Simon, Simon

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“Simon, Simon”

When Simon died on Saturday, I did what I needed to do to help him and when it was all over, I worked on the dining room, peeling old wallpaper from the walls, then patching the plaster and painting.  On Sunday, I stayed up till midnight (Usually I’m happy to be in bed at 9) cleaning the baseboards and vacuuming bits of wallpaper from between the cracks in the floor boards. I didn’t read Jon’s posts about Simon, I only went on-line Sunday night to blog and post to facebook, I didn’t read my email.  I do this, when I’m upset, I clean.

Then, last night, I got sick.  My stomach was off, I was light-headed and had chills.  I slept and slept and slept.  This morning I knew I wasn’t really sick, it was my unexpressed emotions, moving through my body.  Stuck, I could feel them moving from my stomach to my shoulders, looking for a place to land or a way out.

So I knew when I went to my studio this morning I would make a piece about Simon.  I had no idea what it would be.  I didn’t have  any images or ideas in my head.  It was cold this morning, colder than it’s been so far in my studio.  My fingers were stiff so I piled on more layers of clothes, I was determined to put my feelings about Simon onto cloth.

I worked without thinking, it all came right from my gut.  I started with an old linen table runner.  I used markers and thread, cut out pictures from fabric, used appliques, buttons and beads.  I put together so many techniques that I’ve used before, but never in this way.  Inspired by Simon,  I drew big ears, hips and tail, again and again.   I drew that wobbly lower lip of Simon’s that would quiver when you scratched him.  Stitched spirals in black marker circles, all connected to each other by a thread. A donkey pin, given to me by a friend,  in a sea of pink marker.  Apples and hearts, a butterfly, flying home.

Detail
Spirals connected by treads
detail
Apple tree detail
detail
Waxing Moon detail
buttterfly detail
butterfly detail

I think I’ve come upon something new here, a new type of wallhanging.  Opened up by Simon in so many ways and now this.  It feels different for me and yet familiar.  It’s all line and feeling, texture and life.

Simon, Simon is sold for sale.  It’s 19″x 35″ and is $175 + $10 shipping.   If it speaks to you, just let me know.  You can email me here at [email protected].  I take checks and paypal.

22 thoughts on “Simon, Simon

  1. Maria, this is a breath taking piece of artwork. Your love of Simon , whom was lucky enough to live with you and Jon, is very clear. I can appreciate feeling overwhelmed with sorrow, and having to do something creative. My oldest sister and I often talked about learning to throw pottery, and soon after she died, I signed up to take a class. It was a connection with her in a way no one could understand. I am that talented and struggle to find my voice though artist means. You have nailed it. Sympathies to you all as you adjust to a new routine.

  2. Simply lovely…like the most sincere & needed compliment, prayer or achingly beautiful song…soulful journey into a precious timeless space. Bless you, sweet Maria.

  3. Maria: I love your creativity and the way your thoughts and feelings for Simon came through in your wallhanging. Thank you for sharing! Your work is beautiful.

  4. Please forgive…I meant to say that I am NOT that talented and find if hard to express my self though artistic means. You and Jon are able to do so, and I envy you in that ability. Thank you for the kind words.

  5. Just the loveliest of pieces you’ve done, Maria. You’ve honored what and who dear Simon was to you. I am so very sorry you had to have this pain…but no one can escape it. Peace to you.

  6. As time passes and you look at this you will see what a happy piece this is. I have never met you and I never met Simon but I took a first look and it makes my heart sing.

  7. Maria: this is a STUNNING piece. I love how your emotions and Simon’s spirit energy led this to you.

  8. Dear Maria, HOW did you pour your heart and artistry into this wallhanging so fast?!? It looks so introspective, as tho you worked, had to stop and ponder and then go back to work. The details in your stitching are amazing. Such a therapeutic and beautiful way to deal with sorrow. Annie

    1. I keep very few of the pieces I make Ann. For me it’s mostly in the making. Once I’ve made it I like it to go out into the world. Sometimes I think my work is like children to me. They need to live their own lives.

  9. hi maria, i like your blogs. I can read now that i’m getting the well hung of my computer. heh heh. tears in my eyes from your post and comments and replies to comments. learning so much. thank you. all for the good

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