i think this is my new favorite thing

crafters often refer to this collection as a "stash" or a "hoard."

it's normal to have, but sometimes comes with a certain awkwardness.

the problem is that it takes a very long time to make things from textiles - and it is extremely quick, fun and easy to get more materials.

Presents, impulse purchases, leftovers from other projects, things you bought FULLY intending to make something that you changed your mind about...

Another problem is that you genuinely DO have a plan for the materials! your intentions and desires are THERE!

and admitting that it isn't going to happen - or that your mind has changed, or you're no longer able to do them - can be really painful!

it's incredibly hard to say: "we are not the people who can do these things. we are not the people who WILL do these things."

but sometimes you need to.

it's a natural part of life. it might feel painful to let go of things that you really want to use, but won't. But clearing them out - and the attached guilt and shame - will make room for a lot more things in your life. Room for things you'll use. Room for the projects you'll do.

Room and space - not for hanging on to the shades of the ambitions and intentions and people you aren't - not being held for lives you don't have - but room and space for who you are today, and who you'll be tomorrow, and for the things you'll do.

Room and space to grow.

There's a walking path that runs parallel to a road I take to get to my dad's house. There are sculptures set up alongside the path. Some of them are kind of neat, some of them are abstract... and then there's This Fucker.

The Long Horse.

This thing is TALL. Like, I am 5'7" and I sincerely think it might be twice my height. Have a 9 year old for scale:

This thing is way more terrifying up close than it is from the car. The metal bands wrapping around like ligaments, the rust that hints at decaying flesh, the EYES. Imagine you're driving down a semi-secluded stretch of road at night and you see THIS looming at you from out of the darkness:

I have been passing by The Long Horse (actual title of the piece is Uplifted) for years, and every time I see it I think "I need to show this to someone," and every time I forget to stop to take pictures. BUT I DID TODAY. Truly, I feel like it's the spiritual cousin to that super muscular chonkster horse statue, related but opposite.

The rest of the sculptures are kind of neat. I like the motorcycle and the shark and the maple seeds.

I ask my students every week to write 10 observations of the actual world. It’s very hard for them.

Ms. Tippett:

Really?

Ms. Howe:

They really find it hard.

Ms. Tippett:

What do you mean? What is the assignment? 10 observations of their actual world?

Ms. Howe:

Just tell me what you saw this morning like in two lines. I saw a water glass on a brown tablecloth, and the light came through it in three places. No metaphor. And to resist metaphor is very difficult because you have to actually endure the thing itself, which hurts us for some reason.

Ms. Tippett:

It does.

Ms. Howe:

It hurts us.

Ms. Tippett:

You naming something.

Ms. Howe:

We want to say, “It was like this; it was like that.” We want to look away. And to be with a glass of water or to be with anything — and then they say, “Well, there’s nothing important enough.” And that’s whole thing. It’s the point.

Ms. Howe:

It’s the this, right?

Ms. Howe:

Right, the this, whatever. And then they say, “Oh, I saw a lot of people who really want” — and, “No, no, no. No abstractions, no interpretations.” But then this amazing thing happens, Krista. The fourth week or so, they come in and clinkety, clank, clank, clank, onto the table pours all this stuff. And it so thrilling. I mean, it is thrilling. Everybody can feel it. Everyone is just like, “Wow.” The slice of apple, and then that gleam of the knife, and the sound of the trashcan closing, and the maple tree outside, and the blue jay. I mean, it almost comes clanking into the room. And it’s just amazing.

Ms. Tippett:

In some basic level, what they’ve done is just engage with their senses.

Ms. Howe:

Yeah, and have been present out of their minds and just noticing what’s around them, which is — we don’t do. And again, not to compare it to anything. They’re not allowed. And that’s very hard for them. And then on the fifth or sixth week, I say, “OK, use metaphors.” And they don’t want to. They don’t know how. They’re like, “Why would I? Why would I compare that to anything when it’s itself?” Exactly. Good question.

So then you think, why the necessity of a metaphor? Why do you have to use a metaphor now? Not just to do it to avoid it, but to do it to make it more there. And it’s very interesting.

You can read about it here: https://minds-africa.org/fabric-map-of-africa-the-art-of-storytelling/