Connecting.

It is not the first time that I take to my bag of leftovers and tie short bits of wool together to make a new length of yarn. This time around I found it very therapeutic. Somehow the process reflected more or less my state of mind and it was soothing to re-connect and make use of otherwise seemingly useless bits of colored wool. As the scarf grew so my mind settled somewhat and recomposed itself enough so that I could concentrate on more than just the task at hand. The result, off the loom, are two scarves with the same warp but two vastly different wefts.

The change of season is very welcome, Autumn will bring much needed focus and awareness. I find that the month of October and the beginning of the seasonal sleep, is for me quite the opposite of what could be, by some, considered the approach of dormancy. This season brings no more nor less transition than any another. But for me, it is always a new beginning, a chance to look forward and to reap what the summer has left for me to reflect on and fill me with, both physically and spiritually.

Nature, continues to surprise me with its "I do my thing" way of being. A walk on the hill reveals that nature does not cease to contemplate, it just goes and does. The Carob tree, my new favorite tree, has dropped its pods and has flowers ready for the next. Anyone who has ever entered into the understory of a carob tree knows how extremely beautiful and comforting these trees are. The wild thyme that looked all but dead and dry a few weeks ago begins to show its first tiny green leaves.

Some weeding in the old veggie patch reveals that here there is also much life. The yellow caterpillar is that of the black swallowtail butterfly. The chrysanthemums, after one year of sleeping have also revealed what until now had remained a mystery, a bouquet of pink flowers. The tobacco plant is taller than I am and has giant leaves.

From the unknown underground I have tubers and roots, sweet potatoes and equally sweet carrots. I won´t go hungry, this much is true. 

Happy All Hallow´s eve.

Autumn

It started raining last night. It was quite an eventful storm. The kind that wakes you with water dripping above your head and an explosive short circuit, with fire, at your front door.

The day, was well spent early on, replacing broken roof tiles, but there is still a live wire in the house, just to keep it exciting.

The overcast day, after months of perfect distracting beach weather, was the much needed kick to finish setting up the loom and weave. And so there I spent most of the day and afternoon, a very productive 1,20m of scarf.

Always present Japan, a paper mask, keeps an eye.

But the end of the day was too irresistible and with no rain in sight, it was perfect for getting out the gum boots and going for a walk. I tried to weed for a bit to make the most of the soft wet soil, but I soon got distracted. Trying to save some weed infested carrots was not really doing it for me.

The pomegranates have started to crack, possibly with the excess rain, but they are delicious all the same. The one I picked just happened to be a tiny spider´s kingdom, I am sure she´ll be fine.

For any big sky/cloud enthusiasts/artists out there, this is the place to be. Feel free to visit. Equally if you are a fan of pumpkins, drop by and grab one, they are delicious.

I confess I am not a big fruit eater, definitely not  a persimmon fan, but there is nothing like picking the fruit from the tree and eating it.

Staying on the pomegranate theme, I highly recommend Sergei Parajanov’s, 1968, "The colour of Pomegranates".

The Loot

In the current absence of suitable weaving conditions I am left with memories and objects, none of which can fill the emptiness left inside me upon leaving Kyoto, Japan. The truth is, I started missing Japan when I was still there, a feeling that is very strange, like a hangover before you even started to drink or the need for a drug that is still running through your veins.

I miss Japan.

My space is being reorganized, my house slowly cleaned, cleared and rearranged and so is my head. I´ll be weaving soon, I am sure. What I am not so sure of is when I´ll begin to weave Kasuri again. But I am armed, with a Goko Swift, a Kiwaku winder, kiwakus and drawings I made of several tools to get me started. In my spare time I´ll drink green tea and admire indigo dyed tenuguis, the one of the left is an Arimatsu Shibori by Takeda Kahei, the one on the right is Shindigo by Hiroyuki Shindo from Miyama. 

Everything else is just wonderful even if a little blurred.

