Studio 508

I have not curled up and disappeared . . .

2012-02-06T17:26:00.000-05:00

. . . I am alive, and almost well. I will post photos later this week of what I've been doing in my "down time."

Thanks for dropping by!

Spring Bulbs In Bloom

2012-01-22T14:10:00.002-05:00

They would not listen to me. I tried. In the unseasonably warm spell (and that is a mild way of describing our winter temperature ups and downs and rains), the spring bulbs began to emerge. I thought the green might be the end of it and the buds could be spared for March. Not so. Despite all my talk and pleading, those silly bulbs not only poked through the earth, but they bloomed last month. Now, thanks to the return of more seasonable weather, they are brown and withered and pretty much past photographing. They just wouldn't listen. This photo records their brief heyday.

And, thousands more are just like this-- spring gone woefully wrong. I wonder what all those hundreds of bulbs whose leaves came up but didn't bloom will do in early March? Should I be fertilizing in January? What sort of gardening year is taking shape?

Aaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!

Thinking vs. Doing

2012-01-22T10:19:00.003-05:00

I read a quote by Ray Bradbury in which he says, essentially, that we should not over-think an idea, but just DO it. Since I am one who likes to think things over a bit, I decided to test that suggestion with an Embroidered Little Quilt.

First, I had to create my substrate; i.e., the ground for my piece. To me, that is always one of the more pleasant aspects of the creative process. Laying fabrics against one another and looking for that perfect little bit of color and texture, finding the odd shape that sparks the entire focus of the final work . . .

But there I was, thinking again, so I tried to move on with doing.

Next, I started my pattern, my design. I thought I would follow the irregular shape of the center piece of linen (which was cut from an ancient pair of linen trousers, working carefully around the stains), and I laid down all manner of fabric scraps to form a frame, deciding to limit my colors to green (both light and dark) and an orangey-coral shade of pink, with a touch of blue here and there . . . Beside the linen, I found ultrasuede, silk cotton— these tiny bits of left-overs fell together beautifully. They seemed to be forming a pattern that might be another map!

Warning! Warning! I was moving bits of fabric and thread around and thinking too much about this. I took it all to the sewing machine and tried to clear my mind.

With the larger fabric elements in place, the hand stitching began. I pinned my three anchoring pieces in place, then began to wonder how to fill in around them. To integrate the pieces or let them float? I put in and took out several stitched lines, then I drew a filling with an air-erase pen and drew another when that design disappeared, stitched some more, took out some more, pressed it carefully from the back side, searched for different threads and began to stitch again . . .

My conclusion is that I am not a Ray Bradbury. I could not write a plot for Star Trek. But I can stitch small quilted, embroidered and appliquéd pieces if I am allowed to think about it. Further, I enjoy the thought process, the rejecting and selecting that goes into making a little quilted piece. I mean, WHAT would I think about if I was just slashing into the fabric and plowing through it all? It is the slowing down that allows you to think when you are engaged in hand work. No more fast lane decisions or thinking on the run, just slow, rhythmic breathing that matches the pace of the stitching.

And this is what happens when I "think about it: "Another Map!"

Hooray for thinking!

"TOO MUCH" Reconsidered

2012-01-03T13:15:00.003-05:00

All those bags of fabric going out of the studio have given me the shakes. I asked Charles not to carry them off just yet, and his look spoke volumes about his assessment of my mental condition.

In fairness to me, I have just received a new book, How to make your own freeform quilts, and our author makes the point that fabrics that are old or ugly are excellent for this technique! Old and Ugly would describe those five bags very well. Jill was right to discourage me from casting these pearls out.

I love quilts that look as if they were sewn together between chores and cooking meals and burping babies, with no thought to color or design, and particularly if there are long, wavy strips involved. This book is all about uneven strips of fabric. I sat reading that first night, and when I turned the bedside light off, visions of my rotary cutter, sharpened and at the ready, with piles of fabric lined up for chopping, "danced through my head. . ."

Despite all the things I should have been doing, there was to be no peace until I had at least tried this idea. My inner child was whining, and ever the undisciplined mother, I gave in. I made, by reaching for the nearest thing at hand, these four coasters/mug mats. You will notice that these are not really ugly fabrics. I was not deep into the five bags of give-aways at the time I started this.

I can hear your groaning over the satin stitches at the edge. I will confess that I have made a zillion coasters over the years, and the part that is always ugly to me is the strip of seam binding to finish off the edges. The nicely put-together coasters suddenly go from usefully flat to un-usefully lumpy edged, the sort of thing that isn't safe for sitting narrow-base glasses on for even a moment. I have voile, but voile doesn't really hide too much, does it?

There is always the possibility of reconstruction, however, because these are 5" squares, leaving open the door to finding that perfect binding and chopping off the satin stitches.

Basically, I think I need a larger project to make wavy-lined stripes. "Larger Project" is not really a part of my vocabulary, so I am thinking about this. Thinking hard.

Meanwhile, I am studying another quilt I pieced together before the holidays, trying to think of a way to bind this more formal piece. Black and White and Red always look so modern, don't they? I'll take it with me to Freestyle in January. Two of the very best quilters in the state will be there, Tone and Sheila, and I shall ask their advice!

Small Pieces: Trees, Lovely Trees!

2012-01-02T13:19:00.001-05:00

Although the trees have shed their leaves and stand bare against the grey sky, they are still lovely. Like beautiful people, they "have good bones." They surround the studio, which is why I must be constantly sorting through scraps for appliqué and embroidery whose end always reveals hints of the arboreal.

This patched-together tree has puzzled me since I began working on it. I tried embroidering a background, but it was so out-of-place that I snipped the silk threads and picked that idea out of the linen before it was half-way finished. There are little beads at the tips of the branches, which I put there as a reminder of how beautiful the trees can be when they sparkle with rain or frost. The trunk is made from scraps of vintage cotton prints from old quilt scraps salvaged from a trip to an antique shop.

Here you may see me in full tree-hugger mode! It takes only a few lines of heavy cotton to "paint" a tree against the sky. I had the most fun putting the little slips of fabric under the main ground to form a soft frame for the tiny piece:

Many years ago I made the piece below as a rug for a miniature house. I renovated the small dwelling for a very particular (imaginary) resident, Miss Buelah Blondeaux (my imaginary renovation company was called "N.Claiborne and Associates"). Beulah's husband, Payne, travelled the world and collected some oddities that she was constantly trying to integrate into her more toned-down sensibility. The embroidered rug was one such incorporation. The little strip of trees at the top of this rectangle, with the moon behind, has always been one of my favorite looks at winter trees (this is a small portion of the much larger rug). Interestingly enough, it is this view of the moon I have from our present home, with the high clerestory windows that allow me to follow its progress through the evening and night as it moves from the tangle of bare branches to the freedom of the star-dotted sky:

The trees around our house have been trimmed of dead branches, thinned, and are generally well-kept. There are nests that have not been apparent until the leaf drop, both of squirrels and birds. Raccoons, rabbits-- an entire community of animals depends on our tiny stand of trees! I would hate losing one. Just a week ago, another tree fell across the street from us. What a loss!

Christmas, 2011

2012-01-01T12:19:00.000-05:00

As I did not get these photos loaded in a timely manner, I take you, belatedly, through a few little parts of my Christmas home. The Adorables helped to decorate the tree, Jordan was so kind as to move furniture in the sun room to make room for the Hogwarts Express (which Ethan and Granddad put together so charmingly), and Charles carried boxes up and down the steps for what must have seemed like miles to him.

It is so nice to find ornaments again, reminders of Christmases past, and though there are some things still missing, they MUST be here somewhere. There is something very soothing about finding misplaced objects after years of searching, so I shall look forward to next year's Christmas for the treasures that may be uncovered. There are some badly labeled boxes in the garage and storage room!

Here we see Charles reading "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" to the children (of all sizes) Christmas Eve at Jordan and Julie's house:

He really enjoyed the role of the Grinch just a wee bit too much, as Julie must have realized:

Back home, the tables had been set for three days, and I changed the centerpieces, chose other glasses, moved napkins and discarded first and second choices . . .

On the mantel we collected the snowmen. I had no idea I collected them, but as the boxes were opened, an entire community of little snowpeople emerged!

Around and about, some favorite decorations. These three angels date from about 1970, about the time Jordan popped into the world. They are a gift from his Grandmother, Celina, after I had admired hers. She toned hers down with a good wipe of dark stain, but ever the bright-color aficionada, I left mine to flaunt their (now) retro style down the years. They have every nuance of the 60s-70s, except to have "Flower Power" and "Love" written on them somewhere! I have never ceased to love these paper maiché dears:

And I will never give away my old glass ornaments, no matter how shabby they become:

The lovely beaded curtain was made by Marge Courville, and these two little guys seem as taken by it as I am!

And so Christmas came, the family assembled, we ate and exchanged gifts, and now the New Year has been rung in. Life as it should be lived!

Studio Notes: "TOO MUCH" Defined

2011-12-17T07:49:00.000-05:00

"TOO MUCH" of a good thing is too much. I never thought I'd say that. But the studio is in need of a good organizing, so I have started sorting (again). As I cannot do much because of the constant cough and the sleepiness from the meds, it is a slow go. But, four large—no, five large bags have gone out of the studio, and this is only a start.

Getting rid of things is only a beginning, however. I need a new way of seeing. My fabric cabinet has, for years, been a beautifully organized collection of shelves (the cabinet used to be a medicine cabinet in a hospital, built of oak, with narrow upper shelves and a base of deep proportions with a zinc mixing shelf). It has been so beautifully organized, in fact, that I scarcely see it any more—it doesn't excite my imagination the way the rows of folded fabrics did in the beginning. So all the fabrics came down for a good look-through. I found fabrics there that I had used in the 70s and 80s when I first began quilting. Dated? Some are probably worth big bucks, now (*smile*)! Especially the scraps from the clothes Mother made for us and herself when we were children. Some really screaming "Mod" prints.

And there are the country flowers and hearts. Small prints, the sort of thing to make doll's clothes from. Might come in handy later on . . . but if I said this the first time, I would open the door to the merest shuffling things around, getting rid of nothing.

I meant for all of this to go to Good Will, but Jill said that Good Will did not really need our scraps, nor did they treasure little pieces of fabulous fabric the way we did. Obviously, Jill is not the person to encourage me to continue with my clean-out.

But I know of someone who is giving her little daughter a sewing machine for Christmas, and having a couple of bags of fabric to practice cutting out and sewing and trying out all the stitches— that could be a really fun thing for a child!

Meanwhile, I kept two small boxes of bits and pieces, as I never use very large pieces of anything. Only two boxes! In a pile on the floor are things for projects— curtains for the studio, covers for the ironing boards and presser, some old clothes for Bethy to play dress-up in (REALLY old, some of these) . . .

My embroidery thread needed to be out where I could see it better. So, I dragged drawers of it into the light and spilled it into a huge wooden bowl. Now I don't have to stop and open drawers and work with my color-organized bobbins to find a thread. I can engage in the most soothing of occupations: just fingering the bowl of beautiful threads and stitching. No point to this stitching, no design, simply the in and out of the needle in the fabric, watching the line of stitch develop across the linen. It can be good stitching, or it can be bad. There is no standard here. I stitch for the sheer love of the stitches. When I'm done, I feel better, I can toss the stitching away or I can keep it (mostly it is tossed), and I move on to the next thing on my list. I liken this to visiting a Day Spa for a short pick-me-up, but without having to dress and leave the house.

Then on to the fabrics or the "Surprise!" bags that have been hiding in corners, some for very, very long times. An examination of the contents, some soulful delineation of the useful and the never-to-be-used-again, and, voiles! A teeny-weeny bit more space!

Doing this not-so-difficult job makes me feel better. If I was in the house sleeping on the sofa or whining in my chair by the fireplace, I would not accomplish anything but I would continue to think about all the things I was not getting done. It is that horrible Puritan Work Ethic that spoils everything—even a nice opportunity for a lie-in on a rainy day.

The Pink Scarf

2011-12-07T12:52:00.000-05:00

Color can set my fingers to flying and my mind to reeling! Fingers and mind were both fully engaged this morning as I worked in a delirium of excitement to make this scarf for Bethy (Christmas).

It is so hard to explain how color affects me. I realized, when I was in my 20s, that I hear music in colors (or see colors when I hear music), and decades later found the word for it: Synesthete. When I am working in the studio with music playing, I sometimes turn it off so I can lay out my colors for a project. In the silence, I can "hear" the colors better. Once I'm satisfied with the lay-out, I can go back to whatever music I was listening to. Hard to explain.

I got up at four a.m. this morning and thought about the colors I would use for this project, then went into the studio (the short walk in the wet dark was a quick wake-up!) and got started on it. I listened to the news (NPR) while I worked— occasionally the musical interludes would interfere, but the "mute" button solved that problem. By half-past eleven I had finished the scarf, and was giddy with the results. Beads, two dozen differently textured and colored yarns, and the simple single crochet stitch— what a great way to start the morning!

Why isn't it possible to make a living with baizillions of tints and hues of thread and a hook? Oh, right— the economic bottom line. . .

Small piece: Sleet

2011-12-06T16:23:00.000-05:00

The soft greys of these scraps were too appealing to pass over in my box of Little Bits And Pieces (not to be confused with the box of Medium-Sized Big Bits or the baskets of Bigger Bits). The day was grey, and except for the fact that the temperature was in the 60sF, the sky could have been a sleety one. The Atlanta area has not seen a serious cold snap yet, so I have imagined it.

I would hate to think that I have given up figurative embroidery, but these little quilts are so much fun— all small size, so the challenge is to design with clear shapes and to-the-point stitches so that the piece doesn't get too cluttered and turn into a muddle of thread and cloth in need of a good sorting.

This work joins others in my small basket of experimental pieces from the past six or eight months. The pieces are a group of friends, each of which has its own story to tell. It is the story of a person or an object that can be as interesting as the person or object itself, don't you think? And the longer you know someone/something, the more interesting the story becomes.

A Return to Alphabets: G as in . . .

2011-12-06T09:57:00.001-05:00

Back to the embroidered alphabet, after a long interlude of silence. I couldn't find my "G" from my stack of alphas, and I let it bring the Alphabet Project to a halt. So, just imagine it is here. I'll post it one day. Or make a new one. Life is never a straight line . . . except in Grids, maybe . . .

Grids. Dividing a space into sections (not necessarily equal-sized) can organize a space with remarkable ease and add a great deal of clarity to the grouping. Precisely measured divisions can still be fun, though. Grids are satisfying ways to present ideas. Some examples I've pulled from studio storage boxes are:

Blue Grid. How many different ways can you fill a square (or, a roughly square shape)? Inspired by the Beaney and Littlejohn Stitch Magic, I used color to tie together an assortment of fillings for squares in a roughly 1 1/4" format:

Green Grid. The grid is machine embellished wool, and the fillings are all whimsical. This was part of a Freestyle Challenge from Cynthia on developing grids:

This grid is a response to a Freestyle challenge by Beth, and is a study in stitch and color set in this tight form:

Below is my blue "quilt." It is a true mixed-media piece of gridwork, and was a delight to put together. Many of the squares have hand-made paper as a background:

These last grids are photographs from a trip to Savannah. Old cities have some of the most interesting photo ops. The first is a sidewalk in front of one of the SCAD buildings, and the second is a collection of mirrors arranged on the walls of a little shop on a side street in the historic district:

Grasshoppers. Really silly grasshoppers. In fact, they only resemble grasshoppers because I imagined them while I was doodling.

Of other "G" words that come to mind, "gardens" pops up first. Gardens and Flowers are (traditionally) the embroiderer's most cherished subject-- but the "F" post probably hammered that point home, so I'll give it a rest.

What I have learned about French Knots

2011-12-01T15:13:00.001-05:00

Today, when I was squeezing yet one more long-stemmed French Knot into a smallish corner of a palm-sized piece, it occurred to me that I ought to write about knots before I forget everything I've learned! This concern for my memory of both the important and the unimportant came about when it took me an entire day to remember the name of the very common Feather Stitch! Celebrating birthdays is suddenly not such a celebratory moment.

I have learned that knots are tricky and unforgiving. I get one chance at them, and if I garble the line of thread at any point, I don't have the opportunity to back out of the mess and start over. My options are: (a) cut it out c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y and start over; (b) sew another stitch (a bigger knot, or a satin stitch shape) on top of it in a fatter thread until the unfortunate knotted mess is completely covered up; or (c) come up with a creative appliqué. Usually I opt for (a), though I can point out several cover-ups that actually changed the direction of the piece entirely! I think my Muse is often impatient with me and resorts to tangling the threads I am using until I am forced to stop and listen to her.

Yes, another digression.

French Knots have no more personality than a dial tone when they stand by themselves, but in a cluster, or stretched across a space, they can have presence and even textural importance. I love texture, so I am prone to wrap the needle many times, giving me a large, sometimes shaggy knot. Jacqueline Enthoven, however, says a French Knot should be wrapped only one time around the needle. If I want a larger knot, she continues, I should simply double the thread. Or treble, it would follow. So, the next thing I learned about French Knots is that when I double the thread and wrap the needle only once, the shape of the knot is tidy and it does not fall over to one side. It is possible that the multiple-wraps leave the stitch exhausted under the weight of all those loops and they fall gasping to one side the way Victorian ladies took to their fainting couches.

