Time Got Away

Posted on by Sandy Webster

I just snuck over from the apartment where I addressed all my cards, had some tea and realized that I could not get internet to get a blog done. So now in the studio being quiet.

We had our first snow!

Now it is bitter cold!

Yesterday Lee helped me make macaroni and cheese with broccoli for the freezer. I am trying to make things simpler for us. And two days ago he was able to get the last of his leaf blowing in with some very late color in the yard.

I keep up with the drawings…

A double ikat

scarf that I made of two fabrics

with leftover cloth.

 

A nice pure linen

semi sheer scarf of blues/greys

from Whidby Island.

 

Lee’s worn work glove

the left hand one that is not

as dirty as right.

 

My winter work glove

pressed into use this morning

to spread corn and seed.

 

Now a few more random journal sketches.

And some more writings from old journals.

But first these next few lines are what I forgot to copy to the last post on how words get on the page.

 

 

Sometimes the character is so strong that they will be there later with more of their story.

They don’t give it all away in one sitting….that would be like writing a novel.

They just showed up to tell me something, share a feeling.

They are very real at that moment and I pay attention before they leave me holding a pen over a blank pad of paper.

That is how the writing happens.

I then put it on the computer so I can look at it. It is more clinical now and less a private conversation.

Some words are changed or omitted because they interfere too much. This happens because I am getting in the way of the essence of the “story”.

I stay pretty much with the idea of stanzas. They let me breathe in the space between and pause to see if that was right….is that what happened or was said or was felt.

And then an ending comes quite naturally. I don’t need to make them say more. I give a nod and step back. And I am now okay with sharing this small glimpse of feeling with someone else.

 

Now some prompts I liked…

Prompts:

Telling a Lie

I tell lies all the time – say something nice when I would just as soon not.

“Oh, that’s nice.” And it really is not nice or I don’t give a rip about whatever I said was nice.

Usually I don’t know what I said, “Oh, that’s nice” to – I am not even paying attention. It is a comment I use while I am making up another lie…..mmmm……about needing to be someplace else.

A Window

This window is my escape. I can look through it and feel my body follow my gaze.

I am no longer here in this room with these people. I am walking through the grass, going toward the forest.

I am going to the first tree I see and climb it.

Then I am going to sit on a branch – face this window and wonder what I am missing.

 

I am now going to leave you with my cat, Sadie, who needed a blanket yesterday.

And the finished Christmas cards. I made small etchings of scraps of cloth in the shape of a tree and then took thread, made a French knot at the top and stitched the pieces together once the prints dried.

Here thy are with the inside message. I wish I had time to make so many more for the kind friends who have been so considerate this past year. Thank you.

Til later…

Doing a Full On Catch Up

Posted on by Sandy Webster

These are finished. And below are some stages of the little racoon who is a bit worried about how to get down.

And now the start of a fox.

And the last two days of drawings…

Some very dreadful

knitted scarves are now tossed in

the cat bed basket.

 

Drawing these two scarves

I understand why the cats

gave up their basket.

And now back to the book made for thinking through houses because it also worked to get the ideas surrounding a series of three boats.

And then the opening line of thinking about a series of boats.

This boat goes nowhere without assistance. Most often by way of his wagon chauffer. The boat either does not know about water or just is unaware of his primary function – which is staying afloat in water.

I think the story is about independence – going our own way and the supportive relationships that are there for us when needed. The boat will not acknowledge his origins of intention – to be on water – in water. The boat stays on land and takes every opportunity to see if this could be his place – can he belong here. How does it feel to be “a boat out of water?”

The next boat – deeper – more volume – less weighty looking – scrim over bamboo frame – plaster – Japanese lace paper on outside, matte spray, gesso.

This boat is like

A nest

A bird

A cloud

A feather

An egg

This boat is afraid of nothing. It likes to be in the air. It takes things away – not toward – to be in the boat is to be on your way to an adventure. The boat’s companion will likely be a kite – an assistant for his airborne travels. It is the reverse of a rock.

