Way Ahead Threads

A-quilting we will go, in triplicate

2011-10-13T01:08:00.001-04:00

I was headed to South Carolina to see my brand-new niece at the end of August, but I had a terrible time getting out the door. The biggest problem was that I'd decided to make a quilt for baby Amy, and another quilt for her sister Alanna, and another quilt for her sister Alesia. I picked what was sworn to be a very fast quilt to assemble, and maybe it is, but not if you're making three of them, and not if one is for a baby and is made up of 4-inch squares.

A flurry of material getting cut down to size The yellow fabric with the black chickens on it, which I dearly love, didn't make the cut.

Somehow it made sense at the time to line up all of the fabrics on the floor. What was I thinking???

And then I moved them to the wall. This is the front of Alanna's quilt. She's 10.

This is the front of Alanna's quilt. She's 13.

And this is the front of baby Amy's quilt. She was not yet a month old at the time. The method for this quilt is that you make individual sandwiches -- fabric right side out, batting, fabric right side out -- and stitch diagonal lines that serve as the quilting. You then sew the pieces with the back sides together, leaving a raw edge on the front. When the quilt is completed, you cut at close intervals all along those seams, and then you throw it in the washing machine and the seams unravel slightly, and the end result is darling.

Repetition is the name of this game at my house. Not only do each of the girls share some fabrics but some of the fabrics were first used in quilts I made for my daughters. The psychotic kitty fabric you see, muddy green background, black cats with white eyeballs? That was the first fabric chosen for a quilt. The yellow fabric with the sandals printed on? That's another one. The third fabric up from the left in the baby's quilt is a St. Patrick's Day print, because her dad's parents were married on that day; and the stripedy looking piece on the bottom left depicts Las Vegas, where her dad and his mother (my sister, Amy) lived for a year or so. Also, those black pieces that seem to have constellations on them? Those are actually bicycles, and that fabric is on Amy's quilt because her dad rides a bike everywhere he goes.

Vintage Brooches

2011-09-13T11:51:00.001-04:00

I spent some time last week with my friend Mary in South Carolina, and we organized her brooch collection.

I love the ruby rhinestones against the cut crystal.

This piece looks like a snowflake!

This piece is my favorite. The green enamel, the blue stones, the rope around the outside edge of the leaves -- beautiful.

Another view of the green enamel piece with the blue stones.

Etsy, here I come

2011-09-13T09:36:00.000-04:00

I'm in the throes of putting together items -- and taking photographs of said items -- for my etsy shop. Many details need addressed, including updating my paypal account, figuring out what the arcane etsy designations mean (I'm in a number of circles without knowing quite what they are), and forging a business plan that will ensure I price my handmade items accurately, so as not to go out of business in six months.

The adventure begins soon. Keep in touch; and let me know what you need in the way of stoles and of driftwood crosses.

Response to Jack, July 8, 2010

2010-07-10T15:09:00.000-04:00

Dear Jack,

I finished my damned taxes two days ago, and the government has accepted them, and in 8 to 14 days I shall receive a refund. I’m especially pleased to report that this year I’m not required to pay estimated taxes. It was a long miserable whiny sort of haul for me getting them done, but I’ve achieved it. Somehow they are the reason I haven’t written recently. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’ve been doing with my time. Art and writing and blogging and walking dogs and reading – the grunt work of a writer.

I’ve been worrying enormously about your hand. Write at once and tell me that they gave you antibiotics and it is completely healed and no further difficulties are expected. I have a long list of things I’m never supposed to do with or to my left arm again, and another list of things I absolutely should do with and to my left arm perpetually; and while I’m aware of the lists and even know where they are I seem not to have read them. Not lifting things with my left hand: that one I remember. Wearing rubber gloves to do dishes. Absolutely no sun burning. I could go on but my glance at the list was co-existent with heavy drugs, so only those alarming few stuck. The danger is lymphedema because of removal of three lymph nodes, which I suppose unlikely in the case of your hand injury; but you know how people dying and you yourself being unwell can put you on edge. (In this case, I mean “you” in the sense of “me.”)

Regarding the steri-strips used on your hand. Steri-strips were used on my own personal left breast, and I consider them an enormous stride forward in the world of health care. Not only does it mean no stitches, but also it means no stitches to be dug out by the surgeon weeks later. And I have the most lovely scar: truly beautiful.

Well, actually, I have three scars: one for the tumor removal, one for the sentinel lymph node removal, and one for the tube through which the radioactive isotope entered my body to stage its attack upon any invaders that may have been hiding out. (Oh. I’ve just realized that addressing cancer is much like hunting the Taliban in

Afghanistan

.) The scar for the tumor is the beautiful one.

Also, we’ve come a long way in steri-strip technology. Grandson Joe cut his palm wide open with a knife the night before Tara and Barry married; so instead of a rehearsal there was a trip to the emergency room. The steri-strips they used on him were gone by the time he’d been home an hour. Not that he seemed to notice.

Grandchildren are all to be together on the island on July 17, except Bradley who’s in the Navy and stationed in Hawaii; so I’ll take a photo of them and pass along to you because you still suppose that they are small children when in fact they are quite grown up.

Mother is doing well in the care center. Douglas takes the cat to visit her, which delights her no end. Charlie takes candy when he goes to visit, which also pleases her, as it would anybody. Shirley takes the grandchildren. On last report, Mother had Brody in her lap (he’s still lap-baby size) and Ryleigh, who just turned four, was sitting beside her. Mother beamed at the presence of Brody while saying to Ryleigh, “Stop twitching. And pull your skirt down. Behave yourself,” which is to say she has staked out a territory in these children and speaks to Ryleigh identically to the way she spoke to Amy and me and to my daughters.

I’m opposed in principle to letters that aren’t hand-written, but I’m making an exception this one time because of your recent reference to preferring this sort when you yourself are writing. I’ve been thinking it over since I began, and the problem with them is that they’re too easy to read and therefore end too quickly. A letter in my handwriting is an expedition, a guessing game, an exercise in, if not futility, than perhapsibility (as in “perhaps that word is leprechaun; or maybe it’s Connecticut”), which allows the reader to practice skills of contextual reading first encountered in grade school. Without practice how can one expect to improve?

You seem to be ignoring the information that we now have a Chihuahua in our midst. Might you think it’s disrespectful to Kokomo, the world’s dearest dog, because why would one need a second dog when the first one is him? And while that is true, Laramie is a good addition to the household. She has a bit of the mystic. Many times when I’m walking her (and Chihuahuas need walked about forty times more often than regular dogs), she’ll stop and stand and look and listen and stand and be present to everything. Now it may simply be that she thinks the leaves rustling are chipmunks in the trees, and yet I’ve never known a dog with the capacity for total stillness she possesses.

Speaking of chipmunks, Koko and I were walking the other evening, and he realized before I did that a chipmunk was in the drain tube connected to the elbow connected to the downspout connected to the gutters on a building. He grabbed the plastic tube and ripped it off the elbow and slung it sideways while holding it in his teeth. I took it from him, and he rushed forward to grab the elbow, which was metal, and instead of grabbing it he stuck his nose into it, and when I pulled him backwards, the elbow came with him. He lunged forward ten steps and crashed into the brick side of the building. I grabbed the elbow, and he grabbed at the downspout, and the chipmunk scampered off, and I got him away and started trying to replace the elbow, which wasn’t fitting, when I heard a voice ask, “Could you use a little help?” While it’s probable that I could have completed all of the tasks at hand while continuing to control a 75-pound dog and not use my left hand or arm, I conceded the field and said, “Oh, yes, thank you so much” to the fellow who was grilling out the next grass patch over.

I must not get on with the paying of bills and whatever else people do when they aren’t working on their taxes. Oh, I remember now: working on the medical paperwork. Last week I took all of the EOBs from my insurance company out of their envelopes; and also put every piece of medical-related paper into the file I created when all of this began. This week I plan to take all of the pieces of paper out of the envelopes from Michael’s insurance company and put them in order by date. Jennifer said to throw away the bills from the hospitals, because they will send new ones for anything that insurance doesn’t cover. What do you think of that option?

