from Ellen Meloy's 'The Anthropology of Turquoise' chapter one, the Deeds and Sufferings of Light (my italics)
'Neurobiologists suggest that a keen human sensitivity to color begins when we are infants. An aesthetic sense, an intuitive link between a chromatic band and emotion, can then grow as strong as a fingerprint, defying logic and inviting the helpless surrender of a love affair. Intoxication with color, sometimes subliminal, often fierce, may express itself as a profound attachment to landscape. It has been rightly said: Color is the first principle of Place.'
latest cloth project: sewing pieces of home-dyed fabrics together, two layers thick, my favourite running stitch, letting it grow as-it-were-organically, resulting (I hope) in a table-cloth size piece; useful.....as such, or maybe hung in an open doorway during summer, preventing insects and small birds from flying indoors and becoming trapped
|personally I love close-ups of stitching|
|yesterday, as we celebrated my 52nd birthday with family and a couple of friends, we were fortunate enough to witness these blue tits leaving their nest!|
I don't do a lot of quoting here, however I couldn't resist sharing yet another gem, this one from John William's novel 'Augustus' (so worth reading!)
this quote is from Book III, where Augustus aged 77 (A.D. 14) is composing a letter to his old friend and philosopher Nicolaus of Damascus
'I have come to believe that in the life of every man, late or soon, there is a moment when he knows beyond whatever else he may understand, and whether he can articulate the knowledge or not, the terrifying fact that he is alone, and separate, and that he can be no other than the poor thing that is himself. I look now at my thin shanks, the withered skin upon my hand, the sagging flesh that is blotched with age; and it is difficult for me to realize that once this body sought release from itself in that of another; and that another sought the same from it. To that instant of pleasure some dedicate all their lives, and become embittered and empty when the body fails, as the body must. They are embittered and empty because they have known only the pleasure, and do not know what that pleasure has meant. For contrary to what we may believe, erotic love is the most unselfish of all the varieties; it seeks to become one with another, and hence to escape the self. This kind of love is the first to die, of course, failing as the body that carries it fails; and for that reason, no doubt, it has by many been thought to be the basest of the varieties. But the fact that it will die, and that we know it will die, makes it more precious; and once we have known it, we are no longer irretrievably trapped and exiled within the self.'
|how edges meet|
how writing, beauty Full, skillfull
writing takes us in but at the same
time clears and releases things in side Us. Frees us to see and be things,
cloth and stitching...up close....is
as are willow trees and bodies of water
i recognice that , by an old tree we like the charme of it
a lot of silent stiching work
there is more in it than there is to see more to feel it makes contact
aha Debbie, must check in and see what you are up to then
much bigger Dee, in my mind's eye i see it hanging in a large space now...floating
M.: oh yes lots of silent stitching all by myself in the studio, unlike my other 'half' when amidst company a very talkative girrrl and sometimes the two collide and unexpected things happen
i hadn't thought about that Julie, but you are quite right it would keep them in
Liz, a stitch vehicle, love that, as that is precisely what it is.
Mo, what other books by her would you recommend?
the quality of 'great art' is letting us see/feel what we otherwise might fail to notice, or just don't have the capacity to express for ourselves, Grace; luckily for us (all of us here) we continue to share and keep on going