Reinventing Oneself

I have been thinking, writing and making changes in my life as a means for changing focus and gaining clarity. I call this process reinventing oneself. I will be writing more, but today when I came across this mini memoir I wrote long ago, I realized that this reinventing has been going on for me for a long time.

Contacts, Pleasure and Pain

1964

The year I graduated from Rome Free Academy in Rome, New York, my Dad was stationed at Griffith Air Force Base. I remember the gate to the base, the fence around the sergeants’ section and the fence around the officers’ section. The base hospital was a few blocks away and the pavilion was up on a hill behind it. They sold Kent cigarettes in the cigarette machine in the lobby of the hospital. They cost thirty-five cents and I bought a pack, took them up to the pavilion to try them out. 

The pavilion was dark and damp. No one else was inside. It was a wet, rainy weekday after school and Lorraine and I walked up there. Lorraine smoked all the time. I hadn’t tried anything and I was going on seventeen.

That summer between my sophomore and junior year when we moved up there from Topeka I decided to change my whole style. First thing I did was remove my glasses. I couldn’t see without them but I felt I looked a whole lot better. Karen was getting contacts. That was the latest. They had just come out with them and I wanted them, too, but they cost eighty dollars and that was with our base discount. They’d be twice that off base so I had to get them before I graduated from high school or I wouldn’t qualify for the discount anymore. And it was me who would have to come up with the eighty dollars. That would require a lot of babysitting so I started figuring ways to talk myself out of wanting contacts. For one thing I’d heard about the getting used to them part and, I didn’t too much like the idea of going through all of that.

 So I started saying to myself the beauty would be more than I could handle. There are benefits in looking good, but there comes a point where you can look too good. I hadn’t reached that point, yet, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Look at Marcie. In sixth grade she was my best friend and had a long blond ponytail and someone wrote I like to f*** Marcie up on the water tower on Burnet’s Mound where everyone went parking. I know it wasn’t true because Marcie was my best friend and if it were true she would have told me so. Somebody must have written that because of her blond ponytail. So anyway, I figured it’d be best if I didn’t get contacts.

Karen got hers, though. There were a bunch of kids in her family, like mine. She worked in a beauty shop sweeping up hair, and she saved her money. She ended up getting murdered in a restaurant bathroom in Florida the summer after we graduated. I decided then and there when I read the murder story in True Detective Magazine and looked at her senior picture with no glasses, staring out at me, the photo blown up to fill the full page, that I was never getting contacts.

The second thing I did moving to a new base was that I decided not to be shy anymore. I didn’t know if you could just up and do something like that, just decide not be shy. I always figured shy was something you were born with but I figured I’d give it a try. I borrowed a white, low cut, sleeveless, cinched waist, circular-skirt dress from Lorraine. I had a suntan from being a water safety assistant at the pool all summer and that white dress next to my dark tan and no glasses, well, when I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t believe it was me.

We were going to a CAP dance, Civil Air Patrol. It was an outside dance and since I had this new attitude about not being shy, it must have worked because these cadets and airmen were asking me to dance. It might have had something to do with the fact that guys outnumbered girls ten to one, but I didn’t think about that at the time. I just said yes and danced.

The cadets weren’t bad, the airmen were too old and the base kids who happened to show up were the best. Tony asked me to dance three times. He was a big football player at the school I’d be going to. He walked me home and I let him kiss me good night. That was the second kiss I’d ever had. The first kiss was by Kenny back in Topeka. He was out of high school already and told Marcie I didn’t even know how to kiss.

Well, I figured I did better with Tony because my period was due and not coming. I was certain that sperm crawled out of him, down my borrowed dress and got up inside somehow. It had to: Why else would my period not come. Thank goodness it finally did, six weeks later. I still didn’t go out with Tony anymore. I just stared at his butt at football games.

Lorraine lit my Kent cigarette in the pavilion and handed it to me. I sucked in hard like she said, but it must have been too hard because I coughed forever. This is not fun, I said. Why do you do it? I asked her. It gets easier, she said, but I decided, then and there, I wasn’t going through pain for pleasure. I think of Karen every time I enter a restaurant bathroom.

---

Luigart Studios, 110 Luigart Ct. Lexington, Ky

Turning Points

It is so much easier to look back. I’m sure I’m coming across some turning points at this very moment. They are too close to glean any insight. Except for spring flowers. They are immediate. They let you know the season is about to change. the lightness of spring is imminent. The brilliance of summer is not far off. My formulas for shibori dyeing fabric begin to change.

