November 30, 2004
work it, girl
Today is the dawning of a New Day. All day. All day dawn, all day long.
It would make me nervous, actually, if the whole day were dawn. What would happen when the day was over? And would it ever be over? It presents many problems, you see. Would the days be divided by hours? That would mean that the 24 hour rules would be in place. Or if it were to be determined by daylight, would I get to sleep all day? Or would we all turn into Alaskans? I don't want to be an Alaskan. They wear unflattering clothes. Like snow pants. Pants made of snow would be cold, inflexible, and temporary. Snow pants, however, are simply ugly, although they do make an excellent complement to moon boots.
Oh. Rockin!
Most days--Despite my firm placement in the category of delicate flower, many people are surprised by my affection for needle arts. "You?!" They tend to say. And I demurely look away, my lashes lowered in shame and culpability. Tipping my head back and looking at the sky, my profile in view, I say, "Yes." Then I gather my skirts and leave the room in a rustle of taffeta and petticoats. That's most days.
Other days--Because of my firm placement in the category of delicate flower, many people say, "Hey. Did you make that? It's, uh, unique." To them, as I wilt, looking with teary eyes, I respond, "Yes, I did fashion this garment. I did it for the sole purpose of pleasing your aesthetic sensibilities. I apologize for my inability to measure up to your standards of perfection and artistic merit." Then I gather my skirts and leave the room in a rustle of taffeta and petticoats. That's other days.
New Day--Because I am a delicate flower, planted firmly, never to be uprooted, I say, "Needle arts? Crap! They've gone away. They're passé." In a moment, I would like you to pause and breathe deeply of the synergistic ingeniousness of nature and me.
I do believe one of the reasons that people are initially surprised by my ultra-feminine preoccupation, despite being a delicate flower, is that I don't really like decorating my home with chickens and antique signs about angels. I do not drive a minivan full of children. I have fewer than 80 years under my black, satin sash. I have been known, on occasion, to stop talking. These things do not match with the image of a seamstress.
I am different, you see.
I am the wind.
Yes, you read that correctly. I am the wind. Whooooooosh.
When you feel a gentle breeze caress your face, that is me. When you are blown by a buffeting storm, that is me. It is I. Oh yes.
The little birdies, the little tweeting creatures, the large, stinking vultures, they worship me. Their songs and squawks, if you listen carefully, their music sings,
Oh, Dotty deeear!
Listen and heeeeear!
We'll gift you with string,
If you only will bring
Your windiness neeeear!
Whoooooosh!
(The vultures are responsible for the Whoosh part.)
And so I do blow. The strings and feathers and fluff they saved all year in their nests are rocked until the bough breaks and the nests come down, textiles and all.
I then fashion the enmeshed fibers into a nest shape.
In the winter, leaves that flit past nests use their magical powers to weave these threads into fabric. Upon a nest's liberation from the tree, a new wind, a fresh Spring breeze knits those fabrics together. These fabrics are, in fact, pieces of art derived from dreams, songs, and jettisoned hopes. It is this interlacing of creation, creativity, and despair that inspire my interest in the limitless and often tactiley stimulating world of needle arts.
Now is the time to breathe deeply of the synergistic ingeniousness of nature and yours, truly. Breathe, knowing that if the wind is blowing where you are, you may also be experiencing in the embodiment of my artistry.
And thus, it is a New Day. I spoke, in a grandiloquent manner, of needle arts being "crap". This, of course, is untrue. That is to say, that declaration of crap is crap. As is always true in matters of great intellectual concern, a new definition must be crafted. I say the new definition of needle arts is, "Whatever blows the right way."
(If I may be allowed to speak somewhat irreverently, I will say that if I work it right, I won't have to do anything except pop in some yarn and stick a darning needle into a bird's nest. Although I am Dotty, all powerful and invincible, I am also the wind, unstoppable and indefatigable. Honestly, though, I need a break. If I can eliminate most of the process and simply show the original bird's nest, I won't have to be so active in the Spring. Just one quick blow and my work is completed for a year.)
Following this process will be a journey certain to be exciting and unexpected. In the coming months, I will work on a concept of a more raw, sculptural nature. I see a cup shaped object made of many tiny fibers--put together as if by a bird.
So yes, my darlings, if I work it right, it will be a New Day for needle arts come Spring.
The only response people will have when they meet me will be, "Oh! You're Dotty Parker! You have changed my life."
Posted by dotty at November 30, 2004 11:59 PM