toolboxEarth

fiber art that's there for you

art as a bridge between our fragments

weaving as a universal narrative

fiber art as a bridge between our eyes,

and a dream-like state to find rest in

art as a bridge between us

dear reader,

imagine 

you and i

as an old poem

and a new piece

—-

cathedral, written 03/21/2025

chicago’s union station has been a constant in my life since getting divorced and leaving new york with a backpack.

i love union station around 9, 9:30pm

this cathedral full of

weary travelers and sleeping unhoused bodies

and last night i was sitting

on a church pew

eyes turned upward 

to the curved ceiling

of our cathedral

surrounded by sleeping unhoused bodies

and a man approached

with warm eye contact made

he said hello

and i did the same

he sat down three feet from me

on a church pew

he began removing items from his bag

and quietly,

in consideration of our company,

he asked me if i was traveling

no, i just like it here- you?

and he stuck out his chin

with a nod

his eyes moved slowly upwards

where mine returned

to the lives passed

to the curved ceiling 

we sat for a long time

together

watching 

our cathedral

surrounded by sleeping unhoused bodies

later that night

walking home to humboldt park

i saw a man frozen in time

right outside richard’s bar on grand almost to milwaukee

(it’s got that cool light outside)

and this frozen man is radiating

the scene:

too wide of a stance and a hunched forward posture

right elbow is highest the hand is holding one handle of a weighted, white tshirt bag

the left arm is lower and in his left hand is one handle of a empty grey t shirt bag

it is whipping around in the wind

a red ember

hangs from his mouth

the scene is frozen

except for one whipping bag

time is standing

i smile at him as i approach

hey- can yo’lp me wi’dis?

course. whater we doin?

i wanna g’disbag in d’odeh’un

suresuresure

i take the empty handle of the weighted higher bag with my right hand

and guide it slowly over to meet the other handle where his hand sits

i take the handle of the empty bag with left hand

and we slowly begin to lower the heavy white bag

down into the empty grey one

slowly

together

and as time begins to 

slowly

chip again

i take a large inhale slowly

followed by an even larger

deeper

exhale

slowly

and as time begins

to tick between us,

realization comes-

this whole situation is covered in goo

accumulated

blown around

whipped

and aerated

during the time

this man

who has been frozen in time

considering this task

standing

hunched

breathing

pulsing

dripping 

from both nose and

open mouth

and i decide to remain

with this man

in this moment of ours

in this humanity of ours

as we slowly move a white bag

into a grey one

together

he thanks and blesses me

‘same to you sir’

and we move on.

i with 2.3 radiating miles

ahead of washing my hands

eyes turned upwards

to the curved ceiling

of our cathedral

moving within the steady pulse

that quakes within

the streets of chicago, illinois

—-

cathedral, 2025

14×50”

materials include:

fabric ripped by hand, vintage macrame cord, found wooden dowel (19”w)

—-

as creeping dendrites,

quiet as wood,

ps-

i shared a weaving i deconstructed in a post yesterday. notice the curly red ribbon in the fringe of ‘cathedral’- same red recycled sari ribbon that was knotted up in the deconstructed piece, receiving a new place to soften in. deconstruct to reconstruct, dear reader, reap to sow

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