Minding my maps

Merriam-Webster defines  map :

1 a:  a representation usually on a flat surface of the whole or a part of an area

b:  a representation of the celestial sphere or a part of it

2 :  something that represents with a clarity suggestive of a map

~ the Freudian 'map' of the mind -- Harold Bloom

so I got to thinking ....

could photographs act just as easily as maps of a  life?

If I mapped myself, what might that look like?

And if I focused on, say, my creative life, would it be telling?

Could I show the route from back there 

to here?

So I gave it a try & here's where it led me ...

To the convergence of paper and books

to beads on cloth with an uncertain latitude

towards an elusive north star

with an ever present guiding light

and a dear navigator who teaches all the compass points.

Just a small smattering of map pages - old directions & new ...

so yes,  I can see how I got here

but perhaps the more important question is

just where am I going?

[ this is where a hushed voice offers, "Only the cartographer knows for sure..." ]

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'scuse the mess around here

~ vintage salon, photographer unknown ~

There's more to it than I thought.

Ain't so easy getting a complete re-do !

Thank you for your patience while I'm sorting out the technicalities.

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Tweaking ones perception

The possibilities are endless.

Whenever I begin the editing process, I just fly ...

rarely do I venture through with a preconceived notion of how an image should look

but rather

an aim towards a feeling or some sort of emotional response to the moments

of being there.

This quote by Ansel Adams remains one of my favorites:

You don't make a photograph just with a camera.

You bring to the act of photography

all the pictures you have seen,

the books you have read,

the music you have heard,

the people you have loved.

Here's another fine one, from the great street photographer, Elliott Erwitt:

To me, photography is an art of observation.

It's about finding something interesting in an ordinary place ...

I've found it has little to do with the things you see

and everything to do with the way you see them.

When I stood next to this wall in my friend's garden, I literally had a gut reaction

to the armature of this vine.  I'd only ever seen it during the leafy months

when it's so covered with greenery the exquisite structure is hidden.

I immediately loved how it showed its age, how carefully tended & tied to the wall it was,

how gnarled, twisted, interwoven and even fragile it looked [ but wasn't ] ...

and later, working through the edit, I realized my response was also sparked by

a longing for other gardens I've known, or tended, elsewhere in the world

that I probably won't ever see again.

The bottom photo was the first edit & was yesterday's post on Instagram.  I thought

I was done.  But for some unknown reason I just kept playing ...

With the addition of a 4th app, my perception jumped into another realm entirely

and suddenly two symmetrical versions have added to the story

in quite unexpected ways.  Which, as it turns out, is

precisely in tune and apropos to my feelings about

that vine

on that wall

in that moment.

Memories can be fierce

even if they're buried and one hasn't thought of them in a long time.

: : :

I wasn't going to write a new post until I finalized a fresh blog layout.

HA!  so much for that idea.

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Unimpeded

Thought it might be fitting to wind down this year of posts

with some thought-provoking verse from Maya Stein.  I've borrowed one of her words

for the title of this one.   "a dream" appeared in this morning's mail with perfect timing,

as her poetry so often does, and not only includes a reference to potholes, but arrived

exactly when I am ripe for the reading.

Unimpeded

yes, this will be a fine word to hold onto for the new year ... a heady reminder

that most blockades I feel are actually the ones I've put up myself.

First though, I owe you kind folks a debt of gratitude for your extremely helpful comments

on my last post about a Sweetpea Path makeover.  You've given me much to consider

and I'm so glad I asked!  It's been very  very  enlightening

and heartwarming

to receive your feedback, both on the blog and via private emails.

Thank you so much for taking the time to do that.

My 'idea hat' is now filled to the brim.

~ Mt. Baker view, while riding the ferry across the Salish sea ~

... so without further ado

a dream

For a moment, it all disappeared: the potholes tripping up your stride,

the broken love story, the difficult decision, the rigor of worry about things

you know you can't possibly fix.  Suddenly, some vacuum sucked it all inside

and you leaned back, unimpeded, innocent, casual with your gaze, the stings

of your life returned to their nascent nettles.  For a moment, you were able

to neutralize your place in the world, find fresh buoyancy in the waves.

