Raven and Sparrow

The Sabbath

 
     I usually find Ezra Klein's podcasts for the New York Times interesting, but every now and then he talks about something that really draws me in. The recent one with Judith Shulevitz about the Sabbath prompted me to purchase her book The Sabbath World and the book that they referred to many times, The Sabbath by Abraham Joshua Heschel. I read Heschel in a couple of hours and am halfway through Shulevitz. On the podcast Ezra worries about the creeping hold technology is exerting on our lives and wonders if returning to the old "day of rest" practiced by the Jews forever and many Christian sects as well (remember the blue laws?) would help us re-assert our humanity in the face of ever the escalating badgering of phones, computers, texts, emails, and social media and the demands of commerce. Taking a day off from technology and endless striving might be a way for us all to remember that we are not just what we produce and give us time to bolster connections with the people we care most about. That was the purpose of the original Jewish Sabbath...one day out of seven that was dedicated to being rather than doing. This reminds me of the current emphasis on mindfulness and presence in the moment. It seems like working out the balance between one's interior life and the demands of the world is an ancient problem. Reading these books about the Sabbath have prompted me to think about the purposes of religion and the ways that people have tried to incorporate sacredness into their lives. There are a lot threads to pull here and I feel like I have just begun.

     So many of the descriptions of Jewish Shabbat....the preparation, the attention to beauty, the abrupt cut-off to all fussing when the time has come, the gathering, the meal, the feeling of complete immersion in the experience of community....remind me of throwing a dinner party. I do work hard to prepare most of the food ahead of time and of course I always try to make the setting as beautiful as I can, but once everyone has arrived (I don't have a sunset cut-off but it is usually about that time of day) all cleaning, cooking and tweaking stops and the event...the gathering...becomes the essential focus. The emphasis shifts from the ratcheting pressure to provide things (food, clean bathroom, pretty table) to the interaction between people and the dynamics of the group. No matter how good the food is a party is never successful unless the people around the table are joining together wholeheartedly. Their interactions can never be controlled but outside interruptions (checking cell-phones) can definitely de-rail the flow of the party. Sitting face to face around a table makes it possible to tune-in completely to your companions and I think this interaction is holy. Merriam Webster defines holy as: exalted or worthy of complete devotion.  Making space and taking time for extended interpersonal exchange is the kernel of holiness that links a secular dinner gathering with historical religious practice. Setting a whole day aside for personal concerns, including sitting down for lengthy meals, can seem impossible for many of us, nor do we wish anymore to be required to conform to religious requirements, but in our ever more secularized world some of the essential connections are being lost. It seems to me that the dinner table can step in to hold some of the essence the Sabbath used to offer as we rush into our future.

More Ruth

The stranger who appeared in my driveway in search of Ruth Penington's old house pulled me back to my own first impressions of the house, and to the research I undertook at the time to find out more about it. Some of the comments (thank you, as always!!) made me realize that there was now more available on-line than there had been twenty years ago. Ruth even has an entry on Wikipedia, which certainly wasn't there when I was first looking. Or maybe I am just a crappy researcher. Anyway, I found some pictures of her and her work which I hope you will find interesting.

The stones in this belt came from our beach.

The house that Ruth built

Although our long and obscure driveway keeps casual passers-by away from our door, I wasn't entirely surprised a couple of days ago to find an unknown woman standing on our patio peering down at the old house. It has happened several times in the years that we have lived here because people who are familiar with this place are drawn back by their memories. The woman who built it, Ruth Penington, was an art professor at the University of Washington. She bought the property in 1940 and used it as a summer get-away until she died in the 1990's. Lots of students and family members were invited here and she occasionally rented it to sailors stationed at the nearby navy base. This most recent visitor told me her husband had helped build the "new" wing in the 1970's and had brought her down then to show her the beautiful place he was working on. She also was a student of Ruth's at UW, and of Ramona Solberg, who was a Ruth protege. I never knew Ruth and the number of people who did is becoming fewer and fewer, so I was delighted to meet her. Her presence reminded me of the first time I was here and the powerful pull the house and the setting had for me.

It was a cold day in February when we learned there was a house for sale in this vicinity. It had been empty for about three years and was about to be torn down and replaced by something much more grand, but the owner, who had purchased the property from Ruth's nephew, changed his mind and put it back on the market. The doors were standing open, the roof was clearly not doing its job, and the whole place had an air of abandonment and neglect. It was hard to tell how old it was because the design was so contemporary, but there were tell-tale signs (like the light switches) that said it was much older than it looked (the original cabin was built in 1942). Even in its sad condition, it was charming. The windows, and there were so many! looked out towards the fabulous view of water and mountain, and let in lots of light even in the dead of winter. The rooms were pleasantly proportioned and rambled up and down over the topography of the hillside. One interior staircase was built into the rock of the island and ivy grew up the wall indoors. I loved it and I could tell that whoever had built it had a highly attuned aesthetic sense and had loved it too. Her hand was so strongly evident that I became quite curious about her and began to research her life.

If you are interested in metal-working and jewelry you have probably heard of Ruth Penington because she was very active and influential in those fields in the fifties and sixties. She was the head of the UW art department and a founding member of Northwest Designer Craftsmen, a large organization of local artists. Ramona Solberg was probably more famous as a jeweler, but she was taught by Ruth and was her friend. I called Ramona, who was then still alive, and another friend who was important in local art circles, Lamar Harrington, and asked them about Ruth and they each kindly spoke to me for quite a while. They both said that the other was really closest to Ruth, from which I gleaned that Ruth was not deeply intimate with anyone. I heard from more than one person (not Ramona or Lamar) that she was terrifying and my most recent visitor echoed that, saying that as a teacher Ruth was very scary. Philip McCracken, the noted sculptor, said she failed him in the one class he took from her. There were some articles in the Seattle Times about her, including one with a photo of her working in the studio of our house (the windows are unmistakable.) The UW still keeps pictures of some of her work, which was also contemporary in style, and incorporated objects she found around her. One necklace features stones from our local beach. She was a serious and lifelong artist who clearly drew inspiration from the setting we are lucky enough to share. She came here as often as she could for decades, but one day went into a local store and said she couldn't find her house and needed help to show her the way. After that she didn't come anymore, but her house still shouts her name. The place she made was a magnet for many people, and they still think about it and occasionally wander by.

 

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.