Looking back for turning points, I ask, how far back can I go? To my junior year in high school when I changed my style wearing a borrowed, white, v neck dress with a circular, cinched-waist skirt to a civil air patrol dance on the Air Force Base where I lived. Guys out numbered girls ten to one. I danced and danced.

The time when I was 20 and I went shopping in at expensive boutique. I tried on linen pants, fuchsia and orange. They were bold and bright. I hated them. Wanting a change, I bought them. My dad said I was stunning.

I was working in an office. I sewed a deep sea bluegreen maternity skirt and floral print top. Wore it to work, brazen and pregnant. So many compliments.

My first divorce. It was not a bad marriage. Ms Magazine arrived. It was intellectual conversation I was seeking.

Letting my kids go live with their dad. It was the right thing to do. I wanted the divorce. It was my idea. I knew I could handle being a better mother away than he could be a father so far away.

There was a recklessness in the decisions to divorce and custody. A recklessness that gave me a freedom to seize my vision.

There was chaos and disorder in the second marriage. I divorced again. With a clear vision that I deserve to be with those who appreciates who I am and what I can do.

Today I am following my curiosity. That will lead me to my passion, Elizabeth Gilbert says. I believe her. I am most curious about how to deepen my relationships. To know more. To understand more.

Michelle Obama says, “It is hard to hate up close.”

Maybe that’s true. That’s what I want. But most times my arrogance gets in the way. Like when someone takes a different stance and I stand back, with hands on my hips, and say to myself, how could you?

I had a fantasy the other day when we were at my daughter’s house. They had created a new “pub room.” They had arranged it with a little bar, a few tables scattered around. There were several different conversations going on at each table. Every one was smiling, nodding, laughing, listening. Most likely all in agreement since we are all like minded.

I had a thought. What if that wasn’t true? What if the conversations at each table we’re radically different? Opposing views were being expressed. And everyone was still listening, nodding? What if it was like the game of musical chairs and when the band of brothers and cousins stopped playing one person would shift to the next table and enter the conversation? One they might totally disagree with? Could it be done? Could the knot in their stomach be pushed down when they heard things they disagreed with? Could they be silent for two beats and let the conversation flow without the need to be the lone dissent? Could they let listening be the path to deepening?

My husband said, “No, there’s too much at risk.”

“Isn’t being silent and listening equally powerful? “I asked. “Doesn’t living by example mean anything?”

Curiosity has lead me to explore the distinction between empty silence and the the silence of listening.

Precious Art

At Lake Tahoe with DJ, Alyssa and Larry. We sit and ponder, silent for a moment. I remember beautiful things. It’s a strategy I use to keep from crumbling. That doesn’t mean I don’t cry. A focus on all the beauty that surrounds keeps me walking.

The candles in the kitchen of my tiny house with its Karastan carpet in the middle of the floor. The candles making a soft light.

The bonsai on my window sill surrounded by tiny white lights and Ellen’s painted rock. The bonsai is a gift from my dear friends in the Story Sisterhood.

The orchid, tiny, tall and slender, a gift from Mead during the days following Donnie’s decision to move. Move on.

The card, artful, in blues and greens and purple and violet with a touch of yellow and orange water color marks and thin lines. From Monika, a woman I’ve never met in person, only online, sharing writing and colorful visions, vibrations of kindred spirits, a reaching out, her sympathy card, with its heart felt message.

Remembering the fire in the back yard fire pit two nights ago. Smoking from green kindling scavenged from the curb instead of walks in the words. Our strategy for urban fires is yet to be developed.

This morning wet glistens from the rain last night that kept Highlin’ awake and us through the thunder.

The golden light from the antique lamp on my dining room table, covered with the old lace table cloth I shibori dyed in fuchsia and yellow green shades.

I know the difference between satisfied and dissatisfied. I follow the good feelings a particular thought gives me and I witness he goodness that follows. The beautiful memorial for Donnie.

Tryin to go back and figure out the past is of no avail. Better to go forward from where I am. In my Darley House. Sunlight streaming in. New botanical print fabrics drying.

Process as Poetry

When drizzling dye

read the flow of colors

the way a kayaker reads

the flow of the river.

