Judy's Journal

There is a room in Paris filled with the lady and unicorn tapestries.  I thought about it the other day when I came across an old journal en...

Sunday:   Idea:  to work from the back, to use more colour, to cut silk in narrow strips, to couch it to the back. I write this idea down be...

Day and night come hand in hand like a boy and a girl pausing only to eat wild berries out of a dish painted with pictures of birds. They cl...

What is there beyond knowing that keeps calling to me? I can't turn in any direction but its there.  I don't mean the leaves' gr...

He seems to me equal to gods that man who opposite you sits and listens close to your sweet speaking  and lovely laughing -- oh it puts the ...

I couldn't tell one song from another which bird said what or to whom or for what reason.  The oak tree seemed to be writing something u...