I find in stitchwork a flow of conversation between the materials in hand and the stitches I make. I love this…the process of making a piece of art. In working into collaged fabrics with a needle and thread, the process is quite slow, thus making room for this gentle conversation to occur. Sometimes it begins outside of fabric and thread. Sometimes it begins on a walk.

I found an unknown bit of fibery substance while walking the sidewalks in our neighborhood. Walking has been for me a life-long source of health, inspiration, and sorting out the wrinkles. What one finds when one walks are all sorts of beneficial bits and baubles, but not usually physical in nature. A recent walk offered an orangey bit of stuff…frayed rope? sturdy plant fibers? I honestly can’t make it out, though the rope theory seems likely. I resisted the urge to pretty-it-up and wanted to see what I might make with it. Wouldn’t it offer a lovely texture and juxtaposition to cloth and perle threads?

In creating a support, or background for any stitched piece, I enjoy using found fabric scraps. Small leftovers from previous projects, an edge that was cut off, the unwanted bits. These, along with my found bit of orange, began a dialogue on finding and being found…being lost and then found again. I didn’t realize until far into the project, that my stitching choices were also reflecting this conversation. Some areas of stitching would be covered up by the orange fray while others would peek through. Certain stitches would appear lost under and among the fabrics and threads only to reappear, “found” again in another area of the piece. Swirls of stitches always remind me of daily life – that ongoing ritual of all we do from morning to night, always the same, yet coming ’round to different places each time.

Others may think that I know what I’m doing when it comes to these stitched fragments. I truly don’t! I begin each one just about as lost as one could be. Maybe, just maybe, there is a vague idea of something in mind, but I know it will likely change as each stitch is added. And so it was with this piece…a sense of feeling “lost” as I begin, yet led onward by every fabric bit, every texture, each stitch and thread chosen and then set into the fray. I knew I wanted the orange bit to go on top, but even that needed this feel of lost and found. It was only as I began to stitch it into the overall piece that beads were added, some losing themselves in the frayed stuff, some threads appearing, some disappearing. Just like life.

The phrase “I once was lost but now am found” certainly wove its way into this dialogue a few times. Art has a way of helping us find ourselves, understand the frayed path, trust the daily stitches. Creativity is a mighty force that enables us to see through all the lostness we experience. It could be said that our Maker finds us in our lost places, often through piercing threads of love that meander through our days. I experience this daily. I have to trust that though I typically feel as if I have no clue what I’m doing in life, I will find and be found as I faithfully make the next stitch, add the next bit of found cloth, or ragged and frayed rope.

I’m hoping this dialogue never ends…between lost and found, between hands and heart. It leads me onward. Perhaps you too will “find” something today to “lose” yourself in and follow it in creativity.


Stitching the Moon

Sometime last year, I happened to look up. I myself was in a stitching phase of creativity. As I marveled, I wondered how I could stitch this beautiful glowing moon wrapped in a swath of wool.

It was situated so beautifully amongst deep values of indigo, eggplant, royal purple. Feathery mists encircled the full orbed reflection. Tiny specks of light seemed to shoot out from among the wafting clouds.

How do you stitch that? Could I paint it better? No…sometimes it is best to use materials that belie the reality, and in so doing one might get there, closer to depicting the thing one saw. Closer. But not really. I did a little sketch in pen. Then switched to a needle.

As a child, I heard the beloved nursery rhyme many times and I taught it to  my own children. Searching the origin of this rhyme does not grant an author. There have been songs written along the way that use the words and insert more lines and refrain. But the closest I got to its beginning was that it showed up in English publications around the year 1784. So I stitched this in as well.

In stitching, I love the conversation that happens between thread and fabric, layers of thread, choices of thick or thin, and what to do with the fragment when it’s done. Stitching words around it serve to add more humanity to an otherwise lofty subject. The Moon and all its magnificence gets to be hand stitched in my own hand writing in the shape of a nursery rhyme. Yes. I love this.

I should look up more often!

The Singing Boat

I think about going home sometimes. Not the going home at the end of a day of work and errands, but the eternal kind. I’m not trying to be morbid, nor is it a fear-filled thing…just curious. What will it be like? None of us knows the particulars of our exit from this world into the next. My friend Marion, though she knew her life would be shortened by cancer, did not know that it would be lung issues, complications of cancer drugs, that would take her in the end. I wish I had had more conversations with her about end of life questions. I wish a lot of things about her home-going. Especially a wish that I had been there. I would have liked to sing to her…to sing her home.

