Frankly, 
I haven't the foggiest idea 
​what to write about today.

Not for lack of ideas --
Oh no!  
I've been awash with those.
I mean, 
a paper gansey dress?
a suit of Somewhat Slanted armor?
There is much to talk about
​in the realm of my making existence.
Yet this is actually my third try
at trying to be coherent.

Part of the problem
may have been
that "somehow"
all sorts of non-blog things
have arisen ​to take over my Tuesdays,
and, deciding to be efficient
the first two blogging attempts
were made yesterday.

What a disaster!
Not a single coherent sentence
​ could I write,
and most of the photos
turned out badly lit
or poorly framed-- 
poorly framed, that is,
unless your hearts desire 
is. to see a corner of my
Sarah-Dippity clad butt
and the bra/underwear pile
of my laundry-in-waiting?

Tuesdays, you see
are old lady (and gentleman) day at the Food Coop
(actually member over 55 gets a 10% discount),
and what with the layers of gloves
and careful spacing and all,
it seemed a good idea
to keep grocery-getting
and blog writing
​separate too.

Tuesdays are also 
my husband's new chemo day
(used to be Monday)
and since I usually try to  do a little tidying
while he's off getting infused,
 I figured if I wrote the blog on Monday
I could take my time
​with the scrubbing,
​the shopping
and the writing.

But Monday,
as I said,
refused to cooperate. 
After a bunch of confusion and angst
it became clear 
that while there are times
and places 
when thinking ahead
and being practical
(wearing  rubber gloves
out in the world etc etc)
is just the thing.

So Monday got to be
the thing it wanted to be,
full of tunes and pink coffee filters,
and I headed out to the Food Coop this morning
where,
be-gloved and bemused,
I had several magical moments of
distant socializing with dear friends--
our plastic coated hands waving madly
from one end of an aisle to another--
and also got to feel
​ a good solid sense of gratitude
for all the beautiful produce
and marvelous, helpful coop stuff
who are keeping us supplied
​for our once-a-week excursions.

And  the cleaning?
Well, I shook out a few rugs
but mostly skipped it entirely,
save for washing
and blocking
the coffee filter Gansey dress
because my imaginary elf self
wanted to wear it
and anyway
I can mop things tomorrow.

But that, the elf comment, reminds me
of what I really wanted to say today,
and why I was trying to take selfies yesterday--

which is that is that my friend Vicki
has designed the coolest hood
for the Somewhat Slanted sweater
and I finally get to tell you about it.
Somehow she managed to combine 
both the utterly practical
(cozy, easy, protective, snuggly),
and the utterly "im"--
(I get to be a wood elf
and a Monty Python Knight
​at the same time),
while making something that is
totally in the "make it as you go" spirit
of the sweater itself. 

Such a favorite, indeed, 
that I'm giving you a second opportunity
to critique my slovenly laundry ways,
my pink Sarah-Dippity butt,
and the polka-dotted apron I forgot I had on,
so you can see the whole thing,
backlit and all.

And speaking of Dan
(though he'd probably rather I didn't)
I do want to say
how VERY much I appreciate 
all your wondrous words and hopes and thoughts
in the comments in last week's post.
I was going to try to answer them all,
but it only made me cry,
and also feel so very grateful
that you are all there,
that we're all in this together
in many different
and many of the same ways, 
and that I get to write to you--
even going on and on
despite thinking I had nothing to say--
and that we can madly wave,
our carefully gloved hands
at one another
from across the world,
and the other side of town,
and feel connected
with our yarn
and our thoughts
and the joy
of the fragile,
​the lovely,
and the absurd.
So, ah,
​thanks.
​
And, onward we go.

Gee Whiz --
is this wild or what?

Everything shifting so much
that it is hard to know
​from moment to moment
what to think--
or even how I feel.

Sometimes,
​happily,
it is all perfectly clear:
when in doubt
​make stuff.