Small pamphlet books fill the boat front to back – each signature cut in the shape of the boat belly. Papers of rusted vellum and laser ink jet office – also stitched with occasional gold metallic threads that extend beyond page and therefore stick out of the boat – slightly above the pages that are just above the boats sides/height.

I am surprised that when completed it was about returning and not leaving as planned. I feel very good about this piece, it has my mark all over it.

It sits well and can be hung to rock slowly in the air. The metallic gold paint over the plastered and gessoed and then Japanese papered surface is coated with earth pigments from here and then heavily shellacked, has a look of old bronze. A very good feel to the hands. I am titling it, Return Voyage of Recorded Memories. Gold threads represent the threads of recollections and their fragmented way of coming back to us.

And built in envelopes to hold samples of materials used…

Finished the original boat – wheels, sail and rudder attached.

 

Another boat that does not get wet! Roots on oars – rock as anchor. Branches of dead Japanese maple as sails. Boat filled with lichen moss. Boat body is canoe-shaped of bamboo frame then cloth/shellac- all covered with a scrim like fabric that has been dyed with tea. It was a curtain in a previously owned house.

The boat is anchored to the land – very much about the land and Nature. Unlike the boat with wheels this boat cannot move – it has a ghost like quality. I love the proportions – this one may be my favorite so far. The big one floats in the air, the next one rolls on wheels. This one has a sense of wanting to be in its place. Not one that has been abandoned to the elements.

There are still blank pages in that book but I am through using it. The only reason it did not get buried with the houses is because I liked to remind myself of how I can think an artwork through…get all the messy bits out of the way and keep control of my intentions.

And now for something I wanted to follow up on.

Putting words on a page…

I am not writing a short story or a longer piece of fiction. I am not writing a memoir…but I do wonder what starts the flow of words onto a page.

And after giving it some thought, this is how the following piece came to be.

I am alone with no interruptions.

A cloudy day helps…sparkling sun brings distractions I think.

A legal pad and pen are blank and right there waiting.

I wait until I see something or someone in my imagination that needs looking at, needs listening to…

And then it is all down on that pad…in separate lines…almost breathless.

It is not biographical…I am just paying attention.

I like the words. I like the image. It is like a short, very short, film.

Sometimes the character is so strong that they will be there later with more of their story.

 

If You Looked

 

If you looked

you would have

seen it in her face.

The way she looked

just now.

 

A glance in your direction

before she looked away,

back at her hands

holding onto each other

in her lap.

 

 

You would have noticed

how much was said

just then

in the way  she would not

return your gaze.

 

And saw how

her mouth was set,

her shoulders tensed,

how she pulled back

when you spoke.

 

If you looked

you would know

that you will stay on

the other side of the wall

and out of arms reach.

 

Leave her now

and let her go back

to the place

behind the door

that has no room for you

 

She will not look back at you

and does not want to hear

what you remember.

And you would have known that

if you looked.

 

Yes, I know. I could be visited by a little boy and his puppy. But his feelings and ours, for that matter, are plastered all over facebook.

But if that kid ever wanted to tell someone how much he really wanted a cat, he will let me know.

Til later

 

 

Thanksgiving Day

Posted on by Sandy Webster

This morning we took a walk along the trail. It looks so different from the last time I showed pictures. The mist made it perfect for photographing. Let’s walk.

And we are back home…

I finished the latest and sixth Responsibility Hand…more small things to take on and remember it happens.

And my last four days of drawings….still on those scarves.

Very old worn saris

make up these Kantha stitched scarves

and they were on sale!

 

One side apple green

the other a soft beige hue.

lovely knitted wool.

 

Less than successful

attempt at eco dyeing

but such a soft silk.

 

Hand dyed and then stitched

long loose silk and cotton scarf

made by thoughtful friend.

 

My mother used to cut poems she liked out of magazines and newspapers. I would sometimes do the same. This one from The Detroit Free Press in 1972 or 73 seems appropriate today. I pasted it to a recipe card back then, which also seems appropriate. Never found the author.

“Lord, in thy Mercy’s tender care

hear one earnest urgent prayer

for all who wander to and fro

and have no special place to go.

Who see the windows warm with light

in other people’s homes at night.

