Time at home seems to invariably fill with art. My mother and I hide ourselves away in the barn Studio surrounded by bubbling pots of dye from the armloads of Snapdragons or Black Eyed Susans or St. John’s-wort we gathered earlier that morning, or elbows-deep in soap suds as we stand over the felting table, or hunched over hand-drawn patterns for wool murals.
This Christmas we’ve been felting again–my mother working on a new vest of our own Gotland wool and adorned with thin, clinging sheets of silk fiber; I altering and refining a garment I originally made a year ago. Today, we went on a freezing photoshoot beneath the finally-falling snow that wouldn’t arrive until several days after Christmas. I’ve never experienced a Christmas without snow in my life–until this year. I’ve no doubt the rest of the winter will make up for it.
There have been other artistic endeavors too, but those are secret. Spoilers. All in good time.
Photo credits go to myself and my mother.