Saturday, August 18

and you were there, and you, and you -

I had a dream - I know, ho-hum - but it was a magical inspiring dream about creating.

I arrived for work every morning by walking down this wooded path that was worn into the earth, so worn that it was almost a tunnel, and bushes and trees curved up around it and into the sun. I walked down a steady curved slope and when I got there I was surrounded by some of my favorite icons of creativity. Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips worked there. As did Alison Wood, my magical English teacher from high school.

Each person who worked there had a small folding table with a coffee maker on it. They were lined up along the left side of the path as you arrived at the work space. The tables were spaced evenly so everyone had access to their own coffee. We had gotten there first thing in the morning, as we always did, and were chatting with each other before starting our work, joking with someone who had particularly strange coffee-making habits, holding our mugs and laughing loud.

The space we worked in, also outdoors, was off to the right, and I never saw around the corner into it. But there was such a feeling of calm, confidence, and inclusion. I was arriving every morning with all these other artists, ready to get to work, confident that the work space around the corner was there to help us do the job of creating whatever we brought into the world through our work, as it did every day. I was included in the world of creative work and workers, in a way that was calm and spacious and magnificent, unbounded. Either I'm secretly working for the coffee industry or that was one hell of a dream.

Sunday, August 12

thank you, flea market

If you know me you know I'm not one of those annoyingly organized DIY-ers who raises goats and makes their own soap, etc. - the dogs are lucky I drop food in their bowls twice a day.

But somehow I got it in my head that I can make myself a pair of shoes. My friend M., who does know how and makes them for a living, gave me a few boxes of leather scraps when she cleaned out her studio this Spring. I've been mulling it over since then.

This morning a vendor at the flea market had a box of old wooden shoemaker's lasts, so I'm now one (ahem) step closer. Of course I was tempted to buy the whole box -- they look so cool and, who knows, maybe I'll become a shoemaker (be still, compulsive heart) but I settled on two pairs in my size. It looks like one pair has a higher rise than the other. My feet aren't double-A narrow, but since I was going to start from nothing this has got to be better.

Next I'll think about designs for a while, then, if I know me like I think I do, without even looking up shoemaking on google or having the proper tools I'll make two clunky but Yeti-worthy monstrosities. Or, maybe just one then I'll quit. Stay tuned.

Thursday, August 9

who doesn't love a secret pocket?

I love making things with secret pockets and special weird magic pockets. Secret pockets are good. You might be concealing ancient scrolls that could alter the course of history. Or, a tampon.

To not love them is probably a sign that something inside you has shriveled up, one of your adventure lobes perhaps. I just finished one of my most exciting skirts so far. 
 It's called Be Very Prepared.

It has snaps all around the waist and two magic pocket-bags that can be worn anywhere there's a snap. Pretend the "t" is in stitching, please.

Wednesday, August 1

must ... release ... Seuss ... energy

I love me some earth-tones, oh yes I do, and I churn along turning out gray, olive, black, gray olive black ... but deep inside I'm building up Dr. Seuss energy that suddenly needs to burst out faster than you can say three-handled family credenza.

So I made some of these shirts, with purples and yellows and pinks and stripes - course stripes. I'm tempted to make a goofy rhyme, but I will contain that for now. I could, you know, please appreciate my restraint.

Last weekend I went to the Joseph Cornell exhibit in Salem Mass. I want to write about it but it pretty much left me speechless. My experience was quiet and internal, not conducive to fascinating-up my blog. I think my friends felt similarly. We all said we loved it, but only talked a short bit then when back to the rest of the day. It was certainly hard to divorce my experience of it from the rows of mass-produced scrapbooking crap you can buy at any store now. I felt polluted by the crapification of collage.