tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36849774025034250052024-03-23T00:56:47.104+05:30Stitch JournalA contemporary embroiderer's journal - of images, thread, fabric, colours and textures that evoke living, through the language of stitch.Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-72370353179328721562024-02-21T16:53:00.001+05:302024-02-21T16:54:14.074+05:30Golden Sands <img id="id_eb0b_16e_2c5_376a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1EGevC-jIa4_7iWtjRPz5oWUr5L9x-SCd" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br> <div><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I started this embroidery some weeks ago. An Instagram post with haphazardly laid slubby yarn inspired me to scour the Delhi market for some ghicha (tasar silk) which has a wonderful multi-hued (from dull gold to dark brown) texture that’s rough but soft to touch. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Ghicha is traditionally made from wild tasar silkworms and produced in a variety of ways, one of which is by allowing the worm to emerge from the silk naturally, (without boiling them alive - now called ahimsa or non-violent silk) . The cocoons which are single-shelled and oval-shaped <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>are collected from the forest or rearing fields and dried naturally in the sun. The empty cocoon is then boiled to soften it for easier extraction of the thread. Ghicha silk fibres are short and coarser hence the silk is not reeled in a continuous thread like mulberry (bombyxymori) and other silks. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><img id="id_555a_f190_ef7a_2719" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1w7RRXWiQs5RdxVqKXvJStu-di2cigTW_" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">There are several species of Tasar silk moths (family Saturniidae) in China, India, Japan, Africa and North America. The moths are large and have a prominent eye marking on their wings. The caterpillars are bright green, as wide as a man’s finger and they feed on a wide range of plants like Asan (a common herb also called Bijaka) Arjun - a large deciduous herbal plant (tree) and Sal. Valued for its natural golden to brown hues - said to be derived from the tannin in the leaves that the moth feeds on, the main producers of Tasar silk are the Jharkhand and Bihar regions in India.</span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Why did I find myself drawn to the slubby ghicha, is something that I have been preoccupied with ever since I embarked on this work. For so many years, I have worked with cotton fabrics, not really caring much for the quality of cloth and usually veering towards markeen or mulmul- not the fine muslin of yore, but mill-made cotton voile. I did use silk organza some decades ago, and that too has returned to my repertoire, but Tasar wasn’t ever on my radar. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Anyhow, this Instagram post - I’ve never been able to find it again, set me on a purposeful journey to find ghicha fabric. The idea was to remove the yarn - ghicha is usually used in the weft, with finely spun Tasar or cotton for the warp and it’s easy to unravel.</span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I spent way too much money on this, buying all manner of silk - mulberry and organza included, adding muga tussar blends and silk cotton blends. Good quality tussar can cost upto ₹3,500/- per metre, organza around ₹850/- and gold tissue about ₹1,500/- per metre. Sometimes I bought a metre but usually only half a metre. Even so I ended up spending over ₹20,000/- on a single trip and there were more sprees. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Given that all I had were cut pieces that I was going to shred it really does seem like extravagance but when it comes to work, I never stint. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_1be9_6715_b77_a8e7" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1j3tPtgN05DNAE6xe_AGFWJZZKS6XBSXe" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">As soon as I returned from my shopping spree I got down to work by taking out the thread. Some fabrics weren’t so easy to unravel so I got just the yarn length of the fabric width and kept them neatly together for use later. One of the fabrics was a dream: I could actually reel the thread off the fabric and create small balls of it. I use this for embroidery. I’ve been trying to get a spool or two of the finer Katia thread to work with, but as yet haven’t had much luck as the yarn isn’t made locally and suppliers are wholesalers. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I then used some of these fabrics that I had drawn the threads from and rendered fragile, by layering them upon each other and trying to tack the loosened threads. The end result was a mishmash of fabrics quite large and unwieldy. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I liked some of the textures that stitching had created, and wanted to pursue that - make the work smaller and focus on the detail. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So, I cut the whole into bits - just random bits. I then divided the organza and gold tissue fabrics into equal parts and got 8 rectangles from each measuring 9.5 x 11 inches each. Hence the series of 8. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_8ba6_1937_2710_9bc6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1vqJSwBgQjX7OUcoNAHn5NF_bzjCq1TrT" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I tried tacking the randomly cut bits of tasar onto the organza overlaid on the gold tissue by hand but it was treacherous. I indulged in getting one of those mini sewing machines I’ve been eyeing for sometime now. I have a good enough sewing machine at home in Goa and didn’t need to add clutter to an already overflowing studio, so it didn’t make sense then. But I’ve been in Delhi since early November, with another two months (when I started the work) to go before I returned home, so I knew I had to get it. It’s reasonably priced and did the basics. Just about that too. The stitches were too large on the lighter end of the <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>fabrics (you cannot modulate the length) which ended up being a boon in the long run because I just ripped out the stitching once the embroidery had started and the loosened ghicha threads were more manageable. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_fb1f_7a81_1643_7ed2" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1doHq7w5B5NBd9RgaFEiwC924O1B4beNr" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I’ve been in n Delhi, taking care of mum who’s ailing. She’ll be 92 in June this year, has Parkinson’s which has affected her swallowing mechanism. This means that she cannot eat. Beginning with a Riles tube, we had to put in a PEG tube in the stomach to feed her every two hours. This site got infected and the doctors <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>inserted an NJ (nasal jejunum - it goes deeper into the stomach than a RT). She’s pretty much bedridden with her severe osteoporosis and limited mobility plus has had a UTI almost constantly for the last 5-6 years. She’s alert, misses eating her favourites and once in a while asks for coke or chocolate or tea and we feed her licks or by teaspoon. It’s hard and she’s miserable. And, there’s a sense of gloom that pervades the whole place. Her home has been neglected or rather left to the staff to run, so almost nothing works and despite continuous repairs, it’s hardship living for us. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Knowing the situation and that I was to be here for 4 months this time around, I decided to post most of my stuff and set up a temporary but workable studio on the large oval dining table that seats eight (half of it). I’ve been working regularly and it’s been my salvation. I had brought pieces that I had been working on and there were a lot of samples to be made for a 4 module workshop that I conducted at the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art in Saket. But, sometimes, things can’t be worked to order and one needs some expression that’s more in tune with situation and circumstance of the present. In fact, I find that the chaos of life actually lends itself well to authentic expression. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><img id="id_9982_6707_cb3_bc99" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/10_2H_3HX7esrL7wcqv-DCffCQ0OCQRWf" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">My exploration of life along the seashore in Goa, as a mirror to self has been a seven year journey thus far. I have explored and studied the shells and their markings - zoomed in on what scientists have said are neurological responses to the environment - with genetic traces too, to realise that it’s pure colour that make up these patterns. Subtle gradations of colour. I have a series of cross-stitch pieces that replicate my photographic recording and pixilation of these patterns that are fascinating in their hues. I’d been working on one of them, (they take a year to do each) when the Instagram post sent me on another track. </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">But, it really wasn’t another track just another way of looking at neurological responses. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And, in studying the colour of these responses as I tried to match each hue - and it’s the most demanding thing I’ve ever tried for each square of 16 crosses takes me approximately ten minutes to complete: 2 minutes to stitch and the rest to match the right colour and tone, I’ve explored emotions in the human context and how we use them to respond to situation and circumstance. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_9f3d_93af_1024_40" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1GJG5GmtfQZU5Q5gelaLA93_7HBBFKC9N" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">This led to the understanding that there is a geography of emotion. A terrain that isn’t linear but layered. Like patterns are formed in our subconscious behaviour, emotions also have patterns. How we respond to people is based on these patterns and hence they are referred to as the geography of emotion. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_64bf_2371_acf7_5337" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1WdIQVAHqUZOUA4x3-1j3muV231Ep5O8y" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">In mapping this geography, initially I referred to my album of images from my weekly walks on the beach, when I’m resident in Goa. And I found the correlation quite fascinating. But, then my sister came to share the caregiving and running of house responsibilities and all hell broke loose. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_e5b7_7d52_c48e_7646" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1K7GwUu5Yc3byFwA5cEPliSLMAS2sSSBq" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The cook who pretty much runs the house was going on leave and the two of us were to do this along with mother’s care. Our personalities are like chalk and cheese. While she externalises, I internalise. And, we haven’t lived together our entire adult lives - not since we were in our teens. Not only that, we have a troubled past too - I guess most families have their issues and we do as well. It was an ambitious plan that within days became nothing short of a nightmare. My head was screaming overload. I’m used to living alone and barely managed the numerous people involved in mums home and care till sister arrived and then to deal with her entirely different stress coping mechanism <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>- one that imposed on me, was impossible and that’s how these pieces came into being. But, it’s not just this that created them for I had started the initial work prior to my sister’s arrival. I was under stress and she just became the trigger for something visceral. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_2e98_dac7_f7fe_c631" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1vezArXP90KtenAt7f-Of9iGINBZwYWqP" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Inspired essentially by the sand bubbler crabs whose radial feeding residue patterns create a lace-like pattern across the sand. These patterns are fascinating in themselves, but the story behind them is equally so - actually more so and lends meaning to what I’m attempting to do with this series of embroideries. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_5e9c_8f37_7f19_18da" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1TfDf0nvvIzCoXpoZxOvZXNUkM28UA9ds" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_34f7_4ad6_61a2_7e56" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1K89ikyFmo8BYPSxDG6YEOa779HJ3_dxl" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The sand bubbler crabs are tiny, shy creatures that run into their burrows at the sight of me. They dig these burrows and live in them until the tide brings forth the stuff they feed on. Then, they scuttle out of their hiding places and roll bits of wet sand in their mouths, digesting organic waste and detritus of animals, discarding the rest as little globules that dot the beaches. They work radially outwards from the burrow. And in leaving these globules they inform their tribe that this sand has been sifted and there’s nothing left to feed on. But, the part that I find most interesting is that in consuming the waste and detritus these sand bubblers actually clean the beaches. without which, there would be a stench. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_6706_9c0e_f4ee_62bc" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1YwKv9Xn3jy_1_tgdFssY4Kb6f5gLxdhX" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span><img id="id_dfa4_849c_7ff0_1893" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1DeFz3O9XC0VUKg042X7hyoEGFA38skmZ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">In these pieces, I’m using this concept of dealing with the detritus of one’s emotions to clean the environment. I started them, despite my beck and shoulders in agony. Finished two aided by a week of daily Physio therapy and then got a whopping cold. First, one side of the nasal tract and then the other with a really lovely chesty bronchial cough. All of which left me no choice but to abandon sewing and sleep it off. </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><img id="id_a6cf_765b_1636_fed5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1NKujNtMR8SwWu_sS4OcMqvOFdfqt4NDt" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Not everything can be sorted by mere creative ideas. But, it’s all part of the healing process. If it hadn’t been for the rest, I’d never have cleared my head enough to write this! </span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><img id="id_8ed0_cc47_92e8_a889" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/d/1rANbAsSaZmSB0f2uMzcgSt48nTqgSuuq" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Hope you enjoyed this post. Stay tuned for more on the Golden Sand series - on why silk and gold have become emblematic of this series and other stitching stories.</span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; min-height: 26px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Resources: </span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tussar_silk">https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tussar_silk</a></span></p><p class="p1" style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-kerning: auto; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-feature-settings: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-variation-settings: normal; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><a href="https://asiainch.org/craft/ghicha-silk-weaving-of-bihar/">https://asiainch.org/craft/ghicha-silk-weaving-of-bihar/</a>) </span></p></div>Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-72987597027819391492023-12-31T22:11:00.004+05:302023-12-31T22:12:49.721+05:30Personal Threads: Perfection of Imperfection, Guest Post by Stephanie Fujii<p><span style="font-size: large;">I cannot look at fabrics without touching. The way they move by crumpling, folding, tearing, shrinking, fraying. They never stay the same and working with them is intensely personal. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHcRoHYKnpihAz4OEc_C7NFLAiYxY8vji6GbCKRYDyad1wt5HVx3tJb25Q3tHccEAtecman0O6C-_5lCCe1a5E9fzrQx3jqiZcYoCq_ZgzPC45YOE4CbiOIU8YtJXeHimQ4almVEO23jE5wCePVQ-izZTGLVYY_0gF451VqDU9K7m5-IM99LgzFRNUKfm/s2048/image_6487327_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHcRoHYKnpihAz4OEc_C7NFLAiYxY8vji6GbCKRYDyad1wt5HVx3tJb25Q3tHccEAtecman0O6C-_5lCCe1a5E9fzrQx3jqiZcYoCq_ZgzPC45YOE4CbiOIU8YtJXeHimQ4almVEO23jE5wCePVQ-izZTGLVYY_0gF451VqDU9K7m5-IM99LgzFRNUKfm/w480-h640/image_6487327_2.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My approach to my current creative practise is meditative and intuitive but this was not always so. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I was born and brought up in Manchester, UK in the 1960s and 70s. Manchester’s rich history of cotton textiles was unknown to me for most of that time even though I went through school showing a skill for ‘art’. In my school, this was what you studied – art. I had an excellent art teacher who made all my lessons stimulating and interesting, but the art exams we took were only drawing and painting, so that is all I did. I did this instead of studying other subjects, much to my parent’s chagrin, and I love drawing and painting to this day. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My father was an architect, and he loved the architecture in Manchester. He had a passion for the watercolours of Russell Flint. Both my sisters are creative and skilled in drawing and one of my sisters and my mother are exceptional seamstresses. So, there was a definite creative streak running through my family. However, my parents loved history so, as a family, we visited museums rather than art galleries. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I went to Manchester Polytechnic (now Manchester Metropolitan University) to complete my art foundation course and then I studied Graphic Design and Illustration at Kingston Polytechnic (now Kingston University). These were formative years when I discovered the joy of going to art galleries, which I still love to do, looking at other forms of art and creativity and learning about the influences of well-known artists as well as those of my peers. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I was very lucky to gain a place to study Illustration at the Royal College of Art in the 1980’s in London where I had the privilege of learning from well-known illustrators at the time including Quentin Blake. I was able to experiment and develop my way of working, preferring to make layers of collage using acrylic paint, paper and fabric. I think my tutors were concerned that my style was a little too abstract and they supported me and my work. After leaving, I embarked on a career as a commercial artist for about ten years during which time I worked for design companies and magazines. At the same time, I was also developing my personal work as paintings following my own themes such as interpreting space and spatial freedom which I identified with much more. These themes continue to occupy my current work. I found the constraints of making commercial work and answering other people’s creative questions increasingly physically, emotionally, and creatively difficult to do. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Also at the same time, I began to travel a great deal more to countries with wonderful, rich, cultural heritages such as China, Vietnam, India and Russia. This inspired me to become a teacher so that I could explore more of the world while working and creating at the same time. This was the masterplan – teach, create, move onto to another country. Travelling and teaching excited me very much and opened up new horizons. However, paradoxically, my creative work went into hibernation as my first teaching job took me to Japan where I met my husband and where our daughter was born. My life went into a delightful, sensory overload, taken up with looking after my family, learning Japanese and learning about the Japanese culture and way of life. My husband is from Kyoto, once the capital of Japan, steeped in history and traditions, full of gardens, the bamboo forest, palaces and shrines and the home of Kabuki theatre. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Altogether, I spent five years living just outside Tokyo in the late 1990’s. My experience of Japanese culture and way of life was mostly of precision, order, and efficiency. A train arrives reassuringly on time at the exact spot marked on the platform without fail. A little more stressful is making your child’s packed lunch which must be done in a specific way. It took a lot of time for me to get to know, understand and adapt to all the details present in a different culture that I took for granted in my own culture. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My discovery of the aesthetic of wabi sabi in a variety of forms was extremely gradual throughout my time in Japan. I did not understand for some time that what I was seeing had a name. Wabi sabi has been described as ‘flawed beauty’ and ‘the beauty of the imperfect, the impermanent, the incomplete’. As art forms, it can be seen or experienced in different ways for example, in Ikebana (flower arranging), Japanese Zen gardens and Kintsugi (broken ceramics mended with lacquer mixed with gold) to name a few. It also includes Boro, or ‘rags’ or ‘something tattered or repaired’. This is repairing textiles by patching and stitching, and it was practised by poor workers and farmers in Japan who could not afford new clothes or bedding. They needed to repair them over and over again. I have seen many isolated examples over the years. However, more recently here in London, I saw a large collection of authentic Japanese Boro textiles including bedding, clothes, bags and shoes for the first time. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The rawness of Boro, its simplicity and the organic way items are mended and assembled using this technique resonates with me. There are no rules. Yet, it was not until many years later back in my home country with my family when this began to permeate my creative thinking. I reached a point where my life experiences urged me to re-generate my creative voice and answer my own creative questions. To begin with, I think I was looking for ‘a place to go’ that was just mine to think, to heal, to cope, to make decisions and so on. There was and still is a great deal of happiness and fun, but it is the dark times in life such as death and illness that require an escape route. I had never stitched before, so this is how I started - I collected together different bits of fabric that I already had, created a simple composition, and began to stitch. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I quickly understood that my intention was to use stitching as a mark making tool. I started by using a double thickness of thread but soon realised that a single thread was a base – it makes a sensitive mark on its own but it can also be built upon. Double and overstitch, couch, back stitch, blanket stitch can all be added to a single thread. Stitches are a language and when I see them emerge on the fabric, they have a very clear definition even when I am not sure what I am trying to make. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In my mind, my first series of ‘stitchings’ was entitled ‘Somewhere to Go’ because these beginnings became my new place to go to find my peace and my freedom to create. Only a few of these pieces of work as I first made them still exist. Over time, I have re-examined them, deconstructed them, stitched over them, painted on them, added parts of them to later works …..and also hidden them away not to be found again.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘Another Country’</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjJTDYVum5e9-U_0BgGVEc6gexk3mazIk6RPZsDYv-0hyH2yxPwP3IhKf6_pVlN1tthFF6WJlckFSlKgJkEhWWVGoSLbwi1C66EeXgMSmN2wUyFxWsi18GV-RN7Lnk_nmN4w5aQo1jgeuLvjgP4h2jCQjneY_oWnOImmWZAWssH1XTbEwq3mSjo4Y1nNa/s2048/image_6487327_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjJTDYVum5e9-U_0BgGVEc6gexk3mazIk6RPZsDYv-0hyH2yxPwP3IhKf6_pVlN1tthFF6WJlckFSlKgJkEhWWVGoSLbwi1C66EeXgMSmN2wUyFxWsi18GV-RN7Lnk_nmN4w5aQo1jgeuLvjgP4h2jCQjneY_oWnOImmWZAWssH1XTbEwq3mSjo4Y1nNa/w640-h480/image_6487327_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I believe my work took on a more sustained meaning for me during the COVID lockdown when I made a collection of six hangings entitled ‘Another Country’. In the UK, we were allowed to go outside for exercise breaks and these hangings are tactile responses to the spaces I found myself in not so far from my home. Like most people, I had to think about the term ‘self-isolation’ which became an integral part of our pandemic vocabulary. There is a solitude about each hanging, but they also have a connection to each other, and they can be placed in any order. I liked to imagine I was walking through each terrain alone with my own thoughts and wondering if I can cross this boundary or venture through these contours. In many of the hangings, I asked myself ‘yes I am allowed here but how will I get over to that side?’ This was also when I began to think about my work as physical and emotional maps. This is quite natural to me as, having spent most of my life living in big cities, I am interested in interpreting space and spatial freedom. As physical maps, I zoom out to show satellite-like images of spaces and zoom in to show close ups of details of stones or pavements. As emotional maps, I attempt to represent thoughts, worries and musings. At the time, I was certainly contemplating where we are going to find ourselves. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘Our Paths Don’t Cross’ </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgko6Vnu2Olp9HMGoZquOccsjREQan__CMPkoKdN3xhCfUJEIrO4RzzGcFM-AWrbhX6xYNpTsZD8TiANnUyrB7TODSwxE9ubUlZTWtwfAr2P32sLpa5mAOdFrEt7ZvhgnORQMS3ykOlKfTalYEqjndZOKgeJxUYRaOAJzHccM6jI8F_eFrB9yUTUEFAL_DY/s2048/stefanie%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgko6Vnu2Olp9HMGoZquOccsjREQan__CMPkoKdN3xhCfUJEIrO4RzzGcFM-AWrbhX6xYNpTsZD8TiANnUyrB7TODSwxE9ubUlZTWtwfAr2P32sLpa5mAOdFrEt7ZvhgnORQMS3ykOlKfTalYEqjndZOKgeJxUYRaOAJzHccM6jI8F_eFrB9yUTUEFAL_DY/w640-h480/stefanie%202.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In this vein, I made ‘Our Paths Don’t Cross’ where I continued to look closely at my immediate urban environment and how we were now being asked to behave to protect ourselves. It is a space to walk and pass through, an open territory with hidden and defined boundaries but it also resembles a shroud - a very uncertain time for everyone. While I was making this piece, I was developing the freedom of printing and painting on fabric with acrylic paints, adding applique in the form of fabric tapes, offcuts and edges cut from other pieces of fabric and working with new textures such as the stiffness of the paint together with the soft fabric. My stitching responded accordingly. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>‘There is Beauty in the World’</b> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQwC_FUVIfB932tSdGapsIFSkjQuxvuzYK-JYGRokgk9EnESTIGfuLTfMtfKLnC7ZFC75ZJ7cHMmJpw-E1U_XlUvL1ZZckwSXwycZaYpAtiz7bZOXHATV0RuthWepyaC_1t7MPaha2pS_o5b9eEJpdrbC7JPz_Yz6WPBcKAV7qHTP-kwmKuK_93P3ZKf1/s2048/sf%209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQwC_FUVIfB932tSdGapsIFSkjQuxvuzYK-JYGRokgk9EnESTIGfuLTfMtfKLnC7ZFC75ZJ7cHMmJpw-E1U_XlUvL1ZZckwSXwycZaYpAtiz7bZOXHATV0RuthWepyaC_1t7MPaha2pS_o5b9eEJpdrbC7JPz_Yz6WPBcKAV7qHTP-kwmKuK_93P3ZKf1/w640-h480/sf%209.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A further series of work entitled ‘There is Beauty in the World’ focused on the chaos and the order in my urban environment, such as broken tiles, cracked pavements, weathered wood, crumbling walls. I think the imperfections, accidents and mistakes that manifest around us show a frailty in life which is transient as well as a strength. I have favourite walls and pavements close to where I live that I like to look at. Case in point, spilt paint by a bus stop near my home which I have photographed many times. This paint spillage has inspired a wealth of pieces I have made using parts of shopping bags, remnants and my old clothes. For these works, I prepared many pieces of fabrics by painting, printing and staining. Then I spent a great deal of time placing them together before hand stitching. I am comfortable unpicking, cutting up and tearing off parts that do not quite work. The commercial artist in me has a need to create a composition. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘The Discarded’</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghouwhFqeAmMbR5limoyqJHabCIUZccej0JDiXXzBt3oFlDAUuaghNJv1B6LHBghAHibTrm9bVSzyLGDKpF2m_LXh62kZDb2FwNn13YNAdVoA-0HplUL0R0ieWnWoBSsBtiCvOR8gFLNidBHRG6je9DpPZWitS3ad9l-zu4367lP5mCqtsieZbSw5nI2n0/s4032/stefanie%203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghouwhFqeAmMbR5limoyqJHabCIUZccej0JDiXXzBt3oFlDAUuaghNJv1B6LHBghAHibTrm9bVSzyLGDKpF2m_LXh62kZDb2FwNn13YNAdVoA-0HplUL0R0ieWnWoBSsBtiCvOR8gFLNidBHRG6je9DpPZWitS3ad9l-zu4367lP5mCqtsieZbSw5nI2n0/w480-h640/stefanie%203.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Similarly, I often photograph discarded objects such as card, boxes, wrappers and cord just as they have been left on the road, in gardens and on pavements. ‘The Discarded’ is a series of work I made based on all the ‘accidental compositions’ I discovered by chance. I can see shapes, tones and textures that inspire me to make something, and I am attentive to the beauty of their impermanence. I always have the hope they will not be there the next day and that I have managed to capture them in while it lasted. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">Stripes and lines</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPCk9s9E8eR_T8Gg5ALefCqgK0UGfr3rC8MTUkm7XLLBZRNx6pvi8CHjgLfiDYqOAI4kTPO1QAErUOKT4kIOhxgjInngntggM1u2qH5g1ImeX5sym9hN8v7a_zYDK6HteBrQUlUwgmlbhKK-KCFRqann3BAOTTTwOP8gTQURCLUanFkE5-Qg6nxizFLUY/s2048/stefanie%201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPCk9s9E8eR_T8Gg5ALefCqgK0UGfr3rC8MTUkm7XLLBZRNx6pvi8CHjgLfiDYqOAI4kTPO1QAErUOKT4kIOhxgjInngntggM1u2qH5g1ImeX5sym9hN8v7a_zYDK6HteBrQUlUwgmlbhKK-KCFRqann3BAOTTTwOP8gTQURCLUanFkE5-Qg6nxizFLUY/w640-h480/stefanie%201.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Almost all my work features some kind of attempt to make stripes in different ways, with tape, string, thread or print and I sometimes use cloth that is already striped. There are also many overlapping, tangled lines and contours in all of my pieces. When I am stitching, I think about breaking these lines, strengthening or weakening them, changing their direction and crossing the boundaries that lines create. When a line is broken, a new space opens up. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘Meeting Place’</span> </b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mGvf8LIstpT0zYi94_tvyFKCyDQ-LeiuVz-KGq32XhqGmvn006fYXwqdvnvcTQHCalvyVsjtLn4iLHKYNUyEBBgxah3Wr0-K1C3rgPUAe4VLQUeBVzMJovmKskxzq7lFGW3rEdx2JAULgXH8x5215AFW6FZ3vuqzEljs2gcc9-pmADbSHuxoc_JXRV7a/s4032/sf%201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mGvf8LIstpT0zYi94_tvyFKCyDQ-LeiuVz-KGq32XhqGmvn006fYXwqdvnvcTQHCalvyVsjtLn4iLHKYNUyEBBgxah3Wr0-K1C3rgPUAe4VLQUeBVzMJovmKskxzq7lFGW3rEdx2JAULgXH8x5215AFW6FZ3vuqzEljs2gcc9-pmADbSHuxoc_JXRV7a/w480-h640/sf%201.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I use my sketchbook as a place to collect, store and process images and ideas I have found. I try things out, make compositions and write. What I do in my sketchbook is a starting point which triggers other things. I made ‘Meeting Place’ after looking at prints I had made using sponge prints washed over with inks on paper in my sketchbook. I usually like to cut organically and intuitively to make new shapes – but somehow, I found myself cutting up the paper into equal(ish) squares then made 4 rows of 3 squares each. When I adapted this idea to fabric, there were a lot of parts I did not like but I kept printing and staining and cutting until I made the composition I wanted. There are bold white streaks that are sometimes linked together by stitched clusters or couched lines. I have attempted to make some symmetry, but this has been intentionally interrupted by the patches and lines. The concentration of red and cream stitched thread and string in the middle is where we can meet but it is not contained. We can move about, and we can leave the space if we want to. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘I can wear what I want’ </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Zppff2aF3RSTNYFBfHcVoKgQUSNIarbm30eaHYxUdUOJa7PgogFNxmHF1dJxQ0P_mHrIGeh8bDD_QUstpXa_egxbjNh1XEMfh1lfKR13TW1ct-CU36gKBW1ZXsdx86Fnv_22-1BeTl3Vqcvq9tF3S_6Lmc3hlRZPl8vj3AEiKTzbzQt92_B6pg3EyNKX/s4032/sf%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Zppff2aF3RSTNYFBfHcVoKgQUSNIarbm30eaHYxUdUOJa7PgogFNxmHF1dJxQ0P_mHrIGeh8bDD_QUstpXa_egxbjNh1XEMfh1lfKR13TW1ct-CU36gKBW1ZXsdx86Fnv_22-1BeTl3Vqcvq9tF3S_6Lmc3hlRZPl8vj3AEiKTzbzQt92_B6pg3EyNKX/w480-h640/sf%202.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I often use my own old clothes and clothes from thrift shops as a base for a composition. I am guided by the defined edges of seams, hems, cuffs and collars to begin with which I can contrast with the raw, frayed, cut up edges. The outline is always irregular. While I am making these pieces, I am acutely aware I have deconstructed a highly technical piece of work and I have wondered if I am reacting to the fact that I cannot make clothes myself. I enjoy looking at sewing patterns because they resemble maps, but they are also instructions which I am unable to follow. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>‘Tiles’ </b> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqtPPW0vIy2VpHp2pzWWkt_XA9RX6itebWV4AN3q4Syd-9TpXQKGLgvHITOkRNq8rxVruoi0BlJQKnaVwr7FvKh9Ki3B0gHj0pjOowujzYuYJHmROpbUbZdyVbNw8ywnsvhVJ6TE9mdT2_iLh2ZvfXcGfD-IpUkWtr798XgC-cal41wEJowdBRaW06U2GY/s4032/sf%203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqtPPW0vIy2VpHp2pzWWkt_XA9RX6itebWV4AN3q4Syd-9TpXQKGLgvHITOkRNq8rxVruoi0BlJQKnaVwr7FvKh9Ki3B0gHj0pjOowujzYuYJHmROpbUbZdyVbNw8ywnsvhVJ6TE9mdT2_iLh2ZvfXcGfD-IpUkWtr798XgC-cal41wEJowdBRaW06U2GY/w480-h640/sf%203.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I was inspired by the design of the tiles in the British Museum, London – a place I have been a member of and have visited for many years. I became interested in an arrangement of dark central tiles surrounded by larger pale tiles. But I noticed that, within this arrangement, no two dark tiles are the same, so I set about making my own versions using off cuts of stained and printed fabric. There are six pieces in all – I wanted to propose a deviation or a possibility of changing direction so, while four of the tiles are similar, two break away from this - one is in reverse and one suggests a corner. I still have not decided whether they should be shown separately or together and, if together, which order? And should they be on the wall or on the floor?</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjommpMzCEYEz-w6wTgnHURrlaXS9T-KLB2luclsEa-3ZFR10VUesVGLwcxHoicPEDZIFPMbCQXH6yB9Exk7bmPfUF5qWXRHjYfte3i7uY57IkLsb02FzESi1K9adTvbq9-MMwkbbJN65mHk-hQrnpKXCh6rYafyNB6IRqYdpVm7nzkW3e3W6aT5UkYWp-v/s2048/image_6487327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjommpMzCEYEz-w6wTgnHURrlaXS9T-KLB2luclsEa-3ZFR10VUesVGLwcxHoicPEDZIFPMbCQXH6yB9Exk7bmPfUF5qWXRHjYfte3i7uY57IkLsb02FzESi1K9adTvbq9-MMwkbbJN65mHk-hQrnpKXCh6rYafyNB6IRqYdpVm7nzkW3e3W6aT5UkYWp-v/w480-h640/image_6487327.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div> <p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I am developing my own personal love of exploring fabrics to answer my own creative questions. A pattern is emerging. I choose and collect fabrics, mostly remnants, old clothes and found fabrics. I paint and stain them. Then I spend time piecing them together, constantly cutting up and positioning them until I have a composition I like. Finally, I begin to hand stitch. My stitching responds directly to the surfaces I have made, a relationship forms between them and, as time goes by, each part of a piece I work on begins to connect with another part of the piece. I often start to make many pieces at the same time, keeping them ‘on the go’ until I am ready to concentrate completely on finishing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I do not have a large repertoire of stitches – only really using running stitch, back stitch, blanket stitch and couching. I often stitch clusters by using thick thread or cord as a base and a chaotic over-stitch with finer threads. I have recently enjoyed the effects of painting ink directly onto the compositions I make to watch the leakage emerge. There is an unpredictability in this approach which provides another dimension to how my stitching will respond. The possibilities are endless.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I have often read that textile work tells stories and there are many wonderful examples, old and recent, that I admire greatly. Currently, I think my work is narrating a story of sorts that might only be clear to me. I have yet to show my work in any kind of professional arena, so my plan is to continue to strive for the perfection of imperfection. </span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84bXJCI7DEXal13oK9xiDWMmiyCcXL3L16iPTMcxUegI0Q0bx3I9Z48HP4N-R6IgqPbeQIeiLqw1yvfHdHosGY3XtQACyeQt9uJIQ1JbRkGHpcax7T_fyJjAUTr7_x6iJMQFJu6OZhRxb0ZduhnXYhEpJtx41MQkzGJQ4RifLmLcdkspxWfxCQm9_4Hal/s4032/IMG-8371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84bXJCI7DEXal13oK9xiDWMmiyCcXL3L16iPTMcxUegI0Q0bx3I9Z48HP4N-R6IgqPbeQIeiLqw1yvfHdHosGY3XtQACyeQt9uJIQ1JbRkGHpcax7T_fyJjAUTr7_x6iJMQFJu6OZhRxb0ZduhnXYhEpJtx41MQkzGJQ4RifLmLcdkspxWfxCQm9_4Hal/w95-h127/IMG-8371.jpg" width="95" /></a></div><b>Stephanie Fujii MA (RCA) is a textile artist and teacher based in London UK. After working as an illustrator in the1990’s, travelling, teaching, living in Japan for five years and having a family, she has embarked on developing new personal work using fabric, paint, thread and inks drawing inspiration from Japanese Boro, her urban surroundings and love of textures and surfaces.</b><p></p><br />Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-57033390952872538822022-03-10T14:59:00.005+05:302022-03-10T19:09:47.016+05:30Personal Threads: Portraits Without Faces, Guest Post by Stewart Kelly<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7vw7EaUhCLxaFyLcxWLj6kddkUAj6xIAN0haRM9S9HUrQBMyTnO67QC2Y-U8_vYxB7in7LZSBkio6S1D6UbNCH2OeQRBJUsxeeaR0Q0fwlkBtutQKYDdWgScvnk8oF3M7odWcv4pEiEqVFlZDfnmzmFrttOkyE7Wxsjix4RAPSSM_7pNHLLNSXFPj1Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><img alt="" data-original-height="8538" data-original-width="5692" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7vw7EaUhCLxaFyLcxWLj6kddkUAj6xIAN0haRM9S9HUrQBMyTnO67QC2Y-U8_vYxB7in7LZSBkio6S1D6UbNCH2OeQRBJUsxeeaR0Q0fwlkBtutQKYDdWgScvnk8oF3M7odWcv4pEiEqVFlZDfnmzmFrttOkyE7Wxsjix4RAPSSM_7pNHLLNSXFPj1Q=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“<i>Stewart Kelly’s work is one that revolves around the observation of the human form. He produces work that gives insight as to who we really are as an organic entity, stripping away the layers of pretence. These are not portraits of obvious personality, there are no faces, no identifiable poses, no costumes, no props.”</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> – </span><span style="font-size: large;">John Hopper </span>(Inspirational 8)</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOTuHv4jDRojDw1kSyeQ_gBii78bs_34cNInJyhfaSlayxsv8D3_zLFJVHZejQMr5za2AwWd-Ns80ykVkWimtMoTTspkd3k8cqQ4SMAHS202mQAX9FETjEhUkqwTkqwANjipRvAvn6YH2nHDhEh5u-6XEU1bjymHuy9gP0vwaPUa0jrdJcwXcR-tIiJw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2667" data-original-width="2667" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOTuHv4jDRojDw1kSyeQ_gBii78bs_34cNInJyhfaSlayxsv8D3_zLFJVHZejQMr5za2AwWd-Ns80ykVkWimtMoTTspkd3k8cqQ4SMAHS202mQAX9FETjEhUkqwTkqwANjipRvAvn6YH2nHDhEh5u-6XEU1bjymHuy9gP0vwaPUa0jrdJcwXcR-tIiJw=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Studying Kantha Embroidery, West Bengal, 2019.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My current practice lies at the intersection of art, health and wellbeing. Through practice-based research, I am interested in reflecting on how the ritual of hand stitching can document emotional experiences. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">During 2019, I travelled to West Bengal and visited artists, often in remote villages, working in their studios. My interest was in researching Indian textiles, specifically Kantha embroidery, which is synonymous with this region.
Experiencing the sights, sounds, colours and people of India was a revelation in many ways. Through speaking to artisans, I became increasingly aware how tradition and beliefs are integral to the nation’s cultural identity. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <u><b>West Bengal</b> </u></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg91dZPCknwNGKlRMnWsE9mNfoGRuifQyvnV7VlPuMaFiRv5t64clhQMlsCxvA5OWz-ISLFi_sLNcczvg0wVBBYTDdAXPWJG5DLKbc1SeTOD6MY3R_9bBo3U1fIavtz1V-wVHQXtvVbYxYCwmDBGqyoQnXBqcqg9gi7l-dWwnFXm6GrS0XCcmiMG5Z8XQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3421" data-original-width="2296" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg91dZPCknwNGKlRMnWsE9mNfoGRuifQyvnV7VlPuMaFiRv5t64clhQMlsCxvA5OWz-ISLFi_sLNcczvg0wVBBYTDdAXPWJG5DLKbc1SeTOD6MY3R_9bBo3U1fIavtz1V-wVHQXtvVbYxYCwmDBGqyoQnXBqcqg9gi7l-dWwnFXm6GrS0XCcmiMG5Z8XQ=w429-h640" width="429" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Map of West Bengal, India.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">West Bengal is a state in the eastern region of India along the Bay of Bengal. With over 91 million inhabitants, it is the fourth-most populous state and the fourteenth-largest state by area in India.
Part of the Bengal region of the Indian subcontinent, it borders Bangladesh in the east, Nepal and Bhutan in the north. It also borders the Indian states of Odisha, Jharkhand, Bihar, Sikkim and Assam.
The state capital is Kolkata, the third-largest metropolis, and seventh largest city by population in India. </span></div><div><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u> Kantha Embroidery</u></b> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPAUd4R6imR2kqbdhZOOnMgJhuRBtiVfHe-XXh9Kn2NcqgLTn5cILcTLZOD40Chioqk6ZTGn72QHL_Ag8ipPfOmxHNAMNgWCcTekY-yhSY8WuJMcTr9zv7w4EGgAXvmxkw7NrdN-wjxgjPYKc5OKJxs1HItrZqKXH953r8pdmNhWGjdOfuOkOXyjP9WQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="12500" data-original-width="8333" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPAUd4R6imR2kqbdhZOOnMgJhuRBtiVfHe-XXh9Kn2NcqgLTn5cILcTLZOD40Chioqk6ZTGn72QHL_Ag8ipPfOmxHNAMNgWCcTekY-yhSY8WuJMcTr9zv7w4EGgAXvmxkw7NrdN-wjxgjPYKc5OKJxs1HItrZqKXH953r8pdmNhWGjdOfuOkOXyjP9WQ=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222;">Kantha
Embroidery, Kolkata, 2019.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In Sanskrit, the word <i>'kontha' </i>means rags. Kantha is the most popular form of embroidery in West Bengal, and has been around for more than 500 years. Initially, Kantha was used on cotton or silk, however, it is now used on other fabrics as well like Georgette, crepe and chiffon. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Originally made from old, recycled fabrics, the traditional kantha cloth is an example of flat, or un-wadded quilting, worked on multiple layers of fabric. Bangladeshi or Bengali kantha cloths were made by women for use in their own homes as bedcovers, mats and all-purpose wrappers.
The stitching consists of embroidered patterns, ranging from simple floral motifs to elaborate scenes, combined with running-stitch quilting in a colour matching the background fabric. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Portraits without Faces</u> </span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Although there is a wealth of traditional textiles produced in India, my thoughts focused on the lives of the artists. Many of whom work long hours, tirelessly investing their skills, for little financial reward.
On my return from India, I revisited drawings I had created prior to my trip, consisting of multiple figure studies. I began to embellish the surface, emulating labour and repetition through intensive periods of stitching. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Baptism of Fire and Wake Up </span></u></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The first two pieces I created for this project were called 'Baptism of Fire and Wake Up'</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQY6f3XObaFpUX34rTcxokmtTeQXPXbFb2naMrWjiDvDR8GwmVZUvRuimjio_DvVTlW0QvPXbNhk2lXeC_aCiu_iAVWLtb4BbuhU59ydcazGP3pcYn2eok0YCkZQaqYp70-0Rp4LmR88ioA4-hKgigqS4QJPReqgP9WIlnflxZo8K7Ul9aSvnpgYp_Lw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4416" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQY6f3XObaFpUX34rTcxokmtTeQXPXbFb2naMrWjiDvDR8GwmVZUvRuimjio_DvVTlW0QvPXbNhk2lXeC_aCiu_iAVWLtb4BbuhU59ydcazGP3pcYn2eok0YCkZQaqYp70-0Rp4LmR88ioA4-hKgigqS4QJPReqgP9WIlnflxZo8K7Ul9aSvnpgYp_Lw=w472-h640" width="472" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Baptism
of Fire</b>, </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: medium; text-indent: -18pt;">Ink & Machine Embroidery on Paper, </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #222222; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">80 X 60cm, 2020.</span></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-large;">The pieces evolved in several stages, over many months. The basis of each piece was an ink drawing on paper. The drawings consist of multiple figure studies, made from observation, overlaid over a period of time.
In the studio, I began to machine stitch over the surface of the drawings, initially to enhance certain lines and fill in spaces. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">However, through intensive periods of stitching, the pieces began to transform dramatically.
