Loose Ends

Once in a while I check my life for loose ends. I am usually more concerned with mental loose ends than with physical ones because I can always do a quick load of laundry or ignore the spider web for a couple of days without getting into trouble, but an unsettled complaint, an unfinished thought, an untitled photograph – they keep my awake.
So yesterday – Sunday – was the day I hunted loose ends. Since I was between colors it was a good stopping point in the project.

The pink tutu girls are finished. Bears number thirty, thirty-one, and thirty- two have practiced their ballerina steps, have fallen on their tutus a few times, have slid across the kitchen table, and finally they have stood still long enough to pose for a picture I can post. Bear number twenty-nine had two photo sessions. I took a picture of him earlier in the week, outside, with the old faded gnome and the new one. Yesterday, as I was unscrewing my mirror from the bedroom door to use as prop for the tutu girl number, I found the first acrylics I ever committed to canvas in a painting class. Bear twenty-nine happened to sit on my bed, waiting to be packed in the “finished” bag. He was made in one night, from Windsor blue and white yarn, after I was done with the Blue Boys and already involved with thoughts of the tutu girls. I posed him again, with my old paintings, to give him a spot to remember him by.

I imagine that extremely well-organized people don’t have loose ends in their lives. And I know that others never catch up with theirs. As for me, having an obsessive nature is a double-edged sword. I get involved in a project to the exclusion of all other things around me, but eventually I get to a point where I become restless about the missing order in my life.

That’s when I start to question procedure. Bear finishing procedure for instance.
Should I weave in every loose end as I am going along?
Should I let them all hang until the piece is finished?
Not too long ago I counted 48 loose ends on Sweetpeas. That was after I had already woven in a few of the main ones. With the tutu girls, knitted in only three colors, I followed a different approach. After each break in knitting I quickly sewed in what strands of yarn were hanging from the sides. By the time I was ready to rummage for PC pipe to make the ballet barre and a mirror to simulate a studio, I had three clean bears. Well, the last one was still faceless. But that is another story.

This post is part of my loose ends gathering. I had planned it for right after I finished Sweetpeas. I had scribbled the words “Loose Ends” on my list of subjects in the big binder. Somewhere in the big binder. Yesterday I made proper divider pages for the binder. I printed out the map of Africa on the “Mother Bear Project” web site and stuck it right behind the divider that says “Mother Bear and Related Web Sites.” I added dish detergent and batteries to my shopping list. I called a friend. I synchronized three clocks in my house. I dumped the outdated yogurt.

Now I am ready to turn my thoughts to the bag of purplish and lavender yarns. I am ready for “Purple Rain.”

Long Live Franz Marc

The Red Giraffe

Magic Happens (continued)

Giraffes live in Africa,” Bear Four instructed.
“Real giraffes have knobby horns and eyelashes.
That’s what my brother told me. He knows about stuff.”
“Wow!” Bear Three exclaimed. “What a surprise.”
Bear Two looked at the ball of red yarn and suggested,
“We could paint the giraffe red.”
“I’ll buy a brush and paint with my allowance,” Bear One said.
“Get a big sheet of paper too,” admonished Bear Four.
“We don’t want to ruin the floor.”

They squeezed the bottle and dripped the paint on the toy.
They stroked and brushed and spread the color all over its body.
They talked and laughed and were as busy as little bears can be.
When Mother came back from the store and saw the giraffe, she smiled.
“Look up! Look at the poster on the wall. Isn’t it a beautiful blue horse?
“The painter’s name is Franz Marc. He imagined all sorts of colorful animals.
But he never painted a red giraffe. You little bears have made a piece of art.”

They jumped up and down and they shrieked with joy. Except for Bear Four.
He shook his head and mumbled, “Giraffes live in Africa. They can’t be red.
Red is not a camouflage color.
But the others were happy little artists.

“Wow! We’re famous. We are the famous painters of the Red Giraffe.”

Magic Happens

One little bear sat on a bench in the mall. “Nothing to do,” he complained.
“Watch my bucket of yarn,” his mother said before she left to buy veggies for supper.
Another bear walked up, kicking around a red ball.
“Your mother dropped this yarn,” Bear Two said to the one that sat on the bench.
“I’m bored,” said Bear One, “what’s there to do around here?”
Just then Bear Three came through the door.
He jumped on the bench and knocked over the bucket.
“Let’s have some fun,” he giggled and raised his arms and clapped.
“Why did you do that?” Bear Four wanted to know,
as he joined the group and stared at the mess on the floor.
“I would never knock down somebody’s bucket of yarn.”
He spoke with an edge to his voice and a mouth full of blame.
From the other side Bear Five heard the commotion.
He walked closer to see what caused such a scene.
“Oh look,” he said. “Did you know there’s something else in the bucket?”
His voice was soft and he smiled when he talked.
“Come on out giraffe;” he whispered, “come on out little toy and play with us.”

(to be continued)

Let's Play

I wish stories came to me packaged. With a big sign stamped on the outside, saying,

“It’s a wrap!”

And inside I would find a proper beginning, a substantial middle, and a meaningful ending. This would be so much easier than my fumblings in the twilight of the imagination. Secondly, I wish that photographs could talk and remind me of details that need to be considered.

Take the Blue Boys. The first one was easy to photograph. Then the wind came and blew the copy of the “Blue Horse” off the wall. I stuck it back on with a glue dot but not in the right place.

The second Blue Boy was supposed to bring red yarn to the story. I laid it on the floor in front of him. Boring.
I imagined the third Blue Boy would dump the bucket of blue, yellow, and green yarn. But the way I arranged the balls…..they couldn’t have fallen out of the bucket that way.
By the time I got to Brother number four, I mixed up their order.

“Reshoot!”