And feel their loneliness the more

that others hurry to some door

where love expectant warms the air

and one is loved by those who care.

Bless those who rootless, restless roam

and have no place to be at home;

remember those we may not know

who have no special place to go.”

 

That’s it for today. I am going to watch “cop shows” with Lee, fix hotdogs for lunch, read some more of our book to him and then work on a simple Thanksgiving dinner of Cornish game hen, dressing, broccoli with hollandaise and pumpkin pie!

Til later

Some More Thoughts and Images

Posted on by Sandy Webster

First off I will get the drawings a day over with….

I pieced together

scraps of colored silk fabrics

making a long scarf.

 

Cotton grey and white

patterned scarf is very soft

and loosely woven.

 

SuziBJ cut

the bottom part of a skirt

for this pleated scarf.

 

My drawer is so full

of these Mahdi Chandler scarves

made from bits of gauze.

 

Then a switch back to travel journals….. starting in France where my daughter took this picture of me wandering the streets of a small village.

And drawings from the journal I took along.

And some more random journal entries…

Travel:

It is the journal that is indispensable when traveling. Not the camera or even the companions. The camera gives too much information and the companions will not see nor remember it the way I do. But the journal with quick marks of local color, wines, foods, and notes bring the entire trip back each time I refer to it. I see the place and smell the food. I taste the wine again and hear those sounds of being in the country, in the hotel, at an art opening, alone in an unfinished building with the soft sound of cane toad feet dragging across the floor toward my bed.  My journals are filled with a shorthand and economy of marks that preserve it all, and I can return anytime I want to.

Young Patrick is waiting in the pub somewhere in New South Wales to shout me another beer while I wait to be found. The Poets in Pubs group that meets monthly in Broken Hill are still seated around the table in the back room listening to me read their favorite American poet in an appropriate accent. I can smell the worn leather case belonging to an elderly former boxer as he removes an old black and white photo of himself “in the day” and the poem he wrote earlier that week.

There are travel journals from Japan, China, Bali, France and Italy but the outback towns of Australia is where I prefer to spend most of my return voyages. Our shoulders touch, our eyes meet and we raise our Toohey’s Old and Stone’s Ginger Wine in remembrance.

And one of the reasons I so love Australia….

Notes from 2007 on Teaching in Australia

“Fourteen of them are here and I interview them all to find their personal direction and get them to contain their passions to a small place that has lids, doors, pages, covers, bags and baskets – how much of all this do they want to conceal or reveal. Some of those working with the personal stay quiet and have the materials needed. Others might ask my input on materials and form. Then they, too, go quiet and leave me out of their next decision. Now I am only the direction sign.

I envy them at these moments of discovery, adjusting, learning and note-taking.  So I busy myself with making another sample, drawing and writing on the board, and try not to hover too close to them.

Later I will make the rounds again, one by one, to see if I am needed or not. If I am, it is usually a technical problem, easily solved while they let me handle their work and materials.  They will also share why their work is taking a particular form. How it all fits around some thing that matters to them.

This is the gift they give to me – letting me in to help make the spaces and places for things that matter.

 

The other day two friends came a long ways to lift my spirits. Kent, a student of mine who took private white line printmaking classes with me here until a year ago, and his wife, Catherine, a well known textile artist, showed up with these gifts.

Kent brought the single malt scotch for me and the assortment of dark beers for Lee. Catherine brought Madeleines and a fresh baked loaf of sour dough bread. She has taught in Australia and it was wonderful to share our thoughts on teaching in that country. They said they will return and bring me some sour dough starter. I am so happy they came and are thinking of coming back. Kent has kept in touch this past year by sending hand drawn images on postcards for Lee and I. Such a thoughtful couple. Thank you!

And speaking of Lee, I found this poem I wrote six years ago…..

 

Untitled

 

She travels

He prefers to stay home

 

She is vegetarian

He needs red meat

 

She will talk to anyone

He is selective or silent

 

Her glass is half full

He is on the way to empty

 

How does this work?

 

After forty-seven years of one floating

And the other sinking

 

They simply trust the tether line

S. Webster.

 

Til later…