I frequently stitched on the reverse side of the work, unaware of the image evolving on the front. The image almost became irrelevant, and the process of repetitive stitching, became the focus of the work. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoww1o0RKAjdBr_pqGkevRwfcKMb2tx2uuL7KlbVkiqyXsoAs3UPHm-S3KRTO6F0E9yfYWVTuWU2ubT09z1emBxebg7tqMqElrojPPoJk8TZp60Ofdn_2l48xT4Z6QQ1UZKftcZ0QLHbgYUvZDx9ndJoy69SLuDKEXiJsY2y44DR0zaXCT12HMtS0UIg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="3999" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoww1o0RKAjdBr_pqGkevRwfcKMb2tx2uuL7KlbVkiqyXsoAs3UPHm-S3KRTO6F0E9yfYWVTuWU2ubT09z1emBxebg7tqMqElrojPPoJk8TZp60Ofdn_2l48xT4Z6QQ1UZKftcZ0QLHbgYUvZDx9ndJoy69SLuDKEXiJsY2y44DR0zaXCT12HMtS0UIg=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Baptism
of Fire </b>(Detail), Ink & Machine Embroidery</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"> on Paper, </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; text-indent: -18pt;">80 X 60cm</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; text-indent: -18pt;">,</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -18pt;"> 2020.</span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As the pieces evolved, the paper began to break away in places, caused by the perforations made by the machine needle. At this point it was necessary to add additional support to the work in order to progress.
This process of working became an interesting metaphor in the work, especially as my practice is informed by themes surrounding the human condition. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP9XklLTq4QkruV39Mf_8jjS7IYF1dR70kAjJvEimVG1GIFC0d-1_Fu0Ur-F88Hrk6GzLlNAMx24G8yIzNOAePqvnwAJRoq3yT2SO4xk7sQ-gGtQd5G1xPgtUClAQr2C3SUGTfMpf11KU3eNmpcxY_qlDtoQmvq8Og2hlCidok0HpMO0-DwhmDvtt2Ew" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="8538" data-original-width="6433" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP9XklLTq4QkruV39Mf_8jjS7IYF1dR70kAjJvEimVG1GIFC0d-1_Fu0Ur-F88Hrk6GzLlNAMx24G8yIzNOAePqvnwAJRoq3yT2SO4xk7sQ-gGtQd5G1xPgtUClAQr2C3SUGTfMpf11KU3eNmpcxY_qlDtoQmvq8Og2hlCidok0HpMO0-DwhmDvtt2Ew=w483-h640" width="483" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Wake
Up</b>, Ink & Machine Embroidery on Paper, </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222;">80cm X 60cm</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;">, 2020.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Through the process of creating the work, the work became fragile and began to degenerate. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Out of the Blue and Spectrum </span></u></b></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPMwJFC_yrBeeheMc_Myz9wgdLzRt64b0xjau3fZ7eZ3j6cfm_GwTM1sL2j-3E-9qREW-gk-Bofbh3XgHytVLAUATvhMfTtwSrAii_lwqkf565TS3ddRrhLJc3ubQRaW4HeTLWpDYmA7nOMsM4m0t7VNevg2yPmsQDukVHA4YImYGlE3lmOecSGQn_UA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2049" data-original-width="1366" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPMwJFC_yrBeeheMc_Myz9wgdLzRt64b0xjau3fZ7eZ3j6cfm_GwTM1sL2j-3E-9qREW-gk-Bofbh3XgHytVLAUATvhMfTtwSrAii_lwqkf565TS3ddRrhLJc3ubQRaW4HeTLWpDYmA7nOMsM4m0t7VNevg2yPmsQDukVHA4YImYGlE3lmOecSGQn_UA=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><b>Out of the Blue</b>
(Detail), </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Hand & Machine Embroidery on Digital Print 65 X 50cm, 2020.<o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The following two pieces in this series were called 'Out of the Blue and Spectrum'. These pieces also evolved in several stages over many months.
Initially, I photographed a series of drawings before digitally manipulating the images to add colour and definition. Following this, I collaborated with the Centre for Advanced Textiles at Glasgow School of Art in order to digitally print the images on to cloth.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the studio, I began to hand and machine embroider onto the surface of the printed cloth. However, these pieces began to evolve in a different way to the earlier works on paper. Through intensive periods of stitching, the cloth began to gather and sculpt in unpredictable ways. Through this process of working, the pieces were transformed, and formed a new identity. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8sCAb9mtlSYbvvgX4k8jo7edig89IYgEf2dQPUf4UGnD5w1mFaiDmQJadsXTZ870_mZhHRYsBi_r92QCKk4kVAgBxjnQ70quirwDev0jHjU0kQYY1GGsl6RdmuEiYgVmtKdF4xuzgUCGea3zU-rPfU03yFSVUQxT66dLeWlHlJ9QO3UsEJ0KzV9n46A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="1296" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8sCAb9mtlSYbvvgX4k8jo7edig89IYgEf2dQPUf4UGnD5w1mFaiDmQJadsXTZ870_mZhHRYsBi_r92QCKk4kVAgBxjnQ70quirwDev0jHjU0kQYY1GGsl6RdmuEiYgVmtKdF4xuzgUCGea3zU-rPfU03yFSVUQxT66dLeWlHlJ9QO3UsEJ0KzV9n46A=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>Out of the Blue </b>(Detail), </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Hand & Machine Embroidery on Digital Print, 65 X 50cm, 2020.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My creative process can vary depending on a specific project, however, many of my pieces evolve over a period of time. I find this approach enables me to explore the full potential of working in a particular way.
I frequently work on more than one piece of work at any one time. I find this process of working valuable in being able to reflect and assess the progression of a particular project. I normally work on one piece for a while, put it away, try to forget about it, and start to work on a different piece.
After a period of time, I will return to the first piece, and for a short time, I can be the viewer of my own work. I can assess what is going well, and what is not working. At that point I am often able to make bold decisions about how to move the piece forward. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqhTGF8C0pappKPTKZgJnN8ML1cwmisKLkr4Ki5Ceys22XdPuGKpPAv8JjPTKW5JYGln-fZHq1rXuRqiEtfOfkSWV6EFgGKxtvrrhtM1yINaFjPZ2PHYMOyLNHJBI8C2P_cToKedMfkZw8UM7SrFL50Fg0MiOYjghlSbSgR9ht_w4dbiCA42kYHa9cwQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2925" data-original-width="2346" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqhTGF8C0pappKPTKZgJnN8ML1cwmisKLkr4Ki5Ceys22XdPuGKpPAv8JjPTKW5JYGln-fZHq1rXuRqiEtfOfkSWV6EFgGKxtvrrhtM1yINaFjPZ2PHYMOyLNHJBI8C2P_cToKedMfkZw8UM7SrFL50Fg0MiOYjghlSbSgR9ht_w4dbiCA42kYHa9cwQ=w512-h640" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Spectrum</b>,
Hand & Machine Embroidery on Digital Print, </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;">65 X 50cm, 2020.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Slow Motion and Daydreamer</u></b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The final two pieces in this series were called 'Slow Motion and Daydreamer'.
The basis of these pieces were drawings digitally printed on to cloth. However, hand stitching and the inclusion of kantha embroidery is more predominant in these pieces. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCU9fxtjbCDGPACr_Jwd2CbTOjQo2vJP_S_aIbZVCcf_ZFSbtbbBGvy6Vx2dOeJELs50i0LxM64PUjZ0BVv9q4OlSaG67reAipjeSxwlLwnGmkku6W9z3CXK5iBJ1ruIvwGmG4XTbMv3HdmuM6cSg--f4mQEmBIftXRzdvTgx67dL-UGHMFcGkwoqeOg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3027" data-original-width="2266" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCU9fxtjbCDGPACr_Jwd2CbTOjQo2vJP_S_aIbZVCcf_ZFSbtbbBGvy6Vx2dOeJELs50i0LxM64PUjZ0BVv9q4OlSaG67reAipjeSxwlLwnGmkku6W9z3CXK5iBJ1ruIvwGmG4XTbMv3HdmuM6cSg--f4mQEmBIftXRzdvTgx67dL-UGHMFcGkwoqeOg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><b><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--></b><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Slow
Motion,</b> Hand & Machine Embroidery on Digital Print, </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;">75 X 55cm, 2020.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">On reflection, I began to consider how the drawn line is immediate, whilst stitching is slower and more reflective. Through a complex network of drawn gestures and stitched lines, I attempted to establish order amongst the chaotic background of lines and colours. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">What lies beneath the surface? How can hand embroidery enable communication between the conscious and subconscious, and serve as a subliminal connection to the world? In addition, how can the hand drawn qualities of stitching, create a narrative to intertwine the fabric of this inner and outer connection?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcImwxYTDkNrANIwblEvpmra1S9vXkzbDf2lb_dPYZVzxoNN9fBencFCJuDqUGVW43IRuaziqchPB8r0n4-jd1DYARF5P8ODdQGZDdsFShoy8rZjCxxIGUCW1QNTUrKbQ83aDUwzOFh6z1rmIT8JKE67pTdO2gXkKv-FWjFJta-w2S9JEuWHZ6CHEtfw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="5400" data-original-width="8100" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcImwxYTDkNrANIwblEvpmra1S9vXkzbDf2lb_dPYZVzxoNN9fBencFCJuDqUGVW43IRuaziqchPB8r0n4-jd1DYARF5P8ODdQGZDdsFShoy8rZjCxxIGUCW1QNTUrKbQ83aDUwzOFh6z1rmIT8JKE67pTdO2gXkKv-FWjFJta-w2S9JEuWHZ6CHEtfw=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Slow
Motion</b> (Detail), Hand & Machine Embroidery on Digital Print, 75 X 55cm,
2020.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I also considered how my practice seeks to explore reasons for using stitch to express male identity, and how embodied textile practice encourages well-being in men. The significance of stitch as a feminist-based practice is well documented. However, the use of stitch as a reparative tool, and craft as a method of embodied textile practice for men, has rarely been assessed. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZjA1b6hdRGhLddITcdQd-U9W5amTzoHQSmeEJKiDjTpfUrN466QvhafpmhH8y9m9SFOTDf5i3MImCLKaDgOCE1L-5DOxrtXmx8KIVqv0GzmSjLJXEoGBiP7I3Ja2XgaCiS91TFyrrjNeb20-ncJ8ACd4P5yWS5RMrvPvzzjInfZemTUYWlAlmVVraaw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4371" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZjA1b6hdRGhLddITcdQd-U9W5amTzoHQSmeEJKiDjTpfUrN466QvhafpmhH8y9m9SFOTDf5i3MImCLKaDgOCE1L-5DOxrtXmx8KIVqv0GzmSjLJXEoGBiP7I3Ja2XgaCiS91TFyrrjNeb20-ncJ8ACd4P5yWS5RMrvPvzzjInfZemTUYWlAlmVVraaw=w467-h640" width="467" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Daydreamer</b>,
Hand & Machine Embroidery on Digital Print, </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;">75 X 55cm, 2020.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">How can engaging with material processes report, reflect and discover the spiritual act of stitching through contemplation, meditation, resilience, transition, physical and emotional healing? In addition, how does the intimacy of repetitive touch leave a trace of the artist’s presence? </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Craft is immortalised by the hands, and draws an association with the processes it is engaged with. The artist initiates a dialogue with the material, and the act of the hand. However, is there a relationship between craftsmanship and sensitivity in a conversation of the hands? </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNHgGpbQbcoSIVomu-kSWUdmmh5_a_6GCIabuq6105PsTm22TR-6bOB17LPYKolk7gwe39JUfggPiUxkjz25c7xr5gerWKHcl_DF8_Q_yDDqCFYujKMNFCwcPv3P3xVLXxirypgkFNljw-ccM13CxbgmfzbiEfutT_fzJ27GwGn87uh13OvmnkuvaO3g" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2042" data-original-width="3063" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNHgGpbQbcoSIVomu-kSWUdmmh5_a_6GCIabuq6105PsTm22TR-6bOB17LPYKolk7gwe39JUfggPiUxkjz25c7xr5gerWKHcl_DF8_Q_yDDqCFYujKMNFCwcPv3P3xVLXxirypgkFNljw-ccM13CxbgmfzbiEfutT_fzJ27GwGn87uh13OvmnkuvaO3g=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Daydreamer,</b>(detail) Hand & Machine Embroidery on Digital Print, 75 X 55cm, 2020.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Conclusion </span></u></b></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Through the development of this project, I reflected on how the ritual of hand stitching can document emotional experiences. The intimacy of the medium itself, with the suggestion of repetitive touch, lends a poignancy to bodily associations, providing an intimate and ambiguous trace of the artist’s presence.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTaf79gHi4LfbpCRWmifS_Ek0ovyNNomdMPWV0ybjpR4JKLHLaaW00O6sm7R7Y4-ltwTln-rNbjG8gcL1m2bNnDJN5eRFQXpZYuSCH6aYM6FqgYiWtxfiBBP6oSlMHXHn37pgF7dV6eWSu0fuzLf9JZHAye4s4Wyzrn0_33VN4E4whHeEfhKiHPwnTqA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="1296" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTaf79gHi4LfbpCRWmifS_Ek0ovyNNomdMPWV0ybjpR4JKLHLaaW00O6sm7R7Y4-ltwTln-rNbjG8gcL1m2bNnDJN5eRFQXpZYuSCH6aYM6FqgYiWtxfiBBP6oSlMHXHn37pgF7dV6eWSu0fuzLf9JZHAye4s4Wyzrn0_33VN4E4whHeEfhKiHPwnTqA=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Out
of the Blue </b>(Detail), Hand & Machine </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-left: 47.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;">Embroidery on Digital Print </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -18pt;">65 X 50cm,
2020.</span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Making hand stitched textiles can be therapeutic, a crucial tool for reflection and developing self-awareness. Working on slow, reflective projects has allowed a better understanding of the connection between the self and my desire to make art. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> The work marks time, and chronicles emotional changes through the physical and reflective act of stitch. In addition, the work aims to convey the concept of transformation in life, the importance of reflection, and the exploration of creativity as part of artistic identity.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0WhB_kDyYY8P-YpMDleK6b6XWVQ-gXMtEQ-Ehje2ak7Pni9zClzDGHS3zAc6s6zQpWnU-217k7soTtIwlvs43_LiBgXcAvGf7h9TeymrtjrVXmetu3r9eUARx85XXnAQMEcWv39Ck0KAElikXL-X7Vvi8RI1y4zEdws7s54E4zTDBAQGnxj2ph8yA8g" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: xx-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="2400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0WhB_kDyYY8P-YpMDleK6b6XWVQ-gXMtEQ-Ehje2ak7Pni9zClzDGHS3zAc6s6zQpWnU-217k7soTtIwlvs43_LiBgXcAvGf7h9TeymrtjrVXmetu3r9eUARx85XXnAQMEcWv39Ck0KAElikXL-X7Vvi8RI1y4zEdws7s54E4zTDBAQGnxj2ph8yA8g=w200-h200" width="200" /></a><a name="_Hlk97291429"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span></span>Stewart
Kelly MA, BA (Hons), PGCE, is an award winning, internationally recognised
artist based in Manchester, United Kingdom. In addition to working with Indigo
Salon at Premiere Vision in Paris, <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Donna Karan</span></i>, <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Ralph Lauren</span></i>, <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Lauren Vidal</span></i>, <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Sahco Hesslein</span></i> and <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Ralph
Lauren Home Collection</span></i>, His work has been exhibited across the United
Kingdom, Europe, USA, Canada and China. Stewart is also a member of the <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">European Textile Network</span></i> and the <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Surface Design Association</span></i>.</span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div><b><u>Links</u></b></div><div><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div>www.stewartkellyartist.com</div><div>www.axisweb.org/p/stewartkelly</div><div>www.bankley.org.uk/artist-stewart-kelly</div><div>www.facebook.com/stewartkellyartist</div><div>www.twitter.com/SKellyArtist</div><div>www.instagram.com/stewartkellyartist</div><div>www.linkedin.com/in/stewartkellyartist</div><div>www.pinterest.com/stewartkellyartist</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div>Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-50143209326449500022021-12-19T20:43:00.004+05:302021-12-19T20:48:14.197+05:30Personal Threads: The Needlecraft Road, Guest Post by Beth Arnold (assisted by Julia Robinson Shimuzu)<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It started with a skid on the low pile carpet at work, then a shaky left foot, then a slow uneven gait, my left arm no longer swinging…it was Parkinson’s. It does not and will not define me. My needlework defines me. My travels define me. My family defines me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Several years ago, on a weekend beach trip in southern California with two women who also have PD, we stopped at a needlework shop in Ventura where I found a kit for a glorious, red-headed counted-cross stitch Mermaid. She came with beads and required over 40 skeins of colored cotton embroidery floss. I bought the kit and ordered olive green 30-count linen. I could not wait to get started. I love going through my collection of embroidery thread that is organized by number, pulling out the ones I have and making a list of those I don’t. I also love going to the craft store and pulling the new colors I need. Over the years I have worked on her and she now stands at about 80% complete. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2edVy8g-6qjDvHHuiyHDLAuZ1p7UpYS-WKJrvVTx7vi032YtsID-8XRG8-MZljleSefpOj1mTDvdv5avGD2KGAp-o61RQ2QiqeBasZZuPb3DtsksSQdln-g_v-s2NzLfowXZqheGNwv9/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2640" data-original-width="2160" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2edVy8g-6qjDvHHuiyHDLAuZ1p7UpYS-WKJrvVTx7vi032YtsID-8XRG8-MZljleSefpOj1mTDvdv5avGD2KGAp-o61RQ2QiqeBasZZuPb3DtsksSQdln-g_v-s2NzLfowXZqheGNwv9/w523-h640/5+Mermaid+lr.jpg" width="523" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mermaid</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When I told a good friend about my predicament with my mermaid she said “your mermaid is beautiful and unfinished, just like you”. And I thought, she is right, at least about the unfinished part. She taught me that I have more to give, more art to create where I will be inspired and energized by color and texture and flowers and my travels. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9OlVUOZVjT4LJ4yyEMmUdbrRkWQy12O6s6c179jxk48Mg7IDkMWT3PsTULE0mzEm_DsLa64klcFkbhm4NLEX7hz9tY9NJBnzVI9mfv7sLEVBGuGIS2QyVM26YmtZjpe6xK1-NQd9IPZY/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9OlVUOZVjT4LJ4yyEMmUdbrRkWQy12O6s6c179jxk48Mg7IDkMWT3PsTULE0mzEm_DsLa64klcFkbhm4NLEX7hz9tY9NJBnzVI9mfv7sLEVBGuGIS2QyVM26YmtZjpe6xK1-NQd9IPZY/w480-h640/image0+photo+B.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild Flower</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My husband was working in the Bay Area for several years while I remained in Los Angeles and I had many nights and weekends alone where my Mermaid kept me company along with other needle crafts like knitting, embroidery and sewing (both hand and machine). That ended a few years ago and I put my mermaid and other projects aside after my husband and I bought a new home on a hill that we have decked out with interior and exterior entertainment spaces. My favorite is our rose terrace that has over 30 rose bushes. Sometimes I joke that I raise roses in lieu of not having children. We also have a parterre, fruit trees and a Zen garden with topiaries. We have a lovely view of the glen from our living area bay window. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">About a year ago I started having double vision. My doctor says it’s the PD. One of the many odd PD symptoms. There is nothing to be done. My fine motor skills are also changing, making it harder to thread a needle and sew or knit or write or type when I am “off”. This “off” period that can vary but in my case is about an hour, refers to the transition time between medication doses which I take at six different times a day. So we go on and off, up and down, just like in sewing. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It was startling when I realized I could no longer work on my Mermaid. Thirty count linen was just too small and I have not been able to find a comfortable magnifier stronger than the one I own. So I started anew with a blank slate thinking of what I could make with my growing collection of tulle, felted wool, beads, fabric and metallic thread. Starting with my tulle collection I did an internet search and learned you can singe the edge of a round piece of tulle to make flower petals. I made a few small flowers this way and sewed them on little felt jewelry pouches.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I began thinking about how I could use the tulle in other ways. For years I have been buying up tulle remnants from fabric stores, tucking them in a drawer to my craft table. Like with the embroidery floss, I adored the colors and the idea that something fancy could be made with them and I needed to own as many as I could find on sale. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I have always enjoyed close up pictures of flowers, maybe from the influence of Georgia O’Keefe who I discovered in college, and ever since getting my first camera I have taken hundreds of flower close-ups from places I have traveled to such as Red Butte Gardens in Salt Lake City, Utah. It was particularly “fruitful.” On a trip to Denmark in the midd-80’s I fell in love with their brightly colored Danish Flower Thread, cross-stitched linen botanical designs. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEsAsAVnKdzS1vAfnBhSWcXNQuEokRuXBSzVUVn6EqS0NQS9GkKf0RVmfTCZkvUNCD91Wf_SRHXONr2X_nfE-SJoWkrSqnCZlMQwkWMx4IdG936kmwivHOO11VCsP6MeUE753WT4rxacvQ/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3424" height="565" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEsAsAVnKdzS1vAfnBhSWcXNQuEokRuXBSzVUVn6EqS0NQS9GkKf0RVmfTCZkvUNCD91Wf_SRHXONr2X_nfE-SJoWkrSqnCZlMQwkWMx4IdG936kmwivHOO11VCsP6MeUE753WT4rxacvQ/w640-h565/2+Pillow+lr.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yellow Embroidered Pillow </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">With the grace of God, I was inspired to pull up a few of my flower photos and began piecing together the felted wool and tulle petals in small tapestries. I needed to hold the tulle and felt in place. I tried stabbing wool roving into both and the result was really pleasing. I am able to use the wool roving like oil paint, mixing color, using contrasting colors. It was thrilling to find online retailers selling roving samplers. I now own over 100 colors. I recently organized my roving using “The Secret Lives of Color” by Kassia St. Clair. There were names I have never heard of before like “woad” (in the blue family) and “verdigris”. I spent hours grouping and re-grouping my lovely colors into eight boxes like a rainbow. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">To help use felted wool remnants and add unique detail to my tapestries, I use small dots or beads for tiny [part of flower that looks like dots]. To make this easier I purchased a Japanese punch needle for making small wool dots. Oh, and I also have lots of beads, purchased at General Bead in San Francisco (can you imagine two floors of colored beads)? I’m also building up my metallic thread collection</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIjY3kUC4rs1BH0PQubNAz3ugijmOHHCk7KfqA5L0hOmF38JN9cNGiMwYnxYKf38Unmx1BmpiRPKHeiUmou_BpUmLrZOHVcaDedPyqjGGHWNqIwrKCubVARNnw9hEMEMq6W9TKCjIa0R9/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIjY3kUC4rs1BH0PQubNAz3ugijmOHHCk7KfqA5L0hOmF38JN9cNGiMwYnxYKf38Unmx1BmpiRPKHeiUmou_BpUmLrZOHVcaDedPyqjGGHWNqIwrKCubVARNnw9hEMEMq6W9TKCjIa0R9/w640-h480/image6+Photo+A.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daffodils </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My interest in needle felting goes back to 2005 when I befriended a little neighbor girl who love doing “hands-on” projects with me. I found a kit for her to make a penguin using wool roving. That is when I first started working with roving. Like embroidery floss, it comes in many colors. A few years later I stumbled on a shop called “The Wool Lady”, now sadly closed, and I got my first taste for felted wool applique. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7HlK1zyErES6NzWnsEmUNXFbtvhBMWaf0hshK98TdCeKEPWWw1GWzR-LIFRORpQaUETwFT9DKIqFruiWS0OgpsDLJqCdcxK-pnIv6chxsSOHEEjSv2VYXhRvo_je_2e19fbCZh4QW_ta/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1664" data-original-width="2640" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7HlK1zyErES6NzWnsEmUNXFbtvhBMWaf0hshK98TdCeKEPWWw1GWzR-LIFRORpQaUETwFT9DKIqFruiWS0OgpsDLJqCdcxK-pnIv6chxsSOHEEjSv2VYXhRvo_je_2e19fbCZh4QW_ta/w640-h403/4+Tapestry+cr+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tapestry 1, Daffodils</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The colors, textures and designs were endless. I became interested in Jacobean designs and made several pillow tops with intricate designs. [photo?] I continued to make counted cross stitch pieces, looking for patterns with lots of color. [consider photo of partially finished mermaid – cannot see to finis due to PD – caused blurry vision] Parkinson’s can affect fine motor skills so my hand-writing has become a mess unless I go super slow. This makes embroidery and knitting difficult so I schedule my crafting that requires a steady hand during my “on” times.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4UXvcYPTcwJ9jxr0St1B4CeT5eBxQ84Vkg8bsPi74euNmR4NEoTxGcDfgjwtOnHi1ya9BxUE9U9fQ5grSnVETx8fNYGsVuT8n2m7FPpiix3oFnYL7M0V__TRVRwMS_A4WUA4Np4KW5FW/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1984" data-original-width="2240" height="567" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4UXvcYPTcwJ9jxr0St1B4CeT5eBxQ84Vkg8bsPi74euNmR4NEoTxGcDfgjwtOnHi1ya9BxUE9U9fQ5grSnVETx8fNYGsVuT8n2m7FPpiix3oFnYL7M0V__TRVRwMS_A4WUA4Np4KW5FW/w640-h567/4+Tapestry+cr+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tapestry 2</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My mom would be so pleased to see my latest creations. She grew up on a small farm in Buffalo, Kentucky and her mom, my Grandma Mom, moved around the south because my great grandfather was a heavy handed school teacher and kept getting fired. Both my mom and grandma influenced my interest in crafts. My grandma crocheted me a colorful doll blanket using remnants. I think that may have been my first experience with fiber arts and I was certainly captured by the colors in my blanket. The blanket sits safely in my cedar chest. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-OMJkop9l6FvE1EefHjiA7eiku4nzfEsDdJyLpWTQ2dEwqaNyLwzR9Tx9mGC83rZQ7a2IFHF4ld11mipcJ3_CEVj3VzPcWb35q0fwMSCzdczZ29_xE-NrWuHaDG2g37KNuv3Aqkb98mW4/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3248" height="595" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-OMJkop9l6FvE1EefHjiA7eiku4nzfEsDdJyLpWTQ2dEwqaNyLwzR9Tx9mGC83rZQ7a2IFHF4ld11mipcJ3_CEVj3VzPcWb35q0fwMSCzdczZ29_xE-NrWuHaDG2g37KNuv3Aqkb98mW4/w640-h595/3+Grandma+lr.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grandma's Colorful Crocheted Blanket</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My mom went on to be a homemaker with four of us kids, me being the oldest. My first memory of sewing is with her using her old Singer sewing machine. She made clothes for my Chatty Cathy doll. A favorite is a purple grape print with white rickrack. And my mom made most of my clothes (we wore uniforms to school). One year my mom made red flannel pajamas (3 girls and 1 boy) for each of us. Can you imagine all that red flannel?!! Her work was beautifully done and immaculate.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9kMkSl2cTCG635B44UBdvmAVLvBCt3JAfJZemNZjsSYE54tl1JIw6EPQugJrkxjxo4YwWAMUznxWvzdvuSbGcVETLCk3yyrKtOtEm00-AOKe2rRvx_nO97BOKMScsJc6HU3jWtifKwfW/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2528" data-original-width="3632" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9kMkSl2cTCG635B44UBdvmAVLvBCt3JAfJZemNZjsSYE54tl1JIw6EPQugJrkxjxo4YwWAMUznxWvzdvuSbGcVETLCk3yyrKtOtEm00-AOKe2rRvx_nO97BOKMScsJc6HU3jWtifKwfW/w640-h446/1+Red+lr.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Flannel Pyjamas</td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My mom taught me to sew on her Singer and I made rudimentary attempts at making doll clothes. As a girl scout I learned about embroidery and our troop leader taught us how to knit using sharpened No. 2 pencils for needles!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeQos4Fw5hzRgzjg4-Yi5V-3CJR5AO2TDqLzSI1SwzEyxX9nljLQtmH7DEgbakTu_JDcfUur2XJypj63PjYXR6DA-DBTpTTbQVxjSQbdGRZaLW19J6gpgNvPUv94Hl-lkp797GUWRqSle/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3344" data-original-width="2832" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeQos4Fw5hzRgzjg4-Yi5V-3CJR5AO2TDqLzSI1SwzEyxX9nljLQtmH7DEgbakTu_JDcfUur2XJypj63PjYXR6DA-DBTpTTbQVxjSQbdGRZaLW19J6gpgNvPUv94Hl-lkp797GUWRqSle/w338-h400/6+Dress+lr.jpg" width="338" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pink Dress</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In high school I took Home Economics and continued honing my sewing skills. By the time I started college, I was able to make blouses, dresses and skirts. My freshman year I took a life-drawing class. I will never forget my embarrassment seeing a stark naked man for the first time. The model at one point turned his seat so he faced me and then took a pose where he pointed directly at me! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I took art history classes in additional to business administration and planned to become a CPA. And once out of college I headed to Texas to begin my career in accounting and finance. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Having little money, I made most of my clothes including blazers and skirts and blouses. After passing the CPA exam I had more free time and that afforded me visits to art museums and galleries which I had loved since my teens when my dad introduced them to me on a family trip to NYC. Over the years I took various painting classes. I loved oil painting and mixing and merging colors. As I progressed in my career over the years I spent less time sewing my own clothes and painting (oils are pretty messy and having proper space and light became an issue.) But I always planned to come back to oil painting.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">To satisfy my creative leanings I continued to knit, sew, embroider over the years. I have a habit of not finishing my knitting and embroidery projects. Fortunately, our new home has a small basement and a loft in the garage, affording me space to safely store my work. I sometimes wonder how many hours were consumed while I thought about work problems that needed solving or family issues or what to fix for dinner. I always planned on returning to my projects when I retired. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYwk3OwnmkhEKilEgsM3GS5bnnKcV7z0q6OnFo8upD6v7fblrrMWxGVrUTdUmIcvEmHZeSX3Et3JPzwd9Xsy45IvnotFGPZteTIsRfXffooLclRLt6WRTJsvmLe-Lm5uSdK949FnnQ2t_/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="1824" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYwk3OwnmkhEKilEgsM3GS5bnnKcV7z0q6OnFo8upD6v7fblrrMWxGVrUTdUmIcvEmHZeSX3Et3JPzwd9Xsy45IvnotFGPZteTIsRfXffooLclRLt6WRTJsvmLe-Lm5uSdK949FnnQ2t_/w267-h400/IMG_8946.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beth Arnold with her friend Julia <br />who helped type out her story</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Life is a wonderful journey. My niece recently told me she wants to learn to knit. And she inherited mom’s old singer sewing machine. I look forward to showing her my mermaid and other projects. Maybe she will be interested in my tapestries too. It’s comforting to know during these pandemic times with so many options and distractions to know that some of life’s basics matter. Sewing, knitting, embroidery live on.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgMeJlRmSXXkxydhcpvWUQBKOnGZBahHwZk2dt9iICwa_WljsoYuNVCEC0Tn7O5QRGTt_bsBG9aId6HQUK_EcXSnOyVIG9B-QaK3SwiZPVf1KtKv7i0XxYCdrfk5h0c0Mk-UBdkpgUXHe/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgMeJlRmSXXkxydhcpvWUQBKOnGZBahHwZk2dt9iICwa_WljsoYuNVCEC0Tn7O5QRGTt_bsBG9aId6HQUK_EcXSnOyVIG9B-QaK3SwiZPVf1KtKv7i0XxYCdrfk5h0c0Mk-UBdkpgUXHe/w200-h150/IMG_2277.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am 62 years old (and) live in Los Angeles (I) was diagnosed with Parkinson’s over 10 years ago. (I) love color love art love wildflowers especially thistle. I’ve started making small tapestries using some of my favorite media: tool, wool, beads, metallic thread here is a couple of examples Based on some of my own photographs. (this is how Beth introduced herself to me via email. Parkinson's makes it hard for her to type, so I have left the typos intact. Her friend Julia assisted in putting together this story, which took quite a while.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzsIyVrW11iVKq9abc49DW1QIsP5DEfLLSVFyejicLhEpnKXNGTs_gv-V5SmVzeghJR8rr5V_h5drGLdw9WK0of7sVvwZ06P1d6ZnT1stxXHf_-5p8scl9vyMBmUw9dD-G_aPTns8CQTN8/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzsIyVrW11iVKq9abc49DW1QIsP5DEfLLSVFyejicLhEpnKXNGTs_gv-V5SmVzeghJR8rr5V_h5drGLdw9WK0of7sVvwZ06P1d6ZnT1stxXHf_-5p8scl9vyMBmUw9dD-G_aPTns8CQTN8/w400-h300/image0+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Beth Arnold is a retired chief financial officer who has been battling Parkinson’s disease since 2009, when she was diagnosed, at the age of 50. Her lifelong passion for color has been satisfied by working with embroidery, knitting, oil painting and most recently tapestries where she combines felted wool, wool roving, beads and metallic thread to make colorful tapestries inspired by her own botanical photographs taken during her travels. </span></p>Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-41925213319018131312021-06-28T18:36:00.007+05:302021-06-28T18:39:20.392+05:30Personal Threads: Stitching Up the Wounds - Guest Post by Sunaina Bhalla<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDsy17hu4NwZeg8f3MCNVNb6mbBAwKpoZctulw6iAMP-kwIUQQg2LjQaNOOxyuuP57txeGApGCWElD2Vgw_uaq8n7fqDLecPL7bd5ckrJXXkX6bFxzq7OFLB80CPbL135mt3nAzKvlU6d/s467/Rhythm+%25231.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="443" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDsy17hu4NwZeg8f3MCNVNb6mbBAwKpoZctulw6iAMP-kwIUQQg2LjQaNOOxyuuP57txeGApGCWElD2Vgw_uaq8n7fqDLecPL7bd5ckrJXXkX6bFxzq7OFLB80CPbL135mt3nAzKvlU6d/w380-h400/Rhythm+%25231.jpg" width="380" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rhythm # 1</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: xx-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Growing up I was told I would never be an artist because my drawing was deemed terrible! Both my sisters were creative and I would get yelled at by my chemistry teacher for being unable to draw even a beaker. Who knew then, that I would end up being an artist, and that too working with textiles.<br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">After school, I had no idea what course I wanted to enroll for. My closest friend was applying to the Polytechnic for a Fashion design course, so I decided to follow her there. With a total lack of understanding I sat for the entrance exam for Textile Design assuming it had the least drawing requirements, but I got in and the rest is history. I loved the course turned out to be a fairly student. I found working with patterns, repeats and creating motifs to be relaxing and meditative and it was these facets that later transformed my practice from mere art making to healing.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">After graduating with a Diploma, I was employed by Satya Paul as part of the small team of designers who drew and painted each pattern for their printed sarees. It was quite a laboured task, taking up to a month to finish an intricate ‘pallu’ design. Subsequently, I got married and moved to Bangalore. Here, I did some freelancing work where I found a lot of opportunities for printing and hand painting on running fabric for salwar suits as well as sarees, which allowed me to experimented pattern making and printing.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFBL06rp2gV5Gc6Kh8AonJudc8wGg0r2FdkQKS4zZCI3C2a2fw1Mh_eWA0jkBjWBIQcvG0g4sI7zrlGre_aUuXAqXrORH6l6U2JASSzLfjF60LGnlcGnFNrcKulOvQ3BP3Pjv8lITOg8j/s2048/Rejuvination.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1385" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFBL06rp2gV5Gc6Kh8AonJudc8wGg0r2FdkQKS4zZCI3C2a2fw1Mh_eWA0jkBjWBIQcvG0g4sI7zrlGre_aUuXAqXrORH6l6U2JASSzLfjF60LGnlcGnFNrcKulOvQ3BP3Pjv8lITOg8j/w270-h400/Rejuvination.JPG" width="270" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rejuvenation</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Another shift occurred when my husband was given a project in Tokyo. I had never been outside of India and the prospect of going to Japan filled me with dread. Even though I accompanied him with trepidation, the minute I stepped into Tokyo’s Narita airport I fell in love with the country and felt welcome. We were supposed to have been there just three months, which was extended to a year and then longer. At this point I decided to find some work. However my Diploma in Textile Design from India and no knowledge of the Japanese language, made it impossible. However I found a textile teacher at a university who spoke a smattering of English and I started learning fabric dyeing and printing with a technique called ‘Tsutsugaki’, using rice paste as a resist-dyeing patterns on fabric. The names of the materials and dyes are lost to me since I only knew the Japanese names. At the same time I also got pregnant and once my son was born, time for any creative work became limited. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">About a year into my apprenticeship, my teacher retired and once again I was left with no idea what to do. As luck would have it, a friend introduced me to a fantastic class on ‘Nihonga’ Painting - a traditional form of Japanese painting using ink and gouache on silk boards. These classes were pivotal in the direction my art practice would take. The rules of Nihonga are very strict in respect of colour palettes and subject of the painting etc. To gain knowledge of the technique, the first couple of years were spent creating replicas of work by Grand Master works. Our sensei Suiko Ohta organized several group shows which gave me the confidence to venture into India for my first solo show of these paintings. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In we left Japan in 2003, moving to Singapore. It was here that my art became truly independent of any external influences, creating my own ideas of colour, form and subject. For me the hardest part was to change my mindset from that of a designer to being an artist. A designer works within parameters of printing techniques and is looking for solutions. However, as an artist I needed to allow ideas and visuals to flow freely – away from the security of repeating patterns, borders et al. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgskNUmrGR8U9E0WZ9hV_fDAHX-62a14KCwaaP4H6HBULeKo-Vl8dLnyqeKzpwPnbptJpS5JwLp6HUAtSiWmq_DMhSVdT24D83MXHEos2xTGN85g8fNevps6Gnx-2WZQaJmCh5tAuy8QcxV/s1080/Block+Print+on+gauze+bandage+and+canvas%252C+embroidery.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgskNUmrGR8U9E0WZ9hV_fDAHX-62a14KCwaaP4H6HBULeKo-Vl8dLnyqeKzpwPnbptJpS5JwLp6HUAtSiWmq_DMhSVdT24D83MXHEos2xTGN85g8fNevps6Gnx-2WZQaJmCh5tAuy8QcxV/w395-h400/Block+Print+on+gauze+bandage+and+canvas%252C+embroidery.jpg" width="395" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Block-printing and Embroidery on Gauze bandage</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In those days, Singapore had few galleries, where most focused on showing Chinese art, which meant that there weren’t many opportunities to exhibit my work. This made me look towards India to connect with galleries and curators. Aided by Singapore’s geographical proximity to India as also the opening up of the internet and email becoming standard practice.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In 2005 I gave birth to my second child, a daughter. Domestic chores took precedence over art, but I started feeling restless and wasn’t content just being a mother and wife. I created a small makeshift studio in our guest bedroom. For years I struggled to create a dedicated space to work in and only in he last seven years, that I have a studio at home – an actual workspace. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGn0QffhZ9dpOjpP720KOcaCamb9D15u77NwlVM6MIt4pfGGfDH1rZ8j0c-FVBBcigNsJMWu1qtrbMk2iL2VNQD5iClZ819rrIqZf_nxNWDFfQpaYLN5NEFN1c7ENbMMC-D0rS-cD3XYT-/s2048/Devotion.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1930" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGn0QffhZ9dpOjpP720KOcaCamb9D15u77NwlVM6MIt4pfGGfDH1rZ8j0c-FVBBcigNsJMWu1qtrbMk2iL2VNQD5iClZ819rrIqZf_nxNWDFfQpaYLN5NEFN1c7ENbMMC-D0rS-cD3XYT-/w378-h400/Devotion.jpg" width="378" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Devotion</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">However, as is often with life, it threw me a curveball. In 2010 my daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Type 1 is an autoimmune disease, completely different from Type 2 diabetes which is more common and arises from high sugar content in the blood. The impact on all our lives was devastating. Adjusting to a new life based on keeping my three year old daughter alive by regulating insulin injections and controlling her food intake, was mentally and physically exhausting. But I never stopped making art. This became an outlet for the angst I felt and, though few and far in between, I continued having exhibitions in India.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Two years later, in 2005, I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer and given just one week to decide whether to keep my breast or lose it. I kept it. Fearing that I may not have much time left I also went into overdrive and got all the medical check-ups needed for my daughter. It turned out that she had developed two more auto immune conditions-Celiac disease and Hashimoto’s syndrome. At that point I laughed hysterically, and then became hysterical to think that the universe really was testing me in such an unbelievably cruel way. To cut a long and agonizing story short I survived it all and during that bizarre year decided to further my art education.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0sPdMi-lzW1o_4hQqOCfTjOD4HosqnuXNu65ckqXiWlOnYbXutg3Sc1r6gjpPzeNdAiYIdl3xwgKOTHuApDGkA2-UdmvxPsNPxPbBnGj4fEmQotdGSFYVW5tyHO5F5TWjtnk9-qU1nbJ-/s2048/Pain%252C+Prayer...Peace.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2041" data-original-width="2048" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0sPdMi-lzW1o_4hQqOCfTjOD4HosqnuXNu65ckqXiWlOnYbXutg3Sc1r6gjpPzeNdAiYIdl3xwgKOTHuApDGkA2-UdmvxPsNPxPbBnGj4fEmQotdGSFYVW5tyHO5F5TWjtnk9-qU1nbJ-/w400-h399/Pain%252C+Prayer...Peace.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pain, Prayer, Peace...</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Something was missing in my art practice but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I took several online courses on art history, and an online course with Gopika Nath, an established textile artist in India. She helped me break through some of the rigid mindsets and ideas I was working with, but I needed more. I enrolled into the MFA programme at Lasalle College in Singapore; graduating with a dual degree from Lasalle and its affiliate - Goldsmiths College in U.K.</span></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I was exposed to art theory and learned how to question and critique my own work. It was ground breaking and the materiality of my work changed completely. I could now view material from the standpoint of their inherent characteristics, textures and visual and tactile language – expanding my visual vocabulary.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyH7G0wr9jpyl3ck1yQ-o2KZuhYSlUUoo9PBIC3dMa5xIRvyQrBcxopDzxD6yHNG7Tn61MjSFVjyKIaZQnu1qFUwrlbFqicBWmP-9MULKZrnAVXFR99U_9cj9tNBVUf-slZ5qY-FeLZILc/s2048/Avenge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2035" data-original-width="2048" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyH7G0wr9jpyl3ck1yQ-o2KZuhYSlUUoo9PBIC3dMa5xIRvyQrBcxopDzxD6yHNG7Tn61MjSFVjyKIaZQnu1qFUwrlbFqicBWmP-9MULKZrnAVXFR99U_9cj9tNBVUf-slZ5qY-FeLZILc/w400-h398/Avenge.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Avenge</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Throughout this time, I was in constant touch with my textile print making. I conducted, and continue to do block printing workshops in Singapore, South East Asia and the US . Recently commencing the first workshop at the National Gallery in Singapore. In addition, I have been working with a block carver in India, who belongs to a family of block makers. His grandfather had an atelier during the East India Company over a 100 years ago, and his father is the recipient of four National Awards. In my endeavour to support his craft, I offer these hand carved blocks for sale at each workshop, the proceeds of which go to him and his family. He also carves block that I have designed for use in my own art practice. In total, I have amassed a collection of over two hundred blocks.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the past couple of years there has been a renewed focus of working with fabric, where I have added usage of medical detritus and embroidery. I was never trained in it but I find the basic stitch very powerful, visually and metaphorically. A lot of stories can be mapped out with the simple stitch.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am now focusing on the body and exploring traditions in healing, mapping the physical and mental shifts in perception, behavior and reaction to pain and chronic health conditions.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am a proud survivor of a number of interactions with disease and health conditions and I hope I will be just as positive for the next phases in my life as I grow older. Working with the hand and especially with embroidery is an important part of my practice and I hope to continue evolving as an artist through this medium .</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNF7AdEaiDhyphenhyphenpb09rt1ZE7cEoBO8NgP3Tsz3yzr2UT59NgOV9k1xSmhfiIePRo9Q6gpJpqgDfcaqieCk9x52hIga-K3vetD2x1Y8t7z2rgW-WMwkl560kzYIRdQXL6KHRyVvC0igHGshM/s2048/Survivors1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2019" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNF7AdEaiDhyphenhyphenpb09rt1ZE7cEoBO8NgP3Tsz3yzr2UT59NgOV9k1xSmhfiIePRo9Q6gpJpqgDfcaqieCk9x52hIga-K3vetD2x1Y8t7z2rgW-WMwkl560kzYIRdQXL6KHRyVvC0igHGshM/w394-h400/Survivors1.jpg" width="394" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Survivors<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1OB1y1Tf2GM8Vnj2sJpX6Z06fv8X0XpNS43e3-aAG1hYec_bGeZE2Nxlzaso0BH4Vin1kV4SDXf5uR-hJWKee3cGaxftew_0iwBUAvuZMv-soHLiDWvqNwWjPJLwNzKyu4GdBnE8M-mn/s2048/IMG_4738.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1888" data-original-width="2048" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1OB1y1Tf2GM8Vnj2sJpX6Z06fv8X0XpNS43e3-aAG1hYec_bGeZE2Nxlzaso0BH4Vin1kV4SDXf5uR-hJWKee3cGaxftew_0iwBUAvuZMv-soHLiDWvqNwWjPJLwNzKyu4GdBnE8M-mn/w200-h184/IMG_4738.jpeg" width="200" /></a><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Sunaina Bhalla has an MFA from Lassalle College Singapore. A conceptual artist, art educator, printmaker and a mother, Sunaina is a textile artist who has experimented with various art forms but returns to work with textiles. More of her work can be seen on her website: www.sunainabhalla.com and her instagram handle: bhalla.sunaina</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p></p><p style="text-align: right;"> </p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p></div>Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-9338802754207279842021-03-24T21:57:00.000+05:302021-03-24T21:57:46.943+05:30Kya Soch Rahe Ho........(What are you Thinking)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQdrMsbwE7Y9_-zBIgumgZMK2hXWvWxr1xSELZryLZmT6bd3nFzv3GyChX0jQLA7EDlFoNReK1EJ3STMcbLLyTb8ttWPoQgvXsVwHDyN-ljAOADU9jH-N3kZC0Hd5cOfMBrhOCM57vqhq/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQdrMsbwE7Y9_-zBIgumgZMK2hXWvWxr1xSELZryLZmT6bd3nFzv3GyChX0jQLA7EDlFoNReK1EJ3STMcbLLyTb8ttWPoQgvXsVwHDyN-ljAOADU9jH-N3kZC0Hd5cOfMBrhOCM57vqhq/w400-h400/104141558_10158859364783923_4743097974653306576_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sometimes, I don’t know what I’m
thinking. Especially when engaged in doing household chores, cooking and such stuff
that I try and get over with as fast as I can, I’m rarely focused on what’s
going on the mind screen. Thoughts come and go but I am too busy with the job
in hand that I can rarely recollect what they were.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Often, when I’m knitting and
crocheting my ‘thought-nets’, I’m also not really focusing on thoughts either.
