stitching together our stories

So I have to tell the story of The Quilt.  

Some of you know about it from my Instagram and Facebook posts. I also share some of its story in my offering for the upcoming Inner Alchemy Circle: Earth Coven that begins October 18.  

Like the actual quilt itself, its story is complex and somewhat scattered. Or maybe that is just me. Early on I realized that it isn't the quilt that is crazy, but me for attempting it. But that is perhaps a strength of mine as well. For I have learned it is best to dive right in when the inspiration strikes. Too much research and planning can overwhelm me or dull the motivation. As a yoga teacher once shared: planning is priceless; plans are useless. There is preparation, but nothing beats beginning and learning as you go, facing and solving the challenges as they arise.

Or in my case, making it up as I go along.

You see, I've never really made a quilt before. Okay, I did buy a hunk of fabric already pieced together - vintage Bali batiks - and I added the batting and backing, quilting it using a simple yarn tie technique. It is an over-sized lap quilt and it gave me false confidence.

So a few things to keep in mind as I tell this tale which turned into my own Moby Dick/Ahab adventure. Number one:   I am not a sewer. I cannot cut straight nor can I sew straight. I swear my sewing machine needs an alignment. It (or I) veer off to the left ever-so-slightly until I run up against the edge of the seam. 

What inspired me to make a quilt - a memory quilt I am calling it - is I inherited a box of quilt squares my mother cut out over 40 years ago. I hounded her for a quilt and one summer she decided she would tackle it. She cut out hundreds - probably over 200! - squares, all perfectly even and exact. She had fabrics with coordinating solids all cut out and organized and she even began to hand-stitch! the squares into triangles which she was going to stuff with filling. I think her plan was one she hatched herself and I believe what eventually stalled her was realizing her made-up technique would not work.

look at those tiny stitches!

So the quilt was put away and never mentioned. Oh, I would bring it up and she would flash me a stern look that implied If you want this bloody quilt, then you can make it! I realize now what thwarted my mother was her perfectionism. Which is why I have learned that perfectionism kills off more creativity than any lack of skill or talent.

In other words: better imperfectly realized and manifested than perfect only in my imagination. 

A few years ago I made a story scarf with the sewing/repurposing Queen Maya Donenfeld.  I cut up a few of Cowgirl's baby dresses for that project (I would have wept but I was too busy trying to cut straight!) and I loved having the sweet prints that reminded me of our early days transformed into this personal keepsake. I still had some fabric left and decided it would be fun to use it in a quilt for Cowgirl, along with the fabric that my mother had cut out for my never-realized quilt.

Last winter I began stitching scraps of fabric together. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but quickly discovered it was soothing to spend time matching pieces together, figuring out what to place where, adding or building up strips and blocks of patch-worked pieces and then matching those chunks of patchwork with other sections to create bigger and bigger chunks. 

I had about a quarter of the top done when I put it away. This is something new I've learned about myself after reading the book Refuse To Choose: I am a scanner (although I dislike that label and prefer multipassionate creative instead) which means what may appear to others as a constant and compulsive jumping from project to project, beginning but never completing; is instead is seeking my own "reward" for starting a project or process and when I've gotten that, I  move on. In the book Sher likens it to a bee who goes into a flower to get the nectar and once that happens, moves on. I enjoy the process of figuring things out - I love jigsaw puzzles! - and sharpening my skills and learning new techniques or processes is enjoyable for me. I like to see things coming together. But once that happens, I am less engaged and am ready for something new.

Unconsciously I've somehow figured out how to push through the less engaging stage and complete projects. I mean, I am aware of the boredom and drudgery but somehow I make myself finish. Well, not somehow; I give myself deadlines like Cowgirl's birthday and usually I don't allow much time for goofing off so I have to stick with it. 

In three weeks time, I had to complete the top of the quilt (the fun, rewarding activity for my multipassionate creative self) and then tackle the backing and quilting (18 rows of tedious yarn ties) at which point I began to think about Moby Dick and began to refer to the project  - in my thoughts only - as that fucking quilt. 

But I also began to realize how the quilt was piecing together all of our stories - my mother's, mine, and my daughter's. I was using the sewing machine that my father had given my mother after my birthday (which makes us twins I suppose) and I was using fabrics that I remembered she had used to make dresses for herself and for me, along with the quilt squares she had already cut out. 