French Knots have a habit of disappearing when I do not move my needle over just slightly as I enter the fabric from the right side to carry the thread to the back. In fact, they simply pop right through the little hole they sit above and I'm left looking at the place where the knot was and wondering where my stitch has gone!

Most fortunately, French Knots play well with other stitches. Stitches that make long, winding lines across the linen and leave open pockets in the process cry out for companionable French Knots to join them. Look at the Herringbone stitch. In other embroiderers' worlds, they are nicely even and controlled little children. In my world, they run, leap, curl and change shapes as they cavort across the linen:

This rather chubby Cretan Stitch benefits from a French Knot in its house-shaped center:

Buttonhole stitches, particularly uneven ones, provide interesting "cubby holes" for the knots, and they almost look like cells as seen under a microscope when multiple rows are combined. Square (or Open) Chain stitches read the same way:

Small, tightly-made knots may be cradled in the curve of Fly Stitch, or decorate the ends, like some of the more delicate weeds in my garden:

Here the knot has been used as a substitution for the terminating straight stitch normally found at one end of a Detached Chain stitch:

These slightly open Detached Chain stitches also use the knot as a tacking stitch:

Two lines of Buttonhole stitch spokes have been "dotted" with French Knots in contrast colors:

In a pinch, French Knots can appliqué a shape to a ground fabric with delightful results,

and their high-texture makes for interesting filling stitches--tree foliage is well-represented in variegated thread here:

It is even possible to stitch small knots into larger ones. These below are blue perle cotton #8 sewn into the darker perle cotton #3:

By adding a stem to the knot, the lowly French Knot becomes a tiny flower:

With the help of metallic thread, the knot can have loops added to it, as well (it is tension that makes this work, tension and the patience of Job):

The long-stemmed version can be turned into an edging or border by alternating the direction of the stem and knot, as in the pale blue row that slopes to the right,

and when clustered tightly together can give the appearance of small colonies of fungi or field flowers:

There are so many more ways to use French Knots-- and this is the simplest of all the knots.

I have also learned how lovely the complicated knots can be, but I believe that will wait for another day and another pot of tea. Right now, I have a huge box of samplers spread across a table in the studio, and rather than putting them away, I want to go and sit with them and enjoy remembering the times I made them. Stitched samplers can be ever so entertaining!

Little Piece

2011-11-30T11:03:00.001-05:00

I seem to have moved right through Autumn and Winter and slipped quietly into spring, as testified by the soft colors and balmy breezes in play here. I wonder if a season is more beautiful in the imagination than the real thing . . . a sort of grass is greener theory?

*Sigh*

Now, the big question: is my mind gone to spring coming, or spring past? From a quick glance at the basket of hand-dyed and painted linens, I would say that I am prepared for an eternal spring. Perhaps it is the beauty of bright, cheerful spring colors that is cheering on rainy days?

I will have a cup of tea and think through this . . .

Fashion In The Studio!

2011-11-30T11:01:00.000-05:00

These are my feet in my Studio Slippers. The slippers were a gift from my very thoughtful daughter-in-law, Julie, from Christmas past. The toes have the most wonderful felted flowers on them— they make me smile each time I step into them! After the comfort and sheer fun of these felted slippers, it would make no sense at all to go into my fiber studio and wear common, every-day shoes!

Of course, the shoes are only part of the fun. Another component of my high-fashion aesthetic is my Studio Apron. This I wear for cover-up when I'm doing really messy things. Painting fabric, most particularly. I bought the plain canvas apron years ago, when I was still teaching at the Campbell Folk School, and every year I added some embroidery, painting, or beading to it. The Studio Apron became a part of the entire Folk School experience for me.

You might abstract from these photos that my dress code is a little off-the-wall. You would be absolutely correct.

Invaded!

2011-11-21T16:56:00.002-05:00

I awakened early this morning and stumbled to the kitchen for tea. It was not yet 5:00 a.m. Planning on going out to the studio, I flipped on the patio lights— and almost had a stroke! The patio looked as if it was filled with raccoons! I opened the kitchen door and for a moment the beasties looked at me as if they thought this was going to be a conversational moment. I grabbed the broom and set out after them, counting four that I could see and noticing things moving in the shadows that might have been more. I was proud of myself. Even my grandmother, a woman who wielded a broom with deadly grace and accuracy, could not have done a finer job of clearing the lower terrace than I.

I thought about the movie, "Over the Hedge," and a little voice that sounded remarkably like R.J. (the Troublemaking Raccoon) was saying, "We'll be back . . ."

Of course, I will now wake up at 4:30 every morning and come to the kitchen to check on the critters out back. As there is no garbage can there, I can only surmise they are coming for my bulbs. As the Phantom of the Opera declared, "Then, it shall be war between us!"

P.S. added Monday, 28th of November: Last night I was up again in the wee hours, and the sound of the rain on the roof was interrupted by a brick being dragged across the patio. I jumped up from the sunroom sofa and ran to the window, turned on outside lights, but I could not bring myself to take up the umbrella and go out into the weather to chase down this 2:00 a.m. noise. I think, now that the sun is up, that it was the raccoons again. One of the bricks holding down the tarp over the fountain outside the sunroom window has been disturbed.

How do you get rid of wild animals you DON'T want in your yard without hurting the ones you DO want?

Little Stitched Pieces—Are They Quilts?

2011-11-21T08:09:00.003-05:00

How can something less than 2" x 3" be called a quilt?

But that is what these are: embroidered pictures worked in the three-piece quilt sandwich. First, a journal page.

My last Journal Page was "Indian Summer 2011." In contrast is "Frost Night," the November night when the flowers began to feel the call of the Great Beyond, bringing an end to Indian Summer. The fabrics have been re-used from all sorts of sources:

This small rectangle is a combination of map and fantasy, a movement from waving cul-de-sacs to circles to grids:

Although I think of it as a guide that could be folded and put in the pocket and pulled out if you happened to be lost, I have no title for it, as yet. It would stand to reason that if you made something to guide The Lost, The Lost might look for a title to help them . . . ?

Then I turned to the garden, where there is inspiration at all times of the year. I was thinking of this past week and all the pansies I put into pots when I did these (and no, they are NOT snapshots of pansies, but I don't copy slavishly, do I?):

I am rather fond of the background, which gives the only motion to these still-life portraits. I used my favorite silk for this, Silk with flame, by Stef Frances. The variations in texture of the thread are perfect for this sort of background.

All these pieces have come about from a storm in the region of my brain, and I have been filling pages of two studio journals, just having a grand time with the ideas as they spill over. Eventually this will stop and the ideas will dry up, but in full spate, inspiration in the form of a lot of questions and possible answers is heady stuff. I like the "what if . . .?" questions. The answers never end. And it is criminal to have fabric that is not fulfilling its destiny by being made into something. Lest I be tagged a felon, I exhibit evidence that I am chopping fabrics right and left in an effort to give the fabric (mostly re-cycled and often hand-painted) new life . . . . and in the process, following my bliss!

I hope your bliss leads you onward, as well.

The Tickley Pink, Yellow and Melon Hat

2011-11-01T02:30:00.001-04:00

Do you remember this yarn?

It is now officially made up. This is the hat I made this weekend, and my little model was delightful:

She complained that the beads and he dangley thingeys were too "tickley." She returned it to me and said she didn't think she wanted it. Her manners were so nice; she added "thank you" to her refusal!

So, now I'm trying to find some more of the unembellished yarn to make this into a larger hat to fit me. It will be a feat.

Destination: Western North Carolina

2011-10-31T17:28:00.000-04:00

On a mission to find interesting yarn, Asheville seemed the most logical place to start. I have looked through the shops near home until I am embarrassed to show my face there so often. It is the thin, wispy angora-type yarns and bouclés on my radar this time, along with shades of blue, green, grey, and soft pastels for blending. Of course, Asheville is the center of civilization in my narrow, artsy world, and any excuse to visit is a road trip in the making. Add to that the SAFF, and the trip is a given!

It would be remiss of me not to mention how beautiful the leaves are this fall. But in doing this, I also have to confess that I left my camera at home, so you must take my word for the ragged beauty we encountered and color my world in carmine, indian yellow and flame. Over these three colors and their endless permutations add a sky of Payne's grey or indigo with the occasional shaft of light fighting its way through the grey crust. And, inexplicably, green grass!

We spent Wednesday evening at the Big Lynn Lodge in Little Switzerland. The weather was stormy the entire way, though not so bad we did not have so beautiful vistas of the mountainous countryside. I had a bag of Noro cotton-blend yarn tucked in a cloth tote to keep me busy, and when the temperature dropped more than 25 degrees and the evening rain and wind were mixed with sleet, I set about making the bag of yarn into a long, squishy scarf. The Thursday morning walk from our cabin to the Lodge for breakfast was much more comfortable with the hot-from-the-hook scarf.

We had visited the Penland School in the afternoon, a trip always filled with inspiration, visually satisfactory to a degree hard to explain. And I was so pleased to find Margaret Couch Cogswell's 2012 wall calendar there. It is tall and thin, the perfect size for the narrow space above the light switches in the studio. Check out her blog here.

A visit to a gallery such as The Penland School always sets the creative wheels in motion. This visit was no exception. I have enjoyed making books for years, in an off-and-on sort of way. There is no experience quite like that of making a hand-made book, of holding the covers carefully as you leaf through the marvelous feel of papers selected particularly for texture, color or the simple ability to hold paint or text well. I made a small book for Cynthia in August, and it got my book fairy out of hibernation and into flight again. I think I will have to divide my time between bookmaking, crochet, and planting bulbs in the next weeks. There is no point in not doing something when it brings a great deal of happiness, is there?

Thursday morning: At the Appalachian Handcraft Show in the Asheville Civic Center, I found some soft handspuns. I had Ethan in mind when I found this yarn, as he loves "rainbow colors." He describes himself as a "sunshine boy," so this might be the ticket for him:

And at Purl's on Wall Street, there was a basket (now greatly diminished) of Mango Moon yarn. Well, I had never thought of crochet with pink beads and stones, and the purple I'd used once before was so rich . . . and so I was rummaging happily in the funky yarn pile:

Aren't these tumbled stone beads just too yummy?

The folks at Purl's really "get" me. I don't need 200 yards of a lot of different yarns, but a touch of color or texture here and there are perfect for the landscape-inspired crochet I most love. For people like me, they have little mini skeins of wool, and I simply could not walk away from the possibilities there:

I think of them as brushstrokes of subtle color (except for the bright, cheery pink).

And an interesting book on geometric crochet,

Next, on to Friends and Fiberworks, where I found some of the blending fibers I was looking for. In fact, I found so much I could have been overwhelmed, as I was on my first visit to this Yarn Eden. But I am made of sterner stuff than that! I gave myself a mental shake and began filling my lovely wicker shopping basket in the several sweeps I made around the shop. Because I paid cash, I was given a 10% discount, which was no slouch amount.

While we were having lunch at Tupelo Honey, Charles looked up from the table to see Bill and Pat Martin in line, and what a happy reunion that was for the four of us! I had last seen them in Asheville six or eight weeks ago after Pat had been given some scary medical news, but the new MRI set everything to rest, and life is smooth again. There is nothing that can so quickly put a life on hold like a medical issue.

Friday morning: A trip to the Ag Center and the Southeastern Animal Fiber Fair. I have been looking forward to this for what seems like forever, and poor, long-suffering Charles was my package bearer for the event. I provided him with two large canvas totes so he could keep up with everything without the struggle that multiple plastic bags brings. Every man should have so kind a wife as this.

I cannot detail what we saw at the Fiber Fair. This must be akin to the experience of a child in a toy factory. The two oversized totes were bulging when we left. I was looking for things not available in shops, so I found yarn with curly locks dangling from the plies, another from Jazzturtle with a core of felted sweater wool. All tumbled in a big wooden bowl, they are feastable wool yarn:

Worth another look:

Rack upon rack of open skeins of the most luscious colors and blends of wools, pre-felt bats, bins spilling over with roving, curly locks of the most amazing colors, and some incredibly knitted creations— all this every where I turned my eyes! Unfortunately, I could not take it all in. My leg and back let me down, and we left after only 2 1/2 hours.

We shared lunch with Anne and Steve, and I spread the yarns over the table, a few at a time. Anne got the bug, and there was a message on my cell phone later that she had found some unusual yarns herself. Anne's specialty is her felted (I want to say "painted," they are so detailed) pictures. I cannot wait to see what she does with her curly locks.

On the way back to Atlanta, my brain was exploding with color and design possibilities. My love of pure funk was satisfied these couple of days in Asheville and environs—and I have the most wonderful collection of oddball yarns to work with over the next months!

Charles, long-suffering, has to put up with the brain outbursts. Surely he has earned a number of Stars For His Crown from this trip, alone.

Tiny Art Quilt: Indian Summer 2011

2011-10-31T14:49:00.004-04:00

Small is my size, as I get older. I used to wonder if it was Adult Onset Attention Deficit, but whatever the cause, I will never finish a large piece anymore. As I have aged, the pieces grow smaller and smaller!

This little art quilt is my most recent piece, called "Indian Summer 2011." It is a sort of Journal page, a glimpse into what has been swirling around Studio 508.

It is hand and machine stitched on layers of linen and cotton scraps beneath a piece of vintage cotton voile. The little "flags" are vintage fabric scraps from that bag of flea-market quilted scraps I keep dipping into (the English Major in me wanted to write "into which I keep dipping" *sigh*):

These little flowerlets and the white curve below are of leather (Ethan sees these as mailboxes). I am lucky the Viking is a sturdy sewing machine! Notice the little French Knots spilling on the striped linen-- I had to bite my lip and slap my hands to keep from obsessing on them:

Here are some more fabrics, both hand-painted and salvaged:

Everything is laid onto a scrap of rescued linen, batting beneath. I don't know how the embroiderer in me became addicted to thick work, but it has just evolved into little quilting exercises. The thicker, the merrier!

Enjoy!

And thanks for stopping by.

Saga of Big Red, the Great Red Scarf

2011-10-31T14:08:00.004-04:00

The saga of Big Red began in the middle of the summer, surely an odd time to think of woolen scarves. The idea of making up a scarf from skeins of matching yarn has always sent me out of the room, looking for something more interesting to do with my time. Red is an exciting color, however, and there are all sorts of textures of red yarns available. Texture is the operative word here.

The scarf is 104 inches long and roughly about 3 to 3 1/2 inches wide. It is made of blocks of crochet from yarns both well-bred and those with no pedigree whatsoever. Additionally, it was meant to be embroidered, beaded, and embellished without restraint, which saves me a bit of embarrassment when I have to account for the shape of some of the blocks. In addition, I had a particular person in mind when I began this work, and I wished to see her smile when she opened the package. Please understand that I will leave the scarf quite peacefully rolled into a bumpy wheel for weeks at a time, then suddenly unfurl it and in an absolute flurry of activity add some embroidery or beads or buttons, maybe crochet an edge or a short fringe somewhere. The fate of Big Red is that it be in a state of constant change as long as it is in my possession.

As all of the crochet projects have begun, my sister's seven large bins of yarn was the catalyst, along with my less impressive small drawers of yarn. Add to that mix the yarn that called to me from the shelves of shops I visit. As lovely as novelty thread can be, I feel it needs to be anchored with a worsted or DK weight, something of such a standard composition that I can poke around with a crochet hook and find the next loop for a stitch! This makes a bulky, highly textured fabric.

And there is that age-old problem of mixing weights of yarn. Super-chunky and sock weights have different gauges, right? Hence the occasional bulge. Well, all right, the constant bulging. But I rather like the wavy edges, and you can see where I have added even more crochet to the waves and bumps to make them more pronounced.

Here are some photos of The Great Red Scarf for you to enjoy. I can't think of a way to show the entire 104 inches in one photo, and it is not finished, so the full portrait would be wasted. It will not be finished until about an hour before it is given away. Can't help it; one idea leads to another, and . . .

These felt balls had the beginnings of beading when I found them in a yarn shop, so I just went a tiny bit bonkers and added the prickly "stems" of seed beads to the mix. They reside in little crocheted cushions:

This small bird's nest contains a vintage button whose crystals are quartz with chunky leaves dangling outside the main line of the scarf):

The fringe sewn here is in DMC perle cotton (this to fill in a"dip" in the line where I switched weights of yarn):

This is a little tab of felted sweater wool that I curled over and beaded. It adds a nice texture to the novelty thread base:

Vintage button, short streamers of an especially soft eyelash, and tags of polka-dot cotton strips:

These beads break up a boring block of merino:

And the coral glass leaf beads have little seed beads dotting the ends. They swing when the scarf is moved about:

So many more ideas to go with it! But, you can see why I think of it as "Big Red!" can't you?

Halloween Weekend and a book

2011-10-31T12:58:00.000-04:00

It is so beautiful, the weather, I mean! This morning we resumed planting bulbs, as the temperatures are "scheduled" to be cool for the next week or so. Unfortunately, my little crocuses have come up already, but we will pretend they are not three inches tall and hope they will turn yellow with the weather and go back to sleep. Waking up again in mid-February should give them enough winter weather to do their magic in the snow next year.

I have had another overload of woolen fibers and my eyes began to ache and grow scratchy, so I am off the crochet for a bit. Instead, I made a small book. It is (roughly) 5" wide by 5 1'2" high. More or less. Arches papers of varying weights, all hot press, and each of the seven signatures has a "cover" made of silk paper where the silk threads seem to float in an almost translucent ground. I decided to put pockets of varying sizes on these cover pages, and I stitched the sides with flower thread in loose, rather casual stitches, leaving ends dangling (my trademark). Anything that is slipped into one of the pockets becomes a sort of art work by virtue of the silk paper's slightly blurring it into an impression of itself.

