Yahoo!
Ply Magazine, Fall 2021
is out in the world!

If you have a subscription
it should be winging its way to your hands right now.
If you don't, it is also available HERE.

The theme of the magazine is "Consistency"
which makes me giggle whenever I think of it.
Me, consistent?
Well, I can spin a pretty decently even yarn after all these years,
but as you might gather from the snippet  above,
my essay is not so much about spinning consistent yarn
as the consistently inconsistent
(or maybe inconsistently consistent?)
way my work has unfolded over the years.

It's no coincidence that I named this website
a field guide to needlework .

The field, indeed, been a useful metaphor over the years,
for it can include endless bits of the textile landscape--
from things that are new to me
to the unseen areas of techniques I think I know.
Not that I don't often imagine someone asking:
"is she into mending or spinning or tapestry or paper yarn
or wool or barefoot running or comics or....what?"

Yet what can I say?
The ideas keep showing up
on this circuitous path of mine,
many exuding such irresistible pheromones
that I'm instantly distracted from whatever I am doing.
How many times, without really knowing how
have I ended up deep in a rabbit hole
or embroidered into a thicket of blossoms and thorns
 trying to train my hands and mind
to do whatever it is that has captivated (or captured) me.

All of which is to say,
 it is more than a teensy bit delightful
that PLY is coming out right now,
just as my new zine/guide
of coffee filters and rabbit holes.
is also freshly in the world.
Consistent inconsistency, right?

Of course the coffee filter guide
 has instructions on how I turn coffee filters into yarn.
That is part of its point.
But like the Ply essay
  it is also about feeling my way into an idea,
noticing how that idea tastes, smells and interacts with my hands,
and figuring out how to pursue only the aspects
that go straight to my core and refuse to be ignored--
despite good sense, hard evidence
or cultural programming that can lead a gal to believe
(if not act upon)
 the notion that focusing on one thing,
and only one thing,
 is the best.

For long time blog readers
my inability to adhere to this last idea
will come as no surprise.
For even as I am given to pouring
everything I have into the tale of the moment
(generally sure that it'll last forever),
I continue to be taken aback,
(and completely diverted again and again)
by the power of pure delight
as exuded by those mysterious somethings
that shape my life.

That are, indeed,
having their way with me
even as as I type.
For it is time
(and has been for a while even as I've had my fingers in my ears),
to shift things yet again--
to slip away from this blog and off into the forest
where I hope to work quietly on my own for a while
and see what comes my way.

Which means that this is my last post.

Of course given the circular nature
and general relatedness of everything
(not to mention my addiction to parenthetical asides),
another blog with a different focus or structure
might well show up some time in the future.
But lest I start repeating myself once too often here,
or this becomes one of those sad blogs
that, guiltily ignored, slowly grind to a halt,
I'm going to deliberately sling my bindle over my shoulder,
and see what what lies ahead.

 Thank you so very, very much for your company
in this marvelous blogging rabbit hole these many years--
for your support and inspiration,
for your patience with my creative peregrinations,
and for all the rich, delightful, warm and rewarding
ideas and you have shared.

May the fleece be with you.
xoxoxo
Sarah

ps. On the technical side--
For the time being (the next few months anyway)
the store and website will stay live
with the 7 little  PDF Guides in the store available for purchase and download
and all 334 (or does this one make it 335?) blog posts
here for your meandering pleasure.
I'm not sure I want to clutter up the inter-webs forever, however,
so may eventually clear this space for other voices.
We shall see.
For now, however enjoy!

Well hello!
How curious, suddenly,
to be here in the shortening days
of this somewhat odd summer
 (in the Northern Hemisphere at any rate).
Between the super hot bits
and the super smoky bits
and the super dry bits
and all the stuff going on
in our lives
with our friends
and in the world,
every day has been
well -- itself,
and sometimes...a lot.
Yet here we are.

It even rained the day before yesterday--
a few brief hours of delicious thundery damp
after months of being parched.
 I'd just cleared the clogged downspouts, too.
Isn't it amazing
when things work out?

Actually lots of things have worked out--
my collard crop, for instance, is incredible,
the freezer is filled with frozen berries,
and our local farmer's market provides all bounty
I am not enough of a gardener to grow.
I try, of course, and have managed
to have fresh lettuce almost every day
despite the heat.

But this summer I've been more cartoonist
than gardener or weaver,
which to my astonishment means that
another thing that has worked out is
this new comic zine/guide thingy:
of coffee filters and rabbit holes
and I like it!

