Open

 

I heard somewhere that you can dream

I read somewhere that you can affect life

by what you intend

I want this

My Dream

 

This is real

 

NOW

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake

I pray the Lord my soul to take

 

When I was a little child I used to lay in bed for hours

and worry

I worried about if I were going to die.

I always thought about this prayer

It really scared me

I never told a soul

Of course

Everybody

Does.

Die.

 

I am really glad that I am alive today!

 

I am really glad that all of you are, too.

 

Cherish the moments we have.

 

xoxoxo  Glad Bird

A Voyage to be Forgotten - Journal

 

November 18, 1887

 

 

 

The captain put us off the boat on the west coast of Africa where we explored for days looking for provisions. The journey has been a nightmare until now. Hunger and thirst consumed our frailties to the point of our disappearances. I search for meaning every moment of every day as I watch my teeth drop out upon my bloody pillow. The dream time is better than wake time. Days we walk searching until we can search no more.

 

 



 

 

If we had gone aboard the balloon to sail for 80 days the only difference would be time for we would be exactly where we started. Around the world would still be a promise of that dream, of what might be, instead.  This Nordic blood within my veins longs for the smell of pine and my eyes the sight of pure white snow.

 

 

For the love of Mondays,

 

xoxoxo Wanderlust Bird

The Disappearing Spoon

 

Just where did it go? And why? What did I ever need a spoon to do? This question keeps me awake at night. Sometimes, I even dream of a spoon.



My attachment to this topic has become obsessive, in a few ways. My hand could be a spoon or a ladle. If it were but for the fact I worry about germs. Is ignorance bliss, after all? Who made or used the very first spoon? I saw a chimpanzee poke a stick into a hole in the ground in order to pull out some termites to eat, pretty clever, I say. So what is the difference between a stick to a spoon?  It, the spoon I mean, has a tiny bowl or vessel on one end and the stick does not. But, try to get a spoon into a ketchup bottle. Personally, I love silver spoons. I do not like to polish silver spoons, so in this case a stick will do. Notwithstanding (I really hate that word), I still want a spoon. But, I do not know where it went. I like wooden spoons, too, they do not scratch my cookware when I stir a sauce, would a stick do? I wonder what Forest Gump would think about this topic? Maybe his friend would answer my question like he does about shrimp. How can you eat spaghetti without a spoon? How can you eat soup without a spoon? I tried eating spaghetti at that Italian Restaurant we all know without a spoon, didn’t work too well using my knife as a spoon. How much money do these corporations save by not putting a spoon with the knife and a fork? My husband made a career by discovering tiny little things that make a huge difference in the bottom line for large corporations. He also is always picking up pennies from the pavement of any parking lot we walk across. This is where I guess the spoon has gone, into the space where a billion dollar sign goes. But still, I want a spoon. Do you suppose I could pick the phone up and dial a number to ask someone? Just how many buttons do you think I would push before a real live person would come onto the other end to tell me that they do not know but they would be happy to connect me with someone else where that same thing happens again endlessly?

I wonder if someone has a dissertation or a focus book already done on the topic. No, I do not want to Google it!

Ok I'm outa here. This is for someone who knows.
Gene Autry Poster alteration using Scratchcam on mini Ipad  camera
xoxo the cowbird



The Screen as a BOX

The screen as a box is just another box

To contain an object place or thing; a proper vessel,

I walk the streets or forest waiting to find

all that jazz,

That close encounter,

That indication for a happenchance,

The old train engine, a dining car and the caboose,

I see it as a mystery, a place for theater of the mind,

The orient express, a place to dine on white linen

To hold pure silver service eating Anthony Bordain exotica.

Five miles up and five miles back traces a portion of life lived

Long ago

As real as a cloud where photographs and words live.

In flight x0x0 Bird

 

Clarity Is Like Gravity

Clarity is like gravity.

You know it is there but sometimes it hides between the words. You know that feeling when something slips away, if you just move on or let it go, it will come to you?
 
Miss-spoke, now that is a word to ponder, it usually follows or maybe proceeds an apology?
Why is it that when you hit a nerve, it becomes obvious immediately, in a conversation, I mean metaphorically.

What is the purpose of having no spoon?

So Complicated
 

What if one falls on your head?
That is proof, right?

