Made this Valentine this morning, with red silk, a sheer grey/black poly, and a handmade pink paper with sparkle-inclusions.
The paper must date back to pre-school volunteering – the glitter is a dead give away.
Ever since Jude posted something about the possibility of ‘sympathetic evolution’ – possibly by pairing old and recent work, I have been wondering what this might look like with my bag of tricks. A few weeks ago, I clicked some shots from an illustrated book of poems that I created in college – so we are talking mid-70’s. The one below inspired today’s card:
This is a collage using a dark-room created floral image.
A couple of weeks later, a chip of red fabric happened to find its way underneath that grey/black polyester that I am currently so in love with, and the resonance spoke for itself.
Today’s card is a reminder of the power of deadlines, the utility of saving a piece of paper for 14 years, and the value of re-visiting our earlier work.
While this little heart-felt card merely hints at what a more robust ‘sympathetic evolution’ might look like, it is a tasty hint, and I’ll take it as a signpost!
Practice note: it helped, some, to add black shadows to the white-stitched letters with a pigma pen.
The Greek word moira (μοῖρα) literally means a part or portion, and by extension one’s portion in life or destiny. They [The Fates] controlled the metaphorical thread of life of every mortal from birth to death. [Wikipedia]
With two weeks to go for The Sketchbook Project, the foot of snowfall over the weekend was a boon — I got to spend almost all of Monday down in the cellar. I was having so much fun, it didn’t matter how cold my studio was!
Below are some images of sheets that I collected over the fall. One of D. sleeping. Another of our laundry closet, photoshopped.
My chosen theme — JACKETS, BLANKETS AND SHEETS – also got a boost from the snow. Blankets of snow covered the Northeast on Sunday, and so pictures of snow, Christmas napkins of snow, and Vintage Christmas cards with blankets of snow, all made their way into the book. More of that tomorrow.
Jack has nearly disappeared while walking on the newly-cleared sidewalk!
Well, after many days working outside at a garden site and shuffling school forms around, calling guidance counselors, dropping off forgotten track items to the high school, ETC.!! , I have been downstairs, which is to say, in my studio.
I just made three things — none of which I set out to do, all of which I like very much, and all of which make the pile of things UNDONE even bigger.
So, what to do? Force myself to finish before I play? Just stop binding my pieces?
That last option is not a bad alternative at all. Arlee, whom I discovered both in various flickr pools and in this month’s Cloth Paper Scissors, showcased a beautiful quilt with texture galore and unfinished, tattered edges.
The collage above was one of the pieces I made when I perhaps should have been finishing other things. The text is printed on linen and on fake vellum — both fed through an inkjet. They are scraps from my quilt, “Valentine to Iraq” (below), made some time ago. I made the off-white paper with newspaper inclusions while teaching a UU religious ed class a couple of years ago.
Quilt, about 3.5' x 20"
This quilt was coming together as the American death toll in Iraq reached 3,000. I originally planned to stitch 3,000 “x’s” on the quilt, representing the final kisses of mothers to their never-to-return soldier children, but stopped at a little over 1,000. It gave me a sober appreciation for how large a number 3,000 is. And now, of course, the toll is much higher. And we’re not counting Iraqi deaths.
This is a chop-and-rearrange piece — some areas, therefore, have as many as six layers of fabric. I’m not sure this is technically a quilt, because there isn’t batting behind every single square of this piece, which is mounted on felt.
The X-stitch-kisses at times resemble sutures.
Crucifixes found their way into the piece, representing the enormous sacrifice both the soldier and his mother make (and his father and other family members/or her — forgive me, as a mother of two boys, this piece references our genders).
Here, half a heart is depicted, meaning what it is — a broken heart.
The original statements, which I fractured and reassembled, were: “All mothers of sons want them to live,” and “I now have sons and I want them to live,” and “I want all wars to end.”
Another heart fragment, covered in kisses/sutures.
I wanted some of the embellishments to take on the look and feel of maps, or again, the edges of wounds.
Here you can see how the varying thicknesses relate to each other.