The project has been
  a great companion these many months--
the process of bringing it to you
as beguiling as the coffee filter yarn itself.
How lucky can I get?

Luckier still, of course,
is that I also truly enjoy revising--
 drawing, re-drawing,
getting feedback,
thinking of a new approach,
writing and re-writing--
just as I adore transforming the filters themselves
into tapestries and sweater and baskets and imaginary future garments.

Not that I am doing any of the latter.
My arm/hand stuff is massively better
thanks to endless stretches and exercises and support
and rest from all those beloved activities--
but I remain careful and cautious.
I mean, why risk a relapse?

And truly,
drawing and writing and thinking about making things
is pretty darned satisfying in itself--
especially once the arm/hand/neck issues
improved enough
to hold  pencils and pens
for longish periods of time.

One of the interesting things about creating this guide
has been that even as it describes the process of making a particular yarn,
it also draws on all sorts of other ideas I've explored in the past--
indeed, it reminds me how very many rabbit holes
have enveloped me over the years--
far more than could possibly fit into one reasonably sized comic--
and for a time that felt like a bit of a problem.

"If I say that, I've got to explain how to do it!"

My solution was to add at the end
a four page Glossary/Resources section.
And what a blast that was!
Naturally it could have been far longer than it is
(who knew glossaries were addictive?)
but I think it will still provide a few pointers
in case you want to brush up on some technique,
or are yourself beguiled by the odd side passage
in this paper yarn making rabbit hole...

And if perchance you're newish to this blog and my work
and want to see/read more about
how this coffee filter yarn thing unfolded,
check out my Tapestry Archive for 2019, 2020, and 2021,
or click the coffee filter yarn button in the side bar,
or type coffee filter yarn into the search bar at the top of the page.

So here it is:
of coffee filters and rabbit holes
a 40 page black and white PDF
 now in the webstore ready for you to download.

Note on downloading the PDF
(in case it isn't clear from the website )
Once the transaction is complete
you will get an email receipt with your download link.
Click on that and it should go onto whatever device you are using.
The downloads are not limited to one device,
so you can use that same link on several if you want
(also, in case one thingy works better than another).
If you have trouble, please let me know by replying to the receipt email.

I think that's about it,
other than to note that one great thing about hot dry weather
is that laundry dries really really fast,
and the grass (actually mostly yarrow, dandelion, and bindweed truth to tell)
grows really really slowly.

Oh-- actually one MORE thing before I go--
well, maybe two--

One:
Tapestry Design: Basics and Beyond by Tommye McClure Scanlin 
a beautiful, helpful and inspiring book
is now out in the world filled with tapestry goodness and support.
There are even instructions on how to build
one of my favorite portable tapestry looms --
the tiny Archie Brennan style galvanized pipe loom.
I'm also lucky enough have a tapestry included in its pages.
Truly, a lovely supportive book --
with a spiral binding no less so that like
Jean Pierre  and Yadin LaRochette's wonderful Anatomy of a Tapestry
it will stay open on the page you are reading.
So very thoughtful.
Here is a review by the ever amazing Rebecca Mezoff,

What a time this is for tapestry books
and, indeed, full on tapestry immersion. 
Tommye's other book, The Nature Of Things
Rebecca Mezoff's  The Art of Tapestry Weaving
and Micala Sidore's The Art is the Cloth
and online classes galore.
Time to warp those looms.

 Two:
 I wanted to share a link to this
delightful and soothing video
that my son Henry made,
showing the re-skinning of (and then fishing from),
a little coracle that I helped him make
with willow wands about ten years ago,
a wee craft he has since used hard enough
that this is its third cloth covering!

The first one we built when he was 10 or 11 years old
and not surprisingly, it ended up
in a couple of tapestries,
and an egg tempera painting.

Life is so weird and curious sometimes, isn't it?

And speaking of weird
(cuz who knew I'd ever make coracles
much less weave  and knit with coffee filters)
I should probably to put another link
here at the bottom:

So friends, I give you...
 of coffee filters and rabbit holes!

Or the day after solstice anyway.
​ I hope this finds you well
and relishing the season as you can--
 northern and southern hemisphere alike.
(Not that they are alike,
but you know what I mean...)

Here in summery Idaho
​I’m having a fine time
​doing as little as possible.

Or trying​, anyway.

I’m not, alas,
​particularly good at it.

—despite practicing
​as hard as I can….

