Telling

What if you live in a place where it rains almost every day?

What if you live in a house made of mud?

What if you want your daughter to get married in a huge kiln where Jun Kaneko fired his sculpture?

What if you wonder?

What if you are just a bird?

xoxo

Friends and Family

In my garden, this is where I find moments of silence, except for the bluejays, crows, red birds, blue birds, woodpeckers, whiny baby birds, kitty cats, chipmunks, squirrels, deer, bear and 3 cubs, my honey sawing wood or pounding nails, the water sprinkler, the two cell phones, my flip flops flopping, the thunder somewhere not too far away, and black walnuts falling off the tree hitting the metal roof, gun shots in the distance, sirens on the highway far below, the train blowing the whistle twenty two times, someone driving on our gravel road, this could go on and on.

It is between these sounds is what I am talking about. . .

That is where all of the universe is silent in awe contemplating how big, how small, how infinite.


xoxox A Bird Song

Looking

In wandering around both in my mind and in many places

in time and space I see amazing things. I have a few glass balls

and magnifying devices in my little bag of tricks. If, at times, I

believe I am lost in the fog or something knocks me off of my

track I pull these items out and look at something I tried before

like last year; I found these tiny little flowers that grow in shady

places. I put a lens on my camera for close up shots, printed them

and generally played around with them.

Yesterday I receive some news about something very personal

that shook me to the  core of my being and brings tremendous

sadness. I am still trying to wrap my mind around this news. It is

not about me. So, this morning I played as you can see.

I have put my stories on hold, for now, just a bit. . .

Fiber art and photography experiments and working outside is

what I will do for now. . .

I read something interesting yesterday that I wanted to share with

all of you just in case you did not already know about this. . .

the link is below the photos. Just click on it and it will take you there.

 

xoxo

 

The bird who is fluffing feathers

 

 

 

 

 

The Textile Blog: Looking Back in Order to Look Forward

For you

Bridges and ladders are sometimes necessary for survival. Reaching out to someone in trouble is such a burdensome thing. especially if one cares so very much. Bundles and baggage are things carried close to the vest. Poker faces, poker voices, these are much better to have,  I offer these to you, these ladders and torches. When you are stuck in a cave half dead and forgotten remember which way is up.

Love,

Birdy to you

What Really Matters? Just Matter?

. . . "that that part of the project must be given up, although he was indeed bitterly chagrined and excited for part of an hour, when the hour had passed over it seemed as if he had quite forgotten the dis appointment, so enthusiastically was he occu pied already with the new scheme substituted by his active mind."

Memories and Studies – William James

Objects found on day before in the pack

And so it goes:

 

How's my darlin'?

 

I am sitting here by the fire trying to write something, to no avail. I will be reaching a point of no return, soon. Crossing paths, it seems to me a recurring, albeit most welcome event, with a particular tribe, the Ute, reminds me that nature is a force with which to be reckoned. Places I have squeezed between, today, where the sandstone nearly touches, might be a warning, one would think to heed.  But, contrary to what the Ute said, I believe I might take this shortcut, anyhow, avoiding the arduous trip around the mountain to the other side.

Higher up you can see many layers exposed, this will tell some more of the story of which it seems there is no end.

I lay here at night watching the stars, it seems that it really does not matter if I do or do not gaze to those heavenly bodies. Out here it seems that the only thing that does matter is my memories of you and our children.

Comma , comma , comma ,

It matters to me (smile) xoxoxoxoxox

A Little Birdy

 

Pot Shards and Rough Beauty



 



July 26, 1906

 

For My Darlin,

 

Unwrapped, I guess.  Strange knots tied and somewhat woven. The bundle left behind for me to find. I found a patch of green succulent plants growing near a spring coming from some rocks. If you look upward I see lacey ferns growing from the rock, too. Higher still is the redness of the natural formations. Today, I will walk through the river between the canyon walls. Not a cloud in the sky so no chance a flash flood will wash me away. I hope. It is so hot and dry. The icy feeling of the rushing water will cool us. We have enough provisions to keep us for a few days. A mule will do not good here. On the top where the cedar breaks they say the snow has melted, mostly. I want to see meadows of wild flowers then on to Otter Creek to catch a few rainbow Trout. I found a few pot shards with black and white markings. I have those wrapped in my pack to bring to the next camp where we will meet up with some of the group. I sure hope we make it alright. This is a rough beauty here. We have plenty of rope along this time, just in case. I am thinking of you honey bun. I hear you are learning to dye with indigo. I sent you some tincture of indigo dye from the one who dyes the canvas for some overalls. Here is a Tunisien Crochet Hook I had someone make for you. I hope this is what you wanted. Not to worry I will be home one of these days. 

