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When people receive their piece they each send me a photograph they decide  to frame it or set it on a table or in their garden. They determine whether  to read it from right to left or left to write and which end is up or down. I tell them that they can write something to share about the work on this site if they wish.

As I receive the photographs and texts, I post them individually and variously assemble the cliches taken under different lights in far-flung places . I  experiment with picturing the "full" work of art mingle the words people want to share about the pieces they receive and live with.  with   I study how  subjective continuities cannot often be presented in  all-encompassing pictures as I unravel process, intent and webs of intimate and collective exchange, sensation and sentiment.


Genie Davis.jpg

Let me soar

on wings I adore


Let me fly


Past the rage in the sky

don’t ignore


I’m a winged 

thing inside

cannot hide

I implore,

see -


here I go,

you don’t know,

beneath wings

I still sing


I like this placement. I will see it every morning when I go to breakfast. It will dangle in possibility.

Ann Henstrand.jpg

Sines and cosines of the time.

Cindy Rinne.jpg

The piece matches a fabric sculpture I'm designing called "Do What Seems Impossible." The fragment needed to be photographed with this art and not alone. I tried the fragment with different parts of the design and decided on this one. It made me think of the two of us having a conversation. Perhaps sharing lunch. I like the "unreadable" language representing the various interpretations of a poem as I have a poem that goes with the sculpture. And the thread is one of the main colors I'm using in this piece about the survival of bees.

Katharina and Jim.jpeg

A comet has landed in our library!

Evelyn Early.JPG

My 3 students in our Covid small bubble home school made me pix and we had cake for my BDay today and in circle this morning I showed them your artwork and ( I know this is not professional but thought it’d be fun) asked them what they thought it was


** alligator



Ce bouquet vibrant de couleurs & de matières mêlées, hymne à la renaissance cyclique confortante, du Lila aux feuilles-cœur percées de la lumière du matin, bouquet inspirée de ta pièce tombée du ciel, joyau postal de turquoise mêlé de bleu-blanc-gris orangé tourbillonnant dont le fil jaune de Susan, précieux  fil d’Ariane, nous invite à sortir de notre vie confinée.

Steve foster.jpg

This fragment seems like a collage in process, a puzzle-piece waiting for its place in a larger design, or an assemblage not (yet), perhaps fully assembled, lines and colors and shapes and threads in suspension, waiting for a more cohesive or readable pattern. The yellow thread is particularly suggestive, because thread, which is already "assembled" (made) or twisted from cotton fibers or (for example) silk spinings or whatever fibers, is also potential, in the sense of waiting-to-be-woven or -sewn. Perhaps it will be made into cloth, which in turn can stand for some further fabrication or "instrument". Textiles point to "text", which is something woven and something written.  


These associations could be counted as "meanings", or as potential meanings of this fragment, this part of some whole. The assemblage could become a message, a poem, a singular thought, an unprecedented design ... beyond the original "offering". It is a promise, a gift, a challenge, a waiting-to-be-created creation, even a surprise. What I make of it or what you make of it remains to be seen: an invitation. Threads to be woven, a textile suggestive of texts yet to be written and to be sent, transmitted, read, even published or exhibited. An expanding universe....


I am very happy to have received it. I like it very much, it was like a presence immediately, a new being in the house.


I do not know if are the colors, or  the lightness and or the shape or everything together but it gives a solidity and levity and a movement at the same time.

And if I want to see a symbolic shape I see an animal moving, but maybe it is just me und this period of my life where I see through...


This blackbird landed on my windowsill and picked all my yellow flowers before flying away, soaring above the church, the watermill and the river.

Is this a bird sitting in my kitchen or a top viewed from above with its strings tangling?
Is the center my solar plexus with movement and a bit of chaos?
In any case it is a marker of our friendship and a place I see every day almost all the day.
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