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Archive for April, 2010

april sunday

bundles

i love my friends.  one came and split bark today, even though the sun was out after days of rain.  ‘stay home, have fun, go do something else’, i told him.  ‘ok’, he said, and was at the door in a few ready to soak, strip, cut, thin.  i found my missing japanese knife, the sharp one, and it surprised everyone with its shiny bite.

we are at the bottom of the yard waste bag, digging for bark rolls, examining them, as if we had a choice of whether to use them or not. we pretend to pick and chose, knowing it is what it is.

the bundles were sappy, our hands were full of pitch.  ‘Franny wouldn’t use this’, i said, thinking of my dear friend at Lummi.  but she is she and i am me and running out of supplies.

so we had a good day.  the sun came and went, he got tired, i have my endurance up, and we ate rice and potatoes for dinner. he said, ‘ i know something different about weavers now.  this is tiring work.’ and i said, ‘you know, i used to run.’

so you train and you build and you get stronger every day.  weaving is like that.

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what it looks like

sleep?

some people wake up, shower, dress, eat.

i skip those,

wake up, weave.

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april 23

demestrid

purple yarn is home to a fleet of dermestid. they came from the store this way.

they eat wool, any organic matter, really.

i kill them with my bare hands.

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april 24

corners, edges, lines

a mat is made of small rectangles linked together, held by each other’s underneath.

how long will it live, when will it break?  will it be here, after me?

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april 24

details, details

hand work, meditations

remediation.

i have passed my half-way  milepost, and i wonder, if it will still come to pass?  will it be complete?

faith.  i am wondering about the things we believe in; that tomorrow will come, that we are right, that our laundry will be clean if we add soap and water.

there are seeds in the ground and flower buds tightly fisted.  it rained today.

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april 2x

driver rear panel

camas , driver rear panel

rather plain, rather simple

i think it is done, but may add leaves.  one more panel left to weave, who will it be?

Beings here so far:  butterfly (2), frog, double-headed wind spirit, sturgeon, whale, lightning, water, sasquatch, double bird, dragonfly, camas.

there’s a pile of marking on my dinner table, mostly done.  there are my tax forms, canadian and U.S., not done.  unfinished papers, when did i last wash my hair?

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here, please

camas flower making a bulb

on it goes,

over, under, wrap, twist, tuck

eat, sleep, dream, hope and pray

240 days and nights

1980: in the north, on the island, while hiking in the woods,i came into a meadow, full of purple iris-like flowers

Rosabel said it would take five years of gathering to have enough petals to make a purple dye for one small basket, a burlap bag full, basket the size of your fist.

Victoria on this southern island, vancouver, is the paving, the houses, the buildings over  dormant camas fields,

the design is for the flowers and their silent rarity, their ability to survive the great dismal groaning north pacific winter, their desire to be planted, propogated, eaten and made into dye, their beauty in a bog, a forest, a garden.

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