bara + design

{hey, I'm over here!}

2008-11-05T04:36:00.003-06:00

from the number of hits I still get on this blog, and the number of people linking to it, it's clear some of my older notices about having moved (more than a year ago!) to my new site haven't been as effective as I might have hoped!

so, come on over and say hi! And if you've linked to this blog, thank you--and please, when you have a moment, switch the link to http://www.ohbara.com/weblog .

if you're wondering...

2007-07-01T18:16:00.000-05:00

...you can find me over here now.

* * *

2007-05-14T20:40:00.000-05:00

A worktable in my room (but I can't wait until I have a whole room to work in!); skirts cut and serged, just waiting for zippers and finishing; plain wooden boxes with glass fronts; a sharp pair of scissors. New drawings, the extension of my "what-am-I-wearing, what-do-I-think" series. Beginnings of a real, new body of work.

Ideas for poems. (I read at First Ave. last Friday night. Local people will know the feeling of those black walls, the stars with names on them.) Encouragement and excitement from my editors. Starting the poem-a-day correspondence back up on the 17th. Poetry every week this summer.

Planning for six markets this summer, and +/-. And a change of direction for my shop, and my business. More on this soon.

And for me. More on this soon, too.

But a smaller change in direction, first--I'm moving over here. (More integrated. Simpler. Reining things in a bit.)

Come say hello. It's a little empty, but you know me--I''ll fill it up fast with pretty things.

little things

2007-05-02T10:16:00.000-05:00

are nice to come back to, like stores that stay open between noon and two p.m., and lots of trees and green spaces in the city, and efficient public transportation, and only one or two hours of time-zone difference between my best friends and me (instead of eight or nine).

and reconnecting with friends here.

and to jump right in (I did the Craftstravaganza last Saturday, and I'm reading at the 7th Street Entry on the 11th!).
and I hear that a certain printmaker is updating his shop today (oh! and there's free shipping 'til Friday!) with new cards (and he's got a show coming up, too, if you're in the Twin Cities).
and now back to the sewing machine with me.

into and between

2007-04-29T21:57:00.000-05:00

I'm stateside.

Thinking about what I'll do over the next three months, and then after that. Thinking about where I want my work to go, what I want to continue. What I want to leave behind. About making and how my relationship to it changed this year.

I was learning a new language, a new system of thought, a new culture, a new place. And that took a lot of my creative energy. I wrote. I thought. I took long walks. I began a series of drawings that I am still making almost every day. But I did very little in the way of my business.

My movement now feels interior, inward. I wrote in my journal before I left don't forget your own rhythms of writing/not writing (making). Make your choices for you.

I feel lots of blank space. Reentry. Things burn up, get lost in the new atmosphere.

See you soon.

about today

2007-04-13T11:33:00.000-05:00

I knew, of course, when I arrived, that today would eventually come. And, back in October, when I had no apartment, no easy way to stay in contact with my family, no community, no sense of my place, no idea of how to connect to my students, and little to no command of the language, I was counting the days. I marked them off on calendars I made myself.

This was my last day of school here. I can't believe it. It's unreal that I won't come back here after the vacation; unreal that there is a good chance I will never see many of my students again. It is my students who, along with a few other (very, very special) people, made life here beautiful.

Hearing Pierre's maximum-volume HELLO I-RAANNN! as he sped past my classroom to German every week (no one here pronounces my name right, but that's okay). Petulant Adrian who refused to say goodbye but wrote me a 'hello note' instead. Sweet and funny Claire and Léa. And the two-hundred-some others, all of whom somehow became a part of me. Who came to say goodbye today and cheered for me and made me cry.

I have their photos and I have their notes, and I have a tiny pair of garnet earrings from them. But I would rather have another year.

on beauty

2007-04-05T08:29:00.000-05:00

For the last few years, probably about as long as I have been making clothes; or a bit longer actually, I have thought about dressing myself. What it means, what it can do for me, how I can use it as a means of communication, how it can be art.

I love beautiful things: the feel and look of shibori. The yellow silk petticoat I have. Wool. That's one reason why I make clothes--to have really lovely things I couldn't afford if someone else made them. To have the pleasure of making them, too.

When I was in Paris last week for a day, I saw a man wearing a scarf made of heavy silk chirimen printed with shibori; it was navy blue and black and the shibori pattern was (as is typical) white. It took my breath out of my mouth. He wore it witha black wool coat and he carried his son in one arm. His son wore red. The colors, textures, patterns, the two people. Beautiful.

How material matters to me: I don't like to wear synthetic things because they don't feel beautiful. They don't merit the work. Beautiful objects, beautiful materials. My hands, my body want to know this, not just my eyes.

I once broke up with someone in part because he didn't make anything. He didn't understand the value of making, of materials. He didn't need to touch things. He didn't value made things for their innate beauty, the quality of having-been-made.

A friend and I talk about making journals to record what we wear every day. Sometimes I follow the wardrobe_remix community at flickr. About a month ago I began drawing my clothes as I wore them (more or less--there are a few fantasies here). And that moved into figuring out how to draw myself, too, what I look like. How I express myself through my clothing. How many nuances of communication are part of my daily dress. Getting used to my face (which I don't see much).

Drawing my clothes lets me be free with colors, try out things I would not have otherwise. It's easy because I have nothing to lose; these are just doodles, croquis, nothing of importance. I can be free with the lines, I can scribble, I can make mistakes. I have found beauty where I didn't expect it.

I want to live in a way that is the least harmful it can be. I want to make beautiful things and live in spaces that are beautiful.

I want the way I am in the world to be an extension of beauty to other people, too.

(Whenever I can I will go out in the world singing.)

in the meantime

2007-03-24T10:34:00.000-05:00

[my mom came to visit]

[we went to paris together]

[there is only one more month here for me]

[i've been working on this]

breaking

2007-03-13T17:51:00.000-05:00

My computer is breaking, so I am taking a break. It was a panic thing on Sunday when it happened, but now I feel very calm and peaceful about it, and it seems like it will be a good thing. I will update from school as I can, especially with book news (as that's really the big thing going on right now in my life), but I'm not really sure when I'll have my computer back.

I am planning to update the shop tomorrow evening, though, with 8 (!) mercerie packets, a few travel wallets in a new design, some French flea-market things, and a few other odds and ends. I'll do that from school, too, so if things are a little wonky, be forgiving, please; I am not used to using any other computer to do that.

x.

better

2007-03-09T06:07:00.000-06:00

Four days in Nottingham turned into two weeks. Lines crossing the canal, the Channel, the hexagon. Lucky: Sainsbury's (I love English grocery stores), seeing the swans, beautiful morning weather. Time to write, think, cook, relax, talk to new people, bake sweets, go to the pub, walk around, dance.

Time to think about what I want to do, how I can go about doing it. Thinking about staying, thinking about leaving. It's been nearly six months since I arrived. Some days in the beginning I felt like France was suffocating me. Yesterday I said to my friend that France feels like home. I was happy to be in England, but I was ready to go home to Dole. Never thought I would feel that way.

Your kind words about my book have been taken to heart. I thank you for them. Writing, for me, is something I do without thinking of the rest of the world. It is its own thing. And I never expected that I would publish a book; I sort of believed it was something that happened to other people. But, thanks to a professor who believed in my work and in me, here it is. I am finally beginning to feel comfortable saying "I'm a poet," when people ask me what I do.

Good to be back. See you soon.

* * *

2007-02-17T01:56:00.000-06:00

It comes out in less than two weeks (!). I'm leaving today for a trip to England with school, and then I'll be staying there to visit a college friend; then I'm going to spend some time in Paris. And then I'll be back in Dole.

My editor mailed me a copy and it came yesterday. So beautiful. And so real! Until now it's seemed like the sort of conceptual exercise I did in grad school: here's my fancy (fake) manuscript, here are the fake mock-ups of the cover, rights page, etc. But it is real. How strange it feels. What I made is going out in the world to be talked about or not, loved or disliked, maybe forgotten, touched, known by people I will never meet.

If you like poetry or you need something nice to read or you're just nosey, you can find it at your local library (or ask them to get it for you), you can preorder it here or you can (please) support your local independent bookseller!

Thank you for your support and your kindness all along.

* * *
Two poems (not from the book; from the daily exercises with my friend):

TRAIN VOYAGE NO. 38

I myself am hell/ Nobody’s here
Robert Lowell, “Skunk Hour”

What search goes on goes on across distances;
you say the word selectman
as if it is nothing, Atlantic’s far side
crashing into your history: I’ve left
all that behind now. Body
being what it is, frantic, knowing
cellular breakdown, basis of all things,
I am still longing spread
across tarmac and railroad. Today
the train had no heat, I hunched
in jacket and corner and drew
faces from memory. Hands trill
like birds, motors, how after drought
earth almost shakes to take in all it can
of rain. Not knowing
breaks all into pieces, I gather half-hours
one by one to pass the day. Will there ever
be another hand touching
me? No could be, glass
splintering on tile floor, bones
without song in them. I want
black hair curling by a wry face; fear
I have left second place behind
in vain, an anxious wind hurrying me every wrong direction.

CREED

Tape-record footsteps leading
from one end of town, sound
two hands make stopped
in air, in speech; one gesture
equals more, whether covering the face
or the palm and fingers
meaning seven. The reporter
keeps everything, steno-bound
and silent, even past ending.
In another evening
we could wind cats’-cradles of wool
yarn, pass hours between cups
and kettle, squares
of chocolate on a white plate
and not answer the doorbell,
compound everything from type
case to sewing machine to miles
doubled into kilometers and horizon
that only ends with ocean.
There will always be someone
with a knife raised to ear’s
finely haired edge; rarer: receiver
holding a gauze envelope,
two people surrounded by a wreath of bees.

* * *

See you soon!

this is how it works

2007-02-14T11:53:00.000-06:00

On voudrait, on regarde, on sait qu'on ne peut en faire plus, et qu'il suffit de rester là, debout dans la lumière, dépourvu de gestes et de mots, avec ce désir d'amour un peu bête dont la paysage n'a que faire, mais dont on croit savoir qu'il ne s'enfièvre pas pour rien, puisque l'amour précisément est notre tâche, notre devoir, quand bien même serait-il aussi frêle que ces gouttes d'eau d'après l'averse tombant dans l'herbe du jardin.

(...because love, precisely, is our task, our duty; even (especially!) when it's as frail as drops of water fallen to the grass in the garden after a storm.)

--Jean-Michel MAULPOIX, de "Convalescence du bleu après l'averse," trouvé dans Une histoire de bleu.

whew!

2007-02-12T11:25:00.000-06:00

...it's finally here!

I didn't get all the things I wanted to do done, so I'll be updating the shop again in two weeks (once I'm back from a long-awaited trip to England!) with lots of other things. But for now, there are travel wallets, mercerie packets, and a certain someone just waiting for you! Happy Monday!

change of plans

2007-02-09T03:11:00.000-06:00

I will still be updating the shop, but it will happen on Monday; I've decided to go out of town for the weekend. So, Monday evening my time. There will be at least 5 travel wallets, maybe a 6th, if I can get to it, three tea cosies, probably a zakka bunny, some other little things. I'll post about it here, of course.

la vie en rose

2007-02-05T10:56:00.000-06:00

What happened to me? Something has changed in my brain, in my body: I can feel the roots I am putting down in this place, where I was so unhappy at first. It is the language, it is friendships I've found, it is the rhythm I've finally established, it is a certain comfort, the tint of roses everywhere I walk.

This is a map of my region and state that I drew and my students filled out from memory. It's a perfect mixture of two places I love. I will always be Minneapolitan, Minnesotan, American: I love my city, my state; I am grateful to have been born in my country. But there are strong claims on my heart here, too: the landscape, my students, the language, the way of living, which was so different and so hard at first. I don't understand everything, I don't love everything, but I do love it here now.

Love is what it comes down to, in just about every case, for me. Love, gratitude, and compassion. Larry Levis: "Love is an immigrant: it shows itself in its work. It works for almost nothing." My heart is migrating all over the world, changing me in ways I could not have anticipated. So lucky.

* * *

I'm sewing a ton. Shop update tentatively scheduled for this Saturday afternoon, my time.

* * *

oh, students

2007-01-25T16:20:00.000-06:00

One teacher asked me to give a lesson on Auden and Dickinson to his class, because they are doing a story by Sherman Alexie that mentions those authors. It was exhilarating to be able to talk about poetry again, in a classroom, after so long. And my students were beautiful, they were smiling, they talked with wonder. Poetry is magic. It opens people up. We went right up to the bell, we didn't finish, they are excited to bring their poems next week and work on them more.

I've been out of commission on sewing the past week, but my dear friend S. (all the way across the world) and I write poems and send them to one another every day. We give one another assignments, praise, criticism, encouragement--and, maybe most importantly, we create a community of words. I go into her emails with anticipation, I feel surrounded and warm. It's like getting a gift each day. Rare.
These days I do feel full of wonder. Full of luck, my favorite adjective. Finding things all over, little signs connecting the world all up. It's called beauty, I am convinced, and means mathematics, a geometry of the heart.

NEIGHBORHOOD 3

The power was out when we woke up.
This was before I had begun to bite my nails,
before I had glasses, in the room
the color of a robin’s egg. There was a radiator,

a window cloaked in yellow cloth, our red
and yellow and blue plastic cups
on the sill. And my father came in to find us
in the morning, to bring us

a song from the other edge of the house.
Everything could have been dangerous
but we didn’t know it; leaded
windows, fireplace, nightshade leaning

into the tomatoes. When the lights
went out there were white candles
in the darkness. My father had a bristly
beard. My mother set the table

while he played the guitar for her. Someone
was always singing us to sleep,
and the sewing machine humming
in the next room, and we could believe,

if we could believe, in dew on grass
or frost on grass in the morning
and midnight picnics of Ritz and raisins,
my father loving my mother all the livelong day.

