A Quiet Japanese Couple

Perhaps by now you're craving a palette cleanser for all the emotional posting that's been going on around here- an antidote to my cathartic oversharing.

And so I give you "The Quiet Japanese Couple", a textile series I've been working on in the studio.  (SEE, there is still the sewing!  And you thought it was going to be all that touchy-feely stuff all the time.)

They are chambray fabric backed by some kind of freaky starched poplin I had in the studio and then thin batting in between.  Follow by sewing for ten thousand hours each and here you go.  They're really just placemats, and I planned to make a set of six, but they are so lovely as a pair, I am torn!  (As I usually do you the courtesy, I will note here that I refrained from more than one joke about "looming decisions", etc.)

I want to offer you the chance to admit that you too *swoon* when faced with chambray selvedge.  When marrying the selvedge of nice chambray becomes legal in the eyes of the federal government, I will be there.  Marrying the selvedge of nice chambray.

The Quiet Japanese Couple is a set of two panels that are inspired by Japanese boro textiles, which I just cannot get enough of.  You feel the same way, no doubt.  I mean, look at these muvs!:

yukaipa.tumblr.com

ddutch.tumblr.com

pilgrimandpie.blogspot.com

Ms. Judgy Judgington Apologizes

You remember Deb Cohan.  She's the woman who started a dance party in the OR before her double mastectomy.  I had the incredible joy of getting her response after my blog post about it.  She wrote that I am a "wise mama".  (Coming from her, I'm feeling like Damn.  I better be acting like it then, right?)

I was invited on Facebook for this Friday to her Virtual Gratitude and Love Mob ( thank you Brit< Deb).  What a better time to use the invitation to show love and gratitude to someone I haven't shown nearly enough to over the years.  My little sister, Ariane.  So here we go, Frog.  May you someday soon be a dancing nurse in the OR:)

Phone rings, it's Ariane.

A: "Hello.  What are you up to?"
L: "Not much.  Driving to the grocery store.  What are you doing?"
A: "Oh I'm just between Surgery class and Pharmacology and I had a minute to call and say 'hi'."

!!!!

Seriously?  Just between surgery class and pharmacology and had a minute, for me?

My sister has seven kids.  They range in age from 1 to 20.  The four youngest are boys.

And girl found a minute in between surgery and pharmacology class to call me.

This is remarkable for many reasons.  Today is a good day to tell you why.  It's a good day to apologize and show off my dark underbelly of Big Sister Judginess.  (Don't worry, it's been dying for a while and is cold, hard dead now.  But we can think of my judginess as a huge sea creature slain by my strong, smart sister- and I think she deserves to stand by with the dead carcass and have a victory photo snapped.)

You see, my sister was a little bit the fuck up.  I was, on the surface, the success story.  Sorry, but that's how it looked for a while.  I always knew she was smart, and I always knew her heart was huge, but the truth is those qualities got buried in the haywire journey of youth.  I was busy fiercely driving toward some notion of success that was unfamiliar to my family, and I viewed my sister with judgement, frustration and worry.  I was mad about her teen years, and, in a way thought she was taking the easy way out as she built a family and I moved through life racking up a few superficial achievements.

Now here we are.  I am a mother too.  And something very peculiar has happened.  I am watching my sister still, yes.  Observing how she parents and watching how she gets through life, which has handed her some Grade A bullshit lately.  And I am not judging anymore.

I am taking notes.

Hear this, little sister:

Remember when I borrowed your car when I was home once a few years back?  I was shocked at its condition!  McDonalds bags abounded and I think I had to move my feet around on the floor to get any room for them to touch bottom.  Just because you had a bunch of kids- you couldn't get your damn car cleaned?

DECEMBER 2013:  I literally could not get my car cleaned because it was too messy.  That's right- there was too much crap strewn about for the cleaners to actually get to the dirt, so I passed the carwash again, promising myself to take a load in the house when I got home.

