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?