- - -

And then there's this, with what, less than a month to go? Totally surreal. (And exciting, too, of course.)

music

2007-01-21T16:02:00.000-06:00

Music plays a huge part in how I process the world. Like smell, it can take me back instantaneously to a place, a time, a person. The connections it makes for me are ones I both do and do not decide--I make a playlist every month of new music or old music I want to pay attention to, and, naturally, those songs are often ones I come to identify with that month. But then there are others that happen par hasard, like when I was going to Paris on the train and listened to the song "America," by Simon and Garfunkel, and that night in the hostel met a kid from New Jersey (counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike/ they've all come/ to look for America) and then, later still, talked with another stranger about how beautiful that song is. Now I can't hear it without being there. Music is a way of being everywhere, which makes me both content and melancholy. Transience and permanence. Belonging and outsiderness.

I'm back from Paris. I am never leaving Paris.

* * *

I will update the shop in the first week or so of February. There will be a few travel wallets. I have gotten a lot of emails about them, and I'm sorry I can't make enough for everyone, but I will try to have a few, among the rest of the things.

And, Sarah emailed me to tag me for six strange things about myself. I don't like memes but I can tell you six things, I think.

1/ I like doing chores, but I don't like planning to do them.
2/ My favorite parts of the body are the little bone pieces that jut out from the elbow.
3/ I don't like pudding, bananas, or yoghurt, because of the texture, and I don't eat fish.
4/ Until I was in high school, I hadn't listened to pop/top 40 radio.
5/ I can walk straight with my eyes closed.
6/ I always envision myself as being as tall as the people around me (I'm 5'2").

* * *

Hello to all you delurkers!

[de]lurk

2007-01-11T18:17:00.000-06:00

apparently now's the time: say hello, yodel, send a passenger pigeon (or the equally extinct western union telegram?)! I'd like to know who you are, that you're out there, where you came from, the best thing you've seen today, your favorite color, what you love. Any, all, whatever.

I'm Éireann, I make things, I'm in love with stripes, plaid, flowered lawn, and herringbone (together, too!), and I'm heading to Paris for the weekend. Nice to meet you.

Go.

waiting (it's oh so quiet)

2007-01-08T10:36:00.000-06:00

My brother and one of his friends were here for ten days visiting, and it was nice to have people around to talk to, make fun of, play cards with...but after a little while I felt antsy to work alone. Use my sewing machine. Make something. I had made another zakka bunny before they arrived, so I made clothes for her. And now she's waiting, too, for a shop update. I had wanted to update it this Wednesday (January 10th), but I don't think I will have everything I want to have for it. What I really want is just to do one huge one, and then not mess around putting this or that up, so with apologies to kind inquirers, I'm going to postpone.

But! When there finally is an update, what an update! There will be zakka bunnies and trousseaux, travel wallets (hopefully nos. 9-12), mercerie packets (I've been hoarding things up, you know), tea cosies, and maybe, if I can find the time to finish them, one or two skirts. What think you?
Also: Your opinion, please! I'm thinking of printing onesies (you know, for babies; the one-piece things with snaps) with a couple of designs (probably some like the ones I've done for Boiled Art, maybe some like my earlier shirts, maybe some French-inspired ones). They'd be organic, undyed cotton. Sound interesting? Silly? I just want to gauge my folly before I plunk down the change for the garments. No commitment or anything; just--what do you think? Which designs do you like/like the sound of? And, what sizes would you be most likely to buy, if you were to? I was thinking I'd get mostly 6-12 months, but would 6-12 and 12-18 month sizes be better? Moms, doting aunts, future moms, dads, nannies, others with expertise or preferences: please weigh in. Thank you thank you!!

now you can get a travel wallet

2007-01-02T17:08:00.000-06:00

...and help take care of someone who supports us independent makers at the same time: Kati Kim.

She's the owner of two shops in San Francisco, Doe and the Church Street Apothecary, that carry items by handmakers and artists from the Bay Area and all over the US. You may have heard about her (and her daughters') loss. Now, in what must be an extremely difficult time for Mrs. Kim, we can support her.

Stephanie Barnes (of Little Birds) and Lisa Congdon (of Bird in the Hand), along with their mother, have organized an auction, which will go live tomorrow (3 January 2007). There's an amazing assortment of beautiful things there.This is my contribution. It's brown cotton with silk, wool, and cotton patchwork. I really am pleased with how it came out.

I made some labels using Sally's idea of stamping (relief printing) rather than gocco-ing (screenprinting), and I'm happy with them. It's a much more portable method of printing.

* * *
I'm working on things for the shop now, and I'm hoping to update it on the 10th of January. But for now, if you're waiting for travel wallets, go and check out the Kim Family Auction.

* * *
Bonne Année! Here's to a peaceful & happy 2007, full of interesting, thought-provoking, and beautiful things. Thanks for being around.

keeping out the cold, darlin'

2006-12-21T15:36:00.000-06:00

I love that patchwork takes things I didn't think would work together and magically reconciles them, showing me the liasons between them I didn't see before. Here's my new 'window snake'--thingy full of rice for blocking the draft at my window. Keeping the cold out.

I tend to think (and speak) in non-sequiturs (only they do sequit, just not outside of my head always). Patchwork feels warm to me. Feels...not just homey, but--careful? In the way of someone really caring for you feels. One of the practical things I brought to France was the quilt my mom made for me when I was little. There's warmth, and there's warmth.

And from now on the days will be getting longer, and eventually there won't be a need for things like window-snakes or tea cosies, but they are good fun to make in the meantime.

If you're waiting for a shop update--I'm sorry, I've been working on custom orders, a trade lonnnnnng in the making, and something for the Kim Family Auction. But I'm expecting to do a big update with three or so travel wallets, French flea-market finds, a tea-cosy or two (maybe) and clothing (maybe!), in the second week of January. For now, there are a few mercerie items. You know where to find them, if you're into that sort of thing.

And to all a good night.

everywhere

2006-12-17T06:06:00.000-06:00

I'm finding beautiful things everywhere these days. Beauty in finding my stride here--figuring out what I need to do to keep myself reasonably happy. Learning (every day) to live now, not to sacrifice the present to a suppositious future (to paraphrase John Dewey again).

I just read Sula, by Toni Morrison. It is one of the most beautiful and disturbing books I've read. Her mastery of fiction--it blows me away. I can't even conceive of how you'd go about writing a novel (I joke that I write poems because I don't have the attention span for fiction, but it's kidding on the square, and 'attention span' might be a question of discipline). The characters are complete, they are real. Everything is precise and necessary. I aspire to write so well. If you have the money, buy this book. If not, borrow it from the library.
Yesterday I went to Strasbourg again, and I bought an ungodly number of little, red, spun-cotton mushrooms for mercerie packets. The city is so luminous: it shines with lights, with three or four languages being spoken at once, with whitewash between blackened boards. If I could live in France again, I would choose to live in Strasbourg. Who knows--maybe I will.

Beauty here, too, and here, and here, and here, and here. And here. And here. And here.

And thank you again for your compliments on the poem.

did you know

2006-12-14T17:32:00.000-06:00

...that Brian isawesome?

Now you do.

* * *

Thank you for your kind, kind words about St. Lucia yesterday.

narrowing

2006-12-13T15:38:00.000-06:00

I forgot that the days were getting narrower. It explains so much--in the absence of snow or the very cold temperatures I am used to--about winter when I stop and realize the days have been shortening for a long while now, and we approach the midpoint of the year. And they will lengthen again.

A long time ago, I mentioned my writing, and some of you kindly expressed interest in reading a snippet before the book came out. Well--I've seen a lot of Santa Lucia today, and it reminded me of this poem. It's for my friend L.D., who is also a poet and writes beautifully, amazingly.

SANTA LUCIA

(I dreamt you)

(I dreamt you were a little girl in a flannel nightgown shoveling snow)

(I dreamt you were shoveling snow)

(You)

(I dreamt you were shoveling snow, the snow falling around you, your white nightgown, your black hair)

On Hmong New Year a little girl waits on the train platform
in a pink pleated skirt with jingles

(I dream)

Crows have been flocking every night for a week to the trees nearby
there is still no sign of you

(I dream
you)

You are passing just outside the window
Your black hair
your white nightgown

Your dream

Finally the days lengthen, at first
such small increments I don't notice (north of here: candles)
In my dream you ride a horse by the window every night

Your black hair the white snow

The white horse, the black horse

(I dreamt you)

(I dream a white gown against white)
(The night rides closer to us

black on snow)

* * *

So there's a taste. Of course, it's not all like this--bony and spare and wintery. But here we are on Santa Lucia's day, and it just occurred to me to post it. The formatting might not show up quite right--it ought to have line-internal spacing in some places--but that's just another reason to buy the book when it's released, right?

And of course, please do credit any reposting or pasting you do. I know photos go astray and how much easier it is, in this ethery online world, to take words and then forget whose they were! But these are my children and I would be very sorry if they were lost.

* * *

Here's to more light, more peace.

finding light

2006-12-11T16:18:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I get bogged down in what I haven't done, what I should do, what I can't do, that I forget what John Dewey said: "We always live at the time we live, and not at some other time, and only by extracting at each present time the full meaning of each present experience are we prepared for doing the same thing in the future. This is the only preparation which in the long run amounts to anything." Epicure: find the happiness now, even in the difficult moments.
So I go out and walk in the crisp air that has finally arrived in my town. And have a good dinner with a friend, and have a nice long talk with my mom and another with my poet-friend and another with my boyfriend, and read the emails I received.

Seeing the lights, lighting the candles helps me remember that even when it is very dark there is light coming. Feels appropriate for this season, for the last week or so in particular. Even when everything is saying no, you can't, I remind myself, I can. The important thing is to begin. The important thing is to say yes.

* * *

(PS: mercerie here, now.)

oh là là

2006-12-08T04:16:00.000-06:00

Did you know that the UNIFORM Studio shop is open? And of course everything there is beautiful--Martha makes amazing clothing and accessories. Hats and booties, sweaters, little dresses and skirts, those huge-dot bags (which I love), wrist-cuffs. I feel lucky to know Martha in real life, to live near her (well, back in the States, anyway). She is so smart and funny and gentle and creative. Exactly the kind of person I want to be around. And I remember when she wasn't sure about having a blog or a shop, and I am so glad (and I bet a lot of other people are, too), that she does.

And then there's this lovely necklet, from windowsill's shop. I love the thick-thin yarn and the soft greys, and the contrast of the smooth ribbon to the pebbly knitted surface. There is so much beauty out there. You barely have to look for it.

This painting is one of Brian's. I feel lucky to have someone like him as an example, because he is really about art-making. He isn't that invested in what other people think about his work (I mean the paintings and prints, not the letterpress). He has a project, he has ideas, and he does it. He takes criticism beautifully. He doesn't think about whether it will sell, which is sometimes a sticking point for me when I make clothing. It's nice, too, to be able to teach him about business (he had a really successful day at No-Coast, so thanks to anyone who went!) and it's lovely to watch his business grow. (I think he's planning to have a shop up sometime in the next 2 weeks). It makes me so happy when people can support themselves doing what they love.

All these people are inspiration to work harder, push my ideas further, see what else I can do.

* * *

2006-12-06T16:07:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I just feel like this.

Beauty for the moment:: Atmosphere's Slug singing "Always Coming Back Home to You." The album Lovers Rock by Sade. Chrysanthemums, which always feel solemn to me. Vienna Teng: "Harbor" (makes me feel like late May, 2004). A letter in the mail with a Robert Lowell quotation on the back. Care package with lychee gummies and an Advent wreath. Mysterious, Griffin-and-Sabine-esque postcards. Stars in the sky above my courtyard.

* * *

They found the family who were lost in Oregon, but the dad, James Kim, didn't make it.

what there is

2006-12-04T05:29:00.000-06:00

[Saturday flea market: lacy, embroidered handkerchiefs, antique dress collars, handmade lace, real dotted swiss, a man's silk handkerchief embroidered 'Josef']

[A tablecloth embroidered with wildflowers and wheat]

[A peaceful evening in my clean apartment, with candles all lit and laundry hung to dry over the heater, dishes done and put away, letters written, and a piece of cardboard to paint and draw on, Jolie Holland in the background singing "The Littlest Birds," which, if you do not know it, you should look up, especially Lisa and Stephanie, seeing as how you have some littlest birds in your lives]

* * *

Thank you for your orders--I was really touched. On the way to visit my friend in another town on Friday night, I was harassed on the train. Coming home, Saturday, I still had some of that uneasiness with me. It shook me out of my 'brown study' to understand how much you like my things (enough to pay! for them. wow!!) It is so kind and so complimentary.

* * *

I hope there is something beautiful for you, wherever you are, and the people you love are happy and safe.

have you seen them?

2006-12-03T09:40:00.000-06:00

James and Kati Kim (owners of craft-friendly shop DOE) and their two daughters are missing from San Francisco.

Contact the SFPD:
Missing Persons Unit
Inspector Angela Martin
415-558-5508

Operation Center--After Hours
415-553-1071

* * *

I don't know them, but other people do.

finally.

2006-12-02T08:55:00.000-06:00

the shop is open.

[just a few things :: more to come]

[for receipt by christmas, order before 12/8]

working, progressing

2006-11-30T15:00:00.000-06:00

[more travel wallets in progress]

[new mini pochettes à la française]

[african printed fabric + velvet ribbon for a shirt]
[yarn brian sent me for my birthday]

* * *

Special love out to eye-on-the-sparrow Lisa today for the TWO Tord garlands (and Tord giftcard thing, too! and the lovely card) I found in my mailbox. I haven't opened the other package yet; I'm saving it for Christmas, if that is all right with you. But I was smiling all afternoon because of you, so thank you.