Remember when I breezed through college, furious that you couldn't figure out a way to finish high school?

JANUARY 2014:  I wanted to take a class at the local community college this semester, but couldn't make it happen.  You know, between my three children and my part-time nanny.  Just can't swing the commitment yet.  Call me between Surgery and Pharmacology so I can moan about it, eh?

And most importantly- this last Christmas when I visited home.  Your kitchen was a mess, woman!  I couldn't find a coffee mug.

And here, I cry.

I couldn't find a coffee mug, because you were too busy...hugging your baby Donavin.  Your one year old baby.  Fuck the dishes, there you were in a room full of kids and a catastrophe of Christmas toys, calmly letting your baby climb all over you.  You were smiling that natural smile you always have with your kids.  You were tuning out a little and talking baby talk to little D while he cooed a gummy smile at you and flopped lazily back into your arms.  And then little Spencer came by and you offered him some sweet words about where he could find a missing toy.

I've got it now.  And I'm so sorry.  Because you're teaching me so much about what is important.  Your kids are confident and happy.  (Even though- zip up their coats!!  God!).  They are one hundred percent sure and confident that you can be relied on.  They come to you and climb up, never worrying if its the right time.

This is a thing that I have only recently started to learn.  My heart has not been totally open and I've struggled with patience and calm so so much.  But something clicked after Christmas and things are changing.  A good part of it was from watching you.

I've seen strength in you this last year that blows. my. mind.

As you lay in a hospital bed in Ann Arbor, on the verge of giving birth to your seventh child, and your forty-one year old husband lay in another bed down the hall trying to recover from a stroke and a heart failure, your other kids together, taking care of one another, I was beyond stressed for you.  All I could do was send pizza.

Yet you never cracked.  You just Got It Done.  As you always do.

I see deep intelligence, an amazing sensitive heart and worry and frustration all living together in you.  It's all there and you still have a smile and an open lap for your kids.

For all the successes that I experienced along the way, this parenting thing has seriously kicked my ass. And it's only the most important thing I've ever endeavored to do.  I have many times complained on the phone to you about how hard it is.  I've many times been calmed by your advice.

And after all these years, I can honestly say, I wish I was more like you.  I am trying to be more like you.  (Well, except the kitchen.  I will FREAK the fuck out if I can't get to a coffee mug fast.  But we have discussed how important the kitchen is on the list of priorities, so I'll work on that.)

So that should do it, Frog.  Hope you like my Virtual Gratitude and Love Mob:)

Congratulations on making it through your first semester of nursing school- a feat that seems literally impossible.  I love you very very much and am so proud of you.*

*Though, at some point, we will need to discuss the time you stole my Benneton rugby and lost it.  Maybe when you graduate or something.  But your not off the hook for that.

Saying Yes to Atomic Mess

Starting at age 4, Phinny was released into the wilds of self-styling.  We never mandated what she wore before that, we just provided her with comfortable clothes and she didn't object.  When we officially gave up the reins, she embraced the task with gusto.

She wears some seriously jacked up ensembles.  In public.  Like this one- that's a princess crown on top, flipped back for a better view of the random muslin hankerchief tucked into the front.  Fashion glasses, dress on backward, etc.  

She wore this all day, even kept the glasses on while we perused the planetarium.  I think you will agree that she is TOTALLY BADASS.  People were staring of course.  Smiling, giggling, admiring.  She did not care a whit.  She did not care that she was repeatedly massacring the word "Physicist" as she announced to me over and over her desire to be a "nurse physisisitht".

That opportunity was brought to her by the simple power of the word 'yes'.

I am making it my practice to saying 'yes' to everything short of "Mama, can I play with food coloring on your bed?"

"Can I take 3 stuffed animals, extra shoes and this gigantic and cumbersome book with us into the car?"
Yes.

"Can Nora come over?"
Yes.

"Can I have hot chocolate?"
Yes.

"Can we watch Dora?"
OH HELL NO.