Here you can see the little fabric and curly locks "tags" I sewed onto the edge of the silk paper:

The pocket in the silk paper is very visible here-- folded up from the bottom of the page:

The front of the little book below, with a note explaining the book tucked into the pocket there. See the irregular hand stitching? Oddly enough, when you know how to sew a straight line, even when you are sewing on paper, you have to stop and think each time you slip the needle into the paper/fabric to make it irregular!

And, lacking a cover, I have just cut a length of tie-dye ribbon and tied it up to keep things safely together when it is moved. I already have things stuffed into it for future use!

The cover has yet to come. The little book has not whispered to me what it wishes to have wrapped around it. I have leather, but the book was silent. Fabric? No answer. Book boards? I could almost feel the violence of the rejection. So, I'll wait. When the correct form comes along, the book will tell me. I will ask about the leather again, and perhaps the little book will have thought about it long enough to accept this idea. I've never made a leather cover and would like the challenge.

Aaah, Early Morning . . .

2011-10-13T14:20:00.000-04:00

. . . and the possibility of rain. What more could we ask for, in this water-deprived, Deep South piedmont?

Yesterday (this is an older post, some two or more weeks ago) my faithful gardener, a.k.a. "hubby," and I began the struggle with the Lamb's Ear that has bullied its gentle neighboring plants for months. There were originally three plants (what, oh what was I thinking?) in a corner of the upper terrace, so I poked at it with a deep spade, trying to pry loose the roots so the jumble of plants could be divided and moved to the new area below the bird bath. What a job! Aided by the loose compost in the bed, those plants had sunk iron determination into the soil with its roots. This was one of those times when moving a plant became a personal struggle between Nature and myself. When Charles rescued the situation with his shovel, I was amazed at the roots and the linking runners between the new plants. No wonder I couldn't manage it with a spade!

We decided to put the Lamb's Ear in a contained space of its own at the base of Charles' bird bath. If it escapes the surrounding stone, it will have to duke it out with the other beautiful garden thug, a mullien that will bloom as long as you give it a sip of water. As both the mulliens and the Lamb's Ear are nearly indestructible, I will sit on the patio and sip tea and watch the battle from afar.

There are two Lamb's Ear plantings (which translates to a blue million plants) left in the corner of the raised bed. One I will leave there, the other will be lifted (somehow that word does not adequately convey the struggle) for my niece, Nahum, who is an avid gardener.

Meanwhile, Breck's has shipped the hundreds of bulbs I ordered in the spring. I am having a Bulb Planting Party the last weekend in October, and those who participate may share the bulbs. Nahum's motto is "Have trowel, will travel!" Charles is getting antsy, however, wants to plant them now, in small amounts. I prefer the One Big Bash method, where everything is laid out in its place and the digging goes from there. Now we must lay in a large supply of bulb food (do they put this up in four cubit foot bags?) and polish up our shovels in preparation for The Event.

We did have a little moment of practice, though, with the Adorables this morning. We planted about twenty-five or so bulbs beside the tool shed in the side yard. The children were interested for a longer time than we thought possible. But, it is obvious that Bethy is not a gardener. Ethan works eagerly, slopping dirt, plant food, water-- but enjoying himself. He is very fond of his tiny gloves!

Then there will be a little re-locating of shrubs and plants to more hospitable environments. My back spasmed as I typed that sentence. Eventually, though, I keep telling myself that the garden will be in order, everything will grow undisturbed, and life on Penny Lane will be an unbroken cycle of bloom, feeding, and the long winter sleep.

Take a look, in passing, at how well the nasturtium have done, after that slow, floundering start:

The sedum are moving toward a bright autumn display:

Now, if we might have a bit of rain to soften up the earth a bit . . .

Re-blooming Iris

2011-10-13T14:13:00.000-04:00

My re-blooming Iris has outdone itself. This is the third exhibit, the last one in September. And there are still three buds to unfurl. I believe the bone meal we used to fertilize the Daffs planted in front of the Iris must have gtiven it the stimulus to grow again and be so beautifully showy!

Enjoy!

Inspiration

2011-10-13T14:10:00.000-04:00

From Carol Warren's house, these inspiring photos of mushrooms and their relatives:

Instead of going crazy when I see them, I try to take a deep breath and remember my friend Susan saying, "Mushrooms are just flowers without blooms."

They can still be creepy, en masse, can't they?

I like the shapes of the fungus growing from the side of the stump better than the colony of little brown buttons. A nice idea for embroidery, or to use the ruffles in a crochet piece . . . Felting?

The Scarf Chronicles: Chapter Two

2011-10-01T14:30:00.000-04:00

Are you ready for another cup of tea, another little sit-down in my kitchen? The sudden turn in the weather this morning makes the kitchen and tea a cozy place to be. Today we have lemon-ginger scones to nibble as I show you some more of my scarves.

This first piece is made of cotton yarn from my weaving thread cabinet. It is stitched on the back loop of each row, which gives it ridges and a deep, extra-soft feel. The yarn is five strands of creamy cotton that stitched up at an embarrassing 108 inches of creamy, ridgey texture! After the euphoria wore off, I realized it was just a little too narrow (five inches), so I added "finger" fringe to the four sides and the piece suddenly had the width it needed to be taken seriously, along with humor and uber texture. This reminds me of walking the beach at low tide, with ripples and patterns left by the receding waves. The little fingers are in constant motion, like the sea itself:

I also decided to turn the stripe pattern on its side and crochet long verticals rather than sweeping back and forth over the shorter horizontal track. I like the way the fabric drapes when it is crocheted this way. This grey is a scrappy from skeins of silk, rayon, and cotton, and as nice as it is, I feel it is missing something— it may need to be unravelled and re-crocheted before it can rest as "done":

I repeated the idea of the vertical stripe in blue-grey, but with more types of yarns in the mix this time. Grey, blue-grey, pale and dark violet, as well as sea blues— another scarf of delights. It would not have looked nearly so interesting if this more than a dozen yarns had been clumped into horizontal blocks rather than the narrow vertical stripes that blend so well together. Many thanks to Jill for supplementing my greys and blues:

Confession time: This was the most mouth-watering crochet time I have spent so far. I used a very simple single crochet stitch, but choosing from the bags of yarn spread around me to augment the drawers of my own yarn was like running amok in a favorite yarn shop! So much fun, in fact, that I have gone a bit bonkers with the idea and repeated it in another group of blue-greys (darker, more man-scarf colors), an autumnal green, and one of browns, which is the autumn forest floor, to me.

and

The next scarf was stitched with a cream worsted wool that I added to a soft, light, multi-colored fleece-effect novelty yarn. After stitching, it is difficult to tell that the base is the cream worsted, the thin, fluffy novelty yarn is so completely dominating! I remember working on this while I listened to The Help on CD, alternately laughing, gasping in horror, nodding in agreement, forgetting to count and unravelling line after line . . .

It did not take long for me to fall under the spell of Noro yarns. The long lines of color give a different effect from the short color changes of many variegated yarns. The only drawback is the occasional slubbing in the single plys that throws a line of stitch off. I am hoping the Noro spinners will improve with practice. Below, the bright colors from a mainly cotton blend called Taiyo:

In this scarf I have combined two skeins of different green cottons (by Arauncania), using the heavier brown cotton as a sort of marker to divide the greens into blocks and to give some visual break between the two yarns. The cotton is very soft, and it is stitched quite loosely, so I doubled and sewed up the selvedge edges to make into a tube. This should keep it from stretching out of shape. A good choice for a man. I don't usually think in man-colors, but I am learning. And Charles approves. What more is there to be sought than a man's approval . . . ? I digress.

This rich gold scarf came from Jill's bag of browns. It is two strands of plied wool that I doubled in the back-loop single crochet that makes such a nice texture of soft yarns. As I sat working with it on the patio one day, a leaf drifted down from the oak overlooking the sun room beside me. The leaf was a deep red, and against this gold yarn it was stunning. I thought for a moment the leaf had simply sought a beautiful backdrop for its last days . . .

And now, the tea pot is empty (**sigh**), the scones are only discernible by the crumbs on the tiered tray, and reality intrudes with the idea of there being life beyond crocheted scarves. We will meet another day and enjoy another handful of the bunch, perhaps after the fall gardening is done. How cozy the tea will be when the temperature is in the low 60s!

Hand Warmer

2011-09-17T12:33:00.000-04:00

Now, this was fun! From bits and ends of other projects (of course). I crocheted, measured it on my hand, crocheted some more, slipped my hand into it . . . Thus the singleton has become my Michael Jackson hand warmer. As this is hand-spun wool yarn, the bonus is a bit of lanolin for the hand with every wearing.

Wouldn't it be nice to have two buckets of these at the door, one of lefties, one of rights? No two should match. Only boring people wear matched sets of things. . . Except shoes. Once upon a time I had a friend with a shoe fetish. We worked in downtown Atlanta together, and at lunch she would often go to Rich's for their shoe sales. These sales were not calm, polite affairs. The women who shopped them had split personalities, and the personality that took over when shopping for bargains was not always rational.

Well, Ethel bought the most darling pair of shoes during one of those lunch-time manias, black with brightly-colored leather ball trim at the toes, and they complimented several suits she wore. But after a short time of wearing them, she began to develop back trouble. That was when she noticed that the shoes she had were not really mates. One shoe had a one-inch heel, the other had a one-and-a half-inch heel. The same shoe, except for the heels. But in the feeding frenzy at the shoe sale, she grabbed the box and never thought the shoes might not be a matched set.

Beautiful women and their shoe collections . . .

The Scarf Chronicles: Chapter One

2011-09-17T12:07:00.028-04:00

While words are fine, it's time I posted photographic evidence of my crochet labors, or no one will believe I've really done anything at all. So, come join me in my kitchen and I'll spread the work on the counter for you pleasure. Have a cup of tea and some almond biscotti while I tell you about the scarves. The "group" photo above includes a large portion of them. One, The Great Red, will come later. I cannot stop working on it! But, you will see, eventually, what I mean.

The original objective was to "use up" the yarn my sister gave me. That would be the logical thing to do (waste not, want not). But seven large bins of skeins? And a lot of novelty yarn, which is difficult to work with and I really only need a little bit of the flashy stuff for accent, not entire scarves. There was no possibility of it fitting into the already crowded space that my modest yarn collection occupied . . . So, I kept little balls of a lot of the flashy yarn and shared the rest with my Freestyle friends. We scrumbled for several meetings with it.

Next, I discovered (to my deep regret), the wool needed to go. Allergies are hard bedfellows. So I began to crochet the wool out of the studio—except that every now and again, I needed just a teeny weeny bit more, so I would take a small sample of the almost exhausted ball of wool and go shopping to buy more wool to finish out the project . . . What was she thinking, you're asking. Answer: I don't think I was thinking at all. I was just crocheting and loving every row of beautiful stitches that seemed to leap from the hook. Mesmerized, I was.

As we've had suddenly autumn weather the last week, the wool can now be taken onto the patio and worked, especially the sheddy types. The breezes sweep the wool particles away. How kind of Mother Nature to do that clean-up job for me!

The Scarves. The first is a scrappy piece, a loop of blues and sand-colored neutrals that I doubled over and stitched as a tube to help the looser-woven parts remain stable. It can be worn in a short, double loop, or as a single longer loop. I was thinking of windy days by the sea as I worked:

Palest sky-blue merino mixed with another DK merino dyed shades of blue and green here. The problem is that this loop scarf was meant to be a long, wide scarf, but the second skein of the sky blue merino was not where I thought I had stored it. There are a number of things that could be said here about my planning abilities, but they can wait for another day. I was short of yarn (of course!), and it was yarn I'd bought twenty years ago in Oak Ridge, Tennesee, hand-spun and impossible to duplicate. After trying, unsuccessfully, to find something that could be used with it, I changed my plans and made it into this extra-long loop and put little "fingers" at the join. It is heavy and will create warmth under blizzard conditions:

Aren't the fingers delightful?

From bits and pieces came a narrow blue scrappy that is 50 inches long, 4 1/2 inches wide and quite light-weight. This would be nice worn with a winter knit blouse (or for a little boy, doubled over under his winter jacket):

The last of the loops (I have made two others as gifts for nieces Jessica and Nahum) is this red one of rich merino and a strand of red twisted with sequins. This may be my holiday scarf. It is light-weight and cheery:

I am now over scarf loops.

There are some serious keep-you-warm creations. The second is the only scarf to which I added a fringe. Long fringes can be so much trouble when you're shopping and going in and out of shops, unlooping a scarf . . .

After finishing them, I wondered how easily these wonderfully soft and thick scarves might fit around a person's neck, and that was when I made the decision to make longer and narrower pieces that could be looped twice around neck and shoulders without the bulk of these chunk yarn pieces. Almost twenty years ago I wove a long, five inch wide scarf for my mother that was meant to be worn doubled, and it was quite striking with her classic suits. She wore it on her shoulders and by doubling it, was able to catch up the ends of the scarf and draw them through the loop and hold it in place with a fancy pin. I began to re-visit that idea, with variations on width and composition.

In the studio I keep a yarn basket where I toss the short ends of a skein, a colorful collection of any type and color of yarn. This amazing scarf is the product of that lively basket, and one I will keep for myself. I like it best rolled up, where its 144 inches (yes, four yards!) makes a circle that is six inches in diameter, looking for all the world like a colorful little flower (that comment from Anne). The yarns range from slightly chubby worsteds to DK and fingering weights, a true conglomerate.

I should mention that I have scrumbled all of my life because it has always been so difficult for me to read a pattern. I have a double stigmatism, which means that there are shadows on both sides of objects. Imagine reading a cross-stitch pattern or finding your place in a closely-printed page of instructions when there are shadows popping up everywhere! As a result of having done free-form crochet for so long, I have forgotten the proper way to crochet and make sensible objects. The scarf project became a way of reminding myself the rules I could not grasp when I was eight and learning to knit and crochet from our neighbor, Bebe Webb.

This is the scarf I made from an idea I saw in a shop. It took me a while to figure out how to do the little fingers on the side and keep everything as one continuous line rather than adding an edging afterward (as I did the cream cotton, which you'll hear about another day), but once I'd gotten the hang of it, this was purest stitching joy. I used Kudo yarn:

Whee!!! What a lot of looking and talking we've done today. There are more finished pieces, and several still on the hook. It is so much more interesting to have several projects going on simultaneously, different stitches, different yarn tensions to be balanced, more to think about . . .

Are you yawning, your eyes glazed over, attention wandering? Let us continue this another time. You have been kindly uncomplaining during my ramble. Thank you. Now, may I pour you another cup of tea?

Freestyle, September

2011-09-15T18:22:00.001-04:00

We were at Jill's house yesterday for our September Freestyle meeting. The "meeting" was a shower for Cynthia. Can't believe Little Girl Patrick is due in less than a month! Pix I took of the party are at our group blog.

Afterwards, Jill invited me to check out her yarn stash. I had a skein of green wool I was trying to match for a scarf. She offered some great suggestions, as well as a lot of yarn. I love "scrappy" scarves, but the truth is that you only need a few yards of an awfully lot of different yarns to pull it off or your work looks unfashionably cobbled together, where the greater variety makes for an over-the-top, lively piece. As Jill says, "they insist I buy the whole ball. How inconsiderate."

We went to say goodbye to Bethy today, as she and Jordan left immediately after school for the airport and a flight to Manchester. Julie and Ethan have been visiting friends and family in England a week already, and I miss them. They give life such an interesting shape when they are with us. Charles consoled me by taking me to the yarn shop in Woodstock and buying me a skein of Mango Moon Chakra yarn. All I can say is that it's best to take comfort where you can find it.

Gee, but it will surely be quiet around here next week! Guess I'll crochet a lot. I mean a really, really lot!

My Dream Job

2011-08-29T16:03:00.005-04:00

The perfect job is out there for everyone, if only they can find it. The one born without a sense of smell becomes a skunk researcher, Type A personalities find high-powered jobs with underlings they can persecute, women with a great need to nurture have eighteen children . . .

If I could have found my perfect dream job in this world, I would have responded to an advertisement for an embroiderer who wished to make samplers. Only samplers. At the interview, I would have walked up the steps of a rather formal-looking Regency home to find a buzzing foundation at work behind the panelled doors. The foundation supported and promoted a love for stitched samplers (stay with me). I would produce my portfolio of cloths for inspection by a middle-aged woman dressed in a navy suit and wearing glasses with the never-lose-me chain around her neck. She would ask me several questions about the stitches I used, the thread, then stare gravely across at me and say, “This position requires some looseness of stitching, someone who does not have a desire to create perfect stitches in perfect rows. The stitcher must be willing to try any manner of thread or yarn or synthetic substitute and stitch joyously across the linen. Color and texture are a major concern. The successful applicant must be willing to spend years exploring the art of the stitch, but must not create organized samplers with mind-numbing rows of perfectly aligned clones.”

It is at this point in the interview that my fingers begin to twitch, and I am frankly salivating and this somber woman concludes: ”We have had many applicants for this job, but I believe you have the loose quality we are looking for.” I take delight in this dubious compliment as the woman removes her glasses, lets them ride on her bosom, rises from her chair and reaches across her desk to shake my hand.

