Twelve Hundred Miles Later

I wish I had an image to provide for you; sadly the ones I want are © by Gregory Colbert. On Tuesday I went to see Ashes and Snow at the Santa Monica Pier on the western edge of Los Angeles.

The concept of a nomadic museum and the design of the structure was created by Shigeru Ban. The first iteration of the museum was in New York City. It will remain in Santa Monica, only until May 14. His concept, this time on the lot next to the pier, is eccentric when viewed from the bridge. Stacks of ocean going freight containers with two gables; the structure is quite high.

When I stepped inside my first impression was that Ban had created a twenty first century cathedral out of salvage, magnificent salvage. The walkway was wooden. Round black stones paved the parking lot from the edge of the walk to the receding walls. The brochure says that the enclosed space is 56,000 square feet.

The art work is the photography of Gregory Colbert. Over fourteen years and thirty expeditions to probably a dozen countries, he has created both still and moving pictures and a novel in letters. The stills appear to be hand printed on hand made paper; the brochure states "a distinctive, encaustic process." It is as though I had walked into a hallowed other world.

I had been watching the progression of this exhibition and it's sequentially published codexes. I suggest you visit Ashes and Snow. Even though that visit will give you only a one percent glimpse of what I experienced. If you are any where near Los Angeles, play hookey ! ! ! It is a once in a lifetime, life changing, event.

Feather to blood, blood to bone, bone to marrow, marrow to ashes, ashes to snow. Feather to blood, blood to bone, bone to marrow, marrow to ashes, ashes to snow. Feather to blood, blood to bone, bone to marrow, marrow to ashes, ashes to snow. The mantra of the rhythm and cadence of the circle of life.

Santa Rita Prickly Pear

The spring bloom of the Santa Rita Prickly Pear cactus nearly obscures the purple of the paddle. Look closely in the upper right. These cactus are native only to the Santa Rita Mountains just east of the Santa Cruz River Valley in Pima County, Arizona. The skin of each pad is lavender to purple. The colder the winter the more pronounced the color. The only variant in these is the color of the thorns. For some reason in some locations thorns are white; other locations show black thorns.

These are so beautiful. Each flower, over the course of the summer, will become an edible fruit a little larger than a hen's egg. You pick them with kitchen tongs and hold the fruit over the fire to burn off both the thorns and the hidden spines. Then you can reduce the fruit to juice; much the same way you heat any fruit to release juice to make jelly. Prickly pear jelly is good. Prickly pear margaritas are better than good; the flavor is unique.

The Mulligrub Blues

Here's a piece I've been working on. I sit in doctors offices and surgery clinics, outside of junkyards, here and there and I stitch. It waits a while and I come back and I stitch a lot more. I've about used up a spool of the black.

It's more a mark making exercise. I don't think you could call it quilting. I doubt the embroiderers would claim it. The black and purple threads are size F buttonhole silk. The turquoise, fine, cotton is just basting.

The cotton is an over-dyed reduction from Debra Lunn that I've owned since 2003. It started out as a fat quarter. Now it is in four unequal rectangles surrounded by black cotton sateen. I keep stitching and making marks on the black. Hoping that the colored rectangles will tell me how I'm supposed to stitch them. The binding is already cut, pieced, folded, pressed, and hung in the closet out of the way of playful cats. If I get done with the black stitching maybe I'll bring out the binding and see what it has to say to the rectangles.

The purple is hand dyed. For some reason it is always contrary. The fuchsia always strikes and grabs the fiber very quickly. The dark blue is more reluctant. Now, that's an interesting semantic coincidence. The Blues and Reluctance. Hum. That's something to think on some more. It's sort of like:

"I got the dismals. Not exactly the dumps or mulligrubs, more like moody and uncertain, as when you don't know what's going to happen next."

Someone has the a © on that quotation, if it is yours I would like to add attribution. It struck me so strongly one day that it got copied off the net and printed so that I would not lose it.