Then five seconds later,
my brain has gone racing off
on unhelpful imaginary voyages of its own--
and in an effort to calm it down
all I can do
(short of panicking about toilet paper),
is to remember how useful it can be

In some ways
I've been in training for this time
all my life.

Decades of making stuff
makes it seem obvious
​to turn to the work of my hands
when things are less than ideal--
as well, of course
​as when they are bloody marvelous.

At the same time
none of it is easy,
as you know,
and can't  tell you how helpful
it has been
these many months
to draw that freaking out person
I sometimes am
(hard to believe, I know, but true ;-)
and to have a place
from which I can look back at myself,
and laugh, or commiserate, or whatever,
​ even while whatever it is
is still happening. 
(Some day, maybe, I'll even share
a few chemo side effect comics...
​ but not today).

it is also wildly wonderful
to have companions along the way
who are also turning 
their prodigious attention
to the making of things
that are perfectly ridiculous.
​
​​And really,
​was there ever a better time?

ps. And now that I'm about to close
I suddenly remember how much 
I also want to thank you
 for all the marvelous comments
in last week's post,
and say that there is not much to 
 these curled wire hangers
beyond that they are made
from 16 gauge wire
I found in the basement,
that I gently unroll
then twist about with my hands
(and sometimes a cheezy pair of pliers for the tight curves),
until the thing balances--
which sometimes takes a while.

pps.  and one  more quick more thought
​on perfectly ridiculous projects --
weaving a bag on box is a prime example --
and also terrific
if you want to try your hand at weaving
and don't have a loom--
but do have a cardboard box!

They are not usually
​the point of cloth --
​
​cracks, I mean--

places that light
shines through.

Certainly tapestry weavers
generally work very hard
to make elegant and subtle joins
between shapes
and areas of color.

And at  all cost
we avoid hanging the works
anywhere near direct sun.
Until, ahem,
​we do.

Yesterday I warped a loom--
and began to weave a watery landscape
(complete with lots of hatching and color blending
cuz -- you know-- so many great colors of paper).

Then several inches in
I stopped,
 unwove the entire thing
​ and began again.

The landscape,
lovely though it was,
had no interest in 
(or, it seemed, capacity for)
playing with the light-- 
or, apparently, with me--
too anxious to be done
to enjoy actually weaving. 
​
And who wants to feel like that
about a work in progress?

Yet those plain little squares--
and the slits between them--
are seemingly just the thing.

As fun, just now---
as very plain knitting.

I've been, indeed, a bit bemused
by my equal opportunity entrancement. 

On the one hand--
the ​unpredictable energy
of ​knitted paper.
(Sweater Somewhat Slanted as promised).

On the other,
 the tranquility
of geometric tapestries.

And then I notice,
(yet again),
that what I am embracing 
​is paper and light.

So what can I do
but go with it?

My sister has left, alas,
and our lunchtime knitting-and-gab-fests 
are no longer a thing.
But as she headed home through the skies,
​a slew of unstoppable ideas
for the coffee filter yarn I made during her visit
flew into my brain.
So naturally, I had to try them.

First up was a little vessel.
At least that is what I keep calling it,
though when I look up the word
in the two nearest dictionaries
(as I did a moment ago)
I find that vessel
may not quite suit.

One definition begins like this:
ves.sel n. 1. a. any large boat or ship
esp. one larger than a canoe or rowboat,
designed or equipped  for
conveying passengers, cargo, etc
b. Law. any floating structure.
2. an airship

​​Both go on to talk about canals,
 blood vessels, and woody ducts in trees,
none of which quite apply
to this little object
since transportation of liquids in any form
is not something I foresee
in its  future.

Not that coffee filter yarn,
(cellulose fiber that is), 
isn't perfectly capable
of  sucking up water.
That is, after all, what it was designed to do.
But wet paper, even spun and knit,
is exceptionally tender,
and once immersed,
 the perky little structure
will simply collapse
into a sodden heap of loops.
​
So not, I think, a boat.

