For years I’ve been watching the vines grow. Morning glories, string beans, sweet peas, Virginia Creeper, wild grapevines, and so many don’t have names for.
I didn’t know how much I understood them until I started stitching the vines on my Forest In My Livingroom. As I sewed I found that I knew what they would do. How they would wrap themselves around table legs, or curl themselves into the curve of a couch arm.
And then there’s the reaching, the thin scout, probing, searching, always reaching for what comes next.
Like a snail’s delicate antenna, it puts its feeler out, breaking free of the protection and confines of the bushy leaves. It extends itself into the unknown trusting it will find something to help it grow a little more.
The vines are always reaching for the sun. Climbing towards its light and warmth, unabashed to make use of what is available to it to help it get where it wants to go.
When I first started working on A Forest In My Livingroom I knew it was about living a life integrated with the natural world. About being able to see ourselves as a part of Nature instead of separate from it. That’s why there was a bird in the room, a tree, why the vines grew off the rug.
But then, when I drew the outline for another bird and left it sitting ghost-like on the arm of the couch, I saw that it was showing movement, the passage of time.
And I could see the piece was more complex.
Forest In My Livingroom is also about searching and growing but staying grounded at the same time. About being true to ourselves, as nature is, unapologetic about who we are. And about the constant flowering that happens inside of us and how it can manifest in the physical world if we allow it.
I still have to put a backing on A Forest In My Livingroom, but I hope to finish it all by tomorrow. I will be putting it up for sale then. It’s $300 + shipping and is about 29″x35″. You can email me at [email protected] or leave a comment on my blog if you’re interested in it.
This is fascinating to me. Because it can be creepy (creeping) or comforting (entwining) depending on the mood I’m in. Either Edgar Allan Poe or Little House on the Prairie. But that’s just me! and this very strange mood I’m in these days.
And, full disclosure, I paid someone else to stack the firewood. Worth every penny (and it was a lot of pennies).
I know what you mean about the entwining Jill. I sometimes think of a tree (I don’t remember the name of it) that was in the Everglades that would plant its seed in another tree and eventually the host tree would die. What really bothered me about it is that it reminded me of my marriage at the time. (before Jon). Good for you for having your wood stacked. There’s no fun in stacking wood when you don’t want to stack wood!
Maria,
This is so precious and fanciful. I just love looking at it. Your work is so much fun.
Blessings to you,
Wendy
Thank you Wendy.:)