Carol Larson - textile artist

i am one of those spirits who believes she is on the planet to learn something. my husband, on the other hand, believes there is no scientific proof that lessons exist. WHATEVER!

twice now in the past 18 months i have been unable to meet my daily needs. a back injury sidelined me for 6 weeks on 05/05/05 and now a broken wrist has sidelined me again for 4-6 weeks.

in the 35 years before and in between, i have built a rich life for myself between child-rearing, work, volunteerism, friends, travel and now my art. my husband and i are two very different people. we do everything differently. he is methodical, i am a multi-tasker. i could walk there faster than he drives! he can’t remember details, i can recite the social security, drivers license, telephone and license plate numbers of my long deceased employer…totally useless information to me now. the list of our differences is long while our similarities is short. basically, we share the same core values and are creative souls.

so, as i sit and wait to have him do so much for me, and repeat requests ad nauseum, it becomes abundantly clear to me that the lesson is wrapped up in this. the lesson is about tolerance, and patience (again? already? ah geez? i hate this lesson! hurry up already!). the lesson is about smelling the roses, or the dirty socks with this guy who i chose to grow old with. the lesson is while i do cherish him like an old violin, to be more attentive, more often to how much he does for me everyday.

OK, so i got this lesson, now…can i get this cast off, huh, can i?

i had a rather wonderful experience today. a new friend came over to take me to lunch, as i still cannot drive, nor tie my shoes! she wanted to see the house and my art hanging throughout. when we got to the studio, she went ga-ga over the piece on the design wall.

the fabric had hung there fermenting for 3-4 weeks and then by divine inspiration designed itself the day before i fell and broke my wrist. so the myriad of fused pieces are pinned to the background, hanging in space waiting for a person with a strong and steady ironing hand to bond them permanently. so far, so good.

the curious part is i seldom let people view my work at this juncture in the process, but because it is relegated to the design wall, to remove it would be disastrous, so it was viewed. she loved it! she raved, and i got new inspiration for another piece inspired by this one!

further, when she asked me about work, rolled on the design table, recently returned from a so cal museum exhibit, i got so enthused talking about it. i explained how i had created the imagery, made the screens, discharged and screen-printed the cloth and then designed the larger work from this same image. what blew me away was how excited i was talking about this piece that i made in 2005! it is over a year old and yet i am still psyched about it.

my enthusiasm was contagious and she left my house re-charged about her own art. for me, being held hostage from my art, by my healing wrist, it was just the quick re-immersion in the creative well that i needed. i can hardly wait to get back to that hot iron!

We had an awesome holiday weekend. I downsized Christmas about 15 years ago, and this year threw in the broken wrist and voila… no cooking or cleaning for me!!! our daughter and her visiting bf came on friday and have been cooking up a storm ever since. We have eaten, watched many episodes of the BBC program “Cracker” on dvd; eaten, worked on a 999 piece Frank Lloyd Wright jigsaw puzzle; supposed to be 1000 pieces, but one was MIA, eaten, read books, eaten and lazed about. And now it is time to cook again!

We did the requisite get dressed up and go socialize with the extended family on Christmas Eve. It was nice but abbreviated for the schedules of the wee ones…start to finish for eating (finger food), book exchange, caroling and visit from Santa was 2.5 hrs and then people started to leave. some actually drove longer round-trip than they stayed. I joked we might as well do this by e-mail next year.

It was enough to convince me that I need not host again. I have hosted 3 times in the past decade. The last time the dimpled darlins’ were about 3 and observed jumping up and down on my Amish bed quilt in their (dirty) stocking feet. And when I got upset about it, one of the moms (my cousin) told me I was too materialistic; that I was overly attached to my possessions! I love it when people do not discipline their children, but rather hold the homeowner responsible.

We are definitely ready for the synchronistically-timed-family-holiday vacation. We could just as easily lazed on the beach in Tahiti, for example. One cousin wisely took her spouse and teenagers to New Zealand for Christmas.

