Tuesday, August 02, 2016


a gift of time - linen wrapped clover
yesterday, today, and tomorrow
the small white cloths represent my daily walk
(before I lost the ability to do that walk)

last winter and spring I was making a piece about the importance for me of my daily walk on our country road
every day that I did that walk, I placed a square of white cloth into a basket
the white sweet clover is from our property
it grows along the beach and we consider it a weed
it smells so beautiful
it is as tall as me
the smell increases as the plant dries
art is a connecting force in our lives
it connects high-low, human-earth
it connects what we understand and what we don't
for ourselves and for others
my broken leg was a gift.
it gave me time and solitude
I didn't go anywhere for two months except to hospital or dr. appointment
I stayed on one level
I started going up and down (just 5) stairs on July 20, seven weeks after I broke that left leg

I stepped backwards into more space and less worry
what is it to become aware of the body?
it is to acknowledge that presence of death in life.
not a binary opposite but
enfolded at its very centre.  penina barnett
daily life and the news
they close us down
art opens us up again
we need art as much as we need food and shelter
these little bundles
about loss
about my body
about healing

bundled, wrapped, bandaged
step step step


  1. Do you suppose the clover will leave it's mark on the cloth? something that cannot be washed away?

  2. ah yes (((Judy)) a dance with mortality brings the space to go deep and rediscover what is truly important & you do as Mary Oliver wrote so well

    The Summer Day
    Mary Oliver

    Who made the world?

    Who made the swan, and the black bear?

    Who made the grasshopper?

    This grasshopper, I mean-

    the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

    the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

    who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

    Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

    Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

    I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

    I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

    into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.

    Tell me, what else should I have done?

    Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do

    with your one wild and precious life?

  3. You make my heart sing every time. I sent this to Grace a minute ago, now to you:

    Sending love from me and from Mary Oliver:
    Morning Poem

    Every morning
    the world
    is created.
    Under the orange

    sticks of the sun
    the heaped
    ashes of the night
    turn into leaves again

    and fasten themselves to the high branches ---
    and the ponds appear
    like black cloth
    on which are painted islands

    of summer lilies.
    If it is your nature
    to be happy
    you will swim away along the soft trails

    for hours, your imagination
    alighting everywhere.
    And if your spirit
    carries within it

    the thorn
    that is heavier than lead ---
    if it's all you can do
    to keep on trudging ---

    there is still
    somewhere deep within you
    a beast shouting that the earth
    is exactly what it wanted ---

    each pond with its blazing lilies
    is a prayer heard and answered
    every morning,

    whether or not
    you have ever dared to be happy,
    whether or not
    you have ever dared to pray.

  4. sweet secret packages ....

    (lovely poems by Mary Oliver ;-) ...)

  5. I too am loving the poetry that you are sending me. Thank you.

    Vicky, I am not making bundles for colour - rather I am wrapping live pieces of nature as some kind of metaphor. I try not to think about it too much actually - just follow my hands.

  6. the news that your leg is healing is good. the bundles, also good. may it all continue, with new understanding. you always invite me to think, stand out of my own way and think. thank you.

  7. Judy I didnt' think they were for color...just a 'what if' thought. What if someone in the future unwraps it?

  8. Oh OK Vicky. What if? Thank you for that.


  9. Anonymous6:47 pm

    Hello Judy
    Just spoke to Julia re next week.
    Love the bundles, intuitive textile response to place.
    Cheers Jan.

  10. So evocative, the ways your hands mark time in all its contractions and expansions, ebbs and flows. Good to hear that you're beginning to take stairs again. Don't rush it, tho.

  11. yes, cloth as shelter.


Thank you for taking the time to connect. Much appreciated.xx