Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’

I am reading a beautiful writer at the moment, he’s like reading a Michael Leunig cartoon in novel form, very plain spare words speaking about the wonder of all things.
from “Martin Marten” by Brian Doyle pages 200-201 (2015) a book about martens in NW Washington state
and so much more;
“… Who knew? And perhaps that’s how all things change; one decides to try this, and another notices and decides to try also, and then there is a new idea loose in the world, from which even newer ideas might someday hatch. And there is time and time enough for such ideas to flower, over the course of millions of years and ideas, and while some beings do not change – having found the idea in which they wish to stay forever, like the ancient ideas in which crabs and crocodiles and dragonflies live – other beings do change, some constantly, like the human beings, who were once animals who snarled and hooted and hunted and were hunted, animals little different from their omnivore mammalian cousins. But ideas bred easily among the human beings, and their snarls and hoots became songs and poems, and their solitary pursuits became plans and plots, and their slabs of split stone became swords and rifles, and so they commandeered the world, or tried to. But once they were dominant, their ideas began to wither, their success being poison to their dreams, and there were those among them who wondered if some subtle wildness had been the food of their greatest creativity, and if their salvation as a species, and their dwindling chance to clean and balance the world they had fouled and rattled, depended on something in them that yearned for trees and ice, waters and animals, mountains and caves, mystery and attentiveness, the humility before wonder that once they had thought merely their lot and fate, but was instead perhaps their greatest gift and grace.”

from “Chicago” by Brian Doyle pages 294-295 (2017) a book about the chigago-ness of Chicago and a dog called Edward who is an extraordinarily ordinary illuminated being;
“… At this magazine I hope you have learned the rudiments of the craft, the way you must balance ego and humility, the way the profession is finally one of service, not of heroic gratification of your urge to be important. We are not important. We are crucial, yes; without us there is naught but lies and thievery and souls easily led to the altar of Mammon, thereupon to be sacrificed to serious profit, which is our first and foremost deity and principle; but we are not important in the eyes of the world, and will never be. I hope you learned that here. Those among us who expose and uncover the most chicanery and greed will be soon found to have feet of clay, and hands of the stickiest glue, and the sexual proclivities of maddened weasels; those among us who ferret out the true facts of imbroglio and crime will soon enough be banished and exiled, doomed to flog useless products of one kind or another for the rest of their days; those of us who write most beautifully and gracefully and eloquently and powerfully will be suspected of plagiarism, rumoured to be dope fiends, assumed to be self-absorbed egomaniacs, and eventually doomed to be forgotten, our books and articles turned to mold and mulch. That is the fate of all journalism.
“But we are crucial. That is what I hope you have learned. We listen and collect and share stories. Without stories there is no nation and no religion and no culture. Without stories of bone and substance and comedy there is only a river of lies, and sweet and delicious ones they are, too. We are the gatherers, the shepherds, the farmers of stories. We wander widely and look for them and gather them and share them as food. It is a craft as necessary and nutritious as any other, and if you are going to be good at it you must double your humility and triple your curiosity and quadruple your ability to listen.”

and from “Mink River” by Brian Doyle p16 (2010) a book about a not especially stunning town in Oregon “bounded by four waters: one muscular river, two shy little creeks, one ocean”… and a crow
“Billy, he says quietly. Billy. We heal things. That’s what we do. That’s why we’re here. We’ve always agreed on that. Right from the start. We do as well as we can. We fail a lot but we keep after it. What else can we do? We have brains that still work so we have to apply them to pain. Brains against pain. That’s the motto. That’s the work. That’s what we do. Soon enough we will not have brains that work, so therefore.”

I am loving every one of these books reading them back to back, sadly this beautiful man passed away in May this year but he has left a legacy of stories celebrating the magic found in observing the wonder in the ordinary, the beauty in the day to day met with deep love & compassion for our beautiful broken world
these passages may not make that much sense out of context, to get more of a sense of his deep compassion & grace read this short piece from that terrible moment when the twin towers in NYC fell
Leap by Brian Doyle

