Who rescued who?

Who rescued who?

I saw this great sentiment on a hideous bumper sticker today. Thought I’d make a cuter version.

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Think about it…

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I’m so glad…

imsoglad

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Another day ☞ Another dingbat

It was so great to finally meet Kyle Durrie and witness the Type Truck in action! She and Bingo teamed up to make these whimsical little numbers: 
ImageHer space was tidy and organized–and she was like the opposite of road-weary. Pretty amazing after 10 months of being at it.

ImageI imagine everyone who went into the truck kind of had the same moment of: could I do something like this? I know I did. And I’m still wondering about it…ImageLOVE the ‘WOMEN’S WORK’ poster. This lady not only redefines women’s work, but just plain old work. She is a perfect example of a person passionate about two seemingly contradicting things (traveling and printing) and getting to do both. We are totally inspired by that.
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I guess that getting to do both was the theme of Thursday, as Brian of Saint Lawrence Gridiron unveiled his new food truck–a marriage of his two loves: architecture and meat.ImageIf you missed the truck on her most recent visit, fear not: there’s talk of another Boise trip some time in the near future! And if you missed first Thursday at Bricolage, try not to let it happen again. xo

 

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On the mend

A couple of days ago I posted on facebook that I’d be taking on any and all odd jobs for the next week as I try to get some cash together for my ridiculous upcoming vacation.

There are a couple curtains and cushions to be made, but for the most part, what people need is to have things mended. I’ve got three bags full of holes to be patched, seams to be repaired, buttons to be sewn, hems to be made. (Funny, because I can’t really seem to get my shit together when it comes to making basic repairs on my own family’s mending pile, but that’s maybe another post.) So I’m hunkering down, and getting it done.

When I’m sewing I tend to get lost in thought. Here’s what occurred to me: What am I really doing right now? I’m mending. I’m fixing something that means enough to someone to not just dispose of it, like we do (only to be replaced with something else, equally disposable). I’m tending to weaknesses in knees. I’m giving new strength to things that have had quite enough.

We are all in need of some mending, aren’t we? We all have threadbare spots that need to be tended to. We all have wounds that need a little attention, a little reinforcement, a little support. And we usually keep them in a box in the closet until we’re forced to look at them for whatever reason, overwhelmed by the task at hand, tempted to just shove it back and close the door. What’s awesome to know is that there’s usually a person who can help–someone willing to hold the space and give the time to, wound by wound, patch things up.

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Whispering Pines: The Hazel B. Jackson Project

Erin Cunningham’s new body of work, on display for the month of March at Bricolage. Photos by Matthew Wordell.

I can give you no more details to this story other than those I have already provided. A few photographs, trinkets, some locks of hair: they will tell you as much as they have told me. All I know is that Hazel B. Jackson once existed. I found her name on a small slip of paper, typed out and trimmed as though it were meant to fit on the lip of a file folder.

I have kept that slip of paper for seven long years now, tucking it away in boxes of keepsakes and returning to it often to make sure it was there. For awhile, I lost it. For maybe three years or so, but this summer it came back to me. She came back as though to haunt me, slipping out of somewhere this summer to call me from my living room floor.

I began to fabricate memories of her, but her identity was always obscured and I knew her mostly through her senses. In the high desert mountains of the summer when the sun gets so hot the pine needles begin to steep into the air. Every breath becomes flavored with their sharpness. The skin becomes sheathed in a thin velvet dust. And the sun continues to get hot until it encircles you and wipes you out… but let’s go back to the beginning…

First I had a name, or I was given a name and then I forgot where it came from. This was troubling because having a place (from which something comes) can really help define something or at least provide a beginning. Or, at least you can go to that place to start to find answers.

You see:

Finding requires location—to find something requires a place to find it in. Otherwise it is lost. It is in no place or in a space that cannot be identified. And once that place is forgotten, the context gone, the answers begin to dissolve with the seconds ticking away with the things you think you saw and then forgot and all other things that are lost.

So I created a place to find answers in. And since I wasn’t sure of a beginning or an end (though I know there was a birth and probably a death) I started in the middle. And this made sense for this story. And eternity of middles or middle on middle on middle and middle and middle again.

And so the Hazel B. Jackson project begins.

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We get to be both

Last night I lay awake way past bedtime stressing out about something that, turns out, is totally stupid. But sometimes we just have to worry our way through dumb shit in order to get to the bottom of things–we have to wade through the muck of our hangups so we can really get past them.

First of all: 2 year birthday parties. When my oldest son (now almost 11) turned 2, I pulled out some serious stops. I made each child a one-of-a-kind star-shaped beanbag with streamers…I baked three kinds of cake…I decorated the fucking park. I didn’t go as far as this lady, but still. Turning 2 is a big deal, and everything has to be perfect. {No it doesn’t.}

So it’s Bricolage’s 2nd birthday, and I totally relapsed into perfectionist mode for a minute. To be clear, I’m totally a believer in putting effort into things, and making them as great as they can be. But that means different things to different people, and I think it’s really easy to get wrapped up in a Martha-ized version of greatness, losing sight of one’s own.

Yesterday Erin Cunningham installed most of Whispering Pines: The Hazel B. Jackson Project. It’s positively stunning.

She has managed to create her own little world back in our tiny gallery room. It’s so her. All mossy and woodsy and delicate and kinda sad. The food for tomorrow night is going to follow that theme: it’s going to be a tea party with little sandwiches and cakes and…you know…tea. So there’s this beautiful cohesiveness to it all that is just perfect.

So what’s the problem, you ask? {Spoiler alert: there isn’t one! But keep reading!} Jules and I decided to make special little gifts for the first 50 people through the door tomorrow night. It’s a surprise. But for the sake of the story, let’s just say that they’re a little more rock ‘n’ roll than you’d expect at a tea party titled Whispering Pines. I had a minor meltdown about it last night because as much as I love the little things that we created, I was suddenly needing it to be more cohesive with the show. Needing it to match. I had this moment of feeling like I had totally failed. The rock ‘n’ roll door prizes are going to ruin the tea party. And the cucumber sandwiches are going to ruin the birthday party. And everybody is going to have a terrible time.

Fuck that. Because guess what!? We get to be both.

We get to have a rock ‘n’ roll tea party. We get to be uncoordinated. We get to embrace both {all} sides of who we are and what we represent. We are high-brow // low-brow. Being all one or the other gets downright boring, and makes for a pretty one-dimensional experience. So expect both. Be both. See you tomorrow. It’ll be perfect.

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