July 21, 2016 § Leave a comment
May 16, 2016 § 8 Comments
A few followers have expressed an interest in my weaving.
- I use a contemporary Japanese Saori loom, a work of art in itself.
- I make scarves, shawls, runners, and wall hangings.
- I use cotton, wool of any kind including yak, camel and cashmere, farmed and wild silk, bamboo and any other odd material I can find like hemp, soya, rose fibre, etc.
- All the delicate pieces are woven using an ultra fine silk thread made in Japan which is wrapped around very fine stainless steel. It produces translucent and malleable pieces which can be bent into shape.
Here’s a sample of what I’ve been up to:
- All these weavings are on their way to various exhibitions and perhaps will then be sold.
- I hope to have a website dedicated to my work soon 🙂
- And thank you, Chloe the wonderful dancer, for reminding me to do this! xxx
and thanks for looking…
October 10, 2015 § 6 Comments
September 26, 2015 § Leave a comment
Finding a bright side to a dark situation.
Going with it. Allowing it. Honoring it. Moving beyond not in spite of, but because of.
Because we can learn the greatest lessons from our darkest days.
This is the natural cycle of life. And death.
This is not what I meant to write about this week. A whole essay on another topic open on my desk top ready to share with you. It can wait. This came up. And so we go with it. Ride the waves of life. For to miss out is to lose those greatest lessons. This is living.
Here in the high country, rain and hail continue. Clear mornings bring heavy frost. Clouds amass by mid day and the sky is awash in striations of deep grey by afternoon. Maybe in evening after a good downpour, the sun will break through far to the…
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September 17, 2015 § Leave a comment
Beautiful sentiment, beautiful writing.
He was tall, rangy, with huge hands, a well-tended beard, piercing blue eyes, with lips that could smirk on a moment’s notice. And he lumbered from side to side when he walked, dropping his feet purposely with each step. His white habit and black wool scapular, tied with a leather cincture, swayed back and forth like a pendulum released.
He was a monk. A Trappist monk. He was Brother Steven. And I miss him, even though he’s still alive.
I met him long ago while on retreat in Virginia, a time of emotional upheaval as I went through my divorce. The first divorce in my family. It was a true retreat from the world, and a time of respite for mind, body and spirit. Each day was silent, a time of prayer, reflection, discernment, and attending their hours of Divine Office. Meals were provided, attended to in silence…
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