 

Love to you and the young'uns,

 

Elmer

 

 

 

 

This bird wishes you well on a pretty fine day!

xoxo

Tweet Tweet

 

(OK just pretend they had these kind of pictures back then)

Worth IT

"Wrappers of blue fabric, what is left of it anyhow, hides a mysterious bundle. One eagle feather is stuck inside the hole of a gnarly piece of driftwood bleached as white as a cows skull. I see where somebody carved a few notches. I'm wonderin what it means. This page is dirty that I write upon with red stained dirt. Off a ways is another mound. The water force erodes it to the point where I see a rainbow of faint color. Yellows pale as a yellow rose of Texas and a purple paler than that ghost I thought I saw once. There are many shades of peach color interspersed in these here striations. Yesterday when I found that strange object I was thinking about the Hopi and the Kachina dolls I saw at the post that day I bought the blanket. It seems to me that these are some sort of token figures used by a medicine man or something. A tiny pot was wrapped up with the eagle feather objects which held something gritty and shiny like glass. The pot is polished on the outside with evidence of being in a fire cause of the smoke-like marks I see.
Lately, it seems I find little bundles in every mound. I find stitching on most of the pieces, you know like in and out and in and out and all in straight lines about half an inch apart. It seems the stitches are from human hair. I found some bee balm the other day being harvested by a chaco canyon native. She showed me that she painted marks on the pots with it dipped in something. I know not what it was. I think I will bring some things to give them next time. I was thinking some cotton thread would be nice."

I found a house, once a long time ago, it was Victorian in style, very grand but falling down. Out in the back was a trunk in which I found old envelopes with the letters still inside. These were a bit worn and some places unreadable. The pandemic that hit the country was written down along with other incidents that were pertinent at the time. This experience has always fueled my imagination. I was a child, then, on an expedition that day, a forbidden expedition, to say the least, for which I paid dearly. I can say for sure that it was worth the trouble.

xoxo,

Just a bird

Found Objects in Desert

 

Near the third mesa, we stopped at the trading post to buy a blanket. Found some old Russian trade beads and a pawned shell and coral and turquoise on string of weathered and very worn cotton cord. The velvet stacked on the back shelf was in many colors. Calico sacks were stacked to the ceiling it seemed to us a paradise with the baskets just like the one we found in the cave. Charcoal bits and salt along with a bit of sugar filled the poke. Saw Grand dad last month. He was on the Burr trail heading back to the mountains with the sheep. Old Uncle Sy had a fresh loaf of sourdough he gave us to eat. The trail is dark and dusty. Good thing or we woulda been stuck in the mud. Flash flood in the canyon nearly took dwights life. He grabbed for a branch and some Navaho pulled him out. I know how much I miss you, honey bun. Please don't worry much. You know I will be alright. I am givin this to a this guy who is headed for the post. Hope the kids are helping with the fields. I need to hire more help for when I'm gone so much. Sincerely with all of my love Elmer

 

 

With all my feathers in the right place,

 

xoxoBirdy

Working Tidal/Title

 

 IT COMES IN. . .IT GOES OUT. . .

 

I keep thinking of how to live in a world so full of technology where our eyes spend way to much time gazing into a rabbit hole of light and dots. When you are lost you are lost. How is it possible to earn the means to acquire tools for the purpose of simple communication and everything that it requires? I know that the Kindle is a wonderful device for those of us who might be housebound or in a hospital or if you might have dyslexia; these can be read and heard. I like it that Amazon makes it relatively easy to buy the device and I know that libraries can loan the books. What about computers and internet access costs? How can we help each other to help each other? I think about this all of the time.

One thing I do is to look for beauty in the considered ugly. It might be better if some of this did not exist, but I do not see it disappearing, anytime soon. But, I can make people aware.

 

How can one person change the world? One person at a time?

