I’ve been mesmerized by Sheila Hicks lately.
She reminds us to let the materials speak. To use the loom as a brain — not even a second one. The first one.
I’ve been sitting humbly before the material. Playing with it. Waiting. It will tell me what it wants if I stay quiet enough to hear it.
The life and the material speak what they seek to become.
Do we let them?
Also, happy birthday to my grandmother Ina Jane. She would be 108 years old today.
I picture a white wall. A small window with an electric blue curtain pulled across it. The rainstorm blows outside but from inside we see only white — and the shoots of rainwater as they pummel down that wall.
That's how life often feels.
And yet on the inside, with the electric curtain pulled shut, we can be safely, warmly, quietly home in ourselves.
You have no other choice on the menu, despite the endless perfectionism taught to you in school—a perfectionism that said if you make a mistake you are a terrible person.
Your life is the only item on the menu.
The nutrition is your own actions served back to you on plates. Everything you have said and done, returned to you. All the risks you didn't take.
You can eat it or you cannot.
and yet your own life is the only thing on the menu.
