I don’t come from a faith that much honors the ancestors (that is my mother, above with my first born. The B&W is me, circa 1981). That’s why when I read about African belief systems that make ancestor worship central, it feels foreign.
The ancient Celtic bent toward Nature as guide and source, on the other hand, fits like a glove. No wonder I love the writing of Mary Oliver — her poems read like 9th century monastic poetry from Ireland. I find sustenance in her words. Wisdom.
In writing about human bondage in early America, I have often wished for (and on occasion asked for) some sign from the ancestors of the enslaved. Should I be writing this story? Is it okay? Am I okay?
Thundering silence.
Hard not to wonder. But because I am such a master of doubt, it’s hard to give it much weight either.
(A little aside — This cloth, from my Middle Passage series, is somewhere. I never backed it because of the beautiful stained glass effect when hung in a sun-filled window. The others in the series use my favorite house motif to examine both loss and sustenance of culture from one side of the sea to the other. This one, though, explores the sails. All those sails, riding the currents, powering ships packed with black bodies, flapping signals of wealth to some and horror to others).
Anyway, maybe because the anniversary of my mother’s passing was two weeks ago, maybe because there is so much transition in the lives of my sons, making me reflective and sometimes sad or anxious, and maybe because one of my characters is modeled closely on my mother, I have been thinking a lot about my parents.
And duh! It is the guidance and help and esteem and love of my very own dear parents that I should be calling up. My ancestors know me. They dwell in me. They know where I trip up and why. And they (most importantly in this business of moving forward), understand fully my strengths.
They’re the ones to call upon — even about writing a novel about black and white people with NO GENETIC links to me whatsoever.
And so I did. Call upon them. And they did answer.
This may need an anchoring sleeve at bottom, but it is otherwise finished. I dyed the dragonfly sheer in the indigo vat two summers ago… the graphic slash-marked bottom fabric, too (though that first went through a bleaching). Many of the petal fabrics came from a wonderful packet sent to me by Sandy Meegan. This poppy is for her! As for Mindy, just want to say that I find “The Mindy Project” hilarious. Really funny — especially for network television. Or maybe, to be fair — really funny, by any measure. Her fat jokes are funny; her race jokes are funny; her dating jokes get to be a little much, but still funny! I’m a fan.
This is hanging off the tablecloth in the dining room. A new way to view.
But the real experiment here is ‘sharing’. Keeping it simple… can I find a better way?!!
Shared this photo directly from PSE11 gallery into flickr and now blogging directly from flickr….
Normally, would open PSE organizer, edit, (mostly to re-size) and then save compressed image to a folder (that I now have to triple click and scroll to get to (thank you update!)), THEN go to wordpress and upload image twice (thank you update there, too!! because wordpress recently added an additional step to insert image).
So, does this work?!! Even with a quick edit from wordpress, this is a boatload easier!
A muggy and grey day with a visit to the periodontist slated early (have no fear — only stitch-removal!)
The Trayvon Martin quilt (blogged earlier here) — “White House of Privilege” — and its intended background have both changed enough that they no longer partner well together. More on that later, but for now — how the house is evolving . . .
early stages of White House of Privilege
I added more strips of blue flanking the house, to make it stand out more. White pickets were added to the foreground later.