It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s not always easy to understand one’s own
disposition. And the essence of issues that plague the mind - the deeper and
untiring dialogue with self, is usually buried under the busyness of the day.
If I want to look at myself think I do, but otherwise I watch something on
nextflix, listen to a talk on YouTube or a book on Audible, to switch off from
the superficial chatter of the daily rubble.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNamor2VsPfQ3tIWXgpPj9f2wYK_VATh0usOml69xV4MKZFH8vz_KecePaWs8kRxaz6eza5ZV9HDNlP_hJOFPmUYdENZBf39YTkkM4JmXsOKBsJXNadW4Ta_b4woF22fr11xlZ7H-L81Z1/" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2037" data-original-width="2037" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNamor2VsPfQ3tIWXgpPj9f2wYK_VATh0usOml69xV4MKZFH8vz_KecePaWs8kRxaz6eza5ZV9HDNlP_hJOFPmUYdENZBf39YTkkM4JmXsOKBsJXNadW4Ta_b4woF22fr11xlZ7H-L81Z1/w400-h400/UCXZ4121.JPEG" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sometimes, when the rant spills
over, I can’t watch or listen to anything. My head is just screaming to be
heard. If I can, I write in my journal or if it’s too chaotic to form sentences
and if there too much emotion, I may speak to a friend. If I don’t feel
comfortable talking to anyone, I babble into my phone and record the tirade.
When I hear it back - the emotion, irritation and anxiety of what’s been said
-that is if I can bear to go over the whole thing again, I do get a clearer
picture of the problem at hand. Of why I’m feeling stressed. If I can’t hear
that stuff again, I’m relieved that my mind is lighter for off-loading it.
Usually it’s stuff that’s deemed unnecessary, pertaining to a whole host of
mundane things that are detracting from the essence of what some part of me
wants to think about, but the mind is exhausted with itself and cannot muster
the discipline to do so. Sometimes feelings overwhelm and they cannot easily be
put into thoughts and words – at best disjointed ones.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitC9pnx7FXZ1vID0STQt211NW3UAFa0VYoJ_zcRzoVaPZSjjI-YC1ClbS44MjUMo-VhuyOkgKI51Tty3XeBo0X0oC9xe3vYNV-YoKNoYyORwpOxYc-RFwOKl7rwe-V0bNf1_EYpFNJ5Ma4/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1780" data-original-width="1566" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitC9pnx7FXZ1vID0STQt211NW3UAFa0VYoJ_zcRzoVaPZSjjI-YC1ClbS44MjUMo-VhuyOkgKI51Tty3XeBo0X0oC9xe3vYNV-YoKNoYyORwpOxYc-RFwOKl7rwe-V0bNf1_EYpFNJ5Ma4/w352-h400/2020-06-24+22.25.51-9.jpg" width="352" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I’m a reflective sort of person,
so I usually begin my day, writing in my journal. I start with reading the previous
entry to get a sense of where I left off, because unresolved things have a
habit of playing like elevator music, that’s heard but not really listened to -
not enough to recognise the melody, not unless it’s a familiar tune, when we do
sing along effortlessly – if we like the tune. In trying to get through the
processes of living, which requires focus on the mundane, on driving, cooking,
folding clothes and other tasks - the screaming is actually this underlying
background dialogue that’s unfinished and unresolved, which is demanding it’s
time and share of attention.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When I start this morning
dialogue with myself, if I’m in a self-reflective mood, I can write for hours.
If not, I leave off where I cannot go farther with the thought. Either I’ve
said enough or I just can’t quite get to any point of understanding. Often I
have to leave things for the thoughts to emerge. Where a movie, a talk or
something else - even the rhythm of knitting sheds light.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And, more often than not, it is
conversations or interactions with someone else that really helps shed light on
what’s going on in one’s own mind - a reflective surface kind of mirroring
dialogue. If it doesn’t automatically occur to me, I put my attention on what
about the conversation struck me, moved me, or the advice I may have given .
And it’s almost always what I need to think about for myself, albeit in a
varying degree or context. This then requires deeper reflection which takes me
into those areas that eons of exploration leave me tired and unfulfilled, but
ideas that I need to resolve to whatever extent possible, because unless I do
so I’ll never be free of the distressing inner rant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1_F_0ORdP20mUbuhmTHp8Oloeb0nWfiv3fXZs28caVmvA-kG88ogCAz3MHYg_ty3CqPKj2uNTyeMgn2opvLVrDPnvu7TUSQDYNolQTWM-Q9dDb5Erc2mXWasTVRmbIsH2mBefXIiN_ZR/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1_F_0ORdP20mUbuhmTHp8Oloeb0nWfiv3fXZs28caVmvA-kG88ogCAz3MHYg_ty3CqPKj2uNTyeMgn2opvLVrDPnvu7TUSQDYNolQTWM-Q9dDb5Erc2mXWasTVRmbIsH2mBefXIiN_ZR/w400-h400/104840851_10158874512298923_2090053275250856282_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A net by its very nature is
something to catch things. Fishermen use it to catch fish, which is food for
the human body. In Goa, many outdoor restaurants and cafes suspend nets under
over-arching trees to catch the falling leaves so that the foliage debris
doesn’t hamper happily chomping guests.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So what does a ‘thought-net’ do?
What does it catch, or prevent from imposing or entering a protected space or
field of vision?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG00BfAw9CzgVdauxf3oqMxgukNAD4e5eaWN8CorIN2c9Rm74sDpt-8N8O4_VvKOy07vViX5PRkkKyVqReE40hOIlQoUXhq7hf9OKnp5V-8doxNNp3bUFn9ixLrOsCDgjCZD9e7NOnwx_O/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG00BfAw9CzgVdauxf3oqMxgukNAD4e5eaWN8CorIN2c9Rm74sDpt-8N8O4_VvKOy07vViX5PRkkKyVqReE40hOIlQoUXhq7hf9OKnp5V-8doxNNp3bUFn9ixLrOsCDgjCZD9e7NOnwx_O/w400-h400/2020-06-05+18.02.43.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">If I put the larger and more
cumbersome nets that I’ve created over my head, as an extension of my mind - an
evocation of what’s going on inside my head, then it’s a kind of trap. A net
that binds me within its threads. And not unlike repeating thoughts which bind
us to people, situations and circumstance. But, the irony is that ranting and
venting - going over the same ideas - creating this ‘thought-net’, is also a
way out of this bind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When we vent or rant - go on and
on about a situation, most of us want sympathy because we see ourselves as
victims of an unfair circumstance or relationship. Or we don’t have the courage
to do or say what we really feel. Or perhaps we don’t have clarity and have
conflicting feelings that need detailed analysis. In some sense, the situation
challenges us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I’ve often noticed this about
myself that, if I’m on top of things, or matters are going well, there is no
need for a dialogue. It’s only when I’m not able to get a grip on what’s going
on that, the why’s and why-not’s circle around endlessly. And depending upon
the intensity of the situation and emotion it evokes, I may lie awake at night,
wondering why I can’t sleep despite vigorous exercise and feeling pretty darn
sleepy too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXZhW0aL8A_2nEFIkaVga92LdyN3lMbXI57dzb1yzzvz9RAWcHo1If9hkhtK3Y2kH34RShPbSpYMpe3UF-G4nbhQhGEad6Y7bZ4ZRasHDVGiXREDaNqYn6zjKSAwba1DH8zA_vhgtDFl_/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXZhW0aL8A_2nEFIkaVga92LdyN3lMbXI57dzb1yzzvz9RAWcHo1If9hkhtK3Y2kH34RShPbSpYMpe3UF-G4nbhQhGEad6Y7bZ4ZRasHDVGiXREDaNqYn6zjKSAwba1DH8zA_vhgtDFl_/w240-h320/2020-04-04+21.52.05.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC07UEVtEmej8qcfEQQXR-NxD_X6VanLX881-f-T7I4PXfgtmRWsuwP_hGwZuvqN_5_SE1yIn5O8S7CSJLRaKRTsc5VSycnSQI57eve9mudXpwwPb8swK0M6utyqdDjHRNPUN8jtD2ICfq/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC07UEVtEmej8qcfEQQXR-NxD_X6VanLX881-f-T7I4PXfgtmRWsuwP_hGwZuvqN_5_SE1yIn5O8S7CSJLRaKRTsc5VSycnSQI57eve9mudXpwwPb8swK0M6utyqdDjHRNPUN8jtD2ICfq/w200-h200/117687835_10159057578398923_2330131719321094952_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I was speaking quite recently to
a friend, about the paradoxical beauty of our thoughts. This had occurred to me
when I was looking at an embroidery pattern I had created within a series of
‘thought-nets’. The resultant ‘thought-net’ was visually attractive and led me
rethink the very idea of ‘thoughts’ as being a burden. Of our
‘thought-patterns’ being something destructive. Such that new age philosophy
underlines, telling us to get let go the past, to change our thoughts etc.
Enticing us with absolutely miraculously solutions that almost never work quite
as effectively and definitely not in the long term. Not unless we are on the
brink of taking that leap by having done plenty of the work already.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YbDpXy6gx7xYe06kyHex45_PufEwaocySZ_c0bmawH4NXlTJY5jJFav0A91UIocUWPnmKFkQBgvxAuUPm0rFvTAyTIsVnkJ4fpe4vLDahcnGZaYztF-2QdCqML0j3ci9PHWMKcIoaimS/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1542" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YbDpXy6gx7xYe06kyHex45_PufEwaocySZ_c0bmawH4NXlTJY5jJFav0A91UIocUWPnmKFkQBgvxAuUPm0rFvTAyTIsVnkJ4fpe4vLDahcnGZaYztF-2QdCqML0j3ci9PHWMKcIoaimS/w302-h400/4.+Thought-net+2%252C+detail.+Photo+credit+Shalini+Jaikaria.jpg" width="302" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Our thinking patterns, the
template of our moral, ideas and ideals arise from societal norms, familial
dictates, cultural morals and more that have evolved through individual,
social, cultural, national and world events. All of which have collectively
framed the psyche of our elders and educators, their ancestors and theirs:
going as far back as time itself. Therefore, inherited ‘patterns’ are really
not something we can get past easily enough. And, they are the real reason that
the thread of ‘thought-nets’ catch us, binding the imaginative mind, curtailing
the freedom of our spirits - keeping us from transforming our human destinies
and exploring the potential of our human selves, even going beyond this.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZQFDqhGpuC0npgPYYZ-ydMzvJb9odE4bmfpxmWL0waEpgRRnJz-IQrEzhCvwRwnjyB0d9ledvrR9-TBGNHQtY9Xw6QpXWlkNZGmQjLebGTdV9yjDNCrm-Q4Ks2yM1eYEEt2-J_1X0Npk/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="2048" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZQFDqhGpuC0npgPYYZ-ydMzvJb9odE4bmfpxmWL0waEpgRRnJz-IQrEzhCvwRwnjyB0d9ledvrR9-TBGNHQtY9Xw6QpXWlkNZGmQjLebGTdV9yjDNCrm-Q4Ks2yM1eYEEt2-J_1X0Npk/w400-h288/2.+Thought-net+1%252Cdetail.+Photo+credit+Shalini+Jaikaria%252C.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My friend’s response was that
negative thinking cannot be seen as beautiful, despite what the ‘thought-net’ I
was showing her was proof of. She appreciated the artwork, but couldn’t
correlate it with what she herself experienced when her mind is gripped with
dismaying thoughts - negative thoughts in common parlance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">At one level, I agree with her.
When you’re going on and on in a non-empowering way it’s enervating - for both
you and the person listening to you. Fact is that negative gives power, when
it’s changed through its charge into positive, and the two together is what
generates energy. Negative thinking disembowels, but it is also creating an
unacknowledged impetus within us, to rise above. If we were happy in that
state, there really wouldn’t be any need to rant, complain or drag us and
everyone around us, down the dingy steps of despair. We do that because we want
a way out, but can’t see it. But lightening the load, getting consolation from
friends, seeing that we are not alone in these things, lends confidence to
delve within. That’s what we really want. Not necessarily advice, but solace.
Not solutions that someone else gives but a means to reduce the thought load
and find a way to the subtler voice of our own wise being. At times advice is
sought, solution providers can be useful too but essentially the two charges of
negative leading to positive - self-affirmation and feeling good, is what
brings forth the energy. And in an instant the binds of the ‘thought-net’ are
torn asunder. And we taste that enviable taste of freedom. Of being
unstoppable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I think that makes the process
quite beautiful, don’t you? </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHr9ffkRdn4-FkYmtVMu5Oi6teOYWMMOgJlzq1lbpvfJIIFzerOQ9uV1MbN612qgsw9Bb-ylUOxSfm79NEptg1LdYxAskykF6552i0Rbv_PAcUsCHahI4Dy60KiiLD_i3btMtonlJvBAaO/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHr9ffkRdn4-FkYmtVMu5Oi6teOYWMMOgJlzq1lbpvfJIIFzerOQ9uV1MbN612qgsw9Bb-ylUOxSfm79NEptg1LdYxAskykF6552i0Rbv_PAcUsCHahI4Dy60KiiLD_i3btMtonlJvBAaO/w400-h266/6.+Thought-net+3%252C+detail.+Photo+credit+Shalini+Jaikaria.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p>Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-8131969565476388922021-03-15T19:13:00.006+05:302021-03-15T19:17:40.788+05:30Personal Threads: I have Sewn all My Life.... - Guest Post by Heidi McEvoy Swift<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUgD1YnQUeJiS-_9U763TgwfQN0tOKNcn420BCpHM0yMI4P6ZruEMD0zcqrOHUl5JNVGfiplpQ2-gOVzBo0uGWKZ3a9oT89KXfxwjvDofyWybI7PVq0mwaGCSlnwlBtpV3xo4JhMRNHFL/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="642" data-original-width="542" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUgD1YnQUeJiS-_9U763TgwfQN0tOKNcn420BCpHM0yMI4P6ZruEMD0zcqrOHUl5JNVGfiplpQ2-gOVzBo0uGWKZ3a9oT89KXfxwjvDofyWybI7PVq0mwaGCSlnwlBtpV3xo4JhMRNHFL/w541-h640/Not++A+Moth+2.jpg" width="541" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I have sewn all my life. I made dolls clothes when I was five, was given a children’s sewing machine at six, and was using my Mum’s proper machine at seven. I love making clothes. From dolls clothes I moved on to making my own clothes, and adapting and altering bought items to make my own creations. Through my college years it was mainly ballgowns that I made, spending far too much money on gorgeous fabrics and spending hours adding beadwork and embroidery.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I began working part time in theatre ten years ago. Initially working as a wardrobe supervisor I gradually built up my role so that I now design and make costume for all the in-house shows at Theatre Royal Bury St Edmunds.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">During the lockdown months this year I began a couple of new sewing projects. Initially I was working on a project I set myself - to work with some half started embroidered tablecloths and tray-cloths I was given by a friend. These cloths were all printed with ready to go embroidery designs, and had mostly been begun, but were not finished. ‘Finishing the unfinished’ involved me re-working these tray and tablecloths from her my friends’ mother-in- law’s ‘legacy’.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Instagram became my saving grace during this lockdown. It’s a platform that I have no love of, and had rarely dipped into its possibilities, despite having set up an account about 5 years ago. Working in total isolation is so very hard. Some kind of audience is necessary, so I started to post images of work I was making on Instagram. At this point, I was embroidering images to do with lockdown on cloth, to be a kind of diary, but frankly I was struggling, it seemed too banal, and possibly too kneejerk.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Groundwork Gallery's #doorstepenvironment challenge appeared on my Instagram feed at the very end of April, and initially appealed as a displacement activity for that first day! The work the gallery specialises in is environmental, so somewhat removed from my textiles work, however the themes interested me and I decided to engage with the challenge anyway, but adding in my own proviso that I had to include stitch. This led me to start of a whole new project looking at things on my own doorstep and garden, in a new light. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I embroidered images, borders, words and phrases relating to the daily prompts and photographed them. Sometimes I made textile frames for landscapes, embroidered words onto my own clothing, or worked directly onto plants.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSengAtTcusIoTaWYvLzilGhdPvOCqJXItgaF77nvdEuTkMNs7UKYOY-r1v_oC1q-aO4K7l0I8waHqHLuR-ST9jJC8mq2gVGWz1M85pv87VbrjAadwHmNq0s_7l0Qw1TPozZxX71U1ysXz/" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSengAtTcusIoTaWYvLzilGhdPvOCqJXItgaF77nvdEuTkMNs7UKYOY-r1v_oC1q-aO4K7l0I8waHqHLuR-ST9jJC8mq2gVGWz1M85pv87VbrjAadwHmNq0s_7l0Qw1TPozZxX71U1ysXz/w400-h400/HeidiMcEvoySwiftstonypath-1024x1024.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">The ‘stony path’ prompt, alluded to in the last post above, was a reference to Herman de Vries. And his exhibition in 2017, which was named after Ian Hamilton Finlay’s garden in the Scottish borders.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I love wordplay, and often incorporate words in my work, and this became another of the connecting factors between the pieces I made. The beauty of Instagram, and indeed photography, is that the photograph is the final image, which is something I had never quite appreciated before and this became hugely liberating! The pieces I was making in stitch no longer had to be ‘finished’, the image presented is enough. I ended up working right through the 30 day challenge list of words and phrases, each a prompt that inspired a whole range of thoughts and inspiration, some more than others. This in turn has led to some very productive lines of exploration, which I am still processing and making work from. I have thoughts of where I can go from here, and maybe I will, or maybe it will all turn into something very different. Isn’t that just how it goes?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am sharing some of my favourite pieces here, some from the challenge, and some made since and more recently.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The challenge gave purpose to some work I was already trying to formulate, and cemented some thoughts about presentation and accessibility. I had been trying to work exclusively with stitch and textiles, so decided to include that in each post as my personal challenge. I did not intend to do all 30 days, but gradually realised that it was a good way to keep focused on work at a time when everything was very difficult in so many ways.’</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div> <p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUGvgzFDJie-p0xsCTQshEvShhhS0t7IWqAvJsnyq3xlnXXc7xW2f9UgOvJq7uP2PZZTZLW1KmL40r45sf7sH9uEwMZTZjhdfTYWozDKOi6yWQ93aA-We1MTK_gLsyVnGV6hqj8hdQos-/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="452" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUGvgzFDJie-p0xsCTQshEvShhhS0t7IWqAvJsnyq3xlnXXc7xW2f9UgOvJq7uP2PZZTZLW1KmL40r45sf7sH9uEwMZTZjhdfTYWozDKOi6yWQ93aA-We1MTK_gLsyVnGV6hqj8hdQos-/w360-h400/eat.jpg" width="360" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">This was the first time I sewed directly onto the plant. The theme was ‘Wild food’ and apart from dandelions and nettles there was nothing remotely edible in my garden. I knew I was going to use the word ‘eat’ and the strawberry plant was the most obvious choice. It also reminded me of William Morris. </span></p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYGJ7MuK-MDO-aQXV8BNcYR5DK-uhc_0QrMrRiWfD4CKz3J071-S5Bo4Kd83yYZ7HRlfr_oUHNAMnNv0yI7jeOk0Mo9JEGsjdKFUbv-O5fDJx7uyXpDrfDhEm2PpbqrHaRdxkd4_E89HE/" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="520" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYGJ7MuK-MDO-aQXV8BNcYR5DK-uhc_0QrMrRiWfD4CKz3J071-S5Bo4Kd83yYZ7HRlfr_oUHNAMnNv0yI7jeOk0Mo9JEGsjdKFUbv-O5fDJx7uyXpDrfDhEm2PpbqrHaRdxkd4_E89HE/w328-h400/look+listen.jpg" width="328" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The theme was ‘Today’s revelation’ which proved challenging to me. How do we receive a revelation? I used the words ‘look’ and ‘listen’ as instructions. I captioned the piece ‘Take a little time, you have plenty’.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kTWMKVv2JGCDizz0E-GfmCp03X1qTJoJWyoom5TNV3ifWsG3QPkIJk27LWDf31VQsQ5HsOuO1xge1_gVRbKzx6FaG4AIiTE82UeXB6xzbApZT9CfeASZj8to-P4pz2XGPEZMtTmbIjOO/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="635" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kTWMKVv2JGCDizz0E-GfmCp03X1qTJoJWyoom5TNV3ifWsG3QPkIJk27LWDf31VQsQ5HsOuO1xge1_gVRbKzx6FaG4AIiTE82UeXB6xzbApZT9CfeASZj8to-P4pz2XGPEZMtTmbIjOO/w400-h400/raise+your+eyes.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span> </span>Looking skywards is such an uplifting thing to do when the sky is so very blue and cloudless. The Cordyline is so sharp and pointy it really leads your eye up. Mind you, if you looked down on it would poke your eye out! The golden yellow thread both alluded to the sun and complemented the variations in the leaves.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDo8elnBXdDAhYuSU9m7eqkcw_EfARiYmGjbHN-brbe7m107RtZvKeRhpkA7K4BUZBBje7kpOq3oOxtvKdhquFTQOsZkQ7y_g8E0dHyjHgbL51tRWBIYLwsyfvaAL3glS-JgepUg44u187/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="635" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDo8elnBXdDAhYuSU9m7eqkcw_EfARiYmGjbHN-brbe7m107RtZvKeRhpkA7K4BUZBBje7kpOq3oOxtvKdhquFTQOsZkQ7y_g8E0dHyjHgbL51tRWBIYLwsyfvaAL3glS-JgepUg44u187/w400-h400/dont+cry.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I have always loved the phrase ‘there’s no use crying over spilt milk’. The phrase today was ‘Spillage’ and putting ‘don’t cry’ on the cloth to clean up the milk seemed a perfect message as we were stuck in this lockdown situation, with people complaining about how the situation was being handled. It was very satisfying sewing onto the dish cloth, and it still sits on my sink, reminding me. Later that day I spilt wine and couldn’t resist making the companion piece! (go and find it!)</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>“Had I</i> <i>the heavens’ embroidered cloths,</i></span></div></i><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Enwrought with golden and silver light,</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">The blue and the dim and the dark cloths</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Of night and light and the half-light,</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">I would spread the cloths under your feet:</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">But I, being poor, have only my dreams;</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">I have spread my dreams under your feet;</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tread softly because you tread on my dreams”</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">('The Cloths of Heaven' by W.B Yeats) </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5tPE9miaIcczsdofszo_ua3nlFHxF7GDdddf3kqTf1-U_CgJzYGpzGK2sdZjbkKPDt40B_GMEVWl6pUJ05J4BfCXQ0sHOHwW2UKuFteO7GWrbF7wusgXlpPisOyhhXAwDYxaAhPQQkf1/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="635" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5tPE9miaIcczsdofszo_ua3nlFHxF7GDdddf3kqTf1-U_CgJzYGpzGK2sdZjbkKPDt40B_GMEVWl6pUJ05J4BfCXQ0sHOHwW2UKuFteO7GWrbF7wusgXlpPisOyhhXAwDYxaAhPQQkf1/w400-h400/tread+softly.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The theme was ‘Hard surface’ which the slate certainly provides. The harshness of the sun emphasises that, <span style="text-align: left;">and the softness of the rose petals presented such a perfect contrast. The petals were much more delicate to stitch on to and tore so easily I had to sew very carefully. The phrase ‘tread softly’ comes from the Yeats poem and is often on my mind. The petals were strewn like dreams at my feet.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ4SViBgbJE0W30DoQ1SStJlqJjl632gdMKAwQv5A531zDyh0MYIMI-g5P-h53NLXRmDe0J0AE1H2ewDbxRROqkLx86VeQPZR71R_zSH7S8sScrYmWKRo-qoyjpteVQCpPR2eNEcO49Zm/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="635" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ4SViBgbJE0W30DoQ1SStJlqJjl632gdMKAwQv5A531zDyh0MYIMI-g5P-h53NLXRmDe0J0AE1H2ewDbxRROqkLx86VeQPZR71R_zSH7S8sScrYmWKRo-qoyjpteVQCpPR2eNEcO49Zm/w400-h400/alone.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">This is the last image in a series of three photographs which show the deterioration of the rose. I sewed the word ‘alone’ on the fresh leaf in response to the theme word ‘isolation’, but did not use it. I often feel bad about cutting flowers, artificially shortening their life. This was a beautiful rose, then it is sad to see its decay. By the time we get to this, the last image, the word ‘alone’ implies that loneliness causes decline. Perhaps it does....</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span><br /></span><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeMixzgCL_baSCSHVsRMgqoEKVv5AmNxfv1ga9_GItaUEAn9SoNuONT-7AAmn1VDKbqHEo-HhjDaQQ0kIViuNdbvS55ApU4q3sn5XtjxyFkndxBOcBDqr3RBHO40bgdWY4JsL6_egEE1C/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="635" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeMixzgCL_baSCSHVsRMgqoEKVv5AmNxfv1ga9_GItaUEAn9SoNuONT-7AAmn1VDKbqHEo-HhjDaQQ0kIViuNdbvS55ApU4q3sn5XtjxyFkndxBOcBDqr3RBHO40bgdWY4JsL6_egEE1C/w400-h400/swim+sink.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">This image was made as lockdown was relaxed and I went for a walk in the abbey gardens. It was so good seeing a different environment, but also felt a little scary as there is no knowing now how the world will change. I left the leaves in the pond for others to come across.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Following on from the doorstep environment challenge I have found myself working more onto plants both in my garden, and out and about. Often it is the damage on leaves or plants caused by insects and birds that calls me to make an intervention, other times words, or fragments of song or speech lead me to a make a piece.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I have called the collection ‘Passing thoughts’ as that is what they are. If I were to attempt to define what each image is trying to capture that would be it. Passing thoughts. A lifetime of listening, and reading, of words in your ear, your head, in your life, on the radio, in song, in passing. The words that accompany you, stick with you, earworm you. These are the things that come out of the blue to make an image.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCZQgB5fqWIMr6-bOuvtzaQeg__FLjDrud36IC1LZQ-T7Mk3hbBwz2T_R4jCG5QAvHLJDQsL73E5Ne1ywg-_kCBDuEhQ9oxiCZIZ8IrgVVWqWTuoXry-eMw6EbcL2W2Jg56grkFdrAxbs/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="272" data-original-width="258" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCZQgB5fqWIMr6-bOuvtzaQeg__FLjDrud36IC1LZQ-T7Mk3hbBwz2T_R4jCG5QAvHLJDQsL73E5Ne1ywg-_kCBDuEhQ9oxiCZIZ8IrgVVWqWTuoXry-eMw6EbcL2W2Jg56grkFdrAxbs/w380-h400/image.png" width="380" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The piece ‘Not moth’ looks at the holes in the Bergenia. Something is eating it up. Working with clothes as I do it is not unusual to be upset by holes appearing in woollen or silk garments, but I know exactly what makes those. I thought of darning the Bergenia leaves, but instead, outlined the holes in blanket stitch, drawing attention to them while I considered the damage. I next patched some holes, with offcuts of other leaves, using panto-like stitching as a nod to what I might normally be making if at work. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Once you start looking at damage on plants it is everywhere. Some of it actually very beautiful, bringing new colours and texture to the leaves, sometimes the culprits are right there, aphids, caterpillars, wasps laying eggs, taunting. Or rather, just getting on with their lives really! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEK78cUh1WHh-bw6-e7C0el730jygg9QWwS5_7PqvQDRXDUfGOzGBsVugrzJbZl25G7D1b9vWfRRShX1WKdzABcQt7PynrEGiefYd7bJV6uHkrRWdDToTTeEdneqoG6OTcTB9owwmEBXtY/" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="660" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEK78cUh1WHh-bw6-e7C0el730jygg9QWwS5_7PqvQDRXDUfGOzGBsVugrzJbZl25G7D1b9vWfRRShX1WKdzABcQt7PynrEGiefYd7bJV6uHkrRWdDToTTeEdneqoG6OTcTB9owwmEBXtY/w640-h317/Blighted+and+wounded.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />Having acquired a set of old handkerchiefs I had in mind all the words we use associated with handing a handkerchief to someone, phrases of consolation, and compassion, and the uses for a handkerchief. ‘It’s going to be alright’ is central to the handkerchief featuring the most damaged leaves. While sewing the words ‘plagued’, ‘diseased’, ‘wounded’, ‘maimed’ and ‘blighted’ to label the leaves, I was thinking about the whole situation with Covid19. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tluxBrdIWv2ng9k5iNsM1M1ezIL8tDsixYfwYeEJDGcHxgTyTpQ6U0rf7GXKww3GTlpxnAPeSpHZev4kom4OVVju_BKwhTUtsGoB9zg8sDZhVnBV-UeuaCQ9_tfpYElUQ3z24aa-vCod/"><img alt="" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0tluxBrdIWv2ng9k5iNsM1M1ezIL8tDsixYfwYeEJDGcHxgTyTpQ6U0rf7GXKww3GTlpxnAPeSpHZev4kom4OVVju_BKwhTUtsGoB9zg8sDZhVnBV-UeuaCQ9_tfpYElUQ3z24aa-vCod/w310-h320/image.png" width="310" /></a></span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4Z8W3cqy4CtW3sBhiTIeNmom1wvLdS9TmopOshItefiLE4t7Rm92Ae23vL91oIClnpumhLqBdS_QTHmZheEZX_MqZWd39i1_yQnSqU6-MWYZQd_noRt6_TsXBA330MgIBvOgsHJ5oPg9/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="199" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4Z8W3cqy4CtW3sBhiTIeNmom1wvLdS9TmopOshItefiLE4t7Rm92Ae23vL91oIClnpumhLqBdS_QTHmZheEZX_MqZWd39i1_yQnSqU6-MWYZQd_noRt6_TsXBA330MgIBvOgsHJ5oPg9/w301-h320/image.png" width="301" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I left the handkerchief under a shrub in the soil. For five weeks it stayed there weathering whatever came at it there on the soil. At the end of its lockdown, there was very little of the leaves left, some were completely gone, some staining and dirt marking the cotton. Having now laundered the handkerchief, it bears the stitches, the words, and the marks permanently. I think the world will bear the marks of this pandemic too, no matter how hard we try to make it better.</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfuAB6wEx7BmKnlzBdIbBuePQ_orV5ALQU5-KBrjSLuRRcR5W9Uh-Hy2vKcq56j18G1-swjnzFSC4u46P-MOI0MqzeZSUqgsfisPekAAtfcrqxO0B8b-1kvIOz4u6QXvYBjS3H75j9GTu/"><img alt="" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="212" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfuAB6wEx7BmKnlzBdIbBuePQ_orV5ALQU5-KBrjSLuRRcR5W9Uh-Hy2vKcq56j18G1-swjnzFSC4u46P-MOI0MqzeZSUqgsfisPekAAtfcrqxO0B8b-1kvIOz4u6QXvYBjS3H75j9GTu/w320-h320/image.png" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIcc0VWv9w5elSFxIX3pgBnfVlFWs3MKEhjYbhl8-IX97Tc6jVRW-3o9DIo59aJfwF2ZEacrX7Ite350EvuDOPa5Og4mv9NokWo17JAqrQ6sNZrRObqfy91kEZPiqAuf4UMOAZWMbSxBN7/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="211" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIcc0VWv9w5elSFxIX3pgBnfVlFWs3MKEhjYbhl8-IX97Tc6jVRW-3o9DIo59aJfwF2ZEacrX7Ite350EvuDOPa5Og4mv9NokWo17JAqrQ6sNZrRObqfy91kEZPiqAuf4UMOAZWMbSxBN7/w318-h320/image.png" width="318" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><p style="text-align: justify;">Some of the other work I have been making is leading me back to my love of costume and clothing and maybe as the autumn creeps upon us this will be the most natural direction to pursue. First steps are the embellishments I applied to the white linen jacket I made in May for another project. While the leaves in the images relate to what was happening in July, I have further plans for this garment. I hope I get around to sewing them</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtndka3hfEMHBgyT6CfuXRD9gZi-fVrvHXqp71xkbEPDFJULAaAqNxkSBdL7YpIb1XSFyMXbMrA79q5UGvcECyugzw66keDz4T5ASkoYoi_586ed5jMkR_oLAsVKxQ_OMoZzHjG7a9ZwAF/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="257" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtndka3hfEMHBgyT6CfuXRD9gZi-fVrvHXqp71xkbEPDFJULAaAqNxkSBdL7YpIb1XSFyMXbMrA79q5UGvcECyugzw66keDz4T5ASkoYoi_586ed5jMkR_oLAsVKxQ_OMoZzHjG7a9ZwAF/w380-h400/image.png" width="380" /></a></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPP220gmDJWphmKYdZDojcFogfWqohzHJr6ZDWcJlgxDZedM0EO-aoV2Xhjs-m6ix1Lt1ckxw2Uz6SRFP-sHFkPKZxYNKX8T4MwQdxa9-dyW2dHp6Eq1nt-b9t9-vkI5pKBtiDoVHeWO2/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="621" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPP220gmDJWphmKYdZDojcFogfWqohzHJr6ZDWcJlgxDZedM0EO-aoV2Xhjs-m6ix1Lt1ckxw2Uz6SRFP-sHFkPKZxYNKX8T4MwQdxa9-dyW2dHp6Eq1nt-b9t9-vkI5pKBtiDoVHeWO2/w400-h400/I+do+not+wear+my+heart+on+my+sleeve.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEYrv8W1Ryr8Zmz13cMiNoHkW6LJk2vTyOCjYhXqt9yb02cXNy8X9Eg2RvdvbZEl65O2VUkcedI17aegPV0gCc8_-8pH0b3s5C1QJo0OQHWF_F8U14nJjMZimA-qQ186nn5vtmMBBzBya/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="417" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEYrv8W1Ryr8Zmz13cMiNoHkW6LJk2vTyOCjYhXqt9yb02cXNy8X9Eg2RvdvbZEl65O2VUkcedI17aegPV0gCc8_-8pH0b3s5C1QJo0OQHWF_F8U14nJjMZimA-qQ186nn5vtmMBBzBya/w255-h320/IMG_20200729_193456+%2528367x524%2529.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Heidi McEvoy Swift, graduated in Textiles, from Central St. Martins in 1985. She has since, worked as a motif and garment graphics designer, been a lecturer in textiles in FE, run workshops in various arts and crafts as well as taught sewing. On hindsight, Heidi says “ during my textile design course I made up handprinted or knitted fabrics into garments and should probably have actually studied fashion.” Originally from Liverpool, Heidi, her husband and two sons, now live in Suffolk, UK. Despite residing there for more than half her life, she confesses to not being “in love with the flat dry prairie like landscapes. Even though the “lack of rain is a distinct advantage to someone who would most happily be in sunshine all year round.” </div><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Website: www.mcevoyswift.com</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Instagram handle: @mcmcswift (aka Heidi McEvoy Swift)</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p><br /></p>Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-37465697299162685872020-10-06T15:06:00.012+05:302020-10-06T15:28:32.803+05:30Personal Threads: A Dentist Becomes a Crochet Artist, Guest Post by Monica Dalvi<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;">My love and passion for all things handcrafted goes way back to when I was a little girl. I remember melting my leftover wax crayon stubs and turning them into pretty candles. I also have wonderful memories of hand sewing little dresses for my dolls when I was twelve years old and vacationing with my aunt, my mother’s sister, in Pune. It was the summer vacation and I wanted to spend a few days with her and my cousins. My cousin taught me and my niece to sew the clothes for our dolls with little leftover scraps of fabric. I remember always being on the lookout for someone to teach me some form of needle-work. I learned <i>Kutchhi</i> embroidery from a neighbour. She had learnt it from a friend and was happy when I asked her if she would teach me how to do it as well.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjSk_iD5dYgiMfayX8ldSGn8n_7QsA7DL3gquCeISfWc10mq5DRbddpFlvkjE7fK-Gny-cUUKiN8ykSEI4-Ecb8ektlrdhQJEHsuzDx-itBmuMDjk9rcUoHMTg9UiBQxPiGvVQM2ukiIGz/s2048/kutch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjSk_iD5dYgiMfayX8ldSGn8n_7QsA7DL3gquCeISfWc10mq5DRbddpFlvkjE7fK-Gny-cUUKiN8ykSEI4-Ecb8ektlrdhQJEHsuzDx-itBmuMDjk9rcUoHMTg9UiBQxPiGvVQM2ukiIGz/w225-h400/kutch.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In a few years we moved to live in another town. A neighbour there used to crochet. She had an amazing trousseau made for her daughter with wonderful bedspreads that were so beautifully made. It was she who taught me how to crochet ,something that I will always be grateful for, as now I’m having the most wonderful time making crochet jewellery. In almost every home that we used to visit, I noticed some crochet item that was displayed. Usually made with white thread, this beautiful lace always fascinated me.Whether it was a table runner or a table cover, I longed to learn how to make them myself. And although I loved it all, I was interested later in life to give it a more non-traditional spin. And that’s how I thought of making crochet jewellery. I thought it was something unique yet at the same time using the traditional art.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When I was eighteen years old, there was a group of Rajasthani labourers assigned to do some pipework near our house. One of their wives would sit by our house embroidering the most beautiful <i>ghagra</i>. It was something she was making for herself. When asked whether she would teach me how to do it too and she was more than willing. She was happy that her work was appreciated. I learned to do mirror work embroidery from her. She was a good teacher and it only took me a couple of days to learn all the beautiful stitches. And soon I went on to embroider a <i>ghagra</i> for my sister who was then 24 years old then and one of her friends was to be married in Delhi. Her friend had gifted her an embroidered blouse and we decided to pair it off with a black <i>ghagra</i> embroidered with different colours. It took me about 2 months to finish it and my sister absolutely loved it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBx_CozKYt-KRIuhcCX1e-Geh2ru6GYj6Pw2sNSTLbFBTWTcfjlSRRPM8osi0IjAdJX6KnGJ5vizhqEKiHIu4aC0MBiqsjyqGMJvqGBu9DEIwmv8l_j1dlYUeters3yN_PgUK8BzIt8sZG/s2048/ghagra.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBx_CozKYt-KRIuhcCX1e-Geh2ru6GYj6Pw2sNSTLbFBTWTcfjlSRRPM8osi0IjAdJX6KnGJ5vizhqEKiHIu4aC0MBiqsjyqGMJvqGBu9DEIwmv8l_j1dlYUeters3yN_PgUK8BzIt8sZG/w225-h400/ghagra.jpg" width="225" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">However, despite my early learning, fascination and exposure to various forms of thread art, I had always dreamed of being a dentist. In this pursuit, I was inspired by the lady dentist who treated me when I was young. I was 15 and used to have several issues with my teeth and therefore a frequent visitor to the dentist. I loved how patient soft spoken she was, always putting me at ease, she had a gentle hand when working on my teeth. But, despite this vocational choice, all through my college years, I always had some art project going on too. Looking back I realise that craft and art was what helped me de-stress. It was a busy time with projects to submit in college and patients to see. Exams used to stress me out too. Working on an art project helped transport me into a different world. My fondest project was a kantha work saree project that took three years to complete. I would work on it when I would get time from my college work. I could usually work on it about 3 hours a day but when I had exams or other college projects the saree had to sadly be ignored. I first saw a kantha saree at a party we went to, where a friend’s mother was wearing one. I was fascinated by it and wanted to make one too. So we asked her if we could borrow it to look at it and see how the work was done. She was kind enough to do that.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlNG5CihCUjZ4priRU4KWQNYFdNmIT6MgTZzng_iOUuxDLulRv21CRwvB3fFefqZpD-8D5e5VnSoy5Ld6jfXpml92fzJfFMDYsJsygMCXFviqHMUg5in4PjTjQ5QoUGAVSMchalQx-Ly8/s2048/kantha.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlNG5CihCUjZ4priRU4KWQNYFdNmIT6MgTZzng_iOUuxDLulRv21CRwvB3fFefqZpD-8D5e5VnSoy5Ld6jfXpml92fzJfFMDYsJsygMCXFviqHMUg5in4PjTjQ5QoUGAVSMchalQx-Ly8/w225-h400/kantha.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When I got married, everyone was so sure I would have a huge trousseau made. But I had made nothing .Traditional embroidery on bed-sheets and pillows just didn’t seem to hold any appeal to me. After I was married, we moved to the US. Unfortunately, Indian dental degrees are not recognised there and I was unable to work. The only option I had was to study again for another three years. Something I wasn’t willing to do, as we meant to move back to India as soon as we possibly could. I was a full time homemaker and enjoying every moment of it. Even though I wasn’t a big foodie myself, I loved cooking new recipes. At that point, pretty much everything was new, as the kitchen was a domain that I hadn’t regularly visited before. But cooking used up only a little bit of time in the day. I learnt to drive and discovered the wonderful library in our city. I absolutely love to read and the well-stocked library was a dream come true. By accident, I also discovered a little club that the library hosted called the embroiderers club where women got together to share their love for sewing and needlework, and would sit and chat and work on their individual art /craft projects. They would get together twice a week and I looked forward to meeting them and get started on my own project. I had learned to cross stitch when I was in school and decided to start on a cross stitch project .The women from the group helped me improve my work by showing me how to be neater with my stitches. I was the youngest in the group and they were all so loving, kind and helpful. I was 23 years old at that time and the women were mostly in the age group of 55-75. I was pregnant with my first baby and made several little things in cross stitch for my baby’s room. I found really cute designs, on the internet, of baby animals which I made and framed to put up on the wall. I also cross-stitch baby book of animals, for my baby to learn from when he was older. It was hard for me to continue going to the club but I am left with really warm, lovely memories of my time there.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_mhGh-RxbZDAdWTzzy0Udl1ITOKjJL1dgymBCMzkrAomOHJHbz1pDpI0XmzLco_yWf5_Cqj5mK2MHtKFoH5lDGE7KUYWCXptA-ziz5AfoEvHEQ404cGicZTMJ_YWfJc6wNbSW6wblh3t/s2048/cross+stitch+frame2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_mhGh-RxbZDAdWTzzy0Udl1ITOKjJL1dgymBCMzkrAomOHJHbz1pDpI0XmzLco_yWf5_Cqj5mK2MHtKFoH5lDGE7KUYWCXptA-ziz5AfoEvHEQ404cGicZTMJ_YWfJc6wNbSW6wblh3t/w400-h400/cross+stitch+frame2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGC2c2OGl_qNOYRAFEfS_dVpwnZqkTMd6PHyCGT_rH4uk6DJtrlWkjChhTAsyJUotFLkUiPA9E8ze6Slu4YY7yXOm8YGziWcdTDZPPLamC6Ii8Ly5iDPOQ2Sp0FyaAwtjWAitFHJz-WbmR/s2048/cross+stitch+frames.