And now I’m off. And next week I’m making the trip to Ohio. I still have periods of weakness, but I think I’m strong enough for the drive. At four o’clock your time on Saturday, July 17, (or as close to that time and day as circumstances allow) please raise a cup in honor of my father. February is the wrong month for ritual on the island, but with him being the second oldest person (Mother being the oldest) on the island, people wanted some way to acknowledge his passing. After the February memorial service, Charlie and I decided to choose a day and invite folks, where ever they are, to raise a toast. Charlie’s referring to it as A Farewell Toast to Doug Cartledge as we honor his last wishes. I refer to it as the International Toast in Memory of Doug Cartledge. His ashes are going to be scattered over the lake by plane that day, as he requested. And we’re going to be at Charlie’s cottage and anybody on the island who wants to drop by is welcome to do so.

And now I’m off to a free book-making class – another of the fringe benefits of breast cancer.

Letter from Jack, 1-June-10, page 3

2010-07-10T15:04:00.000-04:00

Letter from Jack, 1-June-10, page 2

2010-07-10T14:55:00.000-04:00

Letter from Jack, 1-June-10, page 1

2010-07-10T14:33:00.004-04:00

To read, please click to enlarge. At least, that tactic works on my laptop. If it doesn't on your system, let me know and I'll change the size again. If it does work for everybody, this way of posting allow the most legibility. It seems the divide between email and hand-written communication is quite wide indeed.

Jack had asked months ago if I would donate two copies of Grace to the prison where he resides. (Such gifts from authors are, it appears, welcome; and if you are an author you, too, could share your work in such a way.) I finally got the books mailed, and he

wrote this letter soon after they arrived.

On posting hand-written letters to a blog

2010-07-10T14:01:00.002-04:00

2:01 p. m. I'm fiddling with my scanner this morning to see if there's a way I can post Jack's letters from prison without having to type them in. Time is melting around me this summer; I need speedier ways to accomplish some tasks I want to do.

The first try was a failure. To scan the letter and post as is -- in spite of Jack's neat handwriting and dark ink -- will cause eye strain all around. So now I'm off to enlarge the first page and then scan it in sections to see if that's readable. If only I had a motion-efficiency expert here to observe and make recommendations.

Results to follow.

2:15 p. m. I tried selecting "darkest" and photocopying the first page of the letter before posting. It was nearly as illegible as the first attempt.

We -- you and I and Jack -- have lots of time to think over the subject of prison and posting and blogging. Jack has more nine years left to serve in Louisiana. He pled guilty to his offense and considers the sentence appropriate.

I'm not sure you people are worth the trouble I'm taking to get his mail online. Why am I doing it? Because my friend Nancy Sehested, who is a chaplain in a prison in North Carolina, once told me that we put people in prison, do everything possible to inhibit their interactions with family and friends, treat them terribly, and at the end of their sentence wonder why they have trouble reintegrating into society.

"Injustice" is the word for such a situation. And so I plan to post Jack's letters (he has given me blanket permission to do with them as I will) because I believe that if one person on reading the letters comes to think of prisoners as human beings rather than as refuse, I will have done something of significance in the world.

The Great Leap

2010-06-04T12:47:00.004-04:00

I'm again working on the 4x6 pieces of art I'm mailing to the bishops of the Formerly Known as the United Methodist Church.

Along with the art will be a letter in which I explicate my reasons for resigning from ordination and shaking the sands of the United Methodist Church from my shoes.

The project is now four months behind schedule because of my health issues, so I'm making two changes. First, rather than creating all new art, I'll use some already completed pieces. from the original "It's Only a Book" project. Also, I'm going to wrap a narrow band of black fabric around each art piece, reminiscent of the black armbands people wear after the death of a loved one.

The mourning represented is for the death of the United Methodist Church as an inclusive body of Christ.

The Hoover and his Lady

2010-03-20T17:06:00.007-04:00

A cedar waxwing, the presence of which will become apparent as you read.

I have a dear friend in prison in the deep South, where he will remain for the next many years. Months ago he gave me permission to post anything he writes in his letters. This blog seems the appropriate place, what with everything Jesus said about visiting people in prison and what with so many American Christians ignoring Jesus' insistence on love because they're having too much fun hating homosexuals.

So here's a letter from Jack for you to read and, as a result, maybe make you feel you've actually done something that contributes to the coming of the kingdom.

March 14, 2010:

Here in That Grey Area Between the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead, . . .

I was nose to nose with a skunk the other night.

I've been smuggling cornbread, which I rarely eat anyhow, from the chow hall and scattering it for the birds outside by the windows that run alongside my bed. (Feel free to pick and choose how to better arrange the prepositional phrases in that sentence.) It'd be nice to have been able to offer the birds something better (more birdseedy), but here in TGABLLLD, there you have it. [Note: I don't know what those letters stand for either.]

Most of my visitors are sparrow-y types that look like nothing so much as chipmunks with wings. But I was graced with the appearance of a few yellow warblers, which have green hoods and backs and a big splash of bright vivid yellow on their chests. From up close, the sight of them really lifts a man's spirits.
A fat and gorgeous fox squirrel has made a few appearances. When he sits up to eat, in that charmingly prayerful stance, the sight of his strawberry blonde underside makes me swoon.

I commend his bravery -- he has to cross a fairly large open expanse to reach the rear of the dorm from the edge of the woods across the road, and I am certain Mr. and Mrs. Hawk (sidenote: they're always circling o'erhead and screaming, and such) would take a keen and fatal interest in his traverse.

Alas, the cornbread would be all gone (I would look out and say "All gone! - like you do to a baby) in the morning, and it was easy to surmise that Mr. Skunk was the responsible party.

Finally, I was awake and watching when he came around to hoover up all the cornbread. I was leaning over the side of my bunk observing his curious culinary preference for cornbread rapidly rolled in dirt ("dirt-breaded") over plain cornbread. He stopped what he was doing and came right up to the window, fearlessly meeting my gaze with his small shiny black eyes.

Mr. Skunk is now known as The Hoover, and his girlfriend, whom he brought to the pary last night, is Lady Hoover.

And I might as well go the whole hog, nature-talk-wise and reveal that I have now observed the cedar waxwing (I NEVER draw 'waxwing' in Scrabble), who really seems to have been designed by the Divine Artist strictly for our viewing pleasure. It's a buff-colored bird EXCEPT they have a little bit of bright red and bright white -- just a touch, mind you --on the edge of the wing, and at the end of their fan tail is a stripe of brilliant yellow.

[Editorial note: This is the moment when you return to the photo at the top of the page. If you make it big enough and squint, you can see both the spots of red and the brillliant yellow on the tail.]

Sigh. Sigh.

I can usually avoid abyssal unhappiness . . .

Aw, Mary Jo, you know what I mean -- I can often overcome my circumscribed circumstances and insistently focus upon my many blessings -- including the sight of the cedar waxwing. It's just that sometimes, and some days . . .

*********

Back to me. I was diagnosed with breast cancer a few days ago (the diagnostics began at the same time my father was dying). While on the whole I'm chipper enough to make people vomit, I'm having a frog-all kind of day today; so I'm in tune with Jack. All of my blessings, including spotting a ground hog day before yesterday and the sight of nine turtles sun-bathing on the banks of Beargrass Creek yesterday, not to mention health insurance, and yet it's just that sometimes, and some days . . .

Then endeth the lesson. Now go forth and do something decent for humankind.

Which is not to say goodness has fled the UMC

2010-02-24T18:56:00.001-05:00

My father died last Wednesday, February 17, of complications from a stroke. Since 1992, he's also been treated for a blood disorder; his bone marrow hadn't worked properly, and he'd had numerous blood transfusions, iron infusions, and experimental treatments that kept him going far longer than his original doctor predicted. Three radiologists checked his chest x-rays last weekend because something wasn't quite right. None of them drew an absolute conclusion, but they thought maybe they saw something that was perhaps lung cancer, if it wasn't one of several other things. [And here all along you thought medicine was a science.] Daddy was 87 and not much of a church goer, although he was raised in the Church of England. Mother is thoroughly anti-church. If you ever need an oral dissertation on "holy rollers," look her up. In her inclusive way, she counts everyone from Lutherans and Roman Catholics to Four Square Gospel Holiness church folks as holy rollers.

