Here are some thoughts that may ---or may not--- grow up to be quilts someday
Posted in: Inspiration
Scarcity: Bound by Time
A little therapeutic sketching today to explore the concept that a mindset focused on scarcity of time, resources or love can leave us feeling bound so tightly that we feel unable to act.
Reminder to self: look through a lens of abundance to see the eternity present in each moment, leaving the soul free to dance, dream and breathe…and to give to self and others without measuring the cost.
Sometimes life can get us down. When it does, we have at least two choices: to wallow in our discontent... or to get up and just get on with it, hoping to find a bit of joy where we can. Surprisingly, option two — although initially requiring more energy to kickstart — also offers a lot more kickback on our investment.
The last two weeks have been difficult ones for our family as we continue to struggle through a time of crisis; but in the midst of the anxiety and the sadness, we have tried to instil joy in the small moments where it can shine: a sunbeam through the icy window, a smile of trust and mutual support, those brief bursts of inspiration when creativity takes hold and pushes all the other worries aside for a while.
Along that theme, part of my self care during this stressful time has been to revive a long-ignored interest in fabric design, and to create a few cheerful and colourful patterns inspired by tropical islands and sun-soaked shores. I have even created a new shop on Spoonflower (castle_of_miranda) to share those images, and have ordered some sample swatches for myself.
It's late and I'm tired; it's still winter outside, but I think I can find summer in my heart again.
Sitting on the dock one day this summer, I was once again gazing down into the clear water and hoping for a rare glimpse of the elusive fish when I realized that no matter how often I watch or how deeply I research what might actually be happening under the surface these days—and despite the wealth of images and knowledge shared by underwater explorers like Jacques Cousteau in the past—I will never be an integral part of that watery world, and will never truly understand what it means to be a citizen of that particular kingdom.
The phrase "undiscovered kingdoms" opened up a vista of possibility in my mind. I thought about the historic era of world exploration, when sailing ships set off from home towards distant shores, loaded with supplies and crewed by a group of people who had very little idea of what they might find along the way. They didn't have cameras or technology to record their findings, and relied on words and drawings to share their perceptions and interpretations of what they had discovered.
What was the motivation of those explorers? Were they driven purely by the concept of discovery, of expanding knowledge and mutual understanding by building relationships with cultures and lifestyles previously unknown to them? Were the incentives more material in nature, banking on rewards from grateful patrons for expanding boundaries and resources channeled back to serve the known kingdom?
History tells us once new lands were discovered, there was almost always a migration of settlers from the old world to the new, and that even if these new settlers were escaping difficult conditions at home and looking for a better life, the majority of missionaries, mercenaries and pioneers arriving on foreign shores were conquerors rather than explorers, whether they realized it or not. They seemed to focus on teaching the culture they already knew and building a similar form of the society they had left behind. Looking back, it appears that they didn't really to come to learn or even realize that other kingdoms, natural and human, were already in place and had another kind of wisdom to share. Anything the new arrivals didn't understand seemed less desirable and less advanced than their familiar world.
Globalization means that more of our world is familiar to us than ever before, at least on the surface. News and images travel instantaneously to our television and computer screens. We seem to have mapped and digitally recorded the geography of almost the entire world: Google Earth and street view allow us to see practically every visual detail of the world around us. We have even sent out space probes, made that first step on the surface of another planet. We know a lot about what the world looks like in other places, and we recognize the images...but we still don't seem to be able to live beneath the surface: to respect each other's differences, to learn from each other's experience and to get along without stealing or appropriating each other's gifts.
That's the kind of explorer I would like to be, and the kind of kingdom I wish we could all create together.
Photographers probably recognize this truth better than anyone: if you miss the moment, it is gone forever. As I work at the lakeside today, I am reminded how the continuous shift of the sun and clouds, the wind and the waves (whether dramatic or incredibly subtle) visually transform the mood of the landscape from moment to moment. The sounds of passing boat traffic and spontaneous birdsong — and the splashing of the neighbour's children as they swim — all work together to weave a complex symphony, with a melody and rhythm that never repeats from bar to bar. And what about our internal landscapes? Dreams, thoughts, opportunities and inspirations ebb and flow with their own unique undercurrents; if we are not present to recognize, greet and welcome them, I believe they will blithely continue on their way and leave us none the wiser.
Ironically, it takes longer than a moment to reflect on a previous moment, and in the process, we may be missing other moments that would have been equally inspirational. There are also many moments we are called to be active participants rather than passive observers: to create, to intervene, to build relationships and to shake things up… to change the moment.
