It was a beautiful day, soft and quiet. As I left for my walk, I thought … perfect. I can use the time away from unfinished projects, to-do lists and the piles of paperwork on my desk. My solitary walk is always a lovely time to regroup and refocus. Unfortunately, shortly after stepping out, I could…
This tesserae piece is one of my favorite compositions. The small tesserae pieces cut from old paintings and used to create the image, are a reflection of my earliest day-dreams. When I was five or six, I often stayed with my grandparents during the summer. Sitting on their back porch whiling away the time, staring…
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been in contact with a good friend from my Inchbald Design School days. We have been organizing a trip to meet up with friends in London. While planning our itinerary, we’ve spent time stitching together memories of trips we took together in the years after school. Distance and time…
CANCER IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR What a bad trip it is … cancer. After seven years I have learned there is a lot of good company to be found among those of us who have survived the journey. I know because I have heard from some of them and have read about many of them,…
Lately I seem to be tripping on little bits of this and that … the odd phrase, random thought, passing gesture, or old lessons gleaned from others. Like silk tendrils, they are woven into the fabric of my life. I am sure those who once shared their thoughts or dropped their clever non sequitur, are…
I am not what anyone would call a spontaneous individual. The pattern of my life for the most part has bordered on the somnolent. So it came as a shock to me-myself-and-I, as well as those who knew me back then, that I should leave behind a successful career in Library-Land to pursue a degree…
It rained most of Monday and continued drizzling Tuesday morning. I had decided to forgo my walk as it looked gloomy and cold outside. However, by noon it had warmed up and the rain had stopped, leaving a persistent foggy mist. It was a damp and dreary world out there, but I put on my…
My memory of childhood has little to do with black and white Kodak moments printed on glossy photographic paper. Those images, framed in white deckle, are family memories. They are copies of the updates shared with grandparents, aunts, uncles and old friends. Mother sent them off enclosed with her cards and letters keeping everyone up…
After my mother died, I discovered some random photos tucked away in her desk. A small packet of memories carefully wrapped in an envelope worn soft from frequent use, with a little bit of cardboard to keep them flat, they were photographs of my late stepfather’s family. Gerhard kept them handy in case anyone thought…
I sit scrunched down on the old rough boards of the front porch cutting out clothes for my paper doll. My tongue is curled tense against the corner of my mouth trying to be helpful, as I carefully manipulate the stupid blunt-nosed scissors. My thumb keeps getting stuck in the stupid hole, and the stupid…