But all of the best people are multi-dimensional. A few hours after Daddy died, I asked what the date was and then what the day was. With both established, I said, "Oh, it's Ash Wednesday."

Mother promptly replied, "A high holy day. That means your father's in heaven. You know he was an altar boy in the Church of England."

I didn't, but I did know England has a state religion, and my father was thoroughly taught and tested regarding the Church of England's history, theology, and polity, not to mention the fibs it tells itself. That's one of the reasons he chose to become an American citizen. He believed in the separation of church and state. He also never allowed his children to address others as "sir" or "ma'am," saying they were indications of inferiority and totally out of place in the United States.

The point I'm after here, though, is that my parents have lived on Middle Bass Island, Ohio, for more than 60 years. After his stroke, Daddy was taken to Akron Hospital and from there to the hospice setting in Medina, Ohio. Meanwhile, my mother was getting settled into a care center in Seville, Ohio, where my brothers live. We planned a memorial service for Saturday with many lovely gestures -- a copy of the book he wrote, bottles of the herbal vinegar he made and marketed, a picture of the Swordfish he flew during World War II. The family cookie jar (a jovial McCoy pig with a green necktie) even made an appearance. But we needed a pastor.

The lovely folks at the funeral home made contact with Tim, pastor of a United Methodist Church nearby. He and I talked a bit (we both had Ted Campbell for Methodism, but at different divinity schools), and he spent way over an hour with Charlie and me on Friday. That night he pondered at length about us, our parents, the nature of love, the joy of planting. The scripture passages he chose (including Psalm 103 and the Isaiah "Have you not known? Have you not heard?") were brilliant. In his short message he spoke of love's endurance and how planting is a forward-looking activity that sustains us all. Tim was sane and generous and gave abundantly of his time and brain and knowledge.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it, that the UMC is thoroughly godly and kind in some areas and yet devilish and vicious in others, especially when it suits the political climate. Torture is no longer the rule of this land; and exclusion has no place in the UMC church. The righteous clergy out there exhibiting lovingkindness and righteousness every day deserve more.

Streep and Sehested

2009-12-21T08:19:00.000-05:00

" 'I remember Albert Brooks saying to me in Defending Your Life, "Could you just make it a little sweeter?" - and that's been repeated by other people in the years since then.' This time her derisive snort is much louder. 'But I didn't listen to it.'
"So how did she free herself? 'I don't think it's something anyone can tell you,' Streep says. 'I think you just have to get sick of hearing the accommodation in your approach to things . . . the way people have to get sick of drinking or drugs before they stop. As there begins to be less time ahead of you, you want to be exactly who you are, without making it easier for anyone else.'"
Meryl Streep cited in "Something about Meryl" by Leslie Bennetts in January 2010 Vanity Fair.

"I am a prison chaplain in a maximum security prison for men. . . . Prison is a place fueled by fear. The place runs on power generated by cruelty and shame. It is shredding to the soul. . . .
I have a prayer, a daily hope. My prayer is that I can stand at the receiving dock at the prison as the new arrivals come in. In my vision, I say: 'Brothers, the violence and abuse that has been done to you, or that you did to yourself or to someone else . . . it ends here. Here you will practice compassion, dignity, and respect for yourself and others. Here you will have the possibility to to change because God is here. Welcome. Come on in.'. . .
I have the same prayer and hope for the church . . . that the violence and abuse stops, and that we practice dignity and respect for all human beings."
Baptist preacher and storyteller Nancy Hastings Sehested, in "Passionate about the Possible," Christian Feminism Today, Vol. 30, No. 2, Summer (July - September), 2006.

Wild Extravagant Livers of Life -- if you need a last minute gift!

2009-12-20T13:37:00.000-05:00

What a fabulous mug! And only $22. Surely somebody you know wants this for Christmas??? I just tripped over it through a series of facebook happenstances that ended up on the site of Katherine Owen, whom I haven't seen since -- hmm? late 80s? early 90s? -- and whose energetic artistry was evident even then. I'm thrilled to see the gorgeous, happy work she's doing now. Vibrant and joyful and alive -- and surely everybody needs a little liver for Christmas?!

What Child IS This? Mary Cartledge-Hayes, 1985. All rights reserved.

2009-12-19T17:57:00.003-05:00

My friend Claire just sent me a message on facebook saying she couldn't find a copy of this piece anywhere in her house and wants to use it in a sermon tomorrow.

This story first appeared in the Winter 1985 issue of the Christian feminist journal Daughters of Sarah. One Sunday I was tracked down in Sunday school; there was a phone call for me in the church office. The editor of The Witness (Mary Lou... Mary Ann... Somebody help me here) had just read the story and wanted to use it as the editorial for their Ash Wednesday/beginning of Lent issue. (Hadn't thought of it that way, had you?) The story appeared in The Witness, Vol. 68, No. 2, Feb. 1985. Other lore surrounding this piece is that somebody almost fell off a bus in Chicago when she read it. Nancy Hardesty became one of my dearest friends when we met at a conference and, over the closing meal, I told her I'd had some things published in Daughters. She asked some questions, and I mentioned the story about Jesus being born a girl. She immediately teared up and said, "I love that story." And here it is, almost 25 years later and as new and relevant now as when I wrote it.

Copyright 1985. All rights reserved.

Woohoo! Got the grant! Oh, dear.

2009-12-18T11:51:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I got an envelope from the Kentucky Foundation for Women saying I'm a recipient of an economic hardship grant that will fund my mailing an original collage and document to leadership in the United Methodist Church to stimulate conversation about the church's attitude toward homosexuality and women leaders. These funds, from an anonymous donor, are micro-grants. The maximum each person could request was $500. My request was for $258.

The KFW letter goes on to say that 48 feminist social change artists requested funds; 24 were funded. The requests "bear powerful witness to the impact of the national recession on the feminist artist community in our state" and also "bear witness to the great strength, ingenuity and persistence that KFW grantees are demonstrating in seeking solutions to their financial hardships." A check for $258 was enclosed.

I was totally happy until this morning when I re-read my grant proposal, in which I say I'M GOING TO CUT UP MY PREACHING ROBE and use it to make the collages. Good God, people. What was I thinking? Why didn't you stop me?

It's the theological equivalent of flag-burning. Let's be clear. I approve of flag burning as political statement, as performance art, as a way of knocking us out of the doldrums of familiarity, as free speech. And if somebody else had told me she/he planned to chop up a preaching robe -- well, cool. Free speech. Performance art. Political statement. Let's get those fools to open their eyes that they may see glimpses of truth. Right on, my sisters and brothers.

Right on, indeed. But it's my preaching robe. MY preaching robe. My PREACHING robe. Embedded in its warp and woof is every day of my life from 1995 to 1998, when all was well with the world (or at least with Fred, my late husband); and when the congregation, God, and I danced -- a waltz, a tango, a Fox trot, the twist, the funky chicken, the swim -- on Sunday mornings. I wore the robe when I performed my first baptisms (Bradley and Devin, two of my grandsons). I wore the robe when I performed my final baptism (Seth, the baby my friend Lisa was pregnant with when she preached Fred's funeral). The robe hung in my closet in South Carolina, and I brought it with me to Kentucky, and here I stuffed it into a sack and later I set the sack on a shelf in the garage. I brought it back to the house after I wrote the grant proposal, and now the ratty old sack sits on a shelf in the laundry alcove.

I'm going to chop it up; I really am. And I'm going to make fiber collages of it and mail them to United Methodist leaders along with a statement, and I'm going to post that statement here, and I'm going to e-mail it to newspapers and magazines. But not quite yet. Soon, but not quite yet. I want to hold on just a little longer to my preaching robe and to what it used to represent: my life; my local church; a kind, open-hearted, open-minded, open-doored denomination.

Where's this baby Jesus you spoke of?

2009-12-18T07:06:00.001-05:00

Where's this baby Jesus you spoke of?
Originally uploaded by glowbird

Lisa, the glowingest bird of all, posted a series of photos of Olive's theological explorations. This one is the cat's pajamas. And haven't you known a lot of people over the years who could ask the same question if only they were paying attention?