My World

There was a secret ingredient for creating my world. I had moved to a city where nobody knew my name. This gave me freedom. I could be anyone I wanted. I never had to explain myself to someone from my past. That little voice from my childhood that asked, "who do you think you are?" Was replaced with, "I know who I am." 

I embraced the concept, I own this place. Not as in I own the whole city. I owned my identity that inhabited this place. Take me as I dress. 

Shibori Silk Charmeuse and Devore Wrap

It's a stance, a posture, the way you walk, the way you set your eyes on the road ahead, your gaze, accompanied by a smile. A confident smile that says, "Hi." A tender smile that says, "underneath I know we're the same. Our hearts beat. Our heart peeks out."

It was a posture that took me downtown for celebratory parades, or on strolls through the park with toddlers and then without when they became teens and wandered on their own. When our car was stolen we rode bikes, a baby seat on the back. In winter I rode my bike wearing a L.L. Bean down coat that covered my artsy haircutting fashion. During the summer I rode my bike to the farmers market wearing a flowing white gauze dress. I dressed for the day. Form followed function. Once after work I went to a Halloween party. Someone said you're supposed to come in costume. I said I am in costume.

I am at home. I defined my borders and they were safe. Take me as I dress. 

Shibori Silk Charmeuse and Devore Poncho

Notice Everything

I made a fire this morning 

not that it's cold outside 

I just like the glow 

and the little bit of heat 

a small fire brings 

Shibori dyed silk jacquard poncho

It is raining 

actually more like a drizzle 

I took Highlin' for a walk 

along the path 

into the woods 

it's our regular walk

the path is worn 

wet leaves have smashed into mud 

Botanical prints,  leaves on silk

I am careful not to slip 

I have fallen three times

a warning to walk more carefully 

well of course 

isn't that what we are always supposed to be doing 

walk carefully 

not as in be careful you might say the wrong thing

make the wrong move 

as in walk carefully and notice

everything

Botanical printing on silk devore drying in the wind. LaverneZabielski.com

During this morning's walk

there was broken glass 

on a green, moss covered rock  

it was placed there carefully

that is not uncommon 

broken glass on the trail

I frequently place chipped or broken dishes in the woods 

a form of installation

a dinner party 

Shibori dyed silk poncho

This glass was more shattered 

than my usual place settings 

and it was on its own earthy green rock

I don't remember placing if there 

could it have been Larry

has he taken up my recycling, upcycling, repurposing penchant

Upcycled jean jacket with felted wool and silk

Could it have been a guest 

should I ask 

should I seek an answer

could it have been a stranger on our path 

that would be disturbing 

I will wait and wonder 

ponder 

enjoy its beauty 

the contrast

That was the message in Catherine's photo blog

that is her mission 

to notice everything 

just outside her door 

and photograph it 

I will notice everything

just outside my door

I will see with my words

Memory of Color

Growing up, there were always flowers, as evidenced in photos or memories.

My mother, Grace, grew red roses in front of the two bedroom, added onto to make four, ranch, on Eveningside Drive in Topeka. Purple irises bloomed on the side and pale blue bachelor buttons gathered across the back along the fence.

In Tachikawa, Japan she learned Ikibana, the art of flower arrangement.  They graced the buffet and changed weekly.

A hedge of red roses framed the front yard of the old frame house in Roaring Springs, Texas where the man who invented the cotton gin once lived. As the years passed and the hedge thickened, cars passed slowly by just to see Grace's roses.

Suddenly, my cabin is filled with orchids. It just happened. All I do is place three ice cubes in each pot, weekly. It must be the light. Our cabin is filled with light.

Everything about me, all my memories show up in my shibori art to wear.  Today in velvet I see orchids and roses and green leaves.

Vision Quest

The iridescent leaves shimmer in morning light 

moisture clinging to each dried leaf 

drizzling rain a soft serenade. 

the making of space for winter has begun 

the forest opens up 

more tall willowy tree trunks appear 

we walk deeper the dogs and I 

they ever grateful for this privilege they demand 

wagging their tails waiting as I arise 

the brandy of browns and deep burgundy 

await my vision quest for meaning of each new day 

affirming the love I have for life 

balanced between growing awareness as each day passes 

that every life has a beginning and end

a transition so subtleyet instant 

as in one day as I walk the trees are green the next Golden

how did that happen so suddenly, I ask

I must pay better attention, I warn

my footsteps are no longer spring soft on the path of grass and dirt

they crinkle, crunch a deep serenade 

the brandy of browns and deep burgundy 

await my vision quest for meaning of each new day 

You Will Love This

It may sound trite when I say I make my art for you. I don't know you personally. I do know about you. I know about your desire for passion and wisdom. To express your long earned authority. And for intimacy, those close connections you find in family and friends where you can just be you and express yourself freely with no concern for being judged or criticized or need to defend your beliefs 

In these ways we are the same. We have lived long. We have courted danger. We have loved life.