Whereas my mother's squares represented her - neat, tidy, precise,  patient, loving - mine represent me - colorful, playful, a little chaotic and haphazard but with attention to the details, to the inner stories within the fabric. The quilt embodies what I've come to realize is my motivation within everything I do and what I seek to offer: cherished creative.  
 

I surprised Cowgirl with her quilt - there were still 4 rows of ties to add - and right away she asked me about the different fabrics, pointing to one's she remembered and asking about new ones. I see stitched together all of our stories, three lives brought together, repurposed and reimagined. Improbable and impossible coming togethers which did happen. The quilt I wanted when I was ten, I now have made for my newly minted eleven year-old daughter. 

And so we continue to add to our story which will eventually be stitched to another generation's.

 

new rituals (festive fun)

This week leading up to Christmas has felt particularly dreamy and still.

I'm not sure whether it is my current state of head and heart or earth's own somnolence with the Winter Solstice now upon us.  Even though I have had to venture out (!) for last minute errands and some very essential (and soul nurturing) teatime with friends, I still feel suspended out of time and in that liminal space of not-quite-knowing/not yet there-wherever-there-may-be. 

And the oddest thing of all - I am relaxing into all of that. I am okay with being in my current state of old-dog-shuffling-about-the-house-looking-for-a-place-to-rest. 

I have had two very rich and grounding sessions with a seriously amazing wise woman who is an astrologer slash storyteller slash myth-mapper with a huge dose of heart-healthy humor and goosebumps inducing truth telling. (Carol Ferris, based in Portland OR. We used Skype for our sessions. Email her at: rficf@easystreet.net)

rficf@easystreet.net

 

rficf@easystreet.net

rficf@easystreet.net

rficf@easystreet.ne

She has helped me connect the dots and perceive the greater image of myself and the journey of my life thus far.  She explains how this is the season of dark and cold and "all of the seeds are in the ground, everything is there" and now "the seeds are dreaming in the dark." 

That is it, isn't it? Now is not the time for efforting, pushing, building, and certainly not for understanding. Now is the time for rest ...time to allow the mystery to be ...  for the seeds of what I cannot yet name or know (for to do so would be to limit their potential) ... time for those seeds to be dreaming in the dark. 

In my current dreamy-state, I have been able to perceive the outline of forms, rhythms, rituals that slowly but steadily taken root. In this season of traditions, I recognize what naturally has to fall away now that my mother is no longer here to participate, but I see what has arises to fill that space.

Behold: our yearly ornament experimentation!

Each year Cowgirl brings home an ornament (or two ... or three ...) crafted at school. 

 Decorating our family tree, I realized I have a bevy of homemade ornaments collected over the years.  There are the ones  I've made ...

And the ones made and gifted to me by friends.

 This ornament practice has been quietly rooting itself within our holiday preparations. In these final days before Christmas, I am imagining holiday music, the smell of baking cookies (each year we bake and plate Santa his Christmas treat ... along with a finger of Scotch which we know he appreciates), and a busy production line of ornaments to be completed.

Gentle, warm, creative time in which we nurture ourselves while allowing our seeds their time in the dark to dream and be.

Happy Solstice.  Wishing you the full enjoyment of the magic, the memories, the joy of this season of the dark turning towards the light. 

Final day to enter my giveaway! Details to be found HERE.

honoring my boundaries

If there is one theme running throughout my present life and within many of the circles I inhabit, it would be boundaries.  Personal or relationship boundaries: defining, clarifying, honoring and maintaining them.

I wonder if anyone older than thirty ever had healthy boundaries modeled for them?  Certainly in my family of origin, running rough-shod over personal space, never mind emotional space, was the norm.  It was my father's house damn it and that authority trumped all.  Emotional manipulation, passive aggressive behavior and martyr complex thrived in that environment. 

Much of my adult life has been spent dismantling unhealthy boundaries; getting at the negative  attitudes and behaviors while mindfully constructing positive, affirming ones.  Boundaries Boot Camp has been vital in bringing awareness to deeply rooted habits of being while holding out new tools in addressing and understanding boundary work.

A new aha (and duh, and of course!) came about when mapping out my circles of intimacy.  With myself in the middle, who - or what - occupies the concentric ring or circle directly adjacent to me ... the ring representing my most intimate of relationships?  Surprise! My most intimate relationships are not with my partner or my child (they occupy the next ring out) but with Spirit (or Source), with Nature, and with Creativity.

The relationship where I show up my most vulnerable and authentic self is not with another person, but with myself. 

