Raven and Sparrow

An empty place

Farewell Michelle. We will miss you very much.

Blog malaise

My friend Dee has coined a convenient term for the feeling I have noticed in the blogs I follow and in myself lately: blog malaise. It is the slow leak of energy from the community of cloth conjurers (another stolen phrase) who have been such a warm, supportive presence in my life these last years. I feel, and sense among my cyber friends a fizzle of communication.  It seems like too much effort to form and express the thoughts about our work and our lives that have carried us forward together in the past. (This in no way is meant as a judgement of any of the people whose blogs I follow. I am so grateful for all they continue to contribute to me.)  I speak only for myself when I say that what I am doing feels not interesting enough to warrant the trouble it takes to put it out there....and if it isn't interesting to me, how can I expect anyone else to care? Actually, it isn't that I don't find my own work and life interesting, it is that it is too small and personal in the face of the overwhelming forces I feel gathering in the world at large. I am waiting....for what? Specifically for the election, which seems like the last institutionalized chance to reinforce the rule of law and reinstate the governing norms our society is founded upon. I am waiting for a vaccine which will allow us to resume our social interactions and economic life. I am hoping for an evolution in our ability to transcend our tribal instincts and accept (love?) each other as equals and fellow travelers in this complicated life. 

I have no control over the huge problems hovering over us all right now, I can only control myself. That is taking all my energy in the face of the approaching storm. Still, I do recognize the significance of small interactions and little connections so I am going to try to continue to be here as best I can and I appreciate the efforts of others even as I think I understand why it is so hard right now. May our hands remain linked in spirit even as the wave crashes down. I love you.

 

 

Quiet time

As these months of restricted activity have stretched on it feels like a time set aside....like a placid pool in the onrushing river. I miss seeing people, especially my family, although I do visit them occasionally and carefully, but I also feel some satisfaction in days that belong to me. I didn't realize how much time I was spending preparing for and cleaning up after my social life until it disappeared. Almost every weekend involved going somewhere or receiving people here, with many weeknights also engaged in one way or another. Now it has fallen away and I am lonelier but more free. Time is malleable and can be shaped more thoughtfully. I have watched myself decide what my days will contain and then evaluated whether I achieved what I imagined or liked it if I did. I don't want this time to go on forever, but it has offered gifts for which I am grateful.

So what am I doing with my time? In the morning I do projects around the house. I am almost done washing all the windows in the new house indoors and out, a few every day. I weed and water the gardens, sweep the terraces and scrub woodwork. I helped Mike spread and compact a load of gravel on the driveway. In the space between the old house and the new, long neglected and weedy, I've started pulling grass and blackberries and honeysuckle to tidy up and reveal new possibilities. The amount of work is overwhelming in this place, but I don't think too much about the big picture, I just do what I can every day.

In the afternoons I paint on my tablecloth. I am about three quarters done with the green of the foxglove plants. It is very slow and I can't do it for more than a couple of hours at a time. After the green is on, I will paint the flowers and then set the paint with my iron. After that....wax. I thought at one time that I would paint the foxglove after I had waxed, over-painted with dye and dipped in indigo, but as I worked with my trial squares I decided that doing the paint first and waxing over the top pulls it more cohesively into the whole. I am keeping the leaves as uniform as I can while still allowing for some shading and movement by using combinations of only three colors: dark green, light green and fawn brown. Its not the most skillful painting, but will be enough to suggest the plants in a lively yet graphic way (or so I tell myself).

I am still working on my patchwork runner, attaching open weave linen scraps among the lavender wisps. I am not sure if i looks all that good as a whole, but I really like seeing how the shredded linen takes a new form as it is couched down to the cloth so I keep doing it.

Nothing is exciting, or seems worthy of commentary, so I don't have much to say, but I am grateful for these still, quiet days.

Lavender bits

We are back from a week away caring for our granddaughter while her parents sequestered themselves in the guest room/study and worked from home. Ordinarily her other grandmother has this role, but she needed a break and we needed to reconnect with our baby, so we got ourselves tested (negative) and quarantined so that fears were allayed and we could take over. It was delightful and exhausting. Sophie is down to one nap a day, otherwise she is going full tilt so we were hopping all week long. We needed the daily nap as much as she did. She is growing and learning so much right now. 

I didn't touch my computer or do any needlework all week, but since coming home I have attached some lavender wisps back onto my patchwork runner.  I thought I would segue into darker purple wisps at the ends, but this seems to be all that wants to be included for now. I am experimenting with other overlays and wondering if the ends need more something, but here I am at the moment.

Catching fire

Being the lucky recipient of Nancy's lovely hurricane lamps has reminded me of the role of fire in table setting. Candles are so ubiquitous on company tables that we hardly notice them, but the presence of fire is an elemental energy straight from our deepest memory. Gathering around the campfire to share food, stories and warmth, with faces illuminated by the glow and the black night pushed back behind us, is an experience as old as our species. It is an archetype of communal life that we all recognize instinctively. Firelight is comforting and flattering in a way that other light sources cannot achieve...a universal symbol of home. 

