THE ART of TEXTILE

Several years ago I went to the Bellevue Art Museum and was captivated by an interactive wall of textiles.  The colors and patterns were amazing.  The end result would be the collective vision of thousands of people who strolled into the Imagination Station (display), sat for a spell, and contributed to the weave.  How cool is that?

The allure of this craft stayed with me for weeks, as I'm all about fabric, patterns and color. So over the period of several months I collected different yarns, fabrics and anything else that looked remotely curious.

My anchors were two long pieces of driftwood my son and I found on Double Bluff about ten years ago that we used for walking sticks.  I secured rows of hemp between them and started to weave.  What a beautiful process - like knitting on steroids.  I didn't plan anything, just chose the colors and got to work.  My hands were on autopilot, and the rhythm cathartic. I was completely present in the moment, similar to when I have a camera in my hands.

Different objects found their way into the weave.  Two old collars, a leash and a tug-o-war sheet from my sweet Sparky, who I had lost the summer before.  Long shards of bark from two cedars I planted 12 years ago that had to be taken down unexpectedly.  And a jangling testimony to half a century of my life - jewelry, pins, oddities and baubles collected over the years.

What started out as an experiment resulted in a deeply cherished and personal work of art.  What a nice surprise. :)

    

Yes, I'm a tree hugger. I feel an incredible respect and affinity for trees; always have. It started when I used to climb trees as a kid in Detroit. Our backyard was barren, aside from overgrown grass and a beautiful maple tree. I remember climbing that tree so many times, resting in the crook of large limbs, looking down over the scraggly back yard and quiet alley. I felt invisible and protected there.

About a year ago I found my childhood home on Google Earth and was sad to see the house was a wreck, along with the rest of the neighborhood.  My tree was gone.

Since those days in the late 60's and early 70's, I've lived among trees.  I've lived under trees; fallen out of trees; driven around fallen trees and planted trees. I've slept under trees, picnicked under trees, cried under trees and made love under them. And I've been in four terrifying storms where trees fell all around me. It's the most eerie feeling in the world to be standing outside on a relatively clear morning, no rain, with only the deafening roar of wind in your ears, watching trees tumble over across the lake. Not hearing them crash - just seeing them. It's like being the star in a David Lynch movie.

Despite my tree PTSD, I continue to plant trees around my home and marvel at those around me that are well over 100 ft. tall. Any one of them could reduce my house to matchsticks, and take me out in the process. But I can't imagine not living among them. There are worse ways to go.