Tag Archives: memory

Chores and light

Every season there are surprises that I’m not sure should be surprises — things that make me ask, did this happen last year? Or ever before? This spring I am astonished by how many dried catalpa pods littered the yard. Were they ever this plentiful before, requiring five or six large barrels? Perhaps I forget year to year.

And, in other Aprils, I don’t remember the late afternoon sun being so glorious in what we call “the new room” (it remains “the new room” even as it ages through its second decade). Lately, the light has honeyed the walls and furniture in a way that gladdens me so much you’d think I’d remember. But I don’t. It seems novel and remarkable.

 

I don’t perform an itemized spring cleaning, but I do find myself taking toothbrush and Comet to windowsills and slate on a more regular basis than I might during the winter. Since C is graduating in a few weeks (with a BS in Chem, in case you want to be impressed), I want his room to be nice. Or at least, clean. The old windows in our house collect dirt and insect husks and paint chips in a way that require some real elbow grease. It is kind of gross how much of the filth comes off, but ever so satisfying to watch it go. And yes, the photo is an ‘after’ shot – you should have seen it before.

Now, do you see the black form under the yew bush below? Left side? There’s Finn sniffing along the fence. His insatiable joyful need for ‘fetch’ has a lot to do with the state of our backyard.   We are considering a combination approach: rolls of sod, pea stone, and slate. Using what we had on hand, K and I got a pretty good start on a patio at the garage end. The midsection would get the sod (too much shade to grow grass from seed) and the back third, the pea stone. We’ll see. Right now, half of our dog training goes to getting Finn to sit and then stand while we wipe his paws at the back sliders (he’s pretty good about it). I’m waiting to see if any of the trampled ostrich ferns come back. Fingers crossed.

Collage to quilt

playing with paper

You can click on pictures for larger versions.

("doesn't SMELL like fish!")

stitching paper to paper

letting images direct where piece is going

making marks on back with oil pastels while wondering, what is left of an experience years later and how do we mark it in consciousness?

More marks.

 

Color copy of new version - with B&W figure in lower left. Abandoned brick/grape leaf background.

Using inkjet printer and prepared, commercially available fabrics - I print one copy on cotton; one on polyester organza.

love this

Placed sheer version on top of partially quilted opaque version

This corner is too dark - so paint and ink to the rescue

Made 'suckers' from erasers out of the junk drawer

Scary to mess about with this much time in, but stamped with copper ink and white paint

Finished piece is edged with striped linen and stapled to wooden frame - you can't really see the quilting or the layering effect in this light

Octopus on the wall.

saved backing sheet to use under fabric as stitching guide

Backer sheet is below the green wool. I stitched from back, following lines. Very messy because toner is not set on page. To be continued.

P.S.  Hope to fix picture resolution issues ASAP.  I have been wondering why my pictures are defaulting to a 72 pixel resolution and looked and looked at my Photoshop settings, but it now dawns on me that perhaps it is a setting on my CAMERA that I changed (the file size while noodling with something else – will check and hopefully fix.

One poppy to remember, another poppy to forget

Just added another poppy to the Cement Sack quilt.  This one is ON TOP of the tulle.

Transferred two black and white xeroxes onto coffee-stained muslin.  The trombone did not come out so well, but a trident on the same page did.  Both are in the upper left.

Here is that figure that has shown up in the Witness quilt and the wet-paper-basement-calamity collage.  She is the one who dreams, who has seen, and who seeks to go beyond all that lodges in the past.  She is part of all of us.  This recent posture is one of burdened grief, but she has other moods as well.

Perhaps “moods” is the wrong word — “patterns of consciousness” more like.

And speaking of drugs (the opiate reference in the title), here is the holder of my current drug of choice — a coffee mug!  Suitably chipped, stained, and very much in use.

A busy day of gardening and travel ahead.  A good thing.  A change of perspective and some fresh air will definitely do me good.

Daffodils for a grey day

This is how it looked here yesterday.  Many branches down this morning on account of the wind.

Ken wishes it was snow, but I don’t.  I could actually smell the earth yesterday, and after months of cold, what could be better?

These daffodils made their way to my sister’s bedside yesterday, but I (and Ms. Goosey-Goose) got to enjoy them first.

Cleaning up more than anything else around here, which means little sewing.  But one space I cleared now is full of collage activity.  Here is a photoshopped collage of one of the collages.

Jumping In

Season's Greetings

boys running in the dark

boys running in the dark

Pin Board

Pin Board

Three images to start.  How does one start?  Always a question.  “How does one finish?”, also happens to be a question that plagues me.

Starting in the middle, or wherever one is, seems like sage advice, and I didn’t make it up.  See Natalie Goldberg’s books on writing or just about anything by Pema Chodron.

We have snow and it is hanging onto the rooves and curbs, in spite of rain.  At least we have power, unlike many in New Hampshire, or even just west of here in Worcester.

I would like to work faster and larger.  The whole business of quilting takes a long, long time.  It is a wonder I do it at all.  But water?!!  Brushes?!!  More crap in the basement?!!

Last night a scary dream about becoming disoriented… unable to tell which way I came in, I turn, go some distance, turn again, go some distance the other way, hoping something will jog my memory.

Many of my quilts address the uncertain business of memory.  Here is one from awhile ago, from a whole series that I made using poppies as the central image.  Poppies are an apt symbol for our flawed process of collecting bits of ourselves in memory, because they both signal remembrance (popularized during World War I) and forgetting (think:  opiates).   The fragmentation of the design is no accident.  One thing making quilts about memory, and even painful memories, has taught me in a graphic way is that the pattern of a life makes for beauty, no matter what the components.

Quilt

"No Memory Poppy"

Julia Cameron says, “…by claiming our own memories, we gain access to the creative energy that they contain.  Memories become a source, not only of inspiration, but of fuel.”  In this quilt, I cut up a family photo (transferred onto fabric) found in a second-hand store.  I wonder how the whole process would shift were I to use a photo from my own childhood.