Life is a balancing act. I believe that our ability to be aware of this duality — to respect the limitless elements that shape each moment, but still believing in our creative vocation as the human element in the equation and adding our own energy to the shaping process — is what allows us to be our most creative and productive selves.
After waking on Saturday morning to world covered by a woolly blanket of newly fallen snow, Rob and I decided to go on a small photo safari for the first time in a long time. As we walked and snapped, I found myself pondering why these little photo safaris bring me joy.
Many of the photos I have taken over my lifetime represent my effort to capture a memory of a moment in time shared with family and friends or a milestone event… but I have come to realize that the act of photography is much more than that for me: it is a very intentional way of moving through my everyday world with eyes of wonder, seeing and experiencing details in a completely different way.
I realize now that the photo itself is not as important to me as honouring the act of looking—truly looking—at the message the world is offering me today, in the moment, in the place where I find myself. I struggle to frame the images that tell me some kind of story, and learn even more respect for the talented photographers who evoke the mysteries of the universe in their photographs, and allow us to see a new world through their eyes.
I just came out of a meeting related to education and started thinking about how many different educational models we can call to mind from personal experience or shared anecdotes, and their relative success rates.
There is the authoritative model, where the representative of a powerful system knows best and attempts to squeeze students through little compartments in the machine in order to crank out identical copies of the original. I am thinking of the colonial approach to government, business and education in many countries; and in particular, the residential school system in Canada, with the deep divisions and identity-crushing suffering this type of model can inflict on individuals and on society as a whole.
At the opposite end of the scale is the free-for-all, "here for a good time, not a long time" model, where the group animator is just a "buddy-old-pal" who has no authority and expects students to figure everything out for themselves; this system drives students for a long distance in a top-of-the-line party bus and then drops them off with a hangover and fuzzy memories at the edge of the jungle to fight their way through the chaos on their own, without a clear sense of direction or the necessary gear... and is then surprised how few of them succeed.
In my mind, the best model is one that offers a guide for a challenging hiking journey. In this model, students are travelling to a destination they have chosen for themselves, but have access to quiet expertise which can be called upon as needed. In this model, individuals receive advance preparation and training for the potential risks and obstacles, learn the sense of agility required to adjust the route as needed based on circumstance and ability, and benefit from constant companionship and shared stories along the way, which leave both student and guide stronger, more connected and fulfilled when the goal is reached.
Maritime hymns hold a special fascination for me.
For Those in Peril on the Sea is the first title that comes to mind... but there is another hymn I remember from my paternal grandfather's funeral service in Prince Edward Island many years ago, which continues to resonate with me even more forcefully (in fact, so much so that I hope it will be part of my own funeral service some day... in the far distant future, of course!)
It is Well With My Soul was written by Horatio Spafford in the 1870s after a series of personal tragedies, including financial disaster related to the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 and the deaths of his five children (one son succumbed to scarlet fever and four daughters drowned in a shipwreck.) The fact that he was able to pen lyrics that still evoke such hope and peace despite the storms that he faced is truly inspirational to me, and a reminder that my own storms are much smaller and more inconsequential.
“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Will Your Anchor Hold is another favourite, written in 1882 by Priscilla Jane Owens. The rollicking tune reinforces the words, which remind us not to give up hope, but instead to use whatever gifts we have been given to remain steadfast.
“Will your anchor hold in the storms of life,
When the clouds unfold their wings of strife?
When the strong tides lift and the cables strain,
Will your anchor drift, or firm remain?
We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Steadfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Saviour’s love.”
The perils of the sea are not only for sailors. My father once told me a story about duck-hunting along the shores of Prince Edward Island many years ago with a few of my uncles and cousins. I think the expedition began well, with everyone in high spirits; but as time wore on, the crashing tide moved in and began to cut them off from the path they had originally travelled. As he struggled through the crashing waves along a slippery cliffside, holding his shotgun above his head, he began to wonder if he would even be able to make it home again; in the end, he decided that the results of the expedition just weren't worth the risks...and never went duck-hunting again.
The Coffin family connection with the perils of the sea goes even further back in time, to my Coffin ancestors who made the arduous journey by sea to the New World in the 1600s and were amongst the first immigrants to settle on Nantucket Island. Many of our ancestors became whalers; and some were tragically entangled in the saga of the whaling ship Essex in 1820, documented in the recent movie In the Heart of the Sea (based on the book of the same title by Nathaniel Philbrick, Nantucket historian.) For those who don't know, this is the harrowing narrative—filled with excitement, danger and loss—that inspired Herman Melville to pen his famous whaling tale, Moby Dick.