In that they both end with ity
as sure as I am writing this
as sure as the flat hammered silverware
hanging in the wind.

Well, I want to have a spoon in a restaurant
without having to ask for one,
I want to fall like the models in commercials,
I want to talk to real human beings
not to have to push buttons
to hope that this robot knows I exist
to know that my effort is rewarded
by a robot?
To not have to prove I am not a robot!

I want to know that I can.



XOXO  Just Thinking Bird 

What does "The Brooklyn" have to do with anything?

 

 

 

 

The Brooklyn, a sailing ship, left New York City in 1846 for a voyage around South America to finally reach the destination of Yerba Buena which was the name of San Francisco before it became part of the United States of America. The voyage was a six month sailing hell.

 

Elmer Bentonite was a descendant of the brave people who in their desperation to flee the squalid circumstances of the industrial revolution, sailed away from New York City. John Atlantic Burr, was born aboard the ship and he survived to grow into a prosperous individual who helped to build San Francisco and then later moved back toward the eastern United States. It seems that wanderlust is in the genes of Elmer Bentonite.

 

Going in circles and willing to risk anything in adventure, having a keen interest in artifacts along with his knowledge of geology, to Elmer, it seems he had it all.

 

His family, he left them behind on the farm. He loved them, yes he did, and they knew that one day, maybe, he might settle down.

 

He came at the world with fresh eyes every solitary day.

 

c. 1906 Postal Card She is the one who looks angry.

I treed a bear on the only tree for miles. I put upon my face a Kachina Mask.
He was screaming a roar. I jumped on my horse and high-tailed it.
c. 1906 Back side of card says above

The Bird on the horn of a saddle xoxo

 

Finishing School

 

 

I found out that these were once pin cushions

I thought they were little baby boots?

Someone finished these and then I saved them for something?

 

 

I see shifting sands and a reflected drop of water

but really it is a loom upon another loom and a glass

half sphere sitting on my table.

It is a beaded piece in process, not finished.

 

 

 

I searched all day for the exact yarn for this cowl from the Spring/Summer issue

of Noro Magazine in my stash, the orange yarn I dyed is too heavy for this piece, so I will use

some white silk instead. I really mean to finish this. It only takes one ball of Noro Silk Garden Lite and 1 ball of Debbie Bliss silk/cotton/cashmere.

All of these were taken with my mini-Ipad camera which I am dearly loving to use the apps for altering the finish of an imaginary photograph. Again, I am thinking about what is real. . .
and. . .I think Mr. Bentonite is taking a very very long time getting to Albuquerque. Hope he doesn't miss his train. . .

Sincerely(not),


The Bird xoxoxo 

Once In A While. . .

 

Once in a while something can be ugly, I mean really ugly.

But, when turned a different way or looked at in a different way

it might not be. . .ugly. I am still deciding

I live near Virginia Tech and of course the colors are Orange and Maroon or

whatever you want to call it. But, I forgot about that when I dug into my yarn stash the other day to find something that would go with the yarn I recently dyed and this very cool dress which reminds me of the wall paper in the Noro Books and Magazine. I love the dress and fall is coming and so I am making a little bolero of this yarn. I wanted something quick and easy and I am trying to keep my mind busy so that I will not worry about someone very special who is going through some very rough times.

Also, I am making braids and starting an exotic little woven piece inspired by something I bought a few years ago in Asheville. It is a tiny piece done by Susanne Gerhandt . It has tiny pieces of fabric applied on top it reminds me of Albers color-work.  I love it and use it as a bookmark. Listening to a recorded book sitting outside under the umbrella with knitting and antique sewing items thinking about my stories and how I am going to get my buddy from place to place in New Mexico and writing in my journal, well this is such a positive way to spend my mind. I spent my youth moving furniture around and around my house and fluffing my nest, now I do it to my blog. :>

I never say that I am a photographer. I just take snapshots and sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.

I hope you have a nice Monday

 

xoxoxo

BoingBoing Bird

Some works

Tiny pot pinched burnished smoke fired in  pit  sits upon a folded tessellation

basket in front of tessellation origami from my own paper and photo

porcelain rocks I make. I have made hundreds of these
 they are from stained clay hand burnished and high fired
below is a handcrafted tessellation from my own origami paper

 

Snaps of newly dyed fiber and part of collections

and below is yarn dyed with cochineal both batches.