 

I know a few women who go out into the world and provide work with good wages. They supply the material and the design. It makes a huge difference in many lives. One person at a time. In this way that we can know everything we want to know almost instantly, what are we going to do with that besides newsy gossip on a world wide level? Surely, there is a way to use it for something more important?

 

I am thinking of indigo, the growing of it, of mini-goats, and an alpaca she she with really long eyelashes. She wears a tutu and hand quilted (SHIBORI) saddlebags filled with purple coneflowers and daisy blooms. Lavender sachets and lavender fields. Blue with chicory and Virginia Bluebells and Shirley Poppy plants in all the warmest color. Imagine that? We have a farmers market, now, how does it all sound? We can dye our fiber and we can. . . No Nay-Sayers Allowed! I wonder what Thomas Jefferson would say about this?

 

 

 





 

 

 

The world is change.

Life is change, this is the ONLY thing I know for sure.

 

 

 

 

xoxo

 

The Birdy told me so.

 

Smile!

From Beyond North Rim

I see image after image in the canyons of my secret longing mind. The smell of pinion and sage blows past this space where I sit upon a sit-upon upon the vantage point where the water flows and uranium lives, where robbers roosted and fires could be seen for miles away with stories told of days when water cooled the handmade cheese from cows kept in the barn, when survival was as difficult as today. We tell stories with dots and light like Indians, at least my mother told me so. The snow would blow beneath the door where diapers would finish drying. They hung frozen and cracked, face to this southern place where I am dreaming and wet and hot.

As a crow could fly,

The Bird

Joke

For those of us who know, here you go. . .

xoxo

The Bird

p.s. Popsicles have jokes on the sticks, still.

Found Some

 

 

Looking for beauty in the ugly is what I do. It is a matter of taste, or opinion, as to what is aesthetically pleasing to each individual.  The subject is the subject is the subject. The fun is in the looking looking everywhere all the time this is the experience of living with eyes fully open to anything that is here, now.

 

I am not saying anything is "ART".

I am saying that I saw this or I see that.

 

xoxo

 

The bird



Today

Over the weekend, we attended a concert

of  Blue Grass Music. (the mandolin player, especially terrific)   Music speaks to me in a way that nothing else does, it lifts me where I find myself lost in the moment, perfectly centered. This day is one filled with joy that my really good friend is recovering, the sky is bluer than my fence. the chicken topiary is trimmed, and I am getting a kick out of "What Einstein Told His Cook," by Robert L. Wolke. One more thing, dipping prints in Bees Wax and watching bees buzz my forest of Purple Cone Flowers is way cool.

Appreciation Day

 

The Kindle is a mind-saver for this one who is a collector of colorful items from all space and time. Space means many things.. I have thousands of books that are stored on shelves and I even have 2 library ladders for reaching up high, but the kindles I have take up little space and the library I have stored on these would drive me crazy if I suddenly had to put them onto shelves. Besides that, these I take wherever I go. Yes, they are still books in the normal sense of things.  My Kindle saved my mind when I was ill for so long.



 

Cameras are another thing I have. My computer is my keeper of many things. I love technology for the ease in which we can communicate, now. I laugh at it when I choose to treat a digital image with an old timey filter. I smile when I take a digital photo of an antique doll. I must admit that in my mind I am a thoroughly modern milly. I do many many things by hand because I find peace and balance in life when I concentrate on a brush stoke or a knit stitch and see this add up to something that I can then take a digital image of it to share with all of my imaginary friends all over the world.

 

In this verdant place I make as my home is a garden full of flowers and some vegetables and food for the deer, squirrel, raccoon, bear, chipmunk, birds of many colors, etc. You could think of me as a reverse pioneer in that I choose to live where most people would/could not. This is where the King's X lives.

I find joy in little things like coffee in my cup from Anthropologie, and Far Eastern furniture brought here from many places. I love to walk upon my carpets/rugs from Nepal and other mid-east countries. I know I am blessed to the extreme! But I am so very thankful for each and every day, for each and every person I know and love.

 

 

xoxo

 

The Bird

 

Justify?

 

 

Justify?

 

Mark Twain(my hero maker) wrote about real characters, did he not? I have this naiveté about the way I talk this comes from growing up as a surfer girl in Southern, California with Disneyland in my back yard. This attitude gets me into trouble, sometimes, double trouble. I think the Mississippi river is always just down the street and that Indian Joe is hiding around the next corner. I want to be Huckleberry not Becky nor Tom. I want a raft or a canoe to float down the river that runs up to my property. Never happens, though. I am eternally young in my heart and I always have been just that. This head of mine is so full of stuff that I need to be older than the mountains to do what I want to do.