As I reflect on the words of those old-time maritime hymns, I am reminded that when we find ourselves a long way out from shore, struggling with the dark storms and forces of nature beyond our control, it is important to remember that we carry our safe harbours with us at all times: all the blessings in our lives that give us the strength and the hope to hold fast, to fight through the storm and come back home safe again.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting on this very dock, contemplating how lucky I am that my world is so safe and so comfortable compared to so many people in the world...but with each wave that splashed in to shore, the quote below kept floating into my consciousness and making me restless:
“A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”
I wondered to myself, "Does this mean that we should leave behind everything in our lives that is safe and comfortable and only choose the risky and uncomfortable options instead?"
I don't think so; at least, not completely.
A willingness to embrace reasonable risk and occasional discomfort is what allows us to grow and change and understand something new about the world. Adventurous journeys into the unknown help us find our sea legs and develop different kinds of muscles to keep our minds and bodies in shipshape condition.
But safe harbour is where we gather between voyages to share the treasures we've found, to compare notes on the uncharted territory we've discovered and raise a glass to celebrate our safe return; a place where we can rest, repair and re-provision before our next big adventure on the high seas.
Thank heaven for safe harbours.
Have you ever woken from a dream so vivid that you believed it was true long after you woke up?
Sometimes I think that creative work is like a self-induced fever dream: images and emotions so real in our mind's eye that we can almost touch them... but those visions quickly fade and disappear forever into the shadowlands if we don't do something to make them real. Creative work is about finding ways to keep fuelling the fire and building a solid bridge between the world of imagination and the tangible reality of everyday life.
The process of creativity could also be imagined in relation to one of the most basic human instincts for survival: procreation and the arrival of a new generation of ideas. Initial conception combines micro-elements of inspiration and of practical realities, the resulting embryo is nurtured and guarded well during development over an appropriate length of time... and only delivered after the hard work and challenges inherent in any labour of love have been successfully completed.
What are you doing to bring your dreams into the open and make them real today?
Part of the ongoing challenge for designers and makers over the course of our careers is to keep our interests and passions fresh and alive. One way to do that is to expand our design skills into new areas, using new materials and processes. I have been enjoying a wealth of learning opportunities over the past year or two, thanks to the Craftsy learning platform.
Over the holidays, I made a few pairs of earrings, including these two identical pairs: one in gold and one in silver. Looking forward to sharing more photos soon!
NOTE: An extended version of this post can be found on LinkedIn.
Have you ever had a moment where everything in the universe seems to align in your favour? It may be the shortest or rarest of moments, but I believe it does happen when we let it, even in the midst of very difficult and trying circumstances beyond our control.
This photo was taken early one morning at our annual Rover reunion camping weekend many years ago. The dew and the sunrise were both fleeting, but following the spontaneous instinct to get up for an early morning walk meant being in the right place at the right time and receiving this unexpected visual gift, as well as an inner sense that all was right with the world.
We can paralyze ourselves with the conviction that we are unlucky—that we are not receiving the rewards we deserve—while others are blessed with better luck and seem to get everything that they want out of life. While it's true that life often doesn't go the way we expect, our sense of being unlucky can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we are entirely focused on what we deserve and how we are working tirelessly to get it, we are likely to miss the surprises and treasures that lie on the unexplored side roads of our lives.
Creativity grows from the juxtaposition of unexpected elements; if we control and plan and decide every aspect of our lives based on what we already know and expect, creativity has no place to blossom. Sometimes the greatest blessings spring unexpectedly from the most challenging ground, and creativity thrives with some adversity, some "bad luck" that might make us step back, change direction and look for the good on another path.
Have you ever had a moment where everything in the universe seems to align in your favour? Just open your eyes and look around; you might be standing in front of one right now.
The word "immersion" has been knocking on the door to my consciousness at unexpected moments this week, like a persistent but uninvited guest. Of course, being human, I wonder why... and the search for meaning draws all kinds of elements into the mix.
For me, the word "immersion" conjures up the story of my English-speaking father, when we first moved back to Quebec, choosing to immerse himself in the language and culture of our new home by living with a French-speaking family in Quebec City for three weeks. Looking back now, I'm not sure why that made such an impression on me, but I think his positive experience smoothed the path to my own choice to enter the French immersion program at high school, years later, with the fervent encouragement of both my parents.