Other, perhaps,
than to point out
that working as hard as one can
to rest
might not be
​the most helpful
(oops-- almost wrote ‘productive’
but caught myself--
tee hee),
way to go about it!

I didn't mean to start this tapestry--
and when I did begin,
I wasn't thinking
​about the air.

Back then
(all of four days ago),
the wind was blowing 
in a different direction,
and I was merely amazed
to be working with wool at all --
​much less weaving
it into a long narrow tapestry
with absurdly elongated slits.
(My ubiquitous wool sweater
steadily takes shape
on spindle and knitting needles,
but that is for evenings and lunch breaks;
regular studio time
has not been 
wool-centric
​for a while).

​So the whole thing
came at me sideways.
I mean -- 
this is a cordage moment--
​right--
and even if I was to
weave a tapestry,
milkweed
(or maybe willow)
would be
the obvious choice.

These fibers, however,
have other fish to fry
(or wrists to encircle)
and are not interested
in adapting themselves
​to a weft faced form
at this time.

​"Well," thought I,
having already
(somewhat precipitously),
built a pipe loom
and wound
a continuous warp.
"what about
coffee filter yarn?"

Alas, no.
The coffee filters
did not care for
the freshly wound
wool/silk warp
(nor, methinks,
for playing second fiddle
to milkweed--
though that is 
mere speculation
for  while
they feel free to tell me
what to do,
these fibers tend to be
somewhat sketchy
when it comes to
​ explaining why).


(note--for more on continuous warps and how to wind them,
this blog post: Long Warp/Short Loom,  has info)

At any rate,
in the midst 
of my connundrum
(should I unwind that warp?)
some lovely, fine wool skeins
cleared  their collective throat
from their comfy place on a shelf.
This gathering of skeins --
my "purse spindle project"--
​is a graded color progression
of Merino, Cormo, Polworth fleeces
I carded a couple of years ago--
and ever since
have spun and plied on the go
 with my Jenkins Kuchulu
(the aforementioned purse spindle),
whenever my dear  friend Rochelle and I
have met for tea--
historically at a local coffee shop
and these days
(carefully distanced),
shouting enthusiastically
across her back yard.

And of course once I began,
it was clear that the fiber
usually does know best.
 I'd forgotten
how familiar
and forgiving 
wool can be--
pure pleasure--
which is a fine thing
​on a series
of icky days.

Soon enough
(no surprise
to you who know me
​though I had not planned it),
a little way up
​the color progression,
there appeared a tiny house:
encased in smoke
and with lights on during the day
as is the case right here--
​and in much of the rest
of the western half
​of the USA just now.

It's  horrible --
the fires I mean,
not the house.
​Even those of us
not in immediate danger 
of losing our homes to the flames,
know every dry leaf
​to be potential danger.
We long for rain
to clear enough air,
and ease the worry
about friends, family
and perfect strangers 
​in Oregon and California--
and wish we could
 open windows--
or go outside 
for an autumnal breath,
or even a walk.
On top of 
"everything" else,
it sometimes feels
like just too much.

Except, luckily,
though being 
somewhat crazy 
is absolutely "a thing"  these days,
working with magical
and opinionated materials
can help to turn
potential madness
into more of a
focused frenzy.
And when one can
share that frenzy,
and the utter
over-the-top-ness
​of bloody everything
with dear friends,
it is easier to remember
that up above 
the grey sock we're living in,
acres of blue sky
await.

So on we go,
up the warp
into the blue--
in all the ways,
soon.
​
Right?
(don't forget, my USA friends,
to order your absentee ballots soon!!!!)

And as we work our way along,
it's a fine thing
​ to have support--
from our compatriots
and from lovely books
like this  one
by Linda Ligon--
filled with stories
ideas, connection
and inspiration --
 a place where
tiny house tapestries
(blue skies and all),
might even
run into
​themselves. 

Since it'll probably be a whole week
till I next have a chance
​ to go on and on about Milkweed
(a whole week!!),
​what better way to begin
talking about  a few of
​the books I've been reading
than with ​a photo of cordage in progress
shading the pages---

especially since
one of the many great things
about making cordage
​(vs other methods of bast fiber yarn construction),
is that I can twist and read
at the same time.

Same goes for
spinning well prepared wool
with a familiar, lightweight spindle.

Indeed, 
reading and yarn making
are inextricably linked
in my odd little world.
Reading/knitting too,
though I don't seem to have  any photos
of that blissful activity--
even if I  have (and wear),
a great number
of  the not-very-complicated
but perfect-to-knit-while-not-looking
 garments, that result. 

