Writing Art

My Valentine's Day was the best day I've ever had, and I got to spend it with Dan -- on the floor in the kitchen with ink, watercolors, and paper!!

I have never just sat down and allowed myself total freedom to just play with no outcome intended. I've always thought about what my "play" was going to turn into. There always had to be a finished product in mind and how to market it, advertise it, sell it... So, what an amazing experience to just sit down on the floor and experiment with brushes, inks, and watercolors along with some instruction from the master.

What was really interesting was that while I was painting I came up with names for these faces. Stories popped into my head and for the life of me the writer in me was exposed!! Woo hoo!

And so the writing began:

When Myra Klemdensky came out of the Post Office she spied Mr. McClintock eyeing Persilla. She sees the look in those eyes -- those eyes of an endless depth, the trap of so many unsuspecting men.

Really, Mr. McClintock had nothing else on his mind that morning than to mail the package for the Mrs. Three point two five pounds was all it weighed. He had no idea what was in it, but he knew to say no to all the questions he was asked about its contents -- no liquids, no hazardous materials. He said no because he knew it would get him out of there quicker. He wanted to be done with his errands and back to the house. Well, not exactly the house, but the shed out back he'd converted to a studio of sorts, a place where he could pull up a stool, pick up a knife, and whittle away at a stick he'd found on his way in. He'd drown his moments with the clip of the blade against the stick. Eventually it'd be too dark to see, and he'd stumble through the shavings dripping from his jeans scattering like ants across the floor. He'd tell the Mrs. he'd mailed her package that morning because she'd be sure to ask as if he were incapable of remembering to do one damn thing. He'd make his way to the den where the TV would already be blaring "Wheel of Fortune" and he'd slide right down into his corduroy recliner where every bend and give in its construction fit his bottom and back to a "T". He'd pull the TV tray up to him and wait for the Mrs. to put his bowl of chicken noodle soup and plate of saltine crackers on it just in time for the first spin of the wheel.

Persilla wore her hair long. Some people said that made her look like a hussy. No one her age should have hair that long and skirts that short. She didn't much cotton to what people said about her. The words were spoken in whispers as light, as quick as the twitch of butterfly wings, and just as quickly -- poof! -- the words disappeared, as if they were never really spoken at all.

Persilla loved the finest silks and embroidered linens. She draped beaded scarves over her dresser and coffee table. Her lampshade's beaded fringe tickled her fingers when she turned the lever that brightened the room. And she loved to read in a way where her finger was locked at the edge of the page, being on the ready to flip it just as her eyes spied the very last word. Then up to the top of the next page without realizing any break in the sequences of letters. She trilled away her moments in silence, not even the tick of a clock, or a footstep on the stairs, as she lived alone. Alone with her books. Her imagination filtered in any missing descriptions in the paragraphs. Every single character became her closely-guarded friend. She imagined in great detail every crust of pie they rolled on their old wooden farmhouse table or granite kitchen counter top. She knew who was allergic to wheat or who broke out in hives after eating blueberries even if the author didn't note it. She knew these things because they were what was important to her. She cataloged this information to recall what she could and couldn't serve them.

Dan gave me paper that was all different shapes, and my aim was to paint on them without altering their sizes. Since I had a tremendous amount of long strips I went for the eyes.

Oh my gosh, I had so much fun it was decadent, luxurious, and positively sinful! I ended up painting for two full days.

And I even painted snacks...

which gave Dan enough energy to paint the village where all these characters will live. They're watching with bated breath!

And, after painting a million of these faces, I have to share with you my absolute favorite. This is one way that I'll have a puppy living with me!!

So, the great idea that came from this was something I experimented with this morning in Dan's life-drawing class. While I was painting for these two days, Dan was putting together his next lesson for class. I was looking at his books with the nude model sketches, and wondered what it would be like to WRITE nude models as they pose, to come up with character sketches, story lines, etc. while the nude is being drawn by students all around me. So, this morning for two hours (I had to stop due to a cramp in my hand!) I wrote 17 pages, single spaced, front and back while a nude model posed. I've taken creative writing classes and been part of creative writing critique groups for most of my adult life, and I finally hit upon something that keeps the "writer's block" away. I wasn't staring at a blank page in my typewriter (as I'd done years ago) or looking at a white computer screen waiting for the muse to hit. Instead I was given time limits to "sketch" a drawing. Characters sprang to life. Their thoughts hurled at me faster than I could record them, and as Dan was calling time, I was jumping into the next pose that sent my imagination reeling into yet another scene.

