|Journal entry, a few days after 9/11|
am in my studio fashioning a wall hanging collaged with fabrics I've screen
printed. Art is part salvation, balm, distraction and prayer during these troubled
times, a place to channel my fears, a way to focus, hold steady, hold the tension.
In the changing September weather, I open the back
door for a breeze and find, at the level of my knees, a black, yellow and white
spider, a good 3" long, plying her craft across my door frame. I have
to squat to her level to get a glimpse of the fine threads of her handiwork
as she tiptoes back and forth on her almost
And then I laugh. Here we are, fiber artists both, she on one side of the door, I on the other. And among the designs I have silkscreened for my project is a hand-drawn spider web! I show it to her, ask if I can use hers for a better pattern when she's through with it.
She's still there, days later, still working, though the wind has shifted her moorings a little. She reminds me to keep to the task, doing what I do best.
She's doing what she can. I'm doing what I can.
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