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ReDress: Where Shall I Start?

Lenten stitch meditation no. 1, Feb. 14, 2018

Everything starts somewhere in time and place. And sometimes it’s hard to say just when and where.

So we get to decide: I’ll start the story here.

That’s what I’m doing with this post and what I’m calling my “ReDress project,” although it’s fuller title in my mind is “Redress-reDress.” It’s a multi-sided, multi-media’ed exploration of the process of redressing a wrong, an old wound, while also sewing myself new clothes. (Get it? Redress a wrong; re-dress a wound; reDress myself…)

What can I say to get this launched? I love making things (knitting, painting, writing, sewing), and I love playing with words, looking up words in dictionaries, finding intriguing connections and double-meanings and overlapping sounds, rhythms, rhymes.

This past winter I found myself drawn to some Instagram posts featuring fabric and sewing, some of it the machine sewing of garments and “improvisational quilts,” some hand-stitching of small pieces of fabric in what fiber artist Liz Kettle calls “Stitch Meditations.” I decided during the season of Lent, I would try doing one “stitch meditation” each day, more or less. I posted them on Instagram and fully intended to, but never quite did, post them here. Better late than never.

The process of putting together small bits of fabric and hand-sewing them with colored threads makes a good visual beginning of my ReDress project, even if it started before that in my thinking. So I’m starting with Lenten stitch meditation number one, sewn on February 14, 2018, which was both Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday.

More to come.

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What’s New? One or Two Haiku for You

Self-portrait sketch, ©Sukie Curtis, ink on paper   One or two haiku– some days that’s all I can muster– a moment compressed.   Man standing knee deep, Fishing rod flashes sunlight– Not one fish nibbles.   I often think I will try to write at least one haiku every day, but I’m not that good […]

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View from Islesford, Maine painting

Painted last year after David and I enjoyed a long weekend in a beloved spot on Little Cranberry Island, Maine, this view is a slightly fanciful version of the real thing–looking from Islesford across the Eastern Way toward Mt. Desert Island and Acadia National Park. The rounded profiles of the Bubbles, perhaps slightly exaggerated (who […]

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Rowboat Song

Rowboat Song My song is for the rowboat hauled out for winter,  listing in a sea of leaves.  I love her lines,   the graceful beauty of her usefulness.  But even more  I love the way she carries the music   of my father, his summertime humming   and the ringing of brass oarlocks dangling […]

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Remembering My Father’s Slide Rule

My father was an engineer who died before the advent of pocket calculators, personal computers, and smart phones. Often when he came home from work, his slide rule was still nestled in the pocket of his white button-down shirt. I am embarrassed and even a bit ashamed to admit that I have never used a […]

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Meet Gould’s Pandora

Most of the shells that wash up on a nearby beach are species familiar to me from my childhood: mussels in shades of blue like Chinese porcelain, clams of various species (surf, razor, Quahogs, among others), slipper shells (a.k.a. boat shells), lots of periwinkles, and the very occasional whole moon snail. This year I have […]

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Remembering My Dad on his birthday

  Today is my father’s birthday–his 102nd to be precise.  My dad died a long time ago, thirty-eight years ago, when he was only 64 and I was only 25.  A few years ago I wrote a blog post about him that I am linking to below. And I hope to add some more posts […]

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Poem: An Old Poppy Bloom, and sketch

The old poppy bloom– now a whirling dancer’s skirt twirled up in mid-spin.  

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Poem: A Snowy Afternoon

The Snowy Afternoon That snowy afternoon a galaxy appeared on your dog’s black back while we talked. Stars took their places, planets, whole constellations gathered there, marvelous as a meteor shower, until with a few friendly, unthinking strokes I wiped the whole sky clean, and it began to fill again. It seemed the kind of […]

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