september one, lived twice

the journey begins oddly

filled with portents and signs

all too curious to mention

and best not taken seriously

(but they'll be in my novel)

even the man whose eyes tear up

because i remind him of his mother 

which i think may just have been

the effect of too much inflight firewater

otherwise it makes me old

and possibly also dead

after thirteen or so hours aloft

we reach the California coast

blanketed in fog except for

one significant hill above Pescadero

the sight of which always kicks my heart into gear

leaving SFO the taxi driver asks me if i have had any

terrifying experiences in the air

nothing too awful i say

which is his cue to launch into a litany

of gut-wrenching near disasters   

negotiating my release i 

take my encumbrances to the welcome center

where for a financial consideration they 

relieve me of my physical burdens for the day

outside the pavements swell and

roll under my feet - fortunately it is

not the earth, quaking, but my body

set to vibrate mode by the hours of fettered 

rumbling, strapped to a seat

in the flying sardine can

i have things to collect today

some materials for class

a large bag of unruly thoughts 

a ring, and some made-to-measure workboots.

the latter have turned out rather too small

or maybe it is just me, too big for my boots

which could be another sign.
maybe next time cos
good things take time

further up the same street at Macchiarini's

the doorbell won't ring, no pun intended 

but the ring i have come to receive

is truly beautiful with a moonstone

like a drop of Bay water balancing on

a beaten band that looks as though it has been 

pulled from the rubble of a burning building

and so is exactly what i had hoped for.

i do the usual round of favourite places

get my coffee at Trieste, sit awhile on Russian Hill

wander to the park above Fort Mason

snack on cheese under the gum trees there

then walk back to collect my luggage

and drag it across town, giggling inwardly at

the comments that passers-by feel entitled to articulate,

of which the loudest and most critical, oddly enough,

are made by those who share my first language.

they have no idea they are so generously

giving me laughter therapy

and i resist the temptation to say

"schönen Tag, noch!" 

train stations are no longer the romantic places

depicted in Brief Encounter

or in films about Anna Karenina

the temporary transBay terminal is a holding room

for souls desperate to be elsewhere and

the station at Emeryville even more so

where the vending machines make wild promises

but will only sullenly disgorge diet pepsi

filthy stuff that is strictly for cleaning copper

though, once used for that purpose, has impressive 

mordant qualities

i find a tourist map and mark my day on it in thick black pencil

eventually the train pulls in and we fall aboard

i tip myself gratefully into my tiny sleeping closet 

and give myself up to Morpheus for what seems like days

though only a few hours later i awake as we are 

passing through mist-covered desert spiked with piñon and juniper

and wonder if i'm in the right state

then water on which sunlight flashes and blinks

perhaps the merpeople have forgotten to turn their twinkle lights off

somewhere else a broken umbrella hangs batlike

from a bush on the side of a cutting

in Portland i look up and down river as we cross the Willamette

looking for the iron bridge...then realise we are on it

except for the garbled announcements over the tannoy

(there is a special training centre for railway announcers,

run by somebody who teaches them how to 

make announcements in a Turkish accent. 

the same school also supplies the people for 

the Flinders Street Station in Melbourne, Australia)

the Seattle train station is like stepping through 

a time machine into another era

or like stepping deep inside an angel-food cake 

for a white wedding with all the trimmings

i choose the easy way out

and though a braver woman might have 

tackled further public transport

rain is imminent and so i take a taxi.

the driver is old-fashioned and reassures himself 

as to our destination by the simple means of leafing 

through an actual street directory, though i have explained that 

i am heading for a helltell overlooking the ferry dock just

across from Whidbey Island. kindly (and perhaps unusually)

he only switches on the meter after he has closed his book

72 hours give or take a quarter after leaving home 

i enter a room that is not moving and discover to my delight 

that not only does it overlook water, but the doors can actually

be opened wide to the whirled outside

i drift off to the crash of waves and wake at dawn to flat calm

in the distance a ferry hovers in a silver cloud

seabirds stitch their songs across the place where the sealine might be

if it were clear

it's only September 3 but i feel as though i have lived a week 

since the month began

had September 1 twice

and will lose the equinox to the international dateline

but that

will be another story

because now i am here

re-reading a marvellous book i bought at Shakerag in 2010

and soon i shall be 'being (t)here'

but on Whidbey Island, and with slightly longer hair

+      

if you've managed to reach the bottom of the page and would like to read something more important

then you could go here

eco, schmeco...ranting about plastic, rust and other things

i'm beginning to wish i hadn't given the name 'ecoprint' to the contact print that results when eucalyptus leaves are heated together with cloth in a damp environment.