I call my experience this morning "writing art." I just glanced at the model, soaked in his pose, and my hand took off writing. I didn't look up until it was time for him to change poses. I haven't read what I've written, so I have no idea even if it makes sense, but I do know that the scenes that played out in my head were so vivid I felt as if I were living them. I could rewrite the dialogues and character sketches in a heart beat if I needed to. I consider the experiment a huge success and one I would love to try again.

Sacred Stitching

For whatever reason I sometimes have what I consider a build-up of vast quantities of explosive energy that creates an implosion in my thinking and then my body. These past 16 months have been the first time in my life since I got into energy work back in November 2000 when I have had absolutely no massage, energy therapy, regular yoga, and extensive meditation. Oh, and I'm surprised that I've got pent-up energy???

So, last week when I could feel the excessively whirling vortex of energy that consumed me, I knew I had to go within. I can blame the people I live with, associate with, the town where I occupy space, etc., but it always boils down to the fact that my problems come from within.

I went to my bedroom with a linen napkin that Dan had tie-dyed and some embroidery floss that he'd splashed with some dye too. I sat in a yoga pose, breathed deeply, and let my thoughts go before putting the threaded needle to the fabric. As I stitched, I returned to a peaceful place. When I was done with the first piece, I put it in front of me while meditating, staring at it, relaxing my eyes, and allowing my vision to dance upon the sacred cloth. It changed me. It calmed me.


the first sacred stitching

I discovered that it wasn't finishing the piece and then meditating that altered me, but the process of stitching it and letting go of my thoughts, the not knowing what I was going to do on the cloth until I did it. It was the surrendering of the process and allowing what felt right to be the whole purpose of the stitching.

The stitching became the meditation.

I do not have a background of hand sewing or embroidery. I've mastered the sewing machine and have taught thread painting for decades, so for me to pick up a needle, thread it, and hand stitch is just absurd. I've spent most my adult life going full speed ahead, my foot flat on the sewing machine pedal and my hands pushing the fabric under the needle as fast as I could. Speed, productivity... more, more, more...

The first week I bought into a quilt shop back in the 1980s, I had 10 commissioned pieces to make or finish. When it comes to fabric and thread a sewing machine has always been involved -- until now.

It took me days to finish the above piece because I took it slow. I breathed slowly. I stitched slowly. I put the needle into the fabric where it felt it needed to be, and I didn't contemplate whether or not it was pleasing to my eye. I just let it be. What I discovered later when it was finished, and I used it as a focal point in my meditation, I could relax my vision and the stitches along with the designs in the fabric became mobile. There were reasons for each stitch to be exactly where it was. Go figure...

I'm now in the middle of the second sacred stitching. Dan dyed new floss for me to try out, and I just pick up what instinctively feels right, and make a stitch where I feel it. The artist in me sure jumps out every now and then criticizing my work. However, I know the real purpose of these pieces has nothing to do with the finished product being aesthetically pleasing as much as a powerful meditative tool.

This one is still a work in progress. I feel I'll be stitching on it for days to come yet. Because of this process I've centered myself, breathed easier, and have been more creatively inspired and have initiated many new opportunities for myself. This process will be a class I'll be offering in Oswego soon. Stay posted...


A Tie-Dye Christmas

Now living with the master of repurposing, I've learned how to re-use everything possible. I can't remember the last time I even bought something new. We hit rummage sales, bag sales, thrift stores, and garage sales. Friends give us bags of fabric, decorative papers... you name it, it comes our way.

Last December commemorated my first year with the master dyer/re-purposer himself, Dan Leo, and we had an absolute ball making gifts for friends and family without spending a penny.

Really.

First off, I must show you our Christmas stockings, all made from tie-dyed t-shirts that Dan dyed, some he did in the '90s. You might notice some plaids or shirt material I gathered from shirts I received from friends. Dan's stocking on the far left is made from a tie-dyed t-shirt as they all are. His name is from a batik shirt he made, and the SYR (Syracuse) train and train station are from some men's shirts also. (I arrived on a train in Syracuse where Dan picked me up.) My stocking is next. I embroidered my name out of tie-dyed embroidery floss, used a batik shirt Dan made and made the flower from other tie-dye t-shirt scraps. Jeremiah's and Alyssa's stockings are made from two different shirts, just reversed -- his name in her stocking fabric and vice versa.

stockings hanging from bookcase with care

 Ben's stocking has a sailboat for the sailor that he is made out of men's shirts and tie-dye fabric. For Nick I cut out a t-shirt Dan gave me that happened to be commemorative of his childhood, as his Jake's Pokeman and Rufus' Calvin and Hobbes.

squished together and still missing one

Zane had his at home so there's still one missing. However, all of the stockings are gone but three now. Jeremiah's, Alyssa's, Ben's, and Jake's went to TX, and Zane and Nick took theirs.

