November 21, 2013

Glimpse of the Divine Outside

I am working on Gridlock up in my studio and stitching my Glimpses of the Divine cloth while sitting in my chair in the living room, where I remind myself of Edith Bunker.

I took Glimpses for a walk into the yard today since it is the only good light around at 4'ish. This is a corner created as Part Two of what I extorted out of Himself to get me to stay here in the shadow of the Evil Neighbor (who was just sentenced to 10 years in prison so I wasn't completely crazy).
It has a stone table that would be a perfect altar for sacrificing virgins (definitely a shortage of those around here). The chairs are made from old fishing boats, imported from somewhere in Micronesia by Elizabeth Gilbert, who owns a store not too far from here when she is not Eating, Praying, or Loving.
 Himself threw the paint on...couldn't you just frame the close up?

Speaking of close ups, I took some detailed photos of the cloth while it was waiting outside for a virgin. I already tucked tiny pieces of hand-dyed golden cotton in the interstitial spaces and basted them in. The process felt free and unencumbered and I am happy with how they look. In close ups, they too seem like little paintings.

Add caption
But I rushed into stitching around some of them and I am not happy at all. Yeah, the close ups are cute...

 ...But I just can't seem to make the mark that expresses the feeling inside of me. I struggle with this over and over again, the inability to get the topstitching to talk. I am spoiled: because I can make words just dance off the ends of my fingertips, I expect to do the same with a needle and thread. Or perhaps because I wrote professionally for so many years, I am familiar with the process and tolerant of its hills and valleys?  Or perhaps I can hide behind the fact that the "delete" key does not leave a trail, the way the black marker in the picture just above does?

Anyway, I have signed myself for a class next June called, funny enough, Human Marks.It is taught by Canadian fiber artist Dorothy Caldwell in a small art retreat setting run by another formidable fiber artist, Nancy Crow. I am already looking forward to a day's drive to rural Ohio and settling in for a week with a small group of what Anne of Green Gables calls "kindred spirits." Nancy hires a chef to cook lunch and dinner and you stay in local inns or hotels.

I probably would drive to the Yukon if I could get two meals a day served to me. Speaking of serving meals, Clutch is not pleased with all these photoshoots and blogging so I am outta here.