I do a draw a line.  Anything that might cause me brain injury, such as letting them play that horrible, horrible Tolo trumpet for more than 5 minutes for example, is off limits.  For the sake of my sanity.

But the experiment of saying 'yes' before my inner scaredy-cat of mess and inconvenience has a chance to revolt is producing really excellent results.  I realized that there is a unique opportunity here.  Life becomes harder, but it becomes happier.   When the babies are happy, I am happy.  I don't know why it took so long to realize that wiping up a spilled mess after a science experiment is infinitely easier on my psyche than calf-roping a screaming toddler.  Also, if I participate in the mess-making, I actually have fun.

These little moments- where I struggle out to the garage trying to carry Griff with an armload of what I see as completely unnecessary crap- bring a lot of happiness to these tiny people.  Afterall, they have a whole kids life with that menagerie of stuffed animals.  Just because I don't, doesn't mean they aren't important.

So I'm going to keep up this experiment.   Because I don't want a house where I'm the Dictator.  I want a house that is full of fun.  Comfort.  Excitement.

Also: the world would benefit from more four year-olds wearing tutus on their head in Target, don't you think?

The Baby Hobo Mothership!

Phew.  It is done.  Behold the Baby Hobo International Headquarters!:

300 sq. ft. of pure disorder, coming right up.  I sort of failed to budget for storage solutions, so after this photograph was taken and I proceeded to move in all my other equipment and fabric, it became not pretty, rill fast.  But that is how it goes.  I will iron it all out over time, then post an honest picture of the place as it actually operates as a workroom.

I need to build a bigass cutting table, and procure just a couple of shelves/ carts, then I'll be good. I will report back from the floor shortly.  I am currently just trying to bust through a couple of orders and reel in the dough, you know.  So I can buy me a Mercedes Benz.

Baby Hobo On The Horizon

That sounds like part of a retelling of some weird acid trippy dream "Then, there was like this boat?  A boat?  Yeah, I think a boat, sailing toward me, and it had like this, baby hobo in it!  It was SO WEIRD!"

I would like to, in this single post, tell you everything I have learned. Ever. No just kidding.  only things I've learned in the last month.

1.  Babies cry because they're babies sometimes and you don't have to do a touchdown dive toward them the moment they make a peep.

2.  Booze DOES HELP.

3.  Businesses (like Baby Hobo), grow gradually, not overnight.  Especially when you have thirteen thousand kids.

When you spill a whole cup of coffee on your computer, your number FOUR key will never type a FOUR again.

5.  You should spend every cent you have on help to keep you from losing your shit because you have thirteen thousand kids.  Make up for it later.

6.  I need to do creative work.  I thought I was going to immerse myself in mothering until the day all of my children are in school full time.  I feel immersed alright, like I'm drowning.  I cannot do this twenty-four hours a day every day.  I need help and I need to do my own creative work.  For the good of everyone.  Luckily, I'm with a partner who calmly recognizes this, and feels the same way (on my behalf), so she's been totally on board helping re-evaluate the plan.

7.  I want to make money doing creative work.  I've stopped doing myself the disservice of thinking of it as a hobby, and decided once and for all that creativity really is an important part of my identity. To respect my talent, I want to use it to make money- so I can contribute to all the other abundance and privilege I've been afforded.

8.  Doing my own creative work is infinitely more satisfying than being an art dealer.  I liked the curating aspect of that gig, but the toil! the interpersonal heartbreak! the lack of tangible reward!  None of these are (so far) part of sewing baby shoes. It seems way easier to build a brand of useful products than to massage a vague, pretentious identity for an art gallery.

10.  A person can be addicted to tofu.  "Hello.  My name is Lisa.  I'm an addict."

11.  Eat less + run = skinnier.

Now.  There are two hot, sweaty guys building out the interior of my new studio as we speak (which, 100 degrees in a closed room?  You couldn't pay me enough), so by this time nest week, I expect to be putting up a final coat of paint and moving in!  My equipment that is, not me.  Although, on a tough night, you never know.

