and the inflight stitching continues
Friday 30 September 2011
here and there
swingtags
life,
San Francisco,
stitch in time
Tuesday 27 September 2011
Friday 23 September 2011
delighted to announce...
'riverstitch' workshop at The Brewery, Goolwa, South Australia
this will be the only South Australian workshop for me next year
and i'm especially pleased because
my daughter Violette [whose hand-stitched cutwork lace appears in Second Skin and Handeye magazine
and who was commissioned by a Shakerag participant last year
to transform a garment using this technique]
will be co-teaching with me for the first time
we're also planning a class dinner at a local restaurant
and there'll be a talk [open to the general public] at the Goolwa Library
we may even manage a field trip to the Currency Creek Arboretum
this will be the only South Australian workshop for me next year
and i'm especially pleased because
my daughter Violette [whose hand-stitched cutwork lace appears in Second Skin and Handeye magazine
and who was commissioned by a Shakerag participant last year
to transform a garment using this technique]
will be co-teaching with me for the first time
we're also planning a class dinner at a local restaurant
and there'll be a talk [open to the general public] at the Goolwa Library
we may even manage a field trip to the Currency Creek Arboretum
here's the wrap
Work with bio-regional dye sources and gentle stitching during a week-long explorative journey in a private garden in one of South Australia’s historic river towns. Take windfall-leaf collecting walks to create beautiful dye samplers, gradually piecing them together to construct a unique and exquisite garment. India will guide participants in dye and construction techniques while guest tutor Violette will share her cutwork lace and embroidery skills [pictured in ‘Second Skin’].
Together we will spend five lovely summer days creating by reinventing and restructuring rejects from the wardrobe, adding scraps of new silk and wool together with hand-stitching, beads, buttons and of course plant dyes. We will create dye bundles and stitch samplers, explore ways of adding pattern to cloth and enjoy the delights of the sewing circle.
swingtags
australia- you're standing in it,
burbling happily,
dyeing,
sewing,
workshops
work
23 metres of milkymerino into the cauldron
for Zeega
before i get myself into another
flying sardine can
Sunday 18 September 2011
weather or not
two months is a long time to be out in the sun, given that 2 weeks in Australian sunshine is reputedly equivalent to about 25 years under museum conditions
so
as i'm away from home again [soon] for a while
and therefore shall not be able to sneekpeek inside the metal box
it seemed a good time to [once again] put some cloth to the test
the two pieces on the left are commercially produced cottons, the third from left is eucalyptus-dyed milkymerino, the four on the right snippets of silk dyed using the more delicate 'northern' plants
they are half in, half out of the box
assuming no birds try to steal them
or helpful family members decide to move them under cover
i shall open the box when i return home in November
and publish the results on these pages
swingtags
cotton,
dyeing,
learning,
light,
milkymerino,
wandering,
weather or not
Thursday 15 September 2011
be careful who you spill the beans to
...they might be a writer.
some time before dawn i awoke refreshed after a glorious bear-like sleep in transit over the pond and made a few notes from the previous evening...
the man who lowers himself ponderously into the seat next to mine introduces himself as an "empowerment psychologist" and although i am clearly tethered to my phone and skipping around between tunes, persists in attempting to converse.
he informs me variously [and without effort on my part] that he hovers between continents, spends six months each year in Australia, that he has a "very independent wife", that travelling is a lonely business, that he has been doing it for thirty-five years.
out it pours, a muddy swollen river full of the flotsam of too much detail. the speakers planted visibly in my ears are no deterrent.
eventually he comes up for air.
i use the interval in which his tortured cells are gratefully gulping oxygen to smile sweetly that i, on the other hand, am well content with my lot, thoughtfully stroking the thin silver band encircling my ring finger [which in reality has nothing to do with anything] and direct my attention back to the music, switching from Ben Webster inappropriately making whoopee on his sax to Leonard Cohen who somewhat unnecessarily but in delicious honeyed tones assures me "there ain't no cure for love"
the self-styled psychologist mutters something about taking a sleeping pill to "get through this boring flight", downs a couple of tablets with a flourish and is comatose within minutes.
must be strong stuff, i've seen sensitive horses take longer to succumb to intravenous anaesthetics.
