No filter, just managed to capture the sun on the overnight frosted ground as it gilded the seed heads.
Yesterday evening as twilight turned to darkness, but with a bright moon, I walked the footpath through the field. Frost on the grasses and a crackle of crispness underfoot. My eyes caught a myriad of sparkles of frost-light as the soft dark fell. I whispered to a settling bird.
The sunset had drawn out time – it took its time and held its colour for a long while
I was as quiet as I could be, ready to make sound recordings of the owls calling. Puffs and spirals of my breath rose in the air. Darkness was falling. This was a magical walk, one of those that stays longer in the mind
This morning brought bright sun, clear sky and I stand in a frost hollow looking up at a robin singing. I would love to see the breath of his song..
…The circle has turned all the way around the sun – (at least that is how I picture it) – since I began this blog to help me focus on colour. On late afternoons as dusk falls, the reds pop. I love to walk in the in-between times, the liminal times where you slip through the layers. Dusk and the call of blackbirds, glow of leaves, softening, darkening.. Though the wintry sun is sharp and captures the changing season’s jewels in the precious earlier daylight…
The natural finds from walks fill my worktable in little heaps, and I like the way the little crochet chainstitch links the walking and making practices.
These little interludes – small offerings – have caught in my mind and my hands make the stitches, repeating them, finding their own way where my eyes can’t always see because of the fine cotton
There is a peacefulness at dusk and the drawing in of the light and a sharpness of light in the morning’s low sun
It is slow this work of mine at the moment – it takes practise and steady hands and a calm heart!
Natural found treasures collected on walks – this tiny empty snail shell has markings in deep dark wine reds, a mother of pearl shining top, chalky white and a kind of blue/grey/ green – I turn it between my fingers. Carried home tenderly in my pocket and then my little drill made a perfect hole for the needle to go through. The crochet flowers are in a duck egg blue and sometimes there is much undoing before they are formed..
This morning we woke to sheet lightening and thunder, the charcoal grey clouds heavy and full. As I watched the storm pass, the clouds lightened to soft white and a pale blue tinted the sky. Tonight is a full moon…
This piece has been an ongoing work for a few years now.. a preloved and deconstructed cotton and silk wrap which I dyed one summer in woad, the colour of the sky, and have spent many hours embroidering with French knots along the seams. Knots felt between my fingers – tiny nuggets of thread – thoughts, like prayer beads. The jars of dried flowers hold their scent. Some petals are solar dyed, some are still waiting, this year woad grew and flowered in the soil of my garden. Making the knots feels like steps on a walk, and I always stop by the door to greet the calendula – my power flowers
When walking there are always treasures to collect – a lifetime’s habit
Sometimes laid together on tables, ledges, spaces – little assemblages
I found some old family crochet hooks that handle fine thread sensitively. The sewing cottons were gifted by a friend when her mother died – beautiful soft thread, and the red caught my attention as well as a rust coloured reel. Red thread has so many connotations linking in different ways across culture, history – I am researching deeper into that.
Crocheted red and rust flowers, a linked chain, rosebuds dried from last year’s walks, feathers, natural finds that come home cradled in my hands. Then some experiments in ‘handwork’ that take some fluency and practise – intricate – easy to feel all fingers and thumbs!
Seems like a time to show some natural dye work as summer ends and autumn walks are highlighted with the pops of colour from berries, the ripening seeds, and the first glimpses of turning colour on trees. I tend to make dye baths in the spring and summer times, often starting with dandelion solar jars.
This year I just couldn’t take a buddleia in bloom as I felt the bees and butterflies and all pollinators needed every blossom. Golden rod I simply stood watching as it was such an attraction. And now the pink sedums and the ivy flowers are teeming with bees – the ivy sounds alive with vibration. A few buddleia blooms, with their colour fading, came down with a wall repair in the garden, and I collected some more whose flowers were spent. They yielded the richest colour and a sweet heady scent
This dye bath was warmed just to simmering point and then left to cool overnight
Out to dry in the breeze and even when dry it retains the scent in it’s folds
Linen scraps pieced together – dyed from the exhaust buddleia bath and some more dyed with tea. Pieces and patches of experiments which have led me to take out the bag of little offcuts from the quilt work I am making as part of an exhibition next year. It is the process of these small and often unexpected explorations that I enjoy so much.
I made a field recording of chattering sparrows in the hedge this week and looked at a sky where the last pictures I took of swallows and house martins were 10 days ago now and I wish them safe migration
I feel my energy change as the season turns. It is a welcome revived feeling. Time to start to collect seeds and fruits, and there are rich colours in the garden from rudbeckia, dahlia, rosehips. No more picking of our sweet peas – the scent of the flowers fills the air still as I watch for seeds to form
A meadow walk with soft colours and textures
I saw a wonderful image on the internet of a collection of bees sleeping in one of these nest like structures which are turning to seed
And the colours of the toadflax appeared overnight in a field nearby – the folk name says ‘butter and eggs’