go and scream in a forest

got together with a good friend today and we both spent more than an hour talking about recent frustrations and energy-stealing situations and those damn christmas expectations and selfish, ungrateful people. after we got it out, we decided that what we needed to do was go for a walk in the forest and have a healthy little scream. or two. or ten. or enough that i now have a bit of a sore throat. but damn, do i feel better. while it doesn't make that selfish, ungrateful young person less selfish or ungrateful, it did ease the burden of it for me significantly. so, if you're near a forest, get out there and have a good scream. oh, and do look up while you're there. i guarantee you'll thank me. and even more importantly, you'll thank yourself.

walk and wool at lystbækgård

a couple of weeks ago, i spotted an event on instagram - it was a walk and knit nature walk. so i asked a friend if she wanted to go. i knew it was out in the area where she had grown up, so i thought she would enjoy it.

i was thinking that i'm no good at knitting, let alone walking and knitting, but the idea of a nature walk out on the moors with the sheep sounded good to me.

we were asked to bring size 5 knitting needles and they gave us a little ball of handspun yarn and a handful of wool.

but in case it wasn't enough, they had left bits of wool along the way. it took me awhile to realize this. at first, i thought it was just because the sheep had been out there or that the others had dropped some of their wool.

my friend emmy came with me and i'm glad she did. the rest of the group knew one another well and in that way that such groups can have, they weren't super inclusive. i would have been sad about it had emmy not been there. 

one of the women on the walk knew what all the plants were - i, of course, despite loving gardening, am not a plant rememberer and so i don't really remember any of them, but the noticing was what it was about for me. that and trying to knit some of them into my piece.

we sat down on the moors and just enjoyed the surroundings. but honestly, walking and knitting at the same time was so much easier than i imagined that it would be. i'm not a knitter, but i found it easier and less stressful than sitting at home and trying to knit. isn't that kind of weird?

it was a bit difficult to keep the flowers attached, but somehow, it didn't really matter. it was about being in the moment and just knitting on. 

some of the people had knives with them and while we sat here, they whittled some new knitting needles for themselves (see below). i didn't, but the idea of doing so was somehow so freeing. it made knitting so much less stressful - it was ok to just be free, experiment, drop a stitch or two and just keep going. 

my inner weaver would maybe rather have been weaving and i did weave in some of the plants, more than knitting with them. that was totally ok. and so freeing! 

i was even able to knit much more loosely. one of my main problems in knitting is a tendency to knit really tight, which makes it even harder to knit the next row. but i was able to relax and loosen things up. 

it wasn't until we found some blue-dyed bits of wool, that i realized that they had been out, leaving the wool out for us. those blue bits really spoke to me. the wool was generally untreated and so full of lanolin and so interesting to work with.

we were out there for more than three hours. it was like time stood still and it felt like exactly the amount of time that was needed.

emmy was faster than me, but she actually knows how to knit. we had such a fun day!

i don't remember what these were called, but they're a kind of wild blueberry.

when we got back, we all put our work out on the table together and took some pictures. everyone was so creative. we had the same materials at our disposal and came up with such different pieces.

one of the others either found this hole(y) stone, or had it in her pocket. i'll admit, i was a little jealous.

look at those handmade knitting needles! so lovely! and so freeing!

a close-up, though i think she made this one on a previous walk.

we also had cake when we got back. and it's strawberry season, so fresh strawberries too!

here's everyone's work! mine is in the middle with the purple flowers.

and here's one last view of my piece. if they hold another event, i've already invited another friend along. i think it might have made a knitter of me. and another reflection i have is that i would have been hurt by the group's insider-y behavior if i hadn't taken a friend along. but i consciously kept an open mind and decided to be in the moment and so it didn't end up triggering my sensitivity to not belonging. but it helped to have a friend along. i'm going to be sure to do that the next time too. also, they didn't call it "walk and wool," but they should have. 

the last hen standing

we awoke saturday morning to silence. no incessant crowing of various roosters, some young, just trying out their crackly voices and one mature but hoarse little black swedish rooster, none of the incessant chatter of what i call chicken cheerleading, which the other hens sometimes do when one of their compatriots is laying an egg. i didn't notice it at first, since it has become part of the background noise of my world. then husband came in from a visit to the compost heap and he asked if i'd seen any chickens this morning. i hadn't yet been out to scatter their grain, so i said no. he said there were an awful lot of feathers around and in the coop and he was afraid we'd had a visit from a fox.

