I put it in the sunlight on my table, then hung it on the wall. I sat on the floor with it, then stood over it. I pulled out lots of different fabric, then finished a short story in the New Yorker while eating lunch. I went back into my studio and sat with it on the floor again. I didn’t think about what kind of border it should have, I didn’t think of colors, I didn’t even ask it what it wanted to be, I just sat with it.
Then I moved some fabric around and I just knew it was right. Not that I didn’t have my doubts, but the other part, the part of me that said,” it’s a bit off…it’s just right”, that’s the part I listened to. I was trying to pay attention, trying to remember how it felt so I would know for next time, so I could write about it.
When I think about it now, it’s not the critical part of my brain, the part that makes the decision. That part never thinks it’s good. I’m not sure what part of my brain the decision comes from, maybe it’s not my brain at all. It’s more of a feeling.
And I also know now the border is not separate from the piece, it’s a part of it. I always thought of it as something else, like a frame or a mat on a photo or painting. But with this piece I can see for the first time, how integral it is to the whole. It’s always been this way, I just didn’t know it.
I tend to forget a piece after I’ve made it, I wonder if I’ll forget this one. The one where I became aware of the process, aware of the piece as a whole.
Fear Steals Your Truth
Sleeping in my Power
I can’t Put a Pony In My pocket
ask a Question
Fear Steals Your Truth is sold.