The commission is shipped, photographed, shipped again, and has arrived at its forever home. The studio wall was blank, I had a reprieve from my Saturday courses for the Memorial Day weekend, and I spent more than 8 hours there, alone, lost in thought and cups of tea.
Despite the struggle to arrive here on the digital page with consistency, I have found that I do miss blogging. I did love it, ten years ago, when it was a more regular and ongoing part of my life. I feel a twinge of sadness that all that writing is lost now, but really it doesn’t matter. In truth my own consistency or inconsistency doesn’t really matter. It would be hard to articulate what it is, exactly, specifically, about this process that I value; all I know is that I do. In reviewing how little I’ve recorded since starting this process at the beginning of the year (now that the year is at its halfway point!) I feel a renewed call to record more. To be less precious. To post ugly photos, and unpolished thoughts. The light has returned to the PNW — the photo part, at least, should ostensibly be easy. (Easier.)
It does seem to be a permanent fact, however, that the colors I fall for the hardest are also the seemingly most impossible to capture on camera. Reds are notoriously difficult in photos — my beloved vermillion perhaps the greatest offender. My newest obsession is no different.
Often, I can pinpoint my interest in a color to a moment, and object, an experience. With acid yellow, it was Sarah Ryhanen of Saipua who sent me tumbling down this particular rabbit hole. In the Fall of 2022 Sarah started showing sneak peeks of a linen bathrobe being designed for the farm shop, and she shared that the linen was from the one and only Merchant & Mills. I had to have some. The timing was fortuitous because I had also been absolutely salivating over another (neon) yellow M&M’s fabric, and been unable to convince myself not to make a large international purchase.
That was October. I don’t know when this grid idea lodged in my brain, but it has been with me a hot minute already. Instagram tells me it was February when I first started sketching with these colors. And I was clearly committed to the idea by my birthday trip in the middle of that month, because I brought home not one but two lilac-toned cuts from the antique mall I stumbled into on my way home.
After the success of rapid fire decision making with the commission piece, it’s my hope to treat this one much the same way. The only knowns in this moment are the palette and the existence of this grid; anything can change, adapt, grow, or be added. Two weeks ago I thought I knew where it was going. Today, all I know is that we’re no longer headed in that particular direction. Could we have another quilt top complete in 6 weeks? We’re all about to find out.
And last but certainly not least — and in the spirit of shameless documentation — it’s rose season here in Portland. Roses are a great love of mine, and I make it a point to overindulge during this time of the year. Currently I have six rosebushes, and I have been bringing in a fresh handful every few days for the last few weeks. It fills me with joy when I see them, even (or perhaps especially) amidst my dirty dishes and my pile of ignored mail. I keep one on my bedside book-crate, I keep bunches of them on my kitchen table, or on my living room altar. I take them with me in whatever empty drink container is at hand when visiting friends. I stop and put my face deep into the cups of them on every corner, big spiders be damned.
I am deeply grateful to roses, to their very existence; for the simple magic of being made to feel such happiness just by experiencing them. I feel grateful to myself for allowing — nay, insisting — that such a small thing be such a source of big joy. Even amidst the endless stressors of life, large and small, unceasing — for the time being, at least, there are roses.