She is, however, 
extremely willing 
 to hold light and air,
and is perfectly capable of transporting me
(with a little help from the sun),
into a world of luminous,
shadow-rich
​ rapture.
​
So perhaps a kind of bird?

At any rate,
whatever she is called,
once the little vessel-bird
showed me a little of what she was capable of,
light-wise,
I had to cast on again
for something  larger,
and with bigger holes.

Here she is.

And since I know you're going to ask,
here are a few technical tidbits:
​
Vessel-bird 1 (left, below)
-Melita filters from my kitchen,
-​some dyed with indigo,
-cut with scissors into strips approx 1/4" wide
-spun Z, plied S
-Knit on size 5 (3,75mm) needles

Vessel-bird 2 (above, right and below)
-Commercial Coffee filters 
-collected, unearthed, washed and dried
by my sister Evelyn R. Swett,
-cut with scissors into strips approx 1/8" wide
-spun Z, plied S
-some dyed with indigo
-Knit on size 5 (3,75mm) needles​

Here is a link to a post
 from two weeks ago
which includes a brief comparison
of three coffee filter brands/styles,
 Stay tuned for more experimentation--
though of what sort, I cannot, alas, predict.

And that, my friend,
is all I know so far.

But happily,
​these light-filled objects,
speak for themselves--

as, indeed,
​can we all--
 given time,
attention
and a moment in the sun. 

ps. And speaking of moments in the sun,
my recent coffee filter experiments,
received a lovely mention in Episode 18
of the marvelous podcast
Mrs. M's Curiosity Cabinet.
Meg's experiments with nylon-free sock yarn,
growing her own luffa gourds
and more, are always a treat.
​ I highly recommend a listen --
to all the episodes

What a treat it has been--

my sister here for ten days--
 a lovely  time-out-of-time--
almost a retreat for us both--
each immersed in her own obsession.

Every day
 Lyn went to a local coffee shop
to write about compost,
while I focused my research
on the pile of coffee filters
she had collected from said compost,
washed and brought with her.

What could be better than new material?

On my end, I found that​
the commercial filters 
are bigger in diameter
and ever so slightly thicker
than those I'd been using,
and that they required careful handling while cutting
lest the layers get off-kilter in my hand.
The extra diameter, of course
added yardage:
approx. 10 yards vs 7 yards
for every filter cut.

They are also a different color:
 evenly brown from center to edge
which leads to an evenly hued yarn,
in contrast to the heathery variegation
I get from Jodi's domestic filters
which shift from brown at the center
to creamy white at the edges
(unless they have been filtering pigments of course,
in which case they are every color of the rainbow).

 That Jodi washes her filters indivudally
as they are used
and the commercial filters
are dumped in a bucket
to absorb the color from the
rest of that day's spent filters and grounds,
as they wait for Lyn to collect them for her compost,
probably accounts for this difference.

Needless to say,
my work will happily accommodate--
indeed is better for--
having both.

Anyway,
​after a morning of immersion
in our respective explorations,
Lyn and I met for lunch:
needles clicking
as we chewed on ideas,
raw carrots,
my husband's fresh sourdough bread,
and other such delights.

That Lyn was knitting
was particularly thrilling for me
as, though she had not picked up needles for years,
she decided to break her fast
with my Somewhat Slanted Sweater pattern--
which she later said
had a particularly easy point of entry.

Well, those may not be exactly the words she used
but since the pattern starts with a single stitch
and forms a pointed triangle to begin,
I couldn't resist the pun.

​At any rate, 
it was a huge treat
 to walk into the Yarn Underground (my LYS)
and say,
"Pick some yarn,
any yarn, any weight
(lace to super bulky),
in a color you want to wear,
no gauge swatch necessary,"
and watch her go almost instantly
to a warm reddish pink
reminiscent of sweaters ​knit for her
​ by our mother and grandmother
​when she was a little girl,
​and watch her take off.