How lovely, then,
to dive into Milkweed
with someone who has spent
far more time than I 
(at least so far),
exploring its mysteries. 
Aimee Lee's
Making Milkweed Paper
is actually a reference I've had for ages,
her work an unending inspiration.
Click the link with her name
and check out all her work.
The knitted books! The icons!
The Hanji dresses.
OH, be still my heart. 

And to slip from those
ethereal garments,
to Kate Fletcher's thoughtful 
and curious essays
 in Wild Dress--
is a mighty thing indeed.
Even better to be making a garment
while turning the pages.

Then again, 
if we're going to bring everything
back to the integral role
of woman the maker,
who can resist the engaging prose
of The Invisible Sex,
or ignore the pleasure
of wrapping my mind
around the elemental--
nay the central role--
of first cordage makers in pre-history--
probably female and mostly ignored by (male) archaeologists--
while ​physically twisting fibers myself.
Cuz some ways of being a human female
never change at all.
​I could hardly put it down.

I mean -- actual woven illustrations,
 exquisite drawings,
 wide ranging understanding,
rock solid information,
irresistible charm, and deep knowledge--
I am beyond proud
to know them
and really really glad
​to have this book.
The sections on preservation, conservation
and restoration are a gold mine indeed,
and I anticipate a few--
--erm--adjustments--
to the way I've been storing my work.
I love them so much.

Real Reviews!
Rebecca Mezoff
Elizabeth Buckley

When I've needed
to take a brief step back
from textiles
(hard to believe, but sometimes true),
I've been re-delighted
with the imaginary,
decidedly un-sentimental--
even pointy-- elven worlds
created by Sylvia Townsend Warner--
one of my all time favorite authors.
I'm so very happy
that some of her
hard-to-find work
has been recently republished
​by Hand Held Press.
​
Given half a chance,
I'd probably order
half a dozen other books
from this small publisher.
Indeed, I bet I eventually will.

But back to tapestry --
because seemingly
somehow
everything  eventually
returns to tapestry 
in some form other--
if only as  metaphor--
though not in this instance--
there is one more book
I want to mention --
at least one more that I now have
in my physical possession:
the magnificent
The Art Is The Cloth 
by Micala Sidore

Well, now I've almost worn out my mouse batteries
putting links into this post
so it must be time to quit.
Except that while I'm in the mode
 I want to add a short list
of wondrous  and soon-to-be-released
Tapestry/Textile books you can pre-order.
Once they are physically in my world
getting milkweed, coffee filters
​ and wool fibers caught between their pages
I'll talk about each one again,
but in case you like to do
​a big old book order all at once,
and then have them trickle in
like little unexpected treats
​for your future self,
here are a few you'll want to have on your list.



Books to Pre-Order:

​The Long Thread Special Issue  by Linda Ligon
(lucky me to be in this one too--and I can hardly WAIT to see the rest of it)
The Art of Tapestry Weaving by Rebecca Mezoff 
(This book -- I've had the privilege of reading early drafts -- a thorough and glorious resource--
just wait till I have more room to talk about this book!!!!!)
How To Weave A Navajo Rug and Other Lessons from Spider Woman 
by Lynda Teller Pete and Barbara Teller Ornelas.
(Two fifth generation Navajo weavers writing about their work and generously sharing techniques and family stories with us all--THE people from whom to learn stories, techniques and understanding.)

Books Mentioned in the Blog Post:
​
Wild Dress by Kate Fletcher
Making Milkweed Paper by Aimee Lee
The Invisible Sex by J.M. Adovasio, Olga Soffer & Jake Page
Anatomy Of A Tapestry by Jean Pierre Larochette and Yadin Larochette
Earth Materials by Sue Lawty​ 
Of Cats and Elfins and Kingdoms of Elfin by Sylvia Townsend Warner
The Art Is The Cloth  by Micala Sidore

Though I'm super excited to show you
this tiny accordion book,
 it was not what I intended
​to write about this morning.

What I hoped/planned to do
was release the other
(​less colorful) little book
​I've been working on:

This second is not actually a book at all,
but rather a PDF guide--
though both (if you print the PDF),
are made of paper---
and this last week has seen me
bouncing between them
​to see which would be done first:
one moment glued to the computer
moving my drawings half and inch this way or that,
the next, comfortably tucked into my backstrap
putting color next to color next to color
in breathless anticipation
of what it would turn (or fold) into,
then off to the iPad to draw something else
that would perfectly explain just one more thing.

