The loose threads
“I would like to spend the rest of my days in a place so silent, and working at a pace so slow, that I would be able to hear myself living.“
~ Elizabeth Gilbert
I have been thinking about weaving again. The braiding of life, crocheting, knitting, interlacing. Pulling together thought and feeling, memory and hope in our own wholly (holy) unique ways, and the beauty that resides in the imperfections. That loose thread - or many threads - in the tapestry we weave.
Frayed, uncooperative, but a part of the process of weaving, it would seem.
Without the loose thread, the knots that bind them, the invitation to unpick or re-weave, incorporate or edit out, the journey would be too smooth, too perfect, without room for expansion, growth, re-rooting, space for breath.
There have been a lot of loose threads in my tapestry this last couple of weeks, frustration and disconnect and impatience. But I remind myself they are opportunities to practise courage and compassion, curiosity and wonder. For so long we have been taught to make the back of our embroidery, weaving, tracery as beautiful as ‘the front’. The back of my tapestry tells the tale of a creative life ever expanding. It is not as pretty as the front, but it is mine, and it has a beauty of it’s own - like laugh lines and scars that make up a face of a long life well lived. All the twists and tangles, frays and piecing together that entails, and in the end, I think my life’s tapestry is ultimately all the better for it. Even with how hard it can be in the moment.
Maybe we should share the backs of our tapestries more often so we are not alone in their messy glory. An opportunity to pause and philosophise, and deep in thought I watch the leaf curl spider (she, or her kin, has made appearances in these missives before) weave her web out the window of my studio, delicate and strong, and confident that no matter the damage done, she can repair it to even more beauty. This week I read some words about spiders “thinking” with their webs - you can read the post that sparked my interest here, and a study on extended cognition via webs here (so interesting!). I won’t go into too much more spider talk, I know they can be scary for some of us, understandably. I feel a sense of kin with them though, their inherent creativity through weaving is magical to my heart.
My metaphors are mixed, perhaps. In the end though, on the hardest and the most beautiful days, I celebrate the creatrix in me, I embody the movement of pigment across surface, the dance that is my curiosity and determination to honour the wild, the feathers and fur that surround my heart and mind.
Today I collected three pieces from the framers.
I wept with the joy of seeing them completed, the first dance of this new period complete, my muscles and mind warmed up and eager to move again.
Yesterday I painted for nearly 12 hours, the base layer on two new pieces done, and another, slower, more intricate movement started. A new process to try on, a new dance in the making. I roll my shoulders, my neck, and hear the stag bellowing, smell his crown of roses, and with the tiniest of brush movements, subtle changes of hue and value, we lock eyes. The moonflowers are opening slowly as the stars rise, and the midnight-dark fox walks without sound over the forest floor. She is her shadow self at the moment, the first layer, more to come.
There are many more tales coming, a trio of barn owls this month, and my heart quickens a little more with each conversation.
Soon, dear ones, today, tomorrow or the day after, three pieces will be available for you to embrace - I can’t wait to send you that missive. And then our dance will continue, we will revel in the wild together, sit amongst wildflowers and under shady bowers and watch the moon rise.
The first offerings of {Fleur + Fauna} are nearly here.
Tell me about your tapestries, tell me what makes your heart sing!