And now I'm all agog with ideas
so might have to use some of the yarn
from the coffee filters she delivered
to knit a paper Somewhat Slanted
for myself --just because.
Think it'll work?

It's hard to know what to say
about these little open warp
gridded paper tapestries.

I like making them?
The colors are pretty?
The grid is weirdly satisfying?
Love leaving room for the light?
Symmetry -- who knew?
All of the above?

I'm definitely feeling the influence  
of the marvelous material
in Rebecca Mezoff's new Design Class,
the second module of which
focuses on using line in tapestry.
Working with,
(and doing my best to defy)
the elemental structure of tapestry
has been a thing in my work for years,
​and it is fun to revisit it so directly.
note: I apologize for bringing up this class as registration is now closed  for the season,
but you can watch the trailer HERE,
--spoiler warning--includes a couple of clips of my dulcet tones going on about the joys of tapestry--
and do note that the non-interactive version
opens for registration in June so you can put that on your calendar --
and/or make sure to sign up for season two next year.

The paper yarn itself
most definitely exerts 
an enormous amount
​of power over my choices.

Beautiful as it is,
​how not to try to find a way
to let it shine 
free from the distraction
of image of imposed narrative?

And it's not just about color.
The look, feel, texture and behavior
of plain, coffee-stained paper
is irresistible to me.
And what joy, few days ago,
to receive ​a veritable bonanza
of new material.

First:  a lovely big stack of
extra large round filters
that my amazing sister 
fished from the grounds
during her twice a week
coffee-shop-compost-collection,
then washed,
dried by draping all around her kitchen
and carried with her
when coming to visit me--
what better present could there be,
on both counts?

(If you scroll down the post in the link above--
though not too fast cuz her photos
are marvelous along the way--
you can see the buckets
of  spent coffee grounds
as they come to her).

These filters,
though larger in diameter,
are of a similar thickness and feel
to the round ones I get from Jodi--
the source of all that color above. 
Like the colored ones
I use scissors to cut them into
 one continuous spiraling strand.
(pics of this in the post linked above).

Then: my friend Robin
delivered a second collection 
of big square chemex filters--
individually ​rinsed and dried
over days and days.

As well a being square,
the paper in these
is significantly thicker than
the round ones,
so I cut them using what I believe
 is the more traditional approach:
slicing into narrow strips with a sharp blade
before releasing into a continuous strand
that zig zags back and forth.

Robin also included
a few small cone-shaped Melita filters, 
the paper of which I've worked with before.
Similar in weight/ texture
to the chemex above,
I nevertheless cut them with scissors
to get the most out of their curved shape.

The different materials make surprisingly different yarn,
and I'm just beginning to get a sense
of what I like best, when. 

As ever, I'm learning as I go,
every day an experiment--
and if you are also interested in meandering 
down this particular rabbit hole
 I highly recommend some internet searches

Great sources of info:
Kigami and Kami-ito:
Japanese Handmade paper and paper /thread
by Hiroko Karuno,
Velma Bolyard's site/ blog
Pinterest
My posts under the "coffee filter yarn" tag on the right

At any rate,
as well as  broadening my filter horizons, 
I've also been comparing
my two charkhas for spinning and plying:
the book charkha above 
(ratio about 100/1)
and the Ashford Charkha below
(ratio about 10/1)

Plusses and minuses to both--
Book:
- the speed of the book charkha is phenomenal
and makes paper spinning fast and pleasant.
-the thin shaft makes a paper pirn kind of a hassle
so singles have to be rewound for storage and use
Ashford:
-the slow speed is restful
(and annoying -- depending on the day and the material)
-spinning directly onto a paper pirn is great.

If a gal happens to be blessed with two charkhas, then,
it is pretty slick to use one for spinning singles
and the other for plying and winding purns.

