September 11th

Days like today come and go. Some are good; some are not. No American who was alive and aware on September 11th, 2001 will ever be able to spend a September 11th of any other year without some thought, reflection, and most probably some tears. And, unfortunately, the events since then have not been very healing for us.

On the morning of September 12th, 2001 I was standing in front of my kitchen TV, which, remarkably, was turned on. I say 'remarkably' because my TV is never on in the daytime, but I couldn't pull myself away from it. A lot of things were swirling around in my mind; one of them was, "how can those broadcasters sit there and talk about this without weeping?" I remembered vividly when Walter Cronkite announced the death of President Kennedy, showing his grief and despair clearly for the world to see. That seemed so much more human, more natural than the almost excited airs of the broadcasters after September 11th. And I thought, "it's because we have lost our soft hearts that things like this can and do happen." We have become so tough. Our reaction even then was, "how can we be even tougher than those who have done this to us?"

The next thing I thought then was, "what can I do?" After all, I am not a politician, I am an artist. So I realized I needed to react to this horror by making some art. I went to my studio and, with tears running down my face, I painted the painting above - which is unlike anything I had ever done, or have done since. I let the paint weep onto the paper.

Evidently others had the same thought - if you are an artist, you must respond with the tools of your trade. Monique Lehman, a tapestry artist in California, sent out a request for tapestries to commemorate the day in a small size, which would all be put together as one large Memorial Tapestry. So I used a part of the painting I had done on September 12th, and wove it into a 10"x10" tapestry to be a part of this project. One of the things I like most about it is that is is somewhat chaotic - which was very much how those days following September 11th felt to me. I could no longer maintain the illusion that I - or anyone else 'down here'- was in control. The Memorial Tapestry has been exhibited often, and in worldwide venues, since then.


It was healing to do the painting and the small tapestry. But I was still in grief and in shock; even more so when our president decided to add more violence, grief, and horror to the world as a response. I could hardly create. Then I went to the Botanical Garden in Denver with my son. I took lots and lots of photos of beautiful plants. But the one which struck me the most wasn't even a formal part of the gardens. It was a small desert succulent that was growing on it's own on one of the pathways. In spite of not being in the formally cared for and watered part of the garden, in spite of being on a pathway; it was not only surviving, but thriving. It was beautiful; it was a surviver. I determined that I would be like that plant. Even if all the governments of the world, my own included, did not give me the support and healing I needed, I would not only survive; I would thrive. And I would keep and nourish my own soft heart and, if I could, the soft hearts of others. I would use my art, my tools, to do this. So I took the photo of that tiny (about 1 1/2") plant and blew it up and wove it into a tapestry. I used the best materials I have ever used - I splurged on silk, and it glows when you see it in 'real life' (and it does seem to have life.) The weaving of this tapestry helped heal me. I came out of my grief. The tapestry is called "Emergence."

"Artists have a special role to play in the global struggle for peace. At their best, artists speak not only to people; they speak for them. Art is a weapon against ignorance and hatred and an agent of public awareness... Art opens new doors for learning, understanding, and peace among peoples and nations." Kofi Annan, UN Secretary General

September 11 - still.....

This is the small tapestry I did for the September 11th Memorial Tapestry. As I revisit it today, I am seeing it as my first 'graffiti' tapestry! And, now that I think on it, I did another bit of woven graffiti, as well. 

This tapestry was woven when I was totally exhausted, physically and emotionally, from a project I was doing.

It amuses me somewhat that, when I am emotionally charged, I turn to 'graffiti,'  which is an immediate art form for expressing reactions and emotions 'Loudly' and quickly.  But I must express it the only way I know how: in one of the slowest, most 'non-immediate' mediums, handwoven tapestry.

September 11th was an emotionally charged and exhausting experience for us all. I still have tears fill my eyes when I see this small tapestry, because I believe I truly wept through the entire process of creating it.

The large tapestry I am weaving now....  well, I'm sure you will see my emotions spill out from it when it is completed.

Memorial....

TS Eliot said that April is the cruelest month. But, much as I love the fall, sometimes it feels like September can be pretty cruel, as well.

The tapestry above is the small tapestry I wove for the 9-11 Memorial Tapestry. There is more about this piece here.

Illustration Friday: Slither

I have not finished the little rose painting, but I will post it when it's done. I've been busy playing with my grandchildren!

I decided to post this tapestry for the IF topic of 'Slither' today, though, because this is a handwoven tapestry that almost nobody has ever seen! It is one of the first tapestries I did, in 1985. Back then, in my beginning days of weaving tapestries, I was learning the techniques on my own from Peter Collingwood's rug book. So each tapestry was aimed at learning a new technique, rather than at weaving a complex or artistic design. This tapestry was for me to learn to use hatching to create shadows, and I think I did a pretty good job of it for my first try, tho' I didn't shadow much of anything but the large shadow shape behind the figure.

The subject of the tapestry is my son and one of the many snakes he would bring home when that age. In 1985, he would have been 8 years old. He is here now, with his twins, who will turn 4 while here. That's how long ago this tapestry was done! So far, his son has not brought home any snakes. Maybe they'll catch one while here, though I think they're not yet inclined to pick one up and take it home. (We have no poisonous snakes here.)

Anyway, I thought this early tapestry would be a fun thing to share with you! Have a good Memorial Day weekend, fellow Americans, and a good weekend of whatever sort to all other visitors! We will be watching a lot of baseball at the Junior College World Series, making and eating home-made ice cream with strawberries from the garden, and playing a good bit of hide and seek.

