Winter Shirts

This is a photo I took of a marble statue in our garden. Keeping with the winter idea, below is a poem I wrote a few years ago. It isn't autobiographical,well, maybe a little. But I have never been to Minnesota. The poem came from my memory of living in West Texas where winters can be harsh. Many days I pulled frozen diapers from the clothes line and hung them all over the house to thaw. It was a great day when we finally bought a clothes dryer.

Winter Shirts

My mother took care of my father's shirts,
the ones that froze on the line during Minnesota's blue Winters.
The ones that smelled of sweat and cigarettes
she washed by hand when electrical lines froze and snapped.

The grey and black with red piping,
light blue oxford cloth with extra starch,
Saturday night polyester,
white linen with button down collar,
quilted plaid flannel ones.

The same ones she laid over chair backs in front of the stove
to thaw, and ironed every Wednesday night since they married.
The shirts she hung carefully in his closet
according to color and sleeve length.
It was the shirts she watched him remove from the hangers
and throw on the floor that made her realize
her life had become a series of unappreciated repetitive tasks.

It was those shirts she took from his closet,
folded neatly in a pile behind the house,
set ablaze, and burned to a cinder.
As she watched twenty years of her life
rise in white clouds of smoke
against the icy Minnesota morning,
it occurred to her she had not felt that warm in years.

Winter Scenes

It is hot and dry in Texas. The thermometer hit 105 degrees two days ago. So I thought I would post some pictures of the last time it snowed in the Texas Hill Country where I live. What year was that? No matter. Just looking at the snow makes me feel refreshed.  The top photo is one I took of a angel statue in the courtyard of our yoga studio.Then tropical birds in Texas snow? They look like they are enjoying themselves. They are a little "plastic"!

A Year by the Sea and Other Musings

I recently checked out a book at the local library. A Year by the Sea, by Joan Anderson. Quoting the inside cover, "An entrancing story of how one woman emerged from a stagnant period, finding the energy to renew her marriage and the courage to persevere in the living of an unfettered life." The post title of the book is, Thoughts of an Unfinished Woman.  There are many pearls of wisdon and insights that hit home.

When I came home with my stash of new reading material I decided I would do nothing that evening but stretch out and read. I had nothing that had to be done; nothing urgent tugging at me to be fixed, cleaned, or managed. As I relaxed on the sofa with A Year by the Sea I began to feel very uneasy, feeling guilty for taking time for myself. After reading one page I went upstairs, cleaned up my closet then scrubbed and cleaned the bathroom. Now, that didn't have to be done but I felt I had to "earn" the right to indulge myself. Suddenly the anxiety was gone as I had "paid" for my priviledge.

Where does that "stinking thinking" come from? Chances are from many years of putting everything and everyone elses needs and wishes before our own. I dare say Im not alone in this situation, but, I had thought I had out grown it. I had to laugh at myself.

Joan Anderson touches on these feelings in "A Year by the Sea". In describing her feelings of guilt for leaving her old life for a year on Cape Cod she says, "There's a price to pay for such self-indulgence. I stand here holding freedom in one hand and guilt in the other---." She talks a lot about taking risks and making changes in our lives stating, "Doesn't change occur only when we stop living the expected life?"

I doubt that I will ever totally eliminate those feelings of guilt or not being worthy enough when I indulge myself, whether it be time for myself or buying something unnecessary and outrageous. But, being aware of this behavior is a step in the right direction. I can say now, when I catch myself feeling those pangs of guilt I stop and think how inappropriate they are and laugh a little.

A few years ago I tore a page from a magazine and still have it tacked up by my computer. It is an anonymous quote. "When you die God and the angels will hold you accountable for all the pleasures you were allowed in life that you denied yourself." I read it daily.

The Softer Side of Art

It has been a while since I created a post for my blog. What can I say? Life has been busy. I do want to post some pictures from the invitational fiber art show at the Kerrville Arts and Cultural Center that was from July 1-25. It was a great show with many talented fiber artist participating.

This  is Mary Lee Tennant who does wonders with fiber. Here she is demonstrating basket weaving.

Debbie Geistweidt stands beside one of her beautiful landscapes. She thread sketches/ paints traditional Texas scenes with a unique eye for detail.

Lisa Kerpoe stands between long pieces of her hand dyed, monoprinted and many other fiber manipulations I can't even begin to explain other than it draws you in to the design and colors.

If you ever get to Kerrville stop by the Kerrville Arts and Cultural Center. There is always a great art show going on and it is a lovely venue.

Fly Me To The Moon

I look at this piece and think, "How fun would that be?" Wouldn't it be great to hop on a big soaring bird and fly to the moon? I could dream about that. The background was made from handmade painted paper cloth. The picture uses commerical fabrics, hand dyed and rust dyed fabrics. Machine and hand stitched.

                   Below is a close up of a happy girl riding her mythical bird to the moon.

Flower Dreams

This 8x10 piece was a fun little project. I drew her face on cotton fabric. Then it was enhanced with watercolors and gel pens and machine quilted. I put it aside for a few days thinking it would be one of those pieces that would end up at the bottom of one of my bins, never to be seen again. While looking at other possibilities for making another piece I pulled it out again and she survived, mostly from frustration, but she made it.

Now that I have her put together I like her a lot. She has grown on me. The flowers and leaves are raw edge applique made from hand dyed fabrics on a commercial fabric.

Where Have All The Soldiers Gone?

This piece was made with handmade paper cloth, photo transfer on organza, acrylic and watercolor paints, gel pens, machine stitched. The red "drips" that simulate blood were made with acrylic paint.

I wanted to do a piece that expressed my feelings about the escalation of the war in Afghanistan. My heart goes out to the many families who have lost a loved one there.The title of this piece is from a line in the song, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone", by Peter, Paul and Mary.