Sunday, February 24, 2013

Press your ear to my heart

Stitching my poetry fragments onto vintage linens.

Press, 2013.

Hanging them on a little board I made next to my bed.

French knots. Three.

Because writing and reading poetry is something that I've loved for so many years. And stitching these words makes me feel whole.

My fragment board.

Please read more poetry and eat more art, peeps. And talk to me about it.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Stones in a heart, a crooked spine & other confessions

Confession: I'm worn out.

Light box spine sketch.

Dull to read. But it is true. And if I'm not honest with myself, what good am I as an artist and writer?

Here is what I'm working on now. I can't write about it with a great deal of energy, but that isn't because I'm not excited about the work.  I'm happy and intrigued by it. 

Photo source: Shadows on my back on a sunny Sunday in Raleigh.

First up is another stitched image of my spine. This one is still in the sketching and planning stages.

Next up is a vintage handkerchief onto which I'm embroidering a fragment of a poem I wrote about hearing tiny stones clacking against each another in a man's heart. A simple piece, but I'm happy to see some of my writing finding its way into my stitching. 

WIP: Stitching my poetry.

Had a lovely, peaceful weekend away with my amazing boyfriend in Wilmington, NC. Being outside of my everyday life made me realize that, in order to make the time to do everything I do I might, occasionally, cheat ever-so-slightly on sleep. 

Romantic getaway in a renovated, brick pied-à-terre.

So, please forgive me for my low energy here. Traveling to Atlanta this week to work with Aubrey Longley-Cook on his new project. Geeked beyond belief about this stitching plus animation venture!

More to come... for now, rest.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Notes from Mr. Bergstrom

I knew I wanted to do his for a long time.


Mr. Bergstrom's note to Lisa Simpson has always meant so much to me. I've fantasized about receiving such a note many, many times. A special recognition that I'm not invisible, that I'm not alone.

Inspired by beadgirl, I've stitched Mr. Bergstrom's note before.

My original stitched note, from 2011.

This time I made personalized notes for some people in my life for whom I care deeply. I tried to copy Mr. Bergstrom's teacherly, cursive handwriting and added Lisa's little yellow hands.  I mailed the little notes as a surprise.

The source.

Erin said hers made her feel so loved. Which was exactly my intention! Woo-hoo!

For Erin, 2013.

And after I made ones for other folks, I knew I wanted one for me, for when I feel low, like Lisa Simpson did in "Lisa's Substitute." To remind myself, among other things, that there is a difference between solitude and being alone.

For Andy, 2013.

And as much of a tough mofo as I am, this note to myself makes me feel loved, too.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Stand in the place where you live

Look around at your town, city or hamlet.

Geer St. Beer Garden.

For years, I just wanted to get out of mine. To live in some other place that I thought would make me happier, like Seattle or NYC or Paris. I wasted so much time wanting to be somewhere else.

Golden Belt. Bulls beyond repair.

But then I lifted my head from my own despair and looked around me. I blinked in the light. My eyes watered.

Nomadic Trading Company. 

I found Durham, North Carolina, where I've lived for the entire 21st Century, around me. I started really seeing it for the first time, in all of its gritty beauty.

Remnant from Durham's dark, smoky past.  Main St.

Dolly's Vintage, Main St.

This is where I am. This is my town. Since I've opened my eyes and heart to it, I have found it hardscrabble and wondrous. (To quote Andy.)

Luchadoras, Durham Armory.

These are just quick photos taken with my iPhone. But they are part of my creative life. Part of my embrace of this moment in time. This place. Myself where I am right now.

Cocoa Cinnamon, Geer St.

Durham Freeway sunset.

Living in the moment gets a bad rap. As if it means you don't care about others or the whole picture... as if you don't respect your past or plan for your future, including the people in it. I disagree. I couldn't love people in my life more than I do.

Ceci n'est pas une fenêtre. Parrish St.

This moment is beautiful and it leads to the next and the next.