My amazing store, Green Genes is so awesome, and they are really supportive of all my ideas and work I'm making.  So, in the fall, I expect to see a slew- yes A SLEW of Baby Hobo products available there and on Supermarket.  Finally!  Woot.  I said woot.

It's Time For a Talk, My Friends

I am powerless against this bubbling inferno of judgment that has been welling up in my belly for several years.  I cannot stop it.  I will not be silenced.

STOP MAKING UPCYCLED CLOTHES OVER AND OVER OUT OF JUST STRIPS OF OLD CLOTHES.  OKAY?!

We are on the brink of a new frontier here people, and I can no longer abide this misuse of a brilliant era of opportunity and watch such a numbing and simplistic exercise go on and on and on.  In fact, I'll boldly take this opportunity to add that if I see another one of your evil handbags made of old jeans on my computer screen, I will find you and I will smack you upon your face.  If I see one more, anywhere on this internets, I will hire a private investigator to track you from Etsy to your home and I will pound you about the head and neck area with this bag.  And when I come in and rifle through your belongings, you better hope I don't find a pair of unwearable, badly misshapen baby booties felted from a fracking ugly wool sweater either.  Because you will eat those shoes.

Phew, I feel better.  I just had to get that out!  There's more there in the way of complaint, but I'll leave it at that.

As we all know, the economy of reuse is burgeoning and I think it's well time to expect more from designers who are riding the wave.  It's time for the different genres within the new green economy to forego superficial commitments and to dig deeper into what is truly sustainable.

I was having a conversation with my friend Carla Bruni (not the italian supermodel), who is an historical preservationist with an emphasis on sustainability and she agrees with me (and she is smarts) that the current model of "green building", for example, is quickly becoming outmoded .  More conscientious and ambitious preservationists are looking to reuse and re-purposing, among other things, as the "new green".  Well duh.  But I guess it's not so obvious, because I see designers alla time trying to peddle some lethally boring bamboo kids clothing at twice the cost of something that is re-purposed and WAY better designed.  And it sells because people want to do better, in any case.  The bamboo is better, "greener" than new clothing made with the old earth-wasting methods, right?

Yes, but we can do so much better.  How about not wasting all this:

 

Anyway, what is my point (it's always bad when someone has to ask halfway into a written piece what their point is, I know).  I guess it's this:  I hope that there will be more and more designers that possess a talent for a more alchemical transformation of resources, and I hope that the market for this kind of work grows in step.

Right here I was going to post a batch of favorites- things that don't smack of that re-purposed vibe.  And you know what happened when I googled something, meaning to shake down one item I had been thinking of- what the very first thing I came across was?  Can you even grasp the irony that it was this:

"Speaking of blue jeans, here is a very cute idea to make a purse from old jeans.  Once again, being creative and using basic sewing skills can render a unique and treasured gift."

(/insert photo that makes me want to stab my eyes with a stick of hot, burnt marshmallow RIGHT HERE)

It happened, folks.  I am crestfallen.

Whatever.  I haven't the energy to go on.  So much has happened since the beginning of this post.

I guess I'll just have to post a picture of my girl childrens, who are always right on.

I Am a Very Fancy Artist

I am not a very fancy artist.  Though I used to think I wanted to be.  The day I matriculated at the University of Chicago in the Master's Program for contemporary art, I left all notions of craft and actual art-making behind in favor of putting my brain on a conceptual treadmill.  I'll tell you about the day I quit:

One student, Mince, let's call him, turned in as his semester final a twenty page long list of everything in his studio.  All my professors were standing around scratching their chins, contemplating this tidal wave of unbridled genius.  One said, "Now, let's talk about what Mincent meeeeeaaaaans with this list."  When they came to me, I said, "It means I should quit.  Like, right now." No Master's Degree from The Committee on Visual Art.  AND THAT'S HOW I WAS GONG TO MAKE THE BIG BUCKS, GUYS. 