* * *

what ten minutes in fresh air will do

2006-11-29T11:07:00.000-06:00

These days the light is going down, and the basilica I live behind blocks it. Inside my apartment it is almost always a winter 4 o'clock. Makes work happen more slowly, because I am sleepy without the sun. So I went out to get groceries and now I feel refreshed and ready to work again. This is actually me yesterday, and I was very happy with this outfit--I tend to wear a lot of black and grey and it was nice to put on that yellow silk petticoat and feel a little sunny.
Finished another travel wallet. These things take me forever--but tonight I want to finish another I am about 1/3 done with, and also do some new bags I had an idea for. With little Frenchinesses! So on to that, I suppose.

I've seen fabric around lately with rulers or measuring tapes on it. Where's it from? Is it Japanese? Available online? I'm hankering for it something awful.

---

And--this is a bit gothic to leave off with, but this is a public housing building here that burned down a while ago. I have to walk by it to go to the Social Security office, and it haunts me. Not scarily. I mean I feel attracted to it. Holding something like this in my mind while I walk along the cobblestone streets here keeps me tied to the half of the world that isn't picturesque, but is still beautiful.

---
ps: No-Coast in 3 days! Go see boiled art, UNIFORMstudio, and milkypop, along with loads of other handmakers!

pps: lately, I have really been enjoying the elegant, spare, and precise entries over at smallhands. Also love the fact that she quotes e.e. cummings in her banner.

love

2006-11-28T05:21:00.000-06:00

[making paper cranes with my students]

[plastic star lights from IKEA in dijon]

* * *

[pretty passementarie from strasbourg]
[feeling like christmas is coming]

* * *

[inspiration + straw ornament]
[weekly magazine swap]

* * *

[having thanksgiving with the other english teachers tonight]
[making tiny pumpkin pies in my toaster oven]
[feeling closer to home by the sweet words of you all]

* * *

[happy plans for my shop re-opening]
[emails + letters from my friends + family]
[watching the last of the no-coast preparations take place]

x.o. x.o.

still got it.

2006-11-26T11:57:00.000-06:00

I thought maybe I had lost the touch, that I'd forgotten how to make things, or, worse, how to take pleasure in making them. I was wrong. Luckily. 'Lucky' seems to be the word of my life these days. I do feel really, really lucky.

This is a travel wallet like mine for my dear friend Anne, who has left France for a month to work in Spain. It is her first time living away from home and away from her boyfriend, so she was feeling apprehensive. How well I understand that apprehension! So I made her this, because pretty things always make it easier for me to be away from home.

So much to say. So much to do. I went to Strasbourg this weekend, to a marché de noël (Christmas Market) that has been there since the 12th century! I found the most wonderful things. Can't wait to show you.

And--I'm opening my shop up again! Just for a little bit, and beginning on 12/2, so orders will ship in time for Christmas. Hoping to have two or three travel wallets in there. See you soon.

xo.

for dappled things

2006-11-23T06:02:00.000-06:00

Lucky Life

Gerald Stern

Lucky life isn't one long string of horrors
and there are moments of peace, and pleasure, as I lie in between the blows.
Lucky I don't have to wake up in Phillipsburg, New Jersey,
on the hill overlooking Union Square or the hill overlooking
Kuebler Brewery or the hill overlooking SS. Philip and James
but have my own hills and my own vistas to come back to.

Each year I go down to the island I add
one more year to the darkness;
and though I sit up with my dear friends
trying to separate the one year from the other,
this one from the last, that one from the former,
another from another,
after a while they all get lumped together,
the year we walked to Holgate,
the year our shoes got washed away,
the year it rained,
the year my tooth brought misery to us all.

This year was a crisis. I knew it when we pulled
the car onto the sand and looked for the key.
I knew it when we walked up the outside steps
and opened the hot icebox and began the struggle
with swollen drawers and I knew it when we laid out
the sheets and separated the clothes into piles
and I knew it when we made our first rush onto
the beach and I knew it when we finally sat
on the porch with coffee cups shaking in our hands.

My dream is I'm walking through Phillipsburg, New Jersey,
and I'm lost on South Main Street. I am trying to tell,
by memory, which statue of Christopher Columbus
I have to look for, the one with him slumped over
and lost in weariness or the one with him
vaguely guiding the way with a cross and globe in
one hand and a compass in the other.
My dream is I'm in the Eagle Hotel on Chamber Street
sitting at the oak bar, listening to two
obese veterans discussing Hawaii in 1942,
and reading the funny signs over the bottles.
My dream is I sleep upstairs over the honey locust
and sit on the side porch overlooking the stone culvert
with a whole new set of friends, mostly old and humorless.

Dear waves, what will you do for me this year?
Will you drown out my scream?
Will you let me rise through the fog?
Will you fill me with that old salt feeling?
Will you let me take my long steps in the cold sand?
Will you let me lie on the white bedspread and study
the black clouds with the blue holes in them?
Will you let me see the rusty trees and the old monoplanes one more year?
Will you still let me draw my sacred figures
and move the kites and the birds around with my dark mind?

Lucky life is like this. Lucky there is an ocean to come to.
Lucky you can judge yourself in this water.
Lucky you can be purified over and over again.
Lucky there is the same cleanliness for everyone.
Lucky life is like that. Lucky life. Oh lucky life.
Oh lucky lucky life. Lucky life.

---

Blue sky after days of heavy rain. Packages from friends and strangers. My mom, dad, brothers, and this guy. For the understanding that the days here are dappled with dark and light but they are numbered and valuable. The new friends I've found, so far from home. The ones who write to me often, keep me from feeling homesick. All this sweetness. Thankful for all of it, even without the turkey.

emily and charlotte (and jane)

2006-11-19T07:53:00.000-06:00

I do love Jane Austen. I love her wit, her way with language. I am sure that we would have been friends, spending afternoons pretending to embroider but really swooning over Colin Firth and talking about all the blogs we read, the books we love, the neighbors we can hear through the walls.

Then there are days like this, when it is grey and threatening and clouds roll over what I like to think of as The Moors, but which my dictionary informs me are actually 'des fermes' or 'des champs.' And not Elysian ones. These are fields where anything could happen: a long-lost lover wandering over them, calling your name, could stumble to your hearth with a blazing fever. Or there could be a mysterious house fire in the middle of the night, wherein a certain Mr. R. loses an arm (but gains the hand of the girl in marriage). I like the adolescent possibility in the books by the Brontë sisters. I think Charlotte and Emily would sit and knit with me a while, but then stand up and grab my hand and make me run outside with them to look at the stars.
But eventually I'd like to come back in, and have something like this, a place that is warm and steady, with my books, and my dear friends around me. Listening to these guys. With my sewing machine and all the pretty things. Thank goodness there is room for Emily, Charlotte and Jane on my shelves.

the roses, and how they are coming up all over

2006-11-16T15:53:00.000-06:00

Probably it would have embarrassed the man from Orange who came today, totally unexpected, and, after forty minutes of tinkering, "c'est pas bon," and "je reviens, a tout à l'heure," created the miracle of internet in my apartment, if I had kissed him.

He did smell kind of meaty, though, so maybe better for both of us. Plus--large moustache. But I did tell him he is my favorite person in France. And he laughed.

And I found a desk, and set up my sewing machine. And found fruit crates for shelves. And talked about poetry with a class of girls who also advised me on where to find a bag I liked.

Some days the beautiful things are just behind the buildings, and then they appear, right when you need them. Thank goodness.

but then again

2006-11-13T13:41:00.000-06:00

As Alison said, when I leave, I'll miss it here, too. And I will: it's already hard to imagine going a day without talking to the new friends I've made, and it's strange to think that I will be a fuzzy memory to the children of my friends. I will miss the way fog comes over the Doubs and fills up the town as though tucking it in for the night. I know I will miss the trains. And Paris, where I went for the day, the other day, how everything is near everything here. I walk everywhere. Today I walked through town and walked through the country to find a cycling shop. The air smelled like fires in fireplaces and rain, and it did rain a little, but I had my umbrella.

And um, yes, I do indeed think I will miss thrift shopping here. I know it's not quite the same as, well, a river or my friends, but I have to say--I went with friends to EMMAUS in Dijon yesterday, and it was so, so neat. Found old buttons--mother of pearl, bakelite, plastic, metal, leather, wood, glass-- and embroidery floss and tiny rosettes for military wear, still on their card. And a patch that says FRANCE. And a blouse that fits perfectly, in soft cotton with embroidery and ribbons, from the 1920s, and a pair of PANTALOONS!! I couldn't believe my eyes. I'll wash them and then take a real photo.

So, silver linings everywhere. Internet in the apartment? Not so much. But soon.

miss (+ing)

2006-11-11T08:03:00.000-06:00

Finally finished the mitts for Zach, and a pair for Anne, too. Next: a knitted cushion cover in stripes. But knitting doesn't feel like making to me; it is what I do while I read or watch movies or talk on the phone or listen to music.

I miss being part of the blogging community. Miss reading + commenting, being read, receiving your comments. Miss making; feel like if I cannot make something soon I will explode. Rather. Miss Martha. Miss Sally. Miss Mulysa and Brian. Miss all of all y'all. Miss the way fabric feels in my hands. Also the smell of my city, and the way I can walk all of it without my eyes open. The university. My students. Miss teaching poetry. Miss the smell of the printshop, the print professor's gruff ways, the printmaking grad students. Miss poetry, really. How to do it, this living in the world thing? Because I know when I leave here, it will be the same, only on the other side.

home

2006-11-08T08:41:00.000-06:00

Moving to France has been one of the most difficult experiences of my life.

I didn't anticipate the differences in culture; I knew it would be different, but I hadn't been able to realize what this would mean. I was worried most before I left that people would think I was incapable of sophisticated thought, because I can't speak elegantly and fluently in French as I can in my native language. And although this has sometimes been the case, it hasn't be language that has made me work the hardest; it's been adapting (and I still am) to a new timetable, a new worldview. Things happen more slowly. People are more skeptical. I have a newfound respect and empathy for immigrants, NNS students, and foreign workers, because I couldn't have imagined what the tension of being between two places would feel like. Between one home and another. Between one set of rules and expectations and another. This has been one of the most educational periods of my life.

I have been lucky to find--well, to be dropped in the laps of, really--some wonderfully kind people, including a teacher at school (who, along with his wife and two children, received me for dinner one night, talked to me about adapting to life here, and offered to take me to Dijon to the big thrift store) and a young woman, her boyfriend, and her family, who have supported and helped me time after time. I can't imagine having gone it alone.

My apartment is making progress. I will eventually have internet. I have been receiving mail with some regularity, and that is a huge deal, so thank you. And soon, a sewing machine. And soon after, much sewing. And soon after that, maybe, all's right with the world. Or close.

finally

2006-10-26T04:03:00.000-05:00

got the keys.

now to find a bucket of bleach and some furniture.

small graces

2006-10-23T13:40:00.000-05:00

Things like, the right magazine at the right time. And, est-ce que ça te dérange? And knowing what to say. And taking care of lists (enormous ones, with heavy components like and find apartment and get insurance and residency status?! on them).

And taking the train at night.

And knowing when the station's coming up.

And packages from home, including new business cards from Brian.

And beginning to write again, and knitting in the evening, and thinking of ideas for more books (and feeling I can do them!), and getting back to the place that lets me love where I am, and red dotted swiss curtains for my kitchen when I finally move in, and 11 days' vacation after only 4 days' work, and finally, inevitably, the sound of rain on the roof of the old convent I have been living in (lo these four long weeks).

Now I feel like I should say 'amen.'

studio idéal

2006-10-16T03:45:00.000-05:00

...but the thing I forgot to put in is that I would share it with this guy, who just finished a complete revamp of his website, and of whom I am so proud. Hey, B., thanks for taking care of Mr. Fish while I'm gone! Don't let him get into the inks...

synchronicity

2006-10-15T07:14:00.000-05:00

A friend back home knits grey and yellow.... Several thousand miles away, I am in the yarn store thinking about buying these lovely Katia wools, using to make fingerless gloves. I deliberate. Rusty-red and grey? Red and blue? This yellow, which is almost chartreuse, and that ashy light grey? Or none? I don't receive my first paycheck until November. Should I really spend €9 on yarn?

What a question. Of course, I do it. And then go home to read this post.

Nice to know we think alike even over long distances.

When I feel lonely I think about how really things are not so different, we are not so far, and time is not so long. And today I noticed the smell of fall come creeping up from the edges of the town.

yes, it's like this

2006-10-13T09:18:00.000-05:00

It's like this: getting up, going to the baker's, buying a chocolate croisant for breakfast, walking around the medieval town I live in, window shopping, taking the train, speaking and learning French, meeting really kind and interesting people. But some days it's the random person who tells me people who support a smoking ban are the next thing to Nazis, being incapable of communicating my ideas in the ways I'm used to, and seemingly endless paperwork, none of which seems to end or go anywhere.

I know I'm lucky to have this chance, but some days it is harder to love it, that's all.

well put, duchamp

2006-10-05T14:53:00.000-05:00

C'est tellement vrai.

I had such a nice birthday, better than I would ever have thought. Thank you for all your nice wishes.

Today I looked at an apartment (I am in provisory housing, one small room I share with another girl, and it is not great) but it was not so good--no light. But if I don't find anything else, I will take it.

Everything gets better every day. I love this object I found in the hallway of a classroom building here. I'm going to steal the idea (and the quote).

Did look for M-C Idées here, but didn't find it. Also MILK. Maybe this weekend, if I go into Besançon (big town nearby). I have been making little things (no using the machine yet, might disturb the roommate), but that's for another post. Saturday, probably.