In the week following my friend’s home-going, I kept envisioning this  sweet little boat carrying my dear friend to the shores of heaven. In this vision, I, along with many others, was singing songs of hope and love, as if the swell of music was the wind filling her sail, guiding her to where rest and wholeness would be hers forever. A cadence of words came spilling out in my mind and a desire to stitch them into a fragment.

Somewhere in the sadness and wishing that I’d been able to sing her home, I realized that this may not have been Marion’s desire, though I don’t think she would have minded at all. I realized that this is my desire, at least here on this side of heaven, where I sit healthy and whole. Who knows how I’d feel after years of battling cancer, struggling for my breath, lying in a hospital bed. When I posted thoughts on the day my friend died, another friend recounted in the comments, a time when she was able to do just this… stand around a dear one’s hospital bed with other friends singing hymns and songs of hope. It is possible. Yet I have no way of knowing how my final days will play out. None of us do.

What we can do is listen for the song of heaven right now, right where we are, where we walk and drive and work and play. We can slow down or stop our blistering pace long enough to hear the strains of music lapping on the shore of our earthbound lives. We can sing along, to ourselves and to each other, making music in our hearts and throughout our days. I’m still playing Christmas music. I think I will for quite a while. The hymns and choral tunes of Christmastide are some of the most hope filled and heartening music I know. And I will continue stitching threads of color and texture in and through found fabrics, like moments and pieces of my life.

Let us sing on, dear friends, as pilgrims in a weary land, keeping our eyes on that distant shore.

The Singing Boat

I’d like to go in a singing boat

Carried along by voices that float

And harmonies pure ringing me home

To that distant shore…no more to roam.


My earthbound boat is a Mazda today

Winging me to and fro in the fray.

I’ll trade it in on a ship so yar

It’s lines like music to all near and far.


The way now is choppy, a blustery gale,

A tempest enough to make any heart fail.

Yet I am bound for a glassy sea

That sings sweet notes lovely and free.


Some days, those notes, I can hear at my feet

Little waves lapping, tapping a beat.

A rhythm of joy! It’s faint but true –

Music from a land awaiting me and you.


For now I will strain to hear above the crashing

Of highways and byways and sentiments lashing,

The melody that calls and sweetly swells

Til my boat sings me home with glorious bells.

— Jennifer Edwards

Ocean Observations :: Home

When I was a little girl I remember my dad coaching me as to how to get through the breakers at the Ocean’s Edge beyond to where the water wasn’t so choppy. I was told to dive right into the wave and swim through it to the other side. The trick was to get just beyond the breakers, but not go too far out. If a wave was coming toward me, and I wasn’t too far away from it, I could swim toward it as it crested and just float on the swell and over the back side of it.


At home now from a lovely week of sun, sand, and ocean, I’m considering how this might translate to everyday life. Is it possible to ride the swell of the waves? Today being a Saturday, I’m easing back into things. Monday I might need to just take a deep breath and dive right into and under the wave and start swimming. It will certainly not be as crazy as letting the breakers crash into me. Something to consider as I move forward into July.

I’m also thinking of this stitching practice as a tether from me (or my surfboard or boat) to the shore. Drawing lines, knitting yarn, and stitching thread has that wonderful imagery inherent in the mediums…a lifeline to hang onto as we walk through our lives. July is sure to be a jolly month and one filled with travel and celebrations! I’m looking forward to drawing my everyday, knitting up pretties, and stitching through it all. Thank you for joining me here for my week of Ocean Observations!

Ocean Observations :: Day Six

I woke this morning thinking about Rock Tumblers. I haven’t thought about Rock Tumblers since our oldest was a young girl. We bought her one so she could learn the science of how rocks are smoothed. It was an exercise in patience as the small gadget churned and tumbled the rocks for days on end before any evidence of smoothing was apparent.