 I guess the accordion book won the race--
if race it was--
perhaps  because my tapestries
 are pretty much done when they come off the loom
while projects that rely on drawing and writing
can be shifted, adjusted,
ignored, changed and revised
​seemingly
f o r e v e r...

Tucking the Tails actually is very close to being done.
Indeed after months of  puttering along,
I really thought we (the zine and I), were ready. 
Except, this very morning,
I had a new idea about the layout
and of course I had to try.

And that trying
led to more experiments/ideas
and there went the time
I was going to use to set up
all the behind the scenes stuff
to make it sellable in the web store.
But hopefully, later this week?
Maybe?

Despite seemingly competing for my time,
​the two projects 
actually do relate to each other
in an elemental way. 
​
Tucking The Tails, if you can't tell from the title,
is a collection of the techniques I use
to work in the weft ends
as I weave my tapestries--
tucking them in as I build shapes, that is,
in contrast to 'needling' them in
after the tapestry is off the loom,
or, as I was taught to do,
leaving them to hang off the back of the work
to dangle... forever.

Making  my tapestries this way,
so that they are in effect two-sided,
is what makes possible such structures
as this little book I just finished,
the tri-fold tapestry behind it: Nowhere to Hide , 
​and, indeed, pretty much everything I've woven since 1994,
(whether or not you could actually tell).

One of the best things about all of them,
at least for me,
is that that when they come off the loom
a good deal of the finish work
is already done-- 
and finish work is not my favorite. 
(The other fantastic technique in the minimal-finish work realm
is  Fringeless, four selvedge warping
but I've talked about that a lot elsewhere).

It has definitely been the driving force
behind the mobiles, books, book covers
and other off-the-wall works
I've made since.

You can see more of this stuff  in  the Archive --
since I just realized that I wrote the post linked above
in 2016 -- and I've had a few new ideas since then.

And speaking of new ideas,
putting together this post
has just illuminated another REALLY fun aspect
to the two-sided, three-dimensional work:
taking PHOTOGRAPHS of it!

Photography, formerly a chore
(and often a very expensive chore at that
for the high quality photographs I needed),
has become an almost irresistible pleasure.
Not only do the tapestries get to play with the light,
but I get to play with both of them together.

And surprising pleasures
are things to be treasured,
​are they not?
I hope you have time to notice a few
 no matter what whacky (or terribly serious)
things you are doing--
wherever you are--
just now.

ps. I hope to get  Tucking The Tails into the store
before next Tuesday, and if so, will probably send out
an auxiliary newsletter so if you are already on my mailing list
you'll know about it. Otherwise, you can sign up with the form
on the top right (or the very bottom if you're on a phone),
or just check in to the webstore toward the end of the week
and hopefully it'll be there.
Happily, being a PDF, there will be no shortage
so no need to worry or hurry.
​XOXO

A year ago, 
the first of January
fell on a Tuesday--

and the blog post from that day
​is all about the making of tiny books.

In fact, 
when I checked out my blog archives
I noticed that the whole month of  January 2019--
indeed the entire year--
(for though I may sometimes scoff
at the impositions
of human-imposed calendars,
and work on official holidays,
weeks, months and years
do provide a useful framework,

--not unlike a loom,
or a four selvedge warp
within whose limits
a gal can experiment to her hearts content,
changing her mind,
from orange to pink
​as she will),

--the entire year,
(as I was saying),
is punctuated
by the making
of little tapestries,

within which
I have drawn comics 
of me weaving,

coloring each drawing
with K Jodi Gear's
​hand made watercolors,

the creation of which
provides
not only materials for more tapestries,

but also inspiration
for said tapestries
​as well.
​How meta is that?

Here's hoping
I can stick to the point
with fewer parenthetical
and/or creative
asides
in 2020.

Or maybe not?

Who knows.
Except to start off this New Year's Eve,
I'll leave you with a photo of Heptys in waiting--
 so beautiful, all lined up--
and delicious to test --
a highlight of the holiday--
for what could be more satisfying
than possibility--
 intense haptic delight in the moment--
while making yarn
that will provide similar pleasure
​in the future?

--aka: three projects to keep
my holiday angst
​ in check.