So since then, I've been on a slow trek down from the pretentious peaks of high art.  I used to be self-conscious, in a way, about a love of craft (both in the work of contemporary artists I'm drawn to, and just craft for the glory that is something well-crafted).  But that's over now, and I get my kicks out of loving on all of it.  I see the germination of high art forms in the simplest and most mundane craft work and I can also appreciate the craft that is inherent in certain contemporary works that may at first seems off the cuff and careless. 

So it brings me to some recent work on textile panels.  These here I made.

I was really interested in the strong feeling of satisfaction I have with these and the influences I was channeling when I designed them. 

OMG, I just had a revelation that the color is totally and exactly Matthew Barney Cremaster!  I loved that work once upon a time.  And I think the composition is a little bit Anni Albers, little bit Clay Ketter?  Anyway, it's really fun to see all the compartments in my brain for design, craft and art bastardizing one another.

I am tired now because I have so many children.  I better stop writing.  Suddenly.  Before I say something stupid.  That above paragraph is starting to show the strain of sleep deprivation.  Goodnight.

What I'm Seeing Lately...

Periodically I need to post links to other stuff so I can follow the trail of my recent inspirations.  You will like this.

Vera Neuman scarves, which I came to know from a link on my friend Libby Vanderploeg's site.  She likes good design, I like good design.  Exciting things will happen.

This particular image is linked from the Uono Design Blog.  Jeeeaaalluuzzz:

Next, conceptual objects and installations by the duo Mischer'Traxler.  They are based in Vienna and make gorgeous things in very inventive ways.  Like these vessels, which are constructed by a machine activated by viewers who are curious about the productions process.  The more the audience shows interest, the more the machine applies color as it wends the reedy spirals into a pot shape.  That's the short description- the long description can be found on the duo's website.  But I didn't read the whole thing, because you know sooner or later you'd run into words like "dialogic" and "hermeneutic".

Gray Label children's clothing: "Organic Clothing for the Little Minimalist".  Hilarious.  But beautiful.  Here's a snippet of my daydream featuring a little Minimalist: "Mama, can I wear Elmo with Agnes B. or does that clash?" "No, that's bad, wear your Helmut Lang, honey."

Handsome Griffin, who clearly knows his color.  He knows that lavender is the most killer accent to yellow and charcoal.  Throws in a little orange because he has that kind of confidence.

And then you know, sometimes you get a Two-For-One deal, right?  Well here's another picture of my baby son then:

(He enjoys to mix styles high and low- here with an everyman's chambray button down, paired with some japanese-inspired harem cords.  Daring little man.)

Industrial rolling canvas basket.  Someday I'm going to have one of these in the house, and I'm just going to roll it through all day long and fill it up with anything that gets in my way (including small children) then leave it at the door for when Julie arrives home.  At which time I leave to go have a very dirty vodka martini with Rachael Burs.  I think you can agree that it would be incredibly useful.

 

AtSwim-Two-Birds blog and the crochet work of  Renilde Depeuter.  Namely, these seat cushions and pot holders.  Yes, I am in love with pot holders.  Because her color work is flawless and amazing.

  

And finally, my new heros, dutch design duo Scholten & Baijings.  I am so uncontrollably in love with almost everything they design.  (Also, with THEM, hello.)

I would eat crushed glass if it was designed by them.  If you want to drool all over yourself, look at their website.  You will notice some pretty sneaky work on the thumbnail images there, by the way.  So rad.   I have been looking at it until my eyeballs dry out.

My eyeballs are dried out.  Goodnight.

Lee Bontecoute

You pronounce today's blog post title in a Michigan accent, so it sounds like this:  "Lee Bon-tuh-CUOTE".  Get it?!  An art/ quilting play on words, yall. To what other mom blog can you go for such linguistic tom-foolery?