Bon, à plus tard.

ici

2006-10-03T13:38:00.000-05:00

The homesickness was the worst last Friday; I'm feeling much better now, and the grobbeldy sounds have coalesced into words and phrases I can understand. And my own mouth occasionally produces things to which the locals nod their heads in response.

I have a German roommate (until I find an apartment), a strong grasp on the names of the English teachers here, and a passion for croissants beurres au chocolat. And, lucky me, a couple of friends.

That's my school. More photos eventually, like later this week? Oh, and tomorrow is my birthday, the first one I will have ever spent away from home. It's strange.

j'y suis jamais allée

2006-09-29T01:34:00.000-05:00

I'm in France, the town is beautiful, my suitcases are heavy, the people have been wonderful so far, I'm realizing that I don't speak French as well as I thought I did, I' a bit homesick, and internet has been hard to come by.

More eventually.

what I said, what I meant

2006-09-24T22:50:00.000-05:00

I did mean to write again about poetry but instead have been consumed with the fact that 100 pounds is not much at all, and somehow I have to get what I want to bring to france of my life here to fit into two suitcases that weigh less than I do. So I think I will not write any more here until I have arrived in France (this is acceptance--letting it go, keeping myself [reasonably] sane, and it's hard for me). But I will say one small story.

My mom loves Gordon Lightfoot, and has since she was a teenager. He is on tour but has been sick and I wanted to get her tickets (in case!), but they were sold out. I tried every day until three days before the concert, when amazingly I was able to buy two seats, for my mom and dad. Then, when we were picking them up at will-call, someone else offered me two more tickets, so Brian and I got to go. Although I do like Gordon Lightfoot's songs, it wasn't the best concert ever--he had just had a stroke!--and I wish he had sung this song, which I love both for its strong encouragement for people heading out in the world and for the memories I have of cleaning to it on Saturday mornings.

The House You Live In
(Gordon Lightfoot)

Go first in the world, go forth with your fears
Remember a price must be paid
Be always too soon, be never too fast
At the time when all bets must be laid
Beware of the darkness, be kind to your children
Remember the woman who waits
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your gate

When you're caught by the gale and you're full under sail
Beware of the dangers below
And the song that you sing should not be too sad
And be sure not to sing it too slow
Be calm in the face of all common disgraces
And know what theyre doing it for
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your door

When you're out on the road and feeling quite lost
Consider the burden of fame
And he who is wise will not criticize
When other men fail at the game
Beware of strange faces and dark dingy places
Be careful while bending the law
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your door

When youre down in the dumps and not ready to deal
Decide what it is that you need
Is it money or love, is it learning to live
Or is it the mouth you must feed?
Be known as a man who will always be candid
On questions that do not relate
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your gate
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your gate

---

Next time, in France!

there should always be dancing

2006-09-22T14:24:00.000-05:00

I have danced since I was very little: first ballet, and then when it became too much for my feet, flamenco. These days I don't dance much at all (except for the odd salsa night) and I miss it a lot. So I fixed up an old pair of shoes for dancing to wear when I presented my Spring06 collection. They are 'character' (heeled) shoes, and they are tiny--around a size 5 US. But if you know a young girl who has small feet and likes to dance or dress up, leave a comment. I'll draw a name tomorrow and send them to you.

Thank you again for all your comments. Poetry tomorrow.

EDIT: shoes to Sarah. Email me your address, please!

lucky

2006-09-21T00:36:00.000-05:00

For presents like these:
(silk thread and shibori button clips for my short hair from Megan)

and this:
(beautiful wool-and-kimono-fabric scarf from Blair, for French winters--a bit of home)

and having time to finish my yellow-and-grey skirt, and even take photos before the light was gone:
(speaking of coats and coats, I am wearing my dad's mom's nursing cape with this outfit),

and to have editors who really know how to choose a book cover:

(image by Jennifer Davis, design by Percolator),

and for such kind people to leave such kind words for my big news. Thank you.

---

(Lucky life. Oh, lucky life./ Oh lucky lucky life. Lucky life.)

(And one more thank-you, to Gerald Stern. As always.)

poetry 6 / feeling autumnal / big news (edited!)

2006-09-18T20:49:00.000-05:00

It's grey here, and rainy most of the day, and at about 5:30 the clouds parted and there was that fresh blue sky. Fresh makes me think of Hopkins (Girard Manley), and from there I'm leapfrogged into spring and love and hope and the optimism that keeps the world going around.

If you need healing,
just go to the doctor, I mean
that familiar spine, and open it. A lion waits.
A field of bobolinks. The doorways
and sprinkled streets
and blackbirds.

It makes me think of my students, how much teaching changed my writing, changed my thinking (how it still does both!). How integral the act of generosity required by teaching is to the selfish act of writing for me. How they could come into the poetry classrom and leave changed, and leave me changed, too. How the world always seemed to have that certain smell on Tuesday nights, the smell of things opening. The smell of snow. Magic.

It is magic, propagating the love of words. Love of beauty. It is pure body, it happens inside the human being who has forgotten it can happen, or didn't know it could. It is lines like

Glory be to God for dappled things--
For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

--for their soundplay and their wordplay and their love of the imperfect (evident also by the oddity that sprung meter [which Hopkins developed--a 'broken' meter, or rhythm, to counter a more regular and traditional one] must have been). The poem is "Pied Beauty," and it should have lovely indents, as it does here, but Blogger doesn't let me.

Please don't be afraid to comment. I've gotten several lovely, kind emails from people who feel intimidated by the subject of poetry. Well, I can't lie: I do think there are 'right readings.' But I would never be anything but interested and grateful for your comments and your ideas and your thoughts on what I've put down in these little 'lessons.'

Because here it is fall, the season of back-to-school and cooling temperatures, and the smell of apples. And the lonely season (of mists and mellow fruitfulness! name that poet!), which makes having some invisible lines out there to you just a bit nicer.

I leave for France in eight days. I don't know what my access to internet will be like there (any tips on getting it set up, anyone? I will need it for a freelance job I have while I'm there), but I wanted to tell you the reason I will be back home in April, rather than staying on.

I wrote, as my thesis, a manuscript of poems. An excellent literary, non-profit publisher bought the manuscript this past July, and will publish it (with extremely unusual alacrity, for the industry) this spring. A real book. As in, go to your local bookstore and they will have it. Or you can ask them to have it. It already has its ISBN (edit: here it is! thanks to Kelly of Weaving Major. Wow! That sure makes it real). The title is Music for Landing Planes By. I feel quite surreal about it all, really. And now the cat's out of the bag. I'm coming home in April to do readings.

If you would like to read some poetry of mine before the book is released, I can maybe figure out a way to post a sample on my webpage. Should I?

good things

2006-09-11T21:38:00.000-05:00

child's coat by UNIFORM Studio: simple, elegant, wearable, durable, beautiful, whimsical...and the cap looks like an acorn. I'm loving brown so much right now. If I had a little girl, I'd buy her this coat. Check out more of Martha's accomplished designs here and here.

'fancy' quilt from the Minneapolis Institute of Arts: Makes me wish I had the patience for things like quilting and applique. From the early 1800s, but so fresh to me: the colors, the symbols. I want to make a skirt that does what this quilt does in terms of spring.

mikan bracelet by Bellaceti: I've loved this bracelet since I first saw it, lo these 365 days+ ago. I love that it's called 'mikan,' I love the orange beads that actually LOOK like mandarin oranges, I love the styling of this photo. Actually, I love everything on this site, including the Lupe earrings, which I just bought.

Brian saying my new haircut is "jolie."
But he says it more like "JOE-lee," with a funny, singsongy, falling accent. Very cute.

Anishinaabe bandolier bags from the Minneapolis Institute of Arts: I don't think I even need to qualify this. Except maybe to say that these are beaded? With tiny glass seed beads? Yes. Amazing.

Jupon from Modern Child: I love this skirt. I love the ruffle, the ruching via drawstrings, the colors, the (what I imagine to be) French quality of it. I'm working on one like it for me (don't laugh! I do NOT look like a milkmaid in it!) in yellow and grey. I just need a fabric for the outer ruffle still. My fall style is so exactly to my tastes this year--I mean, I really feel at home in it, and maybe that's because I've made/I am making so much of it. More to come on this soon--just need to find time and someone to take photos. LOTS of ideas!

I'm also loving the Japanese fabric section at Crafty Planet online (you know--they ship internationally! and they're local and independent, and the owners are super!). They do have some Japanese trims in stock in the store--not sure if those are up yet.

---

And hey! if you're in the Twin Cities area, check out +/-, a trunk show I'm part of this Thursday! (And--if you have any favorite shopping or looking links, I would love to know them. I've got money to spend and I really want to spend it with independent makers and designers. I'm looking for high-quality clothes and jewelry. Maybe a shoulderbag big enough to carry my computer (12") and books and notebooks, too. Bring on the links!)

Oh, and one more thing--have you seen the new boiled art website yet?

Okay, I'm done for real.
More on poetry later this week.

poetry 5 + studio business

2006-09-09T23:43:00.000-05:00

shop at Red Dragonfly Press

My senior year of college (5 years ago now!), I was lucky to be able to take classes in the graduate program in poetry at my university. I was working three jobs, taking 17 credits, rehearsing for a show, and trying to write my thesis, on top of what constituted my 'normal' life--boyfriend, friends, artmaking. But walking into the poetry classroom every week was permission to play, to make, to enjoy. I frolicked among the words (maybe to some of my older classmates' chagrin).

I wrote about winter in the far north ("Canon," a long poem of 8 sections) that fall:

5.

Your winter atlas
is the burning
of old letters,

photos curling before
they have a chance
to char. The flames

licking at your ankles
push you further
into wide darkness,

and night comes
like an owl
when you are lost.

An expanse of stars
fits in your palm,
that stippled plain.

Looking at it now, I can see all its flaws: it lacks balance (every stanza is endstopped--predictable and repetitive in form and rhythm), it relies on my 'old tricks' (words like 'wide' and 'stars;' the demonstrative 'that'). But I can also recall what a huge discovery was going on at this time. How all of a sudden words were constellating themselves differently: re.call. Call something back. As differentiated from re.member. Put something back together from its parts.

This was the beginning.

I wrote earlier about Emily Dickinson and snow and walking around.

Then it was spring and I was writing love poems (my habitual mode; one of my classmates in graduate school typified my work as 'love poems and prayers,' which I liked--maybe more on the love poem in another post) and relearning punctuation. From "Disappearing Acts":

We touched snow in one another’s tracks, stars & ice witness—
these have faded: the four of icicles, the jack of winter nights alone.

My hand is emptied. I won’t cry for you, shadow, for the forgotten nights
like bird tracks on sand. I’m not the woman anyone can cut in half by hand,

hacksaw singing through her body; flesh and bone, not the wood of stringed instruments. Every day slipping through my fingers is another move away—

I’m asking for something geometric. No more
of this sleight-of-hand, your white hands moving in the unlit room.
I can’t wait, silent woman in the dark, when the world is finally warming—

Good: beginning to use punctuation, not just scatter it around. Becoming conscious of it. Bad: well, maybe everything else: high melodrama factor, refernce to crying, lots of end-stops again, etc. I do like the woman-sawed-in-half image and the end images in line three. Otherwise, it's loose and sloppy. But, unlike everything I had written before, it doesn't end with a period.

I love the idea that punctuation is as representational and meaningful as a word: that it holds specific utterance--nonverbal, but present. I love the long (em-) dash, the colon, the semi-colon. I like the Oxford comma ('x, y, and z'). I don't much care for the ellipse (...). I remember actually figuring out (by reading Dickinson, actually) that the dash, the comma, the period all stood in for different kinds of breath--and I could make the reader breathe the way I wanted her to by using them.

I like now that I can look at these and (though I cringe a bit) not judge the younger me for what I wrote. These days, I think of every new poem as a draft towards a more perfect poem. I rarely go through exhaustive changes and revisions as I used to. More often than not I have a sense of a poem's workability as I'm writing it. It's enough sometimes to write the poem that is a gift, is a letter, is a one-off. They're all practise for other work. Other play.

That's enough of that, I think. To end the serious part: a love poem, a favorite.

A Portrait in Nine Lines

E. Ethelbert Miller

I want to hold your face in my hands
just for its laughter. I love your hat.
I was standing in a bookstore when
you turned the corner. Page after page
reminds me of your arms. The wind
sits in a park reading a book of your
poems. Is today your birthday? Yes
is such an easy word to say. I know.
This is the portrait of you I love.

---

I'd love to hear your responses to any of this. I'll write back in the comments--or you're welcome to email me if you'd like (ohbara at gmail dot com).
---

And, studio-box-expecting people: here's the deal. I've boxed up everything and it's set to mail by Wednesday of this week (depending on how many trips to the P.O. I have to make! There are a ton of boxes!). I didn't include notes or niceties; I popped things in willy-nilly sometimes. But in many I was able to include little scrap packets like these:
Just tiny bits (I really use up my fabric, so when I think of scraps, I mean tiny pieces for quilting or zakkaing!) all bundled together. It was late last night when I finished, so the light in the photo is poor.

Watch your mailboxes!

just a little sale

2006-09-09T00:09:00.000-05:00

Or maybe a big one: everything in my shop is half off (yes, 50%!) for this week. I will be closing up shop as I move to France, so 9/21 will be your last chance for delightful bara goodies! (I'll reopen, but exactly when and in what capactiy remains to be seen.)

Also, all orders over 75.oo (US) can use the code 'freeship' and get--you guessed it--free shipping.

(And have you seen the Cram-Cream there?)

