Hema in ancient Greek means blood. Thríno means lament or grief.
This piece is reimagined and adapted from the original Hema Thríno pictured below.
It might be clear that I was working some things out in the making of this knitted sculpture. Namely, a grief to do with the natural departure from one stage of life into the next, evidenced in part by the changing soul landscape bringing me towards menopause. Over time, I’ve learned that I do best when I wrestle with matters of the heart/mind/body through my hands. Maybe writing, maybe drawing or weaving… in this case, knitting with gorgeous deep red cotton thread, strong and soft at the same time, and engaging with a plant called Witches’ Broom, parasitic in nature, that you find on trees and bushes. Witches’ Broom is an abnormal growth of branches in the tree, usually signaling some kind of distress.
Evidence of distress mixed with beauty, resilience, and strength…
I’d been looking at the first iteration of Hema Thríno for some time in my studio and I began to see her in a different form~ less vulnerable, more in an assumption of power and clarity. So off the wall she came and we got to work together and brought her into fuller form. She has a countenance now. She is here more fully… calm… and powerful.
I asked this question to people in my community: what is one thing you do that you feel supports your creativity and art making?
Of those that I asked, these are the responses I got back. Captured are the nuances, intricacies of humanness, and the fabulous varieties in the ways people think about and relate to their creative spirits. It’s clear: creativity is not only about making art. Creativity is energy in the relational field, with self, others, and the world in which we live.
From Donna LaPerle~
Joy feeds my creative sparks which encourages resiliency. Knowing I have joy inside me comes through my creativity and keeps me from sinking into what I believe is insane news on the TV. I have balance because the joy of being creative puts me in an “I can” space. If I am experiencing joy, I am healing myself and it might reflect what I am creating in my art. My depression has popped out of my so called, Jack in the box, through weaving and woodwork. Looking at my stash of yarn or smelling my wood gives me hope. Through my creativity I silently invite others to connect with their joy. Perhaps I cannot change these crazy times but maybe we can hope for a brighter day and maybe witness just one or two smiles.
Linda and Donna with some Wild WeavingDonna’s Weaving & Exploration of Color Interactions
From Linda J. ~
I seek out craft and artistic visionaries who teach, inspire and nourish the creative quest and thought. Then I reflect and gather various inspiring materials, implementing the excitement into action–realizing everything is a learning opportunity and to enjoy the process.
When possible, allot time for your creativity—creativity nurtures so much of our well-being and identity; we can’t ignore that!
From Kendra ~
I exercise my visual perception. I attentively observe my environment, forms of plants, animals, interior spaces, quality of light/colors. The more I look, the more I perceive with my eyes.
I exercise my imagination in various ways: I imagine experiencing the world from a different physical size, how would it feel to be a tree or be a particular leaf or cat or an insect. How would I experience a tree if I lived in the soil? What’s the shape of the sensation of my skin touching another surface? What’s a visual representation – color, shape, movement – associated with a feeling or emotion?
from Kendra ~ Virginia Oaks; the tree pictured in the back is 800 years old!from Kendra ~ A leaf stuck in the snow and the pattern the wind and it created together. from Kendra ~ tea ceremony
From Steve Diffenderfer ~
I reflect on a current event, historical event,a recent interaction with a person be it emotional or cerebral, or anything else that holds my interest. I will then make a series of drawings to create context & reconcile that particular subject/idea/emotional response with at least three drawings and often twenty five or more small 5 /12″ x 8 1/2″ graphite or pen & ink drawings. (30-60 minute drawings). When I am truly inspired, I will translate one of those drawings into a painting. (5 hours to 45 hours per painting). I am not concerned with generating artwork. I am not constantly drawing. I create visual art in yearly cycles. I play guitar every day :). Beginning in 2020 I started exploring foreign languages and what may be lost in translation. I read a lot of Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekhov, Gogol, Turgenev, Pushkin, Bulgakov & Pasternak novels during the pandemic. I considered Russian literature being translated into English prose, and being reliant on a translator. I also considered the Tao Teh Ching (which I consider poetry, and have read and revisited for many years) being translated into English. This led me to begin visually considering Chinese characters (hanzi) and Hebrew characters (Ktav Ashuri) and working them into a series of artwork: using them to convey ideas & feelings outside of the spoken & written language I use in daily life.