since i first observed the phenomenon back in the early nineties the word 'ecoprint' has been adopted by countless commercial printing houses

and these days it seems everything is 'eco'

what concerns me too is that the method i've been teaching [which does not employ synthesized adjunct mordants] has been adopted by others who seem to be less concerned than i am about environmental concerns and student safety

if you teach, you have a duty of care

the bottom line is : printing with leaves using toxic adjunct mordants and layers of plastic is not environmentally sustainable*

and students participating in classes where fabrics pre-mordanted with Ferrous sulphate and layered with plastics for "clear leaf prints" may like to consider that as these bundles are heated, the vapours given off comprise a toxic cocktail of polyethylphthalates as well as the poisonous mordant in combination with whatever plant matter is being used. it is to be hoped that the latter has been identified and that toxic plants are being avoided but either way...you're breathing it in. i worry too about those teaching these methods...  Ferrous sulphate is a cumulative poison.

not all eucalypts are safe to use either...some contain cyanatogens, others offer small quantities of arsenic and E. nitens has been implicated as a possible carcinogen

remember that if you can smell something, you are breathing it in...and that the surface area of your lungs [if they were opened out] allegedly approximates that of a tennis court

i know that microscopic amounts are used to treat anaemia but overexposure to Ferrous sulphate can cause 

irritation eyes, skin, mucous membrane; abdominal pain, diarrhea, vomiting; possible liver damage 

is it worth it?

i use found iron as co-mordant to achieve dark colours. archaeological evidence supports this. time and again you'll read in texts about discoveries that cloth found in proximity to metal in the absence of oxygen was best preserved. whereas traditional plant dye advice was always to be cautious about using Ferrous sulphate  as it makes cloth brittle

iron soaked in an acid solution [vinegar, fermented fruit waste or an exhausted leaf-based dye bath] makes a safe mordant for dark colours

the current craze for rust has me worried too. rust particles are sharp and if breathed in, can cause bleeding of the alveoli [those little things in your lungs that take up oxygen]. be careful with it. and avoid wearing cloth that has been 'rust printed'. remember that your skin is your biggest and most absorptive organ

do your homework, make sure you are well informed and stay safe. 

and if you want clear leaf prints, put recycled paper between the layers. you'll have the bonus of making something gorgeous to write on.

* yes i am aware that my extensive travel is not sustainable. that's why i plant trees. lots of trees.

PayPal SchmayPal

after a phone call, six emails and hours spent searching for documents, copying them and uploading them to PayPal i am apparently still under suspicion. even though my account page says i have complied.

perhaps they think my whirled-wandering involves training people in nefarious activities [note the bit about "politically exposed persons". i rarely expose myself, preferring to dress [as my children put it] in things that resemble small Bedouin tents and if i did expose myself, it would not be to politicians. so there.

or maybe they want blood? DNA? perhaps my grandmother's left index finger? that last one could be tricky, she was buried in 1987. and i'm not sure i want to disturb her slumbers. and my other grandmother was cremated and later sprinkled around the farm dam. maybe i could scrape up a soil sample?

clearly i was not cut out to be a shopkeeper and it is just as well this has happened now, and not when i eventually launch the promised limited edition publication as it would have made a right dog's breakfast of the distribution process. [thank you, those of you who have suggested other means of accepting payments, i am exploring possibilities]

meanwhile i'm going back to the sewing room. it's nice and quiet there.

wishing merry everything, good health, abundance and happiness to y'all....and if anyone still wants to buy anything i have made [via the interpixies, that is] FarFetch is presently your only option.

a blessing. of sorts.

let me tell you a secret

deep inside

i am a shy

and

somewhat solitary bear,

it takes courage for me to step into the spotlight
i'd rather stay home than go to parties
[close friends have told me i am socially inept]
and i tend to take things quite literally

i tend to be forthright

i have a strong sense of justice and

i WILL speak out if i see something that is not right

it is how i came off the assembly line, reinforced by how i was raised.

if i kindly advise someone that it would be better

in the interests of [their] potential longevity

not to be consuming food in an atmosphere redolent of toxic vapours

i am doing that out of concern

and from what i perceive to be a duty of care.
in short

i mean well.

