This coming winter 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. I have to focus and not become side-tracked.
Personally, I want to be creative with what I have around me.
In addition to this work in linen, I will continue working with woolen blankets. Both bodies of work are about cloth that gave beauty and goodness to the harsh domestic life of early Canadian settlers.
But I am afraid. Or maybe just timid. Unsettled. Often side-tracked.
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 by a window 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.
1 comment:
Love Marie Howe's poetry!
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