a little tapestry, one of a long series of landscapes. selvage irregularities are dimensional, and there's a row of glass beads. this may be the last of many tapestries, a landscape in spring. i photographed through its glass. cotton, silk, wool, quiviut, beads, some natural dyes and handspun. a simple piece, sold to someone who collects my work.
the more i work, the more it's woven into a tapestry. books currently inhabit my imagination, i often work small. that fiber legacy is always present, though. my mother's birth name was weaver. she started me sewing as a child on kleenex first, then rags when i gained some skill. finally embroidery on cotton. so now i search for my own meanings with threads, pictures, stories, paper and books. paper is spun and woven, rags are beaten into paper, or woven into cloth, cloth is worn and then shredded into paper, and sewn into books. it seems so connected. i avoid talking about the *meaning*, because it's irrelevant. the making isn't.
shifu sampler close-up: kozo, walnut and indigo dyes, 4 epi.