“Now,” she says, “Go forth and explore the world of stitchery.”

Ah, yes! As I am babbling something about being so happy to be a part of this project, the woman guides me to a door.

“Welcome aboard,” she smiles, pushing the door wide. Inside is a rainbow that stretches around the walls of a large room, and the rainbow is thread— flosses, woolens, silks, linens, rayons, hemp, even the glitzy metallics and flashy polyesters! Soft perles, hard-twist rayons, linens plied into every size imaginable—it is enough to make the heart stutter.

I never found that advertisement. I wonder if that makes me an unfulfilled ex-member of the workforce?

Saga of the Dressed-Up Wool

2011-08-29T15:55:00.001-04:00

I never know whether I should thank my father for the obsessive-compulsive gene he passed on to me, or if I should volunteer for gene replacement study, but sometimes obsessive determination is a wonderful characteristic to have.

I have been crocheting a lot lately (all right, compulsively). The problem I have is I want to use beautiful yarn that is not hair-pullingly difficult to work with. A little lumpy, but not horribly so. Beads would be nice. Add to that list of requirements that I should not have allergic reactions to the content. Here, I am afraid that wool drops off the radar. But wool is so forgiving, so embracing!

*Sigh* The truth is this: I am in the process of crocheting the wool out of the studio. It has to go. But I would like to give it a nice send-off. This is how the Saga Of The Dressed-Up Wool began. . .

On a trip to Asheville several weeks ago, I found a skein of yarn that was made of lengths (18 inches) of rather commonplace yarns knotted together. Unlike some others of this cobbled-together yarn I have seen that was put together with outrageous fibers of multiple (and very incompatible) weights, these commonplace lengths looked as if they could be crocheted easily. The knots would be decorative. The weight of the yarn was a worsted one, so there was the consistency I always look for. I also discovered that the yarn was made by a Mom and her two children, so I plunked over the $25.00 for the skein immediately (cottage industries need to be nurtured).

The skein stayed in my mind as we went on to other things in Asheville, and after a while I realized I was actively working on improving the yarn with all these mental gymnastics! At Purl's, on Wall Street, Elizabeth so kindly gave me all the "trimmings" from the store's ball-winding station. They are always so interesting, and there are lengths that can be used for embroidery or felting or . . . As we approached our car, it suddenly hit me that the yarn I wanted could be made by hand but it would not have to be spun, as I have no aspirations to be a spinner at this late stage of my life. The half-bag of trimmings, some beads--- I suddenly had latched onto a way to create an interesting yarn!

Between Saturday and Sunday, I worked for about twelve hours on this project. To describe the process, you must grant me a certain willing suspension of disbelief (Coleridge, I think). After knotting some of the interesting yarns from the bag of trimmings from Purl's onto some hand-spun yarn, I hand-sewed seed beads, buttons, small chips of stone and quartz, other beads and trims, to a staggering 15 yards of wool yarn. Wool? you are asking with a puzzled look. Yes, wool. Wool because it does have that "forgiving" quality I mentioned, and because it can hide the carrier thread for all these gizmos I was hanging onto the yarn. I was careful not to flap the yarn around and send up sprays of wool particles to sent my allergies on the alert again, but I did take Monday completely off to let things settle a bit both in the studio and in my imagination.

The result of this slave-labor effort is an absolutely drop-dead gorgeous yarn. Well, to me it is a drop-dead gorgeous yarn. It began as the yarn in the first photo up top. These are some of the results:

If this does not make your mouth water, maybe you are reading the wrong blog. I digress. Forgive me.

On Monday, while I was recuperating from the yarn decorating frenzy, I did some serious thinking about what I'd done in the studio over the weekend. This same technique would work well with the wool cord I'd made earlier, wouldn't it? And think of the objects I could add to the list for embellishment:

sweater-wool felted shapes
leather shapes
embroidered shapes
crocheted (with small, tight yarn) shapes
vintage trims and lace snippets
old game pieces
sequins
bracelet charms
alphabet beads
vintage jewelry pieces

I could make that felted cord meant originally for a simple neckpiece into a marvel of ostentation . . . Yes, another project, which will also be totally unexplainable to my friends, but immensely interesting to me. So, thank you, Daddy, for the obsessive-compulsive gene. I would be in the throes of a really dull retirement without it.

Allergies on the Rise

2011-08-18T10:02:00.001-04:00

9:00 a.m.:There has been too much crocheting going on in the studio (and the sunroom, where the sofa is so comfy). From my (silly) decision to crochet all of the wool out of the studio, there are two bags of finished work waiting to be wrapped for gift-giving during The Holidays. My body, however, systematically resists an over-dose of wool, and is now in full armor.

My first reaction was to wait until the weather changes and the autumn finally comes (which may not be until early December, at the rate of the temperatures here in the Atlanta area), but that could be a long, long time in coming. What to do with my hands, how to stay sane until then?

I was really feeling sorry for myself this morning when I read Diana Trout's blog, here, and suddenly realized she offered a solution to the wool /idle hands crisis: WATERCOLORS! I put them away two months ago when I embarked on the crocheting safari, but today is to be one of perestroika! The blue box of paints and clutch of brushes will make there appearance on the drafting table.

She has a lovely plastic pallet for mixing and storing, which is more organized than my usual habit of using a ceramic plate. Hmmm . . . . I wonder if watercolors will work on fabric that has been soaked in bubble jet solution?

Time to move out to the laboratory.

More to come!

Note: 6:50 p.m.: All the while I was painting, mixing blues that drew me into the most enchanting oceans, or greens from grass too lush to dream of cutting— well, all that time, I was thinking about fabric for quilting. Maybe the watercolors were the path to something else?

Thank you, Diana. I have several pages of background for my sketchbook, and a postcard with a purple sun and yellow sky. Not a bad day!

Oh, and my sinuses are improved.

Playing With Wool

2011-08-16T11:30:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time I made a felted cord (the musician in me resists typing "chord") and embroidered it, then made two felted and embroidered endings for it, adding some loopy knitting tapes to cap things off:

This cord was felted with roving, and a long piece of crewel wool was the center of it-- just in case the cord wanted to thin out and become many pieces. I love the result, and combine it with a scarf and another felted neckpiece I found in Asheville (center of All Things Civilized) to wear with a blue wool jacket from Fall thru early spring.

Since that time, I have often thought about the process and how to vary it, how I might create another neckpiece that would be more interesting without slipping over the line into gaudiness, and this past week I began to work in earnest on the project.

First, I crocheted a cord of a lovely pale green and lavender heather wool, but ran out of the 3-ply yarn and found nothing with which to continue it, so at 30 inches, I set it aside and rumaged through the yarn to find a continuation. No such luck. Anything else I could find was not the right size, and was certainly much too soft.

Then I remembered a cone of ink bottle green Harrisville wool yarn meant for weaving. Knitting and crochet threads have been fluffed and fulled after spinning, which is what makes them so appealing in a yarn store. Yarns spun for weaving are left tight and unwashed so they are used first to weave piece then to full (wash or wet and agitate the yarn) the woven piece. The fulling process is like a mini felting process, and it closes up the small spaces between the yarn in the cloth.

I started a second cord with the weaving yarn. This Harrisville wool was a two ply, thin yarn, somewhere between a size 5 and 8 perle cotton, so the crochet was fraught with moments of searching for the correct swear word to express that particular situation. After about ten or twelve inches, I realized that I could use that irregularity to my advantage, and I began to deliberately vary the thickness of the cord. 81 inches later, I was satisfied that I had enough cord to work with.

In this picture you see the cord and some of the irregularities I mentioned.

I decided to see what would happen if I began adding wool roving and wool stitching to the cord before it was felted. Wow!!! This was almost sinfully delightful, stuffing parts of the cord, wrapping other sections, needle felting the roving into the crocheted body, threading an especially large tapestry needle and stitching odd, random threads over the roving and around the crochet . . . I should make dozens of these cords for my mental health!!! Any frustrations I may have felt over the real or imaginary conflicts in my life were resolved with the work on the cord:

Gaudy? I couldn't have cared if this cord ended up as a drapery tie-back in a bordello, and I could have gone on for weeks this way except for the realization that as much fun as this was, the real fun would begin after the cord was felted and ready for embellishment. I put the two pieces of cord in a mixing bowl and poured boiling water over them and stirred for a few moments. The smell of wet animals filled the kitchen . . . I wrinkled my nose and stirred some more. Some of the blue dye released (probably from the roving), but when I drained the hot water off and changed to ice water, the color set. A second bath of boiling water was clear, and after some more stirring the wool was ready for the washing machine.

Here I should explain that I cannot felt wool by hand any more because my palms are no longer flat, thank you Mr. Arthritis. These days, I depend upon the washer for any felting that may happen around here.

Charles was glad to donate his yard-work clothes to the cause— denim is the best thing I have found to use with wool in the washer. Denim is high-density, tightly-woven, and unless you are dealing with designer jeans, they have a pretty hard surface. This is the perfect substitute for hands in agitating wool.

Into the wash. I checked once to make sure things were not tangled, and the cord was shrinking nicely. Maybe too nicely.

Out of the washing machine, the 81" cord now measured 76 inches! And the pitiful pale green 30" cord came in at a whopping 32 inches! The only explanation I could think of was that the pale greencord was beautifully uniform, but almost twice as fat as the second, longer cord. In the shrinking process, the cord became thinner, but grew two inches longer, the way children enter puberty as chubby little buttons and come out tall and willowy . . . ???

Into the dryer. Listening to the drum bang the clothes around, I wondered if the original 81inches of crocheted cord was going to be long enough to work with after all this processing!

The final measurements: the 81" cord that shrank to 76" now measures 68" long. And little shrimp cord of 30" that grew to 32" is now 31" short. I will set little shrimp aside and think of something for it to become, but not now. The stitching and embellishing of the long cord begins this afternoon!

Simplicity

2011-07-27T09:29:00.000-04:00

I have been rediscovering an old friend, the straight stitch. This renewal of interest springs from a real desire to simplify everything in my life. Despite my love of creating stitch samplers with variations on every sort of stitch, including some I have to dig out of Grace Christie's book of almost-forgotten embroidery stitches, the simplicity of the straight stitch is both appealing and useful (Morris comes to mind here: "beautiful and useful").

And this most recent urge to simplify was re-kindled by the subliminal at work: a dream. Occasionally I have a dream of an old cottage somewhere amongst trees and shadows and filtered sunlight. The inside is pared down to the bone, and I move through the minimalist rooms and enjoy the beauty of old paint, floorboards that are patched and wonderfully imperfect, deep moldings at floors and ceiling. The walls, singularly unadorned, are interesting in their own right, as they are painted imperfectly.

In the pale bedroom of this cottage is a bed, a low pine bookcase beside it, and a lamp. One narrow dresser (it is a sort of blue-green and the paint is chipped) stands against a wall. No rug covers the floor, and only a sheer white curtain hangs at the window. There is an old quilt on the bed, faded to muted tones of blue and pink and green with a touch of yellow in flowers (I have lain against the quilt and studied it in my dreams!). This is the room I remember in most detail, as if I go to sleep looking for a quiet place to sleep . . . ?

The dream is recurring, and each time I see a little more of the cottage. It is so absolutely simple—it may be perfectly simple. I wish I could live like that but I seem to have a penchant for gathering things (interesting or not) as I move along. Everywhere I sit or lie to rest, there is a stack of books or magazines nearby. Mug mats protect the covers of books and table tops. Towels never hang straight in any bathroom I pass through. Kitchens overflow with stacks of china (so that I am always prepared to feed hoards of guests) and even though there are only two of us here, my dishwasher is full every evening, sometimes even before lunch! Messy, by definition, is me.

After this cottage comes to me in a dream, the straight stitch begins tugging at me. I lie half-awake and think about the plainness and beauty of this stitch. With it I can build lines, shapes, fill the shapes, create the illusion of movement and direction, layer them to create texture . . . All this with the simple in-and-out of the needle and thread through the fabric. Choosing a color really defines the line. Choosing the weight and type of thread defines the importance of the line. Choosing a direction begins the unfolding of the idea. Another form of simplicity.

I know I will never have such a beautiful, bare-bones cottage as the one I have dreamt about for years, and I also know I will continue to dream of it because it is such a clean and desirable space for my cluttered heart to grab a moment of respite. Cultivating the straight stitch might be a way to cultivate the culture of minimalism. And that could be a step toward simplifying myself.

Curling Bethy's Hair

2011-07-19T17:13:00.000-04:00

What a morning! Bethy wanted curls today, and as I had nothing else planned, we opened the Friendly Corner Beauty Parlour. First I washed her hair, which started out in the bathtub but moved to the shower before it was over. Then dried it and began rolling it up with my heat curlers (very old set, but they work!). About 2/3 of the way through the rolling process, she began to sniffle. The sniffles are the beginning of a meltdown. It seems that she wanted the curls to appear without any work, and I had to explain to her that beauty is not a freebie. She was so sure the Princesses in the story books got their curls without any effort at all, and I had to disabuse her of that notion. What a terrible job for a grandmother!

By the time I had finished with the rollers, she was only on half-sniffle, so we passed the time waiting for her hair to dry completely and the curlers to do their magic by taking pictures. There was much giggling, and I suddenly was not 63 years old anymore, and my best friend and I were in our tiny bathroom craning for space in the medicine-cabinet mirror as we tried out new hair styles-- that would have been in the 1960s!

Then, the comb-out. I think the curlers worked rather well, wouldn't you agree?

She primped and preened in front of the mirror, then turned suddenly to me and I grabbed the camera. Where did she learn these moves?

The child was five in April. Honestly! I don't think I learned to poke my arm out that way until I was about thirty! But, of course, I still can't use an i-phone, though she says she'll help me when I get my own.

Friends

2011-07-14T08:05:00.000-04:00

We travelled to Knoxville yesterday for the monthly Freestyle Meeting, this one at Margi's house. Jill and I were in charge of the food, and we planned a tea for our friends. I made sandwiches (egg salad, carrot-ginger, and pickled okra pinwheels), and Jill brought smoked salmon with cucumber. I made the scones, and Jill made the teacake (chocolate!) and shortbread and little pastry cups of lemon curd (homemade) with raspberries and cream. Jill also brought her mother's teacups, a dozen of variously patterned cups and saucers that looked as if they had come straight from an elaborately carved Victorian cupboard.

Margi's house is such a neat place— a log cabin by the lake. She has furnished it with pieces she has collected, lovely old oak for the most part, and as she is a weaver, some of her work is there.

But the nicest part of the day was not the food or china or setting, but the ten of us gathered under the beams of the living room. We all have a common interest in some form of fiber, and during Show 'N Tell we share our latest creations to the admiring oohs and aahs of the group. How talented each of us is, but in our own way. The inspiration flies back and forth as ideas are laid out and expanded. I always come home and immediately set to work on some project or another. This time I think I will take up the crocheted scarves that I had set aside when the weather got so unbearably hot and sticky— Christmas will be here before I even realize it! I will post photos when I get them a little farther along the way.

I think that special nurturing ability to inspire one another to try new things is one of the most admirable qualities of the friends I have.

Look at how things have grown!

2011-07-06T10:36:00.001-04:00

I am always amazed when things that I have planted actually grow to be mature plants. My green thumb can sometimes have some darker overtones to it. This is the May-June photo of part of the upper right terrace:

And this is yesterday's photo:

The red plant in the center is a new color of Rudbeckia, much nicer (to me) than the orange-yellow. And the chartreuse dangling plant is Creeping Jenny. It is not called "creeping" for no reason— it has the growth habit of a small, simpering kudzu vine.

But taken together, it's a sort of magic, isn't it?

And in the fountain, there is a little visitor:

He looks quite happy here, doesn't he?

First Fruits

2011-07-06T10:23:00.000-04:00

The blueberries, tomatoes, and strawberries have been ripening, and Charles harvested them for us.

Snacks a-plenty!

The asparagus have passed their season, and we now see only the occasional fern coming up. Next spring they should begin to show themselves just before the perennials make an entrance. This should make an interesting texture. And good food, too!

Charles' Swing

2011-07-06T10:11:00.001-04:00

Charles wanted a swing, has wanted a swing for a long time. We found a builder at a market in Woodstock, one who offered a six-foot wide seat-- big enough for two grandparents and two Adorables! Last week we were able to pick up the pieces to be assembled. Jordan was called into duty for the assembly job.

And eventually a somewhat level place was made for it. We may have to pour footings for it, one end is a bit high off the ground and while I don't plan to look at the sky through my toes while swinging, I always fear the worst with the children, who test everything!

So, now we can sit quietly in this very over-sized swing and enjoy the garden from the upper level. Hmmm . . . . still looks nice!

Watching The Rain

2011-06-26T10:57:00.000-04:00

One wet day during awesome, earth-splattering deluges of rain, the Adorables were glued to the window in the sun room, taking in the spectacle. They were most interested in the little fountain as it filled up and began to spill over. While Ethan is wracked with sorrow over the condition of the fountain, Bethy is never too busy to pose for the camera!

Of Tea And Teapots

2011-06-25T10:22:00.001-04:00

I have loved and collected tea pots since I was a child. Really. And boxes, particularly old wooden ones that originally housed candy or stationary. But is is about tea pots and my love of the world of serving tea that I write today.