As I looked at the pictures on my computer I wondered about the empty bucket. What’s the point? Where’s the story? Something else had to come out of there. Something small.
I found a toy giraffe.
Now, what does a small giraffe have to do with this picture?

“Rethink!”

A small horse would be nice. A small blue horse. Hooray!!! Unfortunately I don’t have a small blue horse and I really want to finish this part of the project today.
I picked up my thoughts, and the bears and the props - the wind was still blowing – brought them inside. I had to go to the store. Needed more head yarn for brother number five. Not coffee color. Not warm brown. Buff? Taupe!!!

I don’t know what made me think I would find a blue horse at the craft store.

“What would Franz Marc do?”

Never mind. I bought a tube of red paint. Good idea. It relates to the red yarn.
On the way home I figured out how to put it all together. How to take the pictures. How to write the story.
Well, it’s time to work on it now. The Blue Boys are ready to play.

See What You Did?

And Then There Were Two

The First of the Blue Boys

The Blue Horse

Yesterday the color blue ran away from a photoshoot in television land and visited a famous horse in a painting. Then it pushed aside the "crayonboxtwins" and shouted,
"My Turn."

*****

My art teacher in high school must have been at the end of a long, boring career in 1956. Tall, thin, and gray, he walked into our classroom once a week and told a story. When he was finished he asked us to draw a big rectangle on paper and divide it into four parts.

“Draw the four scenes you like most in the story.”

As far as I remember, this was the only instruction we received. Careful not to cross the dividing lines, we penciled miniatures of giants and castles and captured maidens. Then we colored the figures we had drawn, filling the smallest of spaces with tiny dabs from a fine brush. We finished the assignment by writing a title and our name above our four visions of medieval pilferings, ransackings, and damsel hijackings. At the end of the hour the art teacher collected our “works of art,” nodded, and left the room.

My memory says no, but we must have reviewed our drawings the next week. There must have been progress. I must have learned something. Perspective? Balance? Or maybe I just learned to listen to the storyteller. With a small degree of sarcasm I tell myself now that I probably learned to stay within the lines.

An artist friend of mine once pounded the table when I carefully drew my way across a very small field of wildflowers. Did he think he could blur my well-defined universe by shaking the kitchen table? A few months later he went a bit mad when he caught me going over a pencil drawing with ink.

“Let it go,” he said and tossed the mechanical pen into the trashcan. “You’ve got to loosen up.”

I tried. Though I never crossed the line to outright innovation, I attempted minor revolutions. Pouring irregular rivulets of paint on canvas. Disfiguring my mannequin’s face with an extra eye. Splashing primary colors as if my life depended on it. But after those crazy moments I always revert to postcard size drawings of miniature scenes, scenes that are carefully accentuated within the perimeters of a finite plane.

I guess I feel safe in my little drawing spaces, but my craving for bold statements is always present. I am not good at producing them on paper or canvas, but I admire them wherever I see them. A few years ago, when I sorted through and gave away a third of my books, I found a small volume of just such statements. A friend in high school had given that book to me. It made me remember the time when I first came to love bold expressions. How I came to love the color blue.

Next to our classroom was another room with another art teacher. He moved quickly, spoke fast, and I sometimes saw him sweep chalk across the blackboard in long unruly lines. I heard that he liked abstract art and that he didn’t allow pencils. I imagined him saying things like:

“Paint what you want, just make it colorful.”

One day a poster of a blue horse was taped to his blackboard. It was a horse that defied horse color. It displayed a gentle disposition even though its features had been painted with bold strokes. The mountains behind the horse – big blue and yellow and red mounds of color – seemed to impose their solid shapes beyond the limits of the poster. I can’t remember the steps from that blue horse to my friend’s present, but the little book contained paintings by Franz Marc, the man who had imagined the blue horse. He belonged to a group named “Der Blaue Reiter,” (The Blue Rider) the avant-garde of Expressionism. Franz Marc became my favorite painter and the Blue Horse is still my favorite painting.

The Crayon Box Twins

I have a bucket filled with crayons but I needed a crayon box to reflect the twins’ nickname. Imagine my shock and awe at the craft store when I found a whole section devoted to Crayola items. While I let my eyes get adjusted to the opulence I thought of the fun a box of eight crayons and a few sheets of paper had offered my children during their preschool years.

But now, how does a mother choose from so many different products? After reading the captions on over thirty items I gave up on my speculations and, as luck had it, I saw a couple of eight-crayon boxes. But just for fun I made a list of some of the Crayolas in front of me.
Glitter glue sticks
Squeezables – 3 D paint
Washable poster and craft paint
Washable kids’ paint
“Beginnings” called TADOODLES, markers that” tip and tilt but won’t topple.” For eighteen months and up. Nontoxic. No caps.
Erasable highlighters
No drip gel paints
Twistables – no sharpening
Dual-ended pencils called Heads ‘n Tails
64 Pip-squeakes
Dry-erase markers
“The most washable markers” (50 of them) all with Super Tips
Fabric markers
Over “Briters” markers
Bathtub paints
Color dotz
Monster sharpener (looks like a giant purple monster)
Sidewalk chalk
Color Wonder soft sticks – clear. Color appears magically
Color Surge - crazy tips markers
True to Life tri-color tips
Glue rollers, brushes, art smock, sticker books,
Murals, drawing tablets, construction paper, finger paint paper
Model Magic Fusion – modeling material
Several “color systems” and “creativity centers”
And last but not least – a booklet for art teachers – a Dream Makers Guide – for grades K to six
Oops, almost forgot, 8 Crayola Crayons – Bright and Vivid Colors – $0.99

I am now officially exhausted. I wonder, what does it mean “the most washable markers?”
What happens after a toddler has become used to “tip and tilt that won’t topple?” Shouldn’t he learn from the beginning that “tip and tilt too far” means “oh, oh, it fall down.”
And what kindergardener needs 64 of anything?
Imagine my disappointment when I realized that the clear marker refuses to decorate a plain paper bag. Magic depends on specially treated paper.