I explore other themes along the way. I’m always interested in something.
From Krista ~
I wake up early when it is still quiet. Make a cup of coffee and have time to knit or craft. It’s almost a meditative time for me. In the summer, I like to knit outside and listen to the birds and morning sounds. Winter, audiobooks.
Lately, I have moved away from visual YouTube podcasts, because my attention is drawn away from my knitting to the screen. I am more productive listening to audiobooks. I can keep working with an eye on what I am doing while listening to a story.
From Ali W. ~
One thing I do that supports my creativity is spending time outside without an agenda- just observing, walking, or collecting natural objects. Being in the moment with nature sparks ideas and often leads to unexpected creative flow. I prefer to let myself follow instinct-whether that’s taking a walk at dusk, watching how the light changes, or making something with my hands from what I find. Those little, unplanned moments feed my creative self more than anything structured (which tends to be hard for me).
from Ali
From Jonathan Silverman~
Serendipity, play, discernment- I have no idea and every idea of what I’m doing. There is joy and humility in acquiescing to both intent and discovery. Kneading, coiling, slabbing, throwing, pinching, scraping, folding, glazing… a wonderous dance. I am in partnership with clay, sometime we are in sync, sometimes we just don’t get along. We share ideas on how to end a form, pondering from the inside out and outside in.
Photo by ritesh arya
What do you think? What do you do to tend to or pay attention to your own creativity? Or if you don’t, can you imagine doing one tiny thing to turn your gaze towards the creative parts of yourself?
I haven’t been able to weave lately because of a back/neck injury I sustained one month ago tomorrow. As I’ve worked to get back in touch with my body and what it’s communicating to me (if only I’d listen!), I’ve been thinking a lot my looms and which one will be my entryway back into weaving.
I think for the sake of my back, I’ll start weaving again on this wonderful one from Lost Pond Looms. I am planning on using this loom in both my Introduction to Tapestry Weaving Classes and Wild Weaving classes, as we phase out the ones we have been using. I like this loom because it is super strong and allows for different warp spacing. I also love that we are buying it directly from the person who makes them, and he’s from the next state over in NY.
So, taking it slow, and learning ever more to listen to the language of my body and woven form itself. And in the meantime, I’m circling my weaving tools, thinking about what they will hold soon, and looking forward to picking up my yarn again.
I dropped off the pieces I made for the Interwoven fiber art exhibit yesterday. Walking away from things I made was an interesting feeling I’ve not had much experience with. It was both exciting and nerve wracking! I kept turning back, looking at them laying where I left them, as though I needed to say goodbye a couple more times. Or maybe just a little more fiddling, straightening, adjusting… I think it’s because each of the pieces that will be in the show was a meditation on some issue I think about or am currently wrestling with. So really, what I was leaving in someone else’s care was the physical evidence of an emotional process.
I am delighted to be in the show with three other incredible artists. What a boon!
Here is the invitation to the Opening! If you’re in the area and have an interest in fiber art, come on down!
Has it really been since March since I’ve written? I’ve been meaning to, but honestly, it’s really hard to extrovert (which in my mind includes putting parts of myself out into the world) when grieving. I’ve needed a lot of quiet, a lot of time alone, and not at all any “shoulds” where possible; just simply to have time to be in my own headspace, at least more than I typically am able. That all being said, I’ve missed writing here. I’ve come to look at this website/blog as the place that holds evidence of my thinking and ideas.
I’m grateful to you for tuning in.
Some updates: I was asked to participate in a group art show entitled Interwoven at the South Burlington Public Art Gallery , and I wholeheartedly said yes. I’d been working on some projects and it was just the impetus I needed to really focus and bring them into being. Most everything I make has to do with something I’m working out in my psyche and the pieces I made for this are no exception. Three are hand knit and three are handwoven. I’ll love to share them with you. The show’s opening is on September 11. I’ll post more about that soon.
Evidence of Significant Repair
Wearing Away
Hema ThrínoRhythms
Winter of Our Discontent
Soil
My wooly, woven pieces are actually curtains but could also be wall hangings. I love playing with the idea of warm and bold wool being woven in an airy, light-filled way. I was in my studio yesterday and the window was open, allowing Winter of Our Discontent to flow and move and I smiled, seeing it dance just the way I’d hoped. I’ll write separately about each piece to introduce them simply and properly in the next week or two.