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1982" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGC2c2OGl_qNOYRAFEfS_dVpwnZqkTMd6PHyCGT_rH4uk6DJtrlWkjChhTAsyJUotFLkUiPA9E8ze6Slu4YY7yXOm8YGziWcdTDZPPLamC6Ii8Ly5iDPOQ2Sp0FyaAwtjWAitFHJz-WbmR/w388-h400/cross+stitch+frames.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My baby boy was born in Sept 2002 and we named him Ved. It opened up a whole different world for me. New things to learn as a new mother and everything just kept me so busy. But I always found time to sew or embroider. I had my mom to help me through the first 5 months of motherhood. Luckily I was also blessed with a baby who was non-fussy and slept through the night. It was therefore quite easy to fall into a good routine and I would find time to do some sewing while the baby napped during the day. Growing up, I always saw my mother and my grandmother sewing different things. My mother would sew all our clothes for us. Wonderful creative dresses that she would see in magazines or in a movie and then recreate them for my sister and I. My grandmother would make us quilts. Traditional quilts made out of old well-worn cotton sarees called “<i>gozdis</i></span><span style="font-size: xx-large;">”</span><span style="font-size: xx-large;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">or</span></span><span style="font-size: xx-large;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“<i>godhadis</i>”.They would be layered and then hand sewn together. Soft and warm -a blanket of love. In Goa, the ladies from the Hindu community would wear the soft cotton nine yard saree. After a few years of use they would be converted into the quilt. Usually hand stitched, these quilts were made by layering the sarees together and had a hand stitched design in the body of the quilt to prevent the layers from separating out. My mother would tell me stories of how her grandfather, an artist, would draw the design on the centre of the quilt so his wife could then sew on. Typically, the design used to be in parallel lines or concentric circles or X’s all over the body. Unfortunately, this is now a dying art as younger women no longer wear the nine yard saree. So the tradition of making the <i>gozdis</i> has petered out with few people still making them, if that. Growing up, all my friends and youngsters of my generation had one made by their grandmother and these were what were used by everyone. Now with the availability of ready blankets and quilts, the <i>gozdis</i> are also not preferred. I must admit I haven't made one myself but it’s definitely on my to-do list.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Watching my mother and my grandmother always involved in sewing something or other nurtured that same passion in me. My mother was always so quick in her sewing work. She would make dresses for us within a couple of hours. Watching her use the machine I too learned how to use it and would help her at times. I wanted to sew things for my children too and carry on that legacy, so while in the US, I bought a sewing machine and started work. My baby was a year old and a lot of my friends now had babies too. I made quilts as gifts for my friends when they had babies. These were my very amateur attempts at quilting. I made one in the design that I had seen my grandmother make with triangular patches of fabric joined together. I made Halloween outfits for my kids. When my second baby Isha was born, two years after Ved, life got even busier. But sewing when I could, was something I looked forward to. I would find time when the kids were asleep or were busy playing. My kids loved Halloween and I loved making their costumes. A scarecrow costume for my son one year, a cat in the hat another year. A mermaid dress and an Egyptian mummy costume for my daughter.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33mekeFb0yugtlCbwjpYNN81sD2PSlXcNR9JXN70ATsaTjg-KAJ0GjF-KNS2zXm904Psdtyw3IhpvAY95xKga-z7utC0hC6Wt6OpdhTCAeSeZzfNFDk_jpWgGtRd5DizGbxdPY647naa8/s2048/halloween.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33mekeFb0yugtlCbwjpYNN81sD2PSlXcNR9JXN70ATsaTjg-KAJ0GjF-KNS2zXm904Psdtyw3IhpvAY95xKga-z7utC0hC6Wt6OpdhTCAeSeZzfNFDk_jpWgGtRd5DizGbxdPY647naa8/w400-h300/halloween.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The children kept me busy. And their illnesses kept me stressed. My son was diagnosed with nephrotic syndrome when he was two years old and two years later my daughter, aged two, developed asthma. This meant several years of sleepless nights, doctor visits, endless medications and frantic runs to the emergency room. Living in a foreign country with no family for support, dealing with a culture different to the one you were brought up in, with laws that you are not familiar with, all told, was a lot for me to contend with and it took its toll. My craft-work, my sewing projects were my happy place, my meditation. Making things for my children and my friends kept me sane. Cross-stitch was something I very much enjoyed doing. I made a beautiful design with the zodiac signs of the four of us in the family. We had it framed and it hung on the bedroom wall of the room that my husband and I shared. I loved this work as I felt it encapsulated the four of us, together as a family.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">We decided to move back to India in 2009, almost 10 years after we had first set foot in the USA. Our children were seven and five years old . They still got sick a lot but, I guess I learned to deal with it all better than when they were younger. The silver lining was that finally, I was going back home! My joy knew no bounds as I moved with the children back to our village Nerul in Goa, while my husband stayed on in the USA for a few more months to wind up all our affairs. I was thrilled to be back in Goa and decided to go back to my profession and begin my dental practice, which I had missed tremendously. In a few months though, once my husband moved back and started his job in Mumbai, we moved there. The kids started on a new routine, a new school and a whole new life. Unfortunately, what also followed was a new series of illnesses. The pollution in Mumbai was too much for their little bodies to handle. My son kept relapsing with his kidney disorder and developed asthma due to the pollution. My daughter too got sick with asthma. Too many missed school days and doctor visits kept me too occupied to be anything other than a full time mother. There was no way I would leave the kids to someone else’s care while I worked. My children needed me much more than I needed a career. I kept busy with several creative ideas - painted the children's room. I painted a garden on the wall for my daughter’s bedroom and a beach-side for my son’s.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">But, I missed my sewing . The machine I had in the US was an electric one and I wasn't sure how well it would work in India, so I had sold it before we moved back. I bought a new sewing machine and life was all right again. However, while shopping for some fabric and threads one day, I came across some crochet threads. I used to love to crochet when I was in school and it had been such a long time since I had done it last. I thought I must get my hands on some crochet needles and threads and make something unique - something other than traditional crochet items. Serendipitously, I came across pictures of crochet jewellery on the internet and fell in love with the concept and thus began my crochet journey. It’s been eight years since then. We moved back to our hometown of Goa six years ago. Our children, bigger now, are healthier. The unpolluted, wonderful sea air of Goa helped them heal. My son went into remission and no longer has kidney issues. Mercifully, there are no trips to the emergency rooms, no medications to keep track of, no specialists to visit, no middle of the night wheezing episodes. I sleep deeply and peacefully through the night. Not like earlier when I would wait with bated breath fearing a phone call from school to pick up my sick child. My mind is finally calm and I decided I now needed to do something more meaningful with my time, with my life. Something for me.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxn72fgR6rX-kGiOt1BbSiRlDTWJQFIQ3c247z7GpQw8tK12tED2NNnnwcCHESXtGJC3I8H4STBqxJCVSJbei-oV0iCqJp6kMa9xxzEQrqNoqvfo0sWijNCM1icfJFh1wffy9tLs_ZWVT/s680/crochet+pendant.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxn72fgR6rX-kGiOt1BbSiRlDTWJQFIQ3c247z7GpQw8tK12tED2NNnnwcCHESXtGJC3I8H4STBqxJCVSJbei-oV0iCqJp6kMa9xxzEQrqNoqvfo0sWijNCM1icfJFh1wffy9tLs_ZWVT/w331-h400/crochet+pendant.jpg" width="331" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I considered going back to being a dentist. But, you know how you had that one very best friend in school when you were ten years old but had lost all contact because you changed schools or she moved to a different city. Then, thanks to social media you find her again after thirty years, and can’t wait to meet her. Yet when you actually do ,that initial euphoria just fades off after a few minutes of catching up and you realise that bond is just not there anymore and rue that loss? Well, that is exactly how I felt. It had been fifteen years since I had last been a dentist . I missed it, but with so many years gone by without practicing my trade, I didn’t know how to be a dentist anymore. I tried to get back in touch but nothing was the same .The joy I once felt just wasn’t there. Art was now where my heart lay. I was the happiest with a needle and yarn in my hands. Dentistry is an art too, a skill which needs practice and I was out of practice. With my needles and yarn, it was stress free. I had had enough stress in my life. I decided it was time to pursue something that gave me peace of mind.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJV5N05cckAllM5-3v-ahmI46lx6ObHUWj-2Nl8M93vDSf0gjqJ1Nv4cFyHSsVarx1vfjE3nUZmWIL1RtZdUvuusft5vOHvth5RIR3ccbGwUCgmT9JSjSQYGbrpbG5BrTFo8F3RGbx7bb_/s1280/crochet+necklace.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJV5N05cckAllM5-3v-ahmI46lx6ObHUWj-2Nl8M93vDSf0gjqJ1Nv4cFyHSsVarx1vfjE3nUZmWIL1RtZdUvuusft5vOHvth5RIR3ccbGwUCgmT9JSjSQYGbrpbG5BrTFo8F3RGbx7bb_/w266-h400/crochet+necklace.jpg" width="266" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I started on my crochet jewellery journey making earrings. With all the appreciation I received, my work evolved to include pendants and necklaces. I also made coasters. While I enjoyed my crochet, I also missed sewing. So I tried to think of what I could make with fabric that was innovative and new. I started to make fabric toys. People loved these and so my range of toys increased. Over the years I always tried to include something new in my crafts. I then started to make cross stitch jewellery. With it came more appreciation and I couldn't have been happier. With the kids now almost independent, I have so much time for my creative pursuits. My son will be eighteen this year and my daughter 16. They are still dependent on me for a few things but compared to when they were little and we were in the US, I have so much more time now. They also help me with my crafts. My daughter has an artistic bent and helps me with the designing. They both give me an honest critique of my craft. That involvement makes me enjoy my work even more. My mother is also my sounding board and helps me with my work .We spend many hours together working on projects. The joys of being home!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK31mnq0BTW0uSHmP0KxX95EBEvddQ2rxBMHtF9KaJ6amGj7UNSGvIKnwM_Th12kgOC3Bx9i-BRPQChZrnNgMOgh1BU9QjYmqfiekMLKf5rpwyHjubYWPM65Lu9jlsGkBbiyNPqOPTeh2r/s1080/cross+st+pendant2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1062" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK31mnq0BTW0uSHmP0KxX95EBEvddQ2rxBMHtF9KaJ6amGj7UNSGvIKnwM_Th12kgOC3Bx9i-BRPQChZrnNgMOgh1BU9QjYmqfiekMLKf5rpwyHjubYWPM65Lu9jlsGkBbiyNPqOPTeh2r/s320/cross+st+pendant2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When I started my craft journey in 2014 there was not much that I knew about the crafters groups in Goa. At an exhibition, I met Aira, who introduced me to a lot of artists and groups and has played a pivotal role in my growth as an artist .Together we connected to a lot of fellow hand-crafters and for the last three years conduct craft fairs that showcase work of craftspeople who specialise in handcrafted items. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzfx58uiu_Xvt0Wl6xErlAwWOLL618U8zS_nKqeet3Q-LiEI5ouwgYNsVrhn9dl7W6QpnEZ-FuH8_OtlBtZ4Jb9nznPUZRo_om3tSa28iTipofT6mrD_-SrNeten3YpKH4ejA4J7tF7nT/s1280/cross+st+pendant.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzfx58uiu_Xvt0Wl6xErlAwWOLL618U8zS_nKqeet3Q-LiEI5ouwgYNsVrhn9dl7W6QpnEZ-FuH8_OtlBtZ4Jb9nznPUZRo_om3tSa28iTipofT6mrD_-SrNeten3YpKH4ejA4J7tF7nT/w266-h400/cross+st+pendant.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-cJhbL9M7f6UoCfM8zo8iPMiC_N-BiASD6zjs9yWCw2AsU9T5Ew-fJMbm9C5UGQMO-WUbg5gOpf-j3TlzFe9a2xqnJERlbON0ZReuXSni7wz9BfJrAzBZoAGCTKS8raI2fYi5tqf6PqFO/s712/IMG_20200803_222015+bio+pic.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="436" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-cJhbL9M7f6UoCfM8zo8iPMiC_N-BiASD6zjs9yWCw2AsU9T5Ew-fJMbm9C5UGQMO-WUbg5gOpf-j3TlzFe9a2xqnJERlbON0ZReuXSni7wz9BfJrAzBZoAGCTKS8raI2fYi5tqf6PqFO/w123-h200/IMG_20200803_222015+bio+pic.jpg" width="123" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Monica Dalvi, a former dentist by profession, is presently an artist by passion and a full-time mother. Residing in Goa, India - the world's best place to call home. I love all forms of needlework; embroidery, crochet, cross-stitch. And look forward to learning many more forms of needle art. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://instagram.com/monica.s.dalvi?igshid=1pi4cdvfqnzrf" target="_blank"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: blue; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">https://instagram.com/monica.s.dalvi?igshid=1pi4cdvfqnzrf</span></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 70.9pt; margin-right: 34.0pt; margin-top: 14.0pt; tab-stops: 439.45pt 552.85pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-64443630589494841832019-09-06T15:26:00.000+05:302020-05-04T12:33:55.481+05:30Personal Threads : Blessings From a Grandmother, Guest Post by Ina Puri<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My dearest Samaira,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Long before you read about the fabled Pokkhiraaj - the winged horse that is believed to have magical powers to fight evil, you will own an exquisitely embroidered kantha that will narrate many a story. Tales of valour, romance and enchantment. When your great-grandmother, your father’s Nani Konchi, started stitching the kantha, it was for her grandson Arjun, your father. We were in Baharampur, Murshidabad, where my grandparents lived in a rambling house filled with books and memories. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7tpyRNQ0vVqaWQTHW20yLuX_Nx7Ejb88_l3TAd-FQW7rMX0Qi1oS3qRHbjiFXVK06uskK6Wc56JkasdkaXNvdRX2ERurX-SPQZ871Xbs3X5nk09wuOYevNPRemj7OYdrnpT3Wpdw0eT8/s1600/e0f04976-936f-4fec-b872-35a5812ad770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7tpyRNQ0vVqaWQTHW20yLuX_Nx7Ejb88_l3TAd-FQW7rMX0Qi1oS3qRHbjiFXVK06uskK6Wc56JkasdkaXNvdRX2ERurX-SPQZ871Xbs3X5nk09wuOYevNPRemj7OYdrnpT3Wpdw0eT8/s400/e0f04976-936f-4fec-b872-35a5812ad770.JPG" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ina with her son Arjun</td></tr>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">It is hardly mentioned now, but the British East India Company started its journey from Murshidabad which was the capital of pre-British Bengal, and Bankim Chandra Chatterjee who composed the famed ‘Vande Mataram’, wrote his epic ‘Anandamath’ sitting on the banks of the Bhagirathi that flows through our very own Baharampur. In fact, Kashida, the exquisite silk embroidery on cotton was at one time exported exclusively from Bengal, its main centres around Dhaka and Murshidabad. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7b_b-RNDPRrw6Fz79AxUZtQaf6iCZA9dQkMCCA1r5R2n9fgOSSYt50HdmJ6QPWinzC3EuMkjcPv4N_UpmyT-vHekJOwbnyAP-bXorqyXCQPGb-73FYsESGNsV89ODEnFUMnThf-ixUQ5/s1600/tn_balposh+Quilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7b_b-RNDPRrw6Fz79AxUZtQaf6iCZA9dQkMCCA1r5R2n9fgOSSYt50HdmJ6QPWinzC3EuMkjcPv4N_UpmyT-vHekJOwbnyAP-bXorqyXCQPGb-73FYsESGNsV89ODEnFUMnThf-ixUQ5/s200/tn_balposh+Quilt.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A Balaposh</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Those days, I was looking for a Balaposh – a yearning for that subtly fragrant, soft and comforting quilt. Although it is a quilt, the only quilting stitches are on the edges. It was a speciality of the artisans of Murshidabad, made by craftspeople known to our family. The Balaposh is traditionally layered, with ‘attar scented’ cotton, infolded between two fabrics of silk cloth, and sewn at the edges. It was first made in the Mughal era on request by Nawab Shujauddin Muhammad Khan who commissioned a quilt “soft like wool, warm like a lap, and gentle like a flower.” </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDkbFKkIfI_1n1tWXKDphMtJzZZQi5mfVo7lu8A4OzB2cqmPGWEwSEWVo8AYvU2H3rFIq9YFrevgXWAClaJx5SD4nueX4qYjA6OuxIkDhrZeA3MdXXwszM73ZPBABWX3zw8SV84f1_MrG0/s1600/Indian-Medlar-768x455+-+Bakul+Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="377" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDkbFKkIfI_1n1tWXKDphMtJzZZQi5mfVo7lu8A4OzB2cqmPGWEwSEWVo8AYvU2H3rFIq9YFrevgXWAClaJx5SD4nueX4qYjA6OuxIkDhrZeA3MdXXwszM73ZPBABWX3zw8SV84f1_MrG0/s640/Indian-Medlar-768x455+-+Bakul+Tree.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Flowering Bakul Tree (Indian Medlar)</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">On days that I stepped out, in search of a one, my mother (your great-grandmother) would sit in the garden, under the fragrant flowering Bakul tree (Indian Medlar or Bulletwood tree), stitching away. The evenings stretched long and as we, on my mother's side of the family shared stories and anecdotes amongst ourselves, to while away the hours, Ma would spread out the silk cloth -a smallish, baby-sized quilt length, and fill in the imaginary squares which she had, probably, already marked out in her mind. The box with different coloured silk threads and needles by her side, she would carry on stitching even when the lanterns and candles were brought out, during the daily power cuts. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXN7V8_as8nTP9GzfYgr6wvAuq_7vARsnXWdPsmu7zS7wkynCI3OXbpt4WtAbnhMwa6RLNtU1Pl1RkgM7QGUaYmRi6GYj3VqCYNjQor5UcJgxOB1PFik36bqQtj3goDyzNKSNmc41rESK/s1600/IMG_3294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXN7V8_as8nTP9GzfYgr6wvAuq_7vARsnXWdPsmu7zS7wkynCI3OXbpt4WtAbnhMwa6RLNtU1Pl1RkgM7QGUaYmRi6GYj3VqCYNjQor5UcJgxOB1PFik36bqQtj3goDyzNKSNmc41rESK/s640/IMG_3294.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Konchi's Kantha, Hand sewn for her grandson Arjun</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">It was a time I recollect with fondness, when our family, spanning generations - my maternal grandparents, mashis (aunts) and cousins, all gathered at our ancestral home in Murshidabad, just to be together. It had been an uncharacteristically cold February that particular year, some thirty years ago, but the room was warm and alive with conversations and laughter. We begged Boro Mashi (Mahasweta Devi) to tell us one of her famous ghost stories and huddled close, as she obliged. Outside, the night was full of mysterious shadows, lit occasionally, by the dancing fireflies. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzj4AsbF07-ZrFky5_3h8jUbv96H2Xk7FHPiHnocCf8UBUYltEonpurFOdwFkNXiwFCl030s3t0XVdABUhNVO4Gr_qTMQ_dTFH7yKrD-h_27gX_5BxbUkJkbiCZEwTzZTn4E7qvTkOP0Xd/s1600/Bhai+PhoNta+or+Bhai+Dooj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzj4AsbF07-ZrFky5_3h8jUbv96H2Xk7FHPiHnocCf8UBUYltEonpurFOdwFkNXiwFCl030s3t0XVdABUhNVO4Gr_qTMQ_dTFH7yKrD-h_27gX_5BxbUkJkbiCZEwTzZTn4E7qvTkOP0Xd/s400/Bhai+PhoNta+or+Bhai+Dooj.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ina with her cousin, mother and aunt Mahashweta Devi, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">who is doing the alpana</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Do you know, as long as I can remember, kanthas have always been a part of our household. A light blanket which was ideal for summer or monsoon nights, was usually made by the women who specialized in the art and turned discarded and worn-out sarees into a beautifully embroidered quilt. It was worked with the myriad stitches of kantha needlework. The main distinguishing feature of a kantha was the pattern created by the concurrent lines of running stitch, sewn in white thread securing together the layers of cloth, which gave the surface a textured, rippled feel. If the designate purpose was to use the cloth as a regular covering, this puckering quilted surface was left unadorned but, if it was designed as a wall hanging or stole, then the kantha-maker would embroider it with motifs that were artistic and imaginative. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazYOwY2F6wi2o8SYFspx7ZbKjfFjhI_u9-oqz86BRld4Kp3MZ0PHMScmwXCYZn9qEOLs5vmuiecx3yjE5Bxt36hYKlUgXDz8DeUxYZNQkWlaDVQG6XQNFz3DmOTTvi5xA8FfufL3ULQh2/s1600/IMG_3297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazYOwY2F6wi2o8SYFspx7ZbKjfFjhI_u9-oqz86BRld4Kp3MZ0PHMScmwXCYZn9qEOLs5vmuiecx3yjE5Bxt36hYKlUgXDz8DeUxYZNQkWlaDVQG6XQNFz3DmOTTvi5xA8FfufL3ULQh2/s400/IMG_3297.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Detail of Konchi's Kantha</span></td></tr>
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</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">My grandmother (your great-great-grandmother) told us that the earliest reference to kantha in Bengali literature date back to the verses in Charyapadas (8th to the 11th centuries CE) They are a collection of mystical poems, in the Vajrayana tradition of Buddhism, derived from the tantric tradition during the Pala Empire in Ancient Assam, Bengal, Bihar, Orissa. It was written in an ‘Abahatta’ (evolving language) that was the ancestor of Bengali and other Eastern Indo-Aryan languages, and is said to be the oldest collection of verses written in those languages. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlzd1Tzfg_mjxR_DhurKNdwtKQaTtUUd6n7T9tUd-YYN0Ydbvx1cKVLsYbqw6YhTj3S3oyS-DcHoVAKr8NZ17iyGrKR8AZllxQU27pNYbxBpi6F3oaBKDBq7ix3xCVK4k0MvFChfrA0yY/s1600/IMG_2742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlzd1Tzfg_mjxR_DhurKNdwtKQaTtUUd6n7T9tUd-YYN0Ydbvx1cKVLsYbqw6YhTj3S3oyS-DcHoVAKr8NZ17iyGrKR8AZllxQU27pNYbxBpi6F3oaBKDBq7ix3xCVK4k0MvFChfrA0yY/s400/IMG_2742.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The family celebrating Bhai PhoNta </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">or Bhai Dooj</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7tpyRNQ0vVqaWQTHW20yLuX_Nx7Ejb88_l3TAd-FQW7rMX0Qi1oS3qRHbjiFXVK06uskK6Wc56JkasdkaXNvdRX2ERurX-SPQZ871Xbs3X5nk09wuOYevNPRemj7OYdrnpT3Wpdw0eT8/s1600/e0f04976-936f-4fec-b872-35a5812ad770.JPG" imageanchor="1"></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">A fleeting hush would descend when Didima spoke about the history of Bengal, its textiles or customs. The younger people in the room would find it especially fascinating to know that Baharampur had such a rich heritage. We had all visited the historic ‘Hazarduari’ or a ‘palace with a thousand doors’ with our grandparents, built on the lands of the demolished fort Kila Nizamat which stood on the banks of the Bhagirathi River, in Murshidabad. And, with the pride of true Bengali’s our hearts had thrilled to hear about the bravery and courage of Siraj ud-Daullah, the last independent Nawab of Bengal, who, deceived by his own men, faced the British cavalry fiercely, armed with a mere sword, in the decisive ‘Battle of Plassey’. The end of his reign marked the start of British East India Company rule over Bengal and subsequently the Indian Subcontinent. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4_Ho8oI4prtgSCKsHtF9DEGaR4fTP70BHWYxXD-3q_kyjP6stQW8he_u-GT4er3D7u2GcTJsnJB1_btHmoamtdxOoW7TwUMLsOX_O72tlIL2bbd7q2TGeBOvSaMI93acNcKmt4MR4WMs/s1600/Fort_at_Baharampur%252C_West_Bengal%252C_c_1850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4_Ho8oI4prtgSCKsHtF9DEGaR4fTP70BHWYxXD-3q_kyjP6stQW8he_u-GT4er3D7u2GcTJsnJB1_btHmoamtdxOoW7TwUMLsOX_O72tlIL2bbd7q2TGeBOvSaMI93acNcKmt4MR4WMs/s640/Fort_at_Baharampur%252C_West_Bengal%252C_c_1850.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fort Bahrampur, on the banks of the River Bhagirathi</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">While the conversations flowed through the evening, Ma worked on her kantha completely lost to the world. Who can tell, what was going on in her mind. I would ask myself, if she was imagining a conversation with her yet to be born grandson. In front of her, the Kantha she was embroidering was getting more and more elaborate every day, a magical fairyland inhabited with serpents, dancing peacocks, flowers and fruits, alphabets, nursery rhymes and board games with knots and crosses. In one corner, there were even the fabled birds familiar to us from our favourite bedtime storybook ‘ ‘Thakurmar Jhuli’, the Byangoma and Byangomi.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIjFoMIc4otdCykzFh5PkRip9ezX8-elrxqwgh8TTPWudSw_sUhvUWvQuH-3QYhm7F9ApmaDTteAHLGx6TGv8sbiicfMtqrG9rDM_cBg9OLwqzUMqNj_bvA45luYYLNqoZHP7D-9q4L95/s1600/IMG_3298+part+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIjFoMIc4otdCykzFh5PkRip9ezX8-elrxqwgh8TTPWudSw_sUhvUWvQuH-3QYhm7F9ApmaDTteAHLGx6TGv8sbiicfMtqrG9rDM_cBg9OLwqzUMqNj_bvA45luYYLNqoZHP7D-9q4L95/s400/IMG_3298+part+1.jpg" width="376" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Another detail from Konchi's Kantha</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> Samaira, wait till you are a little older, we will read these stories together and look at the pictures of all these enchanted creatures.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGyQME_Of8Au9B_hdig-14W_PwNg_0JkBywbIMaJHVIHxRHlCHbl3g9SRU_yzItvGsYj4cNcewRx_c7uS0rv7Uoj5Xv6x-skpRAW-GZgbERRFt5_5ar1_eAsuLZDceNgi2jlQCOcj7rP_/s1600/IMG_2745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGyQME_Of8Au9B_hdig-14W_PwNg_0JkBywbIMaJHVIHxRHlCHbl3g9SRU_yzItvGsYj4cNcewRx_c7uS0rv7Uoj5Xv6x-skpRAW-GZgbERRFt5_5ar1_eAsuLZDceNgi2jlQCOcj7rP_/s400/IMG_2745.jpg" width="355" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Arjun</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">When I look at this kantha today, those soft folds that once swathed my infant son, following the layout with more focussed attention, I realize that what makes it so original is that Ma followed her own instincts when it came to the design. Creating a composition that was intimate yet visually appealing. We were aware that most conventional kanthas have a basic pattern that is common to them - a lotus at the centre embellished by vines of plants and motifs taken from old and worn sari borders. The four corners usually have the tree of life patterns that lead to the centre, with the ornamentations drawn from nature or mythologies. Images of goddesses are popular and Lakshmi is the one deity who remains a perennial favourite - her footprints symbolically represented through patterns of alpana. Newly married wives were known to show off their embroidery skills by making elaborate kanthas for their husbands, interspersed with lines of romantic poetry. In contrast, Ma’s creativity was uniquely her own personal language.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoWO05JBoBz7PVys1YZcucDEoGL83vzxumftKodr71Kc7Yoyzmqq-Bw7hFOgSa5ECKVf7imjnLghCVO3eWPAMBfQWYq136A2AEcZ_LbPQgWgJH39D60vRjbztokuqUVZz-M9BqbZdvwlt/s1600/Dharitri+Devi+%2526+Manish+Ghatak.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoWO05JBoBz7PVys1YZcucDEoGL83vzxumftKodr71Kc7Yoyzmqq-Bw7hFOgSa5ECKVf7imjnLghCVO3eWPAMBfQWYq136A2AEcZ_LbPQgWgJH39D60vRjbztokuqUVZz-M9BqbZdvwlt/s400/Dharitri+Devi+%2526+Manish+Ghatak.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Manish Ghatak with his wife Dharitri Devi, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ina's maternal grandparents</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">You would have enjoyed her company, Samaira. Ma was born to an illustrious family; her mother was Dharitri Devi and her father, the distinguished litterateur Manish Ghatak. He was a poet and novelist of the Kallol era (one of the most influential literary movements in Bengali literature), who used to write under the pen name ‘Jubanashwa’. Her eldest sister was the brilliant writer and activist Mahasweta Devi who studied in Shantiniketan. But, she was a strict disciplinarian when she came home for the holidays, keeping the large brood of younger siblings under a stringent regime. While the rest behaved, Ma was hauled up constantly. She was said to be extremely mischievous and was always getting into trouble. In her youth, she was a striking beauty with a fiercely independent mind, who stood up for what she believed was just and right. While her siblings went about their lives establishing themselves in diverse ways, Ma concentrated on her music. And as she grew older, she developed her other skills, like stitching, cooking and making alpana. She had just about started enjoying her life away from Baharampur, at her maternal uncle, the renowned sculptor, Sankho Chowdhury’s home in Baroda, where she was learning music, when her parents decided to marry her off to an eminent suitor, they considered suitable for her. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsO9jB5nUonrIoZJXo5FujcZsWto6Yp73NYLvt6WAT_KBPghfVhmBIngc5YxkiXqubv0kdBpNMiLGozm_my-5b0ywinbAO5vhynDvO8fyE9ZtyzUvpNhmtsIupCJTh-KuOoFA2Lojh0sRo/s1600/IMG_2744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsO9jB5nUonrIoZJXo5FujcZsWto6Yp73NYLvt6WAT_KBPghfVhmBIngc5YxkiXqubv0kdBpNMiLGozm_my-5b0ywinbAO5vhynDvO8fyE9ZtyzUvpNhmtsIupCJTh-KuOoFA2Lojh0sRo/s400/IMG_2744.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ina's mother Konchi</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">No matter how tough life turned out to be, in later years, she never submitted to defeat and remained her indomitable self, full of spunk and laughter. Had she continued her studies in music, who knows, she might even have been a musician of distinction today. Yet, destiny had other plans for her, a life she lived with her entire being. Remaining till the end, unvanquished.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Another detail of Konchi's Kantha</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Samaira, this embroidered cloth is a repository of song and words of poetry that came alive as she embroidered the squares, almost a delicate memoir of her recollections and desires. While she continued to stitch even after making this one for Arjun, she never made another quite so intricate or exquisite. Someday, when you are older, read this story when you look at the kantha. Imagine the life that was, imagine the hands that held the fabric and fingers that lovingly sewed, carrying forth a tradition of our native Bengal<span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ina with her mother</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"> If Ma were around, I know she would want to add just another frame, of a little girl with shiny eyes and curly hair, laughing hard. Of you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">With all my love,<br />Your fond Dadi, Ina</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYGFb5N4anx_ChmeVxWm_3mJ0qnWUYEpQRSt5kfHYr9W75F8Y7nurdBhhjPfMreRGTt3JcOmhSry2pko3ADmdDZw98hkiUkRsl5rKwqKx2BBfKw9-EVaI7DDZ7lo7Rt_3qk1SVULpK-QX/s1600/Ina%252Cprofile+pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYGFb5N4anx_ChmeVxWm_3mJ0qnWUYEpQRSt5kfHYr9W75F8Y7nurdBhhjPfMreRGTt3JcOmhSry2pko3ADmdDZw98hkiUkRsl5rKwqKx2BBfKw9-EVaI7DDZ7lo7Rt_3qk1SVULpK-QX/s200/Ina%252Cprofile+pic.JPG" width="135" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Ina Puri is a writer, biographer, art curator and collector. She is the author of several books, including In Black & White (a biography of Manjit Bawa), Faces of Indian Art (iconic artists seen through the lens of Nemai Ghosh) and Journey with a Hundred Strings (on the music and life of Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma). She produced Meeting Manjit, a film on Bawa, her friend and collaborator, which won the National Award. She currently occupies the position of Editor at Art Varta and has recently published a pictorial memoir on Pt. Shiv Kumar Sharma entitled, The Man and His Music. Ina’s three-decade-long engagement with the arts embraces everything from tribal art and folk theatre to contemporary performing arts, visual arts and literature. She lives in Gurgaon with her husband, Ravi, and canine soulmate, Leyla.</span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-74889262009354754002018-10-13T12:12:00.003+05:302018-10-16T10:58:05.497+05:30Personal Threads: I Stitch To Pray. Guest post by Reverend Annabel Barber<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;">Journal and sketch-book covers (on the theme of the sea) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">made in 2018, using cotton fabric coloured using ‘inktense’ blocks, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">shells, sheer fabric, threads, sequins and glass beads. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Techniques include piecing, applique, couching, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">hand-stitching, and machine quilting</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Quilting. There’s a word that breathes life into my soul! The piecing together of fragments and leftovers to make something ‘new’ and beautiful. I am not an artist. I stitch to pray and to grapple with scripture (like Jacob, ‘I will not let you go until you bless me!’). I experiment and, as with all experiments, I learn from those that don’t work, which become the unfinished, the UFOs that sometimes haunt me.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Me as a baby in a dress my godmother </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">hand-made and hand-smocked for me.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />I was born in a home for unmarried mothers in the late 1950s. I write this sentence knowing that it doesn’t convey the pain, shame and cruelty my birth mother endured. At six weeks old I was removed from every trace of her and my heritage, and given a completely different life, on a Lincolnshire farm. The fields around me formed a changing patchwork of colours, green in spring, apart from the beautiful wild golden fields of daffodils, growing in the flat Dutch-like landscape. In autumn the vista changed to the golden-white of the ripe corn, and then the rich red brown of newly turned fertile soil after ploughing. Maybe that’s why I spend my time diligently piecing a colourful patchwork of fabric together!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRzZ7mI5szWm8FMNVMs7XsMRCA-L3E1higCqTccTNaznLa8Uf73hZW9j-IiFIXTYvxw2esO4bWoZ9HcPH4gok_2RHa7DSgfWjMHsuNrfrUYhMtB6X2Uwqqimwq3OginVeDdA0_-IUWArH/s1600/3.+IMG_0588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1593" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRzZ7mI5szWm8FMNVMs7XsMRCA-L3E1higCqTccTNaznLa8Uf73hZW9j-IiFIXTYvxw2esO4bWoZ9HcPH4gok_2RHa7DSgfWjMHsuNrfrUYhMtB6X2Uwqqimwq3OginVeDdA0_-IUWArH/s400/3.+IMG_0588.jpg" width="396" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The Path to Heaven, Wall-hanging. 2013/14 </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">after a quilt retreat in Colorado led by Ricky Tims. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Made using hand dyed cotton, hand-dyed silk velvet, and beads. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Techniques used include applique, piecing, hand and machine quilting,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> hand and machine embroidery and hand beading. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">When I show my quilts (mainly to church groups, those I hope will ‘get’ something of what I am trying to do), I am always asked two questions: ‘How long does it take to make one of these?’ And ‘How did you first start quilting?’ The first question is unanswerable. Each project takes my whole life, and everything I have experienced, sometimes I cannot finish a project for years because I haven’t yet acquired the skills I need for it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The Path to Heaven (close-up) . 2013/14 .</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">But it is easy to explain how I started. I remind my audience of ‘Golden Hands’, a long-running series of UK magazines from the 1960s and 70s. These magazines (cheaply bought in bulk from the local newsagent when they were out-of-date), with their clear instructions and good illustrations were my teachers, along with my adoptive mother, who was an exquisite needlewoman and knitter. She had been orphaned at 16, and mainly picked up her skills from friends and their mothers. It enabled them all to creatively make more of their ration coupons during the Second World War. She lived in lodgings for some years before her marriage, having moved from the urban sprawl of Bradford to the small Lincolnshire town of Louth to be near her older brother. One particularly talented friend of hers became my godmother, and made beautiful smocked dresses to celebrate my arrival in the family. As a child. I didn’t have the patience to master my mother’s skills, too fond of time spent with my head in a book! And I was always one for speed over accuracy – she described my dress-making as ‘blowing things together’! Living on a farm everything had a practical purpose, no cross-stitch samplers for us! I sewed to make clothes. Patchwork was putting leftover scraps and bits from the rag-bag together – not that I actually made much with them, they were ongoing projects, a bit like life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Loaves and Fishes wall-hanging, 2012 . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Exhibited at the 2013 Sacred Threads exhibition in Virginia (USA). </span></div>
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This quilt shows the loaves and fishes from the feeding of the 5000, </div>
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one of the greatest miracles. Christ takes the simple food a child offers, </div>
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blesses it and feeds those who are hungry. We each have our gifts, </div>
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our loaves and fishes that can feed the world, both physically </div>
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and spiritually. But it takes courage to offer something of ourselves,</div>
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to come to Jesus and give him what we have and allow him to use it for others.</div>
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And too often our society seems to be saying “But I want a burger and fries, </div>
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not loaves and fish!” Using cotton, mixed fibres, sequins and lace. </div>
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Techniques used include applique, piecing, hand and machine quilting. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Life. Which took me away from the farm and the countryside. Which made me choose between art, English, and science. At 18, in 1977, I chose science, went to University in Leeds to do a BSc in Pharmacology, and then into a job in science publishing. At least I could be creative with the use of words, and this was the closest I could get to stitching together the disparate drivers in my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Loaves and Fishes wall-hanging, 2012 . close-up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Using cotton, mixed fibres, sequins and lace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Techniques used include applique, piecing, hand and machine quilting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">But what about faith? That I certainly didn’t get from my adoptive family, who were occasional reluctant attenders at church at best. But it has always been the foundation, the bedrock of my life. As a child from the age of seven I used to walk to where the long drive of the adjacent farm ended, to be collected for church and Sunday School in the local town. I remember my surprise when I began to realise that not everyone talked with God as I did. Even as a child I made my own rituals to keep me safe.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDWc0l_BFdGxosWTBleSpkr71jMiEPFwKoO3Q-VMVcC6Lt3tl4fG4ojQBIK8VvV3A9A3j3QBgDlPXFwtSLkKaBUkt6diDnuDSxUXNvMGyisir3HcaYuLAG73FfZb0y_d6Abt-PcZnKr6e/s1600/11.+IMG_0441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="1600" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDWc0l_BFdGxosWTBleSpkr71jMiEPFwKoO3Q-VMVcC6Lt3tl4fG4ojQBIK8VvV3A9A3j3QBgDlPXFwtSLkKaBUkt6diDnuDSxUXNvMGyisir3HcaYuLAG73FfZb0y_d6Abt-PcZnKr6e/s640/11.+IMG_0441.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Detail from a quilt made for the school where my daughter taught. Begun in 2008, finished in 2017. I wanted the children to have something comforting to cuddle under in their ‘Reading corner’. Cotton, machine pieced and quilted.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I grew up, married, and our family grew with our first child being born in 1988. My sewing kept me (relatively) sane, and then in 1993 we went to Texas. The (UK) Cambridge-based company my husband worked for wanted him to relocate to Austin, so when he was needed in the US for the launch of a project the family went too, to experience first-hand a little of what living in America was like. My two older children were three and five, and it wasn’t an easy visit until I met the quilters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: small;">Detail
from wall-hanging of Jonah in the belly of the Whale </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: small;">made in 2016. It was made
as my response to the Biblical </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: small;">story of Jonah being swallowed by the whale.
