one patch quilts

My hands ache from stitching.

My feet ache from ageing.

My heart aches from continuing on, 

through all the sadness and uncertainty.

I make textiles using just one patch.

(the technique is explained here)

I select one square of cloth and sew it to another one. 

Once I have a field of one patches, I make them stronger by quilting the seams.

The squares are all the same.

The squares are each unique.

Some are organized into rows.

Others appear random, but don't believe it.

They are also organized.

I feel powerless, unable to start the new textile pieces that flood into my brain.

I feel that if I can just finish these two simple cover ups, I can move forward.

I am calling this one Sunshine and more Sunshine

I wonder what is the urgency?

These quilts are not going to fix the war.

I am calling this one Lamentation

They do not protect against the illness.

They do not save beloved children who die.

But they are not a waste of time.

Rather, they are evidence of a time.

A time that we are living through.  

A time that we are grieving through.

All of us.   

Each unique.

Lamentation:  an expression of sorrow, mourning, or regret

blessed be thy mercies

This post contains an update about the large wool stitching promised in early December

A week ago, I took it down to our beach to photograph.  The ice had just come in over night, and there was a light snow.  The wind was fairly strong and damp.  

I laid it out.  The reverse side up.

To make a large hand stitched piece like this requires commitment and endurance.  The Finnish word SISU comes to mind. 

The repeated gestures I make while stitching put me into that beautiful, huge, contemplative space inside me.  I think about mortality, I think about legacy, I think about love.  I can't believe that love ends.

Made from three wool blankets stitched together to make a long horizontal about 13 feet wide, this object is heavy and awkward to handle and the wind that day was cold.  

I left it on the beach for a while.   

It became a landscape.  .  

An interior landscape.

OMG, our lives are so brief and fragile and gorgeous.

Last week my family tragically lost one of our young beloved stars.  

These photos feel as if they are from a hundred years ago, not just a week.  

My brother's son, Paul, wrote the following text for twitter and facebook: 

Last Thursday my sister Sarah @cervelle passed away at the age of 38, having lived with cancer her entire life.  Her example of how to be a sibling, scientist and friend continues to inspire me.  The family is incredibly grateful for the outpouring of love and support from Sarah's friends around the world.  Sarah embodied SISU.

Here is what Cathy, her mother wrote for the Ottawa Citizen.  Sarah's obituary

And I've edited this post to add the following news from the scientific community:  

Neuroscience community honours Dr. Sarah A Johnson