enveloping myself in a leaf-scented shawl and some virtual hugs sent last-minute by a kind friend i drift into the arms of Morpheus myself, reflecting on the invisible line that separates men of honour from the other kind.
of course, i may have entirely miss-interpreted the poor chap, but it wouldn't have made half as good a story.
some time before dawn i awoke refreshed after a glorious bear-like sleep in transit over the pond and made a few notes from the previous evening...
the man who lowers himself ponderously into the seat next to mine introduces himself as an "empowerment psychologist" and although i am clearly tethered to my phone and skipping around between tunes, persists in attempting to converse.
he informs me variously [and without effort on my part] that he hovers between continents, spends six months each year in Australia, that he has a "very independent wife", that travelling is a lonely business, that he has been doing it for thirty-five years.
out it pours, a muddy swollen river full of the flotsam of too much detail. the speakers planted visibly in my ears are no deterrent.
eventually he comes up for air.
i use the interval in which his tortured cells are gratefully gulping oxygen to smile sweetly that i, on the other hand, am well content with my lot, thoughtfully stroking the thin silver band encircling my ring finger [which in reality has nothing to do with anything] and direct my attention back to the music, switching from Ben Webster inappropriately making whoopee on his sax to Leonard Cohen who somewhat unnecessarily but in delicious honeyed tones assures me "there ain't no cure for love"
the self-styled psychologist mutters something about taking a sleeping pill to "get through this boring flight", downs a couple of tablets with a flourish and is comatose within minutes.
must be strong stuff, i've seen sensitive horses take longer to succumb to intravenous anaesthetics.
enveloping myself in a leaf-scented shawl and some virtual hugs sent last-minute by a kind friend i drift into the arms of Morpheus myself, reflecting on the invisible line that separates men of honour from the other kind.
of course, i may have entirely miss-interpreted the poor chap, but it wouldn't have made half as good a story.
Tuesday 13 September 2011
goodnight America, it's been simply grand, thank you
after the last toes had danced on the felt
the bundles boiled
and all agreed
it is better to dye together
than to dye alone
i am delivered to Philadelphia airport
[thank you Leslie and Keli]
and board a flight heading west
i collect my trashed suitcase
now missing a 'leg' and limping [meaning the suitcase, not me]
and find a taxi
discussing the most favourable route with the driver
[left on 3rd and then Kearny to Stockton]
he asks if i live here
i reply "sometimes in my dreams"
the tide was out
so i was able to play with stones
and have a quiet moment
i catch up with familiar trees
sit quietly a while
and wander to favourite places
thanks America...Dog bless.
some time out
swingtags
contentment,
gratitude,
home,
San Francisco,
stones,
trees,
United States,
wandering,
workshops
Sunday 11 September 2011
september 11
so far the quote of the week, for me, is this...
" i can't remember the last time i walked on grass with bare feet"
today is the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks
that have been seared in to all of us forever
we remember where we were
just as we do, those of us old enough, with the assassination of President Kennedy
while stitching this week
people have been
inevitably
sharing their stories of september 11, 2001
they all begin with
"it was such a beautiful day"
this morning we will go and stand in our grassy field
and take a quiet moment
to remember not only the horror of september 11
but also other atrocities perpetrated by human kind
needless wars
grandmothers schlepping sewing machines across Europe
grandfathers being railed to Siberia in cattle trucks
recall that somewhere
someone
is even now contemplating strapping some explosive device to themselves
or
worse still
to someone else
read a poem
say a prayer
remind ourselves that life is precious
and can be beautiful
and that every day we wake up breathing
is a gift
and should be cherished
" i can't remember the last time i walked on grass with bare feet"
today is the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks
that have been seared in to all of us forever
we remember where we were
just as we do, those of us old enough, with the assassination of President Kennedy
while stitching this week
people have been
inevitably
sharing their stories of september 11, 2001
they all begin with
"it was such a beautiful day"
this morning we will go and stand in our grassy field
and take a quiet moment
to remember not only the horror of september 11