I hope the Crayon Box Twins appreciate what I went through to get a prop for their photograph.

Knit Me a Twin!

Bear number twenty-two insisted on being duplicated. I think it is the yarn named “Star Brights Print” that made me do it. The colors remind me of a box of crayons. Knitting the top in hot pink, turquois, lavender and golden yellow adds to the crayon effect.

Though I was almost finished with number twenty-three in primary colors, I put him aside and began to copy Star Brights. It’ll be interesting to see the “twins” side by side.

Sweetpeas Rule!

No news about Freddy the cat. I don’t know when he is coming or even if he is going to live with me. Gradually yarn and drawing utensils and the maidenhair fern have moved back into my kitchen. A new color scheme is waiting on the table, to be turned into bear. Earlier I stood in front of it, while knitting a paw for number twenty-two. Here I have to admit that I watched “America’s Next Top Model,” on Wednesday evening. Fashion photography appeals to me; I endure the silly fights and jealousies of the young would-be models because I enjoy the creativity of their photo shoots. In this particular episode the girls were dripping paint, or whatever it is that’s used instead. I loved the effect, the intensity of big drops of color and immediately began to search my stash for bright yarn.
Does this mean that I am done with yellows and purples and pinks and baby blues? Probably, for now. But first I have to admire Sweetpeas, bear number twenty-one. She is the loveliest of bears. And full of adventurous energy. She wouldn’t stand still - she had to climb a rock. She had to lift her arms and shout, “Sweetpeas rule!”
Looking at her is like going back in time and watching myself play hide and seek around beanstalks, toss gooseberries into my best friend’s mouth, string together flowers for a necklace.
In my mother’s garden.

English is not my Mother Tongue

My spellchecker does not like the word “sweetpeas;” it insists on a space between sweet and peas. I am sensitive to red-underlined requests from authorities and try to conform, but I am reluctant to allow a computer to dictate how I compound meaning. I am fond of composites just as I am fond of long sentences. Their charm and validity were drilled into me many years ago.

My teachers used to design complicated word labyrinths in which to trap students, whose thoughts, though eager in the morning hours, to ponder the perfection of the human mind, had, by early afternoon, entangled themselves in webs of dense and colorful daydreams.

If word combinations and sentence structure obey rules that are different from their American counterparts, the use of punctuation, especially of apostrophes and quotation marks is even more confusing. German “Apostrophs” make no case for themselves, possessive or otherwise, in “my mothers garden.” And in a German sentence the comma is outside the end quotation mark, but the period is inside. Take a look at the following two sentences. I have written them in English but have given them German punctuation, which includes beginning quotation marks that appear at the bottom and not at the top of the line.

Did he really ask: „Where are the flower children for your mothers garden?”?
She answered: „The flower children are growing on my needles”, and continued to knit her teddy bears.

When I become frustrated with sentence structure and punctuation I do reach for my knitting. And though bamboo needles don’t announce success with noisy clicks, like the old steely speed demons, I listen to their hollow thumps with the same happy anticipation.
“Almost finished. Knit one. Purl one. Almost finished. Knit one. Purl one. Almost finished.”

Bears number nineteen and twenty, finished in the middle of the night, are happy to pose with number eighteen in the garden by the daffodils.

Sweet Pea = Gartenwicke
Daffodil = Narzisse
„Dankeschön!”

Ekphrasis

The word ekphrasis usually refers to the expression of one art form through another. A writer might be fascinated with a certain painting and write a poem about it. A composer might take his inspiration from a piece of sculpture. The painter might use his brush to portray a fictional hero. But ekphrasis can also lend form to something the artist only imagines or dreams about.

I sometimes use ekphrastic expression to explore a particular force in my life. I think of it as creative googling of my own mind. Ekphrasis is the search engine that powers my obsessions.

My mother is one of those obsessions. I’ve written poems about her, have given her a voice in my stories, have sketched her, have gathered a collage of her artistic accomplishments in my journal pages. I still don’t understand the power of her presence. Am I paying homage? Or am I seeking triumph?

At any rate, Bear Number Eighteen is the latest ekphrastic flower decorating her shrine in my victory garden.

My Mother's Garden

My mother’s favorite color combination was purple and yellow. At least in her old age. When she was younger, during my childhood, she treasured the pastel shades of the sweet peas that grew in our garden. After I moved away from home I would bring sweet peas when I visited. My mother would wait by the window and as soon as she saw me she would run to the door.
“Ach, mein Kind,” she would say, “Oh, my child,” how beautiful. Then she would burry her nose in the bouquet of flowers and breathe in deeply. “So sweet. Thank you.”
As she grew older her taste streamlined into much starker territory. No frills. A single flower. A bare branch. Her old wooden desk looked as if she never used it. She kept canvas under the sofa. Paints in drawers. Brushes hidden behind curtains on the wide windowsill. Books lined up neatly and held together with bookends. But if you looked closer, if you stayed a while, you would notice that the layout changed frequently. One day she’d display a rock. The next day a feather. Or a small perfume bottle. Or the piece of sculpted soap you had given her the year before. You’d see that pencils had been sharpened or a journal had been moved. You’d find traces of pale green chalk dust. And if you woke at three in the morning you’d discover that the light was on in her room. She was an artist by night and a housewife by day. She tended to my stepfather’s every wish; she cooked, washed, ironed, cleaned, shopped, listened to his war stories, watched the shows he liked, kept him company until he went to bed. Then her imagination burst into paintings, into poems and short stories, into stitched designs that depicted lives she had not lived.
Lives she might have dreamt about.
A few weeks before she died, a friend brought her an arrangement of purple and yellow flowers.
“My colors,” my mother said. “She knows my colors.”
I sat by her hospital bed, held her hand, and wondered why I didn’t know her colors. I had lived in America for almost thirty years and I guess a trip home once a year just wasn’t enough to keep up with all the changes in her life.
When I returned to California I set aside a small spot in my garden where daffodils and something purplish remind me of my mother. Deep down in my heart I still see her picking pastel sweet peas, but I always try to fill some part of my life with the colors of her final years.

