Our forms displace a precise amount of air.
We have volume.
Your thoughts do not.
We remember all that made us.
You do not.
The air and the fire, the currents of water,
grains of sand, and eons of pressure.
Our value is not relational.
Yours, sadly, is.
Gutter, rooftop, buried, shattered, exalted, exposed,
it is all the same to us.
You collect us as trinkets.
That does not make us trinkets.
We adore gravity.
You do not.
It’s no accident
the only time you felt real today
was when you walked in the rain
and through water-speckled glasses
looked at your dog
looking at you.
[After losing several posts connected to these pictures, I submitted myself to them. The story of conspiracy and monopoly (think: Comcast) and co-dependence and Murphy’s law (mine, the Universe’s) will have to wait].
Who said that you, even as you move and change and relate from the side to things, are the center? This new indigo cloth has been poured on. Seen lightning and heard cicadas. Sun has dried it.
It is its own thing, and it is a thing-yet-to-be. Not unlike a child going off to college.
The spec of rust is like a beauty mark to me.
When a partial circle is visible, we easily fill in the missing part.
And, when a circle is filled with water, it often captures the sky.
Families are circles. Time is a circle.
We are driving C. up to Montreal tomorrow, so I won’t be here for a few days (thankfully, our house sitter knows all about how to care for quirky, slightly over-sized Corgis).
Our circle is expanding.
A quick post. My sister and I will celebrate Easter a little early with lunch out and a dirt-and-pansy run to a nursery in Gloucester. The birches above were my imitative attempt to use Natalie Sewell‘s techniques to create depth and realism (see entry about Improv Quilting class, two posts ago). The birches are fabric strips (two different), with white acrylic paint highlighting the mid-sections, and black or silver sharpies (plus a few teeny fabric scraps) adding shading and detail.
Before I head north, C. has his annual check up (the fourth appt of the week). As an 18 year old, I will have to have him sign a HIPAA and place it in his record, so that health care providers can share information with me (his mother!!!!). Another sign of his growing up. (P.S. That little pre-schooler in the heart above? Is now 16!!)
This tower was assembled without background and lounging in the studio until last week, when I pieced it up to demonstrate how to integrate ground/sky/structure. I really love this little piece, thankfully, because I am in a phase of resistance and loathing with almost everything else I am working on (well, those large Middle Passage pieces to be precise!).
Improv quilting note — if one is including heavy weight fabrics, sometimes the direction of pressing will be determined by the fabric’s weight, rather than where one wishes the emphasis to go. With this little tower, I would have pressed all the diagonal orange seams TOWARDS the roof if I were working with all quilting cottons, which would have emphasized the roof, making it pop a little. Instead, because that orange upholstery fabric was so thick, I had to press toward the blue.
Tomorrow, I will post student Tree Projects. We had fun and each of the three of us came up with totally different studies, which to me, is a sign that creativity is happening!