So, that left room for the next ones to make on our lists...

Believe it or not, those stockings weigh about 50 pounds apiece fully stuffed with all the things we "found" to give to our beloved friends. Again, the stockings are made from tie-dyed t-shirts and other garments. We made a sneak attack in the "middle" of the night (relatively speaking) and dropped off their treats.

Here's the making of one of the stockings. They (the lucky people receiving this conglomeration) happen to have a chicken coop, so Dan drew a likeness for me on paper, and I made it out of fabric and appliqued it to the toe of the stocking.




before chicken coop fully appliqued



I know not everyone has access to the plethora of fabrics that I do. I used to own a quilt shop, and I consider this by far the richest and most abundant time of my life with fabric. Quilt shops just don't hold the appeal for me anymore.

Here's a slice of the wall hanging I made for Dan. Again, made of tie-dyes and men's shirts. It depicts his four oldest boys and my daughter.

It represents the first year of our lives together. The top left hand block is the train stopping dead on its tracks. The block next to it is our tie-dye farm with a tie-dyed cow, chicken, and wheat so we can have the ingredients for our tie-dyed pancakes in the dining room below.  The picture on the bottom left is Rufus, Dan (otherwise camouflaged as John Lennon), and me.

And lastly, my "sewing room"... It has never looked like this either. I have six sewing machines, umpteen boxes of fabrics, three mannequins, bags of cotton to be dyed, hanging rows of tie-dyed clothing, shelves of beads, tie-dyed jewelry makings, a cutting table overflowing with nonsense... I was just too overwhelmed to sew more than what I did. And besides, it gives the look of un-clutter (my new word).

And speaking of that said sewing room, here I am on the floor of it making a tree of life to go into one of those gigantic stockings. The tree is made out of men's shirts, and the background is a piece of sheet that Dan had tie-dyed.

And here's an uncropped picture of the completed wall hanging. I know, I know I have an amazing collection of tie-dyed fabrics at my disposal, but what I'm wanting to show is that it is possible to give from the heart without breaking the bank. I happen to use fabrics, thread, and craziness. What can you use? As my daughter's boyfriend said, "I look at what I have and see if I'm using it to its fullest capacity." Now, he might not have said it just like that, but you get what I'm trying to say that he means. Look at what you have at your disposal. Can you extend the life of it in some way? I happen to cut shirts for fabric, snip off buttons and zippers to put onto purses. Make whatever you have last even longer than you originally thought. Use your imagination and just go wild!



the making of creative happiness that resembles tie-dyed earrings

tie-dyed t-shirt mini-scraps rolled into beads

This day I made 134 beads.

Looks to me like it ought to be soooo much more than 134 though...

before the real fun began...

the real use for the kitchen table -- making earrings

the first batch of earrings hanging on magazine subscription cards

another view of these beauties

the beads and the floss that Dan tie-dyed for me

and the 7-year-old model

the cards that Dan dyed and designed with the finished product

the very first recipient of all things tie-dyed!

my number

Last year we received a Christmas card from a high school classmate who addressed it to both of us. We received it just a few days after I had arrived in NY to be with Dan. Today we got another Christmas card from him. This one was addressed to only Dan with a letter inside asking Dan to call him to let him know how things are going. Diplomatically, he's wondering if the card should have still been addressed to the two of us, but most likely now just to Dan.

Well, it's been 1 year and 5 days since I arrived in NY and moved in with Dan. Not only have we thoroughly enjoyed each other but it's been the best year of our lives, and at 55 years of age, that's saying a lot! I've never laughed so much in my life.

Now that we're embarking on year number two together, we've discovered a lot about each other and how we want to be in the world, especially with our art/business. We so love working together. I never thought I'd ever say that about a man again after working with a spouse in his field for way too many years. I was determined not to ever do that again. And yet, with Dan I have become a better artist, a deeper what-iffer, and one who wants so much more from myself.

We've been playing with a business concept for a few months now. We've been discovering how we want to show our work, and we're getting a finer concept on how that could possibly be.