we had indeed. and with around 40 chickens, not a single one remained, save a little black chick, just a few days old (it disappeared before i could take it in under a heat lamp, so i fear it's gone now too). even the pheasant babies they had hatched out had vanished. a snack for a fox and her cubs, no doubt. it was eerily quiet. we walked the property, looking for scared chickens in a tree, unable to believe that a single fox, even with the help of a couple of puppies (cubs?) could take out 40 some chickens without us hearing a thing. it's true we had grown lax. the chickens are completely free range and run around the property all day long, but they always come into the henhouse at night. we'd gotten lazy about closing them in, so we were tempting fate. one neighbor told us that foxes don't hunt in their own territory, so that explained why we'd seen foxes in the area, but never been visited by one in more than two years.

on saturday, when we were out in the garden, both husband and i swore we heard a bit of low chicken chatter, but we never did spot them. they were well and truly scared. we had no sightings at all on sunday, but it was rainy most of the day, so that was understandable enough. then this evening, as i walked down the path to see why the horses were running around like maniacs, i was sure i saw a hen dart across it ahead of me, but she quickly disappeared, so i wasn't sure. then, when i went to take the horses in, i spotted her up in a tree. all alone. she's a pretty one - a real mix of our two breeds - the danish land race and the swedish blacks, one of the young ones, hatched out at easter. i still hold out hope that there are a few of the others around.

i have oddly mixed feelings about the whole thing. on one hand, i'm sad that i didn't properly protect my chickens and on the other, i have a kind of strange, slightly awed respect for a fox that could take so many chickens in one go and leave only feathers behind. there weren't any bodies or blood or carnage at all. in some sense, nature is cool. i'm glad this pretty little hen survived. and i vow to take good care of her, closing her into the henhouse, safe and sound, at night. if she'll just go back over there.

a little collection of what's on my mind

after seeing the delightfully weird me and you and everyone we know on the silver channel a few weeks ago, i ordered one of miranda july's books of short stories from the library. she had written and directed and even starred in (if you can call it that) the film. like the film, the stories in no one belongs here more than you are quite internal, lonely, odd, strangely sexual and have an undertone of a desperate hanging on (to love, to life, to sanity). they're provocative and both depressed and depressing. they're not really that good for the kind of bedtime reading that i like to do. i'm just not sure i need that much loneliness right before bedtime.

which isn't to say that i don't like the book, i do (i'm only about halfway done with it). i think miranda july (i can't make either of her names look right alone, so i have to use both) captures a kind of internal voice that we maybe all have, tho' many of us have been socialized to repress it. but there's also something of the inherent loneliness of the urban world that we inhabit. tho' we are surrounded by people, we are, for much of the time, quite alone. and we are utterly alone in our own thoughts. that also shines through in her film. loneliness is clearly her big theme.

i think her writing is deep and beautiful and i envy it a bit. the seeming freedom with which she expresses the inner, slightly embarrassing thoughts that i'm certain we all have, is a place i just don't dare to go. it has a raw vulnerability that i don't think i ever allow myself in my writing. but it's doing me good to read it and think it over.

* * *

the bugs bunny line repeats over and over in my head in ominous wagnerian tones: "i killed the wabbit." because yesterday, due to a bad decision made by me, this little beauty of a bunny was callously killed by pepchen, our mama kitty.

we have a big cage that we put out on the lawn for the bunnies to get some sunshine, grass and fresh air. i had solskin and her five babies, who are three and a half weeks old now, out in the cage all afternoon. i kept going out to check on them and they were doing well. they were enjoying themselves and tho' i was going to be leaving to pick up some feed, i consciously decided to leave them out because they were so enjoying frolicking in the sunshine and i wouldn't be gone long. the little bunnies can sometimes find a place to get outside the cage, but they hadn't really done so all day. so i went.

when i came back 20 minutes or so later, i looked out the laundry room window and saw pepchen suspiciously stalking the cage. so i ran out and chased her away. i discovered the little black velvet bunny on the outside of the cage and couldn't find creamy (the bunny above) anywhere. i took the others all inside to their real cage in the barn and proceeded to search and call for creamy for 45 minutes or more. growing more and more concerned. and then, as i was going back to the house, i saw her still little body lying underneath the trampoline. killed, but not eaten (thankfully), by the cat before i stopped her. i will admit i shed tears and felt so guilty about it all evening. the poor little innocent life, taken by the cat. we're mad at pepchen, but in all honesty, she couldn't help herself, it was just her nature. i suppose we'll forgive her in time, but for now, we are mourning the loss of little creamy. she was such a beautiful and sweet little bunny soul and we will miss her.