I'm still experimenting
with the singles vs plied thing too.
So far, I prefer to weave with singles
and knit with plied paper,
(the tapestry at the top of the post,
which uses both, notwithstanding).

My preference is  based on: 
-warp/weft/sett relationships 
-the look of singles vs plied yarn when woven
-my casual paper-yarn-making skills/approach
-my insistence on using fragile materials
​fished from the compost
​ rather than  lokta,
strong, flexible washi,
or exquisite  hanji 
(which maybe some day I'll be fortunate enough to experience first hand).

All this will undoubtedly evolve,
Things usually do.
And in the meantime,
I'll just try to notice
the moments
​of delight.

 Thanks for your company.

​Coffee Filter yarn.

Again.

Well yes--
again.

But different.

This time
 a knitting experiment--
something I wanted to try
while waiting for the soy milk ​to cure.

And so far,
​I kind of like it.

Over the last few months
I've written again and again
about the bliss of making 
​(and using)
coffee filter yarn.
NOTE: To explore these posts, click the  coffee filter yarn, cellulosic experiments or tapestry buttons in the sidebar

The filters, as I've mentioned,
​ come from my friend Jodi,
 the colors from her process 
of turning plants and minerals
into pigments,
that she then transforms
​into watercolors.

Most of my coffee filter yarn posts
include links to her Instagram
​and if you want to know more 
about lake pigments (pictured above)
and mineral pigments (pictured below),
​I highly recommend you click and scroll
for she has generously shared
a great deal of information on her feed.

On my end though,
for all the photos of cutting,
 adding twist,
and weaving
what I have not talked about
is how the colors
 stick to the filters
​ in the first place.
​
And the reason for this 
is that they don't. 

Unlike dyes,
which chemically bond with a fiber or a mordant,
or watercolors (and other paints),
where the finished pigment is mixed with a binder,
the particles of color on the filters
are essentially resting in place,
a bit like stains,
and are thus both fragile and potentially fugitive.

At first I didn't care about this--
didn't, in fact, even think about it. 
I just wanted to learn and play.
They were just coffee filters for goodness sake,
fished from Jodi's garbage can.
But as I spun more of them,
 wove paper tapestries,
and made the tapestries into books,
I couldn't help but notice
the occasional bit of color
​ coming off on my hands.

Not, I hasten to say,
the stuff from the grocery store,
but rather the white milky liquid
you get when 
a handful of soybeans,
has been
soaked,
rinsed,
crushed,
thoroughly masticated with water,
(faster with a blender than a suribachi 
if not as photogenic),
then filtered
​and
diluted.

At its most elemental,
it works like this:
when applied to fibers,
the proteins in the soy
(long chain polymers),
literally grab both the pigment particles
and the particles of paper
(or fiber if that is what you are using),
and hold on
in a kind of ever-tightening group hug
that won't let go,
the bond growing stronger over time
as the soy cures.

The process is called polymerization.
(explanation seriously oversimplified, of course).

There is info on using soy milk for dyeing
around the world and across the web,
but since I learned about it
many years ago
from the amazing John Marshall
I will send you straight to 
-his recipe for making soy milk,
-his book, Salvation Through Soy,
and hope that while you are there
you check out more of his website
for his work in all areas
(katazome, fresh indigo dyeing, historic Japanese textiles....)
is fascinating and comprehensive.
He is also a generous and lovely person
and puts on a damned fine workshop.

At any rate,
one of the ways that John uses soy milk
is as a "post sizing"--
a kind of fabric finish
that protects the cloth as well as binding the pigment
and that is the way I have been using it--
as though the filters were finished cloth.
Ideally,
I would have dipped
all of the colored filters in soy milk
the moment they arrived from Jodi
so they could have been curing
during the months I was working on other things.
Buy since I did not think about it then,
I've now been using it in three ways:

1.  dipping the remaining uncut filters and letting them dry

2. winding the paper yarn onto my willow distaffs,
painting the strands (as in the photo above),
then re-winding onto paper purns when dry.

