Harvesting Texture (Lughnasadh 10 2015)

I thought these seven days of Week Two would be the hardest because I was only one-third of the way through the 21-Day Journey with twice as many ideas and exercises still to imagine. Not so, as it turns out. The learning curve continues and I have (re-)learned some things and learned others:

I still haven’t gotten the hang of attaching art to canvas without blood-letting.
The studio needs to be picked up at the end of each day so that the space will be open and the energy will be free-flowing to start with a new piece.
‘Not every sermon you preach will be the best one’ translates exactly into art exercises.
Texture is more of a challenge to embrace; in fabric, pattern reads as texture to me.
You can fold fabric just like paper except the creases aren’t as sharp and (unlike paper) fabric starts to unfold itself as soon as you turn your attention away.
My response to a piece and your response to a piece are almost always different.
Tomorrow is still another day.

And my new axiom:
Don’t ever confuse simplicity of concept with simplicity of execution.

For those of you who would like to see the whole week in its totality, here it is.
PLEASE NOTE: Six of the pieces from Week One are sold; three of the pieces from this week have had multiple inquiries and one has sold. Pieces will be sold to the first person who makes a definite commitment…so if you really love one, let me know.
Prices range from $35 and $45 each. If you are interested in one, please contact me here .

Day 8 The Texture of Air (Sold)
Holy Breath,
inspire me with
the texture of air:
the smooth inrush of life
unfolding meaning into time;
the velvet persuasion
of barest movement in
birch leaves;
the sharp incision of mistral,
filling sail for journey
and cutting straight to core;
the steady strength of updraft
lifting bird or plane;
the weighted force of gale
sweeping away injustice.
Let it be so. O let it be so.

Day 9 Bead Soup (NFS)
Beaders call it bead soup:
the jar or bowl that
gradually fills
with the ones and twos
that are left over
when a project is complete.
It would be neater and faster
to throw them away, of course.
But someone once cared enough
to gather twelve baskets full
of bits and pieces
as a living lesson
that scraps and broken bits
are important,
that every atom is worth cherishing,
that one matters.

Day 10 Homage to Hildegard (Sold)
Hildegard –
Wise Woman and Mystic
Abbess, Polyphonic Composer,
Chastiser of Popes –
Hildegard called it Greening:
the soft, moist, juicy
quality of living soul
that never ceases
to invent and create and rejoice.
Hildegard of sage leaf
and owl feather –
floating exultantly
on the Breath of G-d.
She would have laughed aloud
to hear that green
is the pulse color of Heart Chakra…
“Of course, of course” – Heart:
Matrix of Wisdom,
Verdant Bower of the Holy Presence,
Unfolding Lotus of Love.

Day 11 Woven Together
Sometimes the thread of my life lies true:
neat and straight
next to the ones on either side,
smooth as silk.
And sometimes it twists and snags and knots,
pulling the fabric out of line.
Or the color clashes with the part of the pattern
in which I find myself.
Sometimes the threads of other lives
run alongside mine for a good distance,
almost close enough to be a single thread…
and sometimes they turn away
to weave into another design.
Or they stop short, way too soon.
I hope someday,
in some other form of being,
I will be able to see the whole,
to celebrate the glory
that is every atom in the perfect place
woven out of time and space
to display its unique is-ness.

Day 12 Peace (Sold)
There is no way to peace;
peace is the way.
A. J. Muste (1885-1967)

Day 13 Remembered Summer (Sold)

Remembered summers have a texture
all their own – woven from
the sharp, bright chirp of crickets,
and the smooth melt of
butter on fresh corn,
the prickly scratch of sweat
and weeds (and mosquito bites),
the heavy quilted weight of
thunder about to roll,
and the satin soft
relaxation of muscles at 87.5 degrees.
Remembered summers are
fifty shades of green,
wrapped around with deep purple and indigo and robin’s egg,
burnt orange, bright gold,
and muffled grey
with sparkles around the edges.
For all the memories: Thanks.
Just: thanks…

Day 14 (Un)Buttoned (Sold)

(Un)Buttoned (Outside)

There was a magic drawer of buttons
in my grandmother’s sewing cabinet
(the one that held the treadle Singer machine):
singles and pairs
and sometimes fours or sixes,
carefully removed from
worn-out clothing
and kept for another day.
I would mix and match
for hours at a time.
I still can’t pass a Mason jar
or cigar box filled with buttons
without stopping to look.
….

(Un)Buttoned (inside)

But ‘button your lip’ –
a favorite expression of teachers
in the 1950s –
always sounded like a dare to me.
Truth will out eventually…

Next week: I’ll be playing with line.

–Andrea