Done blogging for a couple of days.

 

Hope you have a great rest of week.

xoxo peace and beauty to you!

Journalizing

Journalizing, is there such a word? Blog. Now this is a word. A record kept can be personal or not. It can be real or not. It can be lost. It can be kept. It can be read never or it can be read always. It is a worry, for sure.
What if someone pulls the plug. I guess it does not matter, really, because we will go back to basics and if my plug gets pulled so will everyone's plug be forever gone.
I live in a house in the mountains with a tiny town nearby, it is amusing if I tell you what goes on in my  "real" life. But, alas, I can not, for if  I did, you would wonder why I live here.
I have been waiting for 10 years for a visit from someone. I can not move until she comes. I have the same number as I did then, I also have a cell phone which follows me wherever I go.
I built my house, my honey and I, nail by nail. I love this land. This is what I do it's love the land.  The deer eat my sunflowers. That is ok by me. They just had another baby. The mother bear sat in the middle of my gravel road until my husband stood up. The mother ran the other way and three baby cubs came out of the woods to quickly follow mama bear. I have about a million purple coneflowers in bloom, right now. The Sumac is turning red. Some yellow leaves are reminding me that fall is close at hand, at least the trees think it is.
Yesterday, I dyed some more yarn with cochineal bugs and it came out much darker and redder because I added cream of tartar. The first batch turned pink because I strained the dye with an old metal strainer which I am sure is tin. I see how anything can change the results, this is the same with life, in general. I guess I need to think about this.
I have been playing with my Kindle HD taking photographs in HD and altering them. It really is quite fun. It is very different from using a regular camera. I am folding paper and fabric today.
I think about when I lived in the desert, the San Francisco Bay, and near the beaches of SOCA. I am thinking about my family.

Buried. . . If you do THEY WILL COME

Found in scrapbook

The Pouch

in the trunk

So, for those of you in the know, Santa Fe is the place to be if you are looking for buried treasure. Personal, to me, is this place I saw it once in a sandstorm between me and the outside was nothing but glass. I had grit between my teeth. Been there many times but I wouldn't not want to live there.

xoxo an egg from the Bird

 

Pear

 

 

 

 

Thinking about Elmer

I said, "What a pair we make."  He said, "No, I'm an apple. . .you are a pear."

In Alb. NM, now

c. Mid 20th

Every day my sis and I ride our bikes to our secret place. The forbidden place. . .we do it anyhow.

It is like when Dad told us not to play with that plastic beach ball in the living room, as soon as he left, what did we do? We broke the glass coffee table. Well, this is just like that when we do this and find stuff.

Post Card found in old trunk behind the Victorian House c.1906

The Scrap-Book page with the front of the Post Card  c.1906

Simple

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cochineal Dyed MOHAIR AND LAMBS WOOL

When things get wonky

Life is fast, it seems to me. Once upon a time. . .I clicked something. Consequences for an action not fully understood is what I am trying to focus my mind upon to relate to those who know what I mean, already, but to write about it clarifies what I know, so this is this.
Bouncing back and forth in time and space what used to be called juggling now is called multi-tasking is making me tired. When I get tired I make mistakes. I apologize for sharing something without asking. I thought I was sharing the link to that something, but no.
So, how does one undo damage? My honey always tells about nailing holes in a board, when you pull a nail out, the hole is still there. I seem to spend a lot buying putty.
My intentions are good. Really, I mean it. And I am sorry, really I mean it. Nobody told me to do this or anything it is just that I stayed up a lot during the night thinking about the internet and what it all means and why do I do a blog? It is technically difficult at times to keep up with changes that these facilities make in their programs and sometimes I get in a hurry and just want to tell a story or something, else. I was off the blog stuff for a long time and lots changed.
I found out that some gismos on here do not work and I spent hours trying to fix them. Still not finished yet. Besides Microsoft loaded stuff on here and that always causes me problems for a day or so. It is just me. . .I know.
Now that I am on Google PLUS it is here  where I am having problems. I just have not figured out the conflicts between plus and plain blogger. OK

Now, the pic above is a photo I took of my own art piece done many years ago. It is a mono print pulled from finger painted clay and then drawn upon. I have a thing about the four corners area. I am sure you all know that, now. It lives inside my head. I can see as plain as you can see inside my mind every single place I have ever been. I love this landscape and it affects everything I do, one way or another.
Where I live now is the opposite. It is a verdant jungle. I love this, too.

