I guess it's a Harvest Moon do-over. The full moon, exact at 12:10 a.m. here in Colorado, is technically the real Harvest Moon, as the full moon closest to the equinox. It's a beautiful, cool, clear fall day here, so the moon should be spectacular. This moon is also called the Singing Moon, so here's an iMix of moon tunes in honor of that.
I had a lovely conversation with Jude this week and I thank her for posting a link to me. Jude's work is so compelling, I think, because she's purposeful as an artist. She knows what she wants to do, and she's developed the skills to do it. Although her work has a folk-art, primitive quality, it's anything but primitive in design, intention, and execution. Jude's work also feels intimate and familiar, although it's like no one else's; we recognize the materials, the textures, the universal beauty of hand stitching.
That conversation was one of several moments of blessed inspiration that got me through an otherwise weird (not in a good way) week. Another was my discovery of a new blog by Rosanne Cash, singer, songwriter, prose genius, and the celebrity I most wish I lived next door to. I did say hello to her once, when I worked for etown, but didn't get to talk to her; just as well, as I'm sure I'd have embarrassed myself in adulation.
Anyway. Rosanne's new album, The List, comes out this week, and she's added a new blog to her site, also called The List, about things that have been handed down to her and things she's handed down to her own children. It's full of, among other things, great stories that have to do with garments, or boots, or pieces of jewelry. This is another way to tell stories through textiles, through what we wear and keep. I don't know if Rosanne does any stitching herself, but she clearly has a deep respect for the makers of things. I think she would like the idea of slow cloth, of a relationship to fabric that involves joy, mastery, expression, beauty, and teaching through the generations.
People are sometimes surprised by my love of country music. I may have told this story before, but I had a good friend in college named David Hill who taught me how to appreciate REAL country music -- the kind of songs that Rosanne Cash covers on The List, and the kind she has written. He taught me about Gram Parsons and Merle Haggard and Dwight Yoakam and all of it. This was before there was an official "alt.country" genre. I am forever grateful to David, and now that I think about it, to all the exceptional musical mentors who have taught me about all kinds of music. I can't imagine life without music any more than I can imagine life without beautiful textiles or paint or color.
Hmmm, I had several other things in mind to blog about but I think this is long enough. I will go and stitch something instead -- I got stuck on my last shisha piece, but it's time to bind it, declare it done, and move on.
Oh wait! Elsewhere on the stitching front, the latest issue of Stitch magazine is on the newsstands. I wrote the article called "I [heart] Japan" about Japanese textile crafts. It could only touch on many aspects, but there's a good resource list. Cathy Bullington wrote a terrific accompanying piece on using contemporary Japanese sewing books. There are short profiles of Carol of Kimonomomo.com (Carol also writes The Ardent Thread blog) and Elizabeth Wilson of Asiatica. And of course, the magazine is full of great designs and other excellent articles.
Thanks to everyone who has left a comment recently. I will reply to them all, and I appreciate them immensely.
More soon. Stay inspired and do some celebrating under this Singing Harvest Moon. Here's one of my favorite moon tunes:
If you ever feel lonesome
And you're down in San Antone
Beg, steal, or borrow two nickels or a dime
And call me on the phone
I'll meet you at Alamo Mission
And we can say our prayers
The holy ghost and the virgin mother will heal us
As we kneel there
In the moonlight
In the midnight
In the moonlight midnight moonlight
If you ever feel sorrow
For the deeds you have done
With no hope for tomorrow
In the setting of the sun
And the ocean is howling
For dreams that might have been
That last good morning sunrise
Will be the brightest you've ever seen
In the moonlight
In the midnight
In the moonlight midnight moonlight
Midnight Moonlight, Peter Rowan
(Every time I hear that song I wonder how long it'll be before no one remembers why you'd have to borrow a dime to make a phone call . . .)