* * *

playing words with friends isn't much fun if your opponent is using a cheat site.

and p.s. it's easy to tell.

* * *

årstiderne, the fabulous folks behind the weekly deliveries of organic veg and other goodies, have just come out with a gin & tonic box!! handmade in denmark, small batch gin by ørbæk distillery and organic tonic. swoon! i swear their awesomeness knows no bounds.

* * *

i've developed an allergy to the designation DIY that's quite similar to my allergy to LOL. i blame pinterest for this. here's the deal, if it's obvious that it's a craft, you don't need to call it DIY. example: origami? not DIY. stitching? not DIY. knitting? not DIY. hacking an ikea lamp? maybe. the photo above contains several great examples of DIY - the boxes for the herb beds are DIY. the custom-built mini greenhouse that fits over one of the herb bed boxes: DIY. the pizza oven in the background, definitely DIY. because they are definitely Do It Yourself - they are drawn out, designed and built, all by husband, so not really myself, but they are real DIY. origami birds are not. they are just origami. 

* * *

yesterday, while sabin got a much-needed haircut, i sat playing on my phone while i waited. it was the end of the day and the two young women who have the salon had a friendly banter going with a young man who came in for a haircut. he was probably in his mid-20s and lives in a local group home. he was independent enough to come down to the hairdresser on his own and to hand her an envelope of money to pay for the haircut which had been prepared for him beforehand by someone at the group home. he came in with a bouquet of dandelions behind his back and presented them with a smile. he teased the girl who was cutting his hair, saying he'd rather have the hairdresser who was doing sabin's hair. he talked a lot about a singer he liked and how his hair was white on the ends. he also repeated several times that he was going to the circus that evening and how much he's like one of those circus posters that were up around town. he had sharply observed that there were several different versions of the poster, but he definitely wanted the one with the clown. the girl cutting his hair kept up a cheerful and even teasing banter with him, which made him feel good and validated as a person. and which impressed me greatly as a spectator to the entire encounter. his lack of the social filter that holds us back from fully enjoying and fully jumping into a conversation, made for a pleasant atmosphere in the salon in general. i don't know what his diagnosis was, but i'm pleased we go to a salon where the girls who work there were so good at making him feel like the whole and worthy individual he undoubtedly is. it's a shame that culture and society in general often look upon someone like him in the opposite manner, not appreciating the gifts he has, but rather lamenting those he doesn't. and i'll admit that i wasn't entirely comfortable at first with his lack of the societal mask. but as i sat there, listening, i came to appreciate it very much. we could all learn a lesson from him in being entirely who we are in the moment.

under distant skies: the art of jane balsgaard

last weekend i visited the studio of artist jane balsgaard. she's one of six artists that have their studios in a lovely old building in frederiksværk. a trained painter and sculptor, she has been working for many years with natural materials - handmade paper, bendy willow that she grows herself - materials that she gently twists into graceful, lighter-than-air shapes that seem to float.  i was especially fascinated by her boats. she allowed me to wander her light, airy studio with my camera(s) in hand.

jane balsgaard talks about listening to the willow as she works with it and about the point where she often allows it to bend her artistic vision to its will rather than vice versa. i asked her about the pieces she was sending to an upcoming show in chicago and how they would withstand the journey. she said the pieces are surprisingly durable. one had blown away from her last winter and she didn't find it 'til the snow melted in the spring, surprisingly not worse for the wear.

light, delicate sculptures of beautiful unique handmade paper, twigs and delicate fishline fairly float around her studio. they have a way of capturing an enigmatic moment, freezing it momentarily, but releasing it at the same time. the sculptures are elusive in their lightness, yet dense with meaning that feels like it's right there, waiting to be snatched up.

these columns on the wall gave me the feeling that they could capture light and channel it. or choose not to, according to their whims.

there is a blend of nature and fancy in jane's work. the two curvy works in the middle of this photo seemed to be in motion tho' they were still. i had a notion that they were singing softly to themselves and that i would be able to hear their song if it were quiet enough. and i kept thinking that they moved just as i looked away. for structures so light, they are heavy with potential meanings.

 this fantastic organic shape, kalabasbåden, suspended on the ceiling was part of an exhibition at the himmerlands kunstmuseum on års in 2009.

there was so much to look at, i could have stayed for hours. here's a hint of some fascinating feathery works that i will save for another post.

i had the feeling that this beautiful boat was already there, lurking within the willow and jane just called it forth, coupling it with her light and beautiful handmade paper.