What makes us unique is our failures have not brought us down. We stand tall and walk forward knowing we have something to pass on. We have a legacy

So it is not trite when I guide my vibrant shibori silk under the needle, watch it ripple and gather graciously, marvel at its beauty, ponder how ravishing it is and know that you are going to love wearing the art I create. 

I am not praising me. I am praising the inner workings of my soul that has brought all the pieces of creating together to make this masterpiece. Yes, in that moment, when exquisite colors have found their way into my silk. I am thrilled and can't wait to share it with you.

A form of my inner life is embodied in the fabrics I take into my hands and shapes each piece. and I say, “you will love this.”

It is not trite 

You will love this!

You Are The Designer

How to design your wearable art collection

 

1.  Embrace Your Body

Listen to friends and Mother Nature

2.  Take a stand

You know who you are.  

Experience has been your teacher.

Wear a statement piece of wearable art.

 

3.  Tell your own story

Walk your talk. 

You are no longer living what you know, 

you are authoring your life in advance of living it. 

 

4. Define your principles

Repeat what you like

Be inclusive

Maintain equilibrium

Hold to a constant standard

Live the rhythm of your own drum

 Keep it simple with basic essentials

Determine your bottom line.

 

5.  Know your elements

color, value, texture, line, shape

What colors do you like?

Define your palette 

What’s your season?  

Manifest contrast, strong values, 

soft and bold, light and dark

What do you feel? 

Experience texture

silky and coarse

Shape your message  

 What’s your line? 

What’s my story?

Walking in the woods yesterday, I saw the brown color I am shibori  dyeing for a mother of the bride statement kimono and dress.  It was in the leaves left over from last fall; deep, rich, rusty, copper, with a touch of dark, forest green.

Even though the leaves were from last fall, now aged into late spring, they held their vibrancy. Who would think that the colors of spring would include the age of fall?  Clearly, every color can be found any season. And you can wear any color, given all the shades, tones, lights and brights to choose. How did I get on my color path, my artful path, my path of self expression?  

I let go. 

One day when I was on my lunch hour from my first office job, I stepped inside a store that sold a more expensive line of clothing than I was inclined to buy.  I was 20. I was a Sears’ girl. I decided that I would try on pants and blouses that were bright and brilliant. The pants were orange and fuchsia.  They were each paired with a floral blouse. They were not the bright and brilliant colors of summer.  They were subtly toned, as the leaves are when they slowly change.  Not my usual choice. 

It was a risky step. 

I gazed in the mirror and said to myself, “I hate this. This is not me.” I have strong opinions. I bought it, anyway. I was tired of buying the same styles and colors. I wanted to feel what it was like to wear something different.  

A relatively safe risk. 

My dad loved it! I never thought of him as a stylish person in his USAF uniform or week-end overalls. In hindsight, as I peer into his old black and white photographs, I discover he had a very strong sense of composition. His was not the only compliment I received. This began my journey, not only of exploring colors, also in taking risks with self-expression.

All colors are part of nature.  

Find yourself in the rainbow. It is very large, full and forgiving, as you are. 

You can wear any color.  It’s not about what looks good on you, it’s about what makes you feel wonderful. You are part of nature. In order to determine your place in the rainbow, remember your favorite season.  Find it by listening to your body.  To what season are you most drawn? Listen to your friends and their compliments. Write it all down.  

Are you spring where the colors are soft, or summer, where the colors are bright, bold, and brilliant? Are you sometimes a little of both? Getting to know your self through color is the exciting journey you are now poised to embark upon.  

Are you most present in the toned leaves of fall and their bright counterpart, jewels against the sky?  Are you in your element in the deep rich and luscious shades of winter, the depth of spruce, and burgundy?  

All these seasons come and go, as you do. 

