Tuesday, June 22

Shakerag Workshops 2

Besides my own classroom at Shakerag, the one I couldn't stay away from was that of India Flint.
The work going on in her room was so visually pleasing to me . . .
. . . and the fragrance that leaked through that door drew me in every time I passed by.
I can smell it now just looking at these images.
Earthy -- the essence of the woods boiled into color.
Oh yes, the color.
And the stitching.
I bought her book, and I'll be dying Easter eggs differently next year.
Oh, and this is what I made in Daniel Essig's class.

Please don't think I was wishing I was in India's class.

I wasn't.

I have been wanted to take a class from Daniel for a long time, and it was everything and more than I expected.
This book is the best I've ever made. I love it.
It's just those earthy smells . . .


Saturday, June 19

Shakerag Workshops 1

I've been away to a magical place.
I thought I was the only one, but other people knew about this place. A few anyway.
People who came to make books.
People who came to turn computer code into art.
People who came to spin color into art.
Well, to stitch it into art anyway.
People who came to turn windfall into the most amazing fabric.
People who came to turn clay into usable vessels.

Others came to stitch willow branches into fun shapes.
And, all the while, kids, parents, dogs and wonderful light bathed the campus of St. Andrews Sewanee during Shakerag.
I met the most interesting people.
Yes, I did.
And I saw magic everywhere I looked.

Go ahead. Shake a Rag. I'll be there for the moonshine and the magic next year myself.

Friday, June 11

Just What I Needed . . .

A morning spent with my favorite 2-year-old.
Whenever Kiran comes over, he wants to do all of the things that we've ever done here.

This day started with toy trains, but quickly moved on to Play-Doh.
Play-Doh hair is part of the routine.
Today we had some . . . ahem . . . interesting results after the haircut.
So, we went outside to water flowers.
Atticus has always been fascinated by the hose.
There is no watering without A biting the water as it comes out of the hose. I've gotten used to it.
Fortunately, Kiran gets the joke too.
Oh, and no one got out of this dry.
Next: Kiran's road race at the Dub C.

Tuesday, June 8

Thank you

Thank you all for your kind comments and e-mails after my mother's passing.

Family and friends are a wonderful blessing at times like this, and you are all included in that group. The outpouring of support and warm feelings I've received from you has made me smile . . . and okay, cry a little (but in a good way).

Thank you.
I received this in a note from Kit. I love this poem, and will have it memorized before the month ends. I've printed it out, and it will remain always with the memorabilia from my mother's funeral.

And this one came from Nancy. Also with my mom's stuff.

“Perfection Wasted”
by John Updike

And another regrettable thing about death

is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,

which took a whole life to develop and market –

the quips, the witticisms, the slant

adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest

to the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched

in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,

their tears confused with their diamond earrings,

their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,

their response and your performance twinned.

The jokes over the phone. The memories packed

in the rapid-access file. The whole act.

Who will do it again? That’s it; no one;

imitators and descendants aren’t the same.

XO