so if you then tell me i have "crossed a line" and go on to demand whether i realise that by coming to teach i have "inconvenienced others who normally use the space" and snicker derisively when my Precious rises sponstaneously to my defence

then all i can say is

"Bless you and be Happy"

 i shall not darken your doors again.

packing for the pond hop

 

i am supposed to be packing for the pond hop

but have been momentarily diverted, thanks to my new friend Jane Flower

who not only organised a wonderful workshop in the west

but kindly took the time to teach me a book structure i was curious about

i'm thinking i might make one for the Haystack auction

[lucky me, i'm attending session 2 there as a student this year]

i rather like this binding

it's addictive

and you can keep going for as long as you want

except that i had better get back to packing

speaking of which

thanks to those unspeakable cowards who misused perfectly good pressure cookers last week

my travelling dyepots [of the plug in kind]

are retiring.

i have no wish for cross-examinations by airport security.

[they take excessive interest in my luggage as it is and they can get very cross]

so i'm thinking of bringing this little chap out of hibernation

he runs on methylated spirits

and

provided i let the flame burn out to the very end

and pack each of the components separately in my back pack

[so i can explain, rather than having my suitcase torn apart]

it won't pose a risk

and now to re-home those spiders...

+

and in the good old days, i might have taken one of these

preparing to travel to New Zealand

preparing for my journey to New Zealand, i am re-reading 'Backroads' by Sam Hunt
and looking at
paintings by Colin McCahon & Doris Lusk
Ralph Hotere

going through my notes
of time passed there in times past

rummaging in notebooks i find this sketch
made with pencil at Te Papa museum [no cameras allowed]
and later embellished with watercolour
while taking coffee at Midnight Expresso
up on Cuba Street [Wellington]
the colours far wilder than the original

and then i make a few other notes. a bit closer to home.




-->

CLOUDLAND, OR SMOKE ALARM

I’m not yet quite sure which.

LONG BEFORE PA FORGOT REMEMBRANCE

HE MADE THE CHOICE TO LOOK AWAY

NOW HE WANDERS, SMOKE AND MIRRORS

ASKS MY MOTHER IF I AM RELATED TO HER

NOTICING THAT WE LOOK LIKE PEBBLES OR

SOME DAISIES IN THE GRASS

PERHAPS TWO PLASTIC BAGS

BLOWING IN ON THE BREEZE

ON HIS BIRTHDAY I TOOK A CAKE

TO THE CELL HE NOW INHABITS, MONASTICALLY TIDY

ONE SHOE, A TOOTHBRUSH AND A VIEW INTO TREES

A PHOTO OF MY BROTHER

THEY WOULDN’T LET ME BURN THE CANDLES

INSUFFICIENT CAKE TO FEED THE FIREMEN WHO WOULD COME

RUNNING, CALLED BY RINGING BELLS

NOW PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY TO

CLOUDY ISLANDS EAST OF HERE

I READ BY THE SMOKE OF RESIN

GATHERED ON A WESTERN COAST

CYPRESS FOG DRIFTS ACROSS THE PAGE

GOOD THING I GUTTED THE SMOKE ALARM

December 27, 2012

ecoprint

the eucalyptus ecoprint began as a serendipitous discovery

back in the nineties [last century, in fact]

the situation was created by a broody hen

who sat on an egg during three days of rain

in a nest made of dried eucalyptus leaves

the warmth of her little fluffy bloomers

just enough to coax brown leaf prints

on to the shell

the egg led me to experiment with bundling eucalyptus leaves on cloth

where the results were so exciting [and so efficient in terms of the volume of plant material used in relation to the results achieved]

that i gave it the name

ecoprint

a concept that is now spreading like wildfire around the world.

even as far as a commercial printing conference in Berlin

being held this month

that bears no relation at all to the technique.

a friend [who happens to be a patent attorney] advised me to patent it, many other people have wondered why i published the method...the answer is that it's so simple and so easily replicated that i wanted to have evidence in the form of a book [now two books] that it came from me. just so i could say to my as-yet-not-even-thought-of grandchildren

