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.