Ripe and Tough

What pages were torn out of the journal? No one will ever know, tossed to the floor, not crumbled, no chance of going insane as Hemingway suggested. Do you think he began to crumble his pages before his depression and eventual suicide as implied in the movie we watched last night "Hemingway & Gellhorn." Being kind to ourselves, my husband and I are reading Hemingway out loud to each other. We skipped last night and watched a movie instead. Not sure it was a good idea. And, I'm not sure aboutNicole Kidman's bright red lipstick as she portrayed Gellhorn during her war correspondent days. Was it a fashion statement? Was it to imply that she was ripe in contrast to her later years when she wore no lipstick on at all? Or that she was tough, could handle anything? As an ageless goddess I am in my later years. I like to wear red lipstick. For me it's about color and balance and brightness. Today I will iron red fabric. A bright rusty red. Silk and linen. Ripe and tough.

On Capturing the Divine Feminine

Honoring what I hear

I listen to my body

those gut feelings that lead to decisions

based on intuition rather than articulated facts.

This is how I capture the divine feminine

Lately I’ve been paying attention to trust and faith.  It is clear to me more than ever that in the scheme of things we really have no other choice.  Faith; everything will work out.  Trust; everything happens for a reason.  Not a preconceived, predetermined reason, but simply for the fact that something can be learned from each experience.

My husband, Larry, and I love where we live; the quiet, the beauty, the green. Looking at Larry’s face yesterday during dinner he looked exceptionally handsome; his grey hair at that perfect length just before the need for a haircut sets in; his skin slightly tanned from working in the garden. His insights and wisdom were being shared.  We were talking about life after death and the pros and cons of suicide.  

Life after death, he said, had many possibilities and he was open to all.  Nonetheless, it remains a mystery.  Suicide? The question was whether or not it should be left up to each individual. Since a friend’s recent suicide, I have felt it was something of a betrayal. It, too, remains a mystery.

For dinner we had bean burritos with home grown onions we bought at the farmer’s market, organic tomatoes, avocados, cheese, brown rice and salsa.  Our friend, Mead, was visiting.  For dessert she brought frozen cashew cream. It had the texture of cheesecake and was delicious. 

The day was simple.  Lengthy conversations continued during our hike in the woods.  An episode of West Wing was watched, then to bed early. 

Our life is simple and there is value in that simplicity leading to a capacity to go inward more often.  When I go inward I’m not only looking for thoughts not fully expressed, I search for how my body feels.  Throughout the day, I feel younger than my years and at times I think that I may even look younger. 

Conversations at the kitchen table

Honoring what I hear

I listen to my body

those gut feelings that lead to decisions

based on intuition rather than articulated facts.

This is how I capture the divine feminine

On our recent visit to the Art Institute in Chicago I was confronted by a homeless woman on Michigan Ave., a stately avenue on which to take up a homeless residence.  She had chosen a space outside a coffee shop protected by a fence that sectioned off the outdoor eating area.  She and her belongings were nestled on the outside of the fence, while inside there were cozy tables with umbrellas to shade the sun and heat.

Larry and I had just finished our coffee and sweet roll and as we leave I hear, “Hey, Grandma!”  

The homeless woman is walking towards me, dressed in layers, her black matted dreads, a statement of pride.  I, too, was dressed for the cool morning weather in a layering of sweaters, jacket and shibori scarves. 

“Hey, Grandma?” she calls again.  

I am startled. My grandchildren call me Grammy. No one has ever called me grandma. In fact, I don’t even think I look like a grandma,  at least not in my preconceived idea of what a grandma should look like. I thought I was different.  I did not, however, betray this woman’s observation.  “Will you go back in there and buy me a croissant?” She asked. 

I nodded, “Why did you call me grandma?” I asked.

“Because I am one, too.” She answered. Camaraderie had been established.    

I turned around, walked back inside the coffee shop.  She returned to her corner to wait.  Someone else had already bought her coffee. Larry meandered down the sidewalk while the transaction was completed.  

Honoring what I hear

I listen to my body

those gut feelings that lead to decisions

based on intuition rather than articulated facts.

This is how I capture the divine feminine

Larry and Laverne at Van Gogh's "NIght Cafe"

A shibori disruption begins

Disruption: a disturbance, or problem that interrupts an event, an activity or a process.  Today I begin to disrupt everything.  I explore new formulas for shibori.  I consider new designs for art to wear.  I rearrange the order I live my life.  Could that be considered innovation?

Optimizing Systems

Yesterday, when I read the following quote, I was discouraged for most of the day: "Your task is to optimize one system after another, not careen through the day randomly taking care of whatever problems erupt. Your job is not to be a fire killer. Your job is to prevent fires."  ~ SAM CARPENTER

I thought that is exactly what I do, careen randomly and every attempt at optimizing systems has been unsuccessful.

Today, while applying dye to a shibori pole wrapped with needle punched and wet felted merino, I realized why wearable art is so important in my life.  It provides an arena for optimizing systems.  I do not careen randomly.  Art is the arena where I know where I am going, what I am doing.  I "prevent fires whenever possible." And when one occurs, I respond and make art out of it.  In the rest of my life, I apply that same philosophy as often as possible.

Eco-Topper

Eco-Topper, lined with silk crepe, Kentucky Wool and upcycled shibori merino

The art is in the palette.  After considering what colors to use when shibori dyeing felted silk and merino fabric and then creating a design, there are always pieces left over.  They look beautiful as they lay in a pile or are scattered about.  Collected they become elements to lay on top of 44x80 Kentucky wool batting and felted on the FeltLOOM. Hence, no waste.  Everything is used and because all the thought went into creating the palette, each new piece of art is equally beautiful.

I posted this image on FB and a friend replied that she liked the Mad Max Glam look. Yes.  It makes a strong bold statement.  When worn, there is no subtly here about who you are or where you are going.

There's nothing like that last moment of anticipation when you are removing pins and trimming off excess fabric before turning your new piece right side out so that you can see what you have created.  It's these moments that keep me creating, that speak to me and say, let's do it again, and I begin to search for more materials.

So fortunate that my friend, Lucinda, gave me a box filled with vintage buttons.  I search for two pondering if they need to match.  Never, my friend, Cathy says.