I have loved Jude Hill's work for years, since Tina Ferguson brought it to my attention in an intuitive reading she did with me. I've been slowly sticking my toe in that ocean of hand embroidery, but with a different twist -- tie-dyed floss on tie-dyed fabrics. I've been making my own 3-D animals/angels with hand embroidered faces, and now I'm embroidering a shower curtain. Dan brought it home from a thrift shop. It's a Martha Stewart that he paid a buck for, and he tie-dyed it in pinks and purples. I embroidered on pieces of white linen -- a cat face, a woman's eyes and nose, and a flower -- and sewed them onto the curtain. This morning I laid across it and doodled all over it with Sharpie pens. I wrote large letters, drew spirals, formed leaves, captured a bee on a huge flower, and then I began to embroider each line. It's becoming... breath taking.

Yeah, yeah, it's a shower curtain that will eventually hang in the bathroom, something we'll look at only when we're using the sink or the toilet. Yeah, I get it, but while I'm doing what I'm doing in the bathroom I get to look at something that makes me smile, colors that warm me, and faces that bring me joy. What better way than to do it in my own bathroom? (Shared with two and a half men...) It's my bathroom graffiti. There are no phone numbers listed for a good time, but believe me, making this curtain with my own skill, imagination, and Dan's tie-dyeing magic has been a good time. And, the man who I'm having a good time with already has my number...

Vermont Trippin'



Frog and me somewhere in Vermont

Yesterday at this time we (my partner, Dan, and I) were in Vermont. This has been a lifelong dream of mine to visit that state, if not one day live there. I used to ride my LifeCycle to a VBT VHS, better known as a Vermont Bicycling Tour video. Every time I would feel my thighs burning I’d look at the TV and immerse myself into the Vermont scenery, feeling my way up the hills and around the corners, through the little villages and past the general stores. I would be mesmerized by the views. I longed to visit there.


And finally I did.

Dan and I upon first arriving in Vermont -- in the back of us is Canada

Vermont is more my place than any other. The art galleries and artisan stores were of a much higher caliber than what I’ve seen in a long while. For the first time I’d actually seen many fiber art exhibits – two places, Helen Day Art Center in Stowe and Creative Space Gallery in Vergennes – had two of the most amazing ones.



Helen Day Library and Art Center in Stowe

 The Helen Day Art Center was upstairs in the library. The library was a picture postcard with sculptures out front, free books on the porch, and a gazebo in which to sit while enjoying the views. The inside was like something out of a movie with a large white front desk and an accommodating librarian welcoming us in. The walls were painted white with beautiful crown molding at the ceiling, paned windows with deep windowsills, beautifully crafted wooden bookshelves, and comfortably inviting Queen Anne leather chairs in which to hunker down and read.

Besides reading I am enraptured with fiber arts. I’ve spent most of the last few decades absorbed in the art quilt world. However, lately (since singledom) I’ve delved into the clothing side of the fiber arts world. And, the exhibit in Stowe knocked my socks off.

 Wylie Garcia spent a month on a dress for a year, and we saw her 12 dresses up close and personal.

 I was entranced with her intricate stitches, choices of fabrics, and intuitive creative breakthroughs. In the corner of the exhibit was a small display of her studio with a padded book that she used as a pincushion,

 piles of scraps on the floor beside her desk, a dog pillow

 and braided fabrics on her chair, and framed photos and artwork on her inspiration wall. Her work and ingenuity bamboozled some cobwebs still hanging onto my own creative muscle. I felt stretched, pushed, and truly inspired to do more with my own work. I studied her haphazard stitching with yarns and threads, her expansive amount of hand-sewn sequins, buttons, and beads. “The Tulle Did Her In” was the name of the exhibit exemplifying the debutante societies she grew up in while living in Houston, Texas. Once a Texas youngster myself I recoiled at the memories I have of being a charm school flunk-out and later a teenage Sangar-Harris runway model. The false eyelashes, mounds of make-up, platform shoes, walking with a book on my head, holding a teacup just so… Oh barf… I could so relate to Wylie Garcia and absolutely fell in love with her irreverent use of tulle. Wish I had thought of it.



Dan with sculptures in Stowe



Stowe Spoons



another Stowe sculpture

In Vergennes the owner of Creative Space Gallery spoke my language when she told Dan and me that Vermont was a mutually supportive community of the arts and the artists. It showed. The not-for-profit gallery promotes artists and their works. Vergennes is a small town in Vermont that packs a beautiful wallop with its picturesque town square complete with gazebo and white church with a tall spire. It could have been one of those towns in my Vermont Bicycling Tour videos. Even its thrift store looked like an inviting boutique.