I didn’t know why I was remembering all this until I walked along the Ocean’s Edge this morning, bent over in search of just the right shells to stitch onto my ocean fragment. I realized that out there in the ocean, and especially where the Breakers are, the shells are, in essence, in one big Rock Tumbler. I recalled the churning quality of the waves, having first hand knowledge of this as well as the refining and smoothing (or skinning!) nature of sand on shells over time.

This too is Breaker Living. Our everyday lives are like Rock Tumblers. A regular and ceaseless churching and turning which can refine our rough edges, smooth out creases, soften crusty exteriors.

This all sounds good in theory. For me, I seem to grow barnacles even in the tumble of everyday life. I need the Ocean’s Edge to dry out my waterlogged limbs. Swimming against the current is trying. Getting out of the tumbler for a week resets my batteries, unravels knots and stitches up frayed edges.

Am I ready to dive back in? To run with the race horses, mane flying in the wind? To enter the crucible of day in and day out? Ready or not, I’m carrying the memory of Ocean’s Edge with me. As I tumble and churn each day I’ll strive to keep my eyes on the horizon as a steadying device. I’ll ask for Grace to slow the pace, joy to smooth the path, love to light the way through the frothy foam. As I leave the peace of this week and begin to hear again the roar of the everyday tumbler, I am grateful for the Ocean, for sand and salty air, for sea gulls and oats, for shells and waves, for breakers and boats, for family and good food. I’ve been given a gift to stitch into the fiber of my being.

Ocean Observations :: Day Five

I walked to the end of the island and on around the point to where the breakers can be seen from behind. I can’t recall having ever seen waves from any other vantage point other than straight on. They looked like horses racing toward an unseen finish line, their white manes flying in the wind of their speed, sweat spewing off their heads as they lunged toward the finish.

What delight there is in gaining a new perspective. Not that this alters the realities of Breaker Living, for truly this too is an apt depiction of our daily lives. Galloping at top speeds, nostrils flared, hair and sweat flying as we dash toward invisible goals, pushing through neck deep waters…yes this is everyday life. At least it is for me.

But it is not so onerous as I describe. Maybe it’s the perspective of a few days at Oceans Edge that has me seeing a beauty to all of it, a glory in the pursuit, in all the hard work, in the high speed pursuit of living, working, loving others and maintaining a rich, full and blessed life. Yes, perspective is what I’ve needed. An ability to get out of the Breakers and view them from the Ocean’s Edge as well as from behind. Its like seeing the forest instead of being lost in the trees. Though I’d still like to stay here at the edge a while longer, I’m grateful for the break from the Breakers.

Note 1: These Sketchbook entries are abstractions based on the Breakers.

Note 2: Knitting in the sand, purchasing  groceries to feed the family, and other simple pursuits prevented me from posting this yesterday.😃

Ocean Observations :: Day Three

Being at the Ocean’s Edge is like having a figure drawing session available at any time of the day. Morning runners and walkers, ambling shell seekers, strike poses perfect for gesture drawing. Afternoon sun bathers sitting and lying down on bath towels provide more interesting angles to draw the human body. And evening sunset seekers standing around casually or walking in the direction of a fiery glow offer yet more shapes for quick sketches of movement, form, and energy. One could draw people full time here and not exhaust the many poses the human figure is capable of.

I love trying to capture a few of them, and I’m certainly going to include one or two stitched into my Ocean’s Edge Fragment. These sketches, as nearly all gesture drawings, are worked fast, catching only the tilt of the body, the movement or energy  therein. One fella in a red shirt kept changing his position over and over as he sought the perfect shells. I have four different poses sketched quickly so as not to get my brain too involved. It actually helps to draw fast…your analytical brain can’t keep criticizing and correcting you and your intuitive brain can take over. I’d love to live there all the time!

The beauty of gesture drawing is that you tune into the energy in everything! I’ve been fascinated by the sea grasses this year and will certainly stitch them into the fragment with their flowing lines of wheat-like hair bent in the sea breezes. Clouds have a gesture of such breathtaking beauty I never feel I capture them adequately. And even the breakers…yes, the churning frothing waves have gestures ranging from ferocious to lilting and everything in-between.

I doubt I’ll be able to include all of these in my stitched fragment, but it is worth recording in some fashion the dynamic energy in all that surrounds me. Perhaps I can carry it back home to Life in the Breakers. But I shan’t think of that now. I am here!! And there are several more delicious days ahead of people watching and sketching and stitching.