--
Back to the 'real' stuff this weekend. Boxes of studio explained and mailing next week.

poetry 4: simple

2006-09-06T23:00:00.000-05:00

Lisa S. asked whether simplicity has to do with it. I think it does: simplicity, and clarity, and precision, and grace.

The way lines look on the page.

The space taken up by breathing/breath.

The meaning of what isn't put down. Elision.

I don't mean the easy idea, the easy image, the easy word. The expected. The cliché. I mean what is most fitting, what is beautiful unadorned. The poems I wrote as an undergrad I look at and squirm, mostly because they drip with words. I didn't know when to be spare. The poem needs the marrow-bone just as much as it needs the fancy vegetables.

No more writing just for writing's sake.

Mary Oliver can do this sometimes, but sometimes it feels cold. One poem where she accomplishes simplicity (in balance with--what?--poetic excess? humanity? physicality?) is the stunning "University Hospital, Boston," from American Primitive. The poem blends narrative and lyric so seamlessly that I'm carried through it, from her descriptions of the hospital, to the speaker's relationship with the beloved, to the musing on the hospital's history, to the hair-raising final stanza.

UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL, BOSTON

The trees on the hospital lawn
are lush and thriving. They too
are getting the best of care,
like you, and the anonymous many,
in the clean rooms high above this city,
where day and night the doctors keep
arriving, where intricate machines
chart with cool devotion
the murmur of the blood,
the slow patching-up of bone,
the despair of the mind.

When I come to visit and we walk out
into the light of a summer day,
we sit under the trees--
buckeyes, a sycamore, and one
black walnut brooding
high over a hedge of lilacs
as old as the red-brick building
behind them, the original
hospital built before the Civil War.
We sit on the lawn together, holding hands
while you tell me: you are better.

How many young men, I wonder,
came here, wheeled on cots off the slow trains
from the red and hideous battlefields
to lie all summer in the small and stuffy chambers
while doctors did what they could, longing
for tools still unimagined, medicines still unfound,
wisdoms still unguessed at, and how many died
staring at the leaves of the trees, blind
to the terrible effort around them to keep them alive?
I look into your eyes

which are sometimes green and sometimes gray,
and sometimes full of humor, but often not,
and tell myself, you are better,
because my life without you would be
a place of parched and broken trees.
Later walking the corridors down to the street,
I turn and step inside and empty rom.
Yesterday someone was here with a gasping face.
Now the bed is made all new,
the machines have been rolled away. The silence
continues, deep and neutral,
as I stand there, loving you.

---
TWO NOTES:

1/ The end-stopped stanzas work here, I think, because they are a natural closure and connection of information. They mark subject/topic changes--almost small poems within the poem.

2/ If you're familiar with Oliver's poetry, you can probably imagine how terrifying and horrible a "place of parched and broken trees" would be. I never thought of that until typing this poem out--how personal and awful that image really is.

poetry 3 (the long one)

2006-09-05T21:19:00.000-05:00

I got a card from the University of Iowa press when I was a senior in college. It is bright green with bright blue writing; it reads POETRY IS FOR EVERYBODY. I hung it over my desk when I began graduate school.

It's a complex sentiment for me, this democracy. Yes, poetry is for everybody. I believe this. But then how do I differentiate between good and bad--can a value judgment even be made? I knew I would have to confront this question as I began teaching. Good. Bad. They're relative, right? I know many of the poems I cringed at were met with high praise by their authors' peers in class critique. So what makes a good poem?
For me, a strong poem is marked by its innovative and intelligent use of language first of all. I am thinking of Anne Carson's writing (specifically Autobiography of Red: "Herakles lies like a piece of torn silk in the heat of the blue saying/ Geryon, please. The break in his voice/ Made Geryon think for some reason of going into a barn/ first thing in the morning/ when sunlight strikes a bale of raw hay still wet from the night"--pg. 54). The images are precise and beautiful and evocative, and they are communicated by language that is unexpected and interesting.

A strong poem will make its reader think. I don't mean that poetry should be, necessarily, a mental strain. I don't think the aura of difficulty that's projected onto poetry is healthy for it or for the people who would like to read it, but feel (or have been made to feel, perhaps by a high school English teacher with a snobbish attitude) intimidated by it. But reading poetry is not like watching a blockbuster movie. It's a place for work.

In the end, though, the purpose and strength of a poem is its expression of truth (the Keatsian truth, which equates to beauty, and is "all ye know on Earth/ And all ye need to know"). The work of poetry is the work of creating beauty--not glossing over what is dirty or depressing or ugly, but somehow rendering those things in such a way as to create a consciousness that goes beyond them. Not just anger, not just sadness.
AND A FEW QUICK TIDBITS:

1/ Poetry doesn't have to rhyme. In fact, most modern poetry doesn't. If you'd like to see a master of the formal poem, look up Elisabeth Bishop's work. Her most widely anthologized poems are probably "One Art" (a villanelle, I believe) and "Sestina" (a sestina).

1.5/ Also, most contemporary poets don't capitalize the initial letter of every line. Some do. some do, depending on the poem.

2/ Journaling and so-called 'writing therapy' are useful and helpful ways of working out initial problems or ideas on the page. In the end, though, the poem is a communication device, meant to establish connections between writer and reader. Being so, it is important that there is at least some point of access for the reader--that not everything is totally private or involved with the self.

3/ The emotional response is a valid and important primary response to a work of writing. When you're reading and you feel, that's worth noting. But figuring out what you're feeling, and why, and how the poet makes it happen--that's the next, equally necessary, response. Just liking the poem can't be enough.

4/ The 'paragraphs' of a poem are called stanzas. Lines that end with punctuation are 'end-stopped,' and lines that break without punctuation are 'enjambed.' I realize this is kind of basic but thought maybe some people wouldn't know and might like to.

---

I hope I don't sound just awfully didactic. I don't write about this here much because I do love it, and I love teaching it, and it is hard to convey nuance through the blog. I would love to answer questions, engage in dialogue, whatever you like, in the comments.

And a favorite poem, to end with:

From the book Eve's Striptease, which is totally worth the sixteen bucks or however much, by the poet Julia Kasdorf.

On Leaving Brooklyn

after Psalm 137

If I forget thee
let my tongue forget the songs
it sang in this strange land
and my heart forget the secrets
only a stranger can learn.

Borough of churches, borough of crack,
if I forget how ailanthus trees sprout
on the rooftops, how these streets
end in water and light,
let my eyes grow nearsighted.

Let my blood forget
the map of its travels
and my other blood cease
its slow tug toward the sea
if I do not remember,

if I do not always consider thee
my Babylon, my Jerusalem.

---

It gives me chills.

Until tomorrow, then.

want a piece of my studio? + poetry 2

2006-09-04T21:37:00.000-05:00

EDIT: all the packages are gone!

Yikes. Cleaning out the workroom (/living space, now). Didn't I just finish doing this at the old apartment? How can there be so much stuff--after paring down so, so much? I have three cigar boxes and a shoe box. Those are for any notions, trim, ribbon, and bits-and-pieces I want to keep. They'll come to France with me. I know there are probably more efficient ways of packing, but it's comforting to me to put things in their places. To make those places up.

I'll bring fabric, too. Just a few favorite things. I'm still trying to use most of it up--making things for the shops and for myself. And for friends, too. But the fact remains (more than facts alone remain, alas, or I would have MUCH less packing to do) that there are beads and ribbons and fancy Japanese papers and fabric and stuffing and bits and bobbins that I won't take with me. That maybe I would never use? And maybe you would?If you would like a piece of my studio, why don't you email me (ohbara at gmail dot com), and we'll work something out about postage? Then I can send you a lovely package of pretty things. I'd say I have enough for 20 good-sized packages.

---

And--poetry. Thank you all for your comments on the last post. I'd love to keep hearing your thoughts on what I wrote and on what you find in the comments. I'll write more this week.

poetry 1

2006-09-03T23:08:00.000-05:00

My dream is I'm walking through Phillipsburg, New Jersey.

So says Gerald Stern in the poem "Lucky Life," which I love. Which I read to my students almost every day.

The first poem I memorized was "Jabberwocky": 'Twas Brillig and the slithy toves/ Did gyre and gimbol in the wabe/ All mimsy were the Borogroves/ And Mome-raths outgrabe." I was in third grade. Lewis Carroll.

Then came "The Lake Isle of Innisfree": "I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,/And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;/ Nine bean-rows will I have there, and a hive for the honey-bee,/ And live alone in the bee-loud glade." Yeats.

And then, in high-school, Eliot's Prufrock. The nearly-perfect poem: "Let us go then, you and I/ Where the evening is stretched out against the sky/ Like a patient, etherized upon a table." And in college, Prufrock, and in graduate school, Prufrock. Lucky life. Indeed.

More poetry this week, if you're interested.

Do you read it? Like it? Feel about it (anything)? Who, what, why/not?

tonight, alberta

2006-08-31T12:45:00.000-05:00

No posting: spending time with old friend, meeting new ones, walking around, riding the bus, buying fabric (bad! but so good!), writing, reading, waiting, missing, just loving Portland.

Tonight, Last Thursdays on Alberta. Six to nine p.m. Galleries, makers, etc. I hear. Mulysa and I will be there, probably in front of or near Bolt. Come and see us. Say hi.

msp->ord->pdx

2006-08-24T18:12:00.000-05:00

Tonight Brian (he of the Jerome Fellowship, newly! Can I announce that here, B?) and I are catching a late bus to Chicago. We'll visit my cousins, go to the museums, walk around. Chicago was my first taste of freedom, as a senior in high school. I went down there to see colleges, but ended up taking the trains all over (both alone and with my cousin). I love public transportation: Greyhound, train, city bus, vaporetto. It makes me feel good to be around other people, going somewhere. (This photo is our point of initial departure.)

Sunday, I head out to Portland to visit my best friend and meet some inspiring blog ladies! So, with all this travel (not to mention the big trip coming up fast), I have had TRAVEL WALLET on the to-do brain for a while now.

Then I saw the afore-mentioned inspiring post over at Shim+Sons and the ideas I had were resolved.
I'm pleased--I needed something big enough for my passport and travel documents, as well as my ID cards, check card, money (folding and coin), cell phone, and pens. I can even put my little notebook into the pocket that holds the travel documents, if I want to.

And it has strawberries. Who could ask for anything more? (Other photos here.)

I'll be in Portland until next Friday. May post from there. May not. Hope all is well, in the interim. Big news, finally, when I get back. And thank you very much for your expressions of kindness towards my brother. I appreciate them.

worry, worry

2006-08-22T21:49:00.000-05:00

The less time I have, the more I find myself trying to do. This is as a rule: it's the reason I came out of graduate school with not one, but three manuscripts. It's the reason I come up with (and execute) new designs, invariably, the week before a show. It's the reason I take on extra jobs, offer help (even when it's not necessary), and push really hard right up to the wire, even though I might have been slacking off a bit beforehand.

Most of the time it produces excellent results, especially in combination with the high expectations I set for myself.

Other times (often in combination with other stresses--you know, the ones I haven't planned for) it produces anxiety, worry, irritability, and general ennui. I overwhelm myself with all the things I want to do.
Right now the list (and for me, lists are stress-reducers mostly; occasionally they do make me more anxious, but then I stop using them for a while, loosen back up) includes a skirt in grey cotton and yellow linen for myself; a cream wool winter coat, also for myself; a cashmere skirt (um, ditto). And then, um, packing all the things I own, or giving them away, or using them up? Oh, and also a slip dress like the one in the spring Marie-Claire Idées (on the page with the painted wardrobe) and a quilt for Brian for when I'm gone, and a little jacket for me (and two or three for the shops?) and a long, many-pleated skirt in dark brown linen (ooh, also for me).
And I keep having more ideas (true to form) and, and, and. This one does not know how to cut herself off.

I did edit this just now to take out the personal bit at the bottom. Still not comfortable with that. I know Bloglines users will still be able to read it, and that's fine, but didn't really want it out here for eternity. Suffice to say a family member's ill and that kind of puts my crafty worries in their place.

love

2006-08-20T12:29:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my boyfriend, Brian, did his first craft show...and survived.

Of course, I was there too (and barely survived, with an awful migraine by the end from the smoke that was drifting into the building from smokers outside, the super-loud music, and my lack of sleep). But I meant to write about Brian on Friday (something I love, am excited about), and didn't, so now I will.

For Brian, working as an artist is all. I have never known anybody so dedicated to his own education and to developing an understanding of and connection to the world around him. This is a photo of his studio during his last year in grad school. All those prints are his trying to understand the construction and being of a sphere. He is exhaustive and deep in his methods.

And now he is finding a way to support himself beyond the graphic design job he has. I'm so proud that this person, who can be introverted, but who has a wonderful sense of humor, the kindest heart, and who is thoughtful in extremis, is getting his work out into the world using the most populist of print media: relief (in this case, letterpress) printing. What does this mean for him? More time in the studio, a job he enjoys, and most of all, the good that comes from making things with one's hands.

I just think it's neat.

Also, do love having someone who can lift the clothing racks onto the car roof after the show.

---

Many new things to shop tomorrow.

rainy days and Thursdays

2006-08-17T13:21:00.000-05:00

It's perfect conditions for working here: misting rain, good music, food in the fridge, new fabric, lots of ideas, and a visit from a good friend. So--no more talk, back to the sewing machine. Here's what I'm working on:

New bag design in linen and Japanese cotton. Inside pockets, ribbon ties. Two down, one to go. Oh, and look what I found! (I especially love the Eiffel Tower one, even if the counting words are inaccurate.)
Tomorrow: something I love, something exciting.

so

2006-08-16T14:36:00.000-05:00

I couldn't believe how many of you wanted my old ribbons! --Or how badly I felt that I didn't have 45 packets of them to give away. But, in the end there was only enough for one: Melanie. Thank you all for your well-wishes. I'll have some bundles of scraps and things next week, I think, so more chances then.

