I have been working on various things over the past few weeks.
First, I finished up a swap piece for the latest Phat Quarter swap. Here’s a tiny peek. I am tremendously pleased with how the whole thing came together. The completed piece is just about as I had envisioned it in my head. I cannot wait until my partner receives it and I can share the whole thing with you all.
I also got a little crochet lesson from my mom and it took some time, but I’ve gotten a decent feel for it. I’m not sure what exactly I will do with this skill (perhaps a blanket) but it’s been handy to have a ball of yarn and a hook in my purse as I’ve been spending lots of time at the softball field with my oldest these past few weeks (and that will continue into June).
All of this momentum is good. I’ve got plans to start on Alice Paul’s portrait in the next few days and to start on sketching out some more specific ideas on the thing I want to do next.
The what I want to do next involves old family photos and other pieces of personal ephemera that I’ve saved over the years. In the process (and after seeing Olisa’s stitched poem fragments), I pulled out all of my old poems. I think I might have touched on it when I did my Dickinson piece, but I started out college as an English major, wanting to be a writer. I wrote poems like a mad-person back in those days — and I saved everything. Things that I had written when I was 10 all the way through college graduation. Some of it is so precious (and so is my handwriting). Here is my very first poem, I remember writing it in 5th grade (and then I wrote six or seven quickly after):
They wave their grassy hands
As people walk in their sands
The sand dunes.
And then, naturally at age 12-14 they are cringe-worthy. Unrequited love. I have no real friends. (One acrostic that spells “hypocrite”)
But eventually, they started sucking a lot less (and obviously I was influenced heavily by Dickinson).
can change the world
All you see
reflected back —
[1:10 pm 19 Oct 1999]
with the scalpel
I bleed —
[10:59 am 18 April 1999]
I was so obsessive, I used to track the dates and times (and maybe also where I was) of every little thing I wrote. I was convinced that a pattern would emerge, but yet, I don’t think I’ve ever examined the data. (Perhaps it is time!)