Saturday

Saturday was the perfect day to play outside. And play I did in a charming little Connecticut town nearer the coast which hosts a bevy of artists and one very fine eating establishment.

While I enjoyed the company of a good friend, strolling along the street, chatting and buying gifts for the season, a bundle of cotton and rusty bits was playing its own game at home.

Once again, in the quiet of the morning, I danced in the studio to another rusty tune...a sea shanty sort of tune about discovering buried or bundled treasures.

As I sit here at my desk, viewing the yesterday's results, the lines...or stripes made by masonry nails is catching my eye and asking for more...more lines, more stripes.

The stripeys agree, of course. 

In the studio

In the quiet of the morning, while it was still dark outside and all in the house were sleeping,

except me and the cats, I danced in the studio to a rusty little tune. 

 

And 1 became 23.

In the studio

Made a bit of progress on the rusted boro piece today. 

Tea time, part 2

Does art have seasons? If so, winter is definitely my season to rust. It's so easy. Soak something in vinegar or water. Put it in a baggie with a bit of rust. Leave it to work its magic...in my case, go to Kansas for a few days. Come back and open up the bundle.

This piece was in the baggie for about a week. I opened once before leaving for Kansas,  liked what was happening and repositioned a few of the washers. Just took it out yesterday.

You can't tell from the mosaic, but the fabric - more of Deb's wonderful gift - measures approximately 8.5 inches high by 16 feet long.

Part of me yearns to leave it as is. Part of me sees cutting it into 8.5 inch squares. Hmmm...that would be...22 squares. What do you think? Which should it be? Long and lean or a bit square?

Tea time

In May of last year, a mysterious box arrived from Deb, a friend and fellow fiber artist.

 Opening the box was like finding an unexpected treasure

for inside was lengths of cotton that Deb had used 

in making her shibori scarves.

 The steam set folds and pleats were sensual.

Not daring to risk destroying the beauty of the gift, 

I put the cotton away and waited for the muse to whisper.

And whisper she did, just before I left for Pam's.

 

Remember this?

After soaking in a tea and vinegar mixture for a week, 

I wrapped the rusted ring with Deb's cotton

and left it to transform while I was gone.

And transform it did. Seems tannins + rust = gray. 

And if left long enough, the rust becomes...well...rust.

That kind of day

Yesterday was a rare day. It was a day in the studio...Pam's studio. 

A just do it  kind of day.

A day for stitching.

A day for admiring work. 

A day for what ifs. 

What if  I paint on the back?

 

 What if  I dip it?

What if  I let it soak?

Will it run? 

It was that kind of day.

A day for taking photos of friends.

Patterns

As I sat on the airplane Thursday morning, waiting for take off, 

the patterns on the tarmac caught my eye 

and saw it as stitching on black cloth.

 Hmmm....I may just have to try this.