To answer some questions that came up:
1/ Yes, I'll keep this blog when I go.
2/ I'll be teaching English in a high school.
3/ The town is in the east, near Dijon.
4/ I'll be there until April, at which point I have to come home. More on this later. I may or may not go back, depending on several things.
5/ I'm "packing" by sending some to my parents' garage, some to thrift stores, and some to you, apparently. I will bring some clothes, some books, teaching materials, my old bear, bed linens, toiletries, and my sewing machine.
6/ The original post was here.

I am getting ready for another crafty thing--information is here, if you're looking for a good time in Minneapolis on Saturday--and then another in two weeks in Portland, and then one more right before I leave. These fabrics are used in my fall collection--part of which I'll have at the Design Fiesta this weekend. Better get back to the grindstone.

Edit: Look at this book! I hadn't seen it before, and the carved stamps (hanko: はんこ) are SO CUTE. I would totally buy it if, well, you know.

and now for something completely different

2006-08-14T11:14:00.000-05:00

So, I'm moving to France in about six weeks, and that means paring everything down to the essentials. I have a lot of sewing supplies--some of which I plan on taking with me--but above almost any other notion, I love ribbons. Fancy, plain; velvet, grosgrain; rick-rack, satin; doesn't matter. But I have too many, now, so if you would like my extra ribbons (see exhibits 1 & 2), just leave a comment (with some way to get a hold of you--email address or link to your blog where I can find your email address) and on Wednesday I'll pick someone randomly.

EXHIBIT 1

EXHIBIT 2

I also gave away most of my yarn, but I noticed that what I kept was almost exclusively white. So I'm making a little shawl thing in all the shades of white yarn I have--trying intarsia/fair isle for the first time. I like it! the only thing is knitting on small needles--during a movie last night, I was only able to knit four rows! That's taking some getting used to.

The flowers are from Barrett, for housewarming and congratulations. More about that sometime, I guess. But for now: free ribbons!

what's going on

2006-08-12T00:02:00.000-05:00

There's a lot I would like to say but I do censor myself to some degree because I'm not interested in getting into discussions of politics, religion, dogma, or semantics. This is a place where I can pretend that kids aren't dying by bombs and everything is okay with the atmosphere and it's all right to go on making pretty things. It is my tidy place, yes.

Of course I do have a mechanism in place that makes me aware of and responsive to these things: it's called my real life. For me, a weblog is not a true (i.e. complete) representation of myself or my life; it's one section--a tiny one. So I keep it to what is safe and comfortable. We can all agree on a cute rabbit. Not so, necessarily, human rights or pacifism or abortion or whether green olives are indeed the ideal topping for pizza, American-style. I prefer to have discussion about those things with people, in real time, not in print over and inflexible (and often incendiary) medium.

When I started this post I was just going to write briefly about the 17-hour day I put in working on my fall collection on Thursday, about how when I get in the thick of making I get more inspired and then sometimes I get all wannnnnty about fabrics online (I tend not to order online because of shipping costs--I also like to support businesses in my area; it's that whole 'interacting with people I can see in real-time' thing) and spend hours making wishlists of them. And then I got to thinking about people who work on garments for long, long workdays on a daily basis, and not necessarily because it's fun. And that led to responsible consumption, and not wasting, and then on to global warming, and then just a short hop-skip-jump to, well, everything else.

And I said I wouldn't talk about it here. So I won't. But now I feel frivolous posting photos, so I will just add one more, from our work session yesterday. My friend Barrett came over to help serge while I constructed garments, which was a lifesaver.

There's a glimpse of the chaos that is my living space/workroom, too. Birds, stone, etc. Sorry for such heavy fare on the weekend. Something lighter soon. And I'm still craving these:

(All from Reprodepot.)

meet mon p'tite lapin

2006-08-09T22:18:00.000-05:00

hello!

she has a secret....

is she waiting for something?

or going on a trip?

time will tell...!

magic

2006-08-04T13:59:00.000-05:00

I am for YES. Both. Not binary. Magic and ordinary, mess and work, perfect and broken, able and not able. Maybe it's naïve, but I always assume how I am is how everyone else is: getting by, doing well, making do. I'm amazed and inspired by my peers and their work ethics and their thought processes and their new ideas and their busy lives. I understand these things because I live them, too. So I know that there is laundry to be done, and dishes, and that avocado I was going to eat and now it is just getting overripe and SOMETHING needs to be done with it, and a million scraps of paper and cloth, and lots of filing, and, and, and. That's okay. Your beautiful, clean, perfect lives are okay, too, sisters. I'm glad to see them. All.

ausgang

2006-08-01T19:38:00.000-05:00

I've had this dress since I was three. It's one of those hangers-on, a thing I can't get rid of. But now that I'm moving so far away, I have to consider what I really need, and what is sentimental but unnecessary. So today it went into the giveaway bag, and hey. It's all right. (The picture above it, on the other hand, is a New Yorker cover from my birthday in 1982. It shows a girl with a present standing at a door. My dad and mom framed it and I've always had it hanging somewhere. It won't be leaving anytime soon.)

Outgoing. Outgoing. I've been thinking a lot about that lately. So much of me is headed off into the wide world and once it's there, that's that.

But no melancholy, now. It's raining, has been raining all day, and after so many days of heat this is just right. I sent off my package for the Vintage Button Swap that Sally is holding, and walked all over campus through the rain. I finally have stopped feeling like a college student--after having been one, or sort of one, for seven years. It's strange.

I want to talk about poetry.

I've been reading a lot lately. Finally paid my dues to the library and brought home many books--junk books, heavy books, fiction, non-fiction, poetry. And four cds of piano concertos, études, nocturnes. Feels a little like the beginning of a hibernation. Beginning of something new. Some ether, to steal from Nick Flynn.

It must be the rain that is doing this to me. I'm as disjointed as it is, just letting things fall where they may.

Also outgoing [exact measurements on request]:

(A piece of Japanese brocade, about 18" x 24"; $8, postage in.)

Email me at ohbara [at] gmail [dot] com if you're interested in a departure with expected arrival at your house.

Now back to the rain, looking at it, etc.

jiggity-jig

2006-07-30T18:05:00.000-05:00

130 miles.
100+ degrees all week.
53 new pieces of writing.
17 blisters on the tops, sides, and soles of my feet.
10 new skirts.
8 books read.
6 new zakkabag fronts.
5 new friends.
2 red brick buildings.
1 love-affair with Chopin's nocturnes.

entitled to the work

2006-07-25T13:14:00.000-05:00

One of my professors always used to say "you are entitled to the work, but not to the reward," meaning that, in our profession, where outcomes are rarely tangible or financial, the process itself has to be loved.

I remember falling in love with poetry, just like with a human being. It was my senior year of college. Late February, maybe early March. It was snowing, it was late. My friend and I walked from the University to the Sculpture Garden through the thick snow. Of course there is the beauty of snow late at night, the shape of hundreds of crows high in the trees, the way it wasn't cold at all because we were having so much fun. But what I remember best is that while we walked we were reading to one another, or reciting. Emily Dickinson, Gerard Manley Hopkins, T.S. Eliot, W.C. Williams, Louise Glück, Shakespeare. I loved their words with the kind of radiant excitement of an intense crush. I loved what they did to and for me. Poetry meant hope, and it still means it. It enforces my optimism and my belief in the good.

And I try to extend the idea of work-as-end (rather than simply means) throughout my life. It's why I enjoy printing so much, I think: because, like poetry, it is really tied to process. And making clothing, too--because there is so much space for thinking in it, and because it requires joy in detail or in process (lest everything begin to feel like a task).

Still in residence until the weekend. I'm writing, making skirts and zakkabags, setting type and printing. And sleeping, reading, watching movies. Today I went to the juvenile correctional facility here and taught a class for some of the boys there. It was an amazing experience. I feel really lucky to have been able to visit them and talk about poetry with them. They were so attentive and interested and willing to ask, which was wonderful. I would like to go back and do more work there.

Also the mayflies hatched last night and today they are dying everywhere in huge numbers.

floating

2006-07-18T16:01:00.000-05:00

I'm in southern Minnesota right now, at the Anderson Center. I don't talk much about my 'real' life much on this weblog, partially because it's the private side, partially because it's probably not that interesting, but sometimes somthing slips out and so some of you have put together that I just finished my MFA (Master's degree in fine arts). Some of you, some very discerning ones of you, might even have figured out that I did the MFA in the sublimely prospectless area of poetry.

(Don't get me wrong. Poetry for love, not money, and I'm happy with that.)

So now I'm here, to spend two weeks working on new poems and I feel like I am just floating. There's no schedule, no rules, no places to be (in fact, since I don't drive, there's nowhere I can really go, even if I want to, that's off the [330-acre] grounds!). So I've been writing in the mornings, cooking, making skirts, doing some embroidery. And floating. I feel untethered; I've had to let go of my normal routines (like email! There's one computer with internet, and I don't want to hog it) and replace them with stillness and quietness. It's a good thing for two weeks in the middle of such a busy summer.

----

Oh, and [west-coast] Portlandites: I will be in your fair city August 27-Sept. 1, and I would love to have tea, go shopping, etc. Shall we? Drop a line (ohbara at gmail dot com).

And, disclaimer: the mermaid atop this post is old--I can't upload photos here! (Lots, then, when I get home. Or find a wireless connection in town.)

must...resist...awful...pun

2006-07-14T15:02:00.000-05:00

WIP IT GOOD!

Oh, dear--that was involuntary, I assure you.

And also:
is here, and the usual 20% off with the code 'rubium' for the next day or so.

Happy Weekend! I leave Sunday for a residency in southern Minnesota, so who knows what will show up during that time. In any case, be well!

as martha would say

2006-07-13T22:54:00.000-05:00

Here are some g(G)ood t(T)hings:

1. Poems in the in-box from a dear friend. She is so talented and I really miss her--she moved recently to FarAway.

2. Packing orders in the morning, then dressing up and going to the cute-boy post office and then to visit shops and hand out my card, and then to interviews for magazines and to client meetings.

3. Breathing out after all that. In my fancy shoes, no less.

4. Two hours this afternoon, and another two tonight, talking to intelligent and talented women about arts, craft, making, craft-theory, and, you know, gossip.

5. Mentions on two sites in one day: here and here. (And here!)

6. The last of the zakkabags in the shop (and 20% off with the code 'afternoon'): here. And here:

Sorry there's no huge update tonight. I was sick this morning and I am just wiped out. The final installment tomorrow!

ink through little holes

2006-07-13T00:13:00.000-05:00

That's how all this happens:

diapositive + sketches

screen waiting to be printed

yardage drying

And that's how these happen, too:

B and I printed 50+ shirts in anticipation of the SPC, as well as a few other events that are coming up (I'll be at a street market in Portland at the end of August! More details to follow). For now, you can find them in the shop, and for the next 24 hours (plus or minus, depending on my work ethic), enter the code 'shirtforme' at checkout for 20% off of any t-shirt. Thank you so much to all of you who have visited and to those of you who have spent your money on my things. It is so kind.

---

There is something rather large brewing in my other [i.e. real?] life, but it will have to wait as I am completely zonked at this point. Cheers!

twee...t

2006-07-11T21:27:00.000-05:00

Did you know that 'twee'='tiny' + 'wee'?

lady bluebell + + + vintage blue velvet leaf, paper flowers, satin bow

Well, I didn't, until just a little while ago.
mlle. framboise + + + vintage velvet geranium leaf, mushroom, berries

I'm not sure how I feel about the word, but there's no denying it fits these guys.
violetine + + + vintage velvet leaf, violet, berries

(the code is 'forthebirds')
-----

I wanted to show you a picture of something I just discovered yesterday. I love that about Minneapolis--it is textured and layered and secretive. I find things out I've never known before (well, see above) just by walking around.
This is a neighborhood garden near the school where I'm teaching this summer. It's huge; it spans two square blocks. There are raspberry canes (in fruit; so tempting), vegetable patches, flower gardens. People walk through with their dogs, people sit in the early-morning haze and draw, people garden and sip ice water at noon. It is a beautiful place, full of handmade trellises and stakes. Full of people's choices to bring beauty into the world.One of my friends has been down on Minneapolis lately. I understand, sometimes, his dislike of this city: we don't have the public transportation or the hipness of Portland; we're not sophisticated and huge like New York; we lack the specific caché of Boston. We're out here in flyover country. It's easy to assume we're missing the boat in all sorts of ways.
But I don't believe my loyalty to my birthplace is misjudged. There is a beauty to being in the middle (the often overlooked middle) of things. There is beauty in reticence and in plainness and in the long flat lands that I miss whenever I leave. To me, the garden I found is a perfect metaphor for the Minneapolis (and the Minneapolitan) I know: it hides its best things until you are willing to take the time to really seek them out, and then it blooms, spills over. I think in the end this place is a generous place. All it is asking is that you show up over and over to prove you're here in earnest. There is beauty and happiness to be had everywhere, if you look for it.