You know what you like, what feels good.  

Begin with your favorite season, where memories have lived the fullest. Coffee, chocolate, semi sweet, bitter or milky? It’s the season you are drawn to that will determine your palette. 

How do you choose your palette?  

Ask, “What do I like?”  

Today I start with brown. Deep dark, aged, fall leaf, brown.  Browns emerge from all colors. The brown I am seeking emerges from yellow and purple, her compliment. They create copper and rust. As the exploration continues, many colors appear. And as you explore, they become your colors, ready to mix and match and enjoy. They will tell your story.

You can wear any color. It’s easy.  Nature has already begun to cleanse your canvas when she added grey to your hair.  If you, too, choose to add color, are you more drawn to yellow or blue based colors? If you have highlights, are they gold or ash?

Let’s collaborate?  Tell me what you feel.  This is how you will tell me who you are.  What do you like?  How tall are you?  How full are your hips?  What are the colors of your skin, your eyes, your hair, (is it dyed or natural)? The answer to these questions are the beginning of our designing your personal statement piece of wearable art.

Balance

Usually when I think of hot flash, I think red. In hindsight, I think green. It’s been awhile since I have had a hot flash, however, the things I learned during that time are tremendous.

The transition occurred naturally in my body signifying a new beginning was about to happen. A time to take care of me. The children would soon be grown and on their own. I remember that time well. It was like the color green, a time of growth and balance. A time of growth into a mature, wise woman. A time to balance past desires and future dreams. 

I remember standing in the University of Kentucky bookstore. I had just enrolled in classes, a returning student, excited to enter this mental world of thinking, studying, validating opinions, discovering new ones, making art, when suddenly my body began to heat up. Little beads of perspiration appeared. 

It was uncomfortable. My back pack was slung across my body which was covered with many layers; a vest, a sweater, a jacket, a scarf around my neck. The heat continued to rise. There was nothing I could do. 

At home I could strip down. Not here, in the bookstore. In my helplessness I saw I had no control. I saw endurance. I stood there, the heat continued rising. Within that moment I recognized an endurance I intended to embrace.  

This was the beginning of a new period of growth that I would not resist, that I would embrace fully and become the wise woman I was meant to be. It just happens. There is no avoiding it.  

I am the mother.  I told the caller on the phone seeking to speak with the mother in charge.

I am in charge. I know what I am doing. Oh what a glorious balanced path to reach. As I walk in the woods this morning I see that the green cannot get any greener.  This is the color I seek to capture.  

You Have To Have Vision

“You have to have vision,” I heard my mentor, Arturo Alonzo Sandoval, say from across the room.  He wasn’t talking to me.  He was talking to one of his students.  I was fortunate to be working on the FeltLOOM in his classroom and could listen.  

You have to have vision.  

How true, I now realize.  And vision is different than a plan.  A plan comes second.  A plan comes after the vision has been defined and chosen. We can have many visions and focus is where determination comes in. 

What vision do I want to focus on?

In the past there was the vision for the move back to Kentucky.  The transition was smooth and provided us with the amazing cabin we now live in.  Today, there is the vision from my art, each piece of shibori dyed silk using carefully chosen colors creates many versions of wearable art.  

Today, in order to keep from getting bored and to keep from repeating myself, I begin a new vision quest asking myself, “what do I want?” This becomes the quintessential question, the question most necessary to keep in the forefront of my mind everyday.

Today, I say to myself, I want each piece of art I make to become part of an intentional ensemble from the beginning of the vision.  

Since I discovered the power of gathering around me only what I like, life is easier.  While I realize it can become cluttered, I leave room for those moments when “opportunity knocks.”  These are the moments when my questions are being answered, ever so subtly. 

What do I want to explore? 

Energy.

Everything contains energy. My vision. My art. My cabin in the woods.  It’s why I surround myself with art.  Wearable art.  Art on the wall.  Art on the floor.  Art in the garden.  Art I serve my delicious food in. The art in my home, the handmade items I look at, use, wear, are closer to the maker, and the energy is more intense.  It is stronger, hence more transferable to me.

You have to have vision.

Even my Garden Girls remind me of this fact when they talk about writing.   In my creative writing I invented the Garden Girls to accompany me on my quest to take risks and live the layered life of an artist.  

“How do you find the words?” Rose asked.

“Look at your hands,” Clove said.

