windthread

tried to edit

can't.
so...this is what i meant when i said something about this blog being "home"...i'd originally
meant it to be to document the workshops. i still do.
i want to remember this time.
it's not how it looks, but rather that i come here to talk about the experience of Cloth to Cloth
and Spirit Cloth.
to try to understand what it is that i am wanting all this time spent to
mean.
deb said...something, that said to me...who am i talking to?
i guess i am talking to myself, to the cloth and when you all respond, i get a better understanding of what i am saying. the cloth doesn't need that....it just is.
so..thank you, everyone for helping me see more clearly.

base cloth week one story cloth

i think i have NEVER before CHOSEN to stay awake beyond a strong sense of physical discomfort to do something out of
love. or anything else, for that matter.
but i really wanted to finish the invisible basting of the whole cloth, to feel it.
the circle, Deb Lacativa's hand dyed
the background, i think it must be an old much used diaper? that i tea dyed or maybe even metal dyed...i would like to begin
keeping notes.

into What if?

i'm just going to put the picture here for the moment, and then come back later, after i give water, and write the words.
but i want to look at it here. it occured to me yesterday that i still do not have a sense of this blog being "home" and
i'd like to.

ok. it's late. we'll see how this goes.

i look at this cloth, here, where i can use the little close up thingy and i can see the individual threads. this is something it's about. it's about individuality. individuality even when it's not common, as in maybe uh, pretty? nice, or acceptable? that has never been an over riding concern, tho it always is a little. never wanted things to be...difficult to look upon.

something here about that. about how plaid was said to be nice. but to me, was orderly in a way i did not feel comfortable with? michelle uses plaid sometimes and i really like it. it is comforting to me when she uses it and then makes a cat that reminds me of Johnny Depp. god knows why, that, but he does. it does.

trying for the moon

which was visible, in its entirety
but saw things too that aren't there? or are, but i didn't know it?
nighthawks tonight and bats.

which story do i tell?
the past? or, the story that is happening now? that goes on, into tomorrow? is unfolding in this exact moment?

the other kitchen

earlier today i put some things to the Sun
some hollyhocks and silk gauze
some cone flowers and a ragged something, i think silk noile, there are no notes.
i need to sit down with India's book and get real.
but i DID do it.
inbetween getting the two new tree wells dug...twice...once to the clay and then after soaking, down to where they need to be.
and the trees are planted.
and then, saying goodbye to Cloth to Cloth and hello to Spirit Cloth
and dismantling the compost, watching how the centipede which was maybe 4-5 inches long tried but then did not know what
to do and simply tucked its head into a very small crevice of dirt and hoped.

things came up today, reading people's goodbyes and introductions that made me think. Which stories go into cloths?
there are so many in my life. weaving selves together, yes. but what do i want to take forward? what can become
compost?

beginning Spirit Cloth

it seems so long ago.
this is what i was compelled to do after finding Spirit Cloth/jude last november.
this next week the workshop begins.
i will never be the same again

same sky

sky

what a little word
for what It Is. sky. similar,
weather.
this is part of what i want my cloth to talk about. What it is willing to talk about if i take the time to engage with it. The
sky
and the cloth.
Here, sky is more than half of everything. it makes me small, if i imagine my self on the line of horizon, on the
rim
of the world.

neighbors

these are my West neighbors. and the chair i stand on to see them

love

stitched with Jude's invisible basting on all
intersecting lines
i can sit for hours, mouth hanging open, gazing upon the smallest detail. i can trace the stitches with my fingertip endlessly. a certain kind of braille ~

old skirt, the remnant table ripstop nylon yardage, butterfly another thriftshop skirt