When I saw that this week’s challenge is textures, my first thoughts were of roughness and bumpiness although lack of bumps is also a texture.
One of the attractions of taking pics of my daughter’s three cats on the bed is the contrasting textures of their fur and the bedding.
I made an Elizabethan style smocked and embroidered baby gown for my middle son 36 years ago. Last week I had my 7 week old grandson, Banjo, model it for me – the stitches on the fabric have lovely texture – so do his squooshy cheeks!
The white Japonica is beautiful, but last summer it was overrun by Cleavers/Goosegrass, which is now silvery grey and a nice contrast with the blossom. It’s also covered in seeds, unfortunately…
Grampians Textures is also the name of the annual textile workshop-fest that takes place in Halls Gap in March. I don’t get to do a course every year, but I did do four days of mixed media with Kieth Lo Bue this year – lots of textures in these pieces I made.
This morning, wondering which “Good Match” to choose for this weeks challenge, my Rothko-esque painting caught my eye, and I decided on pink’n’orange, which is my favourite colour (combination) by far. My 3 year old grand daughter Juniper thinks it’s amazing that Granny has TWO favourite colours, but I love how they amplify each other, no matter what shade or tone is used.
So I took the camera for a little stroll around the house, collecting images of pink’n’orange matches.
I could have gone on…but I thought that was probably enough….
…except for this classic good match of a cat sitting on a mat (which happens also to be pink’n’orange).
Some years ago, I designed and stitched a piece of embroidery that included all the colours of the rainbow. (And a golden fish).
It was to be made into a little shoulder bag when it was done. One evening, I was working on it and thinking about the sad and senseless end of Kurt Cobain, when it brought me this poem…
Embroidering in indigo on black
In gathering darkness
Suddenly and for a moment
I understood how you had felt
At the ending of your life;
How much your light had faded,
So that it was too dark to see
Clearly what you should do.
So you did what seemed best
While blinded by shadows.
This weekend marks twenty years since Kurt’s death. Much has been and will be said about it. More books, more magazine articles, examining and re-examining what cannot be changed, only regretted.
Somehow, after writing the poem, I never ever finished that bag…I found the piece a day or two ago, which reminded me of the poem and I decided that posting it this week was fated to be. Because, with hindsight, anything that has happened seems to have been inevitable…