This coming winter I am not just making work for the heck of it. I am in a time-line because of the linen bienniele in Quebec. I am challenged with the task of connecting contemporary art thinking with rural heritage. The artist as social agent.
Personally, I want to be creative with what I have around me.
I want to bring the woolen blankets I've been working on for years into interaction with linen textiles. The ones that gave beauty to their hard homes.
But I am afraid.
I read about an artist who stitched a moon every night for a year.
She stitched a moon, the phases, while sitting in the same chair each night.
Time was something that she could hold.
Once or twice or three times, I saw something rise from the dust in the yard,
like the soul of the dust, or from the field,
rise and hover like a veil in the sun billowing
as if I could see the wind itself.
I thought I did it - squinting - but I didn't
..............................................
I saw it. It was a thing. It was a thing and spirit both
the real world: evident, invisible.
Marie Howe
No comments:
Post a Comment