While I'm not a huge Picasso fan, I definitely appreciate his vision. Making us see things from different perspectives is necessary. Forcing us to see several perspectives at once: genius. I do not find this particular brand of genius aesthetically pleasing, but since when are aesthetics a prerequisite here? I mention this for several reasons. First, our house guest. We have a young visitor with us for the next couple of weeks. This weekend we took her to see some of the "highlights" of our region. Among them: the new silver show at Winterthur, the Philadelphia Zoo, and Dolphin watching at Cape May, NJ. She is 13 going on 25 and thinks she is brazilliant in all things. In some areas I don't disagree. The kid's damn skippy smart. But she's also a nascent teenager and prone to those fits and starts of teenage angst that (I'm quite sure) make otherwise well-balanced, sane parents everywhere want to rip their hair out and throw things. I spent hours and hours touring her all over Winterthur, inside and out, trying to show her why I do what I do and why I think it deserves the years of my life I have devoted to it. What was her response: "kewel, but I liked the Enchanted Woods best. "Now, don't get me wrong, when I was 13 I would have said exactly the same thing. exactly. I would have resented all attempts to push me out of my carefully chosen and well-polished shell. At least something connected, right? But it made me want to scream. She went through the silver exhibit and the period rooms so fast it made my head spin. meh. But she saw the magic in the woods, so I really can't argue too much. It's all in your point of view. We went to the zoo, spent umpty-ump dollars to wander around and peer through cages at poor, pacing creatures who deserve so much more than flash bulbs exploding in their sensitive faces, saw gorgeous birds, pro-simians, frolicking river otters, and what does she like best? the vampire bats feeding. yep. teenage angst in bucket loads. In all fairness, the bats were pretty cool. I can't post my pics here because I didn't get permission from the zoo to do so, but I did get a fabulous shot of a bat, snout raised from it's petrie dish of blood, baring its wee fangs at me. I won't even discuss the day at Cape May because I'm already sick of myself whining about this. I LOVE this kid. She's creative, smart, funny and full of it. I'm so happy she's out here with us for awhile, but is it so very much to ask for just one little "thank you?" My rational self is now screaming "but the look on her face IS that thank you, you idiot!" and rational self is right. It is. We had a great fourth of july weekend, watched dolphins peer up at us from a steel grey ocean as pale poufs of jellyfish burbled by, sat in the evenmist as the sky flamed orange, gold and green, and gorged on pizza while playing Harry Potter trivia. I hope you and yours had half as much fun. Alter the gaze, bend your mind, accept and enjoy; these were my mantras this weekend. Thanks Picasso! Oh, and there was spinning: my first day of the Tour de Fleece.
Sorry about the graininess, I'm blogging at midnight. Hard to get natural light at this time of day. *snorg* I have no idea what the wpi is on this. I spun it long draw and was gauging it by feel. Alden Amos would be so very mad at me. I'm not sure it will match what I already have. I sure hope so. From what I remember about this fiber (I really need to start keeping a spinning journal..oh, wait, that's why I started the blog. right.) it fluffs a great deal with a good whacking. Half a bobbin that reminded me why I put this roving down again and again. My hands hurt. Merino shouldn't make yer paws ache, my friends. But I'm reasonably pleased with the consistency. Reasonably. I really wish I could go to SOAR this autumn and take Abby Franquemont's workshop. *drool* That woman is a master. Just looking at her yarn makes me want to weep. Especially when I then examine what's sitting on my own bobbin. I'll try to re-orient my thinking: this is inspiration! Soak in the genius. Soak it I say! In this case, I think her yarn begs to differ with Picasso. Silk that fine is truth and art, my dear woolly friends. There's simply no way to hide a lie in good spinning. At least not that I've been able to find. And now, sweet readers, good night.
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