When I think about immersion, the idea of baptism is another image that comes to mind. Full immersion baptism is symbolic of dying to the mistakes of the past in order to live a fulfilling and meaningful life. The words of one of my brother-in-law's songs—Baptism by Fire—have been running through my mind since last week, too; sometimes we find ourselves in circumstances where we must sink or swim, where we are called to pass through a refining fire in order to come out better than before.
We can become immersed in our work, in our thoughts, in our reading... and in the lives of those we love. In these times, we choose to flow with something beyond ourselves. The recent journeying of one family in our circle through the final illness and death of their loved one is a prime example. All else falls away, and eternity can be found in the depth of connection, in the holding of a hand and a story shared.
I think it's important to remember that immersion is not the same as submerging, drowning, or killing off any part of ourselves. It is about letting go of what we don't need (including misconceptions about our own abilities) and finding how to live and breathe and have our being wherever we may find ourselves, of being part of something bigger and better.
Most of us live our lives as air-breathing creatures of the earth; it can be scary to move beyond the elements we think we know and immerse ourselves in the creative realms of water and fire... to become mermaids or dragons or some other form of being that transcends the elements by becoming part of them and dissolving false boundaries.
So what does immersion mean for artists and makers? I think it means the choice to give ourselves over to something beyond our current understanding, to be willing to be "out of our element" at times; an openness to admitting that we don't know it all and to asking for help; a decision to let go of the past and to start fresh when necessary—cleared of preconceived notions and past mistakes. Immersion is about belonging, relationships and being part of something; it means letting the walls down and using the stones to build bridges.
Our lives are in constant flow along winding pathways. At different times, we all travel through gardens and ghettos, under rainbows and through ruins. If we are lucky, we have good friends and close family members to share the wonder and the struggles, to help us over the rocks and across the streams, to sing and play music and laugh with us as we go.
I spent the past weekend at a quilt retreat, in the company of friends, old and new. All around me, artists created tangible reminders of life's milestones: quilts for weddings, birthdays, new and eagerly expected babies. There were quilts to celebrate friendship and those built with fragments of work begun by friends who have passed on; there were quilts designed to honour different times in history and different cultures around the world, designs inspired by other artists and by our own life experiences. There were projects made to be put to daily use, and those made to be admired. There were quilts made to stimulate the eyes of those who appreciate beauty and those deliberately made "not too pretty" in order to be more effective in stimulating minds that have begun to wander. There were innovative quilts engineered by individuals exploring new methods, and those created in community using traditional techniques. And as always, I came home inspired and full of new ideas.
My weekend was mostly spent machine quilting an Underground Railroad quilt begun in a long-ago class taught by a friend, modified and continued in response to a guild challenge for a "soldier quilt" (or bedrunner) to mark the anniversary of the war of 1812; obviously, I missed that deadline! (more about project background here).
My challenge this weekend was to decide on an appropriate design for the quilting. I had already decided that this quilt should reflect an endless cycle of journeying through life, so decided on a winding and repetitive variation of the infinity symbol with echo quilting for the "pathways" of the quilt, and simple straight lines in alternating directions for the rest of the quilt. The overall pattern reminds me of crossroads and of the flow of time... and like real life, the final result is definitely not perfect.... so I think it works on all kinds of levels! :)
Sorry, folks... I fell off the blog wagon the day I planned to change my routine; I got very sick for a couple of days back in May and never got back at my daily blog. After prolonged consideration, I have decided to take a relatively blog-free summer and—hopefully—make some progress on a couple of big projects before I get back at it diligently in September.
In the meantime, I am planning to take a mini-summer course online from "Make It in Design" to break the ice for my emerging sideline interest in surface pattern design, starting July 28th and ending in early September. Wish me well! :)
It's been a long week... but I can think of lots of reasons to say TGIF:
So a simple "thank goodness" is in order... specifically, for the goodness personified in my dust bunny of a husband. He smooths out lots of things in my life: my path, my ruffled feathers... and most recently—as shown in the picture at the top of this post—he is smoothing out my kitchen walls and ceiling (currently under renovation.)
With Rob in the picture, every day rates a TGIF. Thanks, honey, for just being you! :)
On this Easter Monday morning, I woke up thinking about the difference between ideas and Easter eggs. Although both can be surprising, delicious and beautiful, I think they have a few contrasting qualities:
One characteristic that ideas and Easter eggs do have in common is that they are better when collected and shared. Happy Easter, everyone!
I had a dream about a quilt the other night (yes, quilts are on my mind 24 hours a day!) The pattern was simple and very attractive to me; but even in my dream, my brain was sifting and analyzing to figure it out, to define a deeper meaning, a logical reason why it should be this way and no other (sad but true...this is the way my brain works—problem-solving and pattern seeking even while I'm sleeping—no wonder I'm tired when I wake up!)
