sorry, but it seems i'm beyond help.

correspondence sometimes comes in drifts, like snow

there's the seasonal influx of requests for assistance with school studies.
i try to respond kindly, even when the questions seem silly.

"why do you do art?" is a frequent flyer.
sometimes it is temping to write "because i am otherwise unemployable"
though it's pretty close to the truth.

i don't mind answering a well thought-out selection of questions, but only if you can't find the answers by googling.

towards the end of the northern college year there's generally a bunch of emails from people who would like to come and stay to "assist me in the studio" in return for one-on-one teaching.
a working holiday in the sunny south.

from my point of view this means i would be fully responsible for a person i have never met before, providing meals, a bed, entertainment and transport so that i can explain to them exactly how i want a bundle put together, or a dress stitched, or?

it's far less stressful just to do the work myself. besides, i enjoy what i do. i love the spontaneity that is possible when i am alone (well, with only canine and feline company) wielding scissors and needles and dancing in the leaflitter that carpets the floor of my studio.

and perhaps it is a psychological disability but i feel utter and overwhelming claustrophobia at the mere thought of having to share a month or more of days (and evenings) with another adult whom i may not have actually met prior to their arrival.

in recent years i have been finding increasingly beautiful areas in which to hold workshops and as a consequence the volume of inquiries from people wanting to take a gratis class in return for stoking the fires and gathering plant matter has escalated. i could have filled the upcoming class at Scott's Head entirely with such volunteers :: which could have been hilarious...
a dozen people all stoking the fire and gathering leaves, which would probably look like a splendid pagan ritual but won't pay the electricity bill.

there have been suggestions that i should increase workshop fees so that i can offer scholarship places. i don't see how that would be at all fair to paying participants. it's not going to happen.

and then there are the truly cheeky requests from people who live close to a workshop location and "just want to drop in for a day to see what it's all about". hmm.

some tell me they left well-paid positions in order to pursue their dream career. i applaud their bravery but that is their choice, and not my responsibility. i was an unemployed sole parent (of three) at the time that i returned to plant dyeing. it took me over fifteen years to achieve financial independence and be solely supported by this work. i suppose it's just as well i didn't have a comfy job because i'm not that brave and i might have clung to it and my life would have turned out awfully dull as a result.

but the long and the short of it is, please don't ask me if you can come and stay with me so that i can feed you and house you and teach you everything i know.

because the answer will be

thank you so much for your kind offer, 
but i regret i cannot accept.

on the other hand, if you sign up for a workshop, i will do my best to share my knowledge and skills. because that's my job. and my life. and i love doing it.

being put in my place

I had a hilarious experience this morning...

Accosted by a man with a puppymill designer dog. 

The sort of person who is the reason there's a warning on the curling wand...for external use only. 

He angrily demanded to know what I was doing...just after I had deposited a small handful of boiled plant matter under a bush, in the obviously misguided belief that organic matter is nutritious and helps prevent evaporation. 

He insisted I pick it up, as he doesn't approve of such stuff and prefers the pine bark chips. It appears he is the self-constituted warden of the Greenwich steps...

I swallowed any possible acrid response, smiled sweetly, picked up the offending matter and wished him a pleasant day. (Though it was very tempting to tell him that the phenols in the pine bark actively inhibit plant growth.) 

I understand that it could be overwhelming if every person in the city tucked all their green waste into public gardens...but these were leaves that had literally been gathered from the surrounding streets. 

Who knows what corners they may have blown into if I hadn't picked them up. 

I moved on, whereupon he followed me around the district at twenty paces, watching as I cleaned the sidewalks of more leaf litter. I did an extra round just to give him a bit more exercise. 

Clearly he needed the endorphins.

in Odessa

sounds like the title to a novel set in the cold war, doesn't it?

(you might want a cup of tea or a gin, this post is about as long as a novel)

sometime late in 2014 or early in 2015 (i forget exactly when)

i received an enquiry through my contact page

asking whether i would be interested in having a solo exhibition

at the Ellen Noel Art Museum, Odessa, Texas

i thought about it for twenty seconds and answered "yes, please" 

but whenever i mentioned the plan to others, 

in response to a "what are you doing next?" question, 

i'd get some very strange answers

such as

"i was born there but left as soon as i could"

or 

"there aren't any trees"

which was a bit off-putting.

so i'm here to tell you that my Odessa adventure was absolutely fabulous. 

i met some of the kindest people i have ever encountered there, 

was warmly welcomed

given free reign (and every support) to create my installation

and 

liked it so much that i have promised to go back.

they have a replica Stonehenge 

(not created as a tourist trap but with a really good backstory)

and there ARE trees.

also the most glorious collection of mid-century modern architecture

(which just happens to be my favourite architectural period) 

AND the water, though undrinkable, is miraculous in the dyepot.

the water in the puddles is useful too. 

i marinated a piece in it, prior to dyeing (using local colour)

during my stay i also guided a group of young people taking their first steps into natural dyeing, through the Teen Art Residency program, a splendid initiative of the Museum's education section

though we only had five half-day sessions we made string, dyed samples, stitched (by hand) hoodies from pre-loved t-shirts, printed paper, cut an apron from a shirt and even dyed Easter eggs, though obviously that feast didn't fall last week

and then we worked together to install their exhibition

and here are a few more snaps of mine

a big and heartfelt thank you to 

Daniel Zies :: Curator

Annie Stanley :: Education and Outreach Coordinator

 Edgar and Eric at

 Black Tulip Design

for their generous donations of eucalyptus for the exhibition
and "green waste" for the residency

and to everyone who so kindly welcomed me.

i loved every minute i was there. 

and i'll be back.

+

coincidentally, as i was composing this post, a missile wandered in from Maya Stein. 

...perfect.

(at which point i should also say thank you, Christi, for introducing me to her!)

at the entrance

I've never believed what they say about strangers. I have walked into
a Nebraska town so many miles from home and been fed ambrosia salad,
offered a place to sleep. In Centennial, Arizona, they asked me to read poetry,
opened a bottle of wine to toast my arrival. There was a living room in Houston
where a woman I'd never met shared a difficult secret, and her eyes softened
in the telling. There are doors we insist, despite the risk, on keeping open, and doors
we insist, despite the risk, on walking through, and I don't want to imagine a world
where the houses stay shuttered and silent, and the front stairs splinter, and the bell
goes rusty from disuse. So there is no other choice but to clamber up, point our heart
at the entrance, press the buzzer, and wait for who will come to let us in.

Once upon a time there was a polar bear

Well, more or less. 

I had the great good fortune to be able to buy a wool+cashmere coat for $1. A friend spotted it first. Luckily she is built on compact lines. 

Instead it was my size (i.e. comfortable)

It made me look like a lost polar bear. 

And I wish I had taken a picture of it before I took out the horrible shoulder pads and bundled it into the dyepot. 

At least I had the sense to shoot the bundle. 

It's been a rather fabulous present to myself. Every part is delicious (to me, anyway). 

But as they say in the classics

...the devil is in the detail. 

I'd say the true delight is in the detail. 

Even the lining, though synthetic, turned out nicely. 

The cost was made in Uruguay. I wonder if that's a sign?