“I think you mean that’s really all I have to do.” Rose said.

“Of course I mean it,” Clove said. “Look at your hands, Rose it’s all in your body, in the way you walk, the way you smile, the way you think. Look at your hands and take a deep breath and you’ll find the words.”

The thought was exciting, physically. Rose felt her body move. Mentally she felt her mind churn. “Let’s write together again,” she said, “the next time we can claim a moment to own.”

In writing, Rose was seeking passion, the passion that gets you excited and keeps you awake at night. Rose was always passionate; there was no getting around it. She wasn’t ever going to give it up. To be able to create passion, that’s what freedom is, that’s what life is; just keep on writing because what else is there? Sometimes preachy thoughts showed up, talking to Rose, but she listened only when she had to. Mostly there were other sounds to consider— the voices and the quiet. When the voice was soft and the message was sweet love was all around it. Mostly when Rose heard the voice it meant listen.

When ideas were overwhelming, she’d take long hot baths, one right after another. The writing challenged her not to divert her eyes, keeping them on her vision which is to keep on moving, not stopping, except to meditate, watch her breath, while looking at her hands to find the words waiting, and believing they will come, because they’re right there in the table, the light, and window.

First I’ll make a list, a quick one, Rose decided. “Do I write it all down? Do I make notes?” She asked Clove.

“You can,” Clove said, “or you can just look at your hands. It’s in your body, Rose it’s all in there.” 

“Do you realize that you are saying there are no right answers. You are saying that whatever I say is okay, to just be me and say it. Take the risk.”

What does it take to become a Garden Girl? A desire made manifest, to discuss intimacy, passion, wisdom, and authority. And take risks.  

Today, I take a deep breathe.  What I want is in my body.  I begin a new exploration of layering fabric, color and textures creating statement wearable art ensembles. 

You Can Wear Any Color

Blue green, crepe tuniic with devore shawl

Walking in the woods yesterday, I saw the same brown I am dyeing for a mother of the bride statement kimono and tank dress.  It was in the leaves left over from last fall; deep, rich, rusty, copper, with a touch of dark forest green.

Even though the leaves came from last fall, now aged into late spring, they held their vibrancy.  Who would think that the colors of spring would include the age of fall? Clearly, every color can be found any season.

How did I get on my color path, my artful path, my path of self expression?  

I let go.

One day when I was on my lunch hour from my first office job, I was drawn into a store that sold a more expensive line of clothing than I was inclined to buy.  I was 20.  I was a Sears or JC Penney girl. It was a risky step.  I decided that I would try on pants and blouses that were bright and brilliant. The pants were orange and fuchsia.  They were each paired with a floral blouse. They were not the bright and brilliant colors of summer.  They were subtly toned, as the leaves are when they slowly change. Not my usual choice.  I gazed in the mirror and said to myself,  “I hate this. This is not me.”  I have strong opinions.  I bought it, anyway.  I was tired of buying the same styles and colors over and over.  I wanted to feel what it was like to wear something different.  A relatively safe risk.  

My dad loved it.  I never thought of him as a stylish person, in his USAF uniform or week end overalls. In hindsight, as I peer into his old black and white photographs, I discover he had a very strong since of composition. His was not the only compliment I received.  This began my journey, not only of exploring colors, also in taking risks with self expression.

You can wear any color, dare I be so bold to say.  It’s not about what looks good on you, it’s about what makes you feel wonderful.  You are part of nature.  All colors are part of nature.  Find yourself in the rainbow, it is very large, full and forgiving, as you are. It’s not that you can’t wear part of the rainbow at anytime, its that some parts have blended and rearranged so the derivative is no longer recognizable.  

In order to determine your place in the rainbow, remember your favorite season.  Find it by listening to your body.  To which season are you most drawn? Listen to your friends and their compliments. Write it all down.  Are you spring where the colors are soft, or summer, where the colors are bright, bold, and brilliant? Are you sometimes a little of both?  Getting to know your self through color is an exciting journey you are now ready to embark upon.  

Are you most present in the toned leaves of fall and their bright counterpart, jewels against the sky?  Are you in your element in the deep rich and luscious shades of winter, the spruce, and burgundy?  All these seasons come and go as you do. You know what you like.  What feels good.  

Let’s begin with your favorite season, where memories have lived the fullest. Coffee, chocolate, semi sweet, bitter or milky?  It’s the season you are drawn to that will determine your palette. How to choose your palette?  Ask, what do I like?  Then break it down.  