When I tumbled out of bed, I went straight to my computer and worked through some tangible responses to my initial vision (depicted above) to define the elements that had meaning for me, extracting the two interpretations shown below.
The arrangement of evenly spaced horizontal rectangles piled one upon the other, creates a solid brick wall. This image speaks to me of stability: warmth and shelter that will endure and withstand the storms and vagaries of time; it represents the things we understand very well and know how to make for ourselves.
But my original vision was in brighter, softer shades which spoke to me of nature, alive and growing... so I altered the shapes in this second version to be vertical, varied and verdant (how's that for alliteration?) This image is all about the mystery of life that sprouts without our help and renews itself despite our misguided or unintentional efforts to suppress it; it speaks of freshness, individuality, and the breeze of inspiration blowing through us.
In the end, I like all three designs... but what sense did my analytical mind make of my dream? It told me that all things are made of basic building blocks, but how we choose to arrange them in our imagination has the power to determine what we perceive.
Do you ever wake up with an image imprinted on your brain?
Do you feel an urgency about capturing those thoughts and images? And as your waking mind takes hold, do the images and thoughts start to fade and slip away, lose their bright and shiny lustre, sliding into muddy puddles of doubt? Do you question why they seemed so charming and insightful in the first place?
Which is more real: the spark of the dream, or the dimming of the spark that comes with the dawn? I'd rather believe in the dream, but I often find myself limiting my actions and living within the duller and more mundane boundaries of "reality", losing some of my faith and excitement for the initial vision along the way.
Creative work does require a balance of graceful dreaming and gritty realism to come to fruition; we need to push and pull the boundaries of our perceptions, to capture those sparks (like the lightning harvesters in the movie "Stardust")... but we also to analyze and utilize the tools at hand (or invent new ones) to maintain or enhance the freshest and brightest aspects of the dream. We grind and polish the diamonds, refine the silver with fire and hammer the metal into shape. It's not magic, it's hard work... but when we do that work right, the work itself is invisible, and the focus remains entirely on the magic of the dream.
Hi ho, hi ho....
Graffiti intrigues me. At times, it seems like arrogant vandalism, which makes me angry... yet, at other times, it illuminates a dark corner with beauty, or with a call for justice, inciting public action/reaction.
I don't know much about it, but "tagging" seems to fall in the first category. To me, it's like standing in the middle of an empty room and yelling your own name over and over again; senseless, selfish and somewhat silly. But then I ask myself: why? Is this the work of someone who just wants attention? How is it different from the endless stream of Facebook selfies, Twitter navel-gazing—and blogs like this one—that clutter the social media channels? The truth is that we all want to be noticed, to be heard, to matter. The question is, how will we achieve it?
I wonder if other opportunities for creative expression seem blocked to these graffiti guerillas... and why? Are these images really maps drawn by someone who is lost, created in the hope they might eventually be found? Are they like the sad and greedy seagull in the movie "Finding Nemo" crying "mine, mine, mine" and staking out a territory when everything else seems to have been taken away?
The more complex and anonymous wall drawings seem different to me; they seem to be signs of generosity and confident independence, leaving stories as gifts or riddles for those who follow, like the cave paintings of many cultures around the world. Perhaps it is the viewer who decides the value of these images based on context? If we didn't know these images were painted on abandoned buildings or underground tunnels, would we assume something different about their value? If we thought they were painted by a famous artist rather than an anonymous rebel, would we view them with a more discerning eye?
The late Keith Haring's work inspires me... and sometimes disturbs me, too. From its early days, blooming on the blank spaces of subway walls, his work has grown to international acclaim and commercial reproduction (needless disclaimer: I own a bright pink lunchbag featuring a Keith Haring drawing, complete with a figurative zipper pull.) His work has a unique look and feel: lively, often humourous and seemingly unafraid, using simple (and even child-like) lines and shapes to express his imagination, both in light and in darkness.
I can't see myself ever becoming a true graffiti artist, but I wonder what elements really appeal to me and cry out to be incorporated in my own work: a sense of "devil-may-care" rebellion in the face of too many rules? A willingness to create something "quick and dirty" without judgment, then walk away and leave the work behind: to be viewed, erased, improved or obliterated by other artists? A need to share a call to action: to right the wrongs of the world and bring on a healthy dose of justice for all?
I'm not sure yet; but when I figure it out, I'll be sure to share "the writing on the wall."
