Little Piece

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!

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!

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?

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

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.