Pomegranates

 

Late last Saturday night I decided I just had to dye some antique linens with pomegranates. So the following morning I masked up and picked some up at the grocery store. That same day I harvested the seeds and boiled the rinds (of 2 poms), mordanted the napkins with alum, let both pots sit overnight, and dyed the linens the next morning. Which happened to be Monday, the winter solstice. After harvesting the seeds and while boiling the rinds on Sunday, I was reading "Bottom of the Pot" by Naz Deravian, which I had gotten out of the library to learn more about Persian cooking. I intended to find a recipe to use the pomegranate seeds and in the process I found out that the following day, Monday (the day I dyed the linens using the dye bath created from soaking the rinds) happened to be Yalda, the Iranian winter solstice celebration. Pomegranates bear particular significance. I experienced delightful pomegranate synchronicity through Spirit. My intuition knew before I consciously did that I needed to buy some poms. The napkins turned out this lovely creamy gold color.  https://persianmama.com/shabe-yalda-a-persian-celebration/

The Stag Skirt

 

The stag skirt. A simple skirt made from muslin I dyed with black walnuts. I added a large stag themed ribbon that I bought at M & J Trimming a few years ago while on a trip to NYC with my mom as the waistband. Minus the ribbon, this is the medium length version of the DongoDesign "Charlotte" skirt pattern. 

Touba and the Meaning of Night

 - Along with the lightening and thunder outside, Touba felt a flash in her mind; what was in the dark came to light. "When you procreate, there is a freshness in being, but the main part of this being consists of repetitions. And in this circle of repetitions, we seek help from the dead. Prince Gil, the presence of your wife is dear, she brings with her a soft breeze and joy. Of course, she can steal a man away from someone like me. Perhaps she can steal many. But for how long? Someday she will be enlightened and then become ordinary, and will not steal anymore. But her presence will give off joy into the world, for she is like flowing water. She moves forth, purifies the air, gives life to earth. One must be patient."

-pg. 170 from "Touba and the Meaning of Night" by Shahrnush Parsipur 

 I finished the longest version of the DongoDesign "Charlotte" skirt pattern. It is made from an antique tablecloth I dyed with logwood from my Great Aunt Kay's old linens. She lived in an apartment on the West Side of Central Park in NYC. This tablecloth belonged to their neighbor Mrs. Horvath or Mrs. Horowitz. Neither my mom or my grandfather could agree on her name. She was Jewish and came to NYC to escape Nazi Germany. My mom tells me Mrs. H lived in a big dark apartment with big dark furniture. Once I dyed it, I spotted six cherubs I hadn't seen before. 

 

Sharks' Teeth

BY KAY RYAN

Everything contains some   

silence. Noise gets

its zest from the

small shark's-tooth

shaped fragments

of rest angled

in it. An hour   

of city holds maybe   

a minute of these   

remnants of a time   

when silence reigned,   

compact and dangerous   

as a shark. Sometimes   

a bit of a tail   

or fin can still   

be sensed in parks.

-via https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/42129/sharks-teeth

(black bean dyed sari remnants and shark tooth)

Islamic Calligraphy

 Kufic https://www.arabic-calligraphy.com/arabic-calligraphy-styles/kufi/

Naskh https://www.arabic-calligraphy.com/arabic-calligraphy-styles/naskh/

Walter Chandoha Cat Photographs

 I recently checked out a book of photographs by Walter Chandoha called "Cats. Photographs 1942-2018" These are photos of some of my favorite photos in the books. The lighting, timing, cropping and character capture of the cats is perfect. 

American shorthair, New Jersey, 1963

American shorthair, Long Island, 1954

Stray, New York City, 1949

Minnie, American shorthair, Long Island, 1959

I, Shekure

 "As she recounted, I thought about where my unfortunate father was. Learning that the murderer had received his due punishment at first put my fears to rest. And revenge lent me a feeling of comfort and justice. At that instant, I wondered intensely whether my now-dead father could experience this feeling; suddenly, it seemed to me that the entire world was like a palace with countless rooms whose doors opened into one another. We were able to pass from one room to the next only by exercising our memories and imaginations, but most of us, in our laziness, rarely exercised these capacities, and forever remained in the same room,"- I, Shekure, pg. 407, My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk