first morning with Sorels
still life cricket in blue bathroom sink
i take this postcard of the painting of Noelle, The Goat Lady, from here to there and back as i move around the house. She is here in her Hay Barn. I think of her, tending her Goats into her 90's. , moving through her day, her sweater closed with a safety pin. She and her Goats lived in Massachusetts. I am sure it was Cold there.
just more roots. this taken as Cloth was flat, lying on the table. Maybe allows the roots to be more visible? Roots are slow going.
Liz had this quote on her blog I'mgoingtoTexas.blogspot.com. I've thought about it all day.
"Art" is not found in our language. But what do we call a piece of work which embodies the life of its creator? What will it be if it has a life and a soul, while its maker sings and prays for it? In my home we call it pottery painted with designs to tell us a story. In my mother's house, we call it a wedding basket to hold blue corn meal for the groom's family. In my grandma's place we call it a Kachina doll, a carved image of a life force that holds the Hopi world in place. We make pieces of life to see, touch and feel. Shall we call it "Art"? I hope not. It may lose its soul. Its people."
Michael Lacapa Apache Hopi Tewa
Thinking. Maybe i make these Cloths to "hold my world in place"?, i think Yes. My small bit of world that is so clearly OF a large and far reaching world that covers a planet. But this small part that i am in partnership with. To hold it in place, maybe. I like this.





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