Here and there

It has taken me sometime to get around to write this. Since I got back I have been very busy with settling back into life on the farm, work, and the things that make my life worth living. Getting used to being back here is not that difficult. Leaving Japan was on the other hand not as easy as I imagined. I miss everything about it. I miss weaving. I miss my new friends. I miss my Sensei. I miss the lady that prepared my dinners that wanted to adopt me and marry me to her son. EVERYTHING.

Everything I learned in Japan, about Japan, weaving and me was unimaginable. My final project was an incredible learning experience. The feedback from all my Sensei was invaluable throughout, but it was at the very end that I got to really know their thoughts on my work and their words were pure encouragement. My colleagues were equally supportive and we all learned so much from eachother. I really did feel the weaving princess was showering me with stars from the milkyway. Sensei Yamamoto and Sensei Emma were inspirational. And the mysterious and caring Hori Sensei, from the dyeing department, made a point to find me to know if I was happy with the unpredictable natural dyes, and to tell me that he thought my work was "totemo beautiful", those were his words. I was speechless. 

And after all that work, I left my creation, waiting to be shown next year in the School´s exhibition. 

I said goodbye to the moths.

I washed my feet in the Shimagamo Shrine and ate rice cakes.

I said goodbye to the rice fields.

To my friends, Mihou, Chihiro, Fumika, Chiharo, Akari, Atsuyo, Kazumi, I say "see you soon".

Let´s not forget that this amazing adventure would not have been possible without the Fundação Oriente and their Scholarship Program, to whom and for which I will be eternally gratefull.

Almost home

I finally made it to Orihime´s shrine inside the Imamiya shrine. As you can tell by the massive shuttles, there is another just out of vision to the left, this is a shrine for weavers. I gave Orihime a coin and made her a promise. One thing I don´t undertand is why I have to give her some money and then give her a promise as well. What do I get for my 2 cents?  The Imamiya shrine is also known for the 2 shops that face each other on the approach through the east gate, one is 1000 years old, the other 400. They both serve the same thing, little roasted rice cakes on a skewer with a super sweet syrup and a nice cold tea. I found you need to eat the cakes quite quickly because as they cool they become very chewy. I loved them.

Just around the corner from the shrine is Mr. Komori´s 2nd hand weaving supply shop. He was so distracted with what he was reading he didn´t even notice I was there. Once he did realize I was there, we couldn´t understand a word of what each other was saying. His lovely wife quickly brought us some iced coffee, which was random and very welcome. We somehow managed to understand each other, and after about an hour of pointing at things, making drawings and many gestures, I got a dismantled goko swift and later with the help of Mr. Komori´s daughter, I finally managed to get a kiwaku winder as well. 

Mid week fire crackers to liven things up at the school.

Heaven is a matcha pancake. Or 2, in this case.

Gion festival came and went in a flash. The beautifully decorated floats are displayed the days days preceding the parade and at night the streets come to life with light, food and music. 

A quick visit to Ohara to stock up on shiso juice and jam and to visit Hosen-in temple. The main hall of this temple has as magnificent view to a beautiful garden with a 700 year old matsu that is shaped like mount Fuji. It is a magnificent tree. It is difficult not to admire it an it is said that it is difficult to leave the temple due to the beauty of the gardens. As you admire the tree you are brought tea and a small sweet. There is one detail, however, about the temple that made me feel very sad and the air a little heavy and difficult to breathe. Some of the wooden boards used to make the ceiling of the temple were recycled from Fushimi castle after it was dismantled in 1623. Around the year 1600 upon losing their castle, 380 samurai commited ritual suicide realizing they would otherwise be captured. Their blood stained the floor boards. After many years in storage, these were distributed throughout 7 temples in Kyoto to honor those deceased. You can see a face on one of the boards and other marks that resemble feet, hands. It was just terribly sad. I had to leave after all.

And back to Kasuri an the final stretch home. All tied, all dyed, all set. And now I am finding it difficult to replicate my sample, for the part with the tiny nassen gasuri, not surprising because that is what happens when you use natural dyes. I changed some colours too, replaced cochineal with Indian madder. I can´t wait to see it finished. The weather is just too hot and humid and I am so incredibly tired. But happy.