Today was the half-way point, between breaking my wrist & getting the cast off! yippee, although it feels like more than 2 weeks since this happened. Meanwhile, my daughter is taking my machine to be cleaned and serviced, so that when that day comes, it will be LADY, START YOUR ENGINE!

yesterday, i played for awhile, doodling with my left hand. since my (dominant) right wrist is broken, i decided 11 days ago to befriend my left hand. i have been astonished with all i can do…much more than what i can’t. i can type with 2 fingers, i can open and apply toothpaste, deodorant, sunscreen, and face soap. i can open kid-proof pill and water bottles by positioning them against my left hip. i can randomly cut anything crunchy with a knife. and i can scrawl dates on the calendar in undecidedly kindergarten or elderly hand. i can’t apply anything to my left side, though.

a friend suggested a one-arm series, so i began to draw and had both amazing and strange results. in the night, at precisely 4 am the muse woke me up. ideas, upon ideas came to me. normally, i would get up and sketch them, but with kids visiting and sleeping in the back, and legible sketch ability gone; instead i filed them into my memory bank.

before i fell on the slippery slope, i wrote my art goals for 2007. yesterday, i sorted some prospectus to have my daughter complete while she is home this weekend, in between making my mango salsa wontons for tomorrow, making a pie, walking and washing the dog, doing my manicure and enjoying her visiting boyfriend. as i sorted, i looked through the spreadsheet i keep of where my work is currently, where it has been shown and where it has been entered. and i discovered i have very little recent work available for exhibit!

so that inspired me to skip those entries this year, to make new work when i can and to guide the muse towards finishing one specific project.

i was kind of worried earlier this week that i was not thoroughly taking advantage of this forced creative process recess. i felt i should be having some profound insight about my art, when in reality it comes when i stop trying to schedule it!

it seems that i have now had the big breakthrough, and can now go back to my Netflix dvd’s and Trader Joe’s 70% dark chocolate. it is surprising to me how much i am enjoying this lazy time! who would have thought i needed a sabbatical?

one of my goals for 2007 is to work on my image as an artist. it is an inside job! a lot of people (mostly other artists) know i am an artist, but because i don’t do oils, or have work in the smithsonian, or have the sheepskin from XYZ University, i am not considered a serious artist.

never mind the fact that i dress like an artist (or as the astute IKEA saleswoman once said, when i was looking for shelving for my studio…”oh, you are an artist, no wonder you are dressed like that!”) or that my work has won awards, traveled the globe, been published or sold, i am still according to the irs a home hobbyist.

today, i got the ultimate of compliments… i am crafty..which always makes me think i should be robbing banks instead of screening paint on fabric.

in my highly educated family, i have slipped from the ranks of working stiff to a big fat nothing. someone asked me once how i justify my life?!!! after a very pregnant pause, i responded that i don’t have to justify anything!

if my art is seen at all, i am a quilter, but neither sister has ever acknowleged my artistry, only that i don’t have a career! today, i got a glimpse into how the annual family christmas charade may go!

i went to a tea party at the local hospice where i volunteer. even though i was dressed like an artist.. and yes my DH did put on my earrings, and hair gel (watch out vidal sassoon!). i was dressed like an artist, i spoke about art and all conversation directed toward me was about my right arm encased in purple plaster of paris!

i must have told the story of how i broke my wrist a dozen times..and yes it is boring! i know people are interested in the story, but i am one who never wants attention for my body. i am living this 24/7, suffering the indignities of having my husband drive me everywhere, shaving my armpits and tie my shoelaces.

just let me escape into speaking about my art, if i can’t at least make it for the next 7 weeks. i am not just some crafty woman in a pretty sweater with a broken wing. i am an artist!!! this broken wrist is an adventure, but it is not who i am!

one thing i have learned already in my 6 days of exile, is that time flies at this time of year whether one is busy or not. another thing i knew but must have forgotten when my wrist broke my fall is that busy bodies come out of the woodwork with advice!