And for that reason I am growing bears number eighteen and nineteen for my mother’s garden. Their brown heads and paws embody the soil. Their outfits are green like foliage. Yellow and purple accents act as flowers. You will see them in full bloom tomorrow and the day after.

The Bear who Stepped out of a Painting

Some of my friends call me whimsical. I am not exactly sure what that means, but I am confident that it isn't something bad, and I know it has to do with "sudden fancies." I had one of those today and this photo is the result. Sunflower yellow, dark sage, claret red, and off-white yarn make up this bear's attire. I wanted to come as closely as I could to the colors in the painting. As if he had collected the paint from the canvas and applied it to his body in a more orderly fashion.

Of course the painting was done under the influence of a sudden fancy. A couple of years ago I developed an interest in Jackson Pollock; after I read Ruth Kligman's "Love Affair" (A memoir of Jackson Pollock) I tried to imitate his style. But I didn't throw buckets of paint at a canvas; I dribbled, dripped, dropped, and spread what was left over in three jars. It was a one-time fancy. Experimental and not all that successful. But today, as I walked back and forth, eyeing bear and painting together, I was quite happy. Fancy that!

Sunflower Dreams

My Webster’s College Dictionary tells me that the word “sunflower” means “any of a genus of tall herbs related to the daisies that are often grown for their showy yellow-rayed flower heads and for their oil-rich seeds.” For me the word “sunflower” creates a field of yellow dreams in the south of France. It also brings back my grandmother’s garden in Germany.
Sunflower yellow is a happy feeling.
But spring is the wrong season for sunflowers and I have to improvise my vision. I buy a single “fabricated” one at the craft store and try to bestow upon it the magic I expect from a live one. It works for photography, I think. And to guide me in a teddy bear color scheme. For the rest of the dream, only found in the real flower, I have to wait until fall.

Apron to the Rescue

I was just thinking about tangled webs, about Arachne’s weaving skills, the fabrics of our lives and a few other crafty clichés that accompany my daily rituals. And I wondered too, about problems I have created myself and problems that are tossed into my lap. And the third kind of problem that hovers around the vicinity of my lap for a while, until I grab the outer edges of my apron and hold it up like a big square safety net into which the problem is allowed to drop.

Clearly my impatient tugging made the yarn pull away from me and punish me with a few knots and an unkind spiral of entanglement. My fault. My problem to solve. Strictly speaking, the converter box I have to buy for my old TV next spring is not a problem I have created, but it too is my problem to solve. And then I come to Freddy? Freddy is my granddaughter’s cat. Freddy will be without a home when she moves in a couple of weeks. I intend to open my metaphorical apron to catch him before he is doomed to a life in foster homes.

I have already added my name to the converter box coupon recipient list. As I sit here, musing, I carefully untangle the yarn and wind it into a ball. Preparing for Freddy is probably immature; maybe there are other solutions to his dilemma. But just in case, I make a list of things to do before he arrives.
Take down the curtains.
Remove yarn from kitchen table.
Move houseplants to spare room.
Be prepared for phone and computer cord problems.
Hide cough drops.
Come up with a plan to save window and door screens from being clawed.
Put paper clips in drawer.
Ditto for pencils, yellow post it notes, batteries, erasers, scotch tape, tiny photos, and the other one hundred little things whose conveniently amassed presence on my coffee table, my bookcases, my desk, I take for granted.

I remember one more, very important major concession to his presence in my household. I have to print a sign to remind me, “CLOSE THE DOOR, FRED IS HERE.”
Three years ago, when Freddy was a kitten, I took care of him over a weekend. After he had pulled down the curtains, trashed my coffee table, and bent a few slats on my blinds, he became restless. It was summer. It was hot in the house. I almost opened the back door, the only opening without a screen to tear apart. Then I realized that he would probably take off for the hill behind my house and get lost.
Am I ready for this again? For an unspecified amount of time?
Apron to the rescue.

P.S. Between deknotting yarn, applying for a converter box coupon that is supposed to save me money I hadn’t planned to spend, and making a Freddy list, I finished bear number sixteen. To be photographed tomorrow.

Put Away Purple - Bring In Yellow

Do people redo blog posts after they have published? Or do they repeat with alterations/corrections?

I've decided that midnight is not a good time to take a picture of finished bears. Number one... I don't like the flash. Number two... a spare sheet, pulled out of the closet and not ironed, makes a bad backdrop. Number three......where's the new YELLOW color scheme? So I took another photo just about five minutes ago. Bears propped against my kitchen window. Daylight. Yarn on the table.

Put Away Purple - Bring in Yellow

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, Michael’s “40% off any one item” coupon made me interrupt my “putting it together” session. The coupon is like medicine, numbing the internal setup that normally controls my craft shop impulse buying. Michael’s is well informed about my shortcomings. Before I entered the store an overly ambitious clerk placed sunflower yellow four ply right next to the burgundy red I love.

I had intended to use the coupon for another brownish shade of bear face yarn. I didn’t need anything else. But suddenly a voice in my head said, “You haven’t knitted a bear with a yellow outfit yet.”
“That’s because I don’t have yellow yarn at home,” I answered. Then I walked away.
But within a couple of minutes I stood in front of the same shelf again. Sunflower skein in one hand and burgundy in the other.
“Don’t forget to buy the brown yarn you came for,” said the voice.