I was told that I would notice the difference between New York and Vermont immediately upon crossing into each state. I did. Vermont is pristine. Even its one trailer park I saw was clean and inviting. As soon as we re-entered New York yesterday it was instantaneously evident. Rusted vehicles, unkempt yards, run-down houses, and vacant buildings with chipped paint and loose shutters were prominent. For the previous two days in Vermont we didn’t see any of that. There were no signs telling us who to vote for or who pissed whom off and needed to resign either.

We drove through the Vermont islands and gazed at the rolling meadows, red barns, silos, and farmhouses. The general store on North Hero Island had clocks to let you know the global times, all reading the same hour because every clock was set at one of the island town time zones. These people were speaking volumes when they set those clocks. Their worlds were right where they were, and it showed. They took pride in how everything looked. They cared about putting their best foot forward. They cared about how they did business and how it affected their community, their environment, and their state. There was an inexplicable ownership that made them silently boast.

We did meet someone from Vermont. (I mention this because most everyone we had conversations with were from somewhere else and came to Vermont later in life to live.) He owned an artisan’s gallery and café in North Hero. He and his wife worked one and a half jobs, had a goat farm, owned and ran the store/café, and made most of the items in the store. Yellow Dog Farm was the name of their farm. They had yarns made from their goats that were irresistibly named – Luigi’s Locks, Oliver’s Wisps – and the labels had pictures of the goats whose fleece was now spun for the knitter or weaver.

Businesses in Vermont were in houses with front porches welcoming me. I felt embraced every time I crossed a threshold. I’m sure there were businesses in other kinds of buildings, but apparently they didn’t register on my radar because I can’t recall seeing any at the moment. Even the little “strip malls” were two-story buildings with beautifully ornate facades with individual character for each storefront. There was an insistence on individuality with a strong sense of community. It invited me in. I just can’t seem to think of other words to use for it. It invited me in like an opened door that I longed to enter. I’ve always been in love with New England. I loved living there many, many years ago, and I’ve been enthralled with every trip I’ve made back there, but there is definitely something different about Vermont. There is something so quietly comforting. It’s the beingness, the no-need to speak-ness, that pulled me in. The pristine charm, the desire to put the best foot forward, and the pushing of the creative envelope put me in a spell. I could feel the sense of community without anyone saying a word. I didn’t need to hear that Vermont was mutually supportive. I could see it.

So, here’s to our first trip to Vermont. May there be many, many more for Dan and me to enjoy together. And, if there’s any place or person I need to be aware about, please let me know. We barely scratched the surface, and I know there are so many other people and businesses we need to friend.

And now...

Now, over nine months later I am still living and playing in New York. It's been quite a journey getting here even though here was never on my list to be.

I might've been born a Southerner, but since the age of 17 I never wanted to live anywhere else but Colorado. I left there in 2008 and have no intention of ever living there again. I've made my way across the country with a stopover in Texas and New Mexico before finally arriving in NY last December. If there's one thing I've learned it's that what I think I want and what eventually lands in my lap are two totally different things, or so it seems. When I really examine my desires closer, I realize that I have indeed come to the place where I've always longed to be -- in love with the most wonderful man in the world.

Still.

Before leaving TX the last time I was told that love was not enough, and I'm here to say that for me after all I've been through, I firmly believe that it's not only enough, but it's everything. It is everything. It's because of love that I leap out of bed in the morning and scramble downstairs. Okay, okay, the scrambling begins after the caffeine kicks in, but every morning I get to open my eyes to a delicious pair of baby blues looking at me and sip from a coffee cup with chickens ranging free on it. I am privileged to walk into a room where I can sew and create with wild tie-dyed fabrics and threads all day long. I am utterly and unequivocally privileged with the ability to think up things like I do, but also have a man like my Daniel who pushes me beyond what I thought was finished and complete. Finito means something totally different in his vocabulary!

I'm nearing my 55th birthday, and I'm realizing just how much I'm enjoying being me. That's been a tough thing for me to celebrate. I worked incessantly before to make amends for using up oxygen, and now... Well now, I breathe deeply taking in more than enough oxygen, more than ever before, and I appreciate how my lungs fill, my chest rises, and my head clears. I so love the ability to look clearly out the windows of my home and see pineapple tomatoes growing on vines or a newly-picked eggplant sitting on our kitchen table. I am blessed to find that the purplish color on the stove is from elderberries instead of dye. I have arrived in a place finally where I so eagerly belong. I fit right in. I meld perfectly with the artist that pushes me to see things differently. I marvel at our differences, and most importantly, adore who we are together.