Why I'm here

2009-12-18T06:59:00.001-05:00

arthouse sketchbook project page
Originally uploaded by eclipsegallery

Sarah Elizabeth's flickr post succinctly sums up the reason for this project's existence.

The new look

2009-12-17T11:47:00.001-05:00

Now that I've discovered zazzle, I needed to change the blogger template. The margins are too narrow for zazzle's display. This layout seems to allow the widest margin.

Otherwise, the template isn't bad. I like the stream-lined feeling, even though the header has ground clutter I don't much care for.

On we go.

Mammon: 1. Jesus: 0

2009-12-14T15:58:00.002-05:00

For those of you who appreciate documentation, I've found the UMC's Judicial Council Decision #132 online so you can read it in its entirety. The two dissenting opinions -- by Jon R. Gray and the Reverend Susan T. Henry-Crow-- appear following the majority opinion.

I can tell I've been out of the loop too long, because I only just now discovered that Susan Henry-Crowe, whom I've known since I was a lay member of the UMC (prior to 1993), was elected president of the Judicial Council on May 1, 2008. Belated congratulations to Susan.

She replaced as president that old scalawag James Holsinger, who was nominated by President George W. Bush (but never appointed) as Surgeon General of the United States, at least in part due to his attitude toward homosexuality. He's a slick little fellow. He and his wife formed a church called Hope Springs Community Church, and when nominated he fell all over himself saying that congregation doesn't have a group dedicated to curing homosexuality. If you visit their website, though, you can read all about a Celebrate Recovery group called Men's Sexual Integrity. Okay, maybe it's to help men stop running around on their wives; but it so shouldn't there be an equivalent group for women? By the way, if you can translate the gobbledygook description of that group, please share with the rest of the class.

While I'm on the subject of surprises, I was delighted to read that James Holsinger was censured by the United Methodist Church at General Conference in 2008 for various sins of omission and commission regarding large sums of money. The vote was 826 for censuring him and 38 against. I'm in a predicament here. I don't know whether to gloat over how the mighty have fallen or to ask, "What the hell is wrong with you people? You censure this sleazebag over a few million dollars but you let him get away with denying our history, theology, and polity as president of Judicial Council when Decision 132 came down?"

Score: Mammon: 1; Jesus:0

Bump

2009-12-04T11:36:00.006-05:00

The official Lead Cartoonist and the official Beach Bunny are creating a bumper sticker countering the UMC's fib about open hearts, open doors, and open minds. I had one idea. Lead Cartoonist being a genius, he's already come up with 3 ideas at least as good as mine, so he's deep in the heart of Cafe Press, creating.

I'm off to SC for an emergency meeting involving cookies. Things I'd like y'all to think about while I'm driving:

Does this movement need a ning site? It would allow for individual blogs, group conversations, etc. and there people can use friendly alternate names if it's not safe for them to speak publicly. I'm part of the International Union of Mail Artists ning group, and ning feels a bit clunky -- but it's effective.

New Day Dawning

2009-12-03T10:59:00.004-05:00

The complexion of this blog is shifting.

The posts that precede this one come from three earlier blogs:

Way Ahead Threads, focused on fiber and other art;

Hot Flash Fan, focused on feminist art; and

Turbulence to Tranquility, weekly musings for the spiritually inclined.

Each of those topics will continue to receive attention, but the heart of this blog now is to document a movement to bring the church in general and the United Methodist Church in particular back to its senses. I left the UMC in 2005 after a Judicial Council decision that allows clergy to decide who is worthy of church membership. Perhaps if it had been a Southern Baptist to whom the pastor had refused membership, on the grounds that the person didn't believe in infant baptism, I'd see this issue differently. But it wasn't a Southern Baptist. It was an Episcopalian gay person; and the named reason was that he was gay. If he's not welcome, I'm not welcome. And so I resigned. Since then, I've been quiet about it. Now I'm beginning to talk.

I considered forming a nonprofit for this adventure. I thought of approaching other nonprofits to see about sharing their umbrella. But then I realized that giving up ordination was so costly that I don't want to be a nonprofit. For once in my life, I actually would like to make sufficient money to make a difference. I want to donate to causes that support our shared humanity, and I want to hire a book-keeper because I don't have time to run the numbers and she has too much time, thanks to cut-throat companies, venal financiers, and the layoffs they've spawned.

Plans are afoot.

You can help.

I need:

--Followers on this blog. Please sign up; and tell your friends.

----Cash for start-up costs.

--Stoles from clergy who have resigned their ordination for reasons of righteousness (so I can combine them with other materials and upcycle the stoles into art, to sell on this blog and perhaps other places).

-----Suggestions of unheralded organizations working toward social justice (because I'm going to donate a portion of the proceeds from the sale of the art to such organizations.)

Stay tuned for late-breaking news.

-------------------------------------------------------------------Photo credit: Michael C. Smith

Battle Cry of the Revolution

2009-06-02T14:25:00.000-04:00

The hell with quarter inch seams.

the first 40%

2009-05-15T21:41:00.000-04:00

I was cleaning out files this evening and had an envelope in my hand to pitch when I flipped it over and saw this statement from Deb. I was on the phone with her at the time, and we were trying to finish up a project when she said the following:

"I always forget that the initial work takes 40% of the time."

Her statement lays out a problem most of us deal with over and over and over. We have in our heads an idea of the work to be done on a project. We reach the end point. And then we do all of the things that must be done for a completed project to move from our own personal brains out into the world. You know: the other 60% that's not done - heck, usually it's not even started.

The tenet applies to projects of all sizes. Deb and I were probably completing a book proposal when she made the statement, but I ran into the 60% this week while finishing my column for Today's Woman magazine. Got the big scene written that was to constitute the piece and drew what I thought was the conclusion -- except it only took up two sentences, and that was stretching it. Where I come from, that means there's something more important to say, if only I can determine what it is. I made a few reference phone calls, walked the dog a time or two, and generally bored myself half to death. Finally, I remembered a second story, one told to me years ago, that shifted my understanding of what I thought I was talking about.

I'd have guessed I'd done 90% of the work when I completed that first run at writing. Turns out Deb was correct, though: I was only at about 40%. With the new story included and a segue to glue the two stories together, I was at 100% -- unless you count the cliches and flat diction sprinkled here and there. Once the whole piece is at 100%, I do one or two (okay, three) final look-sees. That's my chance to plump up the pillows and straighten the comforter and put a vase containing a yellow posie on the dresser. That's my chance to end up with a piece that when I see it again in a few months or years I'll find something in it to admire, even if I disagree completely with my own conclusions. And that's how I reach tranquility in my professional life.

The Premise

2009-05-08T16:24:00.000-04:00

I'm deconstructing my 2003 book -- literally -- and turning it into small artworks. (You can see them at my It's Only a Book blog. If you'd like one, just let me know.) A paragraph I ripped out today got me to wondering if a new religious awakening (not fundamentalism but a true springing forth of loving our neighbors and feeding sheep)is going to accompany the economic disarray in which we've found ourselves.

Here's the paragraph:

Even God makes more sense from the premise that life's a nightmare. Who needs God when nothing bad can ever happen to you because you have a late-model car, health benefits,and a retirement account? In that circumstance, God's a sidekick, a buddy, a fuzzy blanket you sleep with at night bcause it's comfortable. Then when disaster arises you whine because God was supposed to be your personal defense system, keeping you safe. On the other hand, if you know life to be a nightmare, then the presence of God is a sanctuary, like the shell of a turtle, traveling with your wherever you go, rain or shine, sickness or health, for better or worse.

This week, think and write a little bit each day about sanctuary: what it is; where you find it; whether your understanding of the concept has ever changed; what precipitated the change.

Temporarily Tranquil

2009-04-28T21:41:00.000-04:00

I was telling someone a few weeks ago that I'm writing about tranquility; and how I think it becomes both more attainable and more precious the older we get. She thought it over and said, "It's always temporary."

"YES!" I said, because I'd come to the same conclusion just the day before. It's ALWAYS temporary. Sometimes big things interrupt it, sometimes little ones; but it's always getting away from us. That's why we need to remember and reclaim it.

