A different angle

I completed all the stitching on this work before I happened to glance at it upside down and realize it might hang the other direction.  Now I am torn.  It feels to me like it says different things depending on it’s orientation.  With the earth below, rabbit is climbing up and out, into the great beyond full of unknown potentials.  With the earth above, rabbit might be climbing away from the formidable chaos of earthly life toward some intimate safety where the viewer resides.  Ok, I may be over analyzing, but I am excited by how much the feeling shifts for me when I simply flip the quilt around.  Such a literal reminder to routinely check how my emotional positioning  affects my perspective of a given situation.  

up up and away! 

get me outa here! 

In terms of scale

If scale was a more fluid/shifting variable than it is, I would sew a fabulous dress from a rose petal, and roll my giant penny down to the car dealership where I’d purchase an ultra efficient 10 seater in robin egg blue and small enough to fit in my pocket.  Scale does matter though, and the way artist Ron Mueck plays with it is arresting!  I got to see this giant, naked, stunningly realistic sculpture at the Hirshorne Gallery in DC last week.  I want to see more of Mueck’s work in person.  I googled him and was transported to a world of achingly life like, profoundly intimate visions of imperfect humanity.   Mueck exaggerates or diminishes his figures, leaving me reeling a bit with a sense of a throbbing (expanding and contracting universe).  It is now on my bucket list to go see a body of his work in person! (pun intended)

...and there was life!

I feel a bit like doctor frankenstein (except in slippers and sitting at a sewing machine) when I am making the bodies for these odd little heads.  I used some of the doll eyes I found recently and they give the clay forms an eerie realism that I am mesmerized by.  I keep swapping heads and bodies and giggling to myself in a gently maniacal way.  

Eye can't wait to find out...

These odd and beautiful contraptions were in the bottom of a bag of buttons I just bought at goodwill.  I am intrigued by their funny metal workings and how alive they seem.  The lids blink independently of one another, the pupils are all dark depths, and the irises are surprisingly complex patterns in shimmering plastic.  A pile of eyes gaze at me from the table top with a creepy, lazy, half hearted, disembodied stare.  They are sort of imploring but not really caring (they are heartless, after all), "What do you intend to make with us?".

hunker down

The summer, with it's travel plans, camping trips, longer warmer days, swimming opportunities, visitors, and unscheduled free time (at least for my children)  always leaves me with a sense of melancholy and relief.  I admit I am a little happy to return to checklists and predictable schedules.  Like alium plants hunker down in winter and gather their energy in their firm pearly underground bulbs,  I relish that hunker-down sensation after a long hot wild summer...

My gigantic grandmother

The thing about trees is they grow old so gracefully.  Their bark, with it's deepening folds and scars, tells a story of winter storms, dry spells, encounters with other life forms, and unfathomable patience.   As it ages the tree grows ever larger.  To stand beneath the awesome presence of an ancient behemoth is humbling and thrilling.  What if we humans grew larger (by that I mean taller) as we aged?  My 92 year old grandmother would be 15 feet tall.   Sure there'd be healthcare issues and building code changes but I can imagine some positive paradigm shifts if old people were giants.     

playing well with others

I no longer get to spend much time in the playground sandbox negotiating sand castle dimensions with my co-architects.  I rarely break out the costume boxes for livingroom improv theatre productions these days, but I love the act of collaborating.  I search it out through music making, with projects in my classroom, and endeavors with my co-workers.  Last week I had the rare and immense pleasure of building something beautiful with a group of friends.  It was Micheal's vision (you can go see it at the new Hot Mama's location) and Ron Blacquiere did the painstaking work of pouring that amazingly clear coat of resin,  but we all bantered, giggled, debated layout patterns, and worked together to make this happen.  It was lovely!  Here's to building more sand castles with friends!