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cotton hand-dyed material, beads. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">T<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">echniques are machine quilting and hand
sewing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I had braved the Austin traffic to drive to a Quilter’s Guild meeting to hear Doreen Speckman speak. A wonderful evening, and beautiful, inspiring quilts. Everyone was kind, but I was shy and out of my depth. At the end of the evening, I inadvertently left through the wrong door and, disoriented, couldn’t find where I had parked my car. An enormous white Cadillac drew up alongside me, driven by a very small lady who could just about see over the steering wheel. With her help I found, not only my car, but laughter and loving friends who sustained me during the rest of the visit. My remaining time in Austin was swept into sewing days with my new-found friends, who even lent me a Singer Featherweight to use during my visit. I still have the ‘watercolour’ quilt pieced on that machine. They shared fabric with me, and taught me about American strip-piecing. They were greatly amused by my Laura Ashley fabric laboriously pieced over paper hexagons, which really wasn’t the ‘done’ thing in 1990s America.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdbxj_uMuD_Utbr2ktCPTWPK7idPnvsxvK7hTZw_jlm1Lf2b2vnV1uVZYdIFF4YPlTTesBnhW25qqPxdMX8g_1mXcjKCzSix7vNVIGF6mmRWvLNEKZU8-M_FSS9P-gVRkh13N0UMYcWex/s1600/13.+Baby+quilt+made+for+a+church+fund-raiser+%25282017%2529.+Cotton+fabric%252C+machine+pieced+and+quilted..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1540" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdbxj_uMuD_Utbr2ktCPTWPK7idPnvsxvK7hTZw_jlm1Lf2b2vnV1uVZYdIFF4YPlTTesBnhW25qqPxdMX8g_1mXcjKCzSix7vNVIGF6mmRWvLNEKZU8-M_FSS9P-gVRkh13N0UMYcWex/s400/13.+Baby+quilt+made+for+a+church+fund-raiser+%25282017%2529.+Cotton+fabric%252C+machine+pieced+and+quilted..jpg" width="385" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baby quilt made for a church fund-raiser (2017). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Cotton fabric, machine pieced and quilted.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">After a few months, I came back to the UK having realised that I was too European to thrive in America. There’s quite a gap between the pioneering spirit of America, and the deep historic rootedness that I had discovered in myself. During our visit, I reacted by becoming more English as the days went on, and was in danger of demanding cucumber sandwiches with my Earl Grey tea at 5.00pm each day! But I came back having been well and truly bitten by the patchwork bug. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAZGtgb04DH6ABNhYRgFDFOCF2TMYVWWOPQ-par4Qsgc_9HhyeXlJa7glG7H-p3jFhIKHp8ThbPIMkKwiri70elHoVaE5MgJDxHi3PiMOO1qZo2wVEWZz5lei2Z-R01nnazVF1Raop_GI/s1600/12.+IMG_0575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1258" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAZGtgb04DH6ABNhYRgFDFOCF2TMYVWWOPQ-par4Qsgc_9HhyeXlJa7glG7H-p3jFhIKHp8ThbPIMkKwiri70elHoVaE5MgJDxHi3PiMOO1qZo2wVEWZz5lei2Z-R01nnazVF1Raop_GI/s400/12.+IMG_0575.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">In 1995 I enrolled on a 2-year, City and Guilds adult-education course on Patchwork and Quilting, learning technique after technique, grappling with art and design, and ignoring the lectures on colour (I value my innate colour sense, and didn’t want to be ‘taught out’ of using my instincts). My third child arrived early, just before I finished the course, and I patched and pieced my chaotic life together. I pieced through a sudden move from Cambridge to York. I sewed through loneliness of being uprooted from a village to city living, and medical emergencies that spiralled as my both my father and mother’s health deteriorated, and my brother had a liver transplant. And then I began training as a Spiritual Director.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSguQn-99sgmGf_ahj0OfSTO7UK6vO1-2faNACS-q3GE2EzGOIWSwt7Oz2YufCFEtrpvde3jM0zgHoIth_QyhaFljrkQXyFwvB72-obAPUqQNcLRlNs3OyKA27KD1o0CbZSDBhgAokyFn/s1600/16.+IMG_0506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1600" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSguQn-99sgmGf_ahj0OfSTO7UK6vO1-2faNACS-q3GE2EzGOIWSwt7Oz2YufCFEtrpvde3jM0zgHoIth_QyhaFljrkQXyFwvB72-obAPUqQNcLRlNs3OyKA27KD1o0CbZSDBhgAokyFn/s400/16.+IMG_0506.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mandala wall-hanging created during Ann Myrhe’s online course </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">(Mandala Unplugged, 2018). Cotton fabric, silk ribbon, beads, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">silk and metallic threads. Techniques include knitting, crochet, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">silk ribbon embroidery, applique, (all hand-stitched). </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">‘Draw Hope’, was our first assignment for the course. So frustrating, as I have the same innate ability to draw as a giraffe. I went home, pieced-together ‘Hope’ from fabric and took it to the group a couple of weeks later. Something astonishing happened. Everyone related to quilted ‘Hope’ from where they were, they saw things in the piece that resonated for them, but which had not been part of my intention. I suddenly became aware that I could connect visually, spirit to spirit, in a completely different way. I could ‘speak’ my soul in cloth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />After a long illness my brother died, and stitch became my only prayer as I walked through grief. The slow journey to priesthood quickened in me and I sewed my spiritual autobiography (I’m not sure this is what my tutors expected when they said we could submit the assignment ‘in any form’). I designed the silk stole in which I was ordained Deacon, and which I wore again when I became a Priest a year later, in 2005.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWbv8C9a_YYGJAY1k1I_8pKe9UDLjE9QMoD019aNB1f-UfAet2DudQq6I_tGuAYM-rQbD-262oTYLmXIqq6BxkxK7okvgI_gEw5eBqwe_XNjxy3czsCLDCQEGgaHRbVJltQVnj54Sxzwv/s1600/7.+IMG_0378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1600" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWbv8C9a_YYGJAY1k1I_8pKe9UDLjE9QMoD019aNB1f-UfAet2DudQq6I_tGuAYM-rQbD-262oTYLmXIqq6BxkxK7okvgI_gEw5eBqwe_XNjxy3czsCLDCQEGgaHRbVJltQVnj54Sxzwv/s640/7.+IMG_0378.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Safe to shore (close-up) wall-hanging (2017). Made as an example piece for a retreat I shall be facilitating later this year. Cotton hand-dyed and commercial fabrics, shells, lace and glass beads. Techniques include piecing, applique, hand embroidery and machine quilting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I stitched through my three years as a Curate, which is the initial training post that all Church of England clergy take up, it felt a bit like being a Priest with training wheels! I continued to stitch through the challenges of being a hospital chaplain in a deprived ex-fishing town, the post I went to when my 3-year curacy ended. I stitched through my own tears when stillborn babies were born in the hospital to very young couples, or when I accompanied and prayed for patients and their families who struggled to come to terms with the realisation that life is ending. Sometimes I helped family members while away a long bedside vigil with stitching and prayer. Sitting at my own father’s bedside as he lost his battle with cancer I took up knitting again, the companionable silence that fell with the rhythmic click of the needles as I knitted socks had a calming effect on us both. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fair Isle
knitted cushion cover (2008 my design)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">A fellow priest’s description of the difference between painting as art and as prayer released me to share my spiritual musings in stitch with others. ‘Art’ had an external value, it could be ‘judged’, given a pass or fail, sometimes it wasn’t ‘good enough’. But prayer is about my connection with God and the life of the Spirit, there is no judgement in it, it is always good enough for God, and sometimes it may have something to say to other people as well. Creativity seems to flow across disciplines and is many people’s main connection with the Creator God. Encouraging and fostering creativity in craft enables people to be creative in other areas of their lives. Learning stitching can help someone find a new pathway through grief, or the rhythm of hand-stitching or knitting can enable the quiet rhythm of prayer. My congregation in Waddington have, I hope, benefitted from events that involve creativity - cutting and sticking for the little ones, colouring, card making, origami or sewing for the more mature in the congregation. We mark St Michael’s day (our patron saint) each year with an impressive celebration of dragons and Saint-inspired crafts before a short service and simple shared meal. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My first attempt at goldwork (2018)!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Maybe it is the rhythm of the needle that is prayer to me. Certainly I have seen its calming effect on retreatants during textile art retreats that I have facilitated for the Creative Arts Retreat Movement. Maybe it is my own need to piece together the broken that drives me. Maybe I am stitching my fractured soul together. But, for me, patchwork is prayer, and I am so grateful to those who have helped me to this realisation. Maybe it is ‘only patchwork’, ‘craft not art’, but patchwork has taken me to places I would never have dreamed of visiting. It has given me friendships that I will always value, and truly for me is ‘peace work’. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKzpbkYhFU9Kh4HZnpboKGnS9DgCMVZHMZDujPWATJM3OaST47WQ4xixlTc_wQZw_KdDYMk59N7eEpRSlHC99ErDceQdQn_NavV4KhV48a0PpCb6XH80ikwMQ7j_mz0kzrN9SFWbUAz8w/s1600/10.+IMG_0598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1228" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKzpbkYhFU9Kh4HZnpboKGnS9DgCMVZHMZDujPWATJM3OaST47WQ4xixlTc_wQZw_KdDYMk59N7eEpRSlHC99ErDceQdQn_NavV4KhV48a0PpCb6XH80ikwMQ7j_mz0kzrN9SFWbUAz8w/s400/10.+IMG_0598.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Washed-up! (work in progress 2018) wall-hanging. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Cotton and nylon fabric and sheers, beachcombed shells, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">embroidery threads. The background was machine quilted </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">and then ‘crashed’, shells applied under sheers, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">with cross stitch and some hand embroidery</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUVTG0ZLZYxqDwYlqbcVaIZusVrqdZc0xrOAZRxHI45vtLtTa1DwSZ5-8Y0MZqchXoeL8yrLvAxQHm7YMXIHILpotqtOksrgUlj-XBc1WlIb01kBvsiiihZcitR8-5SL0uTFtmWUE3nLV/s1600/IMG_0641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUVTG0ZLZYxqDwYlqbcVaIZusVrqdZc0xrOAZRxHI45vtLtTa1DwSZ5-8Y0MZqchXoeL8yrLvAxQHm7YMXIHILpotqtOksrgUlj-XBc1WlIb01kBvsiiihZcitR8-5SL0uTFtmWUE3nLV/s200/IMG_0641.JPG" width="149" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Annabel R. Barber MA, is Rector of the parish of Waddington near Lincoln in the UK. She is also Rural Dean of Graffoe Deanery, and is involved in the ministry of spiritual direction. She occasionally facilitates retreats and quiet days for the Creative Arts Retreat Movement (CARM). More information about CARM, and the retreats and quiet days that it organises can be found on their website: </span><a href="http://www.carmretreats.org/"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.carmretreats.org</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> or on facebook: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/CARMRetreats/"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.facebook.com/CARMRetreats/</span></a></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-17039276492527756182018-08-18T16:20:00.001+05:302018-08-23T15:47:57.215+05:30Art Commission For a New Coat of Arms for Western Australia Supreme Court Civil - Guest Post by Maggie Baxter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcTNEGnVZO_jHWec3kmnFPtx15MQh63v-12E2xIVWdqCoT9rS7E40wVi959fpF2Mc5bakALwTJ9fDBrZa22LzsXvPMqt3cCjMWzEKcbnGg8J9Lme-VUv2BZ3vyjivguPRXYscQZDQMqFE/s1600/MadamBukeshla20160628_8123+1_lores+copy+-+Maggie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1061" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcTNEGnVZO_jHWec3kmnFPtx15MQh63v-12E2xIVWdqCoT9rS7E40wVi959fpF2Mc5bakALwTJ9fDBrZa22LzsXvPMqt3cCjMWzEKcbnGg8J9Lme-VUv2BZ3vyjivguPRXYscQZDQMqFE/s640/MadamBukeshla20160628_8123+1_lores+copy+-+Maggie.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Madam Bukeshla</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">At $57,000 Aus it wasn’t a big art commission by local standards, but as the Coat of Arms placed in the Ceremonial Court of the new Western Australian Supreme Court (Civil), it was an important one to get absolutely right. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The new Supreme Court Civil is part of an expanded redevelopment of Cathedral Square in the centre of the Perth Central Business District, incorporating the restoration of the beautiful, historic Old Treasury Buildings into what is now the award winning Como The Treasury Hotel. The aim of the State Government was to preserve and transform a grand and elegant heritage asset from a derelict empty building in a rundown precinct to a world-class yet publicly accessible hotel. They succeeded, the award winning restaurants and bars in this beautiful building are packed every night with the after work crowd.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazJUj3ztndxeqn-5SIS6DXKOLcsl3RFmVguzC7I-2p-Q00wNLDH546nVG-coOBO_fspEiYcGBV8AcrfOkr4ahBrLulkbEpKyvfdJ84c3AzDVzBdBOSzZzJ8XOE2F_y3_KDXebw35A2jjX/s1600/View+thru%2527+court+-+Maggie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazJUj3ztndxeqn-5SIS6DXKOLcsl3RFmVguzC7I-2p-Q00wNLDH546nVG-coOBO_fspEiYcGBV8AcrfOkr4ahBrLulkbEpKyvfdJ84c3AzDVzBdBOSzZzJ8XOE2F_y3_KDXebw35A2jjX/s640/View+thru%2527+court+-+Maggie.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">View Through The Court</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">This restoration became the centre of a designated Legal Precinct. An elegant, minimalist high-rise office block was built behind the hotel to house the Supreme Court (Civil) and Mediation Services, and the Departments of Justice and Treasury.</span></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjWfbX8Ahe10NGbnHk_G3Lu8lIQa8gH7KuZz-7OTn6hqDHsCIpLUKtS6vV2YzJnQ1LN3tvyMsOBlq9wwe7Wb4S7vNTg3rTOus5iu38FQMMsaMlOhbDc_uPp5iOaMyWygczoKrRIvpNeVQ/s1600/MadamBukeshla-+crown+close+up+-+Maggie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1600" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjWfbX8Ahe10NGbnHk_G3Lu8lIQa8gH7KuZz-7OTn6hqDHsCIpLUKtS6vV2YzJnQ1LN3tvyMsOBlq9wwe7Wb4S7vNTg3rTOus5iu38FQMMsaMlOhbDc_uPp5iOaMyWygczoKrRIvpNeVQ/s400/MadamBukeshla-+crown+close+up+-+Maggie.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Madam Bukleshla Crown - close-up</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">As part of the State Government Percent for Art Scheme, site-specific art commissions were already underway for these new offices and courts when the Chief Justice suggested one more. He had seen a tapestry Coat of Arms, albeit old and falling apart, in another Australian State’s Supreme Court and thought we should have something similar.</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Another Supreme Court Judge, who has an interest in the local art scene, took over the project. He and the Executive Manager of the Supreme Court were a pleasure to work with. It was an act of great faith and trust for them to commission Trish Bygott and Nathan Crotty as neither had any previous experience with public art projects and Trish’s embroidery work is completely process driven so they could only present a loose and imprecise concept when they pitched for the project. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeaqWe79AiI7q59qjIqRT_hND6y4maj61Btn4YybDwFjx8JBjv2gn97XSftYB7oalcw2pcLPZCnCzkbkdpnbdHh-TmLJQlE118vWaYf0UOqqvFBF3JZ4Oqcftm0L05-Mr6U1oAoB5Opjb/s1600/2.+The+wild+side+of+the+swan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeaqWe79AiI7q59qjIqRT_hND6y4maj61Btn4YybDwFjx8JBjv2gn97XSftYB7oalcw2pcLPZCnCzkbkdpnbdHh-TmLJQlE118vWaYf0UOqqvFBF3JZ4Oqcftm0L05-Mr6U1oAoB5Opjb/s640/2.+The+wild+side+of+the+swan.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Wild Side of The Swan</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">As a young artist Trish came to Western Australia from Melbourne over 25 years ago for a six months residency, but never left. She describes herself as a ‘Crafter of cloth. Stitch-ress of beauty’. Artisan of adornment’ and says ‘I learnt to hand stitch at the age if 6…. then honed my love of textile design in Melbourne’s RMIT in the early eighties and found myself exhibiting a naïve, personal narrative celebrating stich and adornment for another time’</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyDMWhplsd9lPQgBfeX_Urvxt78PFLy3INd-66t7SyGDowbAVatHW3RmL_7l6DkHMFPVKetuGL5pvjahIellklubTyxXCPG6eoExNavmNygwK1pkYMfovaBlX_DFgjwS6YCJM4Z5g_uRT/s1600/1.+Trish+making+a+start+with+the+background+construction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1063" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyDMWhplsd9lPQgBfeX_Urvxt78PFLy3INd-66t7SyGDowbAVatHW3RmL_7l6DkHMFPVKetuGL5pvjahIellklubTyxXCPG6eoExNavmNygwK1pkYMfovaBlX_DFgjwS6YCJM4Z5g_uRT/s640/1.+Trish+making+a+start+with+the+background+construction.jpg" width="424" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">T<span style="font-size: small;">rish making a start with the background construction</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nathan Crotty is Trish’s partner in
life and art. He contributed to the overall design and more difficult aspects
of project management that required lateral thinking. From their shop selling
hand-stitched clothes in Fremantle, (the port suburb and artists’ hub of Perth),
they have gathered a group of like-minded passionate stitchers to give
workshops and seminars on embroidery and associated crafts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GNCzSEndM5kXvTZ7vb5rUscSkXpsCzjjDz0QfhKooIsU_ugO93pJRddIrYaaIRVAFidgQhyphenhyphenJyFRAcPO3Z8s6mtB31JgFkin5vdFqt4D0l1KnuLK80z_sSotchWOmZ-StLKmn9rZJ8ehl/s1600/4.+hands+at+work-+long-stitch+details+for+kangaroo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1097" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GNCzSEndM5kXvTZ7vb5rUscSkXpsCzjjDz0QfhKooIsU_ugO93pJRddIrYaaIRVAFidgQhyphenhyphenJyFRAcPO3Z8s6mtB31JgFkin5vdFqt4D0l1KnuLK80z_sSotchWOmZ-StLKmn9rZJ8ehl/s640/4.+hands+at+work-+long-stitch+details+for+kangaroo.jpg" width="438" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hands at Work - Long Stitch Details for Kangaroo</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When the Chief Justice came up with the
idea for an artist made Coat of Arms, it was only nine months away until the official
opening of the Court, but because it was public money precious time was taken
up with a formal commissioning process, asking three other artists to submit
proposals as well. This meant that Trish and Nathan’s production time after
being awarded the commission was reduced to just over 6 months</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Finalising the background around the crest</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Coat of Arms is governed by strict rules, yet Trish and Nathan were asked to be
innovative, celebrate the skill of the hand made, and work within a 21<sup>st</sup>
century sensibility that would complement the modern interior of the Ceremonial
Court. The only flexibility afforded them was they did not have to place the
iconography within a rectangle, circle, or oval unless they chose to. What they
did have to think about carefully was the hue, tone, and vertical emphasis of
the wooden panelling that dominates the interior. Trish, Nathan and their team
performed the miraculous and managed to complete the minutely detailed
embroidery on time and ready for the official opening.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBRmGZvy30B2ZFAfSXSPhVHHT-GP5XPCNlBhkogn7K62ozxJdPs2oDb3l-8zgiSXVqpUap7aDD9DX6ls3vn2xgGa10I4Eko6mV_6QX7mxEq0MiaGMF3N0wLxCwSqNQcxPSmBKxAf1LgEc/s1600/7.+seed+stitch+between+ripped-silk+for+the+ground.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBRmGZvy30B2ZFAfSXSPhVHHT-GP5XPCNlBhkogn7K62ozxJdPs2oDb3l-8zgiSXVqpUap7aDD9DX6ls3vn2xgGa10I4Eko6mV_6QX7mxEq0MiaGMF3N0wLxCwSqNQcxPSmBKxAf1LgEc/s640/7.+seed+stitch+between+ripped-silk+for+the+ground.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Seed Stitch Between the Ripped Silk - for the background</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">When the
State and Judiciary of Western Australia were founded any Indigenous
perspective was completely denied. The symbols we are left with for the most part
reflect outmoded sentiments around this division. It was important to Trish and
Nathan to correct this in some way, no matter how subtle. They contacted
respected Noongar</span><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">[1]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
Elder Dr. Noel Nannup, who graciously shared his wisdom. Although many of the symbols
within the crest do not sit well with Noongar people, Noel talked about the significance
of the Sheoak tree</span><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">[2]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
as a natural and living symbol of justice for his country and culture.
Uncannily yet appropriately the filament-like leaves of this tree have a
stitch-like appearance. This information was crucial as it allowed the essence
of Noel’s narrative to consciously enter the new Coat of Arms and infuse every
aspect of the process, embedding a deeper layer of meaning and sensitivity into
every colour and stitch within the work.</span><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">[3]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></a></span></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBKrcsiyhdqyAOX2_40Eip_AF9VuqEAab8CRjy0a5bd2kEc5_vs69c63K4Sd3hmqcOpz_TkldD3Wxys_4wWBiooNRlrFR9QbwvAfPzjo5O-_W9NYlstQrzvcHSDKcniKBvkZVdveiM0arH/s1600/8.+Nicole+Demarchelier+working+on+the+background-+the+spirit+of+the+sheoak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBKrcsiyhdqyAOX2_40Eip_AF9VuqEAab8CRjy0a5bd2kEc5_vs69c63K4Sd3hmqcOpz_TkldD3Wxys_4wWBiooNRlrFR9QbwvAfPzjo5O-_W9NYlstQrzvcHSDKcniKBvkZVdveiM0arH/s640/8.+Nicole+Demarchelier+working+on+the+background-+the+spirit+of+the+sheoak.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nicole Demarchelier working on the background- the spirit of the sheoak</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></a></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before
starting on the embroidery Trish tested numerous samples inside the Ceremonial
Court to confirm that proposed stitch sizes could be seen at a distance while
still maintaining a sense of intimacy. Silks and threads hand dyed in natural
and reactive dyes were placed against the wood to ensure each complemented the other
yet allowed the embroidery to stand apart. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything
had to be drawn to scale because the drawn marks determined the stitch size. Once
this process was resolved Trish engaged two expert embroiderers to work with
her. Each took on responsibility for individual parts of the whole work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKG6uso2LRmJV93MsVzrAiMxb8OoMfHBBLXubYOqffvZD_bCi_v8JclOdkSajYcaS9JM22ZuOqlg1HTwxYLJuV3pU9UmukncQ7b4sRl2RX0KXwyof7rX9O9MbQlYwVUUAH4wb6WkKFvO7/s1600/18.+Dr.+Nicole+Demarchelier.+Bridget+Bygott%252C+and+Dr.+Jane+Donlin+%2528+left+to+right+%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKG6uso2LRmJV93MsVzrAiMxb8OoMfHBBLXubYOqffvZD_bCi_v8JclOdkSajYcaS9JM22ZuOqlg1HTwxYLJuV3pU9UmukncQ7b4sRl2RX0KXwyof7rX9O9MbQlYwVUUAH4wb6WkKFvO7/s640/18.+Dr.+Nicole+Demarchelier.+Bridget+Bygott%252C+and+Dr.+Jane+Donlin+%2528+left+to+right+%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Dr. Nicole Demarchelier. Bridget Bygott, and Dr. Jane Donlin ( left to right )</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before
commissioning the artwork, the architect had designated leather as the
background material for the Coat of Arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, to ensure overall aesthetic cohesion Trish and Nathan decided
to replace this with textile created from thin strips of torn silk hand dyed in
nuanced shades of earth and amber. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each
strip, meticulously folded to ensure no raw edges were revealed was laid down
held was laid down and held in place with and estimated 40,000 minute running
stitches. At over 2m in length the background was hard to handle and their
first attempt was thwarted because the fabric was distorting. Textile artist,
Jane Donlin, who was working on the project with Trish and Nathan suggested the
strips had to be held tight like a warp of a woven cloth Overnight Nathan made
a special frame on table legs while Trish and Nicky Desmarchelier, another
textile artist who was responsible for stitching the background, unpicked their
work to start over again. All of this added to stress and adrenalin levels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgta4GotFXu6REUrIEsu8wonj-PytECat_1p-CmueSIHhuSi12aZlowuKmSg7-WnHqpHVizO_xAH7gVupFES8N_tpPdbmNJRSVeNepUuOjsqUDZMW0vTwpS1N_sHShIfnFXg4ytIh77rYVP/s1600/12.+hands+at+work-+stiching+the+background+silk+in+place.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgta4GotFXu6REUrIEsu8wonj-PytECat_1p-CmueSIHhuSi12aZlowuKmSg7-WnHqpHVizO_xAH7gVupFES8N_tpPdbmNJRSVeNepUuOjsqUDZMW0vTwpS1N_sHShIfnFXg4ytIh77rYVP/s640/12.+hands+at+work-+stiching+the+background+silk+in+place.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hands At Work, Stitching the background Silk in Place</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">The kangaroo
paws,</span><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn4;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">[4]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
kangaroo, fleur-de-lis, water, and crest with the swan were embroidered
separately, cut out and appliqued onto the background. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trish had to design around stitches that would
allow for the body of each element to be easily cut and turned. The ground of
spirals below the kangaroos give the work a three-dimensional feel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Trish
engaged a textile conservator to mount the finished work. The architect
provided the original backing board for the leather, but it is MDF
(medium-density fibreboard), which is definitely not acid free. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To rectify this Nathan had to glue a thin
layer of rag board to the MDF to act as a barrier between <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the acids and the finished work. Then it was wrapped
with a layer of bamboo wadding, and covered with another layer of de-ionised
linen. Only after all this preparation could the artwork be mounted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCfHc7nNlj1T3smpudHEPp7IsEUoWXTBOzhZ6H5FV0tfP75gjo_JWp5LCx40ifZ7ga84FBFM9Nim7uljE8aOVcUcrp_XgiWgAxbWs6nbqcrzODN6CItu2q5H_H7upwF1PHwLloYpnMPWo/s1600/23.+readying+the+placement+of+the+central+components+on+the+background.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1225" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCfHc7nNlj1T3smpudHEPp7IsEUoWXTBOzhZ6H5FV0tfP75gjo_JWp5LCx40ifZ7ga84FBFM9Nim7uljE8aOVcUcrp_XgiWgAxbWs6nbqcrzODN6CItu2q5H_H7upwF1PHwLloYpnMPWo/s640/23.+readying+the+placement+of+the+central+components+on+the+background.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Readying the placement of the central components on the background</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything
was measured very precisely. The completed artwork was stitched onto the linen
which already had Velcro stitched on to hold it under the board. The four
corners had to be very carefully mitred. This final mounting turned out to be
an all night task right up until the van came to take it into the Court at
11.00 am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueNlNmsNe4AUmSYmaLUZ_31kS6ilJyx3ZHVBjfGo5Bs2yDFzFIrB7-9VAxQ5W4yQ0dTvp2A7bhMJmwN5_NM0grav81-8jT3DPZtvYk0mghvyStrkOuNsxuPtXyHhdD7lJKJEppehHesp8/s1600/24.+detail+of+the+ground+stitched+onto+the+background.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="923" data-original-width="1600" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueNlNmsNe4AUmSYmaLUZ_31kS6ilJyx3ZHVBjfGo5Bs2yDFzFIrB7-9VAxQ5W4yQ0dTvp2A7bhMJmwN5_NM0grav81-8jT3DPZtvYk0mghvyStrkOuNsxuPtXyHhdD7lJKJEppehHesp8/s640/24.+detail+of+the+ground+stitched+onto+the+background.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">detail of the ground stitched onto the background</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">‘The whole process was so intense from start
to finish’, Trish said ‘no matter how careful our planning, we still had to
make on the spot decisions every day. It was a balancing act because even
though we knew we were working against the clock to a strict deadline, nothing
could be forced and we had to allow each and every part to come together at the
right time. After the artwork went up in the court, we all went through a
strange phase of having withdrawal symptoms. We were all so exhausted yet
didn’t know how to relax, sleep or conversely how to fill our days’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJDra2gr4zaIUZm3vWoRhp6xIoaF-DSJe7gxwwzf6bdvCaRLUHo9m3EbNdC2pCg-gYJxWACQny8-q-SGUtWSAf6OTT13aW3EQJ762_PK88v0cVD5nPNCfJP7cyvE0459nakAfFGAngLNJ/s1600/28.+Irina+and+Alena%252C+stitching+the+crown+in+place+with+surgical+precision.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJDra2gr4zaIUZm3vWoRhp6xIoaF-DSJe7gxwwzf6bdvCaRLUHo9m3EbNdC2pCg-gYJxWACQny8-q-SGUtWSAf6OTT13aW3EQJ762_PK88v0cVD5nPNCfJP7cyvE0459nakAfFGAngLNJ/s640/28.+Irina+and+Alena%252C+stitching+the+crown+in+place+with+surgical+precision.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Irina and Alena, stitching the crown in place with surgical precision</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><u><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stitches<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></u></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Background: </span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Torn silk strips
held down with running stitch;<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Earth: </span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">ripped silk
backstitch held down by running stitch, seed stitch, and stem stitch;<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Crown</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">: a combination
of satin stitch and backstitch using ripped silk rather than thread; <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Ermine: </span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ripped silk held down with running stitch;<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Fleur de lis:</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">
feather stitch; <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Kangaroo</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">: ripped silk
held down with running stitch, backstitch, and long satin stitch;<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Kangaroo paws:</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">
couching;<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Shield: </span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>satin stitch (405 squares), and stem stitch;<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Swan:</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"> ripped silk
feather stitch and long and short stitch; and <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Water: </span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">ripped silk held
down with running stitch, ripped silk backstitch. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">If
you would like to know more about this artwork, tune into the short video made
by Rob Bygott to document the processes from start to finish: </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://youtu.be/oi3zptf_g1w">https://youtu.be/oi3zptf_g1w</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">Or
read ‘Crest-Risen in the Supreme Court by Nathan Crotty in The Fremantle
Shipping News, Feb 24 2017: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://fremantleshippingnews.com.au/2017/02/24/the-crest/">http://fremantleshippingnews.com.au/2017/02/24/the-crest/</a></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For a
short video about the other art commission for the Supreme Court Civil:
‘Journey of a River’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(an18 m long
painting + 5 x 20m long glass panels) by Jo Darbyshire in collaboration in Rick
Vermey go to: https://youtu.be/wFkEAXmrw1w<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><u><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></u></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><u><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></u></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Artist:
Trish Bygott in collaboration with Nathan Crotty, Dr. Nicolle Desmarchelier, and
Dr. Jane Donlin,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Title:
State Coat of Arms<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Architect:
Peter Hunt Architect<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Art
Coordinator: Maggie Baxter<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Photography:
Robert Frith<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Textile
Conservation: Patricia Moncrieff<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Client:
The Department of Justice<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Department
of Finance Project Managers: Grayam Sandover and Louise Armstrong<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
artist would like to thank the Western Australian Government Department of Finance
and Rob Bygott for their support in making the video. ‘Coat of Arms
Embroidery’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGODz1y3jFaarMELE_fA8Iy3kcUdMzyQp6yCt7CZKRcaFV9gA8xCHUetHv4PFBzEyFTOXMJJvgKkDkwYC1nNn1IFRq9wanPVhB1w28cWAEynBr4k9aq7EbvDR7w9yZMdkkfuXz4qrTyMDh/s1600/Baxter-3827_100+dpi+-blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="392" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGODz1y3jFaarMELE_fA8Iy3kcUdMzyQp6yCt7CZKRcaFV9gA8xCHUetHv4PFBzEyFTOXMJJvgKkDkwYC1nNn1IFRq9wanPVhB1w28cWAEynBr4k9aq7EbvDR7w9yZMdkkfuXz4qrTyMDh/s200/Baxter-3827_100+dpi+-blog.jpg" width="132" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Maggie
Baxter is an Australian artist, writer, curator, and public art coordinator. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">
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</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">. The Noongar </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">are the original
Indigenous inhabitants of south-west corner of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_Australia" title="Western Australia"><span style="color: blue;">Western
Australia</span></a>. They have inhabited this area for more than 45,000 years. Their
traditional lands include the metropolitan area of Perth, Western Australia’s
capital city.</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[2]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"> . A
species of the Casuarina genus, native to Australia, the Indian Sub-Continent,
South east Asia, and the Pacific Islands.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[3]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">. This paragraph has been extrapolated and slightly
re-worked from an article by Nathan Crotty for the Fremantle Shipping News.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="file:///D:/SONY%20DATA/Documents/Blog%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Journal%20begin%2015th%20June%202013/Guest%20Posts%20-%20Stitch%20Journal/Maggie/Trish%20Bygot,%20Supreme%20Court%20Civil%20-%20crest%20of%20arms/SUPREME%20COURT%20CIVIL%20-Blog%20edited%20text%20final.doc#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn4;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[4]</span></span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">. The
common name for a number of plant species found in the south west of Australia
so named because the </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: #222222;">tubular flowers are coated with dense hairs and
open at the apex with six claw-like </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif;">structures. The red and green kangaroo paw
is the official floral emblem for Western Australia.</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-60845791013383792062018-07-29T21:32:00.000+05:302018-08-01T12:25:02.039+05:30The Shell in my Stones' Jar - Crochet Stories (Washed Ashore)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QlwUvx9pqsh4Bj4RDv7iihbdmzoBmW98RuRJiIzUzbkpBqgdfzsSgsdvYduOC7BYnP63K3c2vDZK0l2iSQX4m_hyoAOvDcMBt0mUpEF30D23tMX1gZ05WH3vfmdPv_ALNlnD3FcL3_3j/s1600/IMG_4997LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1290" data-original-width="1600" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QlwUvx9pqsh4Bj4RDv7iihbdmzoBmW98RuRJiIzUzbkpBqgdfzsSgsdvYduOC7BYnP63K3c2vDZK0l2iSQX4m_hyoAOvDcMBt0mUpEF30D23tMX1gZ05WH3vfmdPv_ALNlnD3FcL3_3j/s320/IMG_4997LR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I have spent many hours on the beach, walking and thinking and often trying not to collect. Not to pick up anything but eventually coming home with something or other. I disinfect, scrub and clean each piece of my booty and sort them out into categories based on size and type. I have glass jars of varying sizes and designs, all around my apartment, housing the various shells and stones that I have amassed. Yesterday, I spied what looked like a shell, lurking erroneously, in my large stones’ jar. I fished it out and realised it was one of those interesting pieces that I hadn’t been able to leave behind on the beach. Neither a stone nor a shell, but I had placed it in with the stones because this materiality dominated its form. It was a red laterite stone with an oyster shell stuck onto it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"> In Siolim, along the Chapora and at Ashwem beach one sees a lot of shells, mounted one on top of the other, clinging to the porous laterite stone which makes the stone very rough and difficult to sit on, or even walk over – especially bare footed. Out of curiosity, I once asked a local restauranteur why they do that and he said that oysters grow on rocks, which I found absurd, but for lack of any other information kept mum. And then a few weeks on, as the quest continued, it was a fisherman who enlightened me. Apparently the oysters secrete a substance that allows them to cling to the rocks and onto each other, to stay stable during the ebb and flow of the tide and river current. And they do this when they are breeding. Now that made much more sense than oysters growing on rocks but, I remember the other story better because it adds to an already curious shell-stone form.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The day had been a busy one. I had a meeting with the lawyer so had to leave before noon. The moment I parked it pelted down and the umbrella was no cover. My beige coloured trousers were splattered with mud and by the time I reached the courts – barely a three minute walk, I was soaked. As it happened the lawyer wasn’t there and I had to coax his colleague to listen to the details I needed him to understand, which he may not have understood from a cursory glance at the documents. Thereafter, I had to complete many odd chores and finally came home with the cushions that complete the interior décor of my flat, seven months after I have moved into it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Simona comes to help out on Fridays and so, despite the fact that I was rather tired by this point, the kitchen chores also had to be done. I had lots of other paper work to complete. I hate these constant phone calls and follow-ups. It is so annoying that no-one does anything until you remind or beg them to. So while Simona cut and chopped, I did my share of begging and reminding for the pest control, the internet cable to be installed, for a refund pending five years, for my car insurance claim that is almost a year overdue and more in the same vein. It’s work that has to be done but it’s not work that I enjoy doing.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz58cDfHiIokhgxz-1SXpU-ezr5_WcXnXuhIVRX5ZSFWK0C7grgnYiRkgZtTQKpKp0ZSdJq7B04Pnb-KEexVbfVj8zVdDdsa_ysRSx1ZSPBncuDeMiW73YGenNpWss7BWM6l2Nu9chky74/s1600/IMG_4995LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1518" data-original-width="1600" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz58cDfHiIokhgxz-1SXpU-ezr5_WcXnXuhIVRX5ZSFWK0C7grgnYiRkgZtTQKpKp0ZSdJq7B04Pnb-KEexVbfVj8zVdDdsa_ysRSx1ZSPBncuDeMiW73YGenNpWss7BWM6l2Nu9chky74/s320/IMG_4995LR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I didn’t think that I would get any crochet done today. It was the shell in the stone jar, that inspired me. When I had dug it out, I left the it on my work-table, so couldn’t help but see it as I pottered around. Weeks went by and it lay there tempting me but, clearly it didn’t evoke the right feeling and many other stones and shells got crocheted. But today, as I winded down the day, even though it was late, I felt the need for some clarity. Precisely because the day had been so crowded with doing and phone calls and all the rest of it that, I hadn’t had much time for reflection. Aside from the early morning writing in my journal, which thankfully, I had managed to do before I drove to Mapusa, Porvorim, Panjim and back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Laterite is a rusty-red-maroon stone that is quite nubbly in itself. The oysters add to this and make it even more rugged. This particular stone, with the shell attached to it, also had some largish white spots dotted over its surface which may be because that the oysters eventually do get washed away with the tide and the secretion they use to adhere to the rock, changes its colour. I haven’t studied this nor asked around, so it’s pure conjecture. But, holding this odd looking rock in my hands, pondering what colour to use, I decide that I wanted to show off its texture as much as I could and picked an off-white yarn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I hooked a chain of about forty stitches and closed it around the shell, just below where it sat, because it formed a ridge where the circle of chains could sit, hopefully, without slipping off. Then, I proceeded to crochet, adding another row of single crochet onto this line, working on the stone. I find this both challenging and fascinating because the object I am crocheting suggests what to do where, and I have to keep it simple. I cannot get all lacy and curvy with the chained lines because, with every stitch my steel hook hits the stone, scraping itself along the unrelenting and uneven surface making a grating sound, which isn’t pleasing. Nor is it easy to work around the form. I have less manoeuvrability and ease of access. Also, until I reach a point where the fabric is snugly fitting the stone and stops slipping off, especially when I pull the thread a tot to even out the tension of the stitches, it involves a lot of yanking up of the fabric, positioning it around the stone-shell and only then moving on. I have to do this manoeuvre, consistently, with almost each stitch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">However, this stone didn’t take too long to complete. Wanting to reveal more than cover, I used a lot of double crochet, which adds length very quickly. It is also no more than a couple of inches or just a bit more. It was late at night and I was listening to Eckhart Tolle on YouTube, speaking about accepting the unacceptable. Not a riveting talk because he repeats himself constantly, but when my hands are engaged, I am too involved with the thread work to be bothered to switch off the video, so I let it play on. By the end of it, between my crochet and Tolle’s droning on about being in the present, about being grateful even in the most difficult moments of life – for the simple fact that one is breathing and therefore all is well, I felt calmer and relaxed enough, to feel like sleeping. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2RktQT4VbIepaKx8rtNGEQKLMyFrakgiqSxtWeLVN1DxMdlo8VWbj_EhPju8q5kYKL12vyp28VGXhsZu0KHHUOJXQqL3P03nm_zdY1OXNax-CuLnvaze22mlOk5qV0skbwK73OX-CT08i/s1600/IMG_4989LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2RktQT4VbIepaKx8rtNGEQKLMyFrakgiqSxtWeLVN1DxMdlo8VWbj_EhPju8q5kYKL12vyp28VGXhsZu0KHHUOJXQqL3P03nm_zdY1OXNax-CuLnvaze22mlOk5qV0skbwK73OX-CT08i/s320/IMG_4989LR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">There is something about the hooking of thread and the complexity of working around these stones and shells, that engages with an intensity that somehow alleviates the tumult of emotion within. I am not quite sure how it works but have noted the results and sometimes, pick up a stone to crochet just to get past difficult feelings of the moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">It was passed midnight. It had been a long day, busy with daily-living chores and driving around navigating the rain. Even so, I was chuffed that I still managed to do some crochet. Having these moments to ponder on living with the flow of thread, or in this case, erratic needling of the chain, I feel a sense of ease that is difficult to put into words. But, having done something more than just tend to the business of living, there is a sense of well-being. It doesn’t have to be a grand creative endeavour. Sometimes just this little is enough to alleviate the stress.</span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-68494432179021292512018-04-24T16:43:00.000+05:302018-11-04T14:37:57.574+05:30Personal Threads: ‘The Imperfect Cloth’ by Priya Ravish Mehra, Guest Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_A0ml3t5d3iPehWRN_-jPo15LmS7W_l3T6ZwUqFDxWc9huXyEdGU-BQwX0Zbeko8UFyZZZG4_Gi31O2BIyaDbgBp-_qFgoRvewWc3qSWy00rH3n6w7I188lOyVcH6zLXASAYiPseov6iZ/s1600/Rafoogar+Bathak%252CNajibabad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_A0ml3t5d3iPehWRN_-jPo15LmS7W_l3T6ZwUqFDxWc9huXyEdGU-BQwX0Zbeko8UFyZZZG4_Gi31O2BIyaDbgBp-_qFgoRvewWc3qSWy00rH3n6w7I188lOyVcH6zLXASAYiPseov6iZ/s1600/Rafoogar+Bathak%252CNajibabad.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rafoogar Bathak,Najibabad</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Najibabad, my hometown in Bijnor district of Uttar Pradesh, has historically served as a hub of the shawl trade in North India for the past 250 years, and has been known as the country’s most important centre for the specialized repair of valuable antique Kashmir kani shawls. At one time a profitable industry in Kashmir, the weaving of these beautiful textiles with their tapestry techniques, complex designs and intricate colour combinations is in sharp decline today. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb04-o5pqlqK3w6xXgXUHJUTe6Thlcsdlkn1Gh2Vtf0XCiI1p93wN9agdMrdmi3L4HrlkxPeGxkFEuF-UyBNNkQJaQzm6B1G2nO5kfg4ZpAI3utxb00-MIPPbbUZElzMc-8hJDEvJdebJp/s1600/Rafoogar+demonstrating+his+craft%252C+photo+credit+Priya+Ravish+Mehra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1600" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb04-o5pqlqK3w6xXgXUHJUTe6Thlcsdlkn1Gh2Vtf0XCiI1p93wN9agdMrdmi3L4HrlkxPeGxkFEuF-UyBNNkQJaQzm6B1G2nO5kfg4ZpAI3utxb00-MIPPbbUZElzMc-8hJDEvJdebJp/s400/Rafoogar+demonstrating+his+craft%252C+photo+credit+Priya+Ravish+Mehra.