For instance -- and I hate even going down this road, but there it is -- some fool who lives up the way from me takes her dog onto the tennis court. I'm fine with that part. I take my dog onto the tennis court, and he chases the tennis ball and smells all around the base of the fence. If my compadre's along, the two of them take a nice lope or two around the net. And then we leave.

This person to whom I'm referring with the dog? She lets her dog take a dump on the tennis court and then -- because apparently that's not proof positive of what a slob you are -- she doesn't pick it up but leaves the pile there. I fume about this matter every time I catch sight of the tennis court.

The most gracious way I could resolve the matter is to use one of the extra bags I always carry and pick up her dog's refuse. What I actually WANT to do is put a sign on the fence that says, "If you can't pick it up, get rid of the pup." That's not completely true; really I'd rather install a flashing arrow in front of her house under a sign saying PICK UP AFTER YOURSELF.

Yep, that's me: tranquil as all get out up until the moment I'm not. Or until the moment I think about the moment I started being not tranquil. Which is to say it's only ever temporary. Luckily, we can step back toward it whenever we're ready to stop having our life disrupted by a (no doubt sweet) dog we don't even know.

Three a Day

2009-04-25T13:39:00.000-04:00

Yesterday on the way to the post office I was ruing my long To-Do list, populated with items I'm not interested in, some of them dating back a few weeks, or perhaps even a month; one or two actually go all the way back to Christmas week. None of them can be expunged. I just have to do them. But how without betraying my own rule of moving within the moment; of choosing to do that to which I'm led? (Not everybody can follow this rule. Children in the house rather preclude it. Also, if you're not deadline-motivated -- which I am -- it can lead to disaster.

Yesterday, though, I decided to try an experiment. For the next howeverlong, I'm going to do three things a day that I don't want to do.

My intent? To bring myself back into harmony by eliminating the cobwebby details clunking up my brain.

I'm hoping this will be a limited engagement, that in short order I'll either have swept down all the cobwebs; or that I'll come to a rapprochement with life and no longer assign judgments to tasks that need done but will simply do them immediately, thus removing them to the state of inconsequence they warrant.

I'm moved in part by an e-mail from my friend Nicole who had open heart surgery one month ago yesterday and was gloating because the doctor had just told her she can now drive AND VACUUM. "I never thought I'd miss vacuuming," she said.

It's the vacuuming, but it's also the normalcy I imagine she was missing. And that's what I'm after: regarding boring, repetitive, inconsequential tasks as normalcy; and thereby creating in them an invisibility that will allow for increased tranquility in my own life.

Do you think it will work? If so, might you try something similar? Or perhaps the inverse is true for you; that you do the required tedious stultifying items on your list and somehow never quite get to the fun part. If so, might you try the opposite, and make yourself do three fun things a day?

(Here's a dastardly thought: I find the idea of doing three fun things a day harder than the idea of doing three things I don't want to do. What's up with that?

The power of plodding

2009-03-16T03:14:00.000-04:00

Deb and I have come up with a new book concept. We're not ready to break out the title yet, but the brilliant subtitle she invented today is "Finding Grace in the Tough Times." Amazing, isn't it?

Moreso because in observing the economic crisis I'm amazed at how deranged this supposedly Christian nation has become. Do people not listen when they go to church? All those folks who believe the Bible is the inerrant word of God handed down in red letters in the Felizabethan English - what, they think it's all inerrant except that pesky little Matthew 6 verse, "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through"?

Any Christian out there reading the Bible with a bit of attention shouldn't be surprised if they got Madoffed. How could you miss something right there in black-and-white?

Moths, rust, corruption, and thieves -- could it be more clear that putting your faith in bank accounts and IRS is not the right path?

From my work in the domestic violence movement years ago, I know violence in the home increases when the economy tanks. Layoffs, cutbacks, stress over credit card and grocery bills -- they all put stress on the family unit. Lovely people I know report raised voices in their own personal living rooms and the concomitant shock over the tempestuous natures they didn't know until now dwell in their own tempestuous breasts.

At moments like this, proverbs and slogans and morals of the story can sometimes grant surcease, however temporary. I'm going with "Slow and steady wins the race" -- slowly and steadily we (individually and as a country) are finding a way through this never-before-visited maze. Plod on in the direction that feels correct; eventually we'll be somewhere different.

Nobody inflicted this mess upon us. (In honor of Lent, I'm exonerating the immediate past president.) We(individually and communally)got into it ourselves. We (individually and communally) can plod our way out.

That instant gratification thing we've become accustomed to? Say bye-bye. Instead, it's time for Plodding Power.

For this week's adventure in penmanship, choose a proverb, Aesop's fable, myth, or slogan as your theme for the week. Contemplate it and jot notes about it as the week progresses. Next Sunday or Monday, write a paragraph about the insights you gained.

We're curious what proverb, etc., you chose. Feel free to leave us a comment. (I'm pretty sure you can do so anonymously if the thought of going public makes you nervous.)

Natural Fibers Mail Art Call

2009-03-12T02:01:00.000-04:00

I happened upon this call for fiber mail art today. Pretty exciting because it brings together two of my joys: fiber art and mail art. Some pieces are already displayed on Christiane's blog, so you can pop over and see some interesting variations.

INTERNATIONAL MAIL ART PROJECT
For the International Year 2009 of Natural Fibres

Thema : " natural fibres in our lives and our time "
"Les vêtements ne doivent pas être quelque chose qui nous fait paraître ce que nous ne sommes pas, tonne M. Petrini. Les producteurs de fibres naturelles doivent devenir les acteurs d'une nouvelle mode durable pour en finir avec la mode éphémère. »

Deadline : July 31 2009
Media : Photographs, collages, prints, texts, cartoons , all works with natural fibres plaited, twisted, sticked , colored ……
Size : Postcard to A 4 size
Your works will be displayed on my blog – . http://NaturalFibre sMailart. blogspot. com – (and maybe displayed in some organization of the United Nations)
No fee , No jury , no return

Send to : Chaponnière Christiane , 11 rue aux Ours , Paris 75003 , France

more info: "christiane chaponniere"

Audre Lorde on being the change you wish to see

2009-03-11T17:12:00.005-04:00

The thing about being a feminist is that there's always something new to set your, by which I mean my, teeth on edge.

I was looking at the Audre Lord Project in New York City and noticed in a block on the left these words:

We must be the change we wish to see in the world. Audre Lord

Hmm. Don't know about you, but I've seen that quotation attributed to Mahatma Gandhi more times than I can count. I did some searching and turned up the news that Gandhi never said it. Oh, go ahead, doubt me all you want, but then go read what the gandhitopia site says and start spreading the news. The mahatma said a lot of important things. However, when it comes to being the change we wish to see, it's all Audre Lorde all the time.

Tell everybody you know. It may seem a small thing, but our lives are woven, stitched, embroidered, engraved, delineated, written one small thing at a time, and to give credit where credit is due is no small thing at all.

Why, yes, I do loathe Bill Maher. Why do you ask?

2009-03-11T15:33:00.005-04:00

I've been out and about reading feminist and fiber blogs and fell in love with Rage Against the Man-chine for this article. If you've ever watched Bill Maher and wished he'd stop with his sanctimonious woman-bashing, you're going to appreciate what RAM has to say.

I'll post a link to the blog so you can find it whenever you need a dose of sound feminist thinking with hot sauce on the side. Makes me nostalgic for the days when I was a foaming feminist myownself. Maybe the ADHD drugs aren't such a good idea after all ...

You also need to go read this spectacular womanist blog, womanist-musings.com. Some of us are in fierce need of the information she provides.

Why I Love Sam Pickering

2009-03-09T10:16:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was just getting started on a damn fine rant rant about how newspapers keep laying off the important people -- journalists who cover finance, science, and the environment -- while hanging on to the sports and celebrity reporters.

At the same time I was reading Sam Pickering's Letters to a Teacher, a 2004 collection of his essays about teaching, and came upon this statement:

"In truth sports are popular because they are trivial."