You see, once I got way far into this color scheme, I realized I didn't have green pieces big enough to complete the spokes, so I had to piece it together.  I decided I was okay with the fractured glass pattern thing and then when the center of the quilt turned all vortexy and swollen, all I could think of was Bontecou sculptures.  It makes me want to do a whole series of them. 

Anyway, yeah, the whole thing is a wobble now, owing to the design of thin strips of bulky fabric conjoining at the center.  I mean, I sort of knew that might happen, but you know- me and physics, we have an adversarial relationship.  So I'm trying to figure out what to do about it.  I have this two projects rule going so I can't just move on from it.   

Oops, how did that picture get in here?  Bonus cute.  Annika Hedy.  What a pleasure is this baby.

Getting Back on the Horse

I don't even know where to start, with all that has happened since I last posted here.  I've lost and gained some incredibly important things in that time, and since I've always reserved this blog for my creative endeavors and don't often post about the personal, I've been at an impasse.  But my creative life and my personal life have been tangled up in a big ball of happy and sad and crazy and scared and all around confusion.

So I have basically conceded that I can't have one without the other at the moment, and anyone who plods through this long post can get the whole picture, good and bad of these past few months.  Maybe you can set up some kind of highlighter that just shows you the parts that include words like "stitch" and "I made this out of an old sweatshirt" and that will block out the words, "died", "heartbroken" and "scared shitless".

At the end of December, the last trickle of a very trying year, I lost my anchor.  My dear grandma Josephine Rings passed away.  That wasn't supposed to ever happen.

She was such a force, creatively, and as a person in general.  I could go on and on and tell you about every single time she did things like peg a pair of jeans so close to my ankles for me that it cut off the circulation to my boat shoes.  And then detail how she would happily put a panel of fabric back into another pair of jeans when flares came into style.  My urge to tell you all the sweet things she ever did is overwhelming. The time she handmade me a Geraldine Ferraro teddy bear complete with pinstripe suit and "Mondale for President" button and showed that she, of all people, knew me the best.  My god, you'd be floored if I could ever really sit you down and described the depth of her caring. 

She is, genetically speaking, responsible for every creative talent I have, and therefore everything I've ever posted on this blog.  Of course she taught me to sew (with help from my other grandma Agnes) and could create anything from scratch, starting my dream prom and wedding dresses with a pattern drawn on paper bags. 

When she left us, I couldn't even look at my sewing room for two months.  I tried to go in and start something simple, but as my hands guided fabric through the machine, all I could see were her hands.  And I can't stand the missing her.

This little note about her feels like the introduction to a tribute that would be as long as I could ever write.  I just needed to get it down and give her credit and ask for her to be with me as I move forward in my sewing room and the rest of my crazy life.

Okay and speaking of this crazy life, there came another reason I couldn't get into my sewing room.  On the very exact day she died, I got pregnant.  With twins.  Well now, given that my wife and I couldn't exactly get knocked up by way of too much good wine and bad birth control, and that we had a little help from technology, you might think I was prepared for the possibility of twins.  You might not expect that the ultrasound tech's report, "Oh, okay, looks like there are two babies," would not send me reeling into a sudden hysteria of tears and disbelief.  But I guess we didn't think that whole 25% thing applied to us.

Ahh, but it's better now.  I have two adorable little somersaulters in there, spinning around trying to get bigger despite their counter-productive efforts to be make me queasy all day long.  I will win, little babies,  even if your calories come from Big Macs and greek yogurt, I will win.  You will stay put and become properly chubby before joining us.  

So after I emerged from the month long panic named "Three Children Under Three",  I was sort of able to get back into the studio.  Things are changing, yes they are.  The first thing I had to do was call up the divine stitcher I had just hired before all this and tell her she was, at least temporarily, unhired.  That "Baby Hobo" is way on hold and I can't yet tell if it will manage to keep its legs and carry on at any point in the near future.  At first I thought it was a sure goner, but now I am wondering if some part of it can't carry the torch until I am out of the constant state of nursing, sleeping/ not-sleeping marathon of child-care.  We'll see.  I've accepted that I can't stress about that while I am busy growing two whole human beings from a single cell to full-blown babies.