In the meantime, at home, the project bears and Tyana had come to an agreement about the numbering. The three new bears would draw needles. Whoever drew the longest needle would be number thirteen, the middle-sized needle would determine bear fourteen, and the short sock needle would go to bear fifteen. All I had to do was to finish sewing, knit three scarves, take a picture. Clean the kitchen table up. Put away purples and lavenders and make plans for sunflower yellow, burgundy red and toast brown.

P.S. About clothespins. I never travel without clothespins. They come in handy when I want to tie down a prop for a photograph (my bear for instance), keep hotel room curtains shut tight, hold together a bunch of notes, or dry a pair of socks overnight. At home I use them to clip Safeway plastic bags to my jeans waistband so I can carry around my yarn balls while knit-walking

Portrait of Tyana J LittleString (The Pink Girl)

Who's Next? Let's Ask the Pink Girl!

The bears had a discussion this morning, about my counting method. Today is my PIT stop day and I have decided to just ignore the order I have imposed myself (numbering by first stitch) and not number anybody until all three almost done bears are finished. Several bears said they want a conference with the "pink girl" to decide who is next. The "pink girl" is my companion Tyana J LittleString, the bear that travels with me and shows up frequently in photographs of famous sites. She knows how I sometimes suspend rules, and she sees herself as negotiator between me and the "project bears."

"I'm a bear," she says, "and you're not."

A PIT stop day is a "Putting It Together" day, my attempt at cleaning up the mess on my kitchen table. Right now, besides the daffodils and candles, there are the three unfinished bears, six or seven balls of purplish and lavender yarn, an assortment of browns and beiges, extra knitting needles, a crochet hook, a big-eyed sewing needle, black yarn for facial features, scissors, fishing line (to suspend a bear in the air for yesterday's photograph) a pencil, a black marker, scotch tape (the last three have been there for at least four days) and two clothespins. Clothespins are very important in my life. But more about them tomorrow.

Once the clean-up is done I'll address "the pink girl" who is also waiting for two t-shirts I am supposed to knit for her. And I promise to number bears thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen before the day is over.

Come Fly with Me

I saw an interesting “signature” on a post today, a quote attributed to Michelangelo,”
“ I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

I wondered how the principle could be applied to other forms of creative endeavors. It works with language. When I write a story I free an idea, a concept, a plot, from the big block of words in my head.
Photography is a bit different. I capture a part of my surroundings. I don’t set a sunrise free; I document a moment in time. The same idea could be applied to painting, to a certain degree. If I copy a scene from nature as accurately as I can, I stop the moment. If I interpret the scene, or envision a scene, I set free a moment. My moment. I look at abstract painting as setting free ideas. And what about music, does it capture or set free? In a way, I think it does both. Sounds are collected from instruments and voices and released into new tonal combinations.

How does this relate to 100 bears for Africa? Unlike the sculptor who may envision any form hidden in his medium, or the painter, who may splash unlimited ideas on his canvass, or the photographer who may turn to the right or left to catch a different moment, or even the musician who may chose different instruments to alter the sound of a ballad, I am limited by shape. A teddy bear shape comprised of five thousand stitches. But as I knit, walking back and forth in my living room, sitting in front of my computer, watching TV, each loop catches a bit of me - my thoughts, my wishes, my memories, the words I would say to a child if I stood in front of it.

Imagine, thousands of teddy bears, carrying bits and pieces of us, making their way across the world to a little boy or girl whose arms open wide to welcome the new friend.

And I just sit here and smile.

“I felt the message in my heart and purled until I set it free.

Bear Number Twelve Makes a Friend

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

It is really amazing how many different looks one can produce with just two ingredients - knitting needles and yarn. It would be interesting to know if any one bear has every been duplicated. Not by the same person, of course, since this could have been done on purpose or even because that person likes a particular look and after a few others went back to the favorite without even thinking about it.

Imagine that there are 25,900 unique bears out there. Different color combinations. Knit and purl stitches mixed into a multitude of patterns. Facial expressions embroidered into smiles and scowls, big eyes, little eyes, square and elongated nose jobs. And imagine that all these bears were created from one pattern. It makes me happy to think that we are giving individual attention to each gift. My enthusiasm was the trigger for yesterday's story about cloning, copying, and adding bright colors. Just because we use a common pattern doesn't mean that we don't create unique objects. And yes, I LOVE lime green. Just can't get enough of it.

Bear number twelve took a little trip outside this morning and was photographed with my garden gnome. The gnome lost most of its color since I bought it last summer. California sunshine can be rough on gnomes who like filtered rays. I was lucky enough to get a replacement from the company who sold it to me, but now I have to build a gnome house or at least a gnome shelter to avoid exposing the second one.

Copy This

Monday, March 10, 2008


Heeeeere's Bear Number Eleven. I posed her by the daffodils because I have been thinking about daffodils all day. The ones in my garden have already wilted but I bought a bouquet of ten at Trader Joe's yesterday. They opened this morning just in time to greet the sun.

I've also written a story about my Mother Bear Project for my memoirs writing class and I would like to copy it to this blog. It is part of my thinking process; part of the crazy way I begin new projects. Dr. Steinfeld (my companion in the story) is actually a psychiatrist I made up many years ago when I had some problems that needed "shrinking." He makes a good writing device and I use him whenever I have conversations with myself. Anyway, here is the story.

Copy This

I entered the Purly Gates of my Knitting World with an orange-cranberry scone and a new set of five number four bamboo sock needles. Add to this the multicolored yarn I bought from Blue Moon Fiber Arts at Stitches West and an urge to knit the first pair of socks since I was twelve – which makes it 57 years ago – and you get an image of pure happiness.
But wait!
Sock happy?
Well…….?
Yes, sock happy.