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rafoogar demonstrating his craft, photo credit Priya Ravish Mehra</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My own journey into the world of textiles began in childhood through the sight of kani shawls and other precious fabrics that were often brought to the family home by local rafoogars, expert darners who pass their carefully protected traditional skills from one generation to the next – fathers to sons, elders to youngsters, master artisans to apprentices – within their community. The rafoogars’ relationship with my ancestors had continued unbroken for decades. It was my rare good fortune to be raised by artistic parents – from the late 1930s to mid-1940s my mother and father had been students of Nandlal Bose, Binode Bihari Mukherjee and Ramkinkar Baij, the three renowned Santiniketan modernists. I grew up in a house where handicrafts were integral to daily life, and where creativity and aesthetic interests were highly encouraged and appreciated. Kani shawls were prized items in our family collection, and my intimate familiarity with these exquisite objects from the time I was very young proved to be the core catalyst for my interest in the textile traditions of India, and later of the world. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCM_iA5BrFk0xSdpgMTwMhcuXlO2U5jGXO253V-zl-0RQniBqZ-5nEZX69YhegOul_APXmlWCLnwh_NRuJ_vlTo5ZI0dTngbgpV-z7hyfHo-Ih9sabGv9wJjdyOopCkAa5PgekfnejggyT/s1600/Untiled-Kantha+fragments+with+paper+pulp%252C+14.5+in+x+17.5+in+-2016+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="1600" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCM_iA5BrFk0xSdpgMTwMhcuXlO2U5jGXO253V-zl-0RQniBqZ-5nEZX69YhegOul_APXmlWCLnwh_NRuJ_vlTo5ZI0dTngbgpV-z7hyfHo-Ih9sabGv9wJjdyOopCkAa5PgekfnejggyT/s640/Untiled-Kantha+fragments+with+paper+pulp%252C+14.5+in+x+17.5+in+-2016+%25283%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Untiled-Kantha fragments with paper pulp, 14.5 in x 17.5 in -2016</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My deep fascination with textiles took concrete form when I abandoned my postgraduate studies in mathematics and joined Santiniketan. Five years (1982-87) as a student in this renowned institution helped me to develop my interest in textiles as both an area of study and as a personal art practice. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaOnT69wy3l7SONnttZr8lrWC2XAzaCWZpg6nsdCGgbWmRIOCNGmgioELvNUxjSHr4cd057BAjEtrC0HXvikXADW1Ihyphenhyphenvy4UxbmQdRCDcT7bv61U5IRy_LaBPgQTRhDCQUGjJiSNJCSEsh/s1600/Untitled-+Various+thread+with+paper%252C+12+x+10+inches+2014+%25287%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1229" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaOnT69wy3l7SONnttZr8lrWC2XAzaCWZpg6nsdCGgbWmRIOCNGmgioELvNUxjSHr4cd057BAjEtrC0HXvikXADW1Ihyphenhyphenvy4UxbmQdRCDcT7bv61U5IRy_LaBPgQTRhDCQUGjJiSNJCSEsh/s640/Untitled-+Various+thread+with+paper%252C+12+x+10+inches+2014+%25287%2529.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Untitled - Various thread with paper, 12 x 10 inches 2014</span> </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Over the years various opportunities to exhibit in solo and group shows in India and other countries came my way, and I received encouraging responses to my work. At present I am documenting the darning tradition in India, specifically the mending of Kashmir kani shawls, perhaps the only significant textile woven using tapestry techniques (with the possible exception of Deccan paithani saris). My research project, Making ‘Invisible’ Visible, is about a living tradition of craftsmanship, continuously upheld in difficult economic conditions by Najibabad’s rafoogars who have carefully protected the pushtaini (hereditary) knowledge required for the conservation of antique kani, keeping their specialized skills within the community and hence ‘invisible’ to outsiders. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17AxTg3eFCkuQ-QEfmj28l7ZG9xTSKisp6uH8pJXhekXW8ZdaRWXg1D8wGKxFRwRsI1BO52laB_qA7EE0z0nexN8KC_BmRDoJwziDalJShoo6Gg5xgc1OpXwujgvT90Y5O6aVuJWrrmFx/s1600/The+invisble+darning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17AxTg3eFCkuQ-QEfmj28l7ZG9xTSKisp6uH8pJXhekXW8ZdaRWXg1D8wGKxFRwRsI1BO52laB_qA7EE0z0nexN8KC_BmRDoJwziDalJShoo6Gg5xgc1OpXwujgvT90Y5O6aVuJWrrmFx/s400/The+invisble+darning.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The invisble darning</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My research is a form of homage to these largely unseen and unacknowledged virtuoso artisans whose collective contribution to the great treasury of Indian cultural forms is missing from India’s textile narrative as well as from the sociological record. Other than the rare passing reference in Mughal manuscripts, quoted by various authors in modern studies of Kashmir shawls, there is no historical documentation of rafoogari as a profession or darners as a community. For me as a researcher, their discursive absence also embeds a symbolic irony, since the goal of repair and hallmark of expert rafoo is to render ‘invisible’ the damage on any kind of fabric. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Untitled- Indigo fabric with paper pulp 11 in x 8</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I am not a textile scholar, textile historian or design/art pedagogue. My research is informed by my passion for textiles, my creative work as a textile art practitioner, my intuitive understanding of darning as an art form, my family associations with Najibabad’s rafoogars, and my deep concern for this vulnerable and unsupported community whose survival is under threat in an era of mechanization, as is the case with traditional artisans all over India. In more subjective terms, my research focus on the mending and restoration of degraded cloth acquired great significance for me some years ago when I was diagnosed with advanced cancer. I am still under treatment; and in this context the role of the rafoogar committed to preserving the unique life of a fragile, damaged kani shawl, who undertakes to repair it through difficult, meticulous, unseen, expert darning, has profound emotional resonance for me – as does the action of rafoo, which like all traditional Indian art forms is infused with meditative as well as cathartic and therapeutic potential. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXqXX0QL0zEx4YwoOnXYb_S9d68Ldir_MHQK7yvlwIpFJTHfm_nCEgiNGkVrY_WdH4HiOIOldTQEqkugeKnKDYu7VYSVWtOEc9Ch6gSZ2EPolCUAnpgP5zagypqgHwUZh6gosjOp61RT6/s1600/Untitled-+Indigo+fabric+with+paper+pulp+2%252C+11+in+x+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXqXX0QL0zEx4YwoOnXYb_S9d68Ldir_MHQK7yvlwIpFJTHfm_nCEgiNGkVrY_WdH4HiOIOldTQEqkugeKnKDYu7VYSVWtOEc9Ch6gSZ2EPolCUAnpgP5zagypqgHwUZh6gosjOp61RT6/s640/Untitled-+Indigo+fabric+with+paper+pulp+2%252C+11+in+x+8.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Untitled- Indigo fabric with paper pulp 2, 11 in x 8</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The medieval saint-poet Kabir, himself a weaver, frequently uses images from the craft to signify the process of material embodiment as well as of transcendence. The whole universe is stretched out on the cosmic loom fashioned from earth and sky; the sun and moon are simultaneously plied as twin shuttles… what was the warp, what the weft, what thread was used to create the finely woven, spotless sheet woven out of the five elements, the pristine cloth inevitably soiled, stained, defiled by the ignorant humans who wrap themselves in it…? So sings the poet, who concludes that only the Weaver can mesh thread with thread… with a formless shuttle weave a shawl with no edge… Today I am easily able to transpose Kabir’s lyric assertions to my own prolonged experience of an illness that has coerced visible and invisible uncertainties, fluctuations, blemishes and disruptions into the once-reliable order, logic and symmetries of my own somatic ‘warp and weft’. But I have also come to marvel at and respect the perfect design of the priceless perishable ‘sheet’; I have come to understand how the edges of each rip and gash have to be continuously aligned by the ‘darner’, firmly yet delicately pinioned, and then sealed stitch by careful stitch, to prevent further damage and to render the resilient cloth intact and whole. I have been absorbing and integrating those deeper intuitions simultaneously into my artistic life and my daily existence.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAI31NbopT0xm-EguFQBpmBqoNyagqR_BwP8TvJS6P1ezHW8toXLdEn5pGs18V2rZ1fTEexZO6X_YJXnY7_iSlLROLB9h7aV3kzCGk8EoseW2Q7UNdKVXBnuRSlOnW6eU1uGFEX_OrDxi/s1600/Untitled-Jute+Fabric+fragment+with+Daphne+pulp%252C14+in+x+21+in%252C+2016+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1090" data-original-width="1600" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAI31NbopT0xm-EguFQBpmBqoNyagqR_BwP8TvJS6P1ezHW8toXLdEn5pGs18V2rZ1fTEexZO6X_YJXnY7_iSlLROLB9h7aV3kzCGk8EoseW2Q7UNdKVXBnuRSlOnW6eU1uGFEX_OrDxi/s640/Untitled-Jute+Fabric+fragment+with+Daphne+pulp%252C14+in+x+21+in%252C+2016+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Untitled-Jute Fabric fragment with Daphne pulp,14 in x 21 in, 2016 (2)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Rafoogari thus represents an intimate merging of the artistic and personal paths within my life’s journey. My ongoing rafoogari research bestows a sense of coming full circle, a return to my origins which are also the source of my textile art practice that definitively germinated from my childhood love for kani shawls. Earlier, my ‘life’ and my ‘work’ were flowing in parallel, but now they seem to have become one. While my research documents the aesthetic, the technical skills and the sociological truths of the rafoogar community, it also provides me with an invaluable chance to assimilate various aspects of both visible and invisible darning as a powerful metaphor – to understand ‘repair’ as a vital modality of self-knowledge, and to experience the place, significance and act of such ‘darning’ in the fabric of a life, as well as in the life of a fabric. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EOcHeTrLVdjR72Waavjt7L6qQQ4qHTA1B27-wxbAfbnYjswV-s5uf_zSpN7Sc8mrIzG2wAfrKGDJcyZSVaYm_0EFEBD30-hkJtBb1-QhAJf6yqxGcBHZ1fMroekwjjTIcv2SgP2s1fiN/s1600/priya%2527s+profile+image+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="214" data-original-width="320" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EOcHeTrLVdjR72Waavjt7L6qQQ4qHTA1B27-wxbAfbnYjswV-s5uf_zSpN7Sc8mrIzG2wAfrKGDJcyZSVaYm_0EFEBD30-hkJtBb1-QhAJf6yqxGcBHZ1fMroekwjjTIcv2SgP2s1fiN/s320/priya%2527s+profile+image+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Priya Ravish Mehra is a
Delhi-based textile artist, weaver, researcher and designer. Graduating from
Visva-Bharati University, Santiniketan, she later studied tapestry weaving at West
Dean College, Sussex and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>at the Royal
College of Arts, London under a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Charles Wallace Fellowship. To study the maintenance and preservation of Indian textiles, especially Kashmir shawls in public and private collections in the US, she also received an Asian Cultural Council
Grant Her battle against
cancer has been aided and inspired by her work in rafoogari.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;">‘Personal Threads’ is
an endeavour to read our histories (both political and personal) as the
interconnected pieces of a quilt – each one’s individual threads sewn together
to form a larger picture. Telling our stories is a means to locate ourselves
and who we are within the folds of their narrative. And often, who we are and
what we do, emerges from the people, things and places that played some role in
our past. We may claim different nationalities and religions but the DNA of our
lives is complex and far from unconnected.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-7290223910389314432018-02-05T16:27:00.000+05:302018-02-05T16:37:02.454+05:30Personal Threads: Pink Cashmilon by Suzy Singh, Guest Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7BG-U10mRShccqmY9PsUdcjsyGSq-4RLwq_VAT4tbpqdZ7bWZQa4mMhe8PsWBs0hLnzmQ2LaTdPhZ-Ma-eUF1HiN9lRcEgIkTW7EwNoylpPSLDn19KX_12PhkuKkNqOsM446UX8OyJ89/s1600/Detailing+of+dress+Nani+Ma+knit+for+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7BG-U10mRShccqmY9PsUdcjsyGSq-4RLwq_VAT4tbpqdZ7bWZQa4mMhe8PsWBs0hLnzmQ2LaTdPhZ-Ma-eUF1HiN9lRcEgIkTW7EwNoylpPSLDn19KX_12PhkuKkNqOsM446UX8OyJ89/s320/Detailing+of+dress+Nani+Ma+knit+for+me.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">There were no baby showers in those days. Certainly not in the seventies and eighties, in the Phulkari (embroidery technique unique to Punjab) obsessed town of Patiala in Punjab, where I spent most of my summer and winter holidays, basking in my grandparent’s love. But there was a ritual that made the pregnant waiting for the arrival of any baby in the family, deeply symbolic. It was the way my Nani-ma (maternal grandmother) invested endless hours knitting her magic into bewildering patterns, using pastel coloured Cashmilon (acrylic yarn) balls that she transformed into adorable pieces of infant attire. It was this unconditional act of love that made the arrival of every child in the family a great honour. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I was two years old when I first arrived at my grandparent’s house in Punjab. My family had recently met with a car crash and mum was struggling to deal with its aftermath while also attending to two young children. I’m not exactly sure why as the younger of two siblings, I was chosen to be sent away to Nani-ma’s house, but I guess in hindsight, I’m really grateful for it. I lived with my grandparent’s for the next couple of years till I was old enough to start schooling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Unsettling as that displacement was for the little ‘me’, it gave me the opportunity to forge a deep and meaningful bond with my grandparents. As I observed my Nani-ma go about her daily routine, knitting, cooking and indulging us, I learnt about the incredible power of love and compassion. Back then, I wasn’t aware that the separation from my mother would create an unconscious program of abandonment in me. This limiting program may never have healed, had it not been for Nani-ma’s endless lessons in love. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgry67gOZlVBoCfFceOrL183M8u1nZGhkVFttZsIBxMNwnB1kHroBuQ5-xqWqVR8HsTLk-a1Js4Cx3xm8TLe7qMrgT8efLHNXqWNZSfxpOyvLoh9XcooGRjF9naCIS6qg3sUUIMY8YWWk_3/s1600/Nani+ma+was+always+so+peaceful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgry67gOZlVBoCfFceOrL183M8u1nZGhkVFttZsIBxMNwnB1kHroBuQ5-xqWqVR8HsTLk-a1Js4Cx3xm8TLe7qMrgT8efLHNXqWNZSfxpOyvLoh9XcooGRjF9naCIS6qg3sUUIMY8YWWk_3/s400/Nani+ma+was+always+so+peaceful.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nani-ma was always so peaceful</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">There were times when she would chant hymns from the Rehras Sahib, (the evening prayer of Sikhs), under her breath while she knitted away, and the day turned quietly from daylight to dusk. At other times, she'd regale me with her stories and teachings while her fingers kept busy despite our conversations. Even as we sat immersed in the cinematic drama of movies, in pitch darkness, at dilapidated cinema halls in Sangrur, Rajpura and Patiala, her knitting needles didn’t rest for a moment. They seemed to be racing against time, weaving a legacy for every ‘expected child’ in her family. And thus she kept on knitting, even as the seasons changed and the generations of her family grew up. In time, her shoulders froze with arthritis, but still her love knew no bounds. All she cared about was that enough sets of sweaters, matching caps and booties had to be made ready in time to welcome the new arrivals. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Sometimes Nani-ma would stare emptily into the distance ahead, while her hands worked furiously on. I never knew what went on in her mind during those moments. She always seemed to have such a peaceful demeanour. And yet, there were times when her needles made a peculiar sound, different from the usual clicking, that suggested her peace of mind may have been compromised. Her tranquillity, as I comprehend it now, was a carefully crafted mask which she wore with tremendous dignity and grace. Regardless of whatever anyone said to her, Nani-ma always stayed calm. But if those needles could have spoken, they may have revealed a deeper truth. As I recollect that peculiarly frantic clicking in my mind now, I sense her inner turmoil and I wonder; did she ever feel as loved, in ways that she loved us all? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I guess you don't ask such questions from a reservoir of love. And so it was that the question never arose between us. But I wish it had. I wish it had tamed my selfishness, made me a tad more empathic to her needs, made me hold her hands in mine and treasure them in a way I always wanted to, but never really did. Alas, why wasn't I more conscious of her suffering? Instead, all I ever did was to greedily ask her for more freshly churned white butter on my paranthas (flatbreads), more Gajar-Shalgam-Gobi ka achaar (vegetable pickle), more Panjiri (traditional Punjabi sweet) that she made especially for the pregnant ladies of the family to nourish the fetus and facilitate an easy delivery for the mother, more haldi ki barfi (Tumeric sweatmeat) that I so relished, and more sweaters every winter. All of which she made exquisitely, with a joyful willingness, like no one ever could. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">How I wish I had talked to her knitting needles, when she lay them down after a long day’s work, listening to the stories they had to tell. Surely they must have been privy to the secrets of one who had worked with them so deftly. But wisdom usually arrives late in life, filling one's heart with remorse. All one can do then is to gather those memories woven with love, and hold them close to one’s heart, wishing for another chance to love in a more conscious and wholesome way. But since I cannot turn the clock back now, the only thing I can hope to do is to become a weaver of love, by training my hands and heart to knit her magic, by pouring my love generously and selflessly into all. That perhaps is the greatest tribute I can pay her, by simply becoming who she was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I remember so vividly how all the grandchildren fought over who would sleep with Nani-ma during our vacations, or who had received more sweaters from her each winter. As the styles changed, so did the shapes and designs of her hand-crafted garments. Twin sets, long dresses with belts, half sleeved jackets, caps, scarves, mufflers - anything we children demanded, was magically knit, sometimes even overnight. But it was the warm vests that remained the same through all times. Pure white, sleeveless, round-neck embraces of double-knit compassion, that were designed to keep her beloved family warm, through the coldest winter months. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long cable dress with belt knit by Grandma in 1978</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I often wonder if anyone ever asked my Nani ma if she felt loved. Or was everyone else, like me, simply content with just receiving from her, without ever sparing a thought about her needs? Whether it was the comfort of her cosy lap that we snuggled in, the nourishment of the hot Elaichi (cardamom) milk she prepared for us at bedtime, or the gentle thapki (tender patting) that made us drift into blissful sleep, all of us grandchildren were cherished and indulged beyond imagination. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Nani-ma was like the sun, giving off her warmth, every single day for as long as she lived, yet never asking anyone for anything. Except on those two days, when she must have begged for mercy from God. But her prayers were not answered. Not when she lost her younger son, so unexpectedly to heart failure, while his wife was pregnant with child. Not even when she lost her elder one, to a terrible car accident. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nani ma</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">And yet, her face continued to wear a brave mask, but her body began to give way. Her shoulders became frozen with pain and her heart lost its fervour to knit. There were days when I stood outside her bathroom door and heard her suppressed wails as she desperately lifted an arm to put on her shirt or when she tried to placate her grieving heart. But Nani-ma never spoke about her pain, nor did she ever complain. She just went on with life, like drudgery. The only difference was that she prayed more fervently, through the rest of her days, as though begging God to take care of her sons. Or perhaps, requesting Him, to take her away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Slowly, the sweaters became fewer and rarer. Life snatched away her two grown sons prematurely, and with it the rhythm of her knitting lost its colour, design and purpose. The new-borns kept arriving and she did knit for them all, even for some of her great grand-children, but her magic had begun to fade. I saw it in her eyes, that dead stony gaze which told the story of her loss and her slackening will to live. Much as I wanted to, I could do nothing to soothe her pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Instead, I began knitting sweaters for my loved ones, just like Nani-ma did. I knit for my husband and for my new-borns. They were nothing compared to grandma’s knits, but I felt reassured when my husband repeatedly chose to wear his camel coloured, double knit, cabled sweater, that I made for him. On many a cold winter night, he warmed my heart by casually mentioning that this was indeed the warmest sweater of all.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ribbed sweater I knit for my husband in 1992</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Time passed and the sun rose one morning to announce that Nani-ma had passed on, quietly in her sleep. She left as gently as she had lived, without asking for help or burdening anyone. How I wish I had held my Nani-ma’s hands in reverence, and placed mine on her hurting heart, to comfort it. How I wish, I could somehow have healed the loss of her sons, and disentangled the traumatic knots that silently choked her grieving heart. How I wish, I had held her tightly when she ached for them, like she had held me, when I was fearful and forlorn. How I wish, I could have promised her that she would surely meet her lost sons again, on the other side, in the higher realms. How, oh how I wish, I had woven the same love into her life that she had knit into every child’s life that was ever born to her family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">And because I didn’t do any of those things for her back then, and now I know I never can, surely not on this earthly realm, I give my love to other people, hoping to heal their pain and unshackle their hearts and minds. And I weave this tale with deepest admiration and love, with the pink Cashmilon threads of my heart, to honour her life, to share her legacy with all, and to celebrate the extraordinary woman that my Nani ma was.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhty2gbUdvhQGvQQ1Fj4zgGz8eyGRxRrb1Q_mS8fkkhssn1ilPerMSFIuOjXcLwHXtrZrnXWgwj6RLPfP107znFyq6gE21WCAsvrulqsak8v5d4ceYzEXLYo0NIxsgMf5SxY9JMSSWmEZzK/s1600/suzy+bio+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1515" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhty2gbUdvhQGvQQ1Fj4zgGz8eyGRxRrb1Q_mS8fkkhssn1ilPerMSFIuOjXcLwHXtrZrnXWgwj6RLPfP107znFyq6gE21WCAsvrulqsak8v5d4ceYzEXLYo0NIxsgMf5SxY9JMSSWmEZzK/s200/suzy+bio+pic.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Suzy Singh learnt to live life, to sew, stitch, knit, cook, bake and most importantly, to love, from her grandma. After eighteen years in advertising, She relinquished a successful corporate career to pursue her soul’s purpose of healing, loving and giving. She is now a Healer, Spiritual Teacher and Author of the book, ‘7 Karma Codes - Heal the Storm Within’, available online: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.in/7-Karma-Codes-Suzy-Singh/dp/938423821X"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.amazon.in/7-Karma-Codes-Suzy-Singh/dp/938423821X</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Her website is </span><a href="http://www.suzyheals.com/"><span style="font-size: large;">www.suzyheals.com</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <br />She can be reached on </span><a href="mailto:suzyhealsme@gmail.com"><span style="font-size: large;">suzyhealsme@gmail.com</span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">‘Personal Threads’ is an endeavour to read our histories (both political and personal) as the interconnected pieces of a quilt – each one’s individual threads sewn together to form a larger picture. Telling our stories is a means to locate ourselves and who we are within the folds of their narrative. And often, who we are and what we do, emerges from the people, things and places that played some role in our past. We may claim different nationalities and religions but the DNA of our lives is complex and far from unconnected.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">If you’d like to contribute to this project, drop me a line.</span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-47297041826399892972017-10-08T22:42:00.000+05:302018-02-05T16:46:20.162+05:30Personal Threads: Louise Bourgeois: An Unfolding Portrait, by Uma Nair, India, Guest Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Bourgeois, from her Fabric Book [Image Courtsey MOMA/Uma Nair]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><em>“Clothing is...an exercise of memory...<br />It makes me explore the past...<br />how did I feel when I wore that..</em><br /> <br /> - Louise Bourgeois</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Bourgeois, threads in a spidery format - <br />
her favourite theme, [image sourced from internet]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">MOMA will have a select retrospective of Louise Bourgeois opening at the end of this month [September 2017 – January 2018]. Among the many drawings sculptures and prints will be a fabric book created by her, which I saw as an exhibition in Washington DC in 1997.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Why do I a humble critic from India consider it a personal thread ?</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The magic power of the Needle - Louise Bourgeois quote 1992, [image sourced from internet]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I read and researched about Bourgeois and realised that she held thread and needles as close to her as confidants. Bourgeois’ connection to fabric goes back to her childhood years when she helped out in her family’s tapestry restoration workshop. As an adult, she long associated the act of sewing with repairing on a symbolic level, as she attempted to fix the damage she caused in personal </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">relationships. She even held a special regard for spools of thread and needles as tools -she considered important instruments in the service of man.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Bourgeois - another fabric creation<br />
on her best known theme of spiders<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Fabric became her ally-her medium of dreams and fantasies and her narrator-fabric became her sculptural element .In the 1990s, as she began to mine material from clothes accumulated over a lifetime. She hung old dresses, slips, and nightwear in installations, and then manipulated timeworn terry cloth into nearly life-size figures or eerie portrait-like heads.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Bourgeois Pink Days and Blue Days. 1997. <br />
Steel, fabric, bone, mixed media.<br />
Collection Whitney Museum of American Art<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"> In 1999, she hired a seamstress, Mercedes Katz, to help with this work and set her up in a workshop-like area on the lower level of her house, where she also installed two small printing presses. By 2000, Bourgeois had turned to printing on old handkerchiefs, and then other fabrics. She also constructed books of fabric collages.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Bourgeois - Spider [image courtsey MOMA/Uma Nair]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Printing on fabric was a major preoccupation of Bourgeois’s later years and she highly valued her collaboration with Katz and the various printers with whom she worked. The greatest lesson in honesty came from her sharing the truth about her collaborations. The old fabrics resonated with memories .She made use of technology, and took advantage of digital possibilities for duplicating aging or fading effects. In contrast to her prints and books on paper, Bourgeois’s fabric works have a tactile presence that gives them a decidedly sculptural dimension. Delicacy of line and an intensity of poise and purpose define her fabric books. Of course her greatest work The Spider 1997 is a sublime collaboration of Steel, tapestry, wood, glass, fabric, rubber, silver, gold and bone .</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Bourgeois, Louise Bourgeois, Maman, 1999, <br />
Steel, 35 ft in height, Tate Modern, London [image sourced from internet]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Her words stand as a symbolism for all ages. “The spider—why the spider? Because my best friend was my mother and she was deliberate, clever, patient, soothing, reasonable, dainty, subtle, indispensable, neat, and as useful as a spider.”</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Bourgeois <br />
[image sourced from internet]</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><em><span style="font-size: large;">‘Louise Bourgeois: An Unfolding Portrait’ at MOMA, for architectural digest is currently on display till January 2018. It explores the prints, books, and creative process of the celebrated sculptor Louise Bourgeois (1911–2010), whose extraordinary creative process is the organizing principle behind the exhibition, highlighting the themes constantly revisited in her art, all of which emerged from emotions she struggled with for a lifetime.Uma Nair has reviewed this exhibition for Architecural Digest.</span></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LBfGHy0hCT8otLhghIHVv1IwssnV2pXN-K1NXjCA0m2HuA343noWTRxvlraubTKkC3tTt-E-wLPrEiOklimcSt98GjtlJlBmGjZEYXwogSIrhk_J84QQL5iV3MmhM9iojhlD_CkR8UXd/s1600/DSC_0025+bio+pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1063" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LBfGHy0hCT8otLhghIHVv1IwssnV2pXN-K1NXjCA0m2HuA343noWTRxvlraubTKkC3tTt-E-wLPrEiOklimcSt98GjtlJlBmGjZEYXwogSIrhk_J84QQL5iV3MmhM9iojhlD_CkR8UXd/s200/DSC_0025+bio+pic.JPG" width="132" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Uma Nair is art critic of 30 years. She considers multiple media, including textiles, as one of the greatest testimonies of art that can last a lifetime. In an India that has been invaded by western wear she still wears saris that go back 30 to 40 years. She writes as critic for Architectural Digest, The Hindu and Millennium Post, other than her own blog PlUMAge on Times of India.</span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-53137098791527319892017-09-10T21:45:00.000+05:302018-02-05T16:45:59.076+05:30Personal Threads: Structure Me Not by Maggie Baxter, Australia, Guest Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maggie aged 7years, <br />
wearing handknit <br />
done by her mother <br />
and or aunts</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Quilting. Now there is a word that terrifies me, one I want to run away from. It is loaded like a gun to shoot me away from all pretensions of being a ‘serious’ artist into the murky lower depths of the craft circle with all its connotations of women’s work and the amateur. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">slippage 2 - detail, Resist block printing <br />
over dyed with organic natural dye on hand woven cotton</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">When Gopika suggested the concept of a narrative quilt, I thought ‘fabulous, great idea’ but quickly chickened out of the quilt and headed straight to the narrative. In a backward glance this meandering memoir, piecing together this and that, will investigate a little of why that is.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover of the book ’The Quilts of Gee’s Bend’</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I am a fraud, that much you should know. Like all good feminist artists who work with textiles I have read The Subversive Stitch by Rozsika Parker, so I know that in Western countries, embroidery and all things stitched lost status from the middle ages when men and women worked together in guild workshops, until they were fully deemed women’s work in the 18th century. This fall from grace has never been restored. I have tut-tutted, shaken my head at this and probably had a little rant or two. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quilt - detail from the book, Irene Williams, c 1975</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I check out art books all the time for inspiration. One I turn to, at least as much as if not more than any about painting or sculpture, is The Quilts of Gee’s Bend. If those quilts were painted they would be regarded as masterpieces of modernist abstraction - “geometric permutations of pure colour and form-bars and bands of colour offered up in bold confidence, intricate triangles playing visual eye games” . That they were born out of the repression of slavery using whatever their authors could lay their hands on makes their brilliance shine all the more. There is an unconscious immediacy about this work, and although the result is quite different the same can be said of traditional kantha quilts where soft, worn, aged saris are recycled into a new incarnation, the composition entirely at the behest of the maker.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Slippage 1', <br />
2.5 x 1 m, Direct block printing<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">But in the West, notwithstanding the small number of professional quilt artists who bravely set out to extend the parameters of the medium, most of my sisters in stitch spend hours and months patiently and carefully making quilts of pre-determined patterns from cheap cotton often pre-sorted into colour or themes (Christmas, landscape, Australiana etc etc). Yes, yes, I know it isn’t my business to comment, or wonder why, let alone pass judgement, especially if it gives them pleasure, but still I find it slightly depressing - like paint by numbers or embroidery kits. It seems that if the work is born of necessity and has to be the composition of the person doing it, there is a spirit so lacking in that which is pre-determined by others. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Whole' - Maggie Baxter, Knitted</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I can’t quite cross the line. See above, I have not called myself a textile artist but an artist who works with textiles. What a nit-pick! If I had stuck to my original intentions of sculpture, performance art and photography instead of being drawn by an irresistible, irrevocable, invisible karmic thread to Indian textiles, I wouldn’t have this dilemma. I am sure my friends in India, surrounded as they are by the ongoing splendour of their simultaneously ancient and modern - woven, printed, stitched and embroidered material culture, are just thinking ‘Whatever, but really, what is your problem?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><em><strong>Teenage rebellion</strong></em> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Slippage 2', 2.5 x 1m. <br />
Detail, Resist block printing<br />
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on hand woven cotton</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">There was no quilting in our family or much sewing of any kind. I do have a small number of tray and tablecloths that my mother embroidered early in her marriage, but she didn’t maintain the enthusiasm. It was knitting that was the centre of our craft world. The hand knitted sweater and cardigan was epidemic in 1950’s and 1960’s England – the time and place of my childhood and adolescence. Someone could write a thesis on mid-20th century hand knitting just by going through our family photo albums. My mother and all my aunts knitted non-stop and with great skill. They could do complex cabling and multi-coloured patterns without even looking at the needles, watch television while they counted rows and stitches. Who, WHO, WHO would want to spend their life sitting at home knitting when there was a big wide world out there to explore my sixteen-year-old self, asked no one in particular - not ME I ungratefully muttered while putting in an order for whatever caught my fashion fancy on the knitting books that regularly arrived by post. And anyway, why bother to learn when someone else could already do it – and here I must digress for one moment to apologise to my mother on behalf of my teenage self.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj882U5w68jSjSwm2QixQK4pp_Nyf9whO6dpkm6c5VPQCK1Y_bo4Bx_MvNEa_XZJBmhN9-UlIhIH5hA8eFkVm2spWzMKu3RxScKjn86PD5nhcGNJvmB9tPHQgRGcwa_v4BWtsPnZ41Koe9S/s1600/Four+elderly+Scottish+Aunts+wearing+hand+knit+sweaters+and+cardigans%252C+cira+1960%2527s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1600" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj882U5w68jSjSwm2QixQK4pp_Nyf9whO6dpkm6c5VPQCK1Y_bo4Bx_MvNEa_XZJBmhN9-UlIhIH5hA8eFkVm2spWzMKu3RxScKjn86PD5nhcGNJvmB9tPHQgRGcwa_v4BWtsPnZ41Koe9S/s400/Four+elderly+Scottish+Aunts+wearing+hand+knit+sweaters+and+cardigans%252C+cira+1960%2527s.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four elderly Scottish Aunts wearing hand knit sweaters and cardigans, cira 1960's</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">But did they all do it just for the love of knitting? To begin with, probably not but later probably yes. I can only speculate because, taking it for granted, I never asked the question. They were very good at it, took pride in their skill but in the child rearing decades of post-World War II England it was an economic necessity. It was much cheaper to buy wool on the skein and knit than to buy a completed sweater. This hasn’t been the case for a long time and except for occasional brief revivals as ‘the new meditation’, hand knitting is well and truly in decline superseded by the ongoing barrage of quickly disposable machine made. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRxatTJuz2Z1mqGk3MLo2yM2kawmGXWBAa0xgkTmnD92DgLSLYB5SZjjZ6QKn4Qi5E7VUk7NDj2ETufDcnVLlPNk-TeIgoj8_Nm9uX6znMUyz1VjSeuNavWaCrmUTG3spRD1UFM5hgoK9/s1600/Sweater+my+mother%252C+Phyl+Baxter%252C+knitted+for+me+circa+1980.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRxatTJuz2Z1mqGk3MLo2yM2kawmGXWBAa0xgkTmnD92DgLSLYB5SZjjZ6QKn4Qi5E7VUk7NDj2ETufDcnVLlPNk-TeIgoj8_Nm9uX6znMUyz1VjSeuNavWaCrmUTG3spRD1UFM5hgoK9/s400/Sweater+my+mother%252C+Phyl+Baxter%252C+knitted+for+me+circa+1980.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweater my mother, Phyl Baxter, knitted for me circa 1980</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">And when they weren’t knitting my female elders were neatly, carefully darning socks and old hand made sweaters. The throw-away society was on the horizon but in the mean time it was mend and make do. Not quite rafoogari but neat and functional nonetheless.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXztFaSP5w4NmilA_cHR0NhuZoYmHR7vA80FcAZH8x_QpTsxgdsUyoBYUR_95iqS9_-XcFBvcygTA9RkvSl-dcA0hbU_ynWT5QlwQS13_EMFiiY4Pl6hN1IdoBZt6DEhII6xYa6yuUEL3B/s1600/Sweater+my+mother%252C+Phyl+Baxter%252C+knitted+for+me+circa+1980%252C+detail+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXztFaSP5w4NmilA_cHR0NhuZoYmHR7vA80FcAZH8x_QpTsxgdsUyoBYUR_95iqS9_-XcFBvcygTA9RkvSl-dcA0hbU_ynWT5QlwQS13_EMFiiY4Pl6hN1IdoBZt6DEhII6xYa6yuUEL3B/s400/Sweater+my+mother%252C+Phyl+Baxter%252C+knitted+for+me+circa+1980%252C+detail+view.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweater my mother, Phyl Baxter, knitted for me circa 1980, detail view</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Then there was school – not that sewing or domestic science were major subjects, more a quick overview and then an option. Retrospective note to long since deceased teachers (just in case you reincarnate into the same profession): if you want to engage the imagination of teenage girls do not start sewing lessons with three different ways to patch sheets. What you will end up is grubby bits of lacklustre tat that look like a dog chewed them. I am sure I am not alone from that class in saying I have never patched a sheet since. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4S8YVPmjZvKr_pMU_w0358h0qivhb1w5KNDPRZ6G6vL9yrd-NeMFB2i5Hsemx0YNtSlbE-lZWAAO7R3-qQAomTbefq1Pr95q_1dJVI9tMn6FVtPJ-HMsgE4aX8nzFqKyK9ibm8uO3db5z/s1600/%2527Uncurled+1%2527%252C+Resist+block+printing+overdid+with+organic+natural+dye+on+hand+woven+cotton.+Pakko+hand+embroidery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="741" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4S8YVPmjZvKr_pMU_w0358h0qivhb1w5KNDPRZ6G6vL9yrd-NeMFB2i5Hsemx0YNtSlbE-lZWAAO7R3-qQAomTbefq1Pr95q_1dJVI9tMn6FVtPJ-HMsgE4aX8nzFqKyK9ibm8uO3db5z/s640/%2527Uncurled+1%2527%252C+Resist+block+printing+overdid+with+organic+natural+dye+on+hand+woven+cotton.+Pakko+hand+embroidery.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Uncurled 1', <br />
Resist block printing overdid with organic natural dye<br />
on hand woven cotton. Pakko hand embroidery</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I went to art school almost a decade later, chronologically somewhere between Punk and when the amputated asymmetry of Rei Kawakubo’s anti-aesthetic hit the catwalks of Paris and thereafter the world. Oh rip, tear and deconstruction, we were made for each other. I thought my lack of craft skills base had found its true calling without realising until I tried it just how skilful the apparent nihilist approach to cloth really was.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPxHUyNAAmkOT7fEN9qm4lYd4xB2Q1u_lLbZF_ykiZNMOF1SnsRq7CuKwzuR5yhdGIcgkEpkf7rd51J4l6GVoJW3DzBbZ9_i481nybXlz95ULnaHjl0tIKX0r5yQ9Unbn7yyQOPkPMeCc/s1600/%2527Whole%2527+-+detail%252CMaggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPxHUyNAAmkOT7fEN9qm4lYd4xB2Q1u_lLbZF_ykiZNMOF1SnsRq7CuKwzuR5yhdGIcgkEpkf7rd51J4l6GVoJW3DzBbZ9_i481nybXlz95ULnaHjl0tIKX0r5yQ9Unbn7yyQOPkPMeCc/s640/%2527Whole%2527+-+detail%252CMaggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Whole' - Maggie Baxter, Knitted</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">But disconcertingly I reverted to my origins. I knitted. First big soft sculptures Claes Oldenburg style before moving on to knitting plastic tubes, strips of fake fur, and even garden mesh. Then just as suddenly as the knitting fervour came upon me it went back into hibernation emerging once more in the 21st century as irregular lace-like textures achieved by dropping stitches, knitting into two or three stitches at a time and then randomly increasing them. Abstract knitting. I’m all over the place, just where I like to be. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ybEfXPgAOQjihsiPFAK_cQLUuw1fxDgA_izqTJaIPqkTCpDFnraMIWWb7JQJ3uLI2kpJFl2rLLCyulDYbVgpyCc7uBMuv66w4IB1-KqOvPNVg1xVuFoEx9HYOrB1mp43GLixglF7MPgo/s1600/%2527Drip%2527%252C+Maggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="842" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ybEfXPgAOQjihsiPFAK_cQLUuw1fxDgA_izqTJaIPqkTCpDFnraMIWWb7JQJ3uLI2kpJFl2rLLCyulDYbVgpyCc7uBMuv66w4IB1-KqOvPNVg1xVuFoEx9HYOrB1mp43GLixglF7MPgo/s640/%2527Drip%2527%252C+Maggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" width="336" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Drip', Maggie Baxter, Knitted</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">If I were going to consolidate the primary statement of my artwork – it would be line. My drawings (and therefore block printing, and use of stitch) are linear, calligraphic, scribbled. And strangely knitting is linear: It is the act of making a more solid cloth or garment by wrapping and knotting very long threads of fibre over two sticks. In my knitting, the thread never becomes solid, it loops and drapes into random circuitous lines. Some of these I have drawn again and turned into blocks ready for more randomness in the way they are placed on cloth.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpf1DvZ2tN_rR6S6BnRyz8fvakuoYQE7NlHs65-iCcLu7hK01A-snZFW3tqSAfpgDQjFgOOfPnqzy1oOElN9JnYn8c2WHQlwO9tKcuQnPCX3WiNGK3DaG97CFMv85zxPPas4i-yQXJMLzs/s1600/%2527Drip%2527+-+Detail%252C+Maggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1059" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpf1DvZ2tN_rR6S6BnRyz8fvakuoYQE7NlHs65-iCcLu7hK01A-snZFW3tqSAfpgDQjFgOOfPnqzy1oOElN9JnYn8c2WHQlwO9tKcuQnPCX3WiNGK3DaG97CFMv85zxPPas4i-yQXJMLzs/s640/%2527Drip%2527+-+Detail%252C+Maggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Drip', Maggie Baxter, Knitted, a detailed view</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">So, maybe there is another problem with quilting for me? It isn’t random. It is all about structure and building blocks. That is not say there can’t be randomness in the choice of colour or the way the blocks are built up, but still there does have to be some kind of geometry, forethought or plan in the layout. In quilting serendipity is pre-ordained no matter the oxymoron of that statement.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocKjIBTDFugiDlCQsMaOUbVg732VnTpluehV6UIH8OvIVz2sxJnwhRhDphNX9tMcscLNbSbp8Wty5aKX7ngAY_KxWJ3ArGSjBVZkymGgMIAMtZEo56HCrmL6diLshuz7245r3ldZXZ4Lb/s1600/%2527Drift%2527%252C+Maggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1445" data-original-width="1600" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocKjIBTDFugiDlCQsMaOUbVg732VnTpluehV6UIH8OvIVz2sxJnwhRhDphNX9tMcscLNbSbp8Wty5aKX7ngAY_KxWJ3ArGSjBVZkymGgMIAMtZEo56HCrmL6diLshuz7245r3ldZXZ4Lb/s400/%2527Drift%2527%252C+Maggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Drift', Maggie Baxter, Knitted</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I am having a personal, quiet little rebellion against structure. No more of in my life thank-you very much, I already have way too much. City Australia, which is here most of us live, is not the wild frontier of our myths and legends but an over regulated nanny state where we can’t even bicycle on a footpath to the local shop without a crash helmet. My working life coordinating public art in new buildings and public open spaces is a barrage of deadlines, timetables, minutes and reports even before we can get to the literal building blocks of the architecture into which the art is assimilating. So outside of that, in my own artwork allow me to indulge in the free form, be unprepared, totally intuitive, and let it roll out how it chooses to. I am just not sure I can do that with quilting. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5K0DuHkBVJ4apZC7fGKRTMvm6_WY3-idMoCrDFf1SVQyi37sfcQW6z1OI0wLpPV9Hi3SgMFfpUsts_SQp23YhEXkjFi_Squo-N3PhvhCFrXQLm6-U-IBb-lg5sfpeEF8Vxnnnd_LlTfn/s1600/%2527Drift%2527+-+detail%252CMaggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1063" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5K0DuHkBVJ4apZC7fGKRTMvm6_WY3-idMoCrDFf1SVQyi37sfcQW6z1OI0wLpPV9Hi3SgMFfpUsts_SQp23YhEXkjFi_Squo-N3PhvhCFrXQLm6-U-IBb-lg5sfpeEF8Vxnnnd_LlTfn/s400/%2527Drift%2527+-+detail%252CMaggie+Baxter%252C+Knitted.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Drift', Maggie Baxter, Knitted</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLY9oLGWqrUb1n21z64ZbfGxdRKV-3owyFmY1isarDDRKhWcJBCXv5sMwO4aWFIvHXBvNGm0ByopTBYzCwphKvDczUfIl3WHVUTOwv1CVXq5few40ymdbcxWMQkypWeZMphTCl-w8SZrjq/s1600/Baxter-3827_100+dpi+-blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="392" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLY9oLGWqrUb1n21z64ZbfGxdRKV-3owyFmY1isarDDRKhWcJBCXv5sMwO4aWFIvHXBvNGm0ByopTBYzCwphKvDczUfIl3WHVUTOwv1CVXq5few40ymdbcxWMQkypWeZMphTCl-w8SZrjq/s200/Baxter-3827_100+dpi+-blog.jpg" width="132" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">Maggie