Just when I was trying to get used to that little bomb, another really good person went away.  My mom's big brother, my uncle John Rings, died.  He was living on borrowed time with a heart that wouldn't do its job, and took the huge leap of faith with a heart transplant.  Thanks to a some amazing person and their family, he had a new chance to keep going.  He fought so hard for many weeks in intensive care, but a hospital infection eventually won.  It's so not fair.

He had a good helping of my grandma's spirit and left a lot of good memories with a lot of people.  Like the time he let me travel with him to Northern Michigan to a hot dog factory on a business trip.  I mean, what guy wants to talk to an 8 year old girl for 9 hours straight?   Or when he once dropped a catalog on the table in front of me in oh, about 1991ish and said, "Hey kiddo, if you have ten bucks you should use it to buy stock in this company.  It's going to be the thing."  Starbucks.  I didn't buy stock, he didn't buy stock, but that's the kind of vision he had.  Living in a small town in northern Michigan, he could look at a coffee catalog from a relatively unknown coffee shop in Seattle and predict that it would take over the world.  I'd like to take this opportunity though to confess that the one time he brought me some piece of candy from Africa that he had bought on a trip to Detroit, I was only pretending to like it!  It was nasty, but I wanted to like it if he liked it.  That says something I suppose.

He was really proud of me.  He posted that on Huffington Post when the store that sells my stuff was featured there.  He made a comment in the comments section about how awesome and talented I am and then messaged me twice that he was worried that he had embarrassed me.  Anything but, Uncle John.  It meant so much to me that you were paying attention.  He was always e-mailing me advice about my baby clothes, which might surprise people, and he always had really good ideas.  I always listened. I changed the cravats because of his advice (okay it maybe wasn't advice, so much as a direct order) and have been thinking of him a lot while I try to design a pair of pants/ capris with good pockets.  Because he sent me a message one day that just said, "Pockets, Lis.  Every kid loves to have pockets to put all their little kid stuff in."  So true.

I'm working on it, Uncle John, and I'm thinking of you and wishing I had years more of your advice.

(Okay, so that wasn't a lot about sewing, but it was important, so there.)

In my next post, I will show the things I've made since emerging from the Ball of Sad Freakout 2011.  For now I am just going to go to bed and feel my crazy babies twirl and kick me to sleep while I remember my grandma and my uncle and how great they were and how you should never take anyone for granted ever.

Maria Vinker for IKEA

Can't believe this piece is at IKEA.  I'ma have to git it.  That is all.

Want

Look, I don't know what some of this stuff is at first glance, but I want all of it.  All of it.  Find the people who are buying it for me and tell them to report asap. 

These are all knitted objects designed by Anne Masson and Eric Chevalier, whose work can be seen in full at their website http://www.chevalier-masson.be/index.html.  They live in Belgium- you know, up in that northern chunk of Europe where all my favo designers come from.

Dying...

...dying...

...dying...

DEAD.

Thanks to the awesome blog il-ne-kore for the tip.  And many tips always.

Mother's Well with Motherwell

I'm sorry!  I couldn't resist that title.  I tried, I was like, "It's dorky, Lisa.  And not in a cute way.  Don't post it." and then my other personality was all, "Shut up, it's true.  It is true that a Mother's well with Motherwell, in this particular case."  And so that's what I wrote,  thus ending a small schizophrenic battle in my head.

Onto the threads.  This fine quality sweatshirt, of a brand I won't name, set me back a whopping 30 cents.  It put thirteen Boll weevils  out of work since I was re-using an already existing garment,  and it made me dig deep and re-consider my aversion to yellow of this shade.   Not least, it gave me a canvas on which to lay down a quick and simple design based on today's inspiration- 1970's Robert Motherwell collages.

And there you have it.

