![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSwX1lAvGkQtVYqq2bKqkFnQn2Gxb95R3X_4X1dtgw1PuGxjMU4FcjYhvzi2eNgONAL7YYCQIN0lcarTOk851jjEWL_M8OM4ZPod4FVAjTLBd2SSNMmFZCosDHdPwmfli0FTa4kygjVY/s400/red+bull.jpg) |
The Durham Bull, looking like something from Miles Davis' Sketches of Spain. |
Yes, I've been stitching. Been sketching. Been working with thread and fabric and fiber. But I've also been looking around me. Marveling at the broken loveliness of my life and of Durham.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitwjPDtOLK2C1zY0IgfyMvUtc1vuEiRIljqqoKuqZLlAB_Wxo3V3AvtOSc__ODuOoLJa3H3eZTQ-6uNB2chOiVe4gT4pBl6vWnC927DEJV4D1VRAfoad_4PpIsxNB6p5okiO_3MrLMSE/s400/Bull.jpg) |
Tobacco Town |
For many years, before I ever picked up a needle and pierced a piece of cotton, I wrote. And I read wildly and widely. In my old life I had bookcases so full there were books behind the books. Layers of books. And I made photos... rolls of black and white, home developed, hung in strips from my shower. And I listened to Coltrane. And he told me that the Night has a Thousand Eyes.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrrqhyphenhyphenIdEQVMohbRYQErAvdQhmuJ6znYv9Z3NdA2rJ3ZgOpz78agLXgokTL12vjg-cv6fOdrU3UoawjfCpfZZuFWOpkuvQNG50L3eQYi4tForJlvPda0692j5Nn4XaniNMUder5dNUZgU/s400/gritty+D.jpg) |
Beauty in dirty brick. |
Things don't work out the way one plans or hopes. (This is not a brilliant observation, I realize.) But when things have fallen apart, a creative person, an artist like me, finds new way of piecing the jumble back together. You look at what is in your immediate world and you go from there.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3qaABgcZKg1bQQl1AwN9lasa8QSIul-jk1fuCBtN90aXDLuyld9oO5vF4texCYqDg0J3VdbG_2qa95oyZwcPyE4YyYIMS1jmetf0JxAfDVomrKVG7gz3lUu_kbfAYl7EaKtSnVYfEeQ/s400/Suga+wip+2.jpg) |
Suga Belt, a piece inspired by an experience in another broken NC town, Carthage. |
So, my hyper-immediate world is my body and face, thus the self-portraits.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8U1Pmh8A5_17Mb2y8aaI-IBP2r7B2OqYoJgEp7Rjs7cfdfYFE2jRXYMk4zswEKtVuMXI8yW4S0oX3i12Mv1kkBslukM3cK3X-3BEr0IkYxaMmhQPJjbx_NH0bKsRAUiVB_p5UaCwPw4/s400/purple+eno+.jpg) |
Durham is insanely green. Eno River State Park, twilight. |
And my immediate surroundings are Durham, North Carolina, which Andy called "hardscrabble and wondrous" in an email one time. This description is so perfect for Durham... it has become a lens for me.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDIPalElbwceHOuG3t_ZBmj_Ce_PeaVe5dimMXD0dx8UVUYoltjVfEClBzmBUMEtPEE4I_KsFvLvikWCR2GxX9h4_Z15Uh9jg-wCzQzPMxt_OQ03FLiKLNVUGqYU0Ibgp_5kwuRE4qSA/s320/At+Keefies+2.jpg) |
Yet another photo of my aging self. |
And maybe it describes me at my best.