Thinking about those relationships, I have to consider how I establish and maintain healthy boundaries.  Or conversely: how do I violate the terms of those relationships?  Do I disrespect or dishonor those connections and if so, how? More importantly, if at the most inner ring or core of my map of relationships there is a rupture, how does that ripple out into all my relationships?

Not the kind of questions to answer in one afternoon ... 

I believe at the foundation of healthy boundaries is a sense of self worth and self respect.  Right now, I am considering how I may disregard my relationship with creative source or creativity whenever I fail to show up for it.  What showing up looks like for me is listening deeply, and allowing space and time for expression and presence to flower and unfold.

exploring drawing with my non-dominant hand ... my new favorite way in!

Beyond any purpose I may believe my creative works exists to perform,  there exists a need for that creative expression to simply be.  For no other reason than it is a part of who I am and how I express my gratitude for the mystery and magic of being alive. Creative expression is how I honor the sacred presence that is me (and is all of us) and it is how I converse with that presence. 

Essential is space for play and exploration ... to question and, in my own language, craft my responses.  

on-going dialogue with Van Gogh; project idea from Studying Under the Masters course with Jeanne Oliver

How I want others to honor and respect my boundaries, I must extend to myself. When I dismiss my work -  when I devalue or talk smack about it; when I disregard its priority in my life; when I discount its cries for care; when I sacrifice it for "more important things" -  I am engaged in boundary violation ... with myself.

Instead, I pledge to respect, nurture, listen and tend to my Creativity.  I pledge to honor play, curiosity, exploration and adventure as core values that both everyday mom-me wishes to foster in our home, and more intimately, through relationship with Creativity and Source.  

Screech Owl á la Van Gogh

No more excuses ... change is afoot!

the art of SEEING

Have you ever spent a day when you haven't spoken out loud to another person?  When you finally encounter another human being, do you find speaking initially cumbersome and awkward?

That is what happens to me.  It's as if my verbal "muscles" have weakened due to disuse, but they slowly loosen up.

The same can be said for drawing, or any creative activity.  When someone tells me "I can't draw!" - the emotion in their voice betraying a deep desire to connect to this inherent gift - I point out that any creative expression requires regular use in order to feel comfortable or fluid.  If you haven't been drawing - just like not speaking for some time - when you do attempt to draw (or paint, or write, or sew) you will feel initially wonky and wobbly.

This conversation came up with a dear friend who is strengthening her fearlessness skills by signing up for my Sketch Diary Explorations offering. I love that she is leaning into her edge: aware she is stepping out of her comfort zone but also answering this deep pull towards what feels both exciting and frightening.

And I get it ... this fear of failing at something we deeply desire ... the moves we make to avoid revealing what we believe is an essential lack or flaw.  Studies have found that younger children will respond positively when asked if they are able to and like drawing, but that number decreases steadily as they age. It isn't so much a lack of ability as much as a lack of experience combined with increased self-consciousness.

I know all too well the expectations laid upon me when I declare myself to be an artist.  I still panic when someone asks me to draw something ... I begin to qualify "I'm not that kind of artist" which is to say, I do not strive for exact realism in my work.  But under that explanation is no small amount of discomfort because truly, if one is an artist, that means being able to draw exactly what one sees, right?

But really, what does SEEING involve?  Is it merely the surface appearance of things?  Or might it also include something more abstract and deeply personal?  The essence or meaning of the thing for the beholder?  Am I drawing merely to confirm what I KNOW about a subject?  

When I reach for my sketch diary, I am not seeking to create an exact replica of the scene before me.  If I wanted that, I would grab my camera and take a picture (although the choice of angle, perspective, lighting, cropping all are choices I make which influence the emotional impact of the scene; I still am filtering the view through ME.) What I want to capture is the essence of the moment, the deeper meaning of what is before me and hopefully through the act of slowing down and paying attention, to SEE what I might otherwise overlook.

My preferred method of drawing is known a blind contour drawing which I learned about through the book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards. I confess, I do cheat. What I love about this technique is it forces me to go slow, turn off my mind and stay present for what I see in each moment.  I can always tell in a drawing where I was deeply engaged and really seeing what was before me

and where I sped up and drew what I knew (the opening of the glass is a round shape, but from the angle where I was sitting, it would not appear as a perfect circle)

I have to wonder: how often in my day, my life, do I fail to see what is before me?  How often do I lapse back into what I believe or know, which is to miss out on an opportunity to deepen my understanding or experience of that person, scene, or thing? How often do I filter my life through the narrow and limited lens of my thinking mind and overlook the deeper mysteries and lessons present in each moment? In the offering of this vase of summer flowers or the emotional gift present in the eyes of a donkey or my sleeping dog?