I raced a marathon of knit-one-purl-one leg rounds and performed some flawless heel and foot stockinette needling along the way. But then I had to produce sock number two. My needles crawled to the finish line.
I don’t like repeats!
A sock demands a repeat!
Shame on it!


As much as I love the new Socks that Rock yarn, happiness left me as quickly as it had entered my paradise. I needed another project. Happiness, it seems, is a subject that needs the scrutiny of my favorite shrink, and as usual, when I am unable to sort out the definitions that mark my territory, I ask him to clarify my thought process. Since we both love the afternoon ritual of coffee and sweets I invite him to join me.


The first half hour is spent catching up on ordinary subjects. The various kinds of daffodils in bloom at this time of the year. The presidential aspirations and qualifications of Obama and Clinton. Peet’s freshly ground Dark Roast versus Good Earth herbal teas. Mockingbirds. Daylight savings time. But then – without warning - we plunge into my sock problem.
Dr. Steinfeld sits across from me, stabbing his last piece of neatly cut up bear claw with a cake fork.


“And why is it you don’t like to create a sock Doppelgänger?”


“It’s not artistic!”


“Isn’t there art in being able to clone perfection?”



I dismiss his question with a counter argument.


“Look at the painters who slave away in the Chinese countryside somewhere, copying the masters for foreign art markets. Do you think of them as artists?”


Dr. Steinfeld moves crumbs to the middle of his plate with the tip of his fork. Orders them until they form a circular mound. I watch him wet a finger between his lips. Then he presses it, repeatedly, into the crumbs until all of them adhere to it. He gives the finger a scrutinizing look before he directs it toward his mouth. His tongue welcomes the last of his favorite afternoon snack while he looks over the rims of his glasses and smiles.


“I didn’t know that sock knitting is an art. My grandmother spent most of her evenings knitting and darning socks. She never struck me as the artistic kind. If you misbehaved she waved one of her needles at you and threatened to poke you with it. ”


When I don’t respond immediately, but stare at a picture on the wall behind him, Dr. Steinfeld takes his plate to the kitchen and rinses it under running water. He whistles. I like that he feels comfortable enough in my house to follow his quirky habits of neatness. We’ve known each other for a long time.


I pull a pattern for a teddy bear from the stack of papers on my coffee table. I had bought it at the Mother Bear Project Booth at Stitches West. It looks easy. Knit a bear and the organization will send it to Africa to an HIV/AIDS infected child. Over 25,000 have been made so far according to the website I had inspected earlier in the day.


Dr. Steinfeld comes back to the living room with the coffee pot and refills my cup.
“Only so much DNA to go around. We are all clones. More or less. What makes you unique are not the socks. Billions of socks have been knitted since the first person discovered that string looped around a stick enough times warms your feet. My Dear, what makes you unique is the fact that we are having a conversation about socks.”


“Thanks. Only so many words to go around,” I mock.


“Yes. True. So….it’s the sentence that counts…..isn’t it?”


I cram a big bite of Almond Croissant into my mouth. The center bite where marzipan paste forms a thick sweet layer against the flaky crust.


“I think I’m going to knit a hundred teddy bears. Take pictures of them. Write a blog about my progress. I think I’m ready for a big project.”


Without waiting for a response, I take the pattern to the copier in the other room. I like to keep originals in plastic pouches. Clean. No pencil marks. No accidental spills.


“It gives me a chance to use up all the yarn I’ve stashed in this bin.” I say this as I wait for the printer to warm up. I say it to myself, my mind already wound into worsted weight color combinations.


A voice of gentle prodding barely penetrates my web of rising teddy bear dreams.


“What did you say, Doc?”


“I said, there must be people who wouldn’t mind wearing one of a kind socks.”


I send my laughter around the corner, teasing my friend about his offbeat solution. From the top of the bin I take a skein of medium brown yarn, a ball of variegated red, and a small amount of white baby yarn, left over from an afghan. By the time the printer finishes its reproduction of the pattern, I am sure that I have to go shopping for brighter colors.


“”How do you feel about lime green?” I ask walking back into the living room.


But Dr. Steinfeld has quietly removed himself from my roaming thoughts. He sits in front of the computer, like a statue, upright, eyes closed, both hands resting on the keyboard.


Size 7 needles.
Cast on.
100 bears for Africa.

An Extra Four Rows

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Oops, bear number eight grew four extra rows in body size while I was watching TV. No matter how well you think you know your pattern - you make mistakes. In this case it doesn't hurt; a little less stuffing, a little sideways stretching; a flattening pat on the head; he shrinks in my mind as I am writing this.

I cut out pictures of my first ten bears and lined them up on the kitchen table. They remind me of the paper dolls I used to play with as a child. Maybe I should tack them to the wall. My friends will probably shake their heads but I get inspired by "stuff on the wall."

Bear number eleven is patiently waiting for my return from the computer. This one is wearing a pink skirt but is still missing arms. Every day I try a different approach. Today I knitted the skirt before I finished the body. Why? Because the pink yarn was closer than the brown yarn. And because I was in a pink mood.

Knitting my Way onto the Information Superhighway

Now that I've spent most of the day transferring my journal notes onto this blog, I have lost the daylight to take a picture of bears eight, nine, and ten in their various states of completion.

This morning I played around with some statistics. My theory is that once a project becomes routine, one has to figure ways to reinvigorate it. These are just some of the things I want to keep track of. How much yarn does it take to make 100 bears? How much stuffing? How much time does it take? And how much does it cost?