Also happening lately is the spinning of wool while listening to Clarissa Pinkola Estés’The Power of the Crone. I highly recommend listening to her wonderful stories. Pairing that with spinning is like eating dark chocolate while sipping a hot coffee. Perfection.
I got to dress up for a dear friend’s beautiful event thrown to raise money to develop a space that supports deep creativity and the arts…
And I got glasses- suddenly everything looks crisp and clear again… dang, that was a slow motion slippery slope…
I played with paint and yarn…
And had a lot of my work hung at the Pierson Library in Shelburne…
And did all kinds of fibery things with the Shelburne Craft School, my home away from home…
So, now that we’re all caught up (is that ever really possible?), I’ll love to know what you’ve been working on, thinking about, gearing up to do.
It’s a rainy Friday – rain in January? In Vermont?
It’s been too long since I’ve recorded here my progress and process in weaving, and there’s so many reasons for that of late. Let’s just say 2023 went out with an epic attitude problem and 2024 picked up the baton and leveled some more painful life experiences.
I’d like to acknowledge here that the person who taught me to knit, my step-grandmother who has been in my life since I was 9, passed away on January 7. Her name is Marion Bogdanski (née Trio). I remember vividly when Nanny started teaching me to knit. She was so patient and encouraging, always urging me to relax my hands and loosen my stitches so I wouldn’t have to force the knitting needle into the fabric for every new stitch. Nanny’s mother, Nana, lived with her for time. Nana was from Sicily, and I remember thinking she was amazing- little and delicate and lovely. She would sit and knit, too, me at her feet. I’d hear behind me the click, click, click of the knitting needles going so fast. I remember thinking that one day I’ll be able to knit like that. Still hasn’t happened, but those memories of learning from Nanny and Nana are precious to me and I suspect have a lot to do with how I ended up loving fiber art and craft so much. Also, I must mention that Nanny made the best pancakes ever and I will make homemade pizza and fried dough every New Year’s Eve in her memory. Doing that with Nanny on NYE are some of my favorite memories with her, as well as watching old movies, listening to her stories, playing cards, and getting cooking tips. So many times when I’d need to make something good, I’d call Nanny and ask, how do you do this or that, and she’d take the time and explain every step to me and tell me exactly what to get at the store. That’s so generous. I hope she is dancing and singing with her wonderful Henry and all of her family and friends who left before her. Isn’t she so beautiful?
Another event that has happened in this new year that is especially relevant to the point of this blog is to do with arthritis, believe it or not. This is a topic that I hope to pick up in some depth in the coming months or years. Arthritis doesn’t go away, after all, but more is something to tend to, know about, live in accordance with, and adapt to. In short, I have osteoarthritis which often invites statements like, “well, you’re getting older, and aches and pains are part of it” or “that’s just normal aging”, even from doctors. I have to say I’ve found this entirely unsatisfying. I’ve noticed over the last few years a significant shift in how osteoarthritis in my fingers and hands is affecting my ability to do things that are important to me, namely weaving and teaching weaving.
The way arthritis has been affecting me for the last couple of years is in pain, bending of fingers, and the development of cysts that are doing their best to respond to the impacts of bone spurs that are doing their best to deal with the fact that there’s nothing in between certain of my finger joints. These cysts can often be ignored but one of mine went rogue and became an ongoing issue in September, resulting in the need to have them surgically removed. I had this minor surgery just over two weeks ago and am continuing to heal. Today I was able to tie my shoes using my healing fingers, which felt like a big deal.
What’s the point of sharing all this? Well, I know there are a lot of artists and crafters out there who have arthritis. And I am learning very deeply what it is like to have a physical condition that affects what you can do, how you feel about yourself and your future, and that simply hurts sometimes. As I climb out of feeling really bogged down by the discomfort of post-surgical healing, I realize that I want to move into this space of learning more deeply. I want to know how to better care for myself so that I can keep doing things that I love. I also want to learn more about how to help others do the same, no matter what condition they are dealing with.
I didn’t realize how much I loved weaving until I couldn’t weave. I didn’t realize how much I loved teaching until I thought I might not be able to. I didn’t realize how many people were out there, wanting to make, create, express, and share their light with the world who for one reason or another can’t or don’t know how to modify things in a way that allows them to keep at it. To put it simply, going through all this has cracked my heart open even more. Just like grief has.