Baxter is an Australian artist, writer, curator, and public art coordinator. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<br />
References:<br />
1. Parker, Rozsika. The Subversive Stitch: Embroidery and the Making of the Feminine. London, The Women’s Press. First published 1984, reprinted 1996.<br />
2. William Arnett (Editor), The Quilts of Gee’s Bend. John Bearldsley, Shelly Zegart, and Maude Southwell Wahlman (contributing editors), published by Tinwood Books, Atlanta, Georgia in assoc. with the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, 2002. <br />
3. Ibid. P.14<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;">‘Personal Threads’ is about creating a narrative quilt, in
an endeavour to read our histories as not something unconnected with each other
or the past, which is personal and political, but to read our histories as the
interconnected pieces of a quilt, assembled like bricolage. We may claim
different nationalities and religions but the DNA of our lives is complex and
far from unconnected. While the past has tremendous bearing, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the intention isn't to harp on it as a wail or
dissent or blame, but to narrate this as a means to locate ourselves and who we
are within its folds. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;">If you’d like to contribute to this project, drop me a line.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-4471552374848359862017-08-11T15:29:00.001+05:302018-08-01T12:25:43.229+05:30The Marks of Living Continue to Fascinate - Crochet Stories (Washed Ashore)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">I've been sorting through the stones and shells that I've collected - putting them together, mostly, according to their size. With the shells, the categories increase as there are broken bits, there are odds bits like oyster shells which seem like coagulated masses. I'm utterly enamoured of these 'darker' forms of the sea, hoping to make them into pendants bringing out their salient features with silver filigree. Adding to my growing collection are also those shells which aren't quite shards but almost whole shells with the odd hole in them. I prize these the most from the current standpoint of wanting to sew/crotchet them onto fabric. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">As I touch and feel each one and put them into their designate packets or transparent plastic containers, I marvel at the dents and marks, cracks and shards and pause to see just how perfect they seem with however their adventures through life has marked or shattered them. I can envision using all of them in some way. Nothing seems irrelevant. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">I'm often asked by people on the beach what I'm collecting. I say "anything I can find." The most usual response from them is "for an aquarium?" and I remain silent, wondering how could I ever explain that what I'm picking them up for, is anything but the obvious aquarium. But yes, as a repository of life, mimicking the ocean of existence, I suppose it could be an aquarium of sorts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">With the stones, no matter how small or large, the stoic acceptance of the weight they carry, becomes something to contemplate with regard to the weightiness of being that we, as humans, also carry. Weathered by the tide, the wind and whatever other elemental experiences they may have passed through. Do we manage this kind of acceptance? I cannot help but speculate, how on earth can one to muster such stoicism in the face of travails that have challenged and destroyed illusions of self? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Then come the delicate, delightfully coloured and intricately patterned shells that appeal to the designer and pattern-maker in me. They are mostly separated parts of whole shells - the two almost identical faces that partner to create life, as they swim, tightly hugging each other, through the waves. The few little ones that I've found still intact, I've ventured to crack-open to discover that they're infertile - too young to have nurtured life. But, while all this charms, what I touch and feel and hold most carefully and thoughtfully, as each passes through my fingers, are the fragments that often don't even resemble shells. If I hadn't picked them off the sand I'd be hard-pressed to believe they were indeed shells. Despite being torn asunder thus, I've seen how they hold their ground - digging whatever is left of them into the sand, often more effectively than the stones. These fragments of broken rock pieces, that also people the beaches, are often well rounded but, mostly because of this, they inevitably tumble down, pulled back by the current, into the ocean, probably to be weathered even more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">And it's the itsiest stones that I just love to collect. Occasionally if a friend comes along, and infected by my ardent fancy of all the rubble on the shore, starts picking up stuff for me. They exclaim "how can you even hold them, they're so small!" But, it's this smallness which I find evocative of diminishing egos that thrills me to hold - to catch their tiny, almost elusive forms, between my, comparatively giant-sized, index finger and thumb. They're adorable and sit together easily, no matter where I put them. They have an ease of belonging that's enviable. But, the process of getting there hurts like hell, doesn't it? </span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-6757190434472472192016-08-22T12:40:00.001+05:302018-11-04T14:37:10.964+05:30Personal Threads: Rendering With Needle and Thread - Guest Post by Richard McVetis [UK]<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Title -
29:59</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Materials
& technique - Hand stitch on wool / Straight stitch / insertion stitch</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Dimensions
- 6cm x 6cm x 6cm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">2016</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">As an introvert and a perfectionist, embroidery is more than just about mark making but about taking control and slowing down parts of my day. It’s become a recharge point where I can collect my thoughts and take time out. It also allows for an intimate relationship with the work.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Title -
Units of Time (detail)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Materials
& technique - Hand stitch on wool / Seed stitch / Straight stitch /
Insertion stitch</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Dimensions
- 6cm x 6cm x 6cm each cube / Total – 18cm x 20cm x 12cm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">2015</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The introduction to embroidery was an accident. It was a visit to the open day of an Embroidery degree at Manchester Metropolitan University that really opened my mind to the broad sense of embroidery as medium for expression. What attracted me to this place was the chance to learn one of world’s oldest crafts whilst exploiting the contemporary possibilities of this medium at the same time. The diversity and exploration of the medium was liberating. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Title – Light
Abstraction Mid-East</span></div>
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& technique - Hand stitch on wool / Seed stitch</span></div>
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- 47cm x 47cm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">2015</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">My need to explore I think stems from my childhood and the things I was able to experience and see. In 1982 my parents immigrated to South Africa, and the following year I was born. As a white child in apartheid South Africa everything was normal and I knew no other way of life, in reflection it’s hard to believe that we were part of that system. Since leaving in 1992 I have always tried to ask questions, to not except the normal and through art understand my purpose. This has given rise to many opportunities to live in different countries, Iceland, Norway and Spain to name a few. All of which have contributed to my outlook, inclusivity and aesthetic. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Title –
Proportions of a Male Figure (detail )</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Materials
& technique - Hand stitch on wool</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Dimensions
– 53cm x 70cm </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">2011</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My artistic practice centres on my training as an embroiderer through the use of traditional hand stitch techniques and mark making. Laboured and meticulously worked wools, multiples of embroidered dots and crosses explore the similarities between pen on paper and thread on fabric. I use a limited vocabulary of mark making and deliberately subdue the colour to create a binary simplicity.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">After Manchester I then headed to The Royal College of Art to do an MA in Textiles. My tutor was artist Freddie Robins. She was supportive and allowed us to discover our own paths; challenging me to think about my own practice. I was fortunate to have great tutors at the RCA and Manchester. All of who still provide me with inspiration and motivation to pursue a life in art. My time at the RCA was a challenge but so valuable and enjoyable, I was able to explore the scale of my work and think more about my use materials. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">As a child the medium I had most access to, was pen and paper. I would create entire worlds on the back pages of my school exercise book, building and destroying futuristic cities with a black ballpoint pen. The miniature scale of these worlds I created is a key element in the understanding and organising of space that I have now. I found this method of drawing with black ink to be very satisfying and my interest in this continued right through to high school and college. One inspiring book I remember particularly well and one to which I refer to on many occasions is Van Nostrands ‘Manual of Rendering With Pen and Ink’. I loved the idea that with pen and ink you were able to explore and create different subtleties in texture and materials. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Embroidery for me has become an extension of this exploration of surface through rendering. Substituting the ink for thread and the paper for fabric. The subtle dimension of stitch continues to fascinate me. When I’m stitching I’m endeavoring to recreate the flatness of pen on paper. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Today, my work reflects a preoccupation with process and its ritualistic, repetitive nature exploring the subtle differences that emerge within the repetition process. In addition, mapping out space, marking time and form are central themes. My most recent series of work ‘Units of Time’ is an enquiry into the way time and place are felt, experienced and constructed. Ideas are often developed in response to, or created specific to a moment, visualising and making time a tactile and tangible object. The pieces created explore how objects, materials and places through the action of hands bear witness to the passing of time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Title –
My Grey Pencil Case</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Materials
& technique - Hand stitch on canvas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Dimensions
– 22cm x 39cm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">2008</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">This dimension of time within textiles is also evident in earlier works ‘My Grey Pencil Case’ traces the movement of my body over a period of a few years, unpicking the seams of the pencil case to reveal a drawing on the inner surface, pens and pencils secretly recording the rhythms of daily life. ‘Five o’clock Shadow’ is a more obvious record of a specific moment, capturing the shadow of my partner on a sunny parquet floor in Madrid. The title also references the invisibility of time, revealed only through the processes of our bodies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Title –
Five o’clock shadow</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Materials
& technique - Hand stitch on wool / Straight stitch</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">Dimensions
– 19cm x 19cm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif";">2013</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Many of the patterns that inspire me happen to be the ones that are very rarely noticed. These patterns are part of your everyday, a place you pass routinely, the metal tread of a station entrance or the shadow created by the morning sun light. Taking notice of these, removing them from their context, elevating the mundane to a higher status. London, the city I now live in, is full of these moments, beautiful and unnoticed. These moments are punctuations of time; slowing me down in what it quite a fast paced way of life. Through embroidery I try to capture these moments. The embroidered cubes, the compositions, constellations and arrangements that I create, directly reference the urban grid and my transient relationship to the built-up environment. </span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Mangal; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Richard_McVetis</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Mangal; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Materials &
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">This year sees further exploration of my embroidered cubes. I’m excited by their architectural characteristics and the possibilities they have to affect a large space. When grouped and arranged in constellations the cubes take on a whole new dimension. To explore this further I have begun work on my most ambitious piece of work that I will present next year at Collect 2017: The International Art Fair for Contemporary Objects as part of the Collect Open in partnership with the Crafts Council. This piece draws inspiration from the work of artist Sol Lewitt and the systems we employ to measure time. My aim for this new work is to show time and form as both logical and playful, as an ever-present invisible force. This work also demonstrates my continuing obsessive drive to make.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwcBpuVdz6vG3WYRysXsUDla3OZw1WWQvaMMt_NlemNXCM6njLMVXNxu1gv9-fWvY5MvL_i1LkrAeS5rarCNGRN0oqpNUYp3afTH4PzNVcY89_k-X2TAUIPjZsusmU5qBomCCkdNK5TI6/s1600/bio-pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwcBpuVdz6vG3WYRysXsUDla3OZw1WWQvaMMt_NlemNXCM6njLMVXNxu1gv9-fWvY5MvL_i1LkrAeS5rarCNGRN0oqpNUYp3afTH4PzNVcY89_k-X2TAUIPjZsusmU5qBomCCkdNK5TI6/s200/bio-pic.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">Richard
McVetis is a British artist-maker, known for his meticulously embroidered
drawings and objects. Since his training in the traditional process of
embroidery at The Royal College of Art, he has been exploring his
pre-occupation with process and its ritualistic and repetitive nature for over
ten years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: large;">Richard is
based at Kingsgate Workshops, West Hampstead, London. His work has been
exhibited across the UK, North America, France, Ukraine and Korea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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work can be seen on his website: </span><a href="http://www.richardmcvetis.co.uk/"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">http://www.richardmcvetis.co.uk/</span></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-22416654476002043412016-06-01T23:01:00.002+05:302016-06-09T22:10:43.389+05:30The Art of Stitch - Guest Post by John Hopper<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5ZN3p3EY7LoVS524yPuTENH715FNZvPwB873R0FO_gO0umFUpr1Mm9m4It_JutpuciFYoEzwBnwgx4oH2Wkiy_W23e6qC5xr3k1hgVkq-lmaI2A23PLWoUYVnkNervvqzuGWKIRolD9o/s1600/christine+chester-Layers+of+Memory%252C+2012+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5ZN3p3EY7LoVS524yPuTENH715FNZvPwB873R0FO_gO0umFUpr1Mm9m4It_JutpuciFYoEzwBnwgx4oH2Wkiy_W23e6qC5xr3k1hgVkq-lmaI2A23PLWoUYVnkNervvqzuGWKIRolD9o/s400/christine+chester-Layers+of+Memory%252C+2012+low.jpg" width="386" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Christine Chester-Layers of Memory, 2012 </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The stitch, and its natural expression embroidery, has been one of the mainstays of nearly every domestic culture across the planet ever since humans invented both needle and thread. There never seems to be a time when we are not without the magical, yet perfectly practical skill and necessity of stitching.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Sewn into the Fabric of History</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The humble, yet enduring stitch, is a full and integral part of our history, literally sewn into its fabric, and yet although historically bound, it is still an important part of our contemporary world. Whilst other domestic crafts have faded away, become peculiarities of our history, stitch and embroidery have surprisingly endured, and if anything, expanded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Although it continues to have its roots firmly intertwined with the practical, stitch does after all keep our clothes from falling apart, stitch has also played a decisive role in our creative need for decoration and art, an expression of the visual in our world. Although not strictly a practical and necessary aid to our survival, visual art is still considered by many to be a vital part of our well-being.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9WJvuoKj1pbaF1HlwrkChM0OEC9kovrNBO89GIz17q_7i50LnsOG4jcTltqw5oWM5A93B6wdMWb3TlSvPTovzYXDOwbZHI3jRs4KJFJ3ipzcBUoKKOd8z_4GFOzwTc6tQddmnVZrWgYL/s1600/christine+chester-Layers+of+Memory+detail%252C+2012+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9WJvuoKj1pbaF1HlwrkChM0OEC9kovrNBO89GIz17q_7i50LnsOG4jcTltqw5oWM5A93B6wdMWb3TlSvPTovzYXDOwbZHI3jRs4KJFJ3ipzcBUoKKOd8z_4GFOzwTc6tQddmnVZrWgYL/s400/christine+chester-Layers+of+Memory+detail%252C+2012+low.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Christine Chester-Layers of Memory detail, 2012 </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Human creativity is arguably our most profound expression of self. The projection of visual language gives us a sense of belonging, of being part of not only the human spirit, the human community, but also of the greater world, the world that exists outside of ourselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There are of course countless ways and means of expressing that most fundamental element of ourselves, our creativity. From paint to dance, from word to moving image, all have been corralled into tools of expression. Stitch, surprisingly to some, is an extremely comprehensive and wide-ranging tool.</span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">A Painterly Tool</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Qn2IF4Oa8OzeX4r7jb6tPwJeGdw8S4ady590urOm3G4C3VYtP8YONxKh1Wxkmzi7QibQlaHrlbR0QX6FhHyPSsX1tR22-s6nsQxbHBpMUsY-T4wGoUseknSsHh52219lv27ZShxpOoGZ/s1600/stewart+kelly-12+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Qn2IF4Oa8OzeX4r7jb6tPwJeGdw8S4ady590urOm3G4C3VYtP8YONxKh1Wxkmzi7QibQlaHrlbR0QX6FhHyPSsX1tR22-s6nsQxbHBpMUsY-T4wGoUseknSsHh52219lv27ZShxpOoGZ/s640/stewart+kelly-12+low.jpg" width="504" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stewart Kelly - Face to Face 2</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Long gone are the days where needlework could be consigned by critics to the realm of cosy domestic ‘Home Sweet Home’ panels. Today stitch is now fine art, it is a painterly tool, and it is a meditative focus towards a fundamental understanding of self and others. Stitch is and can be, both practical understanding and a conceptual idea. In the hands of the practically adept, in the hands of the visionary enquiring, stitch has become a leading edge in contemporary expression on an ever expanding range of levels.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some of the most notable and leading changes that have been seen and felt within stitch and embroidery as art in recent years, have been changes directly associated with the perceived traditions of the craft, especially those to do with gender and individual lifestyle perceptions. </span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Shift in the Gender Bias</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouKb3oXc29lLYU_HHEVmaujLowdpnZ2ewEQjUCrrQhh9m15rAsum9PB995Ga2_K2kkPHq9d7ZvK-ngPDtv5MQbN6J4iaUHuSrMwwT-1rNjR9CSjQj_TLKF0FtYW5mqV03_dxYnHMWbP-r/s1600/stewart+kelly-16+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouKb3oXc29lLYU_HHEVmaujLowdpnZ2ewEQjUCrrQhh9m15rAsum9PB995Ga2_K2kkPHq9d7ZvK-ngPDtv5MQbN6J4iaUHuSrMwwT-1rNjR9CSjQj_TLKF0FtYW5mqV03_dxYnHMWbP-r/s640/stewart+kelly-16+low.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stewart Kelly - Face to Face 2, detail</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For a discipline that has in one way or another been commonly perceived as being dominated by women, it is interesting to see more and more men moving into the field, focusing and projecting their own gender awareness on the discipline, their own beliefs, fears, and preconceptions. This can of course, only ever be a good thing, and it has added a whole new perceptive range to the contemporary look and feel of embroidery as art. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of course men are only one element of the contemporary additions to the discipline. So many more are being added, seemingly on a daily basis. Something quite fundamental and challenging is going on in the area of stitch as art, as more and more people begin to realise that stitch can actually be an expansive, liberating form of expression, rather than a closed, limiting tradition that was so often assumed, even just a handful of years ago.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Individual Self-expression</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjzUQarBCOs0gmRi1BaX8_rHNt3iEvXLT0m9stBB69JFlWKYADa-MgwHrT_uz68r_kEGWfYneoFlV5tEON1mBk1bNT1gcvLk0Aq1nLVSDF_pfyGeZ9gKy0NJar3Fq0js-WpC_Q4CU4CDr/s1600/richard+mcvetis-Displaced+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjzUQarBCOs0gmRi1BaX8_rHNt3iEvXLT0m9stBB69JFlWKYADa-MgwHrT_uz68r_kEGWfYneoFlV5tEON1mBk1bNT1gcvLk0Aq1nLVSDF_pfyGeZ9gKy0NJar3Fq0js-WpC_Q4CU4CDr/s640/richard+mcvetis-Displaced+low.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Richard McVetis-Displaced </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The more that individuals enter into the discipline of embroidery, the more kaleidoscopic becomes its projection. In our contemporary world, stitch is now a vehicle of expression for the world of our complexity. Never before has lifestyle projection for the individual held such an importance. For much of our history, limiting or even eliminating self-expression has been the major controlling factor within our heavily constrained societies, and in many respects the creative arts mirrored that obsessive control. To be the norm meant to be like everyone else, to have a sweeping template where one size fits all.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The contemporary world, though by no means ideal, is beginning to embrace diversity, to embrace the ideal of the individual as self-expressing entity. Therefore, we now have societies that promote and encourage inclusivity of personal choice, rather than exclusivity of imposed standards, and that is now colouring our perception and projection of our creative arts, with stitch being one of those projections.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Therefore, we have contemporary embroidery that is coloured by the experiences and projections of male, female, transgender, of gay, straight, and all levels between, of every conceivable lifestyle choice, and geographical area, of young, and old, of the experienced and the not so. We have political, religious, and social commentary, we have shared surface jokes, and we have the intimacy of singular depth of understanding. Never has the role of stitch played such a richly comprehensive role within our larger society. </span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps we could say that stitch is learning to encompass and respect the complexity of the world we live in, or perhaps it is just a matter of artists coming at stitch from their own personal perspectives, their own individual moments within the life of the planet, and expressing themselves within a discipline that they feel fuels a need or understanding on that personal level. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uv0Ia8EhTT8aa3l6OnYlu8Lm1tjJxDIrDb3v6jYnkoGs_znVFptccv4TOJGn091MHe3UO-Pl0lKFj-qBVs5lzsPFP2Wg6kFdLg2uHau6UqOcOwsW5Y99csbx06J1G_CuU7u92IfHNWgg/s1600/richard+mcvetis-Displaced+detail+a+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uv0Ia8EhTT8aa3l6OnYlu8Lm1tjJxDIrDb3v6jYnkoGs_znVFptccv4TOJGn091MHe3UO-Pl0lKFj-qBVs5lzsPFP2Wg6kFdLg2uHau6UqOcOwsW5Y99csbx06J1G_CuU7u92IfHNWgg/s640/richard+mcvetis-Displaced+detail+a+low.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Richard McVetis-Displaced, detail</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Within the ideal of individual identity and the celebration of that individuality, it would be fair to say that it is rare to find anyone living today who does not recognise that they can no longer be categorised as being of one singular identity. We are all multiples, we all have overlapping lifestyles, beliefs, interests, desires. For our creative world to express those differing identities within shared layers of meaning and understanding, is a healthy and energising development.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In our contemporary world we live in a human landscape of complexity of purpose, we live in a world that both shares and understands that there are multiple expressions of thought, of ideal, of understanding. That sentiment carries over into the art world, which has become increasingly inclusive as to different forms of creative expression, using different raw materials, and arriving at artistic expression from a range of disciplines, including stitch.</span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">High Creative Profile of the Humble Stitch</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3PVTzRZ5qjpfUITizrNLnscSgBqaXNM7sd-eeyIcgq20l7ejr-Ei8b6MFl3Vs4-YtPtNQ5wKoTxODDjoS3OvIKM6MHA8wZyoPMceFZo-D3XrBPiKTmjOlCOATAei2md5YdGbEYUAZ4Ec/s1600/roxanne+lasky-Tidal+3+Source+Detail+2+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3PVTzRZ5qjpfUITizrNLnscSgBqaXNM7sd-eeyIcgq20l7ejr-Ei8b6MFl3Vs4-YtPtNQ5wKoTxODDjoS3OvIKM6MHA8wZyoPMceFZo-D3XrBPiKTmjOlCOATAei2md5YdGbEYUAZ4Ec/s640/roxanne+lasky-Tidal+3+Source+Detail+2+low.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Roxanne Lasky-Tidal 3 Source, detail 2 </span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A number of art galleries across the planet have recently held, and are organising future exhibitions highlighting both individual artists, as well as groups that use stitch as a part or main element in their work. This trend looks set to continue, and if anything, expand as the twenty first century unfolds.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For stitch, which by definition is the simplicity of a loop of thread or yarn resulting from a single pass or movement of the needle, to be able to hold this element of publicity, this high creative profile, is unprecedented in recent times. The last real moment of similarity would probably be the art embroidery movement at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries, and although that did give us some of the best art-based embroidery in modern times, it was very narrowly focused, much of it being produced by one gender, for one specific lifestyle choice. This contemporary phase of art embroidery is much, much broader.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OVZjtvnIJUi341eFppSPJmFSzaE3NqwPyUxxQ-BDK8nF_Mvgm8FilVt3icsU53gh8eIukr3KAU_yMwh308kwPqEQB2sSV3NwC25TL_5ST1XUPyaS5Ay93rPqX24UmYcaoU8RAKpZ0Dyh/s1600/roxanne+lasky-Tidal+3+Source+Detail+1+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OVZjtvnIJUi341eFppSPJmFSzaE3NqwPyUxxQ-BDK8nF_Mvgm8FilVt3icsU53gh8eIukr3KAU_yMwh308kwPqEQB2sSV3NwC25TL_5ST1XUPyaS5Ay93rPqX24UmYcaoU8RAKpZ0Dyh/s400/roxanne+lasky-Tidal+3+Source+Detail+1+low.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Roxanne Lasky-Tidal 3 Source, detail 1 </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Having said that, the broader embroidery becomes in appeal and subject matter, the more intimate is its power to individual artists who use and express themselves within that discipline. Stitch can be both representational and non-representational in form. There are artists that work with a large range of variations of recognition, as well as variations of the abstract.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It does show the strength of character of stitch and embroidery, that it can comfortably deal with artists from such a broad visual spectrum. There are artists that play with versions of reality, allowing the stitch to chase across a background, either outlining that reality, or seeming to, just as there are artists that play with the stitch itself, playing with geometrical patterns, or recognising the full abstraction that can be formed from the simplicity of a stitch. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">All are acceptable, and all tell us something about the artist themselves as individual, the community they are part of, and the world that that community sits within. It also of course, tells us something about ourselves as viewer, as sharer of the experience. How we perceive and understand the work of an artist, tells us as much, if not more about ourselves than it does the artist.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW09sgH-xzahkAGiO0QtCB8GM8Yltt3NokXTNmCc1qng8wbYZSCw5vE91o90C5j1m74Zc8xpgm84WVN6xLSAve2IXhQ1N9WErr6gejn9NOrF69H1CijbhCbPZ5pbC_PSsuSHMwZBSMlHd7/s1600/jude+hill+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW09sgH-xzahkAGiO0QtCB8GM8Yltt3NokXTNmCc1qng8wbYZSCw5vE91o90C5j1m74Zc8xpgm84WVN6xLSAve2IXhQ1N9WErr6gejn9NOrF69H1CijbhCbPZ5pbC_PSsuSHMwZBSMlHd7/s1600/jude+hill+1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Jude Hill </span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Artists are channellers of the creative flow. They open themselves up to experience and invention, freely allowing the pulse of creativity to fill them, which in turn both focuses and tempers them as artists, and as individuals.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It is how individual artists approach and in turn deal with the phenomenon of external and internal creativity that stitch and embroidery depends so much on. Stitch is part of an evocative world that can have both preconceived directions, as well as specific directions of any individual, all of which obviously means different things to different people. As stated before, so much depends on gender, age, culture, lifestyle, it colours our perception, honing everything we see and experience as a personal suggestion of life. We are both trapped and liberated by that perception, and our creative self-expression is duly coloured and flavoured by that duality of liberation and entrapment.</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Stitch as Metamorphic</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Stitch can be metamorphic; it can be transitional both physically and conceptually. Cloth and stitch can seem at times to be as one entity, one indivisible world of meaning, a harmony of direction and experience. At others it can seem more like a struggle with identity, an uncomfortable alliance between opposites, both demanding to go in their own mutually exclusive directions, their pathways being in no way linked. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This matching and mismatching, this harmony and struggle, often has much to do with what the artist is trying to convey through stitch. It is always the creative perception of the artist which so often colours the seeming reality of success or failure through stitch, though of course all is forever subjective, and success or failure in art are often meaningless terms. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Due to its nature, there is often a pinpoint focus to stitch. The emphasis is invariably on the singular transaction, the single complete movement of a threaded needle. This motion of the moment, a movement forever wrapt in the phenomenon of now, has attached new importance to the art of needlework as being mindful. Stitching is seen, in an increasingly frantic and wide-eyed world, as a calm discipline that carries with it a centring, harmonising effect. It is now seen as a popular vehicle for the direct release of tension, a focusing of the power of mind and spirit to just be in the moment of living, to exist as stitch and stitcher.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeOtBqfVW_0dLcnpUIvijurzXaIVjvOz2kurcebLAaDxpoPr5Ah1tyopelwBIdE9toFEomYVHatu1V9nNSqYRPzedPG3vqA2TdAB17UozEjbZH_ZjQKaOQtt8_3zWwM41QISPuvxNR57e/s1600/jude+hill+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeOtBqfVW_0dLcnpUIvijurzXaIVjvOz2kurcebLAaDxpoPr5Ah1tyopelwBIdE9toFEomYVHatu1V9nNSqYRPzedPG3vqA2TdAB17UozEjbZH_ZjQKaOQtt8_3zWwM41QISPuvxNR57e/s1600/jude+hill+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Jude Hill </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Cutting Edge Art, A Power of its Own</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So how can stitch be all of these things? How can it be cutting edge art statement, a reflection of modern lifestyles, the continuation of tradition, a form of contemporary meditation, and so much more? To be honest, why can it not? Stitch has a power of its own, it can be subtle and mild, or it can be bold and demanding. It is what it is, it is whatever it is meant to be, whatever it needs to be for the individual who wants to work with it. To be interpreted and reinterpreted over and over again throughout human history has given it a vocabulary that is rich and full, but at the same time it has opened itself up to be a vehicle of exploration and innovation. A heady mix that has allowed it to be loose enough to be both embraced and projected by the contemporary world, a world that, by its very nature, revels in its complexity, its mix and match trajectory. This world is going to take stitch to who knows where, and who knows when. It will help mould a new identity for the humble stitch, but in many ways, the humble stitch will also get to do some moulding of its own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>John Hopper</b> is a writer and an enthusiastic supporter of creative artists. A graduate in textile art and design, he is a respected juror for textile-based events worldwide. Since 2008 he has written and produced <b>The Textile Blog,</b> dedicated to contemporary textile artists, now expanded into four other sites: <b>John Hopper</b> on contemporary fine artists, <b>Word of Voices</b> for literary and creative book reviews, <b>Disordered Engines </b>is a personal perspective of the world around and within and <b>Big Sky/Tall Trees</b> is dedicated to his photographic. John lives in the southwest corner of the UK., and produces a regular portfolio magazine project <b>Inspirational, </b>featuring best contemporary artists in all disciplines across the world. </span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-89482262785691122412016-04-21T21:06:00.000+05:302018-11-04T14:39:40.214+05:30Personal Threads: An American Kantha - Guest Post, Marty Jonas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6nAZ8N6Ngw9RcBedbs8NVHgWw9SsWZWesXQrHIAWqF4mxmNybEED6ZUM0i4pkx_q57dCqSZU7buwchyphenhyphenFU5cmQR6geDknoObmdvpqNpJO1QGXyElQWqIdtYoB87wddPz2gEGBiyS1tc0i/s1600/09HalfStitchesKantha+low+res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6nAZ8N6Ngw9RcBedbs8NVHgWw9SsWZWesXQrHIAWqF4mxmNybEED6ZUM0i4pkx_q57dCqSZU7buwchyphenhyphenFU5cmQR6geDknoObmdvpqNpJO1QGXyElQWqIdtYoB87wddPz2gEGBiyS1tc0i/s640/09HalfStitchesKantha+low+res.jpg" width="616" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Thread can be used in an infinite number of ways and has the ability to convey messages, alter meanings and transform the ordinary. The tactile qualities of fiber and thread, combined with surface design techniques, provide me with the opportunity to speak visually, expressing that which I cannot express in words. My goal is to create works that are complex enough to provide the viewer with interest when viewed from a distance as well as up close. I try to use the medium to its maximum, pushing beyond tradition in the hope of sparking the viewer’s imagination, thoughts, and memories.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fiber is an extension of my voice.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I am 72 years old and the youngest of three girls and live near San Francisco, CA. USA. My mother taught me to knit, crochet, cook and sew and my father taught me to hammer, saw, solder and drill. I cannot remember a time when I was not doing something creative, using thread or cloth. My father also taught me that when you do something and it turns out to be easier than you thought, then it was a waste of time and you should strive to do something better and harder. I was never allowed to sit and do nothing. As a result, I am never at rest and work on my art for 8 to 12 hours a day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">In 1986, I bought an exercise gym so I could sell aerobic clothing that I started making for myself and friends. When I was not making the clothing, I found myself at the gym all day and night as the only full time “employee.” I started making pillows, using needlepoint kits to keep myself busy. I quickly got bored with the kits and began to design for a store in the neighboring city of Napa, CA. During this time, I came upon a stitched exhibition at Mills College in Oakland, CA. I saw so many wonderful and new techniques using thread and picked up every available brochure. This led me to take a five-day class by the English textile tutor, Jan Beaney. The class was held in a sewing machine store. The facility had one sink, a toilet, and a hot plate to cook on. We all slept on the floor and in the morning, we hid our sleeping bags, so the store did not look like a homeless shelter. If I needed any supplies, then I would reach out and pluck it off the shelves. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Thereafter, I enrolled in City and Guilds of London because I was interested in embroidery and in the USA, the emphasis was mainly in quilting and surface design. I completed the course in embroidery, Part I and Part II with Julia Caprara and continued with additional courses in Embroidery from Middlesex College.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Discovering Kantha</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I first heard of the word Kantha, in 1994, when I was required to make one for a class assignment. I could not find very much on the subject. I did find the book, “The Art of Kantha Embroidery” by Niaz Zaman, which was available via mail from a bookstore in India. It is a first edition from 1981 and I cherish it. I have since bought an updated edition but I love the original with its yellowed pages and faded book cover. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">Personal Kantha, 1994, 8" x 8" (20cm x
20cm) Cotton Fabric, Silk Threads, Hand Embroidered</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">According to my assignment, I was to make a Kantha relating to my life. I chose silk sewing threads in red, blue and yellow. As you can see from the photograph, I followed the traditional format with the borders, tree of life, with a lotus motif in the centre along with Lakshmi’s footprints. In order to personalize it and also inspired by the way the women of Bengal always brought in elements of their daily living, I added an easel and some paint brushes, which represent my husband’s love for painting. In this Kantha you can also see our dog Queenie as well as our daughter’s cat Skitzy. I also included our 38’ sailboat. This Kantha is one of my prize possessions, not only because it is a part of my past but because I stitched on it while sitting with my mom while she was recovering from a heart attack. The Kantha consists of two pieces of thin cotton fabric that I painstakingly stitched so it could be viewed from either side. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A Personal Kantha, back-side view</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">A Trip to India</span></b><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></strong> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">In October 2015, I took a 3-week textile tour to the Rajasthan area organized by ‘Creative Arts Safaris’ and focuses on textiles. I highly recommend the tour and am planning to return with ‘Creative Arts Safaris’ in 2017 to the Bengal area of India to see more Kanthas. We started with a tour of the Craft Museum in New Delhi, and my heart fluttered at the sight of all the Kanthas. We took an embroidery class on Zardozi Embroidery in Agra. Zardozi means ‘sewing with gold’, it is an embossed metal embroidery which was once used to embellish the attire of kings and royals in the 17th century. Pearls and precious stones are also added for elegance. We sat cross-legged on the floor in front of an adda or embroidery stand. Seeing the adeptness with which the craftsman sat, so effortlessly for hours, I realized that I should have learned to sit this way as a child. The design was put onto our fabric using the ‘prick and pounce’ design technique. We all made one flower using gold purl and several colors of embroidery thread. All of us grunted when we had to stand up after our session. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Detail of A Personal Kantha, 1994</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">As part of the tour we travelled to Jaipur and Udaipur where we learned mud resist block printing, badhini and also visited the the double Ikat weavers of Patan and a family of Mushru weavers. I bought back a lot of textiles, including a beautiful Jain temple altarpiece, originally from Rajkot, Dhurrie Rug from the Weavers of the Bishnoi people on route to Jodhpur and I also bought several Kanthas, bedspreads, and pillows. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">My India Inspired Kantha</span></b><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></strong> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Upon arriving back to Benicia, CA., I immediately started working on a Swastika or Shorstir Chinho embroidery. This design is an abstract symbol which is quite popular in Jessore or Faridpur Kanthas. This piece, which I dyed using a clamp resist technique was stitched in November of 2015 and measures 10” x 10” (25cm x 25cm). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Outlined Kantha, 2016, 16" x 16" (40cm x
20cm)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Silk Fabrics, Cotton Batting, Cotton Threads, Hand
Embroidered</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">While working on this, I found and ordered several books on the subject of Kanthas.I wanted to make a decorative Kantha using animals, and flowers. I really liked a picture in the books and decided to try it as my test piece. I altered the pattern and eliminated some designs and changed some others and enlarged the design to 16” and printed the design onto tissue paper. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I sandwiched cotton batting in between a layer of raw silk and the mushru silk that I brought home from India. I carefully turned in the edges and hand sewed the three pieces together. Now this turned out to be my first mistake, as I realized that the pieces of fabric were too thick. But because this was a test, and I was so anxious actually to get going, I said it will be fine and started up. I tried to put a running stitch around the outside but found that the fabric was too thick to run my needle through and catch all three layers. So I ended up using a ‘prick and poke’ technique which became much more time consuming. I started on my first design and after a day decided that I did not like the fabric that I was using. The fabric was too shiny and so I ripped out all the stitching, turned the fabric over and starting stitching on the reverse side. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNw42Nwb8bLe5C0auIMzXpxuIhlBxHY_8vB3K1-D6KMeJbgfUdwa5PNnVebvm6rc6g_E04DTCDM8JnnQUYiTVL5rwuLS7akHPFUEkMBN6lCPl3zUXnIgdLhz3F89qzIN5XtOt1DXBxQ2Q/s1600/09HalfStitchesKantha+low+res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNw42Nwb8bLe5C0auIMzXpxuIhlBxHY_8vB3K1-D6KMeJbgfUdwa5PNnVebvm6rc6g_E04DTCDM8JnnQUYiTVL5rwuLS7akHPFUEkMBN6lCPl3zUXnIgdLhz3F89qzIN5XtOt1DXBxQ2Q/s640/09HalfStitchesKantha+low+res.jpg" width="616" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Half Finished Kantha, 2016, 16" x 16" (40cm x
20cm)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Silk Fabrics, Cotton Batting, Cotton Threads, Hand
Embroidered</span></div>
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</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I normally use real silk thread but found that I either did not have enough colors in the right size or that it was too thin. I also found that the silk thread knotted and twisted too much and I had to spend a lot of time, releasing knots. I ended up working on piece using mercerized thread that I had purchased, to use on my knitting machine. I had 24 different colors but added to the collection with other mercerized cotton threads. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Next, I wanted to stitch the motifs using a running stitch but could not make them small enough because of the thickness of the fabrics. I could have only stitched the top layer of the three fabrics and have maintained the tiny stitches but then the underside would be blank. I chose to stitch the motifs using back stitch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I had not taken into consideration that I would lose fabric width and length when I turned over the edges so now I had no room to incorporate a border design. I took a black thread and outlined all the motifs using back stitch. I planned to stitch the background with white silk thread after I completed all the motifs, but I needed instant gratification, so I played with the stitching as I went. I used a thin silk thread, which is normally used to tie flies for fly fishing and only stitched the top layer of the Kantha. I love the piece and am now ready to make a larger Kantha using a thinner material, using only two layers of fabric and not three. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWAHpzsLKJ91pgFJnOfsh6xZdpmQdsMsUcOb3B2w9Stv2VqC9NvIQHUTO-UHFzQf-u_1eA0SM0Ec_mIHkeBrW4P3foHb0mjKOo7UueEZ78B9LCbSj1aVjpnQRG5QZAcH3Gk-H0wA3GWhy/s1600/10FinishedKantha+low+res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWAHpzsLKJ91pgFJnOfsh6xZdpmQdsMsUcOb3B2w9Stv2VqC9NvIQHUTO-UHFzQf-u_1eA0SM0Ec_mIHkeBrW4P3foHb0mjKOo7UueEZ78B9LCbSj1aVjpnQRG5QZAcH3Gk-H0wA3GWhy/s640/10FinishedKantha+low+res.jpg" width="632" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Finished Kantha, 2016, 16" x 16" (40cm x
20cm)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Silk Fabrics, Cotton Batting, Cotton Threads, Hand