The idea of a cup of hot tea can be quite calming even before the kettle boils and the tea begins steeping. The first thing my husband does each morning is to make me a cup of tea ("Happy Wife, Happy Life"). Charles will agree that it took some time to get the brewing time exactly right, but now he does it so well that I can't start my day without a cup of tea from him! Dark black English breakfast tea by Twinings.

Once the day is set in motion, other teas will do— Assam, Darjeeling, Oolong, and a variety of green teas. I make those cups myself. To the Assam and Darjeeling I will add milk and honey and take a mug into the studio as a companion to the morning.

But in the dead of winter, when there is nothing but grey on the ground and in the sky, I sit with a beautiful teacup and saucer, sipping cup after cup of steaming amber liquid from one or another teapot from my collection. I don't really have teapots that Lloyd's of London needs to insure, but I have my Grandmother Allen's Rockingham teapot,

along with a child's blue willow pot, and teapots to match almost all my sets of china (which are legion). I even have three little village tea sets. My dear friend and former sister-in-law, Cindi, gave me a pink and blue village set, and we immediately sat down and had mint tea in it. We spent a delightful afternoon with that tea set, and it has always been on display in my home. These village sets are worth a chapter on their own-- another post, I think.

Teapots call to me when I walk into an antique shop, and I answer automatically. Sometimes I find a teapot with a matching sugar and creamer, though having the three pieces is not a criteria. When we visited our friends Mary Kate and Bonnie in Monterey, Massachusetts a few years ago we naturally made the rounds of the antique shops. I walked through the door of one shop and knew immediately that a teapot waited for me. I moved slowly around the room filled with lovely objects, waiting for the teapot to reveal itself. Mid-way down one wall the most gleaming piece of porcelain I have ever seen was waiting for me (you don't believe that? Neither did Charles). Despite its age, it looked as if it had never held steeping tea. It is beautifully wafer-thin, and as I studied it I realized how difficult it would be for me to pour scalding water into it. Even knowing that, I motioned to the shop owner and waited as she lifted it from its glass shelf. It still holds my imagination, this beautifully shaped pot of classic, graceful proportions.

The creamer is delightful-- a small clutch of herbs is the perfect complement:

Another special gift was from my beautiful and witty friend, Gloria. Shaped like a conch shell lying on one side, it is a perfect representation of Gloria's irrepressible humor, and I cannot pass by it without thinking of her.

Then there are the rice-patterned china tea pots. This beautifully translucent porcelain has tiny rice-grain carvings cut into the piece before it is glazed. The glaze then collects in the holes, and when it is fired, the tiny holes fill with glaze and allow the light to come through. Lifting a rice-grained teapot is like lifting a vessel of blue and white light.

I am not the least bit snobbish in my collecting. I enjoy inexpensive creamware and heavy stoneware, and these tea pots (small-ish and lovely to cradle in your hand) mix well with any sort of setting.

This one is a reproduction of an antique piece. It is truly a work of art:

Fitz and Floyd created a beautiful circular pattern with this grey-and blue:

Another circular pot is an over-the-top beauty (thank you, Cindi!!!) that always gets a second glance from guests:

And these are my kitchen workhorses, used to steep pitchers of Southern table wine, "Sweet Tea":

This next tea pot falls into the category of "fun" pots. Look at the sun detail on the yellow piece— I cannot keep from smiling when I use it (and from the chips, it has been used a good bit)!

I think, however, that Judy Brater, of Knoxville, has made the most interesting of my "fun" pots. This one came to me through an accident of time and place. One week when I was teaching at the Folk School, a woman walked up to me as I was filling my over-sized mug with hot water for yet another cuppa and announced, "You have my mug." It took some back and forth and much laughter to realize that "her mug" was one she had made, and one I carried with me every time I left the house! I told her I wished so often that she made teapots, and she said that she occasionally did, and that she had taken one recently to the Arrowmont School Gift Shop in Gatlinburg. We were living in Knoxville at that time, so I whipped out my cell phone and called Charles. This pot was waiting for me when I got home that next weekend (many thanks, dear husband)!

Blue and White always look pert and ready for steeping dark leaves:

These are Hall's pieces, from their Silhouette pattern. It is, technically, a coffee pot, with a cumbersome drip apparatus that sits over the large open top, but the shape is so traditionally teapot-like that I use it that way (think summertime and iced tea on the porch/patio). My Irish grandmother had this china. It was a Jewel Tea collection that was sold off the back of the travelling Jewel Tea truck in the '30s and '40s. There is even a small platter for scones and tidbits!

And both of Charles' grandmothers had Jewel Tea's Autumn Leaf pattern. He inherited some of their pieces, which was the beginning of his collecting bug. This is one of his Autumn Leaf Teapots:

Here is Bethy's chintz tea set, a gift from Granddad when she was only weeks old! We use this child's set in learning the motions and manners of pouring and serving tea. One day she can take it home with her— but first we will let Ethan grow up a little and not be so prone to break things. I keep it in the dining room cupboard, and when she is by herself with me, she asks if we can "play tea" with it. She very painstakingly helps to lift it from its shelf, including the little embroidered doily it sits on, then goes to the linen chest of drawers and chooses napkins for us to use (do I need to add that her choices are usually in the pink line?).

The little silver spoons, which fit this tiny set so well, are actually the miniature spoons you use with salt dips (of course I had them!):

We are using the smallest of the Portmeirion teapots to practice pouring tea (and water) into her new butterfly-patterned demitasse cups. She will graduate from the one-cup pot to the two-cup, then to the largest of the pots.

In the basement closet are Christmas teapots, two matching the Cuthbertson Christmas China, and others that are just delightful without being a match for anything other than the spirit of the season. I will share these with you later in the year. There is even what I call the "Thanksgiving teapot" packed away, and some small pumpkin-shaped ones! What is a season without a special pot for celebrating?

I am a shameless collector, and there are a few teapots I still crave, though I could never, in good conscience, pay the hundreds of dollars they cost. Royal Copenhagen's Full Lace pattern is one, and on a quiet day when nothing presses, I will look it up on line and stare at the computer screen the way a teenager stares at a picture of her first love! Another long-distance love affair is with Belleek's famous basket weave pattern teapot with tiny shamrocks scattered sparingly near the handle. I will confess to being weak-kneed when I find one in a shop (always new; evidently people never let these teapots out of their hands!).

So, now you are a party to one of my greatest weaknesses: a love of all things tea-ish, for the ritual of tea with friends or family, and for the beautiful serving pieces that make the simple act of drinking a cup of tea a special event. I hope Bethy will share that love as she grows older (especially with her British roots), and that the collection will pass to her one day. She may not want everything I've amassed, but that's quite all right. Remembering tea with Granmma will be enough for me.

Asparagus Fern

2011-06-25T09:31:00.000-04:00

Charles was weeding the garden after the heavy rains of a couple of days ago (everything grew three inches overnight!), when I saw that he had cut away all the Asparagus Fern. I was able to stop him on his way up the hill to the compost bin, and filled a large pottery pitcher with the feathery wands. They are too soft for words!

Charles' "Man Shed"

2011-06-16T10:20:00.001-04:00

Too much clutter in the back yard, Charles decided, and too far to walk for tools for digging and carrying and mulching. So, the back of the Studio is becoming a tool shed for him, complete with a metal roof. Poor oak leaf hydrangeas, enduring the building right up to the edge of their bed! I will offer them an extra sip of hydrangea feed as a small solace for their inconvenience.

More posts of the progress of the "man shed" to come.

Another Embroidered Grid

2011-06-16T10:01:00.000-04:00

I have been playing with the idea of grids again. They are actually great fun to embroider— especially if they are not perfectly aligned. Actually, much of life falls into that same category of non-perfection being more interesting than the excruciatingly perfect. This is one I did on a doodle cloth that has been floating around the studio for some time. You can see the blue spots on it from my spraying a bit of dye on it months ago.

After this grid was done, I immediately began to think of ways to improve the next one. There are so many possibilities when breaking down space into small segments.

Adorables Sleep-Over

2011-06-16T09:56:00.002-04:00

Yes, finally it happened— after almost a month of dry weather, last evening brought rain and thunder and lightning with high winds, and the Adorables, who are both frightened at the sound of thunder, spent the night with us! Ethan, now three and a half, got up just after I'd gone to bed, and needed to be held for more than an hour. He asked questions about thunder, lightning, where the thunder lived, what Mr. Thunder's house was like . . . .

Finally, I had to crawl into his bed with him to get him to sleep even a little bit. This was no small trick, since his bed is the air mattress on the floor of one of the bedrooms!

The puzzle is how Bethy managed to sleep through all the booming and bright flashes of light. She is usually quite sensitive to the thunder. Not that I am complaining. What would I have done with two little ones awake and scared in the middle of the night? Charles, an indulgent grandparent, is a grump when his sleep is disturbed. No help there!

About 3:30 a.m. I managed to crawl out of Ethan's bed. It took almost a half hour to do this. I have never been so happy to fall into my own bed! Then, just before 6:30, Ethan was up. He called for "CHUCK!!!" at the top of his voice, then walked into our room and looked me right in the eye and said he wanted me UP. NOW. I heard Charles chuckle beside me. Bethy added to the swelling ranks of the bedroom. "All right.." I looked at Charles. "But when Grandma gets up, e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y gets up."

But the fun did not stop there. There was the bath after breakfast. I managed to find bubble bath and Johnson's Baby Shampoo for The Event, unrolled the bath mat, and when the tub was full of children and soapy cloths, I turned on the bath jets. There was laughter, mounds of bubbles, splashed water— there has never been so much action in my bath!

To clean their hair was the problem, as I cannot bend over a tub for more than a minute. In the end, I simply put them in the shower and I, fully clothed, sat down on the bench and used the hand-held spray to wash and clean the soap out of their hair. When we got out it was hard to understand how I could be the wettest of the three.

Their mom, Julie, will come and have lunch with us, and when she leaves, this house will be sooooo quiet! Too quiet!

Help In The Garden

2011-06-16T09:51:00.001-04:00

Every gardener needs a little assistance once in a while. Bethy and Ethan were helping me to water the containers this afternoon. What they lack in ability they more than make up for in enthusiasm!

It's been a long time since I saw flowers taller than I. I wonder what Ethan was thinking? Look at the calculating way he is studying the stalks. When his dad saw the photograph, he suggested Ethan was thinking of "climbing the beanstalk." Unfortunately, he might be spot on!

The English American

2011-06-11T15:56:00.000-04:00

I have just finished reading Alison Larkin's semi-autobiographic story of an American baby who is given up for adoption to a British couple. At age 28 she decides to make contact with her biological parents, and the adventure of a lifetime begins. It was a good read, funny, poignant, informative . . .

Good summer reading!

The Beauty of Old Things

2011-05-25T09:44:00.003-04:00

I spend part of Sunday afternoon repairing a quilt made by my husband's grandmother. It is the quilt his father kept with him and is very worn by regular washing by indifferent hands. I am repairing the rips and missing batting from a bag of old quilt scraps I found at a Flea Market many years ago. No matching fabrics, but fabrics from the same era. I eventually found that matching the shape of the damaged piece is beyond my skills, so I have been putting squares or rectangles over the tears.

A great feeling of satisfaction is my reward.

Keeping her quilt alive is a joyous project, though rather hard on my hands and back. But as I don't believe it has to be completed immediately, it has become my on-going project. One day it will all be done, and I can smile at the little scraps that patch the patchwork.

How amazing— Iva Claiborne stitched these beautiful quilts (all of them slightly different sizes, as they were meant for different beds) in the evening in a corner of her living room, never dreaming that her "economies" were to be cherished things of great beauty to a grand-daughtr-in-law!

The Before and After Garden

2011-05-24T16:58:00.005-04:00

It has finally happened: the heavy work in the garden has ended for the spring, to be picked up again in the fall. The temperature and humidity are too high to work past about 10:00 a.m., which gives us only enough time to do maintenance, not to do proper digging and building. Here is the Before and After Story.

When we bought the house in September of 2008, it was easy to see the potential of the back yard, but difficult to pour money or sweat into it because the Knoxville house had to be sold first, and something had to be done about my hip, back, and leg so I could actually do the work. We were living between the two places, visiting Penny Lane and then back to Pedigo Road, where we stayed the majority of the time, moving in small increments the furniture and boxes and things too messy to allow the public to see (I thought of my studio as a working environment; the realtors saw it as clutter— could I please clean it up or pack it all away?). I spent the winter months staring out the windows of the Penny Lane sun room dreaming of the garden and studio that should be there one day. This pre-sale photo by the previous owner was my view from the upper back of lot:

The building on the left eventually became my studio (here it is still in its detached-garage-state), and the odd assortment of angles on right is the house, U-shaped around the patio. I have tried to take photos standing in the same (approximate) location so you can see the changes we have made. Today the view is this:

Phase one: Stacked Stone Walls. The first thing that HAD to go was the black retaining wall. The previous owners had the lower terrace carved out of a hill that came right to the house, taking down trees and making room for the addition of the detached garage. Because I am a sane woman, I never thought of pulling down the wall, only of covering it up. The wall is built of recycled rubber (tire) timbers that will never rot. But, an ugly black wall that will not rot is still an ugly black wall, and a black wall in a garden is somewhat less than inspiring. I found pre-cast stone at Lowe's and began to bring home small loads of it, deciding to build a small wall on the north-west side of the sun room where I would plant one of my favorite shrubs, hydrangeas. This would be my "test" wall, the one that would decide the future of my masonry explorations. Once accomplished, I would have the hands-on experience to begin the rather large wall-sheathing project—or to drop the idea and think of something else to dream over. I read everything I could get my hands on about building stacked stone walls. I had done some small, raised beds in previous homes, so I knew just enough to be optimistic about the large-scale process, but optimistically cautious.

This is the hydrangea bed, soaking up the little sliver of morning sun it can get in a day:

A single little mophead is making a valiant effort to bloom this summer:

After this minor success, I found my father's four-foot long level and began to work on disguising the black walls with heavy pre-cast stone, using a snow shovel with a flat blade to get a level bed for the stone. The stones, by the way, weigh 23 pounds each. I didn't weigh them, but a friend of ours built a retaining wall beside his driveway of the same stone, and he weighed them before he started. I am glad I didn't know how much they weighed until deep into the project— each stone is equal in weight to a small child. This is an instance of that classic adage, ignorance is bliss.

I have still not worked out how to finish the stairs to the upper terrace. As they are now, they rise steeply and have very, very narrow treads so there needs to be some re-engineering of the space, perhaps even cutting out the rubber timbers and starting over. As I sit here thinking about it, I have made the command decision that the lower stairs will be next year's project.

Phase two: upper terrace walls left and right. This entire landscape was conceived as an attempt to level up the slope of the yard. This is the right side, originally (notice the day lilies that dwarf the bushes behind):

It was here I learned most of what I know about building a wall on uneven ground. That bottom row, which drops as the hill slides downward, was such a pickle to level! You can just see the second raised bed built behind this one (which was actually a phase four project):

Phase three: lower terrace flagstone floor where the two large mulched areas originally were. There was a terrific amount of litter from the mulch that was tracked in, and there seemed no way to keep a clean house but to put in stone patio extensions on each side of the lower level. The work, however, was beyond me. Charles called in the pros and had it put in after the Knoxville house was sold.

On the right side (above, in the circle of stone), in front of the studio, there was originally a small fountain that Charles hated. Charles hates any water feature as he had a bad experience with a swimming pool in the back yard of a house we owned earlier in our marriage (the bad experience was that it had to be kept clean).

The past winter abetted him by heaving the fountain out of the ground. He would not re-seat it, but began to make rather gleeful plans to beat it into pieces with a sledge hammer before carrying it off to the landfill. I was able to find a home for it with Jill and Joe in Knoxville where it has an unthreatened existence outside the bedroom window. And against all his complaining, I began to think of the fountain's replacement.

The idea of replacing the fountain with yet another water-thingee horrified Charles. But I found one I liked that was above ground, with a wide bowl. The Adorables could play there without slipping into the in-ground bowl of the original fountain, I decided, and Autumn Hill delivered and set it up for us at the end of last summer on the left patio extension. We had debated this issue until the end of last spring, when we had to either plant something in the right-side hole or fill it in. A lovely dogwood tree was the choice to live in the spot once occupied by the green, in-ground fountain. This spring we moved hosta from a too-sunny location on the side of the house to grow in front of the sun room and down one side of the new fountain area. The plants are thriving, as you can see here:

Phase four: upper terrace second set of beds and stairs (incomplete). Once we removed the huge beds of day lilies, the upper beds were very uneven and had more slope than I'd originally thought, so Charles and I put in two small raised beds, with irises on the left, and a larger bed of mixed plantings on the right. The tall plants with the small magenta flowers are in the mulliens (or mullens) family and are quite aggressive. But the rabbits use that to move through the yard to nibble at the small herb garden near the house. Please also notice Charles' bird bath. There are an awfully lot of dirty birds here. They line up and take turns in the bird bath, and when that is backed up, the big ones come to the fountain!

Then the steps to this area had to be addressed. They are laid with huge bricks rather than the stone I used everywhere else because the narrower brick could be adjusted for the large roots of trees that seem to have chosen that particular spot to converge. With the drought of the past summers, I am reluctant to further damage the trees by cutting into their root system. The stairs are incomplete because they require my getting on hands and knees to do the work, which I am not supposed to do. In small doses, I was able to finish what we have. Extending the stairs will wait for next year. I did lay them so that the rise is shallow and the tread is wide enough to accommodate my foot without half of it hanging off. Charles' wave petunias grace the upper level.