A Few of my Favorite Things....

Maria von Trapp may have loved raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, and who doesn't? But I have some other things that are my favorites, as well. I do tend to form attachments to things that I use frequently. I do not like them to change or to lose them in any way. One of those things was my beloved Nikon camera, which, you may remember, I posted had 'died' at Thanksgiving. My dear husband (who is also a favorite) got me a new 'updated' camera, but I just couldn't make myself like it. It didn't feel the same as my camera; it didn't work the same. And I am not fond of having to read thick wordy manuals to figure out how to use something (which is why Apple products are among my list of favorite things: they are user friendly, even to those of us who hate reading user manuals.) With the new camera, I did not take one photo that I was happy with. So my sweet husband had my camera fixed, generously thinking he would use it and I'd get the new one. But I don't want the new one. I want my friend; the camera I took to Paris and to Maine, and that I have taken thousands of grandchild photos with; the camera I love the feel of and know how to get a decent photo from. It came home to me from being repaired and revived yesterday, and it is like having a dear friend come back to me.

I do have a few other things that I am equally fond of. I love my Taylor guitar. And I love my iPod, though I have not been able to form that close attachment with either my iPhone or my iPad, though I do find them useful. It is funny, the things we become particularly attached to. When I was a child, I would become emotionally fond of the strangest things; little bits that had no value to anyone but me.

Yesterday, I was busy with other work, but today I am back in the sitting room, weaving on my small Mirrix loom (which I am also quite attached to.) I got about 2 inches woven on Tuesday, which is 1/4 of the tapestry! I hope to get to the half-way point before the end of the week.

I don't know if you can tell what I am weaving yet, but I will tell you that it is an image of one of my favorite things; my beloved camera. I designed the tapestry when I thought it was gone from me for good. I guess it was to be a bit of a memorial. But now, it can be a celebration tapestry, because my dear camera is back!

Gus, keeping an eye on the world from his sitting room perch

Grandma Mabel's memorial recipe box contest:

Well, I couldn't pass this one up! Since my previously mentioned Grandma Maisie's real name was Mabel, and since I have her recipe box, how could I resist? So I am responding to the Mason-Dixon challenge by posting my own Grandma Mabel's recipe box, and another of her recipes.

First I have to say that my Grandma Maisie was not actually 'known for' her cooking. Actually, I don't know that she was 'known for' anything, as she lived a very quiet life; one that I frequently envy. However, she did make a few dishes that everyone wanted the recipe for. One was her fudge, which I've already posted. Another was her oven-fried chicken; buttery, artery clogging deliciousness. But her most clamored after recipe was for her coconut cream pie. In fact, just typing the name of it has made my mouth water! It's the kind of pie I could sit down and eat the whole of in one sitting. Once when I made it, I came out the next morning to find my two young sons sitting on top of the kitchen counter, eating it with their hands. I wasn't even angry with them over it - it seemed like such a reasonable thing to do. I was just a bit peeved that they hadn't left me any! I make it when I need real comfort food. Or something tasty that everyone will absolutely love.
(click on recipe to enlarge)

My Grandma is the fourth from the left in this "Watermelon Girls" tapestry. She's the one in the apron. She always had an apron on, even just to read the newspaper. In addition to her recipe box, I also count among my treasures several of her quite worn aprons.

And since this post may bring a few knitters to visit, I'll post a photo of the coat I knit my grand-daughter for Christmas. I don't seem to have taken a photo of the one I did my grandson - will have to try to catch him in it later. This coat is an adaptation of a robe pattern from Lucinda Guy's And So to Bed book.

Life happens...

After 30 years of going to our mountain cabin, we are pretty good at predicting conditions there. But we were WAY off when we went up last week! At this time of year, there can be 3 or more feet of snow, or the melting can have begun, starting a month or so of 'mud season.' We have seen the lake still frozen over on Memorial Day, though that is not common. When we went the last time, there was waist-high snow on the ground, and there were ice-fishers in the middle of the frozen lake. While it had been warm and very dry down here in the valley (a record breaking dry March) we still expected there to be some snow on the mountain. We went up with long-johns, snow boots and our snowshoes.

We got up there to find NO snow (except small patches in the shade), and NO MUD!!!! The lake is completely thawed and the ground was as dry as July. The snow must have melted so fast that it evaporated, rather that soaking into the ground.

 

 

I spent a great deal of my time there using the back of the pick-up as a covered porch, sitting in the warm almost 70 degree sun, trying to not get sunburned, reading and knitting. Booker tried to catch chipmunks, unsuccessfully (fortunately.) And I kept an eye out for our bear, who has clearly come out of hibernation to tear more bark from our aspen trees.

I am trying to figure out how to get evening and night photos, so took the photo of the cabin at dusk. I need to do a bit more research and practice!

The day after we came back home, my father suffered from a stroke. So I will be going back to California next week for a bit to see if I can help out some as he recuperates. The garden will wait. The tapestry will wait. Life's seasons and rhythms are not always predictable. There is not always snow when we expect it; there is not always a mud season. Our days and our activities are not always regulated by our orderly To Do lists. The good and the bad (and the scary) things happen with and without our permission. It is a lovely thing to have moments to sit and let our toes soak up the sun when we don't expect it; to have moments to store up some energy to be used when it is needed.