It's hard to rant well after that. The triviality of sports and also of celebrity coverage is their real power. They don't matter. Everybody knows they don't matter. Even the people who can recite statistics about every baseball team or recall the outcome of every Super Bowl game or remember when Eddie left Debbie for Liz or the day Britney and K-Fed split -- those people are lodging their attention and emotion in things that don't matter because putting attention and emotion into the things that do are too taxing. They might stir up things better left unacknowledged or unaddressed. They might bring about change, and who knows what will happen then? But sports? We know the score there. Literally, we know the score; and some days that's enough to know.

Do you follow sports or celebrities? If so, how do you perceive their role in your life? If not, what allows you relief from the stresses and vagaries of real life? Where is your safe hiding place?

Reincarnated

2009-03-07T14:07:00.002-05:00

It's been over a year since I last posted on Way Ahead Threads, but I'm here to stay now. I wandered off to do a blog called Hot Flash Fan, celebrating a landmark piece of fiber art created in the 1980s by a collaborative led by Anne Stewart Anderson and facilitated by Judy Chicago. That blog slowly expanded to include feminist artists I located on flickr and through web searches. Meanwhile, I started doing a mail art project called It's Only a Book, where I post daily small works of art. And all the while my original blog was trucking along.

I suppose you've already seen the likely difficulty here: too many things to keep up with smoothly. And now enough time has elapsed with each blog that I can make some sensible groupings. Sometimes you've got work through the chaos in order to discover what wants to exist.

Today I imported all of the posts from Hot Flash Fan to this location. This blog, then, now, will include fiber art, feminist art, and my art except for the daily mail art, which I'll continue to post on It's Only a Book. Leave a comment and let me know how you like the new system.

Also, if I can sort through how to move just a few posts at a time, I'll be importing additional posts that show my embroidery. That seemed a bit more complicated, so it may take a bit longer.

Meanwhile, thanks for stopping by!

Those darling Unitarians are at it again

2009-03-02T06:35:00.000-05:00

I love Unitarian Universalists, not least because they believe that kindness and common sense are critical aspects of a living faith. Like every other denomination, individual congregations fight like cats and dogs from time to time; but the divisiveness that sits on the shoulder of trinitarians is, if not excluded, at least rare.

They've now formed a group for spiritual directors that has the potential to enrich lives across the country. My favorite statement in their news release says that you don't have to believe in God to engage in spiritual direction.

Does that statement surprise you? If you agree with it, write a paragraph each day this week pointing out why it's wrong. If you disagree, write a paragraph each day this week pointing out why it's right.

Feeling tension at the very thought of writing against your inclination? Excellent!

Red shoes

2009-02-24T08:21:00.000-05:00

I've just been reading an interesting blog called Like the Wrench and the Cracker. The author wears size 11 shoes and, as a result, has her relatives and close friends on notice to buy any cute pair of red shoes they run across. She has also taken to ebay -- and no wonder -- no one location is going to have sufficient red shoes, now are they?

She listed the five or six kinds of red shoes (sandals, boots) she owns and went on to question whether the wearing of them is sufficient to make up for the absence of anonymity while in a bathroom stall at work. Her comments reminded me of my friend Jack, who used to work at a law firm. One day I saw him on his way to the office, all gussied up in suit, tie, and red tennis shoes. When he noticed me noticing, he said, "I know it's going to be a rough day today, so I'm wearing these shoes to keep my spirits up."

Well, that would be the point of red shoes, wouldn't it? To keep your spirits up. To let your heart sing a little bit. To remind yourself that, while God may count every hair on your head, you're really not important enough for the color of your shoes to wreck anything that matters. Which led me to wonder how my world would be different if I'd worn red shoes every day for ... oh, pick a number ... the last ten years.

And what about you?

This exercise is similar to the question of who I'd be now if my parents had named me Alcott (on the one hand) or Tiffany (on the other). The name question, though, gives agency to other people. The red-shoe question gives agency to you, yourself. That's where the energy lies. That's where the traction lies. So spill some of that energy-traction on the page and see where it takes you.

Let me know, if you'd like. I'm curious.

facebook rocks!

2009-02-01T11:06:00.000-05:00

After months of hearing people say I should be on Facebook, I caved on Thursday and signed up . . .

I've done lots of cool things online, but Facebook is the first that comes under the heading . (Among other good qualities, it's the first time ever that British and American sides of my family have been in the same place at the same time.)

My point, though, is that after a Kentucky Foundation for Women grants workshop yesterday, some of us decided to form a Friends of the Kentucky Foundation for Women group on Facebook.

KFW does more than give grants to feminist artists; it also intentionally seeks ways for those women to be in community, encouraging and empowering each other. Facebook, it seems to us, is another vehicle for doing so. We'd love to have you come on over and join on up!

Our True State

2009-01-27T16:29:00.000-05:00

The only problem with books is that you have to actually write them before they can be published. Which is what Deb Engle in Iowa and I in Kentucky have been doing, with calm resolve, for over a month now. With the deadline nearly upon us, we're sifting through notes we've made over the last few years, gleaning treasures here and there. I want to share this one with you:

You don’t have to move or change jobs or leave your husband or unnaturally alter your state of consciousness. We’re not after an altered state; we’re after our True State – unbridled joy. Jill Conner Browne, The Sweet Potato Queens’ Book of Love, p. 209-210

Brain/Soul Teaser: I'm totally in agreement with Jill, but you may feel differently. This week, write out what you believe our True State is. How close are you to enacting it in your life?

Christmas Joy

2008-12-25T06:57:00.000-05:00

We wish you a merry Christmas and much joy in the coming year.

Caroling joy

2008-12-23T16:08:00.000-05:00

I know this decoration doesn't have the word joy on her, but what else could you think of when you see her?

And if you think she's wonderful, wait until you see my Christmas chicken.

A lilttle joy

2008-12-20T16:03:00.000-05:00

On my Christmas tree . . .

The Dalai Lama, Jean S. Bolen, Desmond Tutu & Deb

2008-12-16T14:34:00.000-05:00

Way to go, Deb!

I learned a few hours ago that my co-author, Debra Landwehr Engle, has an essay included in The Art of Living: A Practical Guide to Being Alive, a book released in October 2008 in both English and Spanish by publisher Editorial Kairos in Barcelona, Spain.

Deb joins a cross-section of voices worldwide who share "their thoughts on those questions of being alive which concern us all." Other contributors include the Dalai Lama, Jean S. Bolen, Desmond Tutu, Mikhail Gorbachev, Sir Richard Branson, Deepak Chopra, and a 104-year-old Holocaust survivor. The editor is Claire Elizabeth Terry.

Proceeds from the book will benefit Green Cross International. Founded by Mikhail Gorbachev, the organization's motto is "Give humanity a chance. Give the earth a future." Copies are available from Editorial Kairos in Barcelona. To order or for more information, e-mail them at info at editorialkairos dot com.

THE ART OF LIVING
A Practical Guide to Being Alive

Autor:
Terry, Claire Elizabeth
ISBN : 9788472456860
Páginas : 136
Tamaño (cms.) : 20,5 x 22
Referencia : 607
Edición : 1ª
Primera edición : Septiembre 2008

The Dalai Lama, Mikhail Gorbachev, Mario Vargas Llosa, Muhammad Yunus, Deepak Chopra, Federico Mayor Zaragoza, Jean S. Bolen, Desmond Tutu, Sogyal Rinpoche, Michael Douglas, Sir Richard Branson, John Berger & Others

The Art of Living consists of a cross-section of voices from diverse cultures worldwide, each of whom share with us their thoughts on those questions of being alive which concern us all – irrespective of our religious or cultural backgrounds: in effect, ‘pooling our resources’, in order that we may all help each other learn the beautiful and complex ‘art’ of being alive.

From the Dalai Lama, Desmond Tutu, Michael Douglas, Mario Vargas Llosa, Muhammad Yunus, Deepak Chopra and Mikhail Gorbachev, to a Native American storyteller, an Armenian Shaman and a 104-year-old Holocaust survivor, The Art of Living doesn’t pretend to be an exhaustive study of every single aspect of being alive, but it is compiled with the hope that it may help to shift our perspectives – just a little.

Claire Elizabeth Terry studied stage-management at the Central School of Speech and Drama, London. After working for several years in British theatre, she became a travel writer. Short-listed for the Shiva Naipaul Memorial Prize, she has written for the acclaimed Rough Guides travel series, as well as for several international publications. Claire has lived in Paris, Berlin, Crete and Florence. She now lives in Barcelona with her son, Roberto.