I don't consider myself regionalist; I have loved everywhere I have lived, and have been happy wherever I've been. But I was reminded of the particular good of this place (among the good of all places) this morning when I walked through the garden--in the middle of the city!--on my way to knit for three hours with five fourth- and fifth-grade girls.

to continue

2006-07-10T19:39:00.000-05:00

The day's catalogue:

My new lines of bags are FOLK BAGS and zakkabags. I wanted to evoke a kind of 'Western European/ Early American style-as-seen-through-zakka-books" feeling--it turned out to be a lot of work (I've had the designs in mind for about 5 months) but I love how they came out:

folk bags

zakka bags

Today's specials are this:

'Une tasse du thé vert' is 14" long and 7" high; its slender bamboo handles are connected by off-white twill tape to the bag itself, which is a patchwork of Japanese and American fabrics, both modern and vintage, as well as a hand-embroidered patch which reads, "une tasse/ du thé vert,/s'il vous plaît." It is backed with quilted white cotton and lined in decorator-weight red cotton; the inside pocket is heavy canvas with a ribbon edging.

and this:

This FOLK BAG (blue colorway: also here, bottom left corner) is made of Japanese, American, and hand-printed fabrics, as well as a wide piece of vintage ribbon. It is backed with an upholstery-weight toile in blue.

and this:

The FOLK BAG in the brown/cream colorway (also here: bottom row, center) incorporates vintage kimono pieces as well as contemporary Japanese and American fabrics for an elegant, modern look. It is backed with a vintage upholstery fabric from a designer's showroom in Chicago--see it in the photograph below (on the right, on the back of Kristin's bag).

and you can find them here, with 20% off at checkout when you enter the code 'ohmyzakka' between now and tomorrow evening (when I post the next batch). Although they're not shown in most of the photos here, the FOLK BAGS come tagged with hand-printed wool felt labels and tiny strawberries, and the zakkabags are tagged with hand-printed ultrasuede tags and little soft 'tac-tac' (the character shown here) charms.

See you tomorrow.

Oh, PS: I'm adding this to Whiplash, because the challenge is 'bags.' Now, I usually don't make bags at all--a-tall!, mind you--so this would probably be the time to enter such a competition.

in full form

2006-07-09T23:01:00.000-05:00

Ahh. Ten hours of sleep did it for me! I was so exhausted last night that I accidentally deleted the index to my site. What?! But I needed to update the look for summer anyway, so I worked on it until I was just about sleeping on the keyboard. It is still not perfect, but I'm happy with it. Want to see?

I was keeping some secrets so there would be surprises at the SPC, but now that it's over, I can show and tell! I'm going to update things to my site tonight (probably) and tomorrow (def.), but here's the deal, Sparky: every day, I'll post what I'm updating the shop with right here. If you want it, and you get over to the shop and it's there, enter the code in that day's entry and you'll get 20% off that item + a surprise in your package. I know most of the people who read this blog are not from around here, so this is a mini-craft-sale just for you.

Today's code is "bunnies," because into the shop go my favorite pouches (the green one up above and this one). Along for the ride are a pair of shoes and some fancy underwear!

All right, I should go to bed--I'm teaching seven kids to knit tomorrow morning! Good night!

PS: if you haven't yet, you ought to check out Arid Lands, and while you're at it, head on over here and let Brian know you're out there! He's incredulous that anyone ever actually reads these things. And besides, his business cards are up and they are so EXCELLENT, everyone should see them. :) Good night for real, now.

oh, wow.

2006-07-08T17:44:00.000-05:00

The Craftstravaganza was today. I am exhausted from my 2 a.m. bedtime/ 6:30 a.m. rising time and 9 hours in a hot barn, so all I can say right now is THANK YOU, THANK YOU to everyone who came and made it such a success. I was floored by the support, the compliments, the time you spent in my little shop.

THANK YOU!!

More photos, weblog-exclusive sale, and sundry other items of business to come this week. Or once I awake from my R.-van-Winkle-type slumber. Whichever comes second.

getting ready

2006-07-04T23:52:00.000-05:00

It feels like my days are on fast-forward recently. I'm getting ready for so many little departures--a residency in two weeks, teaching classes again beginning tomorrow, the SPC, heading to Portland in August, and of course the big one in September. All the news gets in the way of living sometimes.

Need to slow down.

Need to spend time with this guy, working on some new projects with him. Like, for example,

And to spend time working, doing the sort of dull things, like cataloging and documenting. And documenting and documenting. But even the dull things can come out lovely, like this:

Not sure how much more I'll have time for in terms of this-here blog until after the afore-mentioned SPC. One of my best friends is home from France and my mom's coming over to see the new apartment, and of course there is a ton of sewing and last-minute pasting-together to be done. But I'll be back, with tons of photos, next week for sure!

(Fairy rings!)

Edit: I just watched this trailer, which is for a film my friend is making. Go check it out. It's moving--and beautiful--and frightening.

it is a constant state of affairs

2006-07-01T00:12:00.000-05:00

Works-in-progress, visible, end June 2006:

10 bird corsages

three tailoredish shirts
12 soft shirts
designs for fall and winter lines (various states of cutting)

5 redwork [nouns]
10 zakka/folk [nouns]

bunny pattern

halter-top pattern
fitted camisole pattern
jacket pattern (untested. sigh. must get to it.) (or not.)

new diapositive for large-scale cloth print, 2-color

one enormous mess as result of two studios and two apartments being squeezed into a 1.5 bedroom place; i.e., complete workroom overhaul and discard of unnecessary materials [watch this space: Japanese fabrics, yarn, vintage buttons, etc.]

and all along the biggest work-in-progress is living a kind and unharmful and happy life. I like it. Happy weekend.

(please forgive the ugly background of this photo--it's the aftermath of the above-mentioned squeeze.)

taos, i hardly knew ye

2006-06-28T23:03:00.000-05:00

Back from the West, I can finally understand why people keep moving there. Why, indeed, one of my best friends (and her fiancé-cum-husband) moved to New Mexico. It is an enchanted land; it is temperate and intemperate at once, it is bigger than any place I had imagined before. I was charmed by its loveliness and moved by its richness and poverty.

I also found what may be the best fabric store in the world, Common Thread, in Taos. They carry things I've never seen all in one store: Marimekko, chirimen, Indian cottons, Guatemalan wovens, really unusual silks and velvets, a HUGE assortment of vintage and new buttons, about 2000 kinds of ribbon (okay, maybe more like 500, but an array the likes of which I've never seen otherwheres), as well as made textiles from around the world--everything from saris to kimonos to Hmong quilting. And the store itself is beautiful as well.

I did, of course, bring some things home; you can see more photos here, with notes to tell you all about them. And there are most certainly works in progress, but I am still in the middle of the biggest one, (not to mention the impending SPC; please come if you're in the cities/surrounding area!) and so it will be a while before I can take photos and post. Alas. Alack.

There is a huge fly buzzing around in here, but it is still good to be back.

Fanmail from some flounder?

2006-06-21T14:06:00.000-05:00

My packages have been temporarily routed to my parents' house, just across town, but I'd forgotten until my mom called on Monday to say I had not one, but two packages, one of which bore the delightful, many-starred Australian airmail logo.

First I opened the one with the KingPod return address.

Do you see the wool felt (I can't believe how much I love it, with its suggestion of all manner of tiny possiblities), the pink pompon trim? The bits of fabric, including one that became a lovely dress? And there are cards from Amy's shop, and Yoshitomo Nara cards, and Pucca stickers, and fancy papers, and it was all wrapped very nicely, until I ripped it apart. That would be the blue in the background: the wrapping paper. Thank you so much, Amy!

And then, the one from Sarah:
Vintage ribbon (I think one of her favorites? Am I right, S.?), and another pretty pretty ribbon, and a grey, pearly button, and a sweet card (thank you especially for this) and a chapter of a book wherein the narrator discusses ribbons. Yes, the perfect novel. Thank you very much, oh red-felt-flowered one!

Tomorrow I leave for New Mexico. No blogging, then, until next week. But I'll leave you with a tantalizing little snippet of what I did yesterday:

And, if you have nothing better to do, you can always vote!

oh me ± oh my

2006-06-20T12:05:00.000-05:00

Can I still post something for "work-in-progress Fridays"? It's one of my largest works in progress right now, and it's the reason I haven't been able to post much the past while. In all its shabby glory:

This is where I'm living, for the next three months. The rent is a lot cheaper; the square footage is correspondingly smaller. But there is room for a big worktable in the center of the room, and I drafted three shirt patterns and one for a jacket yesterday, so the work vibe is good.

Now to get back to it. Real posts (and photos of packages from Sarah and Amy) very soon.

PS: If you liked my back-tack3 softie, please go and vote! for it. I was a lucky finalist--one of only five! Vote here. Voting closes the 24th, so hop to!

blue

2006-06-15T10:13:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think of this weblog as a record of the things I allow myself to give up. I was a packrat as a kid, and still am in some ways, although the pending trans-Atlantic move is helping me give things away. These are the last two of a set of four bowls my mom gave me when I first moved out of the house--I've had them for 8 years! My friend is coming over today and I know she likes these bowls. You can't take it with you is my motto of the hour.

More "color week" here and here.

the rabbit has landed

2006-06-09T09:59:00.000-05:00

She's arrived.

everything: the monstrous post

2006-06-07T18:54:00.000-05:00

When I don't have time for everything in short doses, you end up having to endure all of it at once. So, gentle Reader, for your ease (skip to the good parts!): A Table of Contents.

1. Packages Rec'd. This Week Or So
2. Projects in Progress (Projects' Progress? I'm no Bunyan....)
3. Do You Want This Fabric or It Is To Be Had Cheaply
4. Epilogue

1. Packages.

Reader, you cannot imagine my delight at the receipt of a package with Shim + Sons in the return address space. What? And why? Lady Shim sent me the lovelies pictured below simply for hosting the trim swap. Well, if all it takes is having other people send me presents to receive one of the dearest thank-yous ever, I'll do it anytime! S., thank you so much. I've already used some of the ribbon (see Chapter Two).
Do you see the beautiful tea towels (also here), the tin of ribbons (also here), the handmade tags for presents I'll send out? So pretty. So thoughtful. So completely unexpected.

And if that weren't enough, I also received two more packages of trim in the Trim Swap: one from Alison, one from Alex.

Alison, who is one of my favorite online people because of her immaculate sense of design and her warmth, also sent a bar of fig soap (mmm!), some tea and a little spoon, as well as a tiny cherry-blossom tin for the ribbons. And Alex! Look how lucky I was to swap with her: Japanese trims with anchors, French sentences, all the sweetness of a zakka-book, and so prettily packaged. Thank you both.

2. Progress.

Whatever be your notion of me, you cannot doubt the effects of working a ten-hour day on the backstock. To wit:

And that, I daresay, is an example of pictures being worth x to the n words.

3. Fabric.

Now you shall have to bear the results of my moving, which mainly take their effect in terms of the amount of fabric I am getting rid of. I have three grocery bags full to be sold at a garage sale this weekend (! oh dear), and then some nicer, larger pieces which I'll put up here first.

The first one is poly/cotton: it's half of an old, queen-sized sheet. Still enough for a skirt or two. The middle one is a really pretty depression-era reproduction; there are about 1.5 yards (if you want it, I will measure it exactly). I always thought I'd make a knee-length skirt of this, with box pleats and a high waistband, and wear it with a fitted white middy blouse. Some dreams aren't meant to be, perhaps. The last one is unknown fiber content; it's slubby like a shantung, but it is not silk. The verso is, as you can see, a paler blue, and a little shiny. Probably about 2 yards here, too.

EDIT: They're taken! Thank you! I'll post other pieces from my stash in the next week or so.

4. Epilogue.

Are you still there? Do you think Mlle. Austen ever felt she had to ask that at the end of one of her novels (not to compare this to that!)? In any case, debts are owed herein to J. Austen (and to another Jane, whose love of the Austen Address so emboldened me to write in this style).

such good things

2006-06-03T20:43:00.000-05:00

I read last night at the Loft and the thing is that I never think about reading until I actually have to do it, and then I have little anxiety attacks all day the day of, mostly because I don't want to regret not reading something I should have. St. Procrastinata: I took her name at confirmation. But at the last minute, I decided I would read what I'm good at, which is love poetry, and so I did, and it was just perfect. It really was.

If I could take a photo of this feeling, it might look like this:
which is the most lovely package of trims from Mo, of Froy and Olo fame. How someone who doesn't know me could pick out ribbons that are So Exactly Me, I don't know. I just feel lucky. And spoiled, again (Sally, I haven't photographed your beautiful package yet--soon! tomorrow!), but look at those pink velvet leaves!

Or it might look like this--in the middle of printing an order from a certain Chicken, at this point--and it might just feel the way it does when you say "how about a movie?" and he says, "yeah! that sounds good. want to walk up?" and it is exactly what you want to do.

You know, perfection.

So goodnight.

poetic sequence

2006-06-02T14:58:00.000-05:00

Lynn Emanuel is in town, and I've only had dinner with her and heard her speak this morning yet but I love working with her already. She was talking about her ideas on the difference between the long poem, the poetic series, and the poetic sequence, and so I think I'll honor that with a series/sequence/long entry of my own device.

Begin at the beginning, and go to the end, and then stop (said the Red Queen, I think). So I will. This is the print I was working on so long ago, back when I had ideas like having a how-to entry every week. It's huge! It's the biggest print I've made. And I never really showed the finished work, but here it is--finally framed and up on my wall.

Next, I suppose, would be these lovely girls, whom you may remember from here. They came over to model my summer line one day a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't feel well enough to weed through the photos. But here they are:

And here is one of Liz alone, in a skirt she likes (hi, Liz!):

And then, of course, we move into completely uncharted territory, and have to start thinking about things like this

and this,

as well as the enormous task-lists for the next month as I move and shuffle and reshuffle. Fun tasks, like "finish [REDACTED SECRET PROJECT]" and "make more [REDACTED SECRET PROJECTS]."

And hmmmm, maybe I'll begin posting with regularity again sometime soon. But maybe not. But [REDACTED]. We'll have to [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. If I could wink at you right now, I would. In fact, I am. Wink, wink.

Happy weekend.

ship out!

2006-05-26T21:11:00.000-05:00

These are the trims I'm sending out.