Ocean Observations :: Day Two

All is calm at the end of Oak Island today. I have walked here this morning, noticing that the breakers are quiet and petite. I’m thinking “breakers” is not the word for these gentle rolls of frilly lace. I sit here listening and longing to be lapped up in them, a coverlet of lace flowing over me.

It is all due to the wind and rains we had yesterday evening. Perhaps worn out from the ordeal, these breakers no longer roar, but rather gurgle at Ocean’s Edge. I too feel this within me on our second full day of vacation. It takes me a day, when I first go to a new place, to feel settled. Breaker living gets ratcheted up a notch in unfamiliar surroundings and a bustling house of dear folks with whom I am unaccustomed to living. Upon waking that first morning it seemed the best thing would be to just draw, just make some lines on a page. Pencil felt like a good choice as there were no hard lines anywhere in my view from the deck. Today I’m thinking only watercolor will do it justice.

Sketching, knitting, and stitching throughout the day serves to anchor me. The winds die down a bit and give way to peaceful rivulets of gurgling joy.

This is the way of living it seems. Storms giving way to quiet inlets. Making things serves as a boat for me to ride out all of it, make sense of it, even find beauty amongst this ocean landscape. Along with daily sketches, I’m stitching a pre-collaged fragment of the ocean. It feels like the perfect way to stitch down thoughts, images, and experiences of a week lived at Ocean’s Edge.

Walking back to the beach house, I notice the breakers are starting to roar again. The day is waking up. The ebb and flow of life goes on and cannot be stopped, try as I might. I can only ride in my boat, observing the days, drawcumenting them in a sketchbook, and stitching them together.

Ocean Observations :: Day One

There is an expansiveness here where big skies meet water that unfurls to its sandy edge. A soul can breathe easier here. Lungs get to expand further than daily living allows. The expansiveness seems to occupy three areas – the sandy beach, the watery depths, and the huge panorama of clouds meandering across an azure backdrop. I however, live in the breakers.

Being here heightens this sense that life back home, though it is a lovely life, is nevertheless the frothy foamy churn of daily to-do’s, worries and concerns, work and endless errands, anxiety about the future and all manner of emotions. There, in my waves and breakers life, I work diligently to stand, as the paddle boarders and surfers do. Here, I don’t have to work so hard…the breakers dissolve into a gentle, clear water with just a hint of foam along the edge. Here I get to lift my head and take in the 180 degree view.

It may be more like a 220 degree view. This year we are very near the end of Oak Island and from the deck of the beach house we can see for miles down and around the tip. I walked there this morning, taking into my cramped heart the delicious space all around me, breathing in the quiet, broken only by gulls and the occasional jet ski.

We do not have great wi-fi service here. But I’m thinking I’ll write each day Observations from the ocean’s edge. The thing about expansiveness is that it releases worries and anxiety, the grief of holding on so tight, and gives way to ponderous thought and an effervescence of mind and heart. I will not send out alerts as to having written. If you, dear reader, receive this, then I am glad of your company here at  Ocean’s Edge for the week. Perhaps we’ll both expand and release, lifting our eyes from the churning breakers to the incredible skies all around.


We were out on our back deck, my youngest girl and I. At 15 years old she was texting her friends in and around our conversation over mason jars of water with lemon and strawberries. I picked up my stitching and put the needle into the fabric, pulling it through.

“Oh my…”

“What mom?”

“Why do I love that sound so much?”

“What sound?”

“The sound of a needle puncturing fabric and then the whoosh of it being drawn through?”

“I don’t know mom. I could look it up. It might be an obsession.”

After a bit of a chuckle, during which she just grinned at me, I thought well…perhaps it is so.

The thing is, I fall in love with stuff like this. With the sound of a paintbrush swishing around in water. The clickety-clack of knitting needles and the feel of yarn in my hands. It’s the process, always the process, that holds an enchantment quite apart from the finished work. This explains why I can be so pleased with what may be a bland end-product. It is the memory of each stroke, every stitch, how it felt, what was going on while it was being made…that ties my heart to it.

Obsession? Possibly. But I prefer to call it love.

Love in the stitched fabric of life…no matter the outcomes.