Showing Love Through Material Goods

It's best if you just buy someone something in order to show them that you care.  If you do anything weird like give them an unsolicited back rub, or offer to take the dog out when its really their turn because they are suffering from an upper respiratory infection, it will all just lead to a monstrous pattern of quid pro quo behaviors and more than likely destroy your relationship.

Plus, when you give someone a gift, they feel obligated to give one back (yay!)  at an unspecified future celebration focused on you, or your offspring.  For the sake of the future, make it easy, make it clear, buy them something first.

Har, just kidding.  But, if you should find yourself in a position that requires you to gift someone, well then make it something nice.   For example, you could buy these bibs I made, for sale at Green Genes.  By doing this, you also serve a greater good.  You support an uber-sustainable enterprise and funnel money to an educated white lady who already has enough of it  a struggling female entrepeneur such as myself. 

Better yet, you provide a stylish alternative to those whack terry bibs that say painfully obvious things like, "Mommy Loves You".  Maybe my next series of bibs will say, "Question yourself, baby.  Does Mommy love you enough to keep feeding you minutely diced health foods in a panoply of colors and textures, just to have you throw them at the dog so you can watch her snort and yipe in the air in an effort to consume all of our six hundred dollars of this week's organic produce?  Does she?"

Anyway, what do you think of my bibs?

Josef Albers: The Onesie

First, let's talk about how attractive this infant is. His name is Kiernan, and I adore him and his natty comb-over pretty deeply.  I made this onesie for him while he was busy doing backflips in his mama's belly in Miami.  I had a feeling he would approve of getting some Color Theory up in his shizzy.

I dyed the onesie and, I suppose it's obvious, I then appliqued the square scraps on. I may have to explore this homage to Albers concept in a series.

But, really, this baby. So handsome!

Every Day Banner

I've been working on the family birthday banner and am a good way through it, as you can see here:

Would it be cheesy to say the most important part is done?  That I could quit now and have this be our every day banner?  That it's a banner to celebrate every day since Josephine Anaheed was born?  I could even stretch it out and use it retroactively starting the day I met my wife.

Well it's true, so shut it.

Next up is a special birthday shirt of course.  I am more or less using the 90-minute shirt plan that was so popular from the blog MADE, which is a veritable bacchanalia of inspiration when it comes to sewing for your kids.

Here's an example, made by Dana, from her above mentioned blogue:

You can check out the tutorial for this 90-minute shirt on her blog too, because she's that kind of patient, generous person, and not a selfish, secretive troll like me.

Quilt Madness

Because I am person of my word, I have here a small selection of quilts I admire.

Of course any pre-novice of modern quilting would be remiss not to have something by Denyse Schmidt on their list, so here's my pick, from her "Lebanon" Series:





And Leah Evans makes these truly clever, beautiful topographical map quilts that I really really wish I had thought of first.

I




Oh, and Kim at Dioramarama made this. I found it on Quilter's Buzz. Because I was looking at Quilter's Buzz.

I am fond of these brave color combinations. If someone said, "Hey, what do you think if I put some acid green in a quilt with some jet black in it?" To that person I would say, "Do not show me this quilt. It is an ugly quilt." And I would be wrong.




And last but definitely not least, this gorgeous one from Katie Did.

Barfing in Style

I completed my first commission, which is this set of six burp cloths- inspired by the work of Ellsworth Kelly. I know A LOT of burp cloth designs are inspired by pioneers of modern minimalist painting, but I still couldn't resist. I thought it would be nice to have a set of colorful (though not in too dark colors) cloths to mix in with the otherwise utilitarian ones that will no doubt abound. They are for a set of triplets, so these will end up in a load of wash with likely 20 other cloths per day. I hope they bring a little sparkle to that chore.

As for me, I used to be an art dealer. While I was admittedly pretty small time, I did have my share of glamorous escapades and was involved a few rather high-minded projects over the years in sophisticated locations around the world. Now I sew rags for babies to puke on. A decidedly dramatic improvement in quality of life.