3. painting the soy milk onto finished tapestries.

And that is where I am now.

The first batch of yarn and uncut filters
has been curing for about a month,
and though it is probably a little early,
I may soon cut and spin a few
and try some rub tests,
just to see.

I'll also probably continue
to treat the finished tapestries with soy milk--
not only to keep the pigments in place
but also for the long term protection
(what John has called the 'natural scotch-guard' effect),
provided the cured polymer--
especially those tapestries that will  go on
to have a working life.

I'll keep you posted as I learn more,
and in the meantime,
feel free to use the comments
to share your own information
and experiences 
with all of us.
Thanks!
​Now, back to it.

The thing about my inner Luminist,

is that she knows what she likes.

It drives my Storymaker 
crazy.

For her  (said Storymaker),
the repetition necessary
for a deep dive
​ into a particular
idea,
 color, 
material,
​​technique,
​function,
kind of imagery
(or lack therof),
or means of display--

​can be a teensy bit
​ hard to sustain.
The desire to put everything in context
or make it useful,
or somehow important,
or at least talk (blog?) about it,
is almost irresistible.

ps. and speaking of getting in touch
with your inner Luminist
(or whatever you might call her or him),
 if you're interested in a deep dive
and could also use some support
(you know, oxygen tanks and such),
check out Rebecca Mezoff's new class
Design Solutions For The Artist Weaver

She is doing a free Webinar about it
tomorrow, January 16th
so check it out while you can. 

pps. Full disclosure --  Rebecca includes extended interviews with different tapestry artists every month during the Design Season, and I am the person for January. 
We did the interview at the end of filming all the videos for Fringeless, our four selvedge tapestry class, and I was so excited by it all that I fear I waxed enthusiastic the entire time. 
Then again, do I ever not?
And isn't tapestry worth it?
​
Speaking of which...
Next week, ​the American Tapestry Alliance (ATA) 
will present  a media tour on Instagram.
There are prizes and everything.
More info below.

This year's theme: Weaving Small.
​In anticipation of ATA's 13th international, unjuried, small format exhibition, follow seven weavers on Instagram for ATA's 3rd Tapestry Media Tour, as they share their approach to weaving small format tapestries. Participate in the tour and win one of 22 prizes like Rebecca Mezoff's Little Looms online course, a three-month membership to the online textile School of Sweet Georgia, one of five Hello Looms and more.

To increase your chances of winning one of 22 prizes follow ATA's Instagram @americantapestryalliance #TapestryMediaTour between January 20th-26th and comment on each of the 7 stops, i.e., daily posts, featuring each of the weavers below:

• Jan 20th: Rebecca Mezoff @rebeccamezoff
• Jan 21st: Sarah Swett @sarahcswett
• Jan 22nd: Briget Cetera @brigetcetera
• Jan 23rd: Patti Kirch @pattikart
• Jan 24th: Claudia Chase @mirrixlooms
• Jan 25th: Kathe Todd Hooker @kathetoddhooker
• Jan 26th: Janna Vallee @everleayarn

Prizes include:

• One of five mini Hello Looms
• Rebecca Mezoff’s online Mini Looms course
• A three-month subscription to the online textile school School Of Sweet Georgia
• One of five Hokett Tiny Turned Beaters
• One of five free entries into American Tapestry Alliance’s Renditions 2020, ATA’s 13th international, unjuried, small format exhibition
• One of five free one-year memberships to American Tapestry Alliance

Once upon a time
​when I was young and curious,
I spent many hours
drawing and weaving
my naked self.