Phase five: mammoth planting. Before we started planting the beds, Autumn Hill planted the perimeter of the yard for us, moving some shrubs and setting up boundaries for the shrub backdrop to the beds. They put in hydrangea, a snowball virburnum, cherry laurel, forsythia, camilla, and formosa azalea. After this we began to plant the beds but have paused now to wait for the summer and fall shrubs and flowers to come on the market. I left spaces for mixing the seasons in planting so there is some color in the garden throughout the year. I really look forward to finding perennial mums later in the season.

These are some photos of the flower beds. The lamb's ear seems determined to take the prize for fastest-growing:

Here is oak leaf hydrangea, a gift from my sister:

Euphorbia by the walk way to the studio (to bloom later, but lovely foliage in the meanwhile):

One of several mosses, this is the ice plant:

A tiny bird bath balances on the edge of a wall, in the shadow of the lamb's ear:

Parsley and lemon balm:

Lavender, which languished for two years in a large pot. Once in the ground, though, it must have taken a liking to its new home, because it has grown, bloomed, and started spreading the way children uncurl from sleep and stretch arms and legs in all directions:

Cone Flower, which was labeled "compact," but doesn't seem to realize it should stay small:

A sun-loving fern, Jacob's Ladder, has great textural appeal:

The containers are also planted. They are bunched on the patio and sprinkled through the beds, as well. Marigolds, which are the essence of the summer sun:

Creeping Jenny, restrained in a pot with summer hyacinth to keep it from gobbling up the garden (garden journals call it a "thug," but it is so appealing, thug or not!):

A pot of mint, without which a Southern garden cannot be complete. How would we have iced tea without mint and a wedge of lemon?

Strawberries— the pot is a mass of little green and becoming-pink berries. And to make things even sweeter, my niece, Nahum, brought me a second pot of strawberries yesterday, so we will be snacking all summer!

Geranium, this one kept for its beautiful foliage and not its wimpy little blossoms:

Coleus, a miniature variety called "Indian Frills":

Phase six: For the fall. This depends upon how we feel, if digging and hauling stone fits into our plans and if our bones will agree to that much labor the last month or so before Thanksgiving. We've ordered hundreds of spring bulbs from Breck's, so there will be great excitement here in October when they arrive. And I remember beautiful button-sized mums from my mom-in-law's garden that I would like to find in the fall perennials section of the nursery.

And that is the story of the Penny Lane garden, to date. As a garden is never static, it will evolve over time into something more stable than what we have now. The plants that are unhappy in their present positions will want other light or water locations and will need moving or replacing next spring. There will be mistakes to correct. But for all the work, it is a real pleasure to sit on the patio and look up the hill at the garden Charles and I worked so hard to put in. The birds eating and bathing, the lizards lounging on the warm stone (and keeping an eye out for the larger, protein-hungry birds), butterflies amongst the patio containers and every-present squirrels and chipmunks are a source of never-ending delight.

And there is the "help" the Adorables give us with the watering. Yesterday we had to come inside and change into dry clothes. Ethan has learned to sneak around behind me and suddenly divert the stream of water from the hose with his hand on the nozzle. He was squirted back for his efforts. Poor Bethany, standing beside us, horribly wetted and complaining of our behavior . . . . It is hard to act one's age in a garden when there are children about!

Royal Wedding

2011-04-29T07:53:00.000-04:00

I love the pomp and ceremony of a royal event, though it took me a while to really wake up and take it all in. By my second cup of tea, I was in fine form, enjoying the choral music (particularly) and the organ and small orchestra and brass. Sitting here waiting for "The Kiss," I am so impressed by the affection of the English people for the Royals. They must be the only people in the world whose royal family is non-political enough to be so loved.

Grandma Bragging Again

2011-04-27T15:26:00.003-04:00

I had to. The Adorables are just so . . . well, adorable!

Note from Wednesday, 5/4: Remember the pink-and-white-striped sketchbook I made Bethy several weeks ago? Yesterday afternoon she and I sat together in the studio at one of the work tables, elbow-to-elbow, working in our respective sketchbooks. In an hour she had filled her sketchbook with drawings, using my colored pencils. When she was done, she showed me the last page, with a sun shining brightly. "Would you like to hear the song?" she asked me, and she turned to the first page and sang me through the entire book! This is a wonderful example of the creator having an entirely different concept of the use of an item than the recipient of the gift. And, what a use!

Disoluble Fabric Results

2011-04-27T15:11:00.001-04:00

Finally!!! I thought I would never find the time to finish this, but today the weather was threatening and the first sprinkles sent us in out of the back yard early on, so today became a day to finish projects. I had four house projects on my list, and finishing this was the third. One more to go . . .

My original piece was blocks of color for sky, tree, and meadow. I laid a piece of sheer silk chiffon underneath the Aqua Bond sandwich and stitched a tiny bit on the machine (enough to hold the silk in place), but did the majority of stitching by hand-- 98.99%, actually. It was obsessively stitched, covered almost without letting the ground show through! When I had exhausted the stitch possibilities and felt that every tiny bit of fabric and thread/yarn/soy silk was thoroughly attached, I added beads to the meadow grass. So there are straight stitches for grass and sky, and french knots for the little meadow flowers and the tree. The tree trunk was a series of closely-spaced outline stitches in differing shades of grey.

The tree was quite a dilemma. The foliage began life as a lot of random straight stitches over the darker green scrim and yarn, then I made the straight stitches into seed stitches. It was still awful. Next I added more straight stitches to fill in the spaces between the fat seed seed stitches, but the more I stitched the more I saw it was simply a mess that could not be salvaged! So, as a last-ditch effort to pull something from all the time I'd spent on this project, I put french knots on top of everything. I also used rayon thread for the tree foliage, which is a bear to sew. I remember saying "Dear me!" several times as the thread tangled and twisted back on itself. But when it was finished, I really, really liked it.

In this photo the piece is lying in the bottom of my kitchen sink. I couldn't wait for it to dry to photograph it. When I rinsed it out, there was no discoloration in the water, so nothing faded. And not one little piece of scrim or gibblet of thread floated free, either. Whew! I poured the water from the first rinse, when the Aqua Bond was strongest, over the strawberry plants. Don't gag-- I read that algae and kelp are used as fertilizer in European countries!

It may not be completely Aqua-Bond free, and if it is a bit stiff when it dries, I'll just rinse it again until it has a soft hand.

Now, how much fun is that?

Spring Gardening Season

2011-04-23T11:27:00.000-04:00

We are almost ready to hang up our garden gloves. Not that things are finished, but the temperature is in the mid-80s, and that makes the labor difficult in this humidity. There are still some mornings left, however, and those we fill with the last bit of planting on the upper terrace. Charles has been an angel of a garden worker.

Just some shots of the present state of things on the lower terrace (more about the upper terrace in a few days, the before and after shots):

Charles loves to grow strawberries, so we're trying a strawberry pot dedicated to this. What a novel idea it is to grow strawberries in a strawberry pot!

This is one of my grandmother pots-- painted and peeling, now. Daddy painted a pair of them to match the painted cottage his mother lived in until her death at 98 years of age. Some trailing miniature petunias should spruce this up later in the season:

In between all of this I have been stitching on my soluble fabric design and cleaning out closets and drawers. Good Will has been the recipient of a lot of "stuff" lately, with even more to go! How good it feels to pack away suits I will never wear again, wall hangings/pictures I have used and can now surrender. Moving into a smaller place has its yeas and nays. On the yea side, there is always the clearing out. I am prompted to this action because I cringe to think of what Jordan and Julie will say to one another as they do the final clearing out one day!

A Mermaid Visitor

2011-04-12T08:55:00.000-04:00

She came home with us from Savannah, and she watches over the fountain and the flowers, such as the poppies

and the dogwood.

And the agapanthus, though they aren't planted just yet.

Sketchbook: Out On A Limb

2011-04-12T08:48:00.001-04:00

This is my response to the April theme in the Sketchbook Challenge. Charles just bought a new birdbath, and this is my bit of thinking on the back yard and the coddling nature of his relationship with the greedy little birds there. Not that I object, but the birds do have a nice go of it back in their "spa" territory.

We are hoping to have cardinals nest in the trees in back, and there are worms in the compost pile for the robins. A feeder that is meant only for little birdies (no fat squirrels) hangs over a slate-floored dining room for the bigger birds and the squirrels and chipmunks. Now, the birdbath. What decent-minded bird could look the management in the eye and ask for more?

Color in the back yard

2011-04-12T08:40:00.000-04:00

Well, the neighborhood has turned up a bit of bright laundry hanging here and there over my fence. I wonder if anyone will notice? There was just enough breeze to dry everything in the sun, bright and beautiful, in a half hour!

This scrim was dyed with Acrylic inks. I used my favorite roll-it-into-a-ball-in-rubber-gloved-hands technique. The inks are permanent and waterproof, so they shouldn't interfere with the washing process of the soluble film. They will be good for the soluble fabric program at Marcia's house on Wednesday.

Hunter-Gathering: Garden Containers

2011-04-09T09:28:00.004-04:00

Since I can no longer get down and play in the dirt, I must bring the dirt up to me if I am to glory in dirty fingernails and ruined socks, badges of the true gardener. I am in full swing, now, looking for containers so I may garden on a raised level. And there is no shortage of interesting containers to be found.

I have an idea of planting sage, an edible salvia, in a tower of stacked pots. I saw something similar to this idea in a book recently, so I am dragging poor Charles out to take photos of and make notes about pots, and to possibly ferry them to the truck and into the patio and garden area. What a jewel of a husband!

Pictures to follow! Wish us luck!

p.m.: Well, pictures in a book can be very tempting. Deceiving might be more apt a description. Finding the pots was not so easy. This may be a project for another time.

Soluble Fabrics: Garden Frame

2011-03-31T18:53:00.000-04:00

Because we are exploring soluble fabrics, I have posted two items at Free The Stitches. Please check there if you are interested in the techniques related to Solubles.

Thanks!

Soluble Fabrics: Butterfly

2011-03-31T18:12:00.001-04:00

If you are interested in using soluble fabrics, check out my posting on Free The Stitches, the group blog set up for sharing projects amongst our stitching group.

Acrylic Inks and Rainy Days

2011-03-31T17:43:00.000-04:00

The rain came in the night, falling blindly into the dark and waking me with its music. My dreams were of sunlight, though. I was visiting solitary places and talking to someone I could not see, just behind my shoulder. When I woke, I realized it must have been the rain I had been chatting to . . .

Rain focuses me, makes me see details, where the sun can distract me. Today's weather seemed the perfect time to try something new. From reading an article in Quilting Arts Magazine, I was inspired to try the Daler-Rowney FW Acrylic Artists Inks that Judy Coates Perez used for her experiments. I have been fascinated by the idea of inks on fabric, and have tried several manufacturers' inks over the years, but these sounded more promising than those I had previously used.

The inks responded beautifully to fabrics in both wet and dry states. These are some of the results I obtained with the six-bottle "primary color" set (though I don't remember sepia or green being primaries . . . ?).

This first little piece began life as a scrap of ivory linen from an old summer dress. I used Sepia, Magenta, and Red in a lot of sweeping strokes and dots:

This second scrap was a white-on-white cotton print, which is a fabric I love to play with because the printed design acts as a resist. This fabric will make a lovely small spot of interest in a piece that might otherwise use plain silks and linen. I like to make my own marks with stitch and interesting thread, so too much competition from printed fabric can be an overload of lines to be deciphered:

While in Savannah I found cotton organza at Fabrika. It began calling my name as I moved toward the back room, so I absolutely and positively HAD to take some home with me. I laid a thick, rough piece of linen under it as I painted the organza, and got a pale result— the sort of thing that will be most interesting when laid over other pieces of fabric. I will photograph it when it is used; it does not show well by itself, it is so pale and transparent.

I have a small bag of bits and pieces that I occasionally delve in to for color experiments. Some of these are ridiculously small, but they serve a purpose when I want to try out a paint color or when I need some small piece of contrasting texture. I painted a handful of these scraps by altering the dye recipe in small increments. The colors all blend well, with this common base.

None of these techniques are what the inks are really meant for. Inks can write and draw on fabric, can be laid down on fabrics already printed, painted, or dyed, and stand out. This is something I will do when I am sure of the colors and the point of thinning that causes the inks to bloom. Right now, it is enough to see how different fabrics take the acrylic ink.

This is a piece I used for ink drawing just a few weeks ago. I used a permanent ink and some brightly-colored but non-permanent inks in this experiment. After the ink had dried, I ironed it on the linen setting, then sprayed the surface with a light misting of water to check for colorfastness. It is obvious which of the inks was the permanent one. Unfortunately, the manufacturer does not carry a large selection of colors in this permanent product, so I did not pursue the idea. Limited color range always stops me cold.

And along with the inks used for drawing and writing, I have some hand-carved stamps that might be interesting if . . . .

To be continued . . .

Savannah!

2011-03-29T10:09:00.000-04:00

I no longer wait for the spring. In touseled-headed splendor, mid to late spring waited for me in Savannah— azaleas, vines, especially wisteria, sagging with lavender bundles of blooms and going wild, dogwoods, pear trees past blooming and now in darkening leaf . . . From starting as a beautiful old city, Savannah has gone to being knock-out gorgeous! The best sketchbook would be one filled with page after page of color splashes, very little drawn imagery.

On Tuesday, my most musical friend Sharon and I drove around and about the city while our husbands judged a district choral festival. We had lunch at Clary's, then drove to Bay Street and took the precarious stairs and cobblestones down to River Street, where we sought ice cream. Sitting by the river was a slow-you-down experience, and it put me in the Savannah State Of Mind, which is several notches slower than Atlanta. Much nicer.

Wednesday was the end of Charles' working at the choral festival, as a judge, and we drove out to Tybee to the Mermaid's Tale Cottage, our home until Monday morning. My sister, Michelle, and her friend, Billy, met us there. The next day, her daughter, Nahum and friend, George, arrived. And Friday night, Julie, Jordan, and the Adorables drove up, so that, on Saturday morning, we were a big group around the breakfast table.

The Mermaid's Tale is a cottage decorated for families with children. There are mermaids in every room, up in the chandelier, in a screen in front of the fireplace, swimming across the walls, guiding sea horses above the kitchen sink . . . And finding them became the focus of Bethy's morning. There were squeals of happiness when another mermaid was discovered, and even Ethan got into the action.

But on Sunday morning, Ethan and Bethy came creeping out of their room. Ethan looked at my sister and me and said he was looking for someone who was fixing breakfast! Being three years old and thinking of your stomach before anything else must be a wonderfully uncluttered way to live!

At the beach with the children, there were so many interesting things to look at, so many patterns and subtle colors . . .

If you click on the photo of the wave breaking, you can see the stop-action capture of the droplets. Waves can be endlessly fascinating!

After the Adorables left, the cottage was too quiet, and Michelle and I drove to Bonaventure Cemetery. These pictures show how beautiful and peaceful the cemetery was.

I have a soft spot for picket fence gardens, remembering my grandmother's yard. This one is from Bluffton, just a bit up the coast from Savannah, where friends live:

It could have been a perfect visit, but a storm came to the island in the evening and continued into the night. I woke up at 2:30 a.m., and for a moment I thought my eyes were gummed together, the darkness was so thick and deep. I felt my face and discovered my eyes were, indeed, opened, and this darkness so intense you could almost feel it came from the entire island being without power! The next morning was wet and cold— down to 45˚F from the 84˚F of the day before! Everything was penetratingly cold and damp, and we turned on the heat in the car to make the five-hour trip back upstate.

Home was a welcomed sight, but cold— it had stormed here for two days. The heat has been running for four and a half hours and is not up to more than bearable temperature yet. Brrrr! I should not have dismissed the winter so casually last week.

A "Gift" Garden

2011-03-18T12:23:00.002-04:00

Charles and I finished, yesterday, with the day lily bed for Julie and Jordan. It is long, twelve or fifteen feet, and about three feet deep. Without the wide-angle lens, this is the best I could do for a picture:

If you double this, you'll have a feeling for the scope of the project. When the blooming starts, it will be lovely because the lilies are in the perfect place, now. They have space to grow (they are planted in four rows) and they have a backdrop— the wood timber wall. Most importantly, they are not encroaching on any thing and can spread out and be happy campers. No sword of Damocles hangs over their head here as in my garden.

And while we were there, the Princess was receiving petitioners for a hug:

And Ethan was (as usual) in motion:

Such is life here at the edge of the meglopolis.

Life in Flux

2011-03-17T09:06:00.002-04:00

After the visit to my hip surgeon on Tuesday, life has set off on a slightly different current for me. I did not realize that I must not kneel down on all fours. That is injurious to the new joint, I was told. I must never again think about kneeling, squatting, or running. Well, the running is a non-issue with me. But kneeling in the dirt or to clean up spills and floor messes, and squatting to see to a child or to take a photo? It seems a little cruel. I now have these truly adorable grandchildren to love and a steeply sloping yard for gardening, and rather than plunging into it with arms thrown wide, I must re-think how I do any of it.

