Pennon takes flight

There's quite a lot of rigamarole involved in mailing a package to Australia.

A lot of addressing & declarations & valuing to be done

but true to my word to myself [which doesn't always happen]

I actually made my preset deadline of June 1st, stood in the slow post office line yesterday

with pen, tape & details

and sent my Solace pennon off to Andamooka.

I sure hope she gets there on time.

There's also quite a tale still to tell about creating this little flag for I chose to abort my first version 

covered in buttons because I'd messed up & not followed India's specs.  But I'll leave those details

for another post when all the photos have been edited and I've pulled my thoughts together.

There were attributes of this construction process that I really loved and in the end

flag #2 became a symbolic weaving together of many things I hold dear

and much of what I consider truth.

This was not at all where I thought I was going with flag #1 .... 

this went another direction entirely.

Much more personal,

much more about transparency

where fabric like silk organza can symbolize a veil,

where a narrow strip of indigo dyed cotton from a workshop 4,000 miles away

can symbolize the importance of always moving forward toward

the edges of places,

the boundaries of emotions

or past limits I do not want to set.

All the hours stitching were a gift of time which had me looking deep into what's passed

and reflecting on a whole bunch of tomorrows.  I wasn't to know when I started

that a bit of a health fright was headed my way [all reconciled now].

What began as a peace project aimed out at the world

suddenly became the exact path I needed to find my own.

Now my little pennon is crossing a great expanse of water

carrying my words on her ragged sleeve,

hurrying [through the good graces of the postal system] to join the 

collective poem about to be written

where she'll be dyed a rich blue, hang above a beautiful red desert ...

a most grateful guest of the elements

and time.

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Sailing towards solstice

June 21st shall be here in no time and as I continue to stitch my flag

for the Solace Project

I can't help but marvel, thinking about so many hands at work just like mine around the world

also stitching with intention - attention - welcoming participation as I do

in this collective poetry project for peace.

My personal deadline for mailing to the far off way station of Andamooka, South Australia

is the first day of June.  This is to insure that should said package decide to go for

a short walkabout in the opal fields beforehand

it will still make it on time to join the party around India's indigo vat

when dipping begins.

Many souls have long since sent their flags for a timely arrival ... those I know of

have been added under the Solace project tab up in the header.

Wonderful stories surround these makings.

:::

Spring continues her riotous dance of exuberance in my garden

but you can find me quietly at work with a needle 

under the green umbrella ...

you can't miss me, I'm the one with the collie at her feet ;>)

Till later, then ... when our flags meet under an Australian sun!

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Kicking back

Been laying low ...

one moment at a time as they say while

my wonky tooth figured out what was gonna happen next.

I suppose one advantage to having a root canal during tulip season

is that driving to and fro across the Skagit valley

is nothing short of   splendid

and although I'm allergic to a large number of antibiotics

at least I am not allergic to Novocaine.

A  not-so-small blessing

that has kept me sane.

I stitched on the wishing cloth awhile

because there was calm in that

and admired the sea reflections having dance time in the belly of the boat.

But mainly I swooned over spring,

the miles of GLORIOUS color,

and although I won't be doing much of anything besides

watching my own grass grow the next couple of days

at least I tip-toed amongst them.

[apology to Tiny Tim for the lame reference]

What a surreal experience  ...  being ruled by a measly tooth.

: : :

See you a bit later.

I'm heading for the hammock.

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Six weeks, ten boats, and Studio Room 222 ...

Traveling with good companions makes for a joyful time
along the road so when I decided on an impromptu road trip to Portland,
I included two very friendly books [seeing as how the Fluffy One could not come along, alas].

One book for inspiration ...

World Enough & Time: On Creativity and Slowing Down ... 
which I first learned of  HERE  and proved perfect
for rest stops & ferry rides.   The other book was pure entertainment,

a downloadable Audio.  Where'd you go, Bernadette  did manage to keep me
thoroughly awake for many a driving hour
and I'm convinced this is a valuable way to [safely] travel solo.

I was looking forward to my first visit to the Oregon College of Art + Craft.

With a kindred name to my alma mater in CA, I suspected an environs lit up with

creativity and dedicated study, just like my old stomping grounds.

Although this time, I did have a very different purpose in mind.

Indigo-dyed shirt remnants

and

land-bound porcelain boats

were what I'd come to see ...

amongst other things.

My friend, India Flint, just completed a six-week Artist in Residence at OCAC

and decided to hold an *open house.*

Not wishing to pass up a possibly unreapeatable opportunity,

and knowing that soon she would be departing our western shores to head home

after three long months away, 

well ...  let's just say I can pack like a whirling dervish when needs demand.

In short,

there was no way I was not going to say "Three Cheers!" in person

and have a little look-see.

Here is what awaited in Studio Room 222 ...

~ dust coat left, wind songs [folded paper] right ~

India's poem, stellata, below

~ stitching detail, from dustcoat ~

~ blue angel, left ... hummingbird, right ~

I was quite taken with these magical frocks ... utterly sublime

and mysterious in their fragile way.

Completely stitched by hand, one could spend hours examining all the

folds and gathers.

These beauties [and others] are destined for an ancient castle high on a hill ...

opening on June 21st, 2014, The Nine Daughters of Eve, a duo exhibition

with Sally Stafford [painter, UK]

Evoramonte Castle, Portugal.

oh, to be a fly on those stone walls ...

~ detail, from blue angel dress ~

*** Side note:  should you wish to see more of India's dresses
there's a stunning array [and more] over at
Church Boutique  in Los Angeles ...
website page is HERE

~ sweet dreams ~

porcelain boats

Laid on a table, nine bisque-fired boats.  A fine story

must be developing here ...

~ detail, from sweet dreams ~

The studio being a bit small, filled as it was with all the lovelies,

India sat out in the hall, greeting visitors

and stitching on a lapful of indigo ...

I shall never tire of watching those hands work.

~ detail, notebook installation ~

~ notebook ~

~ unfinished blues ~

~ unfinished blues, alternate view ~

~ detail, from unfinished blues ~

~ detail, from unfinished blues ~

~ detail, from unfinished blues ~

: : :

The practicing artist is, by definition, someone who is able

to build a life around his or her own creative work.

Inevitably, such a person will have considered his or her

attitude to time.  What matters is not how much they actually have,

but how best to inhabit it and make it spacious:

how to allow room in which attention can take root.

Such choices are important for all of us, whatever we are

trying to create.

The philosopher Hannah Arendt wrote of a "timeless region ...

lying beyond human clocks and calendars altogether."

It is a place that many of us have sought in vain, a place

of patience and apprenticeship, and, finally, of creativity,

a "small non-time space in the very heart of time."

~ from, World Enough & Time: On Creativity and Slowing Down ~

by Christian McEwen

: : :

A mere six weeks and ten boats later, studio Room 222 was filled floor-to-ceiling

with new, inspired work ... all because textile artist, India Flint,

was given the gift of time.

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this moment :: finishing

{  this moment  }

A single photo

~ no words ~

capturing a moment from the week.

A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

~ SouleMama


:::


inspired by the Friday reflections at Amanda's

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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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