all the things by hand

all the things.

the first time i heard this phrase

was in michelle moode's beautiful letterpress book

PARTICULAR.

it was index item #1.

the first thing was all the things.

 i handle this book,

handle, the touch or the feel of something held in the hands

this book

haptic knowledge

anyway, it has delights and puzzles quietly presented.

The whole world is a series of miracles,  but we’re so used to them we call them ordinary things. Hans Christian Anderson I've been thinking about the intelligence of  our hands, how they become smarter with practice, like our brains do. unmoored, by shanna leino  i've read over and over. it's a small poem, not many words, but about big things. the care she took as she stitched this exquisite spine   the monoprints on silk... see her tiny stitches? an exit in SLU's print studio with my favorite cheesecloth drying after being washed out.

i'm not quite sure why it is

but for me the things that have meaning

are the things made by hands that have knowledge,

and also are my favorites

for (whatever/all the) reasons.

in last summer's seattle workshop

my students' hands all together could indeed have ruled the world,

with exquisite intelligence, grace, and love.

hazel and gabby

 an envelope came recently that held this rich 

surprise:

 Banks of the Dogbane by sarah swett

a hand sized tapestry (3 x 3") rich in simple detail

and texture

 woven on handspun linen

 i love this thing.

 over on the next farm this structure

was never honored by finishing

or by use

 now it's failing

i believe it was intended for hay storage 

for these bovines.

why leave it undone, 

a public testament to failure of some kind?

i watched them build it, but then it was ignored.

these cows don't seem to care. 

the lovely little brown calf stands out in this black and white crowd.

a lilac burl

from my garden.

enhanced by me cleaning and oiling it,

rolling it around in my hands with pleasure and love

handling it into another use

(maybe an awl?)

 a beautiful handwoven hemp textile

hand spun hemp on a cotton warp

found by my dear friend who allowed me to buy it

at mjolk in toronto.

 tiny waxed linen crocheted basket by Nina Payne

a gift from a gifted friend.

 shanna's lake michigan rocks

beautiful and useful.

 a little natural history book nest i made

two feathers on a shifu page and a seaweed float/bladder

 milkweed bast becoming thread

 ginkgo message

from therese

and words from the wise.

i'm reading a new book: 

Craeft by alexander langlands

which may help me understand (or perhaps just frame)

my thoughts on hand work.

all the handwork.

waiting summer

paper arc of safety

the beautiful north country wasn't really waiting for me,

though it seemed like it was.

instead, it was just doing what it does so well,

being beautiful.

being, now, summer.

deep in july and hot and dry and growing.

i went for a visit to toronto last week.

to see, amongst other things,

the magic feather cloth

friends wendy, hiroko, and dorothy;

 gifts were exchanged,

gratitude.

even joy, perhaps?

 these amazing women came 

to have a most entertaining lunch at the gardiner museum

and rich conversation after.

to be IN the city

and IN refuge IN the city.

my shifu thinking met up with wood worked beautifully

(below in some iphone play)

 there was also a treat for me

the magic feather cloth

briefly installed

by val, 

who left me instructions:

 i didn't mess with the cave,

only 

touched the cloth.

 followed a featherstone path

 to find the grief book 

(velma's book of grief

my shifu and handmade paper book).

doing its job.

 there were many instructions to attend to

and i have a new last name.

and i am waiting

for 

a 

poem.

(val loves india, too!)

sometimes wendy's kids write poems,

(my grampians texture students remember me reading one to them)

val wrote,

thank you val, 

i love reading your words!

these words

 carried me to the textile museum

to see the works of hands

and i had to sit at this old leclerc

and would have wound it forward, gone to work weaving,

but the yarn was tight 

woven right up to the beater

kids delighted, but instead i talked about how this one was prepared

for patterning.

my feet played treadle dancing and my hands

wanted to wind warp formard.

these mirror pieces came home with me.

from sartaj's shop kinna sohna

and this scarf

of a million running stitches.

and now, back home.

all is well.

the soil is pretty dry, the birds still singing most babies fledged.

there was a medium sized four-legged

out last night at the new place.

bobcat? coyote? fox?

i was above, moonlit, a brief movement through the light

the one approached the porch,

a roof and many feet in the way.

i think a bobcat, but this morning, nothing to give that one away,

not even a scent for my uneducated nose.

my city time 
above
my country time
below

the gift of "black caps" 

these black raspberries had gone a little too far

in the fridge

while i was in toronto.

so i made a rich rich ink

thinking of my son ian and his friend nate

who made some once and left it

in the fridge for years.

 and ants got in 

and into the raisins

the honey

the sugar

and cornstarch.

but mostly the honeycombs.

 a huge cleaning ensued

including heat and beeswax and cloth and honey and dead ants.

even a dead honeybee.

 (ant trap added for a brief time)

because i lost quite a bit.

up front and center:

soma chocolate from toronto

wattle seed from australia.

delicious!

and quite a bit of gelatin

for sizing paper.

ian and hannnah will see this cupboard

and be shocked by the tidiness!