Thursday, July 31, 2014

new hand-dyed






 
new,
in a bruised eggplant sort of color situation.
x

also-

Harlan County

BY KATE BUCKLEY
Stepping over the stones of my mother,
chicken bones, straw,
 
the cellar in which the man was found,
that man my grandfather
 
the day the sharecroppers left town,
their son shot dead —
 
the thing whiskey’ll do to a man.
 
The woman who waited under the house at night,
counting ghosts and bobcats through lattice of leaves,
 
walking bare-boned lanes,
toes buried beneath blackened leaves —
 
no cause for worry
if you’ve walked every acre, planted every row.
 
Nothing can get you if you pay it no mind.
 
I tell you these things
so you’ll not mistake my actions for fear,
 
not think I do not know what makes a life,
what makes people do the things they do.
 
I know my fears — I’ve named them,
counted them out one by one
 
like tarot cards, voodoo dolls:
 
birth,
death,
poverty,
obscurity,
that you will leave me,
or I will leave you.


Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

made by hand









outdoors in the heat these past few dyes
binding and dipping and swishing and hanging to dry,
repeat.

the canvas totes and lunch bags and boho slings are made with recycled cotton,
all fair wage, fair labor.  

the clothing is hand picked by me, all thrifted and recycled items.

the finished pieces are available, made with various dye plants and love and sunshine,

x

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

angry with the needle



i'll tell you- i missed the full moon this past weekend but i did spend saturday floating down the river in an inner tube.  when we finally got back to shore my legs were wobbly and i thought i could sleep for days. then it rained hard yesterday, last night.  there was even a brief moment of tornado warning but no tornado.  my focus is fickle.  while hand sewing i prick my fingers too many times and feel angry with the needle.  


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

and the gray feather a thrush lost




art and object, made and found
a few things in the shop today
...
also,

Try to Praise the Mutilated World

BY ADAM ZAGAJEWSKI
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees going nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.


Thursday, July 10, 2014

some new











lately i'm fully enjoying making things 
and hunting for beautiful objects to offer in the shop


Monday, June 30, 2014

wrap



i'm excited to get these into the shop today- several color ways of hair wrap/head bands.  they're made of the same organic cotton hemp jersey i make the scarves with and they can be worn lots of ways.  they're hand-dyed and have a hand stitched hem.  made with love, here.