Some more dishtowels urgently needed. A local event is coming up and my towel stash is mysteriously depleted. Eight shafts to the rescue: a networked twill.
I removed the temple for this picture, but I do use one. Gounod's Faust on World of Opera helps the work along.
A hard rain brought down all the blossoms from the white dogwood tree just outside my studio door. But the picture does have its charms.
Other bits and pieces came down, too. A red camellia. A yellow leaf. These on the bench just outside my door. The saturated colors on these cloudy days are a gift.
Inside the studio the threading continued, slowly.
Listening to Public Radio while I was threading, I heard this interesting quotation, attributed to Alexander Borodin: Respectable people do not write music or make love as a career.
We're home again. The laundry is done, the mail is sorted, and now it's time for my favorite holiday activity, the middle school band concert. My special clarinetist is third from the right. They were pretty good this year. Progress is being made.
The paparazzi were out in full force.
There were a few attendees that didn't make it all the way to the end.
Yesterday only the faintest hint of gold in the leaves…a perfect late summer day for the Ole Time Fiddler's Convention at Hagood Mill.
Wonderful music, and the hint of woodsmoke in the air.
Plenty of woodcarvers, broom makers, and a quiltmaker with her treadle machine on the porch.
Finished off the excellent afternoon with pizza at Tito's, and then an hour or so of weaving before bed. Frabjous day, indeed.
Here's one of the posts I tried unsuccessfully to send from Miami.
When you hang out with audiophiles, vacations usually involve a visit to an audio store to audition speakers.
An afternoon listening to James Taylor isn't such a bad thing.
Now that I'm home and grateful that my airline travel plans weren't affected by the snowstorm up north, I can enjoy circles again.
Well, almost perfect. Last night I had the pleasure of attending a middle school band concert.
I am astounded at what a group of sixth graders can accomplish in four short months. The seventh and eighth graders were even more amazing. A year has made a notable difference in the quality of their music. The students were supported by a huge crowd of parents, grandparents, siblings, and friends. Organized chaos. Beautiful evening.
This sign on the auditorium wall made me think. Good advice. I hope it made others think, too.
Early morning light (or late afternoon light, if that's your specialty) reveals things you won't see at midday. Shadows. If you're lucky, the shadows will be clear and crisp, as they were yesterday morning and again today. Saw this in a neighbor's driveway. The shadows are more interesting than the objects themselves.
Sometimes the light is filtered through the trees at such an angle that it illuminates only selected objects. It's a sort of spotlight. This little playground I saw on the same walk is an example. It looks like a tiny castle suddenly visible in the woods. five minutes later the light had moved on.
And on the street in front of my house, someone has painted an asterisk. The shadow is my own. It could be a portent, but of what?
Perhaps I should tell you—we have tickets to see Die Frau Ohne Schatten later this month. That will either make things clearer—or not.
Proceeding on several fronts. In jacquard, this one is rounding the bend of the breast beam. Fabric for a book cover. Threee inclusive granite weaves. Unfortunately all book work has come to a halt as I await my paper shipment. A foolish oversight: waiting until holiday season to replenish my paper supply. No paper for text blocks = no books.
Around the bend on the dobby loom, here is a dishtowel in progress. It's for a musician, and features the name of her favorite composer.
If the colors in these two pictures in close proximity set your teeth on edge, rest assured that in real life they live on opposite sides of the room, and will eventually be separated by hundreds of miles. Think of them as twins separated at birth.
And now off to the opera.