I already have a general idea on how many stitches it takes. Between 500,000 and 600,000. I used bear number ten to count rows and stitches. I know it takes me between six and seven hours to knit a bear, another two to finish it. Yes, I know, I dawdle when I finish. My mind is usually already on the next one. More statistics? I've walked eleven miles while knitting ten bears. I intend to increase my daily knit-walking to two miles per bear average.

Because I didn't take any pictures today I will add a photograph of some of the dolls from my previous project. And tomorrow I will be back on track with the knitting and the photographing.

Who is Antonia? And why am I purling her?

Friday, March 7, 2008

Bears eight and nine are taking shape.

My blog received its name from my last project, a journal about a group of dolls I gave away Christmas 2007. I had named them alphabetically but when I was done I decided to let the children name them. Anyway, Antonia was the first name I had picked from a book on baby names. Every time I bought another doll I named it, entered the name in my journal, noted the date of my purchase. Antonia and her friends didn't make it to the 100 mark, even though I worked on them for a couple of years. I had collected around sixty second-hand dolls, had cleaned them, given them haircuts, dressed around 40 of them and then gave up on the last 20 because some of them had really bad hair days. And others turned out to be less sturdy than I had hoped.

Before that there was Easter Island, a collection of around 80 hand-sewn and dressed bunnies of all sizes. I exhibited them at the County Fair in a Christmas scene with a tree and toys and presents and all sorts of other handmade items. Eventually I gave the whole group to a Family Homeless Shelter. I wrote several stories about Easter Island for my writing group. My favorite of all the bunnies was Alfie. And, as I just realized, his name also starts with the letter A. Easter Island didn't make it to 100 inhabitants either.

Because this is my third try to make 100 of something I kept the old project name alive. Maybe that will bring me good luck; at the very least it will be an incentive to make it this time.

Tonight I am going to knit bear number ten and if I stay up long enough, finish eight and nine. This isn't bad for the first two weeks but, of course, I won't be able to keep this pace up. There are other projects to be finished, weeds to be pulled, letters to write, bills to pay, vacuuming to be done, laundry to be washed, dust to be chased away, stories to be written, pictures to be taken, telephone calls to be made, and a bunch of other things to be attended to.

Group Photo

Thursday, March 6, 2008

I am developing an exercise program for my bear-making project. Besides walking the living room and kitchen while knitting for at least a mile a day, I also try different exercises when winding yarn. I stand on one leg for as long as I can. Each ball I wind takes about three hundred arm turns and I have made it up to 70 turns while standing on one leg. I guess I am not in as good a shape as I had thought. I used to do yoga and could stand much longer. But then I would concentrate on a spot on the wall while imagining a meadow. Now I count, wave my arms, become impatient with knots, stare at CNN's anchors. However, it is important to do some exercise every day when I work eight hours on this kind of project. I've seen a few "crippled" craft people who don't leave the house except to get supplies.

Today is finish-up day. Last night I knitted number seven and this morning I put him together. Then I knitted two scarves, one for number seven and one for number six. It is overcast outside and I'll only take a group picture for now.

Just got back from Beverly's Fabrics with a two pound bag of polyester fiberfill, a set of #7 bamboo needles, and a skein of Red Heart Kids' yarn, the missing lime green. I spent almost twenty-five dollars but I am quite happy because now I have the proper needles and enough stuffing for quite a few bears. How many, I wonder?

Gradually I am gettting a range of bamboo needles together and when I have all the sizes I normally need, I will give the metal needles away. I do remember how much my mother suffered and how she could barely lift her arms sometimes. She too was obsessed with knitting.

Now I am going to start bear number eight. I am looking forward to using the bright red yarn I bought yesterday and the lime green from today. Add to this some orange and you have a lovely bear outfit.

Putting Together Means Sewing

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

It's after four and I am still "putting together" bears. I have to learn to call arms, scarves, and skirts "knitting" and not toss them into the "putting together" bucket. I have worked on three bears since early this morning, almost uninterruptedly. Bears five and six are finished; bear four is still on needles.

I must relax for a while; my shoulders are hurting. I think I am going overboard as usual. but slowing down is difficult; I constantly have new color combinations in my head and can't wait. Which brings me to the question: how should I handle the numbering? By starts or by finishes?

I guess I'll go by starts. Even if number four is the last one to be finished, he still came into being in my head as the fourth one.

I am Bear - See my Face

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

An exciting day today. I now have three finished bears, and two in progress. This morning I took pictures of each of the finished ones and I think I have perfected the picture-taking thing so that all pics are uniform. I slipped the "Make a Difference" t-shirt over a cardboard form (rather than using the manequin bust). I sat the form on the front porch, facing the staircase. A piece of white foamcore serves as floor. Then I took the picture from the staircase - eye level with the bear in front of the t-shirt. When they are all done I can then link them together by cropping the photos to the bear paws. Ah, the things that go on in my head.

Before I went to my memoir writing class I sent an email to Oprah about Motherbearproject.org asking the producers not to overlook us bear makers as "Little Gives" and to invite the founder (or founders?) of the project on her show. I thought the producers might like the play on words. Her new show is called "Oprah's Big Give" in which lots of money changes hands and here we have these little efforts to make one child at a time happy with a teddy bear. Who knows, being publicised on a national show could "incite" a lot of others to knit or donate yarn or money. But most likely Oprah's people will ignore my email and continue with their big projects.

This afternoon I made a trip to Michael's where I bought three "face yarns" to give the bears different colors. I also bought a big skein (one pound) of red yarn. My palette tends toward earth tones and I needed to bring some brightness into the project. I knew this shopping thing would happen. Just didn't expect it to begin so early in the project. All I should have bought was stuffing.