It is also sacred. The mystery of fire....its heat and light, its power and fascination, its flickering mutability, its undercurrent of danger.... is essential to our spiritual ceremonies. A fragment of the solar furnace, it represents that source of life and the inevitability of change. It is used to indicate the presence of God among us and to facilitate the transmission of our prayers across time, space and religious boundaries. Lighting a candle is the quickest way to create a sense of intention and occasion, and concentrate diffuse thoughts into reverence.

No wonder we use candles to invoke the power of fire and make our gatherings special.  When we moved away from the conflagration of the campfire to the more formal atmosphere of the table we knew we needed to bring it with us. Real fire. We have fashioned holders, sometimes out of crystal and silver, to display and contain the flame, but even the smallest ember carries an implication of all that we do not control. The more refined we think we are, the more we need it to remind us of our origins and of how we are (still) connected to the earth, the sky, the unseen and each other. 

New old treasures

As the world unfurls across my various screens, I find myself without anything to say. I am struck with horror at the death of George Floyd and further dismayed by the continuing deaths of black people at the hands of the police, even in the face of the massive protests around the world.  The problems of our country seem way too overwhelming for any blah blah commentary from me, at least for now. Unfortunately, chatting about my own projects also seems uninteresting amid the turmoil. I assume this detachment will pass....at least I hope so.

One gleam amidst the gloom....I received a package from Nancy full of old family linens and accessories for the table. The items themselves are very fun and inspiring, but Nancy's greatest gift was her enthusiasm about my table setting. I often wrestle with the validity and importance of my obsession so it just meant the world for her to take the trouble to pass these things to me because she was touched by my efforts. How very generous and kind....Thanks Nancy! What a mood lifter!

The box(es) were full of possibility:

Beautiful crocheted linens, probably made by Nancy's great grandmother, and a footed brass tray from India. 

Appliqued and embroidered hand towels, and a Mason jar full of thread on wood spools. How long has it been since spools were made of wood?

A printed linen tea towel and linen cocktail napkins with quotes and characters from Dickens novels. Dickens? How literary. I like the way the blues go together.

Silver and crystal hurricane lamps...wow.  These are very nice indeed. As I unwrapped the bases I thought the pattern looked familiar. When I compared them to the silver candlesticks my great aunt gave me for a wedding present forty eight years ago it was clear that they were all made by the same company. (The shorter candlestick in the foreground is mine and the taller lamps are from Nancy.)

Besides the obvious similarities in style, the stamp on the bottom is identical. They all come from the M. Fred Hirsch Company of Jersey City NJ, made between 1920 and 1945. I find myself wondering about the tables these pieces have graced in the seventy-five to one hundred years since they were manufactured. Old things impart the weight of time to any arrangement and draw the imagination back along the threads of experience. This grounding in the past reminds everyone at the table of all the people who have been gathering for meals through the years, sharing food human to human. Perhaps this is a good time to be reminded of connection and community. It makes me feel a little more hopeful. Again, Nancy, thank you.

 

Discomfort

The patchwork base is attached to its backing and I am tacking some silk scraps to it. This cloudy lavender is meant to be the first layer of amorphous floaty shapes that break the strict grid behind them. It isn't very satisfying at this stage. I'm not sure it looks good (although it might just be too soon to judge), the silk is slippery and hard to handle and my stitches displease me. As I laboriously ply my needle my inner voices ask if other shapes would be better (easier), whether the colors are ugly, and how much effort is is being wasted. This is the quicksand of creativity. I'm out in the middle of the swamp, can't see very far ahead and the ground I am occupying doesn't want to hold me up. I don't know if I will continue or start again.

Evening blue

The patchwork base of my ad hoc table runner is now sewn together. I have pinned it to a piece of organdy and the next thing is to attach the two thoroughly enough to dispense with the pins (ouch). As I stitched my squares I was also dyeing some old silk scarves I had in my stash from my days working with Michele Wipplinger at Earthues. She used them in her dyeing classes because they made a finished product that students could take home with them. They have been languishing in my storage boxes for years and seemed perfect for collage, especially since I don't have too many patterned fabrics. I dyed them in log purple, log gray, cochineal and indigo and came up with various shades of purple, lavender and blue. My original guiding thought was to represent the warmth of home against the falling dusk, but as I have handled my fabrics and played with dyes my idea has softened to a more generic "Night Sky". It could still change.

I have also traced out the full size pattern for Lisa's summer tablecloth. Making a line drawing from my giant photos clarifies the flower stalks and helps me see where to put what color.  I have decided to draw them in with gray Pitts markers on white linen, wax them, dye them and then paint the leaves and flowers last. I am waiting for Dick Blick to send me more markers. The cloth sucks up the ink pretty quickly and they run out of color.

I have been trying to spend most of my time outside now that good weather has arrived, but I am making progress on my textiles.