Thinking Out Loud…
Snow covers up a lot. There are some things you just cannot get to until the snow lets you.
Its beauty makes up for that.
Playing in the snow is the only thing to do. Even if that play happens inside looking out, even if it is the slow down of the day, the quiet time to look out and look in.
I’m letting the snow sculpt itself. And it is doing a good job!
The Mystery of Knitting
I should try and figure this out. I am trying to be logical in my blog posts–this thing ought to lead to that logically, and to that logically…. However, the brain isn’t working that way! AND, I still can’t seem to get myself to sit down and work on my quilt making. But I am knitting up the wazoo. Sweaters, mittens, more sweaters… So what is it about knitting that has me in thrall?
I love the texture! Both in the fabric and the fiber. I love the hand work–not tiny needle holding, but both hands working equally with sticks and loops of yarn. I love the feel of it in my hands, I love watching the fabric grow. It is about going back to the origins–the beginning of fabric building fascinates me. Plus, I love the smell of a rustic wooly yarn, the clean sheepy smell. Wool is magically warm and light.
It satisfies something in my yen for natural shades–greys, creamy whites, tans and the darkest blacks with flickers of reddish brown. In the winter, as it is now, the yarns match my snowy landscape, the sky, the trees holding onto the snow, ice dripping.
There are some things that I cannot express in knitting. My knitting is for comfort, making things that keep us warm, keep ME warm.
Many years ago, my quilt making became my voice, my poetry–very personal, yes, healing, yes, but abstracted to leave the door open for others to reach in and touch.
I am finding that I still need that voice, that physical poetry, that allows me to explore the depths of what I am feeling, and to do it in a positive, affirming way.
Little by little I see my way opening once again. And it has to do with permission.
To try something new, something old.
To fowl up, to rest, to think, to wait, to puzzle, to feel the way I do.
To say no to should, to say no.
To be sad, to feel sad or angry or hurt.
To be sorry, or wrong, or right and still feel wrong.
To not know the answer, or the way ahead.
To put one foot in front of the other, and take one step.
To think of myself, to put my feelings or well-being first.
To remember, and be sad or hurt or angry.
To feel stopped and frozen because I feel so bad about not wanting to be there.
Put that into my work, my cloth, my quilt-ish things, and leave them unfinished, undone, raw, and uneven because that is how it feels.
I can show that, and I do not have to explain.
It is loss and regret, what might have been but wasn’t, what should have been but wasn’t.
It is dark. But the light shines through those cracks, those breaks in the surface of all broken things.
And I look around me and see that it is good