Solutions: I will have a chair nearby for any meltdowns from the children, and I will turn my energies to container potting— right after Charles and I get the perennials in. I have found that I can dig left-footedly, so if I dig, perhaps he will be kind enough to get close to the ground and set the plants in place. And I do have a start on an outstanding collection of pots (in Knoxville the ground was too rough, and I put pots on the deck and gardened there for the most part), which I will expand. With the large pots, I can still break soil between my fingers and sit in a chair and plant things. . .

And when all the hard work is done, I can look out the windows of the studio and stitch the shapes and colors that are the result of our labors. Soon Charles will open the fountain, all the little ground creepers will be put between the stones of the patio, and life will settle into late spring and early summer routines. Not being able to kneel in the dirt is certainly a more than fair trade-off for having no pain and needing to be careful of where and how I walk.

Meanwhile, I have taken a book down from the shelf and am immersed in studying Stitch Dissolve Distort with machine embroidery by Valerie Campbell-Harding and Maggie Grey. I wrote about it on Free the Stitches this morning, so pop over and take a peek, if you have a moment.

Rain Today

2011-03-15T13:24:00.002-04:00

I suppose this means that Charles won the day: rain, beginning in the night, and going on and on and on . . .

Georgia Gardening Explained

2011-03-14T16:03:00.000-04:00

This is Georgia. Even though we are north of Atlanta, it is still Georgia, which means we have until the end of May or maybe first of June (if we have a cool, long Spring) to get everything done, or we'll die of heat exhaustion by procrastinating. So any hopes of a beautiful Summer garden start and end here, in the Spring months..

We dug Day Lilies today and took two and a half wheelbarrows full of the little green darlings to Julie and Jordan. We showed up at their front door in old clothes and garden gloves and explained that we had arrived to put in Day Lilies for them. Jordan looked from Charles to me and back and then called to Julie (smart guy; I raised him juuuuust right!). They both offered to help, but we had not meant to interrupt their lunch and change their day's plans. We could have just dropped of the plants, but that would have been to give them another job they don't have the time to finish. We, on the other hand, have the time and some smattering of interest in planting.

In another three wheelbarrows, I will have the Day Lilies out of the upper terrace, or at least the part where the lavender will be planted, and the bed that we've begun to fill at son's house will be done. I caught Charles on his knees this afternoon praying for rain tomorrow, so we may be delayed a bit.

When the perennials are in the ground, I can start on the containers. Charles doesn't moan so much about my container garden habit.

Next is to finish my list for a long and serious trip to the nursery. We have kept my Ford pick-up truck expressly for moments like this!

Garden Weekend I, 2011

2011-03-13T13:30:00.000-04:00

Well, I know now how the Thyme and Scotch Moss will make its way from container to spaces between stones of the patio: Charles. I got started with him, but he outlasted me. After dragging me up from the ground once, I found ways to do "upright" jobs while he dug out and set the plugs of thyme. We got about a third of the way through the process with a dozen 3" pots, so we're searching for more (we cleared the shelf at Autumn Hill yesterday). It is to rain tomorrow, so we'll do our hunter-gathering in preparation for the next dry day.

Our birdbath crashed last year, and our bird visitors have given us accusatory looks, so a new bird spa is on the list, along with the Thyme and Scotch Moss.

We have buckets and buckets of orange day lilies to spread amongst friends and family. They obscure the azaleas, and are on the fast track to Never-Never-Again Land. Drop me a line and let me know how many you would like (free delivery on orders of 50 or more).

In the Garden

2011-03-13T08:42:00.002-04:00

Yesterday Charles and I spent time at Autumn Hill Nursery. What a wonderful place to find plants and planting advice! The nicest surprise was that I found old-fashioned Hollyhocks, in pinks and peach, to plant along the bedroom side of the house. There are three beds there between the steps to the lower front of the house and the upper, where the studio and main garden areas are. I had Hollyhocks one year in Knoxville, but the next year someone went out to weed for me and pulled up the alleged intruders . . . . I have embarked upon a strong plan of education since that time.

I found these photos of Hollyhocks on line:

The bonus is this: I have moved my much-loved drafting table so that I have light falling over my left shoulder. This turning of the table means I have a perfect view of the Hollyhock plantings! Bethy and I will have the benefit of Azaleas, Lantana, the tiny daffodils and tall tulips, and now the Hollyhocks for drawing during the spring and summer. If the roses on the fence survive Warren's energetic pruning, we will even having climbing roses for a short month in the summer.

Charles and I also began planting the border lining the walk between the house and studio. I've started with pink salvia. Getting down to dig and plant is a monumental effort. Somehow I thought the new hip would make things easier, but not for this ground-level effort. I don't know how I'll get the little Thyme and Scotch Moss between the slates of the patio, now. Poor Charles— I never meant for this to be his job. I love the smell of earth and the feel of composted soil between my fingers. Theodore Roethke, quite naturally, is one of my favorite poets. His poetry is peppered with images drawn from the greenhouses of his childhood. In two lines (from "Root Cellar") he gives meaning to my love of gardens and gardening:

Nothing would give up life:

Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

This year, I imagine my sketchbooks of seed pods and flowers will begin to bulge. Hope so, anyway.

Playing (at my age!!!)

2011-03-07T09:24:00.000-05:00

No more cleaning, sorting, or organizing in the studio! I've gone waaaaaay beyond spring cleaning, here, and except for the occasional floor sweeping when the outside mat and inside rug let little bits of leaves cross the Rubicon of the door sill, housework in Studio 508 has come to an end for the foreseeable future.

Today's assignment is to gather a collection of examples of water soluble fabrics to share with the Freestylers on Wednesday. Turning the pages of books with exciting and inspiring photographs of fiber and fabric is always a good ride, and I end up doodling ideas in sketchbooks for future experimentation. I really wish I could do the same idea over and over again in twelve colorways, but I am not wired to be a production person. Once, with many permutations is the best I can do— which is why my one experience at working with a shop was a failure. I simply could not re-produce something in a client's colors, it always had to be something I was really interested in, and it had to be a different approach each time.

Which is why I have so much work in boxes tucked in different places of the studio.

Today, however, is play day. Let the games begin!

Little Pink Book For Bethy

2011-03-05T13:37:00.001-05:00

This started as an experiment, a new way of making small books that I dreamed up. After removing it from my paper press and sewing the three signatures in place, I wrapped the front and back covers in pink and white striped cotton so it would appeal to Bethy. Her drawing skills have skyrocketed the last several months, and with all the bulbs coming up, she is excited about flowers. What a great combination this could be!

Giving her a book of her own in which she may draw at will would encourage not only her drawing skills but the idea of putting ideas down on paper. If she has several of these sketchbooks on her shelf by the time she begins Kindergarden next fall, she is on her way to the sketchbook/journal-keeping habit. She may wander into the field of art, of music, of literature and poetry— or engineering and higher mathematics. All are candidates for keeping notes for future reference.

This one was made from Mediovalis cards so I didn't have to worry about tearing the paper to be uniform and neat. Uniform and Neat is not something I learned at an early enough age for it to "stick." I love hot-press paper, have several large sheets of it to play with. I may pull them out and start the next book, as it is a rainy day without promise of sun. I have numbers of sketchbooks I have made and used over the years, and maybe it's time to add another to my collection!

Another idea is to use a box for journal/sketchbook pages. I'm still thinking through the pros and cons of that— how would someone as scattered as I keep up with them? Taken out to work on an idea, I have a feeling the pages would simply be subducted in the general earthquake environment of the studio when I'm really in the zone. The idea of a box is simplicity itself . . . maybe too simple?

Driving Hazard

2011-03-04T08:07:00.000-05:00

When we moved from Powell, Tennessee back to the Atlanta area, we never thought to hear such a warning as this:

Driving on Arnold Mill Road (very near us) is hazardous at present because Wild Turkeys are leaping into the road and attacking vehicle tires, pecking them ceaselessly.

I don't know where to place my sympathies, with the turkeys or the tires.

The Inner Voice of Authority

2011-03-03T21:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was an all-wrong day. NOTHING, just absolutely NOTHING went well, except that the Adorables were better than usual, more loving, more interested in including me in their play and discussions. Lack of sleep for a week had just about done me in. So I went to bed early last night and told myself I WOULD feel good this morning, and I WOULD have a good day. Perhaps because my inner voice is almost as intimidating as James Earl Jones' most serious tone, I woke up feeling quite nice, thank you.

And ready to play!

All was well. The morning buzzed by in a blur of studio tasks that were actually fun, lunch was a wonderful bit of quiche my niece left me over the weekend, and I wrapped everything up just in time to pick up the Adorables from school. We had a snack, Ethan used the potty not once, but TWICE (!!!), and we went out to enjoy the sunny afternoon. We would play until 4:30, when I would take the children home and we would have dinner there tonight.

Then things changed. The power went out. I couldn't get the car out of the garage (duuh), and placing a power outage report is now a major, blood pressure-raising ordeal, as you have to know account numbers or social security numbers to leave a report via phone. No human interface. On top of that, I don't pay the bills, and Charles is out of town so he couldn't tell me we are not Georgia Power Customers . . . .

James Earl Jones' voice became small and child-like as I began to unravel.

In the end, Jordan came and picked us up, we had a delightful meal (he was the chef), and when Julie came home from the hospital, he brought me home to a house with lights shining brightly. No matter how true it might be, it can be difficult to remember that it could have been so much worse when you are in the throes of power outage.

It is good to be home and ready to go to bed. It is after 9:30, so I won't embarrass myself too badly by going to bed with the chickens. Tomorrow will be a good day. It WILL be good.

Enchanted Forest

2011-03-01T09:16:00.004-05:00

These little embroideries have been clipped in one of my "trees" sketchbooks for years, and I'm now having serious thoughts about bringing them into the light of day, giving them wall space in the house.

The original inspiration came from a trip to Savannah many years ago, when the bark of the so-numerous varieties of palm trees became a fascination. I couldn't sketch it properly, couldn't reproduce it in thread— it was/is simply a love and ongoing challenge to play with all that texture over and again. Visiting Savannah in January, I meant to work on windows, architectural motifs, but the trees kept drawing me to them . . .

I like re-visiting ideas after a number of years to try new techniques I've learned along the way, adding new materials and new ways of seeing to ideas that have been of interest for some time. If a subject is interesting enough to spend time sketching and observing it, that interest often stays with me for years, decades, and I can re-shape the original ideas into something else over a period of time.

When we return at the end of this month, I will be lucky to have my sister with me, who is the artist of the family. Her preferred medium is pastels, though she can make any medium perform beautifully. I hope she and I will have some sketchbook time while we're there. And the trees . . . I think they'll call my name again.

Yes. In siren voices.

(Still) Waiting for the Spring

2011-02-24T08:38:00.000-05:00

Pollens abound, though they are mostly cedar and elm at present. I have ceased to wonder how pollen can be out and about in February, but my runny nose is irrefutable evidence of this puzzle.

And more bulbs are pushing up— the early tulips, now, and daffodils that have been up for almost two weeks are trembling in their anxiety to swell their buds and burst into color. Imagine the eagerness of the bulbs to open eyes upon the world! Like little children learning the pathways that will store memories through the rest of their lives.

We are promised rain tomorrow, which will be good for these thirsty new beauties.

A Little Housekeeping in the Studio

2011-02-23T19:18:00.001-05:00

That title is misleading. I don't know how to do a little of anything! I took one corner and began to work on it. While the optimum way to clean is to take everything out and only put back what you want or need (or suddenly find a place for) there is just no possible way I can do that— not if I plan to survive and drag it all back in again.

There were a lot of choices of messy places, but after careful consideration, I started with the fabric cabinet. The cabinet is very old, a seven foot tall oak thing that was originally in a hospital in North Georgia. I've removed the six doors and have fabric (mostly fat quarters) on the upper shelves.

The lower part, also doorless, now houses my work (in plastic flat boxes), two crates of silks, and a large collection of scraps of cottons, and some odd weaves in larger pieces. The scraps are useful when I need just a little piece of something. Since I work in small scale, I don't need a great deal of anything, but I do need a lot of those anythings.

Going through the scraps to put them all in one large, rectangular basket, I found pieces from the blouses my mother used to sew. She made all her clothes, and often re-created things she had seen in magazines or shops rather than make the purchase of a new item. It was the challenge that inspired her. She taught us to sew when we were little, and I was wearing clothes I made myself when I was in high school. What a blessing to have learned that skill so young, and to have been taught by such an excellent seamstress.

Today I need to tidy things a bit— there is so often more mess from a large, serious clean-up than when I started— and take back the table tops! Carol Warren is coming tomorrow to direct the hanging of the pictures in the house (no one on the planet does this as well as Carol; her house is like a very smart up-scale gallery), and we will, of course, visit the studio. I would hate to hang my head in shame over its scattered, day-to-day condition. Other parts of the studio I will sort and tidy on next week, until I've worked my way completely around the room. I need to have one more piece of furniture to completely hold everything without the nine boxes stacked on a rickety shelf, but finding that is an ongoing project. By the time I find it, however, I may have used up all the knitting yarn I had planned to store in it!

Today also offers me a chance to go to the grocery store! I have progressed so well at walking that I can even make the rounds of the Kroger and Publix markets, and Charles' meager selections are now supplemented by interesting things to eat. Charles is a good man, but he has yet to fully comprehend that there is life beyond meat, potatoes, and ice cream.

Waiting for the Spring

2011-02-19T16:53:00.000-05:00

Last night, when I looked up and saw the moon through the bare branches of the trees, I was reminded of this embroidery. The photo is part of a rug I made for a miniature house I found in an antique store sometime in the 1980s. The resident of the house became Aunt Beulah, and she like luxurious textiles around her. This rug was for her living room, but when it was done, it was so vibrant the furniture simply disappeared in all the line and color on the floor. She returned it to "N.Claiborne and Associates," the company she hired (because they were the cheapest) to make repairs on her house and to order furnishings for her.

I digress.

But last night, for some reason, I remembered that rug and the tangle of the trees and the moon against a grey wool flannel sky. . .

And when I was moving something today I came across this piece, from 2007.

It was made using my embellisher and dyed roving, with only the simplest of embroidery stitches to suggest the early spring. The two embroideries, twenty years apart, express my feelings now of simply waiting for the spring to come. Even if there is another roar of winter, I have seen daffodils pushing through to the sunlight, and Mary Kate, in New England has photographic proof of new, green grass under the semi-thawing snow, and Gail on the coast of South Carolina is enjoying the sun and her golf cart. So, I'm waiting.

Couching Stitches

2011-02-19T13:03:00.002-05:00

The Knoxville group is beginning a study of the Beaney-Littlejohn Stitch Magic next month, and I will be the leader. In preparing for it I have been working on the first of the stitches Double Trouble takes up, Couching Stitch.

Poor, maligned stitch! In their latest video, the pair asserts that a stitcher might take up a single stitch and study it the rest of her/his life and still not know everything there is to discover about that stitch. That may be the most important thing they ever bring to their teaching. I have experienced that realization as I worked— and continue to work— on my experimental sampler of the humble couching stitch. As the stitch is a line stitch, one very similar to a drawn line except the medium is thread rather than paint or pencil, I am not sure if all the permutations actually help the line or simply decorate it. Whatever the "official" take on all this experimentation, it has not been a task, but more of a delightful treat for myself.

The sampler is being worked on scraps of linen fabric that have been stitched together to form a surface of irregularly sized and placed blocks in cream, olive, beige, and white. The stitching uses, primarily, shades of green. It isn't a finished sampler yet (and may never be), but the journey is so interesting I hope the destination and finish is in the far distance, yet.

Aren't these little guys neat? Fly stitches with a little extra spice added for punch:

The waving lines above are from spools of cotton weaving thread (I have a full cabinet of these wonderful cones) that are stitched down, a single line at a time. My holding down thread is a linen so fine it would be quite passable in my sewing machine!

More stitching to do on it-- I see a wonderful place for French Knots above the altered Fly Stitches . . .

February Spring

2011-02-16T20:24:00.001-05:00

When I was a little girl we had snow in the winter in Atlanta. Only once. It was polite snow, it covered everything neatly, then it melted and went away and our winters returned to being mildly chilly staging points for the spring. And now there is talk of snow plows in the region's budgets, of pickle brine to keep the streets de-iced— Wow! What a change from the charm of the 1950's snow women we made with my Grandmother's cast-off hats!

Today, however, the spring slipped in and brought a 70˚ day! Maybe a gift, after all the snow, ice, rain, extreme cold? If so, my thanks for the gift!

Colors of the Soul: A Tree

2011-02-01T15:50:00.001-05:00

This little piece began from a scrap of fabric I over-painted in the studio, and a bag full of incredible yarn and silk thread I bought at the French Knot, in Savannah. It is a tree, and the thought behind the embroidery is that all the colors of a lifetime might still be in the tree, buried inside like a pallet of watercolors waiting for the water that brings them to life.

O.K. I just lost anyone stumbling over this blog, I'm sure. But think of it-- the leaves, the seasons, the mosses, the rains and snows and brilliant sunshine that all go into the life of a tree are lovely colors. And I could not give the idea up, once I saw the scrap of fabric laid against a rectangle of brown linen.

Most of the stitches are some form of a Chain Stitch, a Bullion Knot, or Straight Stitch. The different weights of thread give its dimensional quality.

Some close-ups of the tree. Enjoy!

I left the ravelling threads in place, as they seemed a part of the wabi-sabi nature of the piece.

As the stitches are layered in places, the texture is really stand-out.