Welcome

2008-12-15T12:33:00.000-05:00

Welcome to Writing Your Way to Joy, a blog written by Mary Cartledgehayes and Debra Landwehr Engle -- but you can call us Mary Jo and Deb.

Don't you love the word joy? Are you surprised to find it associated with the theme of spiritual growth? It gets back to something Deb told me last week: nobody wants to grow spiritually in order to be more miserable.

Don't get me wrong. We don't believe there's a "write the way we tell you and your life will be perfect" version of spiritual growth. We know any true spiritual growth sometimes leaves you wondering if you wouldn't have been better off stunted. Movement, however, defines our lives; and writing grants movement.

Sign up to get notified about new posts, or bookmark us,or click to become a follower, or simply check back often to see what we're up to.

Mary: The Paper Doll Project

2008-12-09T09:13:00.001-05:00

If you live in or near Durham, North Carolina, scoot on over to St. Philip's Episcopal Church to see Mary: The Paper Doll Project by artist and Duke grad Carole Baker. This interactive exhibit offers 4 different cultural depictions of Mary, the mother of Jesus - and did I say they're paper dolls? That means you can change their clothes, just like you did when you were a kid.

I'm so sorry I can't be there for the opening on December 11.

One of the sponsors for this event is the Resource Center for Women and Ministry in the South. This organization, founded and directed by Jeanette Stokes, has offered energy, expertise, and (when circumstances have permitted) financial assistance to women pursuing creative and spiritual activities for more than 25 years. Current emphases are writing and visual arts, with a full calendar of events and workshops. Click on over and get on their mailing list; it's invigorating even if you don't live in the South.

Only in Kentucky

2008-10-22T12:52:00.000-04:00

KFW director Judi Jennings enjoyed the festivities.

And while you may have seen less fuzzy photos of Sallie Bingham, you've seldom see photos of a woman as radiant as she is here. Her glee is well-deserved. Her $10 million gift in 1985 created the Kentucky Foundation for Women. Through the granting of funds to feminist artists in Kentucky, the Foundation has birthed, nursed, and nurtured a vibrant community committed to feminist expression and to social justice.

Bingham's commitment is even more remarkable in light of an article in LEO, one of Louisville's alternative weeklies. In that 2005 piece, which celebrated KFW's twentieth anniversary, writer Molly Cunningham cited figures from the National Committee for Responsible Philanthropy that show nationwide only six to seven percent of philanthropic donations go to women's issues and less than one percent go toward social justice issues.

hell_no_my_birth_control

2008-10-15T17:36:00.000-04:00

hell_no_my_birth_control
Originally uploaded by Angela Hayden ART GODDESS

And I really like this piece of art, too! You can get to the flickr site by clicking here: http:///flickr.com/groups/feministart/pool/

masturbation liberation symbol

2008-10-15T17:32:00.000-04:00

masturbation liberation symbol
Originally uploaded by Elaine Vigneault

Another piece from the Feminist Art and Documentary group on flickr! The comment posted with the symbol reads as follow: "Part of ridding the world of misogyny is encouraging love, all forms of love, including self-love."

Quotation of the Day

2008-08-23T07:24:00.000-04:00

"The artist is always pregnant from within, a container of endless potential transformations, abandoned to the fertilizing powers of the imagination, actualizing unknown faces parthenogenetically... whether we are weaving tissue in the womb or weaving imagery in the soul, our work is sexual: the work of conception, gestation and birth." Meinrad Craighead

My friends at the Resource Center for Women and Ministry in the South are deeply involved with the production of a documentary about Sacred Feminine artist Meinrad Craighead. For more information,you can go to the documentary website, to the artist's website, and to the RCWMS website.
Support the Meinrad Craighead documentary project. Purchase notecards with this Meinrad Craighead art.

Yellow Orange to Red

2008-08-22T06:25:00.000-04:00

Yellow Orange

2008-08-21T08:27:00.000-04:00

Gold

2008-08-20T10:36:00.000-04:00

yellow

2008-08-20T10:24:00.000-04:00

Center medallion

2008-08-19T12:40:00.000-04:00

You don't notice the center medallion so much from a distance.

It's only when you get up close that you see the rich colors and detailed stitching.

I read the book Ann Stewart Anderson kept about the Hot Flash Fan, and there I read about knots.

Can these be them? How long would it take to tie this many knots?

Participating Artists N - Z

2008-08-18T13:17:00.000-04:00

Pat Obye
Joyce Ogden
Jacque Parsley
Liz Quinton
Lizi Ruch
Felize Sachs
Betty Senn
Kate Simon
Peg Smith
Marilyn Swan
Rebecca Tobias
Elizabeth Watkins
Donna Weiner
Jeanne Whitty

Participating Artists E - M

2008-08-18T13:10:00.000-04:00

Marcia Fogelson
Frima Gelbard
Mary Clay Goodwin
Jean Guy
Shirley Hewitt
Peggy Sue Howard
Naomi Judd
Kathy Kaulitz
Suzanne LaValley
Anne Lindstrom
Micky Lorber
Anne Maiken
Martha March
Shana McMahan
Beverly McKinzie
Betts Meehan
Margaret Merida
Ann Miller
Jacquelyn Moore

Participating Artists A - D

2008-08-18T09:01:00.000-04:00

Here are the names of contributing artists (A - D) to the Hot Flash Fan, created in Louisville, Kentucky, in 1985.

Aline Barker
Allis Eaton Bennett
Annie Barnes Bird
Marion Boomer
Lindsey Burns
Ann Coates
Mary Cobb
Miriam Corcoran
Pat Dereamer
Betsy Dienes
Franzee Dobeare
Sheryl Doerr
Nancy Durham

Embellishments

2008-08-17T07:34:00.000-04:00

Ribbon

Picture, birth control pills, netting

Dried flowers held in place with netting

Beading

2008-08-15T22:18:00.000-04:00

Before the Hot Flash Fan exhibit ended, I went back and took many more photos. I'm glad I did, because it gave me the chance to see details I missed the first time. The participating artists did an amazing job.

I love the sense of randomness within this carefully planned work of art. It's in keeping with the energy of the piece.

Creators of Hot Flash Fan

2008-08-07T11:10:00.000-04:00

The creation of the monumental feminist artwork Hot Flash Fan required numerous hands, brains, and hours. I'll post lists all of the documented participants, in small steps.

These women had primary roles in the creation of the artwork:

Ann Steward Anderson, Originator and Principal Coordinating Artist
Judy Chicago, Facilitator
Ada O'Connor, Principal Embroidery Artist Coordinator
Judith Meyers, Quilting Coordinator

I'll post more of the artists' names tomorrow.

Another Fiber Art Exhibit: At the River's Edge

2008-08-07T10:15:00.000-04:00

Saturday, August 9, 2008, is the last chance to see At the River's Edge, a dynamic fiber art exhibit in the Charlotte Price Gallery at the Water Tower in Louisville, Kentucky. The postcard above shows one of the art pieces: Water, Mountains, and Trees; she watches over me by Valerie C. White.

According to the gallery guide, "the art ... focuses on both pictorial and abstract representations of rivers and the landscapes, bridges, and communities that border them." The six participating artists -- Pat DaRif, Kathleen Loomis, Marti Plager, Joanne Weis, Valerie White, and Juanita Yeager -- embarked on the river theme in 2003. With five years to explore the theme in depth, the artists developed pieces that "conjure up the essence of the river; you feel the movement of the water, ... the ancient draw to live close to a body of water."

The pieces are wildly different and yet I saw in each a reflection of the predominant fact about a river: its constant movement. Perhaps most striking is the piece by Kathleen Loomis, whom, incidentally, I know because of my involvement with another art quilt group. Two of Loomis's piece are simultaneously tiny and enormous. Small pieces -- an inch? half an inch? -- of fabric, multi-colored and/or embellished, are strung together both horizontally and vertically, creating a whole that shifts and moves gently in the breeze from a passing observer. The colors merge into each other and separate, just as the river itself does. Stunning works.