but also other atrocities perpetrated by human kind
needless wars
grandmothers schlepping sewing machines across Europe
grandfathers being railed to Siberia in cattle trucks
recall that somewhere
someone
is even now contemplating strapping some explosive device to themselves
or
worse still
to someone else
read a poem
say a prayer
remind ourselves that life is precious
and can be beautiful
and that every day we wake up breathing
is a gift
and should be cherished
swingtags
life,
lunacy,
memory,
muttering in the stalls
Friday 9 September 2011
handworking with wool and cloth
these are gentle days here in Pennsylvania
though it rains
the air feels warm and soft
elsewhere the weather is not so kind
and there is flooding and mayhem
but for us the conditions are perfect
for making our felted landskins
while we stitch and cut and interweave and grind holes
the wool is absorbing moisture from the atmosphere
which is going to make the felting easier
we begin our day with a quiet moment
and a reading of some kind
open our bundles from the pot-of-the-night-before
and settle to stitching ourselves into a quiet place
Thursday 8 September 2011
bReath
some words scribbled on the morning after a dark wet drive from Philadelphia to goodness knows where
trying to get somewheres
in the soup thick dark
through endless fallingwater
i feel my breath begin to catch
in the moment it becomes apparent
that those filaments on the map
blur into obscurity
even with the help of spectacles
or perhaps
because the glass was slightly misted
it seems there are two choices
blind panic
or sweet surrender
i opt for the river
sailing a random course
in my hired vessel
forging through shining sheets of water
adrift yet enlivened
around my neck hangs a bell
gifted to me by a shepherd
who no longer needs it to be heard
a dog above hears it tinkling
sends a breath that lifts the leaves
reveals the sign that points the road
guides this lost lamb safely in
to the waiting warm welcome
Wednesday 7 September 2011
transamerica
here are some pix of my transamerica dress
a story that began here on August 19th
with a baptism of sorts in the Pacific
bundled in a garden on the left coast [but not quite on the edge]
arrived at Haystack
and wandered down to the Atlantic
by way of a puddle or two
concluded with an unbundling
on the evening of August 31
and looks like this
a story that began here on August 19th
with a baptism of sorts in the Pacific
bundled in a garden on the left coast [but not quite on the edge]
continued at Long Ridge Farm
with several immersions in cauldrons
[some merely to quell the growth of microfauna]
arrived at Haystack
and wandered down to the Atlantic
by way of a puddle or two
concluded with an unbundling
on the evening of August 31
and looks like this
and a detail, with a bit of an odd yellow glow due to dim light whilst taking the pic
swingtags
bundles.,
burbling happily,
contentment,
dyeing,
San Francisco,
silks,
time,
wandering,
water,
worth
Monday 5 September 2011
a few more Haystack pix...
stacking rocks
is a good way to begin the day
with a quiet mind
everything has a point of balance
finding it is the tricky thing
the kitchen cat
meditating on the meaning
of everything
the rich colours
from cold-processed elderberry
an exquisite piece of dyed paper
[the student responsible smiled rather a lot]
swingtags
contentment,
dyeing,
ecology,
stones,
United States,
workshops,
yarning
Sunday 4 September 2011
smoke gets in your eyes
when i boil cauldrons
over twigs and sticks
people inevitably ask about carbon
my response is that the twigs and sticks
will produce the same amount of carbon-based gas
whether they rot in the woods
or are consumed by flames
in the former case the gas will [i think]
be methane
in the latter
carbon dioxide
[chemists finding flaws while reading this page are invited to correct me]
on balance
probably better than using
coal-sourced electricity...
over twigs and sticks
people inevitably ask about carbon
my response is that the twigs and sticks
will produce the same amount of carbon-based gas
whether they rot in the woods
or are consumed by flames
in the former case the gas will [i think]
be methane
in the latter
carbon dioxide
[chemists finding flaws while reading this page are invited to correct me]
on balance
probably better than using
coal-sourced electricity...
swingtags
carbon tax,
climate,
fire,
wandering,
wtf
Saturday 3 September 2011
Haystack
Haystack is an extraordinary place
you have to make a pilgrimage to get there
the gaff-rigged ship of dreams sails by
from time to time
the fibre studio is a delight
we boiled our cauldrons by the sea
using tannin-rich water from a nearby brook
diving into the sea at the end of the day
water so cold it felt like fire
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