In the old barn I was in awe of the individually wrapped and twisted silks, saturated with dye that hung from nails spread across old planks. I loved the way the dye dripped on the paper beneath making another artwork from the colors that bleed and drip into curvilinear lines making soft amorphous shapes. It didn't matter that the barn was old and dusty. Now I live in a new cabin. I dye silk in the corner of the basement, dry it on the back porch, carry it upstairs to steam in the kitchen and in the loft I sew it into flowing works of art. Yesterday I looked at photos of my work over the past several years and now I understand the reason for documenting my work. I can see a pattern. I see what I still like. I see colors I want to continue and designs I want to let go of and ideas for new looks. I am in awe.
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