Let me start with brown.  Deep dark, aged, fall leave brown.  Browns emerge from all color.  The brown I am seeking now emerges from yellow and purple, her compliment.  Purple and yellow are buried in my new found brown.  They create copper and rust.  As the exploration continues, many colors will appear.  And they will be your colors, ready to mix and match and enjoy.  They will tell a story.  They will tell your story.

You can wear any color. It’s easy.  Nature has already begun to cleanse your canvas when she added grey to your hair.  If you choose color to you hair, are you more drawn to yellow or blue? If you have highlights, are they gold or ash.

Shall we collaborate?  Just tell me what you feel.  This is how you will tell me who you are.  What do you like?  How tall are you?  How full are your hips?  What are the colors of your skin, your eyes, your hair, (is it dyed or natural)? The answer to these questions are the beginning of designing your personal, art to wear, composition.

First things First

As springs has arrived, new colors appear daily.  The quest for formulas has begun for my shibori silk dyeing and designing of slow fashion wearable art.  Yesterday's fashion taught me the value of art to wear.  As the models walked the runway, they truly did manifest an energy not seen in fast fashion.

Embracing liminal spaces I start where I am.

“That moment when there is nothing to hang on to is the moment when we are most present, most alive, most vulnerable, most human.” ~ Patti Digh

That moment when there is no where to go,

the roads are frozen and the snow beautiful.

Snowstorm Jonas has passed.  

We wait while the snow lingers. 

And make art. The snow becomes my go to, my inspiration.

“Possibility can only be born from the present. From what is owned. From wholeness.”

~ Jennifer Louden

needle felted and wet felted alpaca from Heartfelt Alpaca

layered with soy and tussah silk roving

waits for color.  

I start where I am.

Outside, the table is still covered with snow and it is sooooo cold.  

I take my shibori poles indoors to the sink.

shibori felt dries by the wood stove.

Inside our cabin I curl up by the fire.

Being ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THIS LITTLE MOUNTAIN it takes longer for the snow to melt.  

That's ok.  As long as I have cream for my coffee.

Later today we will hike down the lane,

retrieve our car at the bottom and head for town!

Needle Punched and Wet Felted

Time to shibori dye my new needle punched and wet felted shawl.  I like it white, however, what would it look like dyed?  The piece I'm actually working on has silk mulberry roving.

First I soaked the cotton gauze in 1# of baking soda to 2 gallons of water.  Used the drain spin cycle on the washer and dried in the dryer.  Whether or not to iron was the next question.  I like to try to eliminate as many steps as possible so for this experiment I chose not to iron the gauze.  Hence, the sixth was closer to 26” than 36”.  After following all the steps in my video, I line dried the pieces before pole wrapping them. I drizzled 3-4 colors of fuchsia and yellow green tones.  The fabric was more dense from the wet felting compared to when it was completely felted on the FeltLOOM felting machine.  At first it looked like the dye was just sitting on the fabric.  Not really flowing.  However, by the next day much movement of colors had occurred.

Shibori on the porch

I love how my dog, Highlin' follows me wherever I go.  Today I transform a 60 year old stained linen tablecloth and shibori dye it with tones of fuchsia and yellow green.  Perfect for my holiday party.

Art for the Breeder's Cup

Thank you, Kentucky Arts Council for taking the time to organize a gallery market for Kentucky artist to make our beautiful art available to all the amazing people that will be in Lexington for the Breeder's Cup.

I am honored to have been invited.  This lovely shibori dyed velvet devore shoulder shawl is one of the pieces I am taking to the gallery tomorrow.

Photo Shoot

Eco Topper using Shibori dyed Remnants

Documenting is important.  And sometimes it has to be with our own camera or phone.  Mannequins are nice, but nothing like having a model.  Last week in M S Rezny's studio, Rupel Patel was an exquisite model bringing my newest designs to life.  Mary captured the movement, rhythm and depth of each piece.  I'm anxious to create more of these Eco Toppers. However, they are part of a long process.  First I have to felt more merino.  Then shibori dye it.  Then create a new design.  And then I will have the remnants I need to felt on top black wool and line with black crepe.  It's important that I remember my art is all part of a process that shapes itself by materials at hand, cannot be rushed and no step can be missed.