I love the virtual world because it is fascinating. I think it is amusing that I am writing this blog where I bounce around in space and time and my thoughts bounce around the world. I wonder what it all means????? What would Leonardo do? I tell myself that he would use anything available to do what ever he could imagine. I already know that I am connected to every single dot of matter in the universe so I do not need anything to connect. But, I do it anyhow. This is how I know the power of a prayer. My prayers are my way of thanking. The experience of living is so good, even when bad stuff happens.

xoxo Bobbing Bird

 

It is just iron between me n' u

 

 



July  1905

 

 

 

Dear Sweet Honey Bun,

 

Next to a pile of dung smoking fire reaching higher to the Sky Mesa I camp waiting for the dawn to come once more. The trail to Santa Fe crosses this point not too far from this place. Yesterday where we crossed is the volcanic fields that flow farther than I can see. Some tell tales of tubes down there. I will not try my luck just to hide from this unrelenting sun and heat. I know there is water close to the mesa for I saw a native with a jar atop her head. I know not if it is more full of danger to try for water or not.

I learned some new tricks from one Hopi the other day. He showed me his garden in the midst of nowhere. The corn was almost ripe and he had beans and squash ready to pick. It seems he digs a small hole and puts in a fish, then on top of that he puts in one seed of corn one seed of bean and one squash seed. When it grows the corn is the pole for the beans and the squash shades the ground a bit to conserve the water that must be brought on the back of a mule from the rio.

 

I heard tell of them unraveling cloth in order to get some red thread. I bought some cochineal bugs from this trader to bring home to you that way you can dye some wool red. If it be not soon I will send them with old Niels when he passes through on his way back north on the Burr trail. Sometimes the wind blows the red as blood sand so high it is like I imagine a curtain of iron between me and you.

 

Love with all of my heart,

Elmer

 

(from the old trunk in a scap book) same below.

 

 

 xoxo a bird told me

Choose

 

 

 

 

The future slams into the past

 

 as hanging a no trespassing sign invites trespass

 

as one board leaning against the other creates balance until the wind blows

 

as simplicity beckons more 

 

choose

 

slip in between opposing force

 

find it there

 

find it here

 

find it

 

now

 

\

 

 

 

x

 

BIRD

Mindscape

Architecture in space, architecture inside, architecture in natural form. . .

Mind gazing,

if you could only see. . .what I see. . .

I can fly

I see the world from above

I hear noise from my Simply Lime bottle.
(inside joke)

an eyeball

 

The mystery of it all.

 

I would use the tube to travel, in a minutejust the thought of it being real.

it excites hope,

 

 

Better than all of the above.

Burr Trail Google

Vision

The River Google

Just a Bird with eyeballs floating in space xoxo

Shaken

 

 

 

I used to put sticky stuff on the bottoms of my collection when I lived in SF. I need some sticky stuff on the bottom of my own feet. Reminds me of song on the Graceland Album of so long ago, diamonds on the soles of. . .that would work??

Someone close to me has just been diagnosed with esophagi sp? cancer. Waiting is hard, you just have to, that is all.

 

We have been painting inside and so every single thing gets cleaned and or changed. This brings me to a thought. The only truly original thing I have ever done is to finger paint using my clay which is colored with stains. It has been very many years since I did that first one. I painted a slab and then took a mono-print from that which is what is in above photograph. Now, I do that on fiber and then sew on it. Then, that gets altered. Then framed. The thought is that the color is still nice in the mono-print?

Our anniversary just passed recently so we spent some time in Asheville, North Carolina. My honey bought a metal praying mantis and I gathered for the winter things of fiber and Cochineal bugs to die red. Indigo and Cochineal. . .what a combination.

Now, I pray a lot for those I love and meditate a lot for those I love. I am cleaning a lot for those I love. I am cooking a lot for those I love. In the meantime, I am thinking a lot about the Silk Road.

 

 

 

 

xoxox coo coo bird