"your granny did this"

and of course, that if more people are dyeing simply with plants and water

& leaving the more toxic dyes behind

then the whirled has a better chance of surviving a bit longer

the secret is in the pages of this book

 or you can take a class with me sometime

making sense of the whirled [another day at the office]

today i gathered leaves. slowly and literally 

one . by . one

from the streets of San Francisco

i went out into the whirled with the firm intent

of running a few errands such as

stocking up on reeds from the music store

 looking for interesting papers for the class at Goleta

and seeing if there was anything my students might find useful

from the fabulous Goodwill store down on Fillmore

instead i wandered down my favourite thoroughfare

[Memory Lane, where the potholes have been filled,

the roses are flourishing and fragrance fills the air]

i visited old friends [magnolias in bloom, mahonias in berry]

 

and discovered that it seems my feet know San Francisco

rather better than they know the city where i was born

- in Melbourne i have to carry and refer to a map, while

here my feet just wayfind whilst i am thinking of other things

i found a harakeke [New Zealand flax a.k.a Phormium tenax] 

that was raining flowers and 

the universe kindly provided a clean baggie passing on the breeze

[helpfully labelled "buttons"]

 

i found my heart high on a hill

admittedly a little tubbier than when i last saw it

and a bit ratty around the edges

but still quite serviceable

despite being wind-dried and a bit flat

i also found a nice clean piece of cotton string.

i very nearly filled a book with graphite rubbings

[thanks Roz for making me buy that bargain-priced 

book of Khadi papers in Melbourne the other day]

 

i sat awhile on the Greenwich steps by Russian Hill

where some thoughtful person has installed a small

Japanese-style water feature, and

listened to the parrots chattering in the treetops

- they call them the parrots of Telegraph Hill

but [like me] they like more than one hill in San Francisco

     

wandered past the Asian tailor

who has been closed for at least 36 years

- checked that the windows remained unchanged

it is good to have a few constants in life

   

and went to have an Africano

[to my mind the best coffee in San Francisco]

in my favourite haunt near Washington Square

 

where i couldn't help but overhear

the woman at the next table

extolling the virtues of something she'd recently consumed

stating in rapturous tones that it had been

"godlike, made by the ancients"

and then bizarrely opening a discussion about

"that artist, you know, the Alabama mumbler"

which reminded me of another "mumbler"

encountered [also in San Francisco]

on the shady side of 35 years ago when i kept spotting a somewhat eccentrically dressed woman [yes, yes, i know that's rich coming from me] who would appear as if by magic, mumbling something unintelligible, scrape brickdust or paintflakes or stonechips carefully from a wall, place the harvest in a small plastic bag and secrete is about her person.

i thought she was a fruitloop.

and now i am her. 

pottering about the streets

gathering leaves and dried berries from the pavements

singing to myself

enjoying another day at the office.

+++ sharp-eyed readers may notice the publication date on this blog is a bit kerfoops at present. it's because i am [literally and metaphorically] wandering yesterdayland while my MacBook is all set for the whirled of tomorrow, on Australian time +++

in quiet retreat

it is time for quiet retreat in the cool of the Deep South
a time for wordlessness and mindfulness in the season of mist and fog
preparing for summer days in various parts of the North

and of course for the Natural Dye Symposium taking place in Melbourne [AUS] in a little over a month's time [where i think a couple of places remain available in the classes i have been assigned]

the class planned for Santa Barbara [USA]
has filled, as have those in Cleveland [USA] in the Fall

the class in London seems to be getting some interest [despite a certain large sporting event vying for attention] and there's a possibility of two days in France early in September...pencilled but not permanently inked at this stage

so i have some things to think about
materials to gather
marks to make on paper
and marmalade stains to apply to maps

book book...book?

i am pondering completing the trilogy
[which would give me something in common with Tolkien
beyond the writing on my wrist]
and because i think i have some things yet to say

while i have an abundance of ideas
sprouting as marks on pages
errant files lurking in the laptop
and drawings on envelopes

i would like to hear from you
especially those who have been kind enough to read my other offerings

what would you like to read about?

the comment box awaits your pearls...or if you wish please write to me via here
[thanking you in advance for taking the time and trouble and no hard feelings if you think i have written enough already - feel free to say so, i'm wearing my Big Girl Pants today ]

thanks for the roses

i just had a kind email suggesting i might like to pop over to

Spirit Cloth

and so i did

Jude has the most beautiful dye sampler on display

click here to be transported...

overheard at breakfast

"must be the German in me"

"you German, honey?"

"Russian, German, same difference"

"oh, no...there's a wall"

"not no more they ain't no wall"

"Russian women, they SCARE me....they so ANGRY"