For a moment, you saw, even, the geometry of loss, each cradle

that holds our grief so steady, each heartbeat threading through the maze.

But this was no sunny island reverie, some implausible and pointless dream.

It was you, remembering where you've always been.

~ Maya Stein

: : :

from "10-Line Tuesday" poetry series

... a backlog can be viewed   here

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Getting the hang of it

Someday I hope to unwrap a bundled article of clothing

and have it 

not

look like an old paint rag.

Assembling the right combination of ingredients isn't the key ...

choosing the right fabric doesn't seem to be the key either ...

nor is how I roll it up, tie the string,

the cooking time or whether the vegetation was frozen or fresh

or how long I've let time be my friend afterwards ...

and shoot, I may have forgotten to pre-mordant.

None of these is  the  key

because

ALL

of

them

are.

So

that's the main thing I'm learning about this natural dyeing process,

the reason why it's so critical to keep practicing, work steadily, experiment,

build a knowledge base one step on top of the other.

Luck will only get ya so far.

Then

there's that no-small-matter of

 intuition ... 

often just a quiet fluttering off to the side,

a barely noticeable nudge

 towards a choice I wasn't going to make.

Am I listening hard enough?

I will concede that

some paint rags are prettier than others

but

I've got miles to go before

purple blobs are gonna be skillfully arranged into a

worthy item of clothing ...

at least

that's how it feels today.

But I am a bit cranky.

Maybe I should just blame it on the Super Moon ...

I feel a bit like that button !

Tis one good thing tho:

thrift store stuff is cheap

and fairly plentiful.

Oh.

TWO good things ...

nothing in the world like having the fine company of Her Fluffiness 

when I'm a tad grumpy ... 

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Seeing double

When I think back on the countless hours spent in darkrooms

attempting to create [at the least] something a little bit  interesting

by combining two disparate negatives into one print,

well, I sit here shaking my head.  Not a time waste exactly, no I wouldn't want to say that,

but I never was very good at it and I never did come up with

a single picture worth hanging onto.

What did happen, I guess, is that I never lost my love for composites

and recently when my faraway friend happened to post a super cool photo she

created with a phone app 

- an app I'd never heard of, one that superimposes two images, adds filters & effects 

all in about three seconds - 

let's just say

I couldn't download that puppy fast enough.

This app, named Diana Photo,

 has what I might venture to call an uncanny ability to "choose" which images

to stack together to bring out the best of both worlds

and in my case, it keeps choosing pairs that feel entirely significant and appropriate

to what I'm doing with life, my work, and how I feel about where I live at this moment.

Silly, really.

Of course an app can't  KNOW  but when Diana began to combine my dye bundles

with sand & sea 

and dyed cloths were superimposed with tree leaves & blossoms ...

you can see my point perhaps?

She even went so far as to match up one of the [rare] front-on portraits of dear dawg

with the driftwood piles on her favorite off-leash beach;

the very same driftwood she played on, photographed on her 4th birthday ...

two photos taken five years apart

from an album numbering in the thousands !

HOW does Diana know???

Tis not all serious stuff, not by a long shot.

Endless supplies of whimsy occur from the combos ...

dawg as evidence,

bedecked here with her own tail ...

all part of the rolling-the-dice fun & darn good for some fine belly chuckles

[although I think dawg would be mortified].

What I'm really after, what appeals most, is the symbolic double vision.

Hard to put into words ...

simplified, it's about taking a subject I've shot in one context,

"randomly" layering it with a subject from another, 

creating a final image that has - somehow - through overlapping effects,

intensified in meaning.

Double exposure.

So far I've had my beaded world appear

and seen my work under water here in this isolated island place I call home.

These have me looking at kinship to tides of all kinds

real and imagined ...

symbolically speaking, that is.

Here I am.