1.  a twined basket 
made with
dead leaf cordage
(iris, daylily, cornhusk)
​ and coffee filter yarn

roughly but satisfyingly mended
​with a lopsided eggbeater drill,

some hand spun linen,
and a couple of needles,

now the middle of being read
with enormous enjoyment
(extra powerful since it is once again sturdy)--
and with particular joy
because Kate's first chapter
is on mending....

that turned out to be too big
to fit through any doors in my house

but which nevertheless
makes a fine blind

for photographing 
the rare and non-migratory
​ ten foot pink flamingo.

Life's grand and absurd, eh?
Might as well
​let the good times roll on
(even when the gifts inside
​ are invisible).

​at least once I begin.

Before I start
there is always
​ the moment
when it feels like a chore.

​"Almost out of pages, Sarah!
Stop spinning
and make a new book.
NOW!"
(so bossy)

Of course I forget all that
once I actually start tearing and folding paper.
And once I've made or found the cover
I'm immersed until done.

The cover thing has been growing on me.
My first coptic bound diaries
didn't even have them,
the top and bottom signatures
having to do the job.
Then, to save that lovely paper,
I covered the books in scrap cardboard
gleaned from the backs of pads.

It is only in making the last three
that I've been brave enough
to try a thing
I'd been consciously avoiding--
stitching tapestries onto books
not as decorative objects,
but as paper protection.

At the same time
I was also concerned
that it would be painful
 to watch my precious
 tiny tapestries
grow grubby 
​with dailyness.
Are they not works
​to go on walls?
"Be careful, be careful, be careful."
Who needs that?

So far, neither concern
has been warranted. 
​(for which I'm hugely thankful),
though I'm not sure  why.

And since both practices 
are now well established
 I am no longer intimidated
or embarrassed,
or stopped
(injury or  unavoidable circumstances notwithstanding),
by much of anything.

It could also be
that using a thing I've made--
be it sauerkraut, sweaters,
shoes or a skirt--
transforms it back
from precious object-hood

into a treat,
so that lacing up my shoes
(oh that moment
when the grubby, familiar cloth
snugs up around my ankle),
or opening up the diary
and watching the marks appear
(so that's what today feels like),
becomes an pleasure
worthy of anticipation--
a daily gift
that cannot be matched
by anything purchased.

Or perhaps it is merely
the fathomless joy
of surprise:
--how today's run
is different from yesterdays,
--how the thing I draw
is never the thing
​I think I'm going to draw,
--how the same route
and the same apparent image
(me blogging, or weaving, or spinning),
rendered over and over and over
still feels like a miracle,

ps. those running shoes are now well into their second winter (I have a low pair for warm weather). I waxed them for semi-waterproofedness which is one of the reasons they are so grubby -- the dirt sticks to wax really well.
For more on these running shoes (and others),
Click here

Yesterday, I made a new comic diary --

The front cover 
is a four selvedge tapestry
(woven hand spun coffee filters),
and the back,
a scrap of stiff cardboard
(it is nice to have something to lean on).

The paper inside
is Rives Lightweight printing paper.
It's got an odd texture for drawing
and is hard to erase thoroughly,
but I love that it is both thin
(I can get lots of pages in one book)
and highly absorbent
(I can slop watercolors and black ink
on both sides of every page
without any show through). 

This time, as the drawing says,
I decided to use a four needle
Coptic binding --
well actually it is a two needle technique
(one needle on each end
of each piece of waxed linen thread),
and I did it twice.
​Here is a link to the instructions
(thanks for the link Velma!),
which are wonderfully clear and easy to follow.

Not that I'm all that wedded
to binding perfection
(as you can see from the pics),
but it is fun to mess around.
Maybe next time.

I do try to draw in these diaries every day,
and with the decrease in size
of these last two books
(from 5" x 4 1/4" to 3" x 2 3/4"),
it's amazingly easy to fill four to six pages 
without even really noticing
(rather than than one or two as before),
so if I keep this up
"next time" could come fairly soon--
even with the extra signatures
I added onto this new version.

For comparison,
the big diary on the bottom 
lasted for almost four months,
while the one in the middle
won't even make a month and a half.

It could also be
that the smaller pages
have influenced my style.

Or maybe its the influence
of the tiny houses--
​though I'm not quite sure how.

What I am sure of
is that the portability of the smaller format--
now enhanced by the extreme portability
of this teensy pocket palette
filled with handmade watercolors
created by K. Jodi Gear--
makes it extra easy
to have my materials with me
no matter where I am,

or what I am doing.