 To SEE something in its fullest being requires, for me, the attitude of a child. It requires curiosity and a willingness to engage heart, mind, eyes, and soul with whatever captures my attention.  To look deeply and see the essence of what is before me is to tap into the sacredness of living and to merge the prosaic with the profound.   (I want to give credit to the artist Katherine Dunn whose book Creative Illustration Workshop along with her amazing online course Capturing the Essence clarified for me  the purpose and the gift of artistic expression in my life.)

It is familiarity with life that makes time speed quickly. When every day is a step in the unknown, as for children, the days are long with gathering of experience ...
- George Gissing

To regularly make time to sketch some aspect of my day is to strengthen the part of me that experiences life as a child: fully immersed in what is before me, a clean slate of experience, and mind open and willing to see, believe - and most importantly - receive.

Some days it is a playful action and other days deep soul medicine.  But always, if I show up and engage, it is a means of valuing myself and my experience.  It is strengthening the voice deep within ... the voice I knew as a young child ... the voice that tells me I belong to this world with all its gifts and delights. 

Even when I fail to see clearly, what I put down is still a record of my journey: the lapses and the triumphs, the quiet moments and the breath-held-in-suspension moments, the struggles and the simple pleasures that add up to a life well lived.

My girl will be joining me in camp this summer.  Consider it to be one massive and creative play date ... we would love the company!  All the details are HERE and beginners are not only welcome, but beginner's mind - a child's mind & heart -  IS the only requirement!   
 

fevered

my new Morning Pages Notebook a la Mel with sewn cover

Awesome, really

creative impulse

masquerading as

avoidance

This morning I awoke to this:

Winter's last and feeble gasp ... it actually helps to abate the fever within. My symptoms: frenzy of new activity;

back view; an impulsive Must Do This Minute project?

resurrection of old projects from the vaults (embroidery, a sweater, a felted bag, paintings, journals) shuffled in with the new; 


 

ah, a girl rummaging in the paint tub!

eyes wide open to the quiet and boisterous declarations of Spring shaking me to Wake Up!  It is Time to Don Color and Celebrate!

I am learning from The Man II (Mr. Whyte) to cease trying to name what is yet unnameable ... to declare the destination prematurely would be to limit the scope of the journey, pigeonholing myself and any transformation that might occur in the act of striding through this forest of delights (oh, and shadows and strange noises and wonderful birdsong and sunshine through the branches.)

I am welcoming the excursions to shore ... the side trips (This begins on Friday and I don't think I can - or ought to! - resist this and goodness goddess, how can I not want to don gypsy grab and set forth with my adventure journal?)

I blame all this on the worms. The earth waking up, the worms working their magic underground, the green fingers of Spring wiggling their greetings and invitations to me.  Spring fever?  Oh my yes! And I am feeding it!

What has the Worm Moon awoken in you? 

hope and windows

Lately it seems my mind is fixed upon doorways and windows.

It's been a trying Winter ... only a handful of days left so hope is in sight, right?  Except I seem to recall majority climbers on Mount Everest die in the region just before the summit.  Hilary Step I believe it is called.  But that is a metaphor for another day.

 No, my response to "How are you doing?" in these Hilary Step days is to mangle a favorite line from a John Irving novel, "Still passing the open windows."  Actually, I am glancing out those windows, eagerly awaiting the day I can open them up and air out the mental dust bunnies of my home and head.  To mis-quote another memorable line: Hope Floats. (It is actually "Sorrow floats" - Sorrow being the family's beloved black Labrador retriever stuffed after death, a symbol of hope amid suffering.)  In my case, Hope is a droopy, repotted house plant in shock.  The intention was revival, the outcome remains uncertain.

I can relate.  As I bear witness to the end of another season, another cycle in my life, I am aware of how quickly these months fly by.  My experience is akin to those spiral wishing wells often positioned in the entrance of Children's Museums.  Drop a coin in at the outer edge and it spirals slowly and hypnotically around and around until it reaches a point closer to the center when suddenly it rapidly whips through the few final circles before plunging into the hole and disappearing.  Coin gone, game over.

Being a self-proclaimed optimistic realist, I choose to focus upon the many doors and windows ahead of me.  I just hold a healthy sense of urgency or importance to those choices.