for those in the chicago area, you're in luck, you can see (and buy) jane balsgaard's beautiful work for yourself in person at SOFA nov. 5-7, 2010 at navy pier.  she also has gallery representation in the US at browngrotta.

jane balsgaard's beautiful works have me thinking about art and artists and the lifetime it takes to hone a craft. has art made you think this weekend?

it's fantastic

it's been sunny. it's been still. trees of all sorts are in full bloom. as the sun sets, the still air is heavy with the scent of blossoms. it's like the whole plant world is overtly having sex. and it's positively glorious. i hope spring is springing where you are...

and to my south african friends, i love fall just as much, so i hope it's glorious too! it's just not overtly having sex like spring is...sorry about that. :-)

when one thing becomes another

husband and i went for a walk in the woods on sunday. our real purpose on such a walk is what we like to call forestry. because we always spend some time liberating small beech trees to bring home for our hedges. we're thinning them out, helping the forest, you know, forestry. husband is making a labyrinth in front of our house (we hate being like the neighbors, you see) and it requires quite a lot of beech hedge. we don't mind waiting for it to grow up, so we bring home really small saplings from our forest walks. you can see the beech trees above, they're the ones with the brown leaves that don't fall off 'til the new ones push them off in spring. the ones you can see in the photo are larger than the ones we take, those are like only a foot high.

anyway, on our walk, i kept stopping to take photos of things like seriously tiny mushrooms:

i am amazed at how there are always mushrooms of some kind growing in this forest, no matter what the weather or when you go. year round, there are mushrooms or fungi of some sort. i only know of edible ones in the autumn, but there are probably some you can eat year-round. it's just that you don't want to mess around with that if you don't really know them well. 

we got to talking about inspiration, which, as you well know, is on my mind of late. i said i felt driven to take pictures of mushrooms for some reason that i didn't yet understand, but that i felt it would come to me eventually. and i wondered aloud if there was some way to fast track that process, because right now, it seems like it's taking an awfully long time from inspiration to product, so to speak.  

just as an example, two years ago, when peter, my father-in-law died, we got these ceramic "odin's eyeballs" that had belonged to him. odin is the head god in nordic mythology.  part of the story, which i need to do a bit more looking into, is that odin dropped his eyeball into a well, in order to gain the gift of knowledge. i don't remember the exact reason that peter had these eyeballs (there were several sets, we got one of them), but it also had to do with seeing clearly after the breakup of his long marriage in the late 90s. in any case, they have held a strange fascination for me since they came into our home. they reside on the window sill in our addition and i am drawn to them often. one snowy day, i took them out and took some pictures of them and we used them for our snowman's eyes.

combined with the memory of my friend michellea's fantastic i-eye collage and heavily influenced by this photo from flickr (and who wouldn't be inspired by sandra juto?), i have been feeling that i need to do something with eyes. and somehow, all of this input clicked into place on friday and i came up with this pillow, which will be the first item i list in my etsy shop later this week, together with two more i'm working on that are of the same theme.

but it took me a really long time to get to this point (especially if you take into account that the first inspiration came clear back in 1990). if i really want to have an etsy shop and be part of a local artist's group and contribute something to eyebuzz's first 'zine, i'm going to need to fast track this inspiration a bit. (i'm trying to find my way here and any advice is appreciated, by the way.) 

yesterday, in an attempt to get on this creative fast track, i gave myself a little exercise. i saw this beautiful embroidery by the ever inspiring margaret ooman of resurrection fern on flickr :

and i gave myself the assignment of making one like it from all of the scraps that were laying on the table after a weekend's worth of creativity. what i thought was that i would imitate it, that i would make a nest and a bird and eggs. that it would, of course, reflect my scraps, so it wouldn't be an exact copy, but that i would somehow end with something similar. well, something interesting happened along the way. i began by making the nest, but when it was finished, i saw something else. i saw a bowl. and among my scraps, i spotted a red felt circle, which demanded to be trimmed into apples. and in the end, this is what i created (#24):

i can hear the echo of margie's lovely nest, but i did end up making something my own. which i guess is what inspiration is about. and i did manage to fast-track the process--since i saw the nest on flickr on friday and made this already on sunday. so perhaps there's hope if you just push yourself a bit. if not, there's surely a ton of things i've been pondering in the back of my mind from the inspiration gleaned years ago, if i can just coax it out. 

i promise to stop harping on about creativity very soon. i'll start my new job and get out of the house and be with people and the navel gazing will surely taper off.  thanks for bearing with me in the meantime!