one suggested this was a good time to start osteoporosis-prevention drugs; another suggested this as a good time to re-evaluate my life, apparently unaware that i had that same opportunity last year when a back injury side-lined me for months. further, i probably analyze my life ALREADY more than anyone else i know. in fact i recently compiled my goals for 2007 and nowhere on the list was re-evaluate my life, from 05/05/05-12/12/06!

i am already quite aware to show extreme gratitude when i get this cast off. i may just scratch for days because i can. in the meantime, my goals are to not crab too much to my beloved caregiver, who between his inattention to his own hygiene is cooking, cleaning, laundering and looking after me. it seems if we were keeping a scoreboard, i am quite beholden to this stoic swede who time and time again comes along on his broken down steed and rescues me.

add to goal list starting today…cherish the caregiver for someday i may have to return the favor………………..oh wait, i have cooked dinner most of the past 35 years! i guess i was keeping score!!!

tuesday, i slipped on a wet ramp in san rafael and broke my right wrist. i am still pretty sore and t’mo get my BIG GIRL cast, which i will sport for 6-8 weeks. my 2nd thought, on the wet ground was my art…and the inability to do it for months. The first thought was getting my car out of the parking garage, where i had just left it. My daughter has always said i’m, such a girl scout!

i am incredibly accepting of my fate…either that or in shock. In 2005 i injured my back and was laid up for a very long time. i made peace with humility then. now, i see my life reduced to the basics. i can type with my left hand..not well, but i can do it. i can brush my teeth. i can put on my panties. i can make tea. i can get in and out of bed. i can make a sandwich. it could be a very long two months.

Tonight I went to the annual neighborhood block cookie exchange. We live on a cul-de-sac of 14 houses and have continued this annual tradition for about 10 years. I started it out of survival, because I was getting bombarded with every neighbor bringing by 3 dozen cookies the week of Christmas. Even, I, pre-dietary challenges, could not eat that many cookies. Come to think of it, that may have been what caused my food allergies! So I suggested we meet, eat, greet and exchange cookies. It took two more years for the overachiever bakers on the street to get it that they no longer needed to deposit an additional 3 dozen cookies on each doorstep.

Since then it has become an annual passage of the season. One house has sold three times and each year for the past half dozen we have welcomed a newbie into the fold. This year, one of our oldest neighbors, an original homeowner from 1964 moved to Seattle, so we missed her. One woman never comes because she never goes anywhere. Another never comes because she is anti-social. The rest of us gather and ask about each others’ kids and lives. Sadly, it is the only time of the year many of us speak to those still working. The secret society of us retired folks visit more often.

The past three years I have neither baked, taken, eaten nor brought home cookies. I am now allergic to both wheat flour and dairy. I found the best way to avoid was to not do. This year, I had a soft spot in my heart for my husband, so I made a killer little cookie I found on epicurious.com featuring bittersweet chocolate, dutch process cocoa and almonds. It was supposed to make 60, it made 38.5, of which DH got to eat 2.5 as I needed to take 36 to the event.

I came home with three cookies ingested; and at least 10 of the coveted 36 bittersweet chocolate, dutch process cocoa and almonds, and about 24 of other assorted fabulous and not so much so delights, in a basket. We all laughed at the husbands holding down the fort waiting for their cut and of the once 13 yr old son, who came to someone’s door and rang the bell, to see if the cookies were ready to go home yet!

Of all the passages and rituals of aging, this is one of my favorites. It is sad to me that neighbors seldom see each other or visit anymore. My next door neighbor and I often e-mail! But this annual indulgence re-affirms that we really do have nice neighbors and some of them are really great bakers.

There is a person who hates to shop more than I…and I am married to him. Probably the only thing he hates worse than shopping is going to the doctor, and he avoids that at all costs also.

The strange thing is he is a very creative person. He builds incredible furniture, has laid hardwoods throughout the house, has a magnificient garden, etc. One would assume he would have fabulous creative and inventive ideas for gifts. But no!

