Panning for Gold: Part II

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I may have lied a couple of posts ago or at least need to explain.  When I said           “I have no words,”  I didn’t then, and for a good month beyond.  But I wasn’t referring to single, free-standing nouns…words that creep into my mind as I sit and stitch on projects and then capture on paper…single words that nip at a sense or the emotion of a moment, another word, word-waiting…

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The words I’m referring to “not having”  are the cohesive strings that coast on the promise of knowing, that fill me with purpose and reinforce my belief system.

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This dichotomy of language happened, as expected, when I returned from a workshop this summer, where permission was given to wander capriciously behind imagination without having to explain or name…just do, freely.

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Not that I returned to my studio idea-less. I felt quiet and calm but thoughts were messy, like junk in a pile and a month passed before I could arrange them into collections.  Emotion and heart had disconnected from logic and concept, and strings of words that make good “blog” were absent.

Enter gold.  Third Thursday.  Roy-G-Biv.  And one single, shiny appelation began the untangling.  I presented my only gold photo,  the image of a shard of broken beach glass and a thought…
Gold is not the treasure I hunt.

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I consider myself an explorer of the ordinary. I covet shells etched by sand and time, a rare round stone, but mostly the imperfect ones.  A feather no longer necessary to one bird’s flight or a rusty nail, its neck at breaking point from holding its head against old wood and weather for a hundred years.  These objects lavish my imagination with honest tales that stir my memories on a journey of stitches.

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Stories rich with energy, memory, triumph and trauma.

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I’m a survivor, like the old nail.  And generally positive, so I have been stitching until now on the high end of my stories, the outcomes, the triumphs, the half-full lessons.  But without planning too much, I left my “homeland,” dug a garden, set to grow something worthwhile.  I slowed a bit, embraced solitude and because I can,  I’m following the root way down.   

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Then, I cut deeply into the center of my onion skin-bundled cotton like I was tending a wound.

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Apres

With three days off and counting, I am taking a sigh and a moment to write about the past week or so.  We had our wonderful (younger) daughter and the traditional “family” Christmas day, special food, mostly practical gifts and a package of talismans from (older daughter) Israel and pictures of her camping trip.  I am enjoying the time, but my hands remain busy in many ways.
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Everyone Not in the Picture
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VERY North of Gaza

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I wasn’t planning to add anything today, but was inevitably inspired by my blog searching. Everywhere I look are beautiful images of ordinary things made important by a closer view. Here is my contribution.  When people view my word houses they generally glance, but better to peek inside.  This is good advice for everything. The image is a close-up  of the one I made for my friend Pam. growcrop1.jpg