Soon I’ll write about some projects I was able to finish before the surgery and talk about some other things I’m working on and thinking about. Until then, I’d love to hear from you if you are managing a condition that has affected or affects how you create and express yourself. Who knows- maybe a larger conversation can start where others can find support and new ideas when they are struggling.
p.s. I found this website about arthritis really helpful.
Well, hello… it’s been a while. How do we catch up after so much time? My last post was in July of 2020. Since then, I’ve become a homeschooling mom, I’ve started co-writing a book about grief that lingers beyond the time our culture demands is appropriate, I’ve barely knit or woven a thing except for a sweater, hat and booties for a soon-to-arrive little baby niece (oh, I cannot wait to meet her), and I’ve been riding the wave of pandemic life that is really pretty goddamned grueling.
Today at the store, I was double-masking it because I <heart> Anthony Fauci and he says it’s a good idea in some instances. But the second mask I had on was too big and every time I looked down into the bag I was filling, it would scooch up into my eyes and I couldn’t see a freaking thing. This was after I couldn’t help my son with his math because maybe I skipped that class? And, it was after I took a good look at what’s happened to my hair since my last real haircut & color about a year and a half ago, maybe two. So… the mask thing almost, almost made me have a temper tantrum right then and there in the middle of my neighborhood grocery. Why? Not because that’s been the most stressful thing to happen of late. Not even close. Like any good old-fashioned tantrum, they are born from buildup. An accumulation of things that exceed the nervous system’s capacity to metabolize stress. Finally there is the last straw. Usually that poor straw is puny, so to the casual observer, it just looks like someone is losing it over the “dumbest thing”. But it’s never like that. It’s just a dumbest thing that tips the scale too far into Freakoutsville. Today, my last straw was having a mask on my mouth and on my forehead at the same time. Thankfully, I did have enough self-control left in my un-Buddhalike-self to realize I could not handle an embarrassing scene over the decision I myself made about my own mask attire. Maybe it was the dude giving me side-eye as I kept adjusting and readjusting the civic duty gone wrong on my face. “What? Didn’t you see this is how we’re supposed to do it now, bro?”, I imagined challenging him while he slowly and cautiously unloaded his groceries onto the conveyor belt. As much as I wanted to blame some concrete thing, or even Side-Eye Guy for my situation, I knew there was no one but me who could pull it together. After I fumbled through the credit card machine process and then remembered to be grateful for what I have, I gathered my bag of frozen corn and peas and package of chicken, and made my way home.
I miss my people. It hurts something fierce. And my heart is breaking for the millions who are grieving those they lost in this last year. Whether loved ones died from COVID-19 or from something else, no doubt about it, the rituals and rhythms that are built into the fabric of who we are, and which hold survivors in their grief, were experienced very differently because of the pandemic. No matter where we live, what we believe, and who we wish to when we ask for anything in our quiet moments, all who have lost someone are part of a new group. This group has its own stories, memories, symbols, anguish and wisdom that are making up history as we live it. I guess it’s easier to get wicked mad at a mask poking me in the eyes than reckoning with global pain sometimes.
Anyway! Sorry to be a downer, but this is why I haven’t written! Who needs more people talking about how much things have sucked? I do want to share some things though, to cross the bridge back to my love of all things yarny, wooly and textured. I have a new studio space where my looms and most of my yarn reside. This development came to be after I had to close my tiny office in Burlington in the spring. I realized pretty quickly into the pandemic that it’d be a good long time before anyone would be wanting to meet in person again, at least in the space I had, and serendipitously, an opportunity arose at the Shelburne Pond Studios that was basically completely perfect for my varied needs as a therapist, fiber artist/crafter, writer and now momentary homeschooler. It has also allowed for me to unclog parts of my home that housed all of what I’ve collected for my fibrous passions over the years. Blessings on many fronts with us home all the time. I am starting to imagine spring, summer and fall there, and all the sorts of things I might be able to do inside and out with other “masked” people who want to create and play with yarn. I can feel the energy coming back and that is exciting. There’s going to be a lot to weave out of our bodies and our nervous systems as we try to make sense of all that has happened and continues to unfold.
