Tuesday, January 07, 2014

"Every man's memory is his private literature." Aldous Huxley

Upper left corner of new landscape piece. Remembering what I had written early this morning, in this blog I sat, in the Studio, doing my Meditation.  Normally, I release all the thoughts that parade across my mind but today I held on to the Stories aspect of my art.
I allowed myself, space and time to just see what threads of thought would drift by on this topic.

The fabric, color and theme had been chosen. This was a winter in the woods, piece. The design layout a portrait landscape picked.

Why? Before this morning I would have said and maybe I did say, because I wanted to do something that represented the woods I see every day from the Studio window.

Sitting quietly I allowed the strips of fabric that I had cut and placed on the muslin, tell me a story.

Whose woods was this? My immediate response was mine, ours, ok, we share part of it with three other families.

Whose woods was this first? ahhhh well, if you are going to ask that then it was "Boomers".

Who was Boomer?  An old man that lived in a tiny little house, in the woods. If you needed a stump taken out you called Boomer, hence his name.

He was the Master of dynamite. Or he was until
the dynamite took out him.

Sooooooo, Boomer wants his story told does he?
He will be part of the woods. His cottage is now woven into the first layer.
For now I am tentatively putting the white rice paper and the painted rice paper in around the background trees. That hasn't been permanently placed. Nor are the tree trunks finished. These young trees are oaks and many still have their leaves attached to their branches. They won't lose them until the new leaves push them out of the way.
I had some wonderful dyed cheesecloth but after taking this picture I'm inclined to do some painting of it in spots. It's much to much the same color.

I will keep on working on this, having my dialogue with Boomer, getting his story straight and out there.


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