Embroidered</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I started the background stitching before I had completed the motifs. Besides the backstitch, I have used the kantha or running stitch, the Chatai or pattern darning stitch. When using the kantha or darning stitch, the surface of the material changes radically with the patterns flowing and swirling. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0bgOjY5EImMFCajIhcobPwRB-MNKeVGf9e3F6HN8XF7Dp_AqB2Ujgb7i374jPwXAsNoJKgZijKcAbmFNYwPBJCkzzAKzTd6t0e3JlOJsVv5MyNa1vbrIy_LVfmoSRUFRtH4OaHlU5ztC/s1600/marty+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0bgOjY5EImMFCajIhcobPwRB-MNKeVGf9e3F6HN8XF7Dp_AqB2Ujgb7i374jPwXAsNoJKgZijKcAbmFNYwPBJCkzzAKzTd6t0e3JlOJsVv5MyNa1vbrIy_LVfmoSRUFRtH4OaHlU5ztC/s200/marty+photo.jpg" width="165" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Marty Jonas is an embroidery enthusiast. I first saw her Kantha embroidery on a textile group on Facebook which prompted me to ask her to tell me more about her involvement with Kantha. At 72, she sews, travels the world and experiments with stitching. She lives and works in California USA. </span><span style="font-size: large;">www.martyjonas.com</span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-49872179560635748232016-02-26T15:42:00.000+05:302016-02-26T21:37:24.180+05:30Tom Lundberg – Mentoring Threads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHGTUZzzHFoGHxjwqraOCDpq-EFE7AuuZlRNXe38W8dp17xn8sOtVvTc0QrXmnGsfbiIsoHDfDfJMo2my7qkafg3lAOW3Y9-haRUmjmUfaBZtf8PI-kBFPDKQ9wX-oyQE_yTqgjIv0imW/s1600/Flare_crppd+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHGTUZzzHFoGHxjwqraOCDpq-EFE7AuuZlRNXe38W8dp17xn8sOtVvTc0QrXmnGsfbiIsoHDfDfJMo2my7qkafg3lAOW3Y9-haRUmjmUfaBZtf8PI-kBFPDKQ9wX-oyQE_yTqgjIv0imW/s640/Flare_crppd+low.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<u><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Jab We Met</span></span></b></u><br />
<strong><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></u></strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I met Tom Lundberg in the year 2000, in Fort Collins Colorado, U.SA. He was my Fulbright mentor whom I’d never met before that year in September, when I arrived, via Denver, in the small town of Fort Collins, but we had been in touch via email. It was through Yoshiko Wada, via her friend Jason Pollen, another textile artist teaching at the University of Kansas, that I was introduced to him. Tom had a great fascination for India at the time and I recollect his rather unusual request for <i>gamcha’s </i> [honeycomb-weave towels he’d once bought from Tamilnadu], when I asked if there was anything I could bring him from India.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJdq2j8BUbWdOiVEcaT_QeISB0AVD5lazATwYjcULmnVkDae6gT1704KyHaZBX_5VPIFjQJp2w_IXdFLNfCbazt34kM_eGkpV4_YKJEpv9nv0eaocUyUxPtc8EQeBDooeQvTVP4aKMvvB/s1600/scan0011+%25282%2529low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJdq2j8BUbWdOiVEcaT_QeISB0AVD5lazATwYjcULmnVkDae6gT1704KyHaZBX_5VPIFjQJp2w_IXdFLNfCbazt34kM_eGkpV4_YKJEpv9nv0eaocUyUxPtc8EQeBDooeQvTVP4aKMvvB/s400/scan0011+%25282%2529low.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I had started my practice as an embroidery artist just a few years prior to this and felt like a bit of an oddity in India, where most of the people who did embroidery were called <i>karigars</i> or artisans and were from quite a different educational and social background. There were but a handful of us textile artists who did embroidery and we met through an exhibition at the British Council in 1999 where it was not us, but our embroideries that entered into a dialogue of sorts as they hung beside each other. So, when I met Tom and entered the portals of the Fibre Studio at Colorado State University, engaging with students who were studying Fibre art under his guidance, I was enchanted. It was enriching to share my work and ideas and engage with these young Americans who were well versed in the notions of thread as art – beyond design. I remember a critique where I was forced to think about things that I had never really considered before – why did I sign my art-works and what prompted the theatrical and contradictory frames etc.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73pBocOyAxjgRiSN3OXeX5Qnv1riuZ3nX1ZugBydDdzDd43SRBuyyxo3947UEO-zLhVQ17BTBKcBiUJ4glUK3rGYEfrl3Bwc8sUkXgYmj5c-7mdjbtplm36fGX0XP4rs1FgpkjHFD-OCq/s1600/scan0018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73pBocOyAxjgRiSN3OXeX5Qnv1riuZ3nX1ZugBydDdzDd43SRBuyyxo3947UEO-zLhVQ17BTBKcBiUJ4glUK3rGYEfrl3Bwc8sUkXgYmj5c-7mdjbtplm36fGX0XP4rs1FgpkjHFD-OCq/s640/scan0018.jpg" width="513" /></a></div>
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<u><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></u><b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Textile Community</span></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> And then there was Tom’s work. I was fortunate to see an exhibition of his embroideries right there in the CSU gallery. Small scale, delicate little pieces that were colourful and filled with memories and associations that were probably not difficult to decode once you understood where he was coming from, but what really gripped me then was the fact that technique was given so much emphasis. Some pieces still had the Indian touch with works such as Jori pocket and one of the works had a <i>chappal</i> in the centre – like it was caught in the vortex of a rather elaborate <i>chakra</i> or wheel of light. There were so many colours in each piece and the colour gradations mind-boggling. I remember Tom sharing his secret for blending from one hue to the next,which was that he kept each length of thread really small. Then, re-threading the needle was not a nuisance or hassle, you just had to do it, so may as well take another colour! I just loved that idea – simple and effective and have often used this technique too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">At that time, around the year 2000, I was just re-learning embroidery after a hiatus of some twenty years and trying to locate my work in the contemporary Indian art scene. I felt restive and was unable to work with focus on technique or dedication to the classic stitches – although I was most interested in them. Tom introduced me to many artists in the Colorado region and beyond, and I discovered a world of embroidery that I cherish to this day. Renie Breskin Adams with her humorous and playful embroidered stories is one of my favourites of all time. In all these years and countless workshops since, Renie’s embroidered pieces have been shown in all my presentations. It was therefore interesting to discover that not only was she one of Tom’s contemporaries, albeit a little senior in her practice, but also one of the many people whose work inspired his own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">It was through these engagements with other artists, as well as talking to and listening to Tom about his approach to his work which, upon my return, egged me to create a very technique intensive embroidered piece that took five years to complete. When I sent the image to Tom, via email, he remarked that he would have thought ten times before taking on piece of that scale. Needless to say, I did not stick to that code of working and my thread-work started on another journey which is akin to deconstructing the stitch and fabric. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I have always admired the work done by artists across the world and yet I have found that I wasn’t always comfortable classified as a Fibre artist, that I wanted to bring a different kind of attention to my work. I recollect a discussion with Tom, as he drove me to see some studios in Boulder, where he talked of how they, in the US, had reached a space of not wanting to compete with the Fine artists and had found a comfortable niche that existed separate from the Fine art world. I have often wondered if that would be the way things would evolve for me too, but as yet the Indian community of artists are few, growing but very few, too few to really arrive at a space of their own, extraneous to other prevalent art practices. Actually, I find myself feeding off the Fine Art community as much as I do the traditional crafts of the country. And it has been in my research endeavours of the latter that make me feel rather nostalgic - about not having an inherited past in respect of embroidery traditions that are closer to my own family and its roots. In some ways I think that my desire to know more about indigenous traditions and practices stem from this socio-cultural disconnect from the living traditions around me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I had kept in touch with Tom over the years and a couple of years ago, he mentioned a book that recently been released – ‘Hand Stitch Perspectives’ edited by Alice Kettle and Jane Mc Keating, in which he had contributed an article about his own practice. Through this I discovered aspects of Tom and the influences that had led, consciously and subconsciously, to the evolution of his work as an embroidery artist. It’s a fabulous book and one that every embroidery artist would love to browse through but, my knowing Tom, and reading the narration of his childhood years and what fabric meant to them back then – his grandmother “like other village girls….had picked up needles and crochet hooks at an early age – at about the same time that she was shown the ropes of herding geese and cattle”, I was reminded of similarities with the rural artisans even in present day India. In particular, of a visit to Balran in the Sangrur district of Punjab, where I met Rupinder who taught Phulkari at the Building Bridges Centre. She, like others in the village and also the generations before her, had to first tend the buffaloes in her home, before getting down to any stitching work. Karnael Kaur, her grandmother-in-law, had regaled with stories of sitting behind the village doorway – <i>“pind ke gate ke peeche”</i>, where she and her cousins would sit, singing as they embroidered after they had cleaned out the cow-shed and other such chores. This parallel, not so long ago, in a much more progressive nation like the US, was something to think about.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Tom’s family had come to the US from Czechoslovakia. He recounts stories about his Moravian grandmother dressed in a babushka, how her father and brother had become tailors and how, like many of her neighbours during and after the Depression, she became adept at patching things. He says: “The oldest cloth we knew had been made into a bag; our grandfather had carried it to America. His name was pencilled inside wooden handles that were attached to scratchy fabric. Inside its dull stripes, someone had stitched a stained green lining into place. In our grandparents’ back room was a white fabric the size of a small flag. It was hemmed with red blanket stitches and embroidered with red lines to make a picture of soldiers…..This, we learned, was a splash cloth made by a neighbour in the old days, to be pinned behind a water pitcher and basin to protect the wallpaper.” He goes onto to tell us that barely anything was thrown away on that farm. “And old feed sack became a curtain to keep the wind out of the dog-house….on the table inside the shed was a basket made of grasses” and they also found heavy shuttles used for weaving rugs. The shuttles were hand-carved and had been used by Tom’s grandfather a long time ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">In the essay, Tom candidly states that “it never once crossed my mind that my future would be wrapped up in textiles” but is now a teacher of the fibre arts. As a student he discovered that he liked working with simple tools and for the last several decades he has “embroidered pictures that combine a few easy techniques: long-and-short stitch, split stitch, and couching. His pictures often look like round badges with familiar shapes such as pockets, cuff or the sole of slippers”. Augmenting his learning experience was a short stint with a potter where he heard endless talk about craft and functional forms. As I read through I could not help but make another connection with Tom, because in my early years before I actually started this now forty year long journey with textiles, I too had learned pottery at the Delhi Blue Pottery Studios. I was guided by Minnie Singh who was not too fond of me and my experiments because inevitably when I put one of my pots in the kiln there would be a blast!</span><br />
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</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Lucky Buttonhole</span></span></b></u><strong><u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></u></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">One of the embroidered pieces by Tom Lundberg - ‘Lucky Buttonhole’, seems to draw from his family’s tradition of not throwing away any fabric. It was done in 2011, is embroidered on cotton and linen fabrics using cotton and silk threads. It is a really small piece measuring 3.5 inches x 4.6 inches and a curious piece which needs multiple readings. I am not sure which part of the thread work is done by needle and which has been woven prior to the embroidery by Tom. In parts I can see some very ordered threads forming a twill-like pattern suggestive of that being the base fabric, but then about an inch above this texture there is another texture which is much bolder, using a pale blue slubby yarn which, again, must have been woven into the base fabric. The idea of using such a cloth to further embroider upon is intriguing. Does the choice have any significance? Is it of some nostalgic value, what determined the choice of the base fabric? The title doesn’t help much either, because what is a lucky button-hole and what is that eye-like thread-work doing in the midst of it all? But if one looks closely enough, the leaf on the left of the button-hole is a four leaf clover. Now, I know from my childhood years in Shimla, where we have the larger version of this clover which we used to call <i>khat-mith</i> – and it was something us hungry boarders used to often nibble on as we sat and chatted on the <i>khuds</i>, that the four leaf version is almost impossible to find and almost every time you think you have spied one, it turns out to have only three leaves. A very frustrating exercise it was, but to this day, when I see a group of clovers, I instinctively look to see if I can find a four-leaf one because it is deemed to bring good luck. Such is the power of myth and lore and this is what Tom brings into play here. And in a sense the use of an old cloth, used and worn, which has been through many hands, passed down the generations even, speaks of such myth and lore too, which have been passed down with a lot of embellishment along the way. I am not sure what Tom intended when he worked on this and titled it such, but this is what I read in it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">As I read Tom’s story and re-looked at the images of his embroideries, I realised how it is the little things that go into how we formulate our thinking- sometimes leaning towards ideas that we have heard and sometimes away from them. And he puts it very succinctly when he says in relation to the weavers and embroiderers he has met and been influenced by that “why should it surprise me that there are so many of us who try and connect the big rhythms of life to the smallest marks? Where the effects of “stitching out in all directions”, floating marks like quivering iron filings” that drift through fabric panels and more that combine to have an effect such that remind him of Italian velvets from the Renaissance. For him it is the European historical cultural unfolding that he connects with and I have found that in some way, we are all seeking that historical connect with needle crafting, possibly because it is actually far removed from the kind of daily activity it once may have been and still remains so, today. Needing to link the threads is not unusual, but quite natural – for it is linked to the proverbial search for identity and belonging.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My all time favourite embroidered piece by Tom is called ‘Summer Vortex’. I think it is the single, lost <i>chappal</i> [or maybe not lost], right in the centre of the piece that grips my interest each time. Added to which is the fact that when I quizzed Tom about how he managed to get so many colours working so well and such fine shading, it was this piece that I was pointing too. So when I look at those white, off-white and lemon threads melting effortlessly into the rusts and browns, I am reminded of this valuable lesson – one that I haven’t forgotten and have used to good advantage as well. The blue and white of the proverbial <i>Bumpy Hawai chappal</i> is also imbued with Tom’s irresistible humour, because until the advent of the gaily coloured ‘Crocs’, almost all the <i>hawai chappal’s </i>one did see, on the streets of India, were blue and white. It appears that Tom may be making an observation about the heat in India – therefore the warm yellow tones and the preferred footwear to keep the feet cool that were predictably blue and white. The vortex, at its zenith is the energy vortex of the quantum field – where anything is possible. I like the idea of looking at these miniscule embroideries, using the patterns and marks as cues as if figuring out a mystery or a treasure hunt trail. If you look at them simply for their surface appeal, they may leave you less interested, but if one does play by the ‘clue-do’ rules, a whole world is waiting to be discovered, quite like the vortex, with its limitless possibilities, where the lone <i>chappal</i> has somehow found its way in. I wonder if there is significance in tha</span>t <span style="font-size: x-large;">too – that we enter the vortex as one and never as two?</span></span><br />
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-90772935883170399222015-11-29T17:03:00.000+05:302015-11-29T17:03:38.312+05:30The Resolute Word-Stain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>When you think of </b></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">‘<i>dheeth</i>’, what comes to mind?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For me a<i> ‘dheeth’</i> has always [until now] meant someone who wouldn't budge. One who didn't see another’s point of view and wouldn't budge from his or her stance. Nothing seemed to mattered to them, neither insult nor barb.<b> They remained resolute in a way that went much beyond mere stubbornness.</b> It wasn't a compliment if you called someone a <i>‘dheeth’</i> It meant that they were being stubborn in a way that was annoying to those around and was considered to be somewhat in bad form. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgMr5a7JcQN69S5EPjm1A9DQnVmCBoFc_dJVAU3yUpqc8JCsJhruB3Di_hqhCnBgUH2VdePvINEK1adDr1q2FOXTTwWA-1MnBFPZ5UHsyT3LI9Qi3V0P8cV9BgMowOjDW2MzvVOZuJHTS/s1600/2015-08-22+17.26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgMr5a7JcQN69S5EPjm1A9DQnVmCBoFc_dJVAU3yUpqc8JCsJhruB3Di_hqhCnBgUH2VdePvINEK1adDr1q2FOXTTwWA-1MnBFPZ5UHsyT3LI9Qi3V0P8cV9BgMowOjDW2MzvVOZuJHTS/s200/2015-08-22+17.26.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">When I chose to make a cup of stains using the word-stain<i> ‘dheeth’</i>, I did it initially, because I really liked the form that emerged when I was drawing out the word to make the blob or word-stain. <b>Going over the letters of the Devnagiri script, with a black felt tip pen, going round and round the word, I created a blob that looked like a more than usually rotund Rudra Veena,</b> [used in Hindustani Classical music] <b>where both the resonators</b> [made from hollowed gourds] <b>were too close to each other to create a harmonic resonance </b>and perhaps, no music at all. <b>Ironically</b>, isn’t that what shame does to us – <b>anything that stains and shrinks our sense of self tends to diminish the grace of being – that music of the spheres that resonates within. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2uVfzXvszmWEhVX8kSoFGsKC0umjAkVFs77iEueN66IMEqCJB4p6kO9GocX8gaIcsRAR2RG93dCIuA98RjPBTZInHpFwbX5IAZr946HCW1e9R7d67SkEeIr0I69Deut1Qywq7puUujgB/s1600/IMG_6778+low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2uVfzXvszmWEhVX8kSoFGsKC0umjAkVFs77iEueN66IMEqCJB4p6kO9GocX8gaIcsRAR2RG93dCIuA98RjPBTZInHpFwbX5IAZr946HCW1e9R7d67SkEeIr0I69Deut1Qywq7puUujgB/s200/IMG_6778+low.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I used a piece of fabric, that hadn't been stained using tea, but was cut out of a large image of tea-marks in a cup, digitally printed on fabric, layered and stitched with Kantha. I wasn't thinking ‘dheeth’ when I was doing this. <b>I was allowing the form the word-stain that I had made - the blob as it were, to lead the way. </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz0As5umMrkU1XWCJVj6v3HQCi9nsyxtEHsxKEBAj2iz70_iGVgtwjcrGogbLFtUtlmF-fiIlO-dKunYRvUosM6tyZxJawrcmxNWpmiIKPnSt4A_p_SmZvZmQlizVhDqzaQaucMiuxx_FY/s1600/2015-08-06+23.22.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz0As5umMrkU1XWCJVj6v3HQCi9nsyxtEHsxKEBAj2iz70_iGVgtwjcrGogbLFtUtlmF-fiIlO-dKunYRvUosM6tyZxJawrcmxNWpmiIKPnSt4A_p_SmZvZmQlizVhDqzaQaucMiuxx_FY/s320/2015-08-06+23.22.08.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The cup became part of the installation - <b>THE STAIN TEA PARTY,</b> which was part of my recent exhibition in Delhi and will be <b>shown again</b> at my solo show<b> - 'The Piercing Needle' in </b></span><b><span style="font-size: large;">Kolkata, </span><span style="font-size: large;">in January 2016.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm <b>curious to know what you think about this cup of embodying the word <i>‘dheeth’ </i>– a word-stain. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For me, it didn’t appear to represent the meaning I'd grown up with and in some sense seemed to have a quality of celebration around it, which intrigued and made me question my preconceived ideas. <b>When someone is called stubborn, or persistent it is assumed that they are not</b> looking at another’s point of view. In a sense, they are not <b>accommodating the other, but sticking with the way they feel about a situation</b>. And, because of that they are <b>judged in a diminishing way</b>, because stubbornness has evolved to have a negative meaning.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iUyMtp4zU8CwTlqL-6d-DMZTYb9rS0ttZwFQ_VXGPwizVckPcpoWtXOJ_sQBzuCw2XYA-6YRWZHkM12wvxnRaE-ddPl_h5o8KERnuVE6HnXpfGRzSkjf0alFcJ9d4ChWel0bb2w3OyBB/s1600/2015-08-22+17.29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This exercise made me re-think</b> things. I thought about how as a child, I was often called a <i>‘dheet’</i>. Sometimes, in these situations, I would try and speak but the feelings were very intense and hard to share what I felt and or why I persisted with doing something that others felt was unworthy and derided me for. <b>As the cup of word-stain <i>‘dheeth’</i> evolved, I realised that not only did it question the negative connotation </b>that I had carried in me,<b> about being called a <i>‘dheeth’</i>, but made me find a depth of meaning about something that I hadn’t consciously acknowledged before, </b>but the stigma carried in some part of my being emerged intuitively,<b> enabled through this creative venture.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TKEeNBj46reAvDhwplE_50F-o61e6paVFDN2QVTEGsXumajLdnvsJPFZ-CJ2RQ5Vw2FkseCKuw6sSrVEwjLA9V5DC6v3BIiRxr-LbDGAlxk6JdmjT8xduyu0VnBG1zoqcc5eWF_pMkjy/s1600/2015-08-22+17.26+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TKEeNBj46reAvDhwplE_50F-o61e6paVFDN2QVTEGsXumajLdnvsJPFZ-CJ2RQ5Vw2FkseCKuw6sSrVEwjLA9V5DC6v3BIiRxr-LbDGAlxk6JdmjT8xduyu0VnBG1zoqcc5eWF_pMkjy/s320/2015-08-22+17.26+a.jpg" width="239" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">The colour of the fabric that I chose [intuitively] was dark with virtually no light being reflected off that greyed fabric, despite it having a rather tactile quality. But t<b>he way that the rotund, sort of plump form seemed to grow from its ‘lumpishness’, to rise up from the base, to skirt the inside of the cup – it lightened the mood,</b> lightened the sluggishness of mind, that I suppose, one does associate with a<i> ‘dheeth’</i>. The assumption being that <b>if you cannot explain the feeling then you are mentally lazy.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then the beads – round like the ‘lumpenness’ of the blob [word-stain], but coloured a little more vibrantly - not so dark, but of the same family of hues that generally surround the colour of tea. <b>The beads added a sense of delicacy. They added a jewel-like quality to the whole cup of marks created from a word with generally negative connotations. </b>A word that denounces someone for being resolute in a way <b>beyond mere egotistical stubbornness, of coming from a space of knowing or feeling that couldn’t be explained. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In exploring the ‘lumpenness’ of this form, in examining it and allowing it to speak and unfold through this creative process, I seem to have arrived at some understanding. If not understanding then at least t<b>he possibility that could exist for understanding, that, behind this resolute stubbornness which was ‘lumpen’ in some sense, there was a kind of knowing which when unravelled, lends itself to embodying a level of elegance or grace.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_a8m_G_EXymXosynN3E8uYCfpnCEjVc3SyzfQ6mf8ZUL76ZFbq82WCpuLgXt9mLM60s38UzCiVAXAAipML9KMWt2Bq7qsjQOhMz_3bblP-07oae2ObjVyFRSsZhpkaSr7ay-tD6lipSGc/s1600/2015-08-22+17.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_a8m_G_EXymXosynN3E8uYCfpnCEjVc3SyzfQ6mf8ZUL76ZFbq82WCpuLgXt9mLM60s38UzCiVAXAAipML9KMWt2Bq7qsjQOhMz_3bblP-07oae2ObjVyFRSsZhpkaSr7ay-tD6lipSGc/s400/2015-08-22+17.27.jpg" width="297" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I feel things intensely; sometimes it is impossible to put those feelings into words. Sometimes this feeling is a knowing that is beyond words. It is not always easy to live with but not only could it take hours to unravel, it sometimes takes years to understand why I was so resolute about something. <b>I have annoyed people, have even felt isolated, but sometimes one persists</b> because you feel something from the inexplicable space of knowing that even if challenged will keep you going in the same direction. To others it <b>may seem annoying, foolish and even detrimental to a perceived/ preconceived state of well being. Some even call it being self-destructive.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Looking at what emerged through the cup of stains, I wonder, that despite all these barbs, if it could actually be a <b>high level of sensitivity which accesses a state of being where the nuances of feeling are deep and subtle, but resolute.</b> And it is this which <b>keeps such people rooted, to remain in that space of inexplicable knowing with conviction, which has been misunderstood? </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Intensity of feelings can be uncomfortable to live with and I have worked hard to understand my own, using words that never seem to end – i<b>t is almost as if explaining feelings is the most difficult thing to do and one should just have the faith to stay with the feelings – so what if you are called a <i>‘dheeth’</i>? </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Life will unravel through the unfolding of experience as it is lived, and trying to figure it out, to explain to the world around you, while not a totally futile exercise, could be end up being one where you realise that there really is no point in explaining? At least not all the time? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Being a <i>‘dheeth’</i> in our world which has given it negative meaning, then, seems to be an exercise in faith. </b>To live without the conscious knowing and clarity of thought to justify the feeling, but keeping the faith by being true to this feeling, however unfathomable and questionable it may be?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And here one is not referring to those without qualm or decency who are are at the opposite end of the spectrum, where the stubbornness comes from ego, arrogance and even from fear of allowing their sensibility to be challenged. I guess <b>there is always a fine line that distinguishes the <i>‘dheeth’</i> who is egotistical and one who works from a deep level of connectedness to their soul. </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuS9iHsfoqrGahAd8FAwblFPyYq6jUHEUmyiP6hu_LyGIAxdILo1vHT-gKlVfthJgPyBcIMGKWwFBYQhcF_eZ4DjU7sg3oDLrIYDPXhj4pOGV5HcaIqAeV9rRmOoTmGUBJsKY4JlUV6zgr/s1600/2015-08-18+19.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuS9iHsfoqrGahAd8FAwblFPyYq6jUHEUmyiP6hu_LyGIAxdILo1vHT-gKlVfthJgPyBcIMGKWwFBYQhcF_eZ4DjU7sg3oDLrIYDPXhj4pOGV5HcaIqAeV9rRmOoTmGUBJsKY4JlUV6zgr/s400/2015-08-18+19.37.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUGc47SnpQbVBWlE6hG64AKXWH4sa5CaxhBzxLa7JIanKWxIzFV_tULQ_GEZlK-WM4BGggnAg19r3Fqz5oNKhf6wjAZkHu3A9n4vpmj0rWtC0_Zqu0yPCCol5X3wST9RwLYbczZQhoraz/s1600/2015-08-29+19.10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUGc47SnpQbVBWlE6hG64AKXWH4sa5CaxhBzxLa7JIanKWxIzFV_tULQ_GEZlK-WM4BGggnAg19r3Fqz5oNKhf6wjAZkHu3A9n4vpmj0rWtC0_Zqu0yPCCol5X3wST9RwLYbczZQhoraz/s200/2015-08-29+19.10.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Stain Tea-Party</b> invited people, visiting the exhibition, to make a cup of stains. It was an exercise that came up with many surprises because not only did I find <b>a lot of people willing to explore the ‘marks’ in their mind,</b> the quality of the material, which included beads and sequins, allowed the participants to enjoy the process and not think stains or marks. <b>It liberated them, </b>to some degree,<b> from any associations they may have held with the idea of marks that create a sense of shame.</b> Many revealed how they <b>found a sense of relief </b>in doing this exercise. And when their chosen word transformed through this process, which was purely visual and tactile, <b>light-heartedness</b> in being was experienced. <b>Some even shared how this creative exercise had also deepened their understanding of ideas pertaining to shame they may have felt for issues about themselves that had gone unacknowledged.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My creative work has always been about unravelling the self. It has been about me talking to me, relieving pent-up feelings and ideas that dwarf, to rise above. But <b>to share this process with others through the Stain Tea-Party Interactive Installation and have them experience something similar was gratifying indeed.</b></span><br />
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-18237803869027667222015-10-14T16:56:00.000+05:302015-10-15T11:58:34.416+05:30The Universal Language of Stitching Art - A tool in an experimental field at the crossroads of art, philosophy and care<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I</span><span style="font-size: large;">n the course of a conversation with Gopika Nath about philosophy of stitching, I came to examine some words around philosophy of stitching.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">English requires three words, “ folds”, “ pleats “ and “ creases “ to describe three different “ states of the matter”, where French use only one <i>“pli”</i>, to describe the same situations. Well, not exactly, “crease “is <i>“faux pli”</i>, and other subtle reasons of sentence construction that would be fastidious to mention here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This question has been haunting for long in my textile art practice. Not only regarding words, but real cloth. Words “unfold” into a mental space, where textile art practice evolves in the real 3D world. And I’m not naively re-discovering here an elusive “neat simplicity of things as they are”, opposed to the space of “evil concepts”. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The world of stitching and fibre arts is of cultural representations, where teaching and learning, human transmissions, education, knowledge, come along with models and documentation. Yet how is it that stitching, for being culturally complex, speaks with equal universality to human hearts?</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The holistic approach of fibre arts</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We may have an answer. It’s because stitching, with other textile art techniques uses the body as a tool for mediating a self-analysis operated by the mind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The repetitive way some tasks are performed creates a soft trance that connect to yourself, creating this “temporal bubble“where fibre artists, as most crafters, find themselves in. The body is not used as in a sports activity but, by involving the eye, the hand, and sometimes the legs, in small scale coordination, together with brain in a highly complex mix. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It re-enacts the links you used to solicit when you were, as a child, constructing your representation of the world, and the ways to interact with it. Understanding a weaving pattern is a demanding task, partly done by the body. And this task of constructing an inner representation of the world is the same as building yourself up and together;</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The ability to transport you into a world where you can walk again in the path of this building process makes stitching a precious tool for healing, using the mind in spiritual ways, to make, not intellectual virtual constructions, but concrete inner connections that are building or rebuilding yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It also explains why it’s “above” tongues: because it’s functioning upon mechanisms that are put in place while learning of language during childhood. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">First mechanisms of language acquisition start very early and involve other “proto-representational” schemes that could be qualified as “artistic”, a convenient, but relevant way to describe how we feel when art speaks this language of harmony we all know, without using words.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This primary language is universal. It helps us to walk along the path between us and other people, and helps to find harmony inside our self and with others. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">A paradise you could reach with your hand</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, as with all practices that deal with human, things are not that easy. It’s not because you find a problem that this problem is solved. Seeing a problem is only a condition sine qua non to see a solution. And even once you think of a solution, a lot of work remains to be made, because of circumstances that slow the healing process. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It might takes years or be frustrating. Looking back over yesterday, you are happy discovering its better today, but no warranty to be any better tomorrow etc.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stitching is not a magical recipe for happiness, you could use by itself, excluding other activities and other people. At the opposite, textile art connects you to other people, helps you find these you resonate better with, or to practice other activities. It might help realize how cooking, dyeing, dancing with others can be wonderful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It takes a bunch of people to breed sheep, grow linen, dye, spin, weave, sew, stitch, patch. Textile art is wonderful at making you feel how important you are in a group of humans motivated to create beautiful things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Could this energy, a useful resource for a life enlightened by jubilation, be used more and better than it is now? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We know we don’t have answers to every question. We are not in the making of a technical manual, but in human relationship. Each person is unique, a case at this moment, and other technicians of education, care, psychology, and very widely of philosophical, spiritual and mental life are welcome to examine the case. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once these precautions taken, we may work out how the practice of textile art participates in the development of concrete experiences aimed at a better understanding for new contributions in education, relations with others of the human being, in the physical, intellectual, spiritual and social aspects.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Stitching, a rooted knowledge</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We know see how the idea comes to mind that an artist could make other people benefit from this practice artists accompany other people on the path, turning into a practitioner who would help the positive effects to happen during the walk, by walking along and teaching the technique.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We all know this is already widely working with a true success in every town every day around the world, but the links between teaching, care, technique, and self-awareness are not always clearly defined. In fact, all nuances of the pallet can be found through various kinds of “workshops” in general. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As long as it works, everything is fine, and we would like to do some research in the field, avoid transforming a charming wild garden into a boring park, but see if we could set up a small glass-house somewhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the experimental field, the experimental tool requires experimental operators. Now if you look, an artist repeatedly travels not only between herself and the world, but also between innovation and mastered techniques, her crafting know-how.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A release (of problems, question) has to be operated from a base. And this base is made of traditional know-how that artists inherited, built and developed over centuries into a “personal style”. All this in one word: “culture”. While Gopika has been “described as a contemporary artist using traditional embroidery as a medium”, we see her, at the same time, searching for the roots and story of embroidery. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While there is nothing more contemporary than “care “, even in art, there is nothing more necessary to contemporary art than technical tradition. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s a move we share at our workshop, L’Atelier de Minuit. While Lydie deepens her knowledge of traditional embroidery, using cloth with a past, dyed with vegetal colours, and stitching following historical models, Guillaume explores the bridges between this practice and contemporary trends of art.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Art, care, culture, civilization</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Folding and unfolding, to pleat or to crease, linking, joining, binding through a repository of terms that “ point to “ hand making, the art of stitching goes straight from the heart of matter to the soul, and connects us to ourselves and others like a universal language.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A saying: <i>“Le travail des mains libère l’esprit”</i>, could be translated into “the work of hands sets the mind free”, invites us to re-consider how traditional embroidery culture has become part of contemporary art. The times we had to convince, that “despite using thread, yes, it’s art indeed“, are over. Shift happens.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Leaving the 20th century “star system” of art, a contemporary approach focuses on care, the one we take for each other, beginning with one self. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rooted in centuries of tradition, stitching and other fibre arts are more vivid than ever, and able to enlighten how the brain, the mind, the heart and the soul collaborate into the one big thing that humanity is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Practice of fibre arts is full of joy and peace. We would like to help young textile artists gain technique, know-how, as well as training and self confidence they need to extend this as a helpful tool, to fulfil mission of caring among and for others.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKgAE9MAfb-hP99M9jyXiydkMwIpfDbjyeAErNotzBL4awAvVKknoM3a-kLjPzDnHjLDKKqMWeYurwOMAVggmbF2Xyer5yxOQDA_nj8oDK2B3SZ2KfM6WdWJs6ozfbl4cgPyxirmM0VhL/s1600/ph_lydie_arnould3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKgAE9MAfb-hP99M9jyXiydkMwIpfDbjyeAErNotzBL4awAvVKknoM3a-kLjPzDnHjLDKKqMWeYurwOMAVggmbF2Xyer5yxOQDA_nj8oDK2B3SZ2KfM6WdWJs6ozfbl4cgPyxirmM0VhL/s200/ph_lydie_arnould3.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlMQ7JE3XoH52CpX6Olwq3z6DAXoTbktYJXwlSaNjHRHKJa1pH1l9JMV8ZSZHoBJ4zNfbsKQyzUsmGrPQG7rO2YXGAVcgKTeE2311wypD8n1ehcyFidDQf7WiY1QmKrw6Lv9QG5IiwKNX/s1600/ph_guillaume_bur2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlMQ7JE3XoH52CpX6Olwq3z6DAXoTbktYJXwlSaNjHRHKJa1pH1l9JMV8ZSZHoBJ4zNfbsKQyzUsmGrPQG7rO2YXGAVcgKTeE2311wypD8n1ehcyFidDQf7WiY1QmKrw6Lv9QG5IiwKNX/s200/ph_guillaume_bur2.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"> Guillame Bur is a textile artist, which he says is mostly about spoiling silk and linen pieces. He is also a philosopher.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> Together with Lydie Arnould, he runs L’Atelier de Minuit, an organization dedicated to promote textile arts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="http://www.atelierdeminuit.com/">www.atelierdeminuit.com</a></span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-35680662924195879542015-06-24T00:47:00.000+05:302015-06-24T00:47:26.864+05:30Knots, a Long Way<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">All who know, those who've attempted those tricky stunts, have all said we shouldn't keep the thread too long. But I was in a hurry. I had so much I needed to do. I thought the longer thread would sew faster.<br /><br />I was wrong. <b>It got into a twist as soon as I pulled the needle through the fabric. At the first tug through uneven terrain, a knot emerged. </b>I wasn't ruffled. After all, knots are part of this whole threaded affair. But as I inserted the needle into the centre of the knot, carefully trying to prise it open, I realised it wasn't just one knot there. It seemed as if three of them were nestled together, really, really close. And, unravelling them was trickier than anything I'd tackled before. <b>I could have cut my losses, started over and this time gone with the knowledge of seers, taking a shorter thread. But I'm stubborn. I like to finish whatever I've started and rarely cut the knots out of the thread.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b></b>I pulled and poked and tugged and cursed. I got some slip. It gave me confidence so I tried harder and persisted. The second one opened and I thought okay, it's going to be alright! But the last one was such a bummer. It wouldn't relent. <b>And after the lengthy struggle, when it gave way and the threads separated and I could sew again, there was no thrill, no sigh of relief.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b><br />And then for a while, each time I pulled the lengthy thread through the layers of fabric, it knotted and I went through quite an ordeal.<br /><br />All I could think of was that the time it took, it wasn't worth it. <b>I was self-critical, judgemental and grouchy.</b> But gradually the working eased up and after it was approximately half the original length sewing was a breeze. <b>As I stitched in running stitch, tacking a finished embroidery onto organza, for it to be framed as if in mid-air, something stirred in me, </b>akin to hope. No, not hope but something that seemed to revive hope.<br /><br /><b>I found the thread was nearly long enough to go right round the perimeter of the fabric - like a parikrama. Of walking around a sacred space and completing it from corner to corner, where this parkirama symbolizes the cycle of life - from non-being to being to self-realisation of that state of non-being</b>. Although I didn’t manage this with devout faith, the idea was both heartening and interesting. This journey through life towards realising the fundamental essence of being as non-being is, after all, what the scriptures encourage us towards defining as the essential purpose of life, isn’t it? <br /><br /><b>But, it ended just two stitches short of it. </b>This made me consider, that if I hadn't started from the uneven terrain, where the delicate organza was heavily layered with cross-stitched matte, which meant beginning a little before the actual corner, then it would have been a perfectly calculated length. <b>But the reason I'd started out at that angle was because I wanted a strong support for the knot - that knot that secured the thread to the fabric.</b></span></div>
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</b><br />This was a tricky dilemma. It had taken a long time. It had been a tiresome and knotty ordeal. <b>I hadn't followed the prescribed wisdom of those that went before me. The beginning had taken up more thread and resulted in an incomplete parkirma. I could say that I had learned things along the way, unravelling the knots. I had tried something out that I'd seen through to the end – if not the end of the journey, but the end of the thread?</b> And besides, what guarantees does one have that the shorter thread wouldn’t create its own knots? The length of thread was no longer the issue in my mind. <br /><br /><b>The crisis I faced, was at that crucial juncture when the thread ran out, which was the hardest to bear. It seemed such a cruel fate to have to re-thread, start all over again because even though I'd selected intuitively, even though my perception and foresight were profoundly correct, they still fell short of that perfect bulls eye - of getting it just right and validating all my choice in the process.</b><br /><br />It seems simple doesn't it, to just pick up another length from the same reel of thread and carry on? <b>But somehow, this isn't how we deal with the nitty-gritty of living, is it? If this were a situation that involved emotional issues, that sense of falling short would have been cause for recrimination and beating of the proverbial chest and questioning the existence of God.</b> I mean, it would be perfectly natural to question that if I could come so close, why couldn't my intuition have guided me with the perfect length of thread? And so much would be said in a similar vein. <b>But, a thread spun of cotton fibre, or that of the fibre of experience, at the end of the day are just that - a thread with which we keep sewing. Or isn't it?</b><br /><br /><b>I didn’t finish the parikrama</b>, I left it two stitches short. It didn’t matter for the purpose of tacking the finished work, <b>but would it matter in the larger scheme of living? I wonder. What do you think?</b></span></div>
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3684977402503425005.post-3532571872245980622015-05-24T22:45:00.000+05:302015-05-24T22:45:28.467+05:30Probing The Shadows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Like the surface of the moon<br /> marked with its shadows<br /> the hollow of the empty cup </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">gleamed through rings of debris<br /> of a flavourful brew</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /> Like the women of Bengal<br /> I sewed stitch by stitch<br /> collecting layers worn<br /> Of years studied<br /> under the shadow of this light,<br /> Ruching, puckering, quilting<br /> that canvas of emotions<br /> that expression defies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> There is no meaning for some things<br /> But without this anchor<br /> the mind wanders in search<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wandering through the spirits<br /> wandering through the world<br /> Like a mendicant begs his alms<br /> Experience begs meaning<br /><br /> It has to make some sense doesn't it?</span><br />
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Gopika Nathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05045583005627540260noreply@blogger.com8