Because of A Series of Unfortunate Events, I'm sending to four people--which, in the end, is not unfortunate at all. Three of you know we're swapping; the fourth is my partner in the blind round robin. Hee! So I haven't marked which is whose. You'll just have to wait and see!

If you are doing the trim swap (and it looks at this point as though this is going to be Round One, as there have been many plaintive emails), please note that your packages must go out by Tuesday! If you're in the States, that means tomorrow and Tuesday are the only possibilities. Get crackin'!

Hmm. I thought there was something else I meant to say.

Oh, yes:

I'll be closing down my shop for a while, so for the next two weeks I'm running a sale. All orders up to fifty dollars, use the code 'tenoffspring06' to receive 10% off your total purchase. And if you've been saving for that special splurge, well, it's your lucky day! All orders over fifty dollars, use the code 'springsale2006' to receive 20% off! Both coupons can be used as often as you like between now and June 9th. There will be secret updates all fortnight, so check back often! And thank you so much for your continued support and patronage.

On a related note, if you're in Minneapolis, the Design Collective is running their Spring Sale, too--and many of my things are on sale for as much as 40% off. My summer line (pictured on the models above) will be in stock starting next week.

Thanks for putting up with the advertisements. More interesting things later this weekend, for sure. Hope it is a good one for you.

backing, tacking

2006-05-25T13:18:00.000-05:00

I signed on.
I was resistant.
I struggled with the patterns.
I gave up.
I drew my own.
I hated the body.
I redid it.
I got neurotic about her face.
I finally made her a lined dress.
I gave her a bouquet of flowers and a necklace of buttons.

I'm headed to the post office to mail her off to France.
More photos once she's arrived!

insides

2006-05-22T17:18:00.000-05:00

A while ago, Meranie asked to see the insides of the skirts I make--to get an idea of how they're made, see the process as well as the product. She knows my skittishness about this, but I agree that the underneath matters--is sometimes as interesting as the outside.

That's the hope, at least, right?

And it's been on my mind to write about why I blog, as per the question posed by Lisa (of the new Underdog Ink shop--have you been there yet? The coral-bell earrings are mine!).

And then Blair went ahead and posted this thoughtful analysis of her own practise.

Dawbis, too, is thinking about what the 'point' to all this is. And it all came together--it's not just about the outsides, after all, this blog.

But that's what I thought, when I began. I thought it would be about my shop, a way to get the word out and very little else. I felt shy of opening up to strangers. I didn't want to presume that my ordinary life would be interesting to anyone. So I blogged, at first, as a sub-action of making a shop.

I generally feel like an outsider, but I compound this by disdaining, in the Groucho-Marxian tradition, the clubs that will have me as a member. So I assumed, from the beginning, that I wasn't part of the circle, that I wasn't going to make friends. And then I began to 'meet' people , and they have been some of the dearest presences in my daily life.

I still blog to show what I've made and to talk, a little, about what I'm thinking. But now I feel much more in conversation with other women, and it's not so lonely. It's more about the insides, if you see what I mean.

I want to write about making by hand and how that fits in with everything but I imagine this is plenty for today.

afternoon (the long version)

2006-05-19T16:06:00.000-05:00

I can hear the bell ringing from the elementary school down the street. I hear it every afternoon, and I like hearing it. There are few things as evocative for me as the things connected to the insular, ordinary world of grade school. The smell--all of them smell the same, don't they? Kind of chalk mixed with kid sweat and the overtones of hot lunch?--and the way the chairs feel and the sound of the bell.

Too much talking. On to the pictures, then.

Reader, (as Jane Austen would say, oh Jane!) I got two packages this week. One, which I sent to Vanina in January, apparently circled the globe and came right back to me. Here it is--a piece of mail art in itself, wouldn't you say?

The other, a sweet present from a kind + talented lady, only had to come from San Francisco. Luckily, I sent Vachu a second parcel to make up for this one's being lost, so I can keep the wool that's inside this one! And everything Lisa sent was so sweet--buttons from the show she's making, papers I loved, cute flocked fabric (I already know which skirt I'm going to use it on), and a tiny pink-and-red bird. Just my taste. Thank you, L!

Birds are chirping just outside my screen. I'm so glad spring is finally here!

(Heralding things like craft fairs and fashion shows and getting to work on my work instead of schoolwork....)

Speaking of shows, the St. Paul Craftstravaganza is coming up in July--so the gears are turning. I've also had the weird experience of a couple of wholesale solicitations--how do you even manage that, those of you who make for wholesale? Crazy. Seems like a ton of work. Hmm.

But anyway. I've been working on a new product lately--it's going to be a packet of bath supplies, très luxe and very sweet--and I've come up with a version I'm happy about. Just a little vinyl pouch with handmade soaps etc. inside. I've decided to sew washcloths for these, too--I like that, because one side if terry (a little rough) and the other is flannel (soft). Actually, one of the first swaps I ever had I had with Toni, and she sent me a yellow washcloth she had made. I use it as my special face washcloth. It is that special. Maybe I'm just a sucker for pretty doo-dads (imagine!).

And--finally--the trim swap is still open for sign-ups, until Monday at 9 a.m. CST--so as long as I get your email before then, you're in. I figure at this point is is going to be huge and crazy, so it may as well be really huge and crazy while we're at it. Please read the post below and be sure to email me your information, even if you think I already have it. That way, I can more easily track who is in. I'll email everyone on Monday night with partners' names/information and the details of the swap. Thanks for being so eager to participate!

See you soon.

trim swap

2006-05-18T14:09:00.000-05:00

I sort of expected one or two people to jump on the trim-swappin' bandwagon...not ten! But ten there are, and maybe there will be a few more as people trickle on down here. So what I propose is a circular swap.

Comment here first to be involved. Then, send your contact information--name, address, weblog location--to me (ohbara at gmail dot com), and I will send each swapper one name/address/etc.

Let's have the swap begin on Monday (22 May)--that way, if there are latecomers, they can still get in on the action--and have the packages mailed by the 30th (the Tuesday after Memorial Day, for those of us who are Stateside).

Let's swap for five yards of trim--that would be five one-yard pieces of ribbon, bobble trim, lace, etc.--and please, please give as good as you would like to receive. It would be lovely for everyone to end up with some new-to-them trims that are of very high quality. Don't feel you have to rush out and buy things, though--using what you have is great!

One more note: if you are signing up for this swap, you are agreeing to send either domestic OR international mail. It should be fairly cheap, regardless of where you're sending--if nothing else, those using USPS can use the $6 Global Priority Envelopes.

Ready to swap? Comment here, then email me! Cheers!

la la la la, la la la

2006-05-17T21:40:00.000-05:00

I'm listening to the Cowboy Junkies and feeling the satisfaction that comes with a full day's work. A day of enjoyable work. I love vacations--I love the schedule of school--because there is this huge build-up, with lots of stress and too many things going on at once, and frustration about lists and non-accomplishment, and then all of a sudden it's over and I am flying, floating. And I go out and do all my tasks leftover from the semester, and I make two skirts a day. And then, apparently, I yap about it here.

This is for my dear friend, S. I don't think she reads my blog, so I am risking posting this before she receives it. We graduated together and she is a poet, too, and liked the fabric I printed with Gertrude Stein's poems. Since it was translucent (to say the least), I made an underskirt out of the yoko fabric I used for Lisa's skirt. One of my favorite ribbons (you know how that is, don't you? Favorite ribbons?) is the bow on the front.

I have been all about the complementary color combinations recently. And the stripes. And the seersucker. As you can see, this skirt (one of a set of two) accomplishes the trifecta. Need I say more?

And this one, last but not least, is a commission based on the same pattern as the Alice skirt from yesterday. It's a bit simpler, though, as it doesn't have any underskirts or a lining; the cotton is stiff enough to have a good deal of flair (I feel like I'm in Office Space every time I think that word, oy!) on its own. A good twirling skirt, is what I'd say, if I were a skirt-dealer.

Now I'm just being silly. Have you really gotten this far? It's my first day with no pain at all, and I had a frivolous coffee-icecream drink thing, so I am way up.

What do you think about a trim and ribbon swap? Say, 5 yards for 5 yards? Yea or nay in the comments, miladies. And go'de'n to all!

curiouser and curiouser, said alice

2006-05-16T13:33:00.000-05:00

CGM in my skirt; shirt by Arden B.

This skirt was a commission for the model who is wearing it. It's fully lined, with a form-fitting upper lining and two layers of ruched tulle underskirts, a hidden zipper, and a paste-jewel button at the back. Tiny bows hold the gathers of tulle in place.

I got the fabric yesterday and sewed all night and finished this morning. It feels so good to be in making-all-the-time mode again.

Now, if I can only grade my students' papers this afternoon, I'll have tonight to work again!

not too much; just enough

2006-05-14T15:17:00.000-05:00

for back-tack3

I've been listening to songs about missing, songs about love, songs about leaving. Been writing letters and making sketches, been learning from my students. Been reading novels for pleasure. Been thinking about writing something longer, myself. Been imagining. Letting new ideas run through my hands like small, smooth stones. Letting the materials take me where they want to go.

Happy Mothers' Day to those of you who are or have one.

il faut choisir

2006-05-12T19:59:00.000-05:00

This is me, looking quite dignified and wise, and not at all silly. Can you see my hood? That's the mauve velvet thing around my neck where normal people wear a collar. Très, how-do-you-say, classy.

The ceremony was three hours long. Oy! But I like the feeling of closure that comes with rtiuals like this one. And I love "Hail, Minnesota," which is both our state and college anthem, so I stayed to the end. Almost said "the bitter end," but I am now (as you might recall) a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, and we don't make such cliché mistakes.

And so, (as Edna Millay would say) 'the world stands out on either side.' And it's a little overwhelming, but suddenly--yesterday, after an afternoon of fabric-shopping (results later next week)--the scope is narrowed just a little.

A letter arrived--or should I say, est arrivé?--from the French Embassy in Washington, D.C.

If you accept, it read, you'll be teaching English to French highschool students in Besançon next year.

---
OH AND ALSO, did you see the OFFICE season finale? Gasp, gasp, gasp.

onwards, ever, etc.

2006-05-09T15:16:00.000-05:00

So I am back now, from the quakey tower of academia and the scary recesses of the hospital. Thankfully, I had the best and kindest carers in both places (the ER nurses: amazing. I couldn't even feel the IV being put in, and one of them, after I said I didn't think he should ask patients to drink iodine--for CT scans of soft tissue--without having drunk it himself, did drink it, completely impressing me) and I am feeling much better. In a way this has been a nice, if forced, break for me. The end of the semester is so harried and hurried, and it's a mixed blessing to be sure but it was good for me to have to slow down.

Thank you all for your get-well wishes and your sweet words. Details: a "lacerated liver," bruises on right leg, cuts on right hand and chin, bruised diaphragm (solar plexus). Not fun, but it could have been worse and I'm glad it wasn't. This is my right hand. I had never realized how integral to movement, lifting, holding a pen, etc., the pinky really is.

Now--better things.

When I needed a money pouch fast for a show where I had a booth in April, I whipped one up out of some swanky fabric samples a friend gave me. It worked so well, I added a strap the next day. Mine is made of wool and ultrasuede; the ones beneath it are wool/cotton (green/dark grey) and wool/ultrasuede (corn-yellow/off-white). The fabrics are so pliable and strong and of such high quality, I can't stop touching my purse. It's almost embarrassing. Almost. But it's so cute--who could blame me? These are part of my summer06 collection.

After hanging out with Megan, I decided that, yes, a buttonmaker was something I wanted to spend my money one. I've been busy putting it to use, and I have several "theme" sets of buttons I'm working on. Shhh! Think turn-of-the-century collegiates, your high-school schedule, ways to carry a poem with you every day. More news as these evolve.

And last but not least, part of what I worked on for the last five weeks in the printshop were these fabrics, which I printed myself. The text one has words from Gertrude Stein's book Tender Buttons on it in red and yellow; the other has coral (two sizes) in four colors of red. I'm planning on skirts out of each.

In other news: a new baby, a change in the wind, a robin singing in the morning.

Still not sure what my summer holds: with one of my major forms of transport (bike) ruled out for the next 6 weeks, things are changing a bit. But I'm still planning to sew, write, send out, travel, make, print, draw, read (oh! reading for pleasure! I've just read two novels this week and it feels so good), see friends, dance, do research, and be happy all through it.

How about you?

It's good to be back.

bara + design

{hey, I'm over here!}

if you're wondering...

* * *

little things

into and between

about today

on beauty

in the meantime

breaking

better

* * *

this is how it works

whew!

change of plans

la vie en rose

oh, students

music

[de]lurk

waiting (it's oh so quiet)

now *you* can get a travel wallet

keeping out the cold, darlin'

everywhere

did you know

narrowing

finding light

oh là là

* * *

what there is

have you seen them?

finally.

working, progressing

what ten minutes in fresh air will do

love

still got it.

for dappled things

emily and charlotte (and jane)

the roses, and how they are coming up all over

but then again

miss (+ing)

home

finally

small graces

studio idéal

synchronicity

yes, it's like this

well put, duchamp

ici

j'y suis jamais allée

what I said, what I meant

there should always be dancing

lucky

poetry 6 / feeling autumnal / big news (edited!)

good things

poetry 5 + studio business

just a little sale

poetry 4: simple

poetry 3 (the long one)

want a piece of my studio? + poetry 2

poetry 1

tonight, alberta

msp->ord->pdx

worry, worry

love

rainy days and Thursdays

so

and now for something completely different

what's going on

meet mon p'tite lapin

magic

ausgang

jiggity-jig

entitled to the work

floating

must...resist...awful...pun

as martha would say

ink through little holes

twee...t

to continue

in full form

now you can get a travel wallet