Passage of time ::: India Flint on Lopez Island : part two

[ click HERE to read part one ]

Breakfast bundles the second morning ... looking as tasty as blueberry, cinnamon,
and maple-covered scones, no?  Worth getting up for
and better than Christmas
in my books.

Purple carrots made for a colorful line.  So much diversity from one humble vegetable.
These heirlooms were a group growing effort by the Lopez gals so the harvest was plentiful ...
the color diversity from the dye baths, out of this world.

They look innocent enough.  Ha.

Brazen floozies.

As we settled into stitching our squares together, I began to experiment

with different types of thread; length of stitch, 2-ply vs. 4-ply, silk

compared to cotton, 1-ply silk like gossamer, oh my ...

When we hung our nine-patches in the loafing shed

- the sheltered overhang area next to the barn -

it was like standing inside a stained glass cathedral.

This may sound a bit dramatic but with the backlighting

the effect was quite close to ethereal.

Our cloths moved with the breeze ~

seams, stitch marks, overlaps,

everything revealed.

Still, we were nowhere near close to done.

India had one more surprise up her sleeve [in her pockets?] ...

Behind us on a table lay this pieced beauty - an example of things to come.

Look closely.

Think scissors.

Think chop, chop, chop.

[enter expletives]

Brave souls,

we marched.

Back in the workroom with tasks at hand, all did not go as planned ...

we sewed upside down, dropped our favorite needles, jostled over the ironing board,

blew the circuit breaker, spilled our coffee, got tipsy on chocolate

and in the end

the whole room seemed to come down with   one giant case of the sillies.

And then,

she

hobbled

in

and we dissolved into uproarious laughter. 

When ones only mode of transportation is a pair of crutches,
improvise  and carry your cloth on your head ...
that's using the ole noodle, S!

My own cloth began to come together & I grew fonder of my mark [there
on the purple silk].  They were laborious to stitch, one mark needed for each
of the nine squares.  I am NOT a fast stitcher, but in the end
I was grateful to have them ["That one's mine!"  "No, it's mine!" etc.].
The thread I used took the dye beautifully
and has a lovely sheen.

Poppy, this picture is for you ~
here's to "rustic running stitches."

Home now.

As I continue with stitching, I remember more teachings & inspiration;
the different ways water quality can effect color -
well water compared to rainwater,  vs. treated from the tap;
how post-mordanting with common scrap metals
like an iron or copper bath [try old pennies]
can enhance marks and deepen - or "sadden" - color;
how poetry, music, long walks in quiet,
and the ability to just go on no matter the odds,
these all bring meaning to art ... to life ... to the cloth.

"We don't stop playing because we grow old;
we grow old because we stop playing."

~ George Bernard Shaw ~

When someone offers a very special gift,
one that might unleash hours of wild abandon,
one that might propel you through abundant fields never before crossed,
or lead to the most exhilarating of discoveries,
right there, on your own patch of earth ...
there's really only one thing to do.

Thank you, India, for sharing your life's work with us.