So herein, lies the tale. I just found out that the very same stars shine on you as shine on me, unless you are living on the other side of the equator and/or are in a different universe, or something. I also just found out that the very same water in the very same earth was here when it was/is created. The very same amount.. . . so. . .imagine that.

 

Seriously, if you take a piece of paper, how many sheets would it take to reach the moon. You would be surprised! I find these things out in the strangest places, like fiction books. The Mathematics of, Jorge Luis Borges for instance, written to explain concepts such as the question I just asked and Borges wrote about in his stories. Now, who do I believe. . .

 

 



Working and Just Thinking.

A bird in the hand or on the table is better than. . .?  Peeling layers from this print is stuff for nesting material. It is living with a shield between . . . What?

Little stories of a life lived in layers is what I am thinking about, right now. What interests me is in the telling of a story. One person has a version which is completely the opposite of your version. Why is that? You both were there or were you? It must be from the point of view. It is as if I photographed the same image from opposite direction and on different days or light conditions. It is the exact same image, every time. But. . .

 

 

 

You see what I mean?

 

This story telling thing is very peculiar, especially when one is sitting around the campfire.

I should be at a lake right now on top of a mountain very far away in space and time. How many men can tell a story like the gales?

How many children believe it if Grandmother tells of the monster in Fish Lake that she ran away from on her wedding night? The thing of it is IS that the Lock Ness monster and the Fish Lake monster are one in the same. You see there is a water tunnel from there to there, so this makes perfect sense. I add the last bit, myself.

 

Or maybe, Grandfather was taking a late night swim?

 

xoxox

 

 

Even in the worn and torn

 

 

 

 

A Pin by
Thomas Mann with a photo inside worn to the point I can not read
on top of a manipulated photograph I took.
The question I give myself every single day is, will you find it?
The joy is in the search.

xo The bird

Check out this great new site, Celebrate What's Right With the World

Check out this great new site, Celebrate What's Right With the World

Stick In The Mud

There is a most distinct advantage to have a friend who is a walking crossword expert especially if you need a B 12 shot

 

especially if your Mom

calls you a stick-in-the-mud

 

that seems to be

where

my mind

goes

or

maybe in those times

just take your camera and go for a walk

 

DID I TELL YOU

I SAW A MAMA BEAR

WITH 3 BABY CUBS?

 

Have a happy 4th

XOXO

The bird

 

do you ever wonder where phrases come from?

Like: Stick-in-the-mud.

Spin

Silk Scarf Spins

Kenya Beads Spin



Silk Yarn pure Bliss

The Ravenous Brain and Brain Fiction

 

A great deal of time spent by me, myself, is pondering upon (exactly) what is the difference between confabulation and making up a story or fiction?

Currently I am reading the books, "Brain Fiction," by William Hirstein, and "The Ravenous Brain," by Daniel Bor. Available: MIT Press (see link: If you want an idea, on the top of my blog)

I have watched people I love/loved suffer from brain problems caused by medical conditions and one way I cope is with fascination. These ideas inform and relate to my visual life in a most profound way. I have to say that I DO know the difference between a lie and confabulation.

Here is the deal. . . is this photo a real photo or is it a real thing in front of a photo or is it real or is it just dots or squares on a screen or what?



 

 

 

 AND. . .

here I go     again.

xoxo

The Bird

Walk with me. . .

 

Never am I speechless, to the woe of those who know. . .

(smile here)

I never thought I could do what I did last week

Hike a trail like the Cascade Trail. . .

but I did.

Breath is so important.

It is automatic.

 

I am making up a new batch of indigo

I fold and stitch

origami and cloth

photography and the manipulation of photography

printed

folded

architectural in thought

not scale

this is what I do

See here

inspiration

and work

progress

 

 

 

I had good company

I See, Said She.

