the mix of bright pink and ecru pearl cotton with varying stitch styles. It gives the viewer different perspectives, something to think about, just like winter. The season for the soul, as a friend once told me during a cold, hard winter in Boston. A time of reflection. These piece feels like a transition in a new direction and I'm excited to see what comes next.

.my first quilt.

 I just finished my first quilt. It's my second quilt top to make, but the first quilt to complete. The past few years I have developed a curiosity to explore different mediums beyond metal. I've always been curious to make, as a teen I would spend hours making detailed collages for all my notebooks and binders. In Malawi, I experimented with natural dyes. In Boston, I collected sticks and made nature weavings for my bedroom. In Asheville, I bought a sewing machine and took a quilting class. I've slowly allowed myself more time and space to this past year to explore fiber and sound recordings, especially during this extended time of being at home. I found an online sewing group that meets three times a month. I think the accountability and community from that group has really helped me to commit to my exploration and follow through. 

This quilt has a lot of "personality" but that only proves it was handmade! This quilt was inspired by a book called Create Your Own Improv Quilt by Rayna Gillman. It was such a fun process! I think something that has held me back from quilting was my expectation for perfection, but this approach allows for so much exploration and the result is a truly unique quilt. I highly recommend her book. 

The quilt was inspired by the beauty of one of my favorite flowers, Peonies. My mom has beautiful pale peonies that always amaze me with their elegance. They are fragile and commanding all in one. I'm also including a poem about peonies by Mary Oliver that I love.

 Peonies 

Mary Oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open ---
pools of lace,
white and pink ---
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities ---
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again ---
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?