It’s been so long since I have written here. There are a lot of reasons for that, but the umbrella reason that covers all of the smaller ones is that, simply put, the world became a bit too intense and it was hard to write about my fibery art passion without feeling like somehow I was lying… you know? Like how so many social media platforms give people the opportunity to only show one little image that captures one little staged moment that suggests something that isn’t fully real, entirely honest, wholly transparent. I’ve been guilty of that, too, for sure, but when grief and stress get big, it’s hard to keep that going. And eventually I had to ask myself why I ever did, and why I ever would?
I have missed it here, though. And I have missed talking to so many people who love yarn, wool, fiber art, knitting, weaving, creativity, dyeing with flowers, weaving with sticks, learning new stuff, and just sharing all the wonderful things that go along with handcrafting. I am acutely aware of how much I have missed it now that so many of us are sequestered in our homes as a result of COVID-19. I am feeling the weight of not being with community, and I’m realizing that in this incredibly intense moment that the world is sharing together, that some things are so big and so global, that just being is where it’s at. Personal grief is transformed into shared communal grief, as well as shared communal hope and strength.
We really are all in this together. And staying connected through what we love is where the energy is at. At least some of it.
I hope you are doing alright, and that you are taking good care. What are you working on during these days of COVID-19?
I’m working on a sweater that is taking a wee bit longer than expected due to pesky arthritis.
With the greater amount of time home, I’ve finally picked up an art project that I put down almost a year ago… I just fulled this wooly, 6-foot shawl that is part of my Weaving A Life final project… more to come on that.
And, I’m about to get back to weaving towels with this poor neglected warp that has been on my four-harness loom since before Christmas!
Maybe now really will be the time to finish up all those neglected projects?
I sure didn’t mean to drop off for so long but there it is. Time passed with little to show for it on this here site. Sometimes life requires full attention and quiet.
But, in that quiet time I took, I’ve done a whole lot of learning. As I mentioned in my last post, when winter was still hanging on with a mighty grip, I made my way up to Montgomery, Vermont with my friend Susi, of The Felted Gnome Knows, to visit Mountain Fiber Folk. I’ve spoken about the wonderful ladies who fill their co-op store with gorgeous wools, handspun yarns, woven, knitted and needle felted creations. It’s just all so lovely. One of my friends there sold me a loom she’d had tucked away for some time. A four harness, counterbalance, Leclerc Mira Loom from the early 80’s.
Then I spent some time feeling very intimidated and concerned I’d bitten off more than I could chew. But thankfully a fabulous woman answered my call for a teacher to help me! Lausanne Allen demonstrated downright genius when helping me to get to know my loom. Her patience was remarkable.
And now, three projects in and I’m feeling okay, like I might be able to do this weaving thing and like I might need to just stop now with the whole being-afraid-of-math thing.
I’ve been spinning some wool, too, and doing a bit of knitting because knitting wooly things in summer somehow works for me.
I have so much to write to you about and plan on keeping up with my blog again, at least once a week.
I think the last time I posted here was in November. It’s not been for lack of things to say, ongoing projects or a deep interest in what all of my blogger handcrafting comrades are doing, that’s for sure.
In the time that has passed, I’ve completed a few knitting projects, learned how to knit cables…
bought a used floor loom from a friend and completed the Weaving A Life certification…
I’ve moved my office & studio space to downtown Burlington and am learning how to tapestry weave…
I think, truly, I just had to collect myself and take stock in what I am doing and get clear on a few things.
You know what is a deep relief? Yarn and all things fibery and textural remain a passion, a preoccupation and an inspiration for deeper living, more grounded contact with the people in my life and with myself. The more our world is automated, made visible and social, the more I find it to be an absolute requirement to turn off, sit down and touch materials that are, by their very nature, organic, raw and useful. Also a deep relief? The ever-encouraging community of handcrafters, who seem forever gifted at making learning a deeply ingrained part of life, in tangible terms.
Over this last year, handcrafting and learning new skills in knitting, weaving and spinning has happened in tandem with learning how to grieve, face-life in the aftermath of loss, and carry on. I’m not sure how it would’ve been for me without having all of those projects to keep me grounded. Making cloth~ it’s like making life. You know?
So, after a long winter that I guess technically we are still in up here in Vermont, I can see the green peeking through under the brown grass. The smell of mud is gathering it’s pungent power. The frogs will start singing again soon.
Healing Handcrafting 