From the forward:
“THREAD, Spring 2020 can be read like an unfolding story —one of layers, light, and the unearthing of things long buried. It can also be read in pieces. Included are elements of art and design; friends and family; adventures, paths, and silly observations. An underlying theme of relationship plays out through several pieces, and the beginning of a four part feature entitled, ‘The Women,’ highlights those who have inspired and encouraged.”
THREAD
I don’t typically write….that is, aside from those rare Instagram posts and on the occasional sticky note. But while tucked away in my sister and brother in law’s apartment in Connecticut, I reached out to someone whose work had somehow caused me to wake up. I was inspired, and I wrote. A flood of memories of starts of ideas and pieces that had never taken their final form emerged, and a life that had jumped about in ways I never planned went from tangle, to piece by piece, to hints of relative order.
THREAD? It would become the landing place for endings and beginnings. Up until now, I have been a bit of a reservoir of experiences and creative expression. Much has swirled about in my head, but has scarcely made it to paper. Handfuls of things have been shared with friends and family, but the sum of it all started to split seams, and the feast of the last years could not be held back any longer. Patterns kept revealing themselves, and all of the seeming randomness from the flow of time began to look a lot less random.
It was hard to keep up and keep going. As soon as things were realized, threats of morphing again and into the next always loomed near enough to pull me off course. That I sat down to write and compile from as far back as “dug up” art from my youth is a bit of a miracle. All came together, and well. Well, because there is a cover, title, table of contents, words, and pictures: THREAD, Spring 2020. We aim high and get there and then realize the very basic things are the most marvelous evidence of arrived and completed.
I committed to a quarterly. I do not know how bold I will be, or if I will start to ease into a familiar type of form —new territory, for I have always been the one who loves to flit about. But the table has been spread for a second and third course and maybe dessert. There will always be much to talk about. And now, to think about summer and already fall, because the time moves and flows, and we are swept along with the breath of it. Ah. But before we are, the newness of spring.
A book of poetry, prose, and splashes of color. $24
Softcover
6”x 9”
Full color
184 pages
The Women: Part 1
These lovely souls have all had an impact on my life and have brought refreshing vision and inspiration. I had the great privilege of featuring each of them in this first release of the publication THREAD.
Ana
Kristine
Brooke
Christine
Liz
Ginnie
Songs for our time.
This collection of songs has inspired art and writing included in THREAD, Spring 2020. Enjoy.*
*In order to listen to the full song, make sure the Spotify app is downloaded on your phone or desktop.
“Mein Weg”
This song? It demands attention. If it comes on while I’m driving, I will almost always skip it, because a casual listen cannot receive what it has to give. If I am at home, I love to plop into a chair and let it wash over me.
This song is the trip around the mountain, again and again, and I become almost absent minded in its turn. How can something be both stirring and almost cause one to fall asleep? Sound is kicked up, but it does not resolve —known tracks along a known road. It cages ‘round and ‘round.
But then, could it be? I feel the slip off heavy shoulders, weighted and waited; it’s light and echoes, and we soar free.
“La Valse d’Amélie”
This song is attached to a very particular part of culture and the screen. Familiar? Why yes. Too? But it’s Yann Tiersen, and the joy it brings is specific. What was played out for all of us when we first heard it cannot help but influence. And most of those memories cannot help but make us smile, what with the reds and greens —the edits and the narrative laid out for us those years ago.
It starts sweetly and softly —almost timid, but the notes are bright and they hope. We have moved from the settled dust of seasons past and finally. This enjoyment of fresh air and the new, wide world builds from a tiptoe to a run.
Hands swing, and hair whips around and free. Hills for conquering stream past and before our eyes.
“A Love Song”
The whimsical running around stopped. Those jagged peaks wore, and maybe the terrain was dry, and maybe we needed water, and maybe we got lost. Did we forgot the rain and what brings life?
Then we breathe.
This song is not coated with sugary sweetness, but it is ever so sweet. It is quiet, and as I listen, I think of a story that has been around many bends. It has a different type of beauty; one that is not flashy. It is nice and easy. It has seen much, and it shines because of it —this stone, worn and smooth, less caught; gliding.
As it comes to a close, it slowly disappears into the night and into the bright sunshine that arrives with each blessed day.