One, Two, Three

Monday, March 3, 2008

For the past few years I had a three a.m. mockingbird wakeup call from the back of the house. This year I have a daytime chanter in front of the house. Listening to a bird at three in the afternoon is so much more pleasant. Besides, I love this spring weather and the burst of green from trees and bushes. The purple plum trees are in full bloom and the daffodils are nodding at me every time I go outside.

I've tried something new today, a crochet lace edge on neck and pants of bear number three. I crocheted the edge separately and incorporated it into the body by knitting together one stitch each from body and lace. Oh, and I like the idea of a skirt; it has so much potential.

The first bear will be named Gigi - a shortened version of my name that my nephew Christopher invented because he couldn't pronounce my full name. It is pronounced with two hard "g"s.

Kitchen Table - Witness to my Progress

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Another email to Amy about colors. She sends an immediate answer: it's fine to use more than three colors; others do it too. I guess the pattern is a general guideline so we don't stray too far. I've printed out a few of the photos they have in their gallery just to check out color schemes. Tonight I'm finished with the body of the third bear. This means that I will probably put number two and three together tomorrow. I documented my progress with a photo of my kitchen table. It hasn't been cleared since I started this project. Who needs a kitchen table anyway. I eat breakfast and lunch at my computer and dinner in front of the TV.

Bear Two in the Making

Saturday, March 1, 2008

The socks are finished and I can devote myself to the bear project for a few days. Amy from Mother Bear Project says it is fine to ask others to donate the money. She'll ship labels for me as soon as I ask for them. There is a "100 Bear Club" and I am toying with the idea to knit 100 of them. I'll see what I think about that when it gets warm outside and the garden calls.

I'm starting the second bear, lighter face, light blue and dark blue clothing. I'm going to use the number eight bamboo needles until I shop for number sevens. Bamboo is so much easier on my hands and shoulders. I've also laid out the yarn for bear number three - light face, pink skirt, pink, black, pale green and yellow for the top.

Alpaca Socks in Transit

Friday, February 29, 2008

I am going to meet my granddaughter for lunch today and will take the alpaca socks on the train with me. I love small projects with short needles when I travel. Less of a chance to poke other travelers. Last night I read up on alpaca; as a matter of fact, I read a lot of web sites to get an idea what's going on in the world of knitting. I was surprised by the amount of knitting blogs. I have knitted for sixty years, most of the time by myself, and didn't know that knitting has become so fashionable. Group knits. Charity knits. Cross country blogs. Blogging knit book authors. Stores with blogs. I'm thrilled. And I should have realized that knitting is "In" when I began to read the blog from a local knit shop. I only visit it once in a while because I'm a bit afraid of spending too much money on yarn. My monthly budget is easily ruined by a couple of colorful yarn displays.

The First Bear is Finished

Thursday, February 28, 2008

The bear is finished. I had bought a t-shirt from Mother Bear and now I will use it as background when I take pictures. I plan on asking my friends to sponsor the bears and give the contributors a picture in return. I'll have to send an email to Mother Bear to find out if that is possible. The Mother Bear Project charges three dollars per bear shipping cost to the destination country. Depending on how many bears I knit, I might not be able to afford the amount it takes to donate them. Each bear gets a label with the name the donor picks

Projects in Progress

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

The dress for Tyana is almost finished. The socks are done. This afternoon I will finish the bear. Haven’t done a face with embroidery yarn in quite some time; I guess most of my embroidery yarn is ancient, a reminder of another project: Easter Island, the land of handmade bunnies.

I took a picture of all projects in progress. The Tyana dress, two Tyana t-shirts, a pair of natural alpaca socks, pants for a fashion doll, and the bear. The yarn for Tyana's dress (on the right) is Lorna's "Shepherd Sock" yarn, (a Stitches West purchase) I bought the alpaca in Germany; for the t-shirts and fashion doll pants I use crochet thread.

Socks that Rock

Monday, February 25, 2008

The bear goes rather fast, but I have several projects going and think I should finish one or two of them. I guess I will keep track of my knitting for a while, so I can judge how much time it takes to do each project. I am almost done with the “socks that rock” A rather expensive reminder of my Stitches West Convention visit on Saturday. I had no idea that the heavyweight yarn cost so much; the same yarn in lightweight was much less. Oh well, it knits “like butter” and feels great. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the money for this kind of yarn all the time? I do love the new socks and will wear them on my next walk to test them.

In the beginning...

Sunday, Feb 24, 2008

I am beginning my first bear for the Mother Bear Project. It all started with Stitches West, the heavenly fiber market for serious knitters at the Santa Clara Convention Center. The Mother Bear people had a booth there. Mother Bear sends teddy bears to children affected by HIV/AIDS in Africa. Well, why didn’t I know about this before? They have shipped over 25,000 so far.

My bear Tyana J LittleString and I had to investigate. Tyana travels with me and is pictured here next to me at the Convention Center. She has her own photo book on Shutterfly where she models her extensive wardrobe for all to see.

I bought the knitting pattern for the project at the Mother Bear booth during my six-hour excursion to the convention and studied it while riding light rail home. It is an easy pattern; the body is worked in one piece; sleeves are added afterwards. The piece is folded in half, sewn, stuffed, face embroidered with eyes, nose, and mouth. A scarf is optional, so is a skirt. The basic pattern calls for three colors: main color, trouser color, sweater color.

At home I immediately sorted out all four-ply knitting worsted, left over from my doll give-away project. Seems to me that I have plenty of yarn, but I know from experience that I will probably go out soon to get the colors I am missing. Yes, where is lime green?

I picked three skeins from the bin. I have number seven needles but am a little afraid of them because they are metal needles. I will try and if my fingers hurt I will have to go out and buy bamboo needles. I am using white yarn for the lower body and legs, variegated dark red, white, pale blue for the upper body and skirt, and dark brown for the bear paws and head.