9 moons curve and glow from Jude Hill‘s Threadcrumbs Shop
Old Man Crow promised he will sign and stamp the rest of the xmas cards today so I can get back to my bench!
I love the ritual of making 150 cards  every year!
here’s a link to the xmas cards we have made since 1991
Honesty Mo 17
all the OS cards flew out last week the Oz cards will fly today

it’s 3AM… again

Posted: December 4, 2017 by Mo Crow in It's Crow Time, music
Tags: ,


Old Man Crow’s new song on this wild full moon night at 3am… again

Liz Ackert’s pennon for the dream traveled all the way from Texas !
with a crow card!
and the mended shell she made in Jude Hill’s Considering Weave class when we first met, the weaving is so fine
I hung the pennon on the line in the afternoon sun to relax from the journey
Old Man Crow is blown away seeing all the words of his song I dream of a world where love is the answer stitched so beautifully into the pennon
here’s the pennon, shell and card happily settling into the studio space, the dream is real, I can hold it in my hands and read it!
hanging out on the front door
this side of the cloth holds words from Old Man Crow, Terry Tempest Williams, Wendell Berry, John Lennon, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Dee Mallon, Marti in New Mexico, and me!
delicate asemic writing across the top of the pennon
the other side of the pennon holds all of the words to Old Man Crow ‘s song
the beauty of Liz’s stitching combined with Deb Lacativa’s ‘dirty threads’
you can read more about Liz making this dream come true over on her blog
(((Liz)))
stirring the pot, magic is afoot!

Dee Mallon’s pennant is making a map
for love to find the way to shifting our beautiful broken world
into a place where love is the answer
as she said on her blog a few weeks ago
“I can’t see “the answer”. Somehow that is fitting. “Dee’s fierce love & passion for social justice ask the hard questions,
looking them straight in the eye seeking truth, as she said in this reply on her blog;
“The map idea works for me for this reason too — the sense of disorientation that this administration has provoked has so many of us looking around and wondering where we are and how we got here. Is this bottom? Is this former norm a red line anymore? If these norms of decency and adherence to the constitution are currently dispensed with, is there any getting back to them? How much more seismic can the destruction get? ”
She hung the pennant out on the washing line for summer;
“New England rain consecrated its weave. It hung out with the dog and with disintegrating but lovely curtains on the line. It mingled with hosta stalks. It received late summer sun and the shade of a catalpa tree.”
“Then it turned into fall and more walnuts than I thought possible for two trees to produce fell.”
“I boiled up some hulls and dipped in some cloth that I’d bundled ’round spools years ago and then abandoned. The dyeing came out okay, but what truly excited me was to discover that once unbundled, this reclaimed piece of silk shared the shape and dimensions of the banner — almost exactly! So of course they belong together.”“The light walnut-imparted lines on the recently-discovered top silk, when stitched, reminded me of a map. So it got me thinking. What instructions might there be to a sane, peaceful world where love is the answer? Is there such a place? Why does it seem so unreachable?”
The gap between cloths is prompting some thoughts, too — thoughts about the divides that seem to be doing us in here in America. Seething, toxic, destructive divides. How do we cross or bind the yawning gap? Is that the right question? Should we be trying to learn how to live with our differences, tattered-edged and unsettling as they are? In the United States, it’s no exaggeration to say that we have not been this divided as a nation since the Civil War.
Think about that.
I do.
All.
The.
Time.

“I am thinking of adding lines of red seed beads.
To represent wounds. Unresolved history.
The map becoming the body of the world.”love the thought of touching each of the red beads as a form of prayer like a rosary,
a meditation mala for finding the way
such beautiful stitching made with deep intent
Dee sent these photos today
& I have quoted from these posts over on her blog in chronological order
umm sugar
Gathering the Dream

Can’t see
Next
thank you so much (((Dee)))!

“Sea & Sand” scarf by Erin Daniels at Clovelley beach here in Sydney!
around the headland into Gordon’s Bay
to a magic cave
but it has changed!
the sandstone ledge that sheltered this magic spot sheared off
Randwick City Council cut the sandstone from the collapsed ledge to build the pillars
Old Man Crow & I have held many solstice ceremonies here to thank the spirits of place …
Crow Feather Giveaway for my magic friend Chester‘s 70th

the Untethered Fibre Artists inTransit exhibition has just opened at Wallarobba Arts and Cultural Centre
Cathy Griffith Transition
100 x 30cm
Fabric, threads
Stitch
detail
Fiona Hammond Square Peg
46 x 10x 10 cm
Cotton fabric, pearl cotton thread, interfacing, balsa wood, glue
Embroidery, hand stitching
Kirry Toose You are Here
3 garments – Navigate Interchange Destination
(inspired by The Little Prince)
Silk. wool, rubber
Screen printed, machine digitised, appliqué
Jane Badnaruk Under Sail (Parts 1 and 2)
4.5 x 6 m
Cloth, second hand female shirts, thread
Hand stitched, collaged
For better and worse, the First Fleet arrived in Port Jackson on 26th January, 1778.
Two of the eleven ships carried the 193 convict women. For 258 days, they lived their lives in transit.
One of the many constants was the sail over head.

this is just a small selection, there is so much more to see, visit the Untethered Fibre Artists facebook page for lots more photos and info