Nonsense

 

syncopation between tree frog song to a  

Xfirefly blink is to the space betweenX

the words that point to the  silence

is stronger than the 17 year space

to the cicada mating call

 

du de du de du

du

v

 

 

du te du te du te do



du te do te do te do

“A writer - and, I believe, generally all persons - must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.”
― Jorge Luis Borges

Have you heard about fainting goats? Well, that is what I am except I am not a goat. When you shout or startle one it falls over in a dead faint. Once, I fainted while standing in line at the United States Postal Office. I was there to mail a parcel to someone in the military stationed overseas. I awoke in the postmasters’ office, then I puked all over the cold marble floor.  

This Sky This Place Two Times

 

1982 Is the year I read Isabel Allende while working on sculptural boxes for an upcoming show.

Chanteuse that she is inspired my thoughts for the female porcelain figures which were placed onto or into wooden antique boxes I collected through the years. Some of these boxes I painted inside with painstaking care with egg tempera of various skyscapes. Some contained words cut from the pages of" House of the Spirits" but mixed up to change the meanings. I still have this paperback book, somewhere. I have all of her books in hardback, as well.

 

 

So here I am, 2013 is the year. On land it is a different place but just a blip on the GPS locator. The other day I heard so much about an asteroid coming near earth; huge they say. So, now I am reading "Maya's Notebook,"  Isabel's new book. This takes place in my old stomping ground of Berkeley, California, and an island in Chile. It is like reading about family. I am savoring every word.

 

The top image is from a card I made and the bottom is digital manipulation of that copy I made of that card so long ago, now. The asteroid passing by and the words of Isabel were the start point for this piece. I am so different, now.

I like things that fly by.

As a child, I jumped off the roof of a garage, I had a cape like Superman, I am so lucky.

 

 

On Amazon is a video  that she shares about this book.

Maya's Notebook

 

 



Mornin, Glories

 

 

 

Fragments in the studio

maybe Mud today

?

How 'bout U?

Hope you have a stress-free day!

xoxo

 

This Bird This Day

Run

"Hit the Ground " is a song from Lizz Wright, " Dreaming Wide Awake,"  I listen to while working in my studio, over and over and over and over. Why? There is no rhythm in my life. There is nothing to mark the days that go by. I open my eyes and 20 years have gone by. I blink and it is another season.

She sings, "See your eyes in mine," Hit the ground and run. . . " etc.

 

I miss my old blog. This one is different. I can not figure out what it is that makes this so. . .

 

This song adds a beat to my days. This song beats better than my heart.

 

My heart is on a pilgrimage. . .

 

tucked into a secret pocket. . .

 

of one who IS on a pilgrimage. . .

 

He just does not know that

I am along.

 

Spain

 

A dream of a place

 

a dream of pace

 

he and she are pacemakers.

 

I am a piece maker

 

and a peacemaker.

 

: >

 

the bird

It is alright, you're gonna make it somewhow!

 

 

Memory

This week I dream of my Dad for the first time. His birthday would be on May 25th. I found this packet of treasures he gave me for Christmas one year. You know how some say there are no co-incidents? It makes one wonder. . .skewed are the memories of memories. He has been gone for 18 years. He is spread upon a mountain top too high for me to visit in person but my mind goes there, often.
He always printed. Never did I see it any other way, His writing was short and sweet. His cartoons were the best ever, for me.
A hat a flag two fans a hair ornament a medal, this note.

What Is On Your Mind?

 

Deep in thought

just wondering

why?

Walk

Walk

Walk

Deep in thought

just wondering

why?

talk

talk

talk

 

Memorial

in memory

of all

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 

bird

Zero Onto Detail

 

 

OK, so here I am in the studio working on this little basket pendant while thinking about my friend Charlotte Richardson. She and I were good friends when I lived and worked in my studio in Downtown Dallas. She had a way of saying just the right things in just the right way when it came to just about everything. She brought with her one day this amazing handmade book with a closure made from a mysterious object. It was one of those things they used to put onto power boxes on houses to lock them (in a way). It was made of a lead looking metal. Somehow, she attached it to the front of the book where you could wrap a cord around it to close. This book was of her own handmade paper and board which was colored with watercolor. Just gorgeous. Inside, you would see perfectly crafted accordion fold white pages. I always thought her IQ was up over the edge.
I miss her dearly. She passed away a few years ago from ovarian cancer.
So anyway, I have been thinking of a way to attach knitted cord onto the basket necklace to form an interesting closure and what pops into my mind? Acorn holder? So this is what is on my table, today.