.2024 stitch journal.

 2024 was my second year to finish a stitch journal. I used a linen cotton blend leftover from my summer workshop at the Grunewald Guild, a vibrant mustard yellow with a royal blue #8 thread. I started with my word of the year - devotion - there's a few definitions for devotion. I was drawn to these two most - an act of prayer and the act of dedicating something to a cause, enterprise, or activity. For me, the word represented an open heart and mind - the dedication to being fully open + present to live and what it would bring. It was so fitting, as this year brought so much newness and unknown to me. Life is an experience and I am a devote student.  I stitched it in the middle of the journal/piece of fabric to remind myself every day. Then slowly started stitching blue circles, one circle for everyday. It feels so good to have compete my second year of this tradition/practice. 

I love having a piece to hold the year. A year of so much. 

.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! 

.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. 

.daily stitch - a 21 day practice.

 

During my 3 week residency at the Grunewald Guild one of my projects was a daily slow stitch practice. I started my studio time with a free stitch on a 8x13 inch piece of fabric (Japanese linen layered with drop cloth). Each day has a unique design that was inspired by a moment of the day, usually a thought or observation from my walk into the studio. It was a really grounding project that helped me be more present and observant to my surroundings. Each piece usually took between 1-3 hours, depending on the design and amount of stitches. The residency ended at the end of February but I finally unloaded pictures from all 21 stitches. You can see them all on my website.

 21 day stitch practice. 

.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.

.stitch journal.

 I started a stitch journal this year. The original idea, I believe, came from Claire Wellesley Smith, author of many books, including Slow Stitch: Mindful and Contemplative Textile Art. It's a simple daily practice. It will be a beautiful reflection upon the end of the year. Even this morning, only five days into the new year, it struck me how illusive time is. The new year feels so far out until it arrives, and time speeds up, and we're almost a week into 2023. 

I love the presence of this practice. As I mentioned in my last post, I selected a word for this year - attune. To find harmony continues to resonate. I stitched attune in the middle of the journal/piece of fabric to remind myself every morning of this intention. 

.hello 2023.

Hello, 2023! I started this piece, "Crossing the Threshold," on the last day of the year and finished it yesterday, the first day of 2023. A visual memory of that strange moment of transition, nothing feels different, but we are in a new year. I'm playing with a design idea that came to me in early 2022, drop cloth woven together and stitched. It's simple and intuitive. I started with a basic idea and then let the design unfold. That is what I enjoy most about fiber, the practice of watching something evolve. It feels like all I have to do is stay in the flow. 

I attended a new year's breathing event yesterday, 30 minutes of being guided with different breath patterns to access alpha waves. It's another way to find that flow. During the breath guide encouraged us to attune our bodies and breath. I've been thinking of a word for 2023, not sure what to choose. Last year I selected gentleness because things felt so chaotic. Then when I heard attune, it caught my attention. It's such a beautiful word. You can almost hear it resonating. When I think of the word attune, I think of alignment. Later last night, I looked it up and the definition is to find harmony. That sounds like a wonderful guide for the new year, so it's my word for 2023 - attune. 

I hope you had a wonderful first day of the new year. Do you choose a word? How do you mark a new year?

Piece:
Crossing the Threshold
14' x 14'
Cotton, drop cloth, DMC #8 cotton pearl thread