I can wait

I leave tomorrow to teach at Quilting by the Lake. It’s a great place to meet up with like minded folks. We learn, we play and we come away with new ideas. Though I love teaching I am not fond of the actual transit time and energy it takes to get there and back. Airlines are clumsily fulfilling their promises. The seats on the planes defy the idea of comfort and delays and cancellations are to be expected. Needless to say it can be challenging to get off the plane with a good attitude.

A mantra for relief

Whenever I start feeling anxious, angry, itchy, or just plain mean I repeat: I can wait, I can wait, I can wait…..I can wait.

Like this Dove who is sitting on a nest above my back door in 100° heat. She is patient and calm regardless of her circumstances. I can wait.

When I start getting drawn into the news cycle I have to remind myself that the roller coaster of despair can be balanced by hope and good trouble. I can wait.

In Spring I looked for signs that the plants would survive the winter. And now the garden is completely overgrown. I waited and was rewarded.

When I am acting more like the White Rabbit muttering "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" I need to focus on how amazing the ride down the rabbit hole is instead. I can wait.

How do you calm your anxiety and impatience?

The simple phrase “I can wait” helps me focus on what is rather than what I want it to be. It’s a practice that brings balance to inevitable chaos.

I can wait.

Fruit

I love dropcloths. I don’t often make them myself but if I happen upon one that is allowed to go home with me I am delighted. Dropcloths show effort, action and revision. Dropcloths protect what is under.

Dropcloths are a record of time.

So when I came upon this discarded dropcloth I couldn’t resist taking it home with me. Bright and deep magenta, brilliant yellow and a hint of sky blue. There are some stampings on it and a sprinkling of raw umber spots. It is soft and worn, damaged but intact. I worked with it for a couple of months before I came to my final decisions about its form. Here are some of the steps I took in the process.

The cloth went through many stages of composition and texture. I loved all the stitching and texture but did not find the end result compelling enough to consider it done. The work ended up in the raw materials section of the studio where it could rest and be considered for a different life. See a post about its first incarnation here).

Then one day I decided to cut it up to experiment with curved seams and 3D features. The cloth really came alive. It started looking like a creature or a giant squishy comfort toy.

I loaded those squishy bits onto the leftover dropcloth to create a larger piece. I added cone-shaped objects into the mix from another cut up quilt. Eventually the pieces came together to form a whole.

I’m still settling on which way I want to hang it. I like it both ways and it may still go through a transformation while I work on details. It makes me laugh. Something I need more and more these days.

Fruit, 25” x 50”, Paula Kovarik

Fruit, 25” x 50”, Paula Kovarik

The Herd show is at the International Quilt Museum until September. If you are traveling anywhere near Lincoln, Nebraska please stop in to see it.

Abundance

In these times of uncertainty and worry I spend as much time as I can surrounded by nature. Spring is a time of abundance and the gardens are full of examples. I trust the earth to push back on our species ill-advised disregard of the whole in service of the small-minded. Calls for political actions, marches to protect our water and ban pollution, reports on the destruction of natural areas render me speechless but determined.

Our garden in Memphis

I’ll be teaching at the Alegre Retreat in Gateway, Colorado next week. The environment there is colored in oranges, reds and dramatic blues.

Last week I was in the Mississippi Delta traveling country roads through small and large communities. The live oaks in Mississippi are dramatic examples of life lived long. Their overarching branches dipping to the ground spoke to me of ancient ways, virulent strength and abiding patience.

Mississippi delta highway flowers and live oaks

Spring is a short season. I breathe deep in hope and beauty to reassure myself that we will come to our senses. And that the cracks we are seeing in the fiber of our environments will heal.

spiral dialogue

I am drawn to the spiral. The in and out of it. The widening gyre of it, the repetitive motion of it. It’s a whirlpool and a growth vector at once. It grows out from a core and twirls into itself. I meditate with it. I get dizzy with it. I stitch it. It distracts me. Calms me. Defines a center.

“The spiral is an attempt at controlling the chaos.” - Louis Bourgeois

The spiral shows up in my stream of consciousness drawings. When I am stressed, the act of drawing a spiral pulls me away from the anxiety that can build. I layer spirals, create patterns with spirals and use spirals as textural elements.

It’s thrilling to see the form in nature.

And it’s no surprise that I end up stitching this form into my work.

What forms do you find yourself repeating? Do they induce calm? or add to your tension? In addition to spirals I repeat egg shapes, ladders, antennas, gaping mouths and arrows. Why? I’m not sure. Sometimes they show up without my planning for them. I think that is part of the mystery of letting the thread tell you where to go.

Spring Workshops are just around the corner.

Treat yourself to a fun week with people who share your passion. There is still room in the At Play in the Garden of Stitch workshop with MISA in Santa Fe. The classes are small and intimate so that we can focus on what you want to learn. It is a fearless free-motion stitching journey for all. Let’s play with stitch together.