Sometimes, of course,
I was also able to draw my friends. 
Vicki (the one with the long blonde hair
in the tapestry above),
was great about whipping off her clothes,
and holding still in an awkward position
​while I plied my pencil.
But given that I was a full time stay-at-home mum
(I spun miles of yarn while hanging out with Henry),
as well a full time tapestry weaver
working madly on my drawing skills,
the live model at hand when my son was napping
was usually me. 
Besides, most of stories I wove
were autobiographical
 (assuming you are willing
to accept that my friends and I
really did ride through the night sky
on high-whorl spindles),
so it was both practical and necessary
to render my own thighs.

Back in those pre-digital-camera days
it was also more sensible, time-wise,
to set up a couple of mirrors
and spend a few hours
drawing my backside
than to try to take photos of said rear end,
send them to the photo place,
, wait while they were turned into prints,
(hoping all the while that  the position I'd photographed
was the one I actually wanted),
​and then draw from that.

Time factors aside,
I'd end up spending a lot of time
looking at my body either way,
and if I was going to be judgmental,
better the real thing seen only by me
than photos that could hang out for decades.

What amazed me then though,
and delights me now,
is what a great help
 judgement-wise,
all that drawing proved to be.
That fleshy form
those motherly thighs,
the smiling C-section scar
with its the little pooch above,
 slowly ceased
to be objects of angst,
and became instead a collection
​ of truly lovely shapes that,
​ if only I squinted just right,
​and did a lot of erasing and unweaving,
I could somehow maybe capture 
with graphite and yarn.
​
Also, it always has been hard to decide what to wear.

 A few weeks ago
as a break from holiday madness,
my now adult son
(boatbuilder and sometimes spindle maker
because fruit and trees and all that),
was rummaging in the basement
for what he thought were carefully stored
mementos of his youth and found,
not the outdated and now non-canon
Star Wars memorabilia he was hoping for,
but rather one last and forgotten box
of these notecard--
my own reminders of a time long gone.

It wasn't a huge box,
but there were enough inside
 to put together some sets
and they are now in my web store
for as long as they last.

It's been surprisingly lovely
to spend time with these images --
 to think about the incredible joy of that time:
of drawing and weaving,
 studying color and shape,
 honing tapestry techniques, 
 practically bathing in natural dyes
(see the tapestry Indigo Bath on this page),
and of giving in to the freedom
of being interested in the dailyness of life
 and of rendering those days in wool,
a pick at a time, 
even as they unfolded.

Looking at the note cards today 
I see that in the years since I wove them
things have not changed all that much.
There are fewer nudes to be sure--
seemingly, it is more compelling
to draw the skirt I just wove
or sweater I recently knit
than my lovely soft and sagging flesh--
even if it is still hard
to decide which of them to wear.

But the joy of rendering the days,
 of learning to work with new (to me) materials,
of recording  the ways
in which different aspects of  life
overlap, influence and interact with one another,
and of transforming some
of those impressions into tapestry,
is as entrancing as ever. 

And if the way I go about it has changed--
 the tapestries more focused
the narrative less voluptuous--
well, I put it down to the emergence
of the my inner Luminist,
an aspect of my creative psyche
which (or maybe who),
​ after decades of contentedly hanging out
and quietly observing
​the heretofore unchallenged Storymaker,
now insists on a fair share
of creative control.

These days, indeed, it might be said
that their very differences 
​now drive my creative life.

(FYI, it is me, the Storymaker who is responsible for this blog.
Just saying).

(And if I didn't take pleasure where I find it,
the Storymaker would have nothing to work with).

Anyway--
if you're interested in reading more
of this nonsense--
or about a body of work
created by their disagreements, 
hard copies of Backstrap Dialogues
are also once again in the web store
along with the PDFs.
I've  even stocked up on envelopes,
so if you want one -- now's the time.

 Not to do the hard sell thing
but alas, like the Note Cards,
 hard copies of Backstrap Dialogues
are in limited supply,
and it is unlikely that I'll reprint.
Cuz you know --
more ideas to try--
​inner arguments to have--
 things to make--
approach ever changing
and always
somehow
happily
the same.