As are Marti Plager's bridges. Hot colors and precise angles offer the comfort of bridges in the midst of the textile rivers. Her pieces, lovely in their own right, add the same element that bridges offer in the course of a long car ride: the joy of geometry in the midst of natural shapes. (By the way, I know Marti as well.)

You can see more examples of the art work at the website of the Louisville Visual Art Association. They give you a hint of what's happening in the gallery, but only a pale hint of the remarkable power of this exhibit.

Close-up of Lower Right Side of Hot Flash Fan

2008-08-06T20:36:00.001-04:00

Close-up of Lower Right Side
Originally uploaded by Ka-ching

You can see, in the tan area atop the green ray, the words that appear above each ray: Menopause is.

All of the lines done in brown paint ( you see them clearly in this photo) were done by the facilitator, Judy Chicago.

Still to Come

2008-08-06T20:36:00.000-04:00

I have more photos to post, and I also plan to go back to Huff Gallery on Friday to take more photographs. This is the first time I've taken pictures of such a large piece, and in seeing them now, several weeks after the fact, I learned a lot about what I left out. At the time, I wasn't trying to be systematic; I focused on techniques that I especially liked or that were delicate enough not to show up in a full-size photo.

I still won't manage to photo every aspect of the piece, but there are a few important things to add. For instance, the hemisphere from which the rays emerge. I don't have a single close-up of the work on that part. It may not be as vibrant as the rays, but it's critically important to the whole.

So: more to come.

P. S. When I returned to take more photos of the Fan several weeks later and was able to concentrate on the hemisphere, I saw how vibrant it actually is. Strong colors, beautiful handwork -- it's a dynamic aspect of the whole.

Close-up of Right Side of Hot Flash Fan

2008-08-06T20:32:00.000-04:00

Close-up of Right Side
Originally uploaded by Ka-ching

This close-up shows the hand-wrapped cord quite clearly. You can also see a good example of the couching that was done here and in several other places.

Close-up of Upper Right Section of Hot Flash Fan

2008-08-06T20:01:00.000-04:00

Close-up of Upper Right Section
Originally uploaded by Ka-ching

From thjis angle you can see that each of the colored rays includes an image of a woman. From the lower left all the way around to this ray, the artwork is showing losses that come with aging/menopause. The purple section you see here, though, shows a wildness and freedom breaking forth. The figure looks down-right ecstatic to me.

Close-up of Center of Hot Flash Fan

2008-08-06T19:57:00.000-04:00

Close-up of Center
Originally uploaded by Ka-ching

The pink section in the center of this photo pays tribute to the end of child-bearing years. The net holds various contraceptive devices.

Incidentally, can you see the gold cord that divides the pink section from the red and the purple sections? One of the participating artists told me that all of the cord was wrapped by hand, and that it took forever. She said everyone involved with the project wrapped cord at one time or another.

Close-up of Lower Left of Hot Flash Fan

2008-08-06T19:49:00.000-04:00

Lower left
Originally uploaded by Ka-ching

In this view, you can see something of the intricacy of the Hot Flash Fan.

The figures in yellow are outline stitched, and embroidery fills the area between the figures.

The green section over their heads is closely quilted.

The orange section depicts the rigors of mastectomy. It includes several post-mastectomy photographs. It feels like a brave thing to have done in 1985.

Opening reception

2008-08-06T19:32:00.000-04:00

you can get a sense of the size from this photo
Originally uploaded by Ka-ching

Another view

2008-08-06T19:30:00.000-04:00

July 17, 2008 opening reception
Originally uploaded by Ka-ching

The piece looks different from every angle. The lighting made it seem to glow.

The Early Years

2008-08-06T12:53:00.000-04:00

I'm having the kind of problems that are inevitable when you have 2 people, 3 computers, 2 cameras, and the occasional accidental erasure. I'll eventually be able to add the rest of the photos from the opening. Meanwhile, enjoy the above photo, which was taken in 1985.

The show at Huff Gallery runs through August 10, so if you're planning to go but haven't yet, now is the time.

The Expanding Universe

2008-07-24T10:33:00.000-04:00

In sorting through goals and timeline for this project, I've concluded that to offer a website documenting the women who contributed to a major feminist art project without offering links to resources is silly.

Today I'm wandering through cyberspace evaluating sites and drawing conclusions about which offer the most pertinent information and resources for people who come to this site. Two benefits result: recommendations for you and a quick study for me on issues I haven't paid much attention to recently. For example: I had to check and be sure that the Guerrilla Girls are still "re-inventing the 'f' word -- feminism." Lo and behold, they're still with us. Guess their mission here on earth is not yet completed.

So -- I'm spinning through feminist art issues and art organizations today. Next up are oral history issues and organizations. I'm also working on a press release to alert Hot Flash Fan artists that this project is in place and shaping a questionnaire. Lots to do, and just the right amount of time to do it in.

The Hot Flash Fan

2008-07-22T12:11:00.000-04:00

The Hot Flash Fan is currently on display in the Huff Gallery of the Spalding University library in Louisville, Kentucky. The link will take you to their web page so you can read more about the creation of HFF, learn when Huff Gallery is open, and find directions.

Hot Flash Fan is owned by the Kentucky Foundation for Women. At the opening reception last week, Ann Steward Anderson, the originator and principal coordinating artist, told how KFW came to purchase the HFF. She said Sallie Bingham was creating KFW at the time and urgently wanted the documentation Ann had collected (design sketches, letters between her and Judy Chicago, etc.) in the creation process. Ann told her that to get the documentation, the Foundation had to purchase the artwork. And so it came to pass that this monumental work of feminist art has been held and preserved for more than twenty years. According to the participating artists I spoke with at the opening, the piece has lost none of its luster, color, or embellishments.

Hot Flash Fan

2008-07-22T10:09:00.000-04:00

The Hot Flash Fan is, as far as we know, the first documented visualization of menopause: the Hot Flash Fan.

We'd like to hear from you if you did any of the following:

--worked on the Hot Flash Fan

--assisted in the Hot Flash Fan

--worked for the Louisville Visual Art Association in 1984-1985

-- worked on the companion projects sponsored by LVAA in 1984-1985

Horse embroidery, the early stages

2007-12-15T15:29:00.001-05:00

When I made a quilt for my grandson Joe for his birthday this year, one block was a fiber image of his family's horse JT. I started with a line copy of a photograph, cut pieces from various fabrics, and then began adding embroidery.

You can see the finished block in the next posting.

That face, that beautiful face

2007-12-15T15:21:00.001-05:00

When I made a quilt for my grandson Joe this year, I decided to includeJ. T., one of his family's horses.

This is the block very near completion.

Here's the thing about hand quilting, hand embroidery, etc. : the more you do of it on a piece, the more you need to do... The law of diminishing returns is NOT in operation; the more stitches added, the better.

Love You--Mean It

2007-11-29T15:47:00.000-05:00

I took a photography class this fall in order to document scenes around Beargrass Creek here in Louisville, Kentucky, and to improve the photos I take of my art. As I've loaded these, I've wondered what isn't quite right about them and -- boom!-- just realized I forgot to use the tripod.

You've heard the phrase "a work in progress"? It applies to art, to blogs, to life...

"Love You --Mean It" is approximately 9 x 12 and is completely hand-stitched and hand-embroidered.

Pink Balls pocketbook

2007-11-29T15:39:00.001-05:00

This delightful creation began life as a gray wool Gap purse. It's a lot cuter now. All of the added stitching is done by hand.

Reclaimed 6.5 x 9 purse, ribbon, trim, vintage lace, hand stitching.

Fly If You Want To journal

2007-11-29T15:18:00.000-05:00

I've been expanding all of my horizons since being invited to join the Louisville Craft Mafia. Most important, I've I've been working on inventory, experimenting with the use of fiber for various products.

Pictured is one of my first journals. The journals I make include two or three embellished fiber pages plus 20 or so plain old copy-paper pages to write on. I'm hoping to overcome the hesitation that leaves most pretty journals (whether purchased for personal use or for gifts) sitting in a desk drawer unused.

5.5 x 9 inches.

Happy birthday, Mother

2007-05-31T09:07:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday from your little one.