Artist Trading Cards

2011-02-01T14:18:00.001-05:00

ATCs are little artistic gems, the size of baseball trading cards. It is always amazing to me to see what can be done with 2 1/2" x 3 1/2" of surface.

The Freestylers are having a Valentine's Day ATC exchange at our February meeting, and I've been working on my card. And there are others to be given ATCs as well, so the ideas have been popping up right and left as I ply my needle at my embroidery table.

I assembled five of the hearts for an exhibit in Knoxville this weekend for the Heart Association:

Peggy was kind enough to pick them up as she and Bob passed through Atlanta on their way home from Florida.

These are some older ATCs I've made and kept simply because I like them. The first was cut up from a large piece of black fabric I found in the 1980s and used as a place to play with needle and thread:

Fabric suitable for free-style embroidery (i.e., non-evenweave fabric) was much more difficult to come by then than now. The next two are a pair, a sort of winter-summer look at a stem and its foliage. Leaves springing from a curling stem will always make my heart light. They seem so ready for something, anything at all, to come their way.

I will continue to dig and find the others I've set aside for myself. The idea that this tiny format can hold beautiful ideas is fascinating, isn't it? But then, I suppose the collectors of baseball cards feel a bit like that, too, don't they?

Beautiful Savannah

2011-01-27T20:44:00.002-05:00

In the dead of winter, having left home in the rain yesterday, we have come to Savannah and all the glory of January on the coast. Savannah is such a graceful lady! Besides being so architecturally interesting, there is a great deal of interesting shopping here. Little, unique places. My friend from childhood lives near here in Bluffton, and she scoped out three great places for me.

Fabrika is a small fabric and etcs. shop with big impact. It is on Abercorn, in an interesting area one block from one of the famous squares, and just around the corner from a delightful cafe Charles and I used to frequent. I was in danger of going off the deep end with the fabrics (are you gasping with surprise or rolling your eyes?), decided on two children's prints and some linen, bamboo, and cotton for experimentation in the next few weeks. http://www.fabrikafinefabrics.com/

The French Knot, on Whitaker, is a shop for embroiderers. OMG, but it is organized so well! Found some thread I didn't know about, so I had to have a bit to play with. Tentakulum, a German thread company, makes a line called "Painter's Threads." I have used a number of threads from Tetakulum, so when I saw the "Painter's Shimmer Ribbon," I couldn't walk away from them! And stranded silk in lovely families of colors. I was thinking about how nice it would be to combine the thread(s) with some of my Fabrika treasures. http://www.french-knot.com/

Wild Fibre. This was the hard one to find. It is upstairs, across from the DeSoto Hilton on Liberty Street. But it was quite worth the trip up the stairs (I still have great difficulty with stairs, unfortunately). The shop is small, but the selection was obviously hand-picked for knitters, crocheters, felters, spinners, and weavers. It was such a pleasure to see the different types of roving, the hand-spun yarns, and even cone threads. http://www.wildfibreyarns.com/

When we go back to Savannah in March, I'll have to re-visit these places. No, I said that wrong. I meant to say, I'll HAVE to re-visit these places.

Sketchbooks/Studio Journals

2011-01-24T11:05:00.001-05:00

For weeks, months really, life has been driving itself and I've been half-dozing in the passenger seat. Late last week, as I finished up some pieces in the studio, I realized that creative thought was giving way to fatigue. I began wandering between stacks of fabric, bowls of thread, and boxes of wool, hoping for some tactile inspiration. I found lace insertion I'd set aside to color (last summer) and began to wind it onto a creel— all 50 tangled yards of it. Still nothing.

Eventually I got to the bookcase and paused at the sketchbooks. They were like magnets, and I took one from its shelf, then another. It was a moment of re-visiting ideas, like a chat with old friends. I carried one to the drafting table, opened a new sketch book and reached for a pencil. It was obvious, after only a few minutes, that all these weeks of not drawing or making notes had taken a toll. Once I started doodling and drawing, however, I couldn't stop the ideas from spilling out! Blessed old journals— just handling them reminds me of how much energy they hold.

I settled into pen and ink, filling a page with black ink doodles in a Zen manner of concentrating. I slowed down and drew circles that more nearly resembled circles than my usual quick sketch, really watched where the curved line bent, and I filled in the open spaces carefully, staying right within the lines (just like I was supposed to do in first grade and never did). Every mark had purpose and connection. Even my heart rate slowed, and I could feel my own breathing. I was "in the zone."

Next I sketched one of my favorite veggies from notes I'd made for a pastel drawing class I took with my sister winter before last.

I went to the sewing machine and did a free-machine embroidery based on my pencil sketch (two bulbs of garlic is always better than one).

Glancing around the embroidery table, I realized that the Little House theme has been exhausted, but the idea of windows interests me, windows as seen from the outside of a house, and very abstract. The best source of ideas is to walk or drive through old neighborhoods, where the architecture is apt to be more interesting. Coincidentally, we are making a short trip to Savannah this week, where interesting architecture is the only game in town, so I should have ideas by the dozens when I'm back in the studio.

If you want inspiration to get back into working in a studio journal from more than a dozen contributing artists, go to this new website: http://sketchbookchallenge.blogspot.com/

Friday I made a trip to Blick for a few pencils and the experience was so good I went back on Saturday! Gradually, I am getting myself together again, and even driving short distances. I had forgotten how exciting a trip to an art supply store could be— and how much more exciting to unwrap everything and try out the new toys.

New Blog

2011-01-20T15:23:00.000-05:00

Check out the new Blog our fiber art group has launched! If you like things that are just a little bit different, you might enjoy what this group does.

http://freethestitches.blogspot.com

Itty-Bitty Houses

2011-01-15T22:09:00.001-05:00

When Charles brought a box to the studio and said he'd just found it, I had no idea it would be filled with some very interesting pieces of fabric. It has been downstairs for over a year, marked as something else entirely. One of the fabrics is a piece of Swiss cotton gauze, delicate and very, very sheer. This became the idea for the Itty Bitty Houses.

The houses are constructed in layers, again, but not embroidered so heavily as their larger siblings. The topmost layer is the Swiss gauze, but beneath are pale linens, silks, tea-dyed napkin scraps and/or vintage lace, and each of the doors is a finger snipped from an old glove. The edges are raveled in keeping with my thoughts about the necessity (or lack of it) of hiding beautiful raw edges.

House 1: A house for lovers

House 2: A house for dreamers

House 3: A house for growing old together

And Another Party House

2011-01-15T20:53:00.000-05:00

Making the blue Tea Party House was too much fun, and before I even finished it, I had a second of these lively little houses in the works. Imagine having these two bright houses in your neighborhood! Or, maybe you do have two such places in your neighborhood, and one is next door and you spend a lot of time there, sipping tea and reaching for the hot scones and marmalade?

The contrasting colors, blue and orange, set up a tension of complements. I used the warm colors to keep the heat turned up, with a little bright blue stitched in for contrast. The roof is blue cotton velveteen, and the house proper is a piece of hand-dyed wool fabric. The white door is kid leather, a scrap from an old, brittle glove. The red roundels are held in place by a stack of three seed beads.

The edging is a combination of scraps of scrim, yarn, perle cotton, novelty yarn— whatever I could find that looked loose and interesting. I have the notion that the folks who live in this little house are less concerned about things being nicely organized than whether or not the kettle is on to boil.

Tea Party Cottage

2011-01-15T20:35:00.000-05:00

Ah, the perfect little cottage— maybe on the beach? Down the street? Or, perhaps in a space of the imagination. The place you visit and smile as you turn into the yard because you know there's a cup of tea waiting for you, maybe a cucumber sandwich, and ironed linen napkins . . . Stitched samplers on the wall with "Home Sweet Home" themes, and flowers and frilly doilies, too.

The base is layers of felted and embellished wool with couched threads, seed beads, sequins and turquoise roundels creating the surface design. The roof is crowned with an antique decorative piece (gift from Anne!), and the cotton velveteen upstairs window is encircled by seed beads of vivid color.

The roof was inspired by photographs of ancient Italian roof-tiles. There is almost a carousel look to it— appropriate to a house where there is much laughter, good food and friends.

A lovely, beckoning place where fresh scones are in the oven, one of the Brandenburg Concertos is playing in the background, and the tea canisters are lined up on the scrubbed pine sideboard, just waiting for you to choose your favorite brew. Everyone needs a place like this.

Studio Time

2011-01-10T10:58:00.000-05:00

Finally, some studio time! Times get busy, but when the Busy Times go on too long and I can't get to the right brain playground, I have all the symptoms of withdrawal. This roughly 4" square has become my "new" working size, one that fits neatly in my hand. Working in small scale has the advantage over large projects (to me) in that the small pieces draw you into the work. Have you ever noticed people at a gallery leaning in to examine the details of a small piece? They are seeing the story unfold in the tiny stitched (drawn/painted/etched) lines and bits of color. With large works the viewer instinctively takes a step backward to gain space to see the larger view. Even as I work, the small, intimate piece pulls me inside and I have an ongoing conversation with the coming-into-being piece as I work. For me, this back-and-forth is more difficult with a larger work.

And I have a great fondness for rows of straight stitches and couched lines . . .

Periodically I "rediscover" beads, and these past couple of weeks have been a beading frenzy! On November 15th I posted some "Zentangle" embroideries. These I did while resting in the house, away from the studio, trying to keep my hands busy shortly after surgery. When I was more able to move between house and studio, the beads took hold, and I went back into the pieces and re-worked them, even added another little piece to the collection. They make nice inspirations for other work, a sort of catalog of texture and line possibilities that I keep on the work table near the beads.

Can you see the beads tucked into the little places here, on top of the stitched lines and on the buttons?

The fun here was working around the piece of hemp scrim to the right of center. This piece feels very good in the hand, as it is built on layers of heavy felted wool.

Details:

This is a study in layering, ways of keeping the natural edge without having too much raveling. The stitches are truly quilting stitches here.

With the beads added, the already highly-textured surface just got better!

One more: This one has layers of cottons over the wool, and after the beading was done, it is too sturdy for words. So much nicer than a limp piece of cotton or linen!

Now, if I can find a way to plow through the snow to the studio (yes, that is an exaggeration; 6" is not a call for a snow plow) I have some little houses to photograph. If I could persuade Charles to don snow shoes, and use my hair dryer and a large shaker of salt . . .

White Christmas

2011-01-01T09:01:00.002-05:00

My family gathered at our house for Christmas Brunch, and we had the pleasure of watching three little children go into uber-excited mode as the snow began falling. The snow was even more fun than their gifts— for a moment, anyway.

There has been no snowfall on Christmas Day since 1896, according to stats from the Oak Ridge laboratory monitoring air quality, so we Southerners are quite excited over the event. People moving here from more northerly points don't have our sense of awe over snow falling. We also aren't acquainted with "snirt," which a North Dakotan explained to me several years ago was a combination of snow and dirt (our snow doesn't linger long enough to mingle with dirt!).

Some photos of the snow-bound yard:

I thought our three inches of snow was unparalleled excitement, but my New England friend Mary Kate has a photo of her outside table and chairs that eclipses this paltry snow— the table is completely hidden, and only the tops of the four chairs peek above the pile of snow on the deck!

And the front yard from the entryway. Not a day to make a jaunt to the mailbox!

Christmas Week

2010-12-22T09:36:00.005-05:00

The Adorables were with us yesterday. When they entered the house the first thing they noticed was the hearth covered with wrapped presents. Ethan's little face became a study in happy absorption as he asked, "Which one is for me?" Bethy, though, didn't ask. She went directly to the hearth and studied the labels, finally announcing, "That one is mine. I see the 'B' on it." I did not dispute this, as her tone was not a question, and she needed no reassurance. A woman who knows how to get the job done!

We moved from the house to the studio, where Ethan climbed into my lap to make more Christmas ornaments at one of the work tables, and Bethy chose to look into every nook and cranny of the studio (there are many!). They can recite the lines to "Santa Claus is coming to town." We do it as a call-and-response:

Me: "You better watch out. . ."
Adorables: "You better not cry. . ."
Me: "Better not pout. . ."
Adorables: "I'm telling you why. . ."
All Together: "Santa Claus is coming to town."

This through the entire song! They both went to great lengths to assure me that they are on the "Nice" list, that they have both been much too good to be on the "Naughty" list.

I think Christmas Day will be the loveliest day we've spent in a long, long time!

Week Seven

2010-12-16T14:28:00.000-05:00

I am now a little more than seven weeks past hip replacement surgery, and it could be that life is returning to normal (whatever that is!). I walk unaided some of the day ("slow and deliberate; good," my doctor said on Tuesday), and I occasionally bend far enough to pick things up that have fallen to the floor. This is still not easy, but it is coming.

I have been (most irregularly) to the studio, and I still find that to be my favorite haunt. Yesterday the Adorables were with us after school, and I took them studio-ing with me. It was a nice experience for all three of us— until Ethan had a Code Brown in his pull ups and we had to go inside to the changing table. When I opened the door to the outside I saw (with horror) that it had been sleeting while we were tucked so cozily in the studio, and before I could call to him to be careful, Ethan had slipped on the ice and fallen. I was slow-motion walking so I didn't fall, too, but Bethy, ever the agile and graceful sprite, was sliding along in her boots and enjoying herself immensely. Granddad came out and rescued Ethan and warned me (quite unnecessarily) to be careful. I was wishing he would throw me a rope and just pull me across the patio to the kitchen door. . .

The studio is the Adorables' favorite place to play. Bethy wore a beautiful organdy apron trimmed in pink, a gift from Jill, and she called it her "princess skirt" (anything smacking of the royal life is grist for her mill). There are so many interesting things in the studio that she had no problem keeping occupied; cork stoppers, empty wooden thread spools, tons of paper and pencils or crayons, her own little desk (which had been her dad's and mine as little children), beads, buttons— and when she is really really good, she can organize the pins in one of the pincushions (too many to count). And Ethan has cars there and a small drawing board with an racing oval attached to it that he and I designed one day. There are small lacing boards, too, that fascinate him almost as much as the shiny beads. There are even blocks stored on their tea cart! When all else fails, he curls into himself and rests his head on a stuffed animal.

Today they are with us the entire day, as school is cancelled in Cherokee County due to the icy conditions, and both parents are working. They are napping now, giving my tired voice a rest from reading book after book. When I was a child, the rare treat of having an adult read me a book was simply heavenly, and I love having them in my lap and helping to turn pages as I pass that treat on to them. Charles laughs at the physicality of my reading(I am drawing swoops in the air, changing voices, and generally becoming one with the story), but Bethy and Ethan are rapt. It's a good thing I'm not reading to him— how could I put any personality into a book on the American Revolution, or Jimmy Carter's White House Diary?

Collecting

2010-12-13T08:55:00.002-05:00

"The" season is upon us, and being a list-maker, at the top of that page of "To-Dos" is to remove the gourds from the mantel to make room for the Dickens Village. Once the Village is in place, I start to think like a real Christmas Person.

I am concerned with all the "stuff" in our lives. I was looking at the pine cupboard in the dining room, thinking about removing pieces of the ironstone creamer collection to make room for Christmas decorating. We received a lovely gift from Dennis and it would be perfect in a corner of a cupboard shelf. And the replaced creamers? Or the chocolate pots? Boxed away, of course, in the company of so many other boxes.

I have been a collector since I could remember. My first love was small boxes, where I kept my childhood treasures. Teapots followed— this was a direct influence of my grandmother, the Irish link of Mother's family. My aunt Nancy Cile had Christmas dishes, and I wanted that special dining experience for my own family (which I managed, over a period of years of collecting). And books? My mother was the book worm who encouraged us from an early age to have our own personal libraries of favorites . . .

I wonder now if collecting is becoming a thing of the past, a relic from a time when homes were expected to graciously accommodate the various interests and collections of its inhabitants, when these habits could spill over without the need to be Better-Homes-and-Gardens neat at all times. The perfectly-in-place house always makes me suspect that a very dull group of people live there, and when I am in these spic-and-span homes, I find myself looking for the collection that gives identity to an individual, some small clue to the interests of the family in the house. Today's open floor plans don't lend themselves to corners where children's crayons and books are stored or wall space for displaying drawings, photographs or a shelf of rare antique books. Where in the world would we put an old egg carton that cradled a little rock collection?

Which makes me think twice about the pine cupboard and the creamers. This house is smaller than the one we left in Knoxville, less wall space, not enough book cases or closets. There are boxes and boxes of pictures (many of my own making) that I have no place to hang, so I have not hung anything yet! Is it possible that, at the end of things, a collector should not downsize, but UPsize? And how do you take care of the UPsized home as you age? A dear sister-in-law one time told me, wistfully, that her ideal home was a large concrete-floored room with a drain in the center of it . . .

What a list of questions without answers this is! How do I solve this very knotty problem of re-forming the habits of a lifetime? Is it even possible, at this stage, to aspire to change? Maybe I should not go antiquing any more, not be lured by the gentle, classic shapes of creamers and white china. *Sigh* Glance away from beautiful tea pots. *Double Sigh* Never again ask to see the leather-bound books in the glass cases . . . Use the fragile chocolate pots until they are all broken and the problem of preserving them is solved by simple attrition—

Aaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!! (to quote Snoopy.)

Is there a support group "out there" for collectors wishing to go Cold Turkey?

Item two on today's list: Bring the Dickens Village from the basement closet and become a Christmas Person.

Item three on today's list: Think about everything else Tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is . . . . (thank you, Scarlett).