This is the end of a week of adventuring into silk. A side voyage, sandwiched between stitching, writing, teaching, editing documents, and all the mundane happenstances of the day. Each time something comes out of the pot it is a bright moment, a remembered surprise.. an “oh yes… this is still there. This is still new.”
I recently read an article about Confucius by George Dillard. He states,
Confucius was obsessed with figuring out why people do what they’re supposed to do. Why do people obey rules, even if they might get away with breaking them?
The shibori pot is a unique way that I can break the rules all the time. Shibori is an ancient technique. It has various names all over the world, bandhani in India, for example. Particularly in Japan, shibori was an extremely detailed, tight, and specific textile art form, involving thousands of tiny knots placed just so. But I? I break all of those rules. Color, pattern, all fly in every direction, unleashed from the bounds of thread and cloth.
A day or so ago( I lose track of time these days, I am doing my best to stay connected with the world, to send the tenuous threads of words and visual images out across the neural net that is the combination of electronic signals from both human and electronic brains, intermingled at the quantum level), I posted an image of the dye pot on the back porch, full of ice, water, and scrap metal binding delicate silk. The above image is a detail of the finished patterns that resulted. Absolutely impossible to predict; perfect in its imperfection.
I am part of a community that spirals out from twos and threes to billions. I look forward to expanding and growing my little corner of it and finding ways to make my little corner of the living tapestry better.
What a journey it is beginning to be.