Self portrait within my watery world,

wondering how in the heck a little 99 cent app could have

brought up so much introspection.

:::

Diana Photo app for iPhone is HERE

for Android HERE

:::

Linking up with the gang over at Kim's place for Friday Finds

as this was truly my biggest "find" of the week ...

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Something about dresses

Quite unexpectedly

three dress forms have come into my possession.

This might not have surprised me as much as it did if I hadn't been wondering 

just last week

how I might find one

if it turned out I needed one

in the not too distant future ...

not necessarily this year

but perhaps next.

And there they were.  Lined up in the back sorting area of the thrift shop

where I volunteer.  Were these spoken for, I asked?

You mean someone might actually WANT these? was the reply,

We weren't sure what we were going to do with them - the shop is full.

Is it silly to say my heart started racing?

The wooden bases are a bit dinged up,

the paint is scratched and one is a tad wobbly

but they go up & down easily enough and the linen canvas is immaculate.

So I bought them on the spot.  Even better, having more than one leads to sharing.

Guess I'll confess ...

I have this thing for dresses 

which is so odd really, because I don't even wear them.

I described this fascination to my friend as best I could:

it's like being the tomboy who secretly loves lace curtains & silk pajamas.

Those who visit here often already know about my love of [scruffy] lace ... but 

you may not know I also love flounces,

swathes of ruffles,

over-the-top haute couture,

courtly wear from the Medieval Ages [especially velvet]
and also ... the most simple, contemporary A-lines.

Should you wish to see examples of my obsession

[uhmm, around 2,968 of them at last count - crikey, how'd that happen?]

'I don't wear dresses'

is a Tumblr blog I started about three years ago.

It's been a handy way to explore one  unexplainable obsession  subject, over time.

[note: clicking on "Archive" will bring up the entire collection in scrapbook format

by month & year]

Hopefully I won't fall short of inspiration when my "someday" arrives.

And now there'll be a shoulder to pin to,

a waist to acknowledge

and visions of a skirt won't just be dancing in my head.

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Tossing in the whole shirt

After the workshop with India finished, my feet did not touch the ground

for about two weeks.

The first dye pot to hit the little hot plate on the porch 

became a native "soup" ... still riding high on inspiration,

I took a gamble with a weedy willow by the back pond

and after a vigorous haircut ~ leaves, branches, twigs, bark and all ~

simmered up some [surprising] tannin-rich color.

Then I decided to dye an entire shirt ...

yes, me ~ the one who only dyes small scraps of things.

- spent innards from the dye bundle & the wrapping stone -

During a jaunt to the village earlier in the week there had been a gentle query:

had I ever used  those leaves  [pointing to a purple-leaved maple] for dyeing? 

to which I replied, no.

When it was heartily suggested that I give them a go,

I knew that not heeding this very wise voice of experience

would be foolish.

A carpet of windfall was conveniently at hand on my next visit.

- saving string -

It was a challenge wrapping an entire piece of clothing.  I hadn't done it before

and found myself imagining where the stronger marks would appear; 

should leaves be face-up or down; would I

wrap around a piece of wood so as to float half submerged, or a stone,

to sink to the bottom.

This wrapping string

Red Silver Maiden Grass ~ Miscanthus sinensis 'Rotsilber'

had quite a lot in common with the plumes of the maiden grass

next to the house, I thought ...

which relates to the outcome in a way, too.

Everything is so connected in this arena

of the natural world.

Echoes everywhere.

I am so comfortable here.

Now, if I only had a tad bit of tailoring ability I'd be able to

deconstruct this silky number and turn it into something that fits.

[must keep that in mind the next time I decide to save a whole shirt from the scrapper.]

:::

When next I post, it will be my  200th  ... how is that possible?

Perhaps we should celebrate, mark the event with a small *giveaway* ...

a name-in-the-hat thing for those of you who visit.

I'm so grateful.

Oh yes, this could be fun ... I'll see what I can come up with.  

Maybe dawg will have a paw handy 

to pick the name.

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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.

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