Banana, Primroses, and Poems

Hey Folks!

For the past few days, I've been thinking about the "Self as..." series, and have come up with some other ideas that you'll be seeing more of soon.

Here is the next in the series: "Self as Banana, Peeling." It's 16 1/2" x 21", in cottons, nylon (or poly?) tulle that I overdyed (it didn't take the dye well, but a tiny bit), with rayon and cotton threads and the shirt is cotton, the tie is silk.

"Self as Banana, Peeling," 16 1/2" x 21", cottons, silk, rayon, nylon

I'm creating the fruit/whatever using collaged scraps fused to a similar-colored background fabric, then I applique the tulle over that to unite it, and then I machine applique the entire form to the background (in this case, the Desert Storm khaki) after I've machine appliqued the shirt to the background.

Yes, I want the selvage edge to show, to comment on the creation process/the materials.

And here are the two together, so far:

Also, I'm trying to render some designs to get them published  from a series that Mom and I have been working on for some time. We created a Block-of-the-Month series of floral applique blocks, with her designing six and me designing the others, based on a flower per month. The following is the block I created for a primrose: it finishes at 20" x 20", though the original is 12" x 12" finished. Then, below that is a four-block rendition of the pattern. It's machine appliqued and fused, in cotton fabrics with cotton and rayon threads. I've yet to quilt them, but am working on it.

Finally, here are a few poems I've written over the past few days: the first, a prose poem inspired by reading an interview with a male quilter (see the link below), the second a poem inspired by reading something else (don't remember now), and the third, a senryu inspired by an image.

A poem is…*

A poem is a prayer with no breath, no feet, no strawberries. A poem is a cat that doesn’t sleep, a dog without a tail, a bird who can’t remember when to sing and when to eat. A poem is a prayer, that long and winding prayer that climbs the steps of a mountain through a foggy wood and ends in a clearing overlooking a river, a city by the river. A poem is a lumberjack wearing nothing while he cuts wood,  a waitress licking her fingers before she serves you pie, a CEO hiding out from reporters trying to understand why lies are necessary to live. A poem is a prayer who doesn’t know it’s time to get up, stop praying, and live it out.

* inspired by reading Roy Mitchell Jr.’s interview at http://www.allianceforamericanquilts.org/qsos/interview.php?kid=14-31-904

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Elegy for a Poem

I quilted today, or read

a book about Klee, or opened

a package of chicken thighs and boiled them to make

chicken salad and chicken stir fry, and watched

The Flash, about fathers proclaiming pride in their sons, and loaded

the dishwasher after making sure to rinse yesterday’s beet stains from the plates, or played

with the cats—we’ve got four—Corduroy, Meeka, Sandstorm, and Sophie; they love a black thread stand holder made from plastic, which reminds me of a lion tamer each time we play, and I thought

about writing a poem about cats other lives dreaming

and it’s time to go to bed.

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Daddy Daughter Dance

orphan sweeps away

the garbage