"And it was at that age... poetry arrived in search of me"
I love this crazy beautiful/ugly hand kit blanket I got at Savers years ago. The relationship I have with it represents a calling of mine. The color thing. I have felt shame in loving the crafty grandma nightmare and haven't known why. The love part was about each square. Every one a very odd combination of colors, stripes that seem randomly put together but when you stop and look.. yikes. The combos take my breathe away. Such untraditional beauty. Black and seafoam green and orange and brown and lime. Did I mention grey and pink? So off the radar. Each square a tiny Sean Scully painting. The shame came when I step back and see a candidate for Stitchy McYarn Pants. It seems there is such shame in the obsessions we all get into. I felt so funny years ago at ad agencies spending sooo much time with my pantone book. I mean 4 days to find 3 colors for a brochure. It just would not leave me alone. I wasn't sated with color at my finger tips. Give me a daily bath in it. My color muse had arrived and wasn't going to let me go till I picked up a brush and started making my own paintings. We can get so panties in a bunch about making the money, becoming famous, accomplished but maybe we just have to allow the obsession to claim us. It's friday. I'm headed to my dear friend, Bruce Winn's pottery studio today. To play with clay. So fun to watch his gigantic hands make tiny teacups. Mud claimed him years ago.