Felted French Press

At home, I use a four-cup stove top espresso maker, however when entertaining, it is not very convenient. I like the whole idea of a French Press Table presentation but the coffee cools much too quickly. While I have been making tea cozies for friends, it only seemed appropriate to make something for myself. I am only a one cup tea drinker contrasting to the multiple cups of coffee consumed daily so why not a cozy for the French Press?  I have acquired some lovely black mohair ( from angora goats) and mixing it with the white mohair gives a nice sheen, with a curly texture so I am using it on the top layer of foundation of merino wools.  The tassels are  rolled wool–these a tad crude but have become rather exotic in later cozies.  A particularly striking combination of colors is black mohair,  a sea-foam green spirals with strands of white mohair gingerly placed on top.

French Press Cover

French Press Cover2

6 C French Press with Cover

Joseph’s Scarf of Many Colors

I call this piece Joseph’s scarf of many colors. it is my first attempt to nuno felt, the base is a cotton gauze, with metallic threads. I nuno felted with various fresh colors then embellished with satin ribbons and scraps of silk hence the title. the rayon thread adds another dimension of sheen in comparison to the soft alpaca wool.

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Joseph's Scarf

Retouched

Ginko Touchup

54″ x 54″ Textile paint on cotton double weave.

Inspirational Torch

What I want to say, the words are impounded, what I shouldn’t say seems to be an unending supply of hurtful empty darts. Words are such a challenge for me. I grew up in a home of humiliation and constant teasing, although I still feel the sting of those ugly words, I am stuck and almost committed in the same pathway. I allow the overflow portal of my soul to spew hurtful pebbles or sharp jagged rocks at those I care about and love. I, so, desire to speak inspiration, hope and, to stir the kindness within peoples hearts. I had a design/art professor in college that opened doors of motivation and dared me to think higher and deeper. The natural outcome allowed me to excel beyond my skills and understanding. If she had doubts about me, she never dropped the hint of incompetence. I left college believing the stars were too close or minute when I could go “where no (wo)man has gone”. I did some amazing things in the following years; I accomplished things that still dazzle me. Twenty years later, the torch of inspiration is at my fingertips ready for dispensations so others can reach out and touch their dreams, accomplish or exceed their capacity as Mary Ann did for me. The question is how do I gather the words that seem to stumble and fall at my feet? I want to escape that humiliated child holding an empty basket, unable to speak because of the frequent tongue lashings. There are no scars only open wounds.

Spirals in Progress

The images on the piece are usually iconic metaphors.

Hidden Treasures

Intelligence is a long debated subject, there have been standards devised yet it is well known fact they are biased by the authors environment/intellect. Then, Howard Gardener came along with his seven levels of intelligence, which gathered the creative slice of society as a mother hen would her chicks. Emotional intelligence a whole slice of a different pie, which is rarely addressed or taken seriously. The past 12 years I have oozed with envy to have what a group called Mensa, the “supposedly” top two percent of society’s intellectual group contains. I have worked for firms that only hire the top two percent of their school class. I seem to gravitate to those with higher reasoning skill sets. So, what has intelligence come to mean to me? Not one who can recall facts, figures or trivia at the snap of a finger, or those in prominent leadership positions, or even those who have intuitively extracted from life what they need. To me what it means to be intelligent is one who knows who they are inside, is sensitive enough to see past others behaviors and understand them as people, one who assesses situations or circumstances and can accurately address it not project or jump to symptom conclusions. I believe an intelligent person is insightful, mature, humble and caring and yet appropriately interjects humor into a tense state of affairs.

Cranbrook Fruit

A friend of mine was attending Cranbrook School of Design and I was green with envy. Happy for her, of course so I press my nose against the portal of her experience. I was growing tired of paint and the 5’ x 8’ pieces I had been creating and showing. She wrote to me about her exploration painting with the juice of various fruits, which was way out of the box even for Krissy. As I waiting anxiously for a post card or some sort of visual of her ideas, I began looking at fruit as a medium. I happened u pon this citrus peeler, oranges, limes and grapefruits. I cut designs into the fruit then let the fruit dehydrate; of course they had to be rotated every other day so the interior juice would not flatten the fruit. At the end of 6 weeks, my masterpieces were completed. I never did anything with them except send some to her, after they sat in a box for 9 years. I moved to a new house and the insects loved these hardened hollow citrus creations. Within no time they became total powder. So the experiment with fruit was a short lived one but fun.

Liquid Gold

When Christo wrapped the sidewalks of Loose Park, KC in 1977, an emotion moved and filled my inner being. I attended many of those pre-planning meetings. Not one dollar for his projects was funded by public funds; it was totally funded by his private sales of the prelim sketches, watercolors and renderings. He only hired(s) local people and bought his materials within the city of installation. He was (is) committed to helping the economy even in a temporary fashion. The day of unveiling came and I waited with anticipation to walk on the sidewalks with the setting sun. A slight breeze rippled the parachute fabric that had a slight silk sheen and shimmer. I was walking on liquid gold and limitlessness of fabric/textiles unfolded before me. A desire to work with textile was finalized. Previously to this surreal experience I had flirted with batik, making designs with wax and dye on fabric that tantalized the eye. I liked flea markets and I bought vintage table linens for a song. The rich damask linen added dimension to my flat surface, creating shinny and matt designs under my wax markings. The Juxtaposing the new marking with the old weavings stirred irony within me, a tension that excited me and birthed a love affair with textiles.

http://images.google.com/images?q=christo&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&hs=Kp2&um=1&sa=X&oi=images&ct=title

Repeated

I am clueless what exactly goes into a blog, is it a mere record of the ramblings of my mind? Or should I have some metaphoric, poignant vision? I have been an early riser since a youth. The morning air, sounds, quality of light fascinates me because I am bursting with energy and my senses seem to be keenly heightened. My mom would wake up to find me outside playing in my jammies amongst my imaginative animal friends. This morning a storm has passed through as the sun was rising. The sky was blackish, grey with the yummy color of midnight blue-that deep indigo with a slight touch of green. As a textile artist with ADD, I tend to wander in and out of various mediums. It as always been an issue, for me to focus and master one medium thus I often give into the temptation and digress. The wandering path does not last long as I quickly discover that nothing satisfies me more than the textures found in fibers/textiles.