"the doors have always been there/to frighten you and invite you" (David Whyte, Everything is Waiting for You)

There is the moment when I pause, looking back over my shoulder at the doorways I have passed through and remember the ones I passed by. I don't choose to dwell upon regrets except when I catch myself fumbling or stumbling upon another threshold. In the past what has held me back can be boiled down to fear and doubt. Two familiar gremlins who have squatted far too long in the back alleys of my mind.  I have taken time to get to know them - in day light it is amazing how puny and weak they appear to be. Their power resides in shadow and making a mighty racket to camouflage their diminutive stature.  Well, I've cultivated some allies to help me flush these pests out into the open.

All of this is to say, another season and another chance to reach for that brass ring.  Which in my mind is really any gesture of reaching, exploring, trying, daring, believing, doing or tempting that has me stepping through another door.  Or opening a window and leaning out, feeling sunlight upon my face, hearing the bird song, sensing the pulse of the world waking up around me.  

There is no such thing as creative people and non-creative people. There are only people who use their creativity and people who don't. Unused creativity doesn't just disappear. It lives within us until it's expressed, neglected to death, or suffocated by resentment and fear.  Unexpressed creativity is not benign. It metastasized into grief and illness. (Brené Brown) 

A great man once said the only true sin is that of an un-lived life. 

There is a secret destiny for each person. When you endeavor to repeat what others have done or force yourself into a preset mold, you betray your individuality. We need to return to the solitude within, to find again the dream that lies at the hearth of the soul. We need to feel the dream with the wonder of a child approaching a threshold of discovery. (John O'Donohue, Anam Cara)

There it is again!  That doorway, another threshold.  

Each time I choose to get up off the couch, to counter inertia with action, to reach for the art journal, paint brush, pen or paper, it is another step through a doorway.  Sometimes I am shuffling ... sometimes all I can take is baby-steps ... sometimes it is a stumbling, lurching kind of movement ...  but whatever the form, whatever the gesture the impulse itself is guided by Hope, Faith and Trust.  

It doesn't have to be complicated.  My faith is in the birds, in the tiny shoots ready to burst through hard soil, in the energy that animates this face, this heart.

My trust is in the cycles and seasons within me and around me.  A trust in myself to spiral closer and closer to my truth, my light, my source.

And hope ... well, he sleeps with his tongue sticking out, he awaits another walk, another day to love and to simply be in my presence.  

Starting soon ... a chance to step through 21 different doorways and create with some incredible teachers and guides.  

On Sale Now! Starts April 1!

I will be there ... and I will be immersing myself in the play, indulging my inner child in discovery and adventure. 

Each day we stand on the edge of a new adventure, possibilities waiting to emerge.  What is germinating right now within your heart, your soul?  How are you tending to it?

kick starting my mojo

Because I am so cheap (mindful of my money?) ... I hauled booty working on a Shutterfly photo book in order to use a coupon that was expiring soon.

Because I take a few way too many photographs, it is no small feat to shift through my backup drive, opening folder upon folder to re-discover pictures I don't remember taking, but instantly decide that one and that one ... and that one! are all photo book worthy.

Because it is such a laborious task and my memory isn't quite up to snuff, I put off creating a yearly family album.  Which means the photo book I busted said hump over chronicles 2011 (but I finished it in time to receive half off discount and a coupon - score!) and if memory serves me, we are in um ... 2013? So only two years to go if I keep on rolling ... but as I am discount motivated, I need another coupon ...

Here's the pearl in this oyster: first is the pleasant surprise of reviewing a large body of work and discovering I have taken some mighty fine photos. (Helps to have a trained, willing, and photogenic subject.  And Cowgirl is a good model in a pinch.)


 

vintage Moose, 2011

But another benefit is remembering just how crafty I can be and how colorful my world was back in 2011.  Which motivates me to flex my artsy muscles a bit more in the coming season. 

it just isn't the holidays if I'm not knitting with a deadline!

Then there are people like Mel who get my creative mojo revving through their wildly imaginative projects (if you are needing that perfect gift, look no further!), never mind the daily bread crumb droppings.  Only a dear friend such a Mel could lure me into another ning-hosted arty site but heaven help me, it has been the magic ingredient missing from my creativity brew and yes, my mojo is now humming along.

And it has been effortless (and it's free!) ... the bit of play I've needed to keep me sane and smiling in this season of endless Christmas music. 

Off to do my daily doodle whilst sipping cider and exorcizing Wham!'s Last Christmas from my brain.

Happy days my friends.  Happy days!