It is in his mind that he cannot find a good gift, so why even try? He got this idea from a wicked and deranged stepmother who always condemned any act of kindness he showed towards her. So he learned early on he could not do right, so why try?

Several years ago we tried the let’s not buy each other anything approach to Christmas. It was just too barren, so then I decided it was important to have something, just one small thing (jewels, perhaps?) for Christmas. He groaned and grumbled and proceeded on. It has been my challenge to never complain about any gift he buys, even when he stuffed my stocking with JoAnns cheap & UGLY fat quarter fabrics.

The past two years he has asked what I want. Instead of saying a villa in France or the 5 carat diamond with 247 accent diamonds like Eva Longoria just got, I said…a gift certificate at a quilt shop. I always can use blades, thread, batting and Lord knows a bit more fabric.

So last year I ran into him at the quilt shop when he was buying said gift certificate which ruined that “surprise.” And this year…my yenta aunt who knows everyone’s business called today to get my full report, for circulation, and said she ran into my husband yesterday at the quilt shop, and how funny it was to see him there! I thought that by age 79, one might develop some cool, but apparently not!

So I know what I am getting and I can forget about buying the perfect dress to show off my diamonds, for another year!

Oh, and you want to know what I bought him?! He is just SO blessed. I bought him three new garden hoses, which I hid in the studio, under the table, in a trash bag. I wrapped a Tiffany-sized box and put it under the tree with a treasure hunt note inside. He already saw it and no doubt is squirming, because he thinks he is getting jewels for Christmas, and he wants jewels, never!

Meanwhile, my art quilt postcards have been sent and rumor has it JOY is circulating the planet. I enjoyed making them, with nary a thought to them bringing JOY to the world!

I don’t mean to be a grinch because I give, give, give all year long, as well as at this time of year, but I have noticed this year that the open palm is EVERYWHERE. Nearly everyday with the newspaper delivery is a bag for groceries for the poor, as well as a plea and some hard-luck story for money,and another reminder AGAIN of who my carrier is and where she lives.

The bell ringers are outside nearly every retail establishment; there are trees with gift tags at banks, the gym, stores, etc; the pleas in the mail and giant barrels everywhere for food donations and a partridge in a pear tree. Everyone wants a cut of my holiday or year end giving. I am starting to feel like the First National Bank of Mom, again.

Probably more than anything is it addresses how the state no longer supports non-profits. So they along with charities, along with the homeless guy with the dazed look, are all waiting in line at the ATM machine for their cut of my dollar.

The funny thing is I have been rather hush-hush with my dismay over this. No one wants anyone to think they have no holiday spirit. So I ask you, how did this end up on my blog?!! Well, I figure if it is annoying me, it is probably annoying others!

Last weekend, I paused at the crepe paper wall-mounted tree at the gym to look at the cards there. It was very well organized with a legend to the side explaining the four levels of charity for this organization helping the homeless. I chose the yellow card which was either the 2nd or 3rd tier, primarily because it requested gift cards, which are my favorite way to holiday shop. It is shopping for dummies, for sure; no slogging through the mall, just slap the money on the counter and walk out with the card. Easy!

The card said it was for a teenager who would like gift cards or gift certificates of the following: books, movies, cosmetics, clothes, DVDs, electronics, and various asundry things I don’t even buy for myself.

So I went to my local independent bookseller and purchased a $20 gift card. I wanted to spend $15 but how much book can you buy nowadays for $15, so I splurged on twenty. Then I set off for my next stop.

Somewhere along the way, sitting in traffic, I had an AHA moment. This is NOT my kid I am buying for, here. I don’t have to get everything on the list! So instead I took the gift card and dropped it off at the requested location. I lingered, waiting and wondering if I should ask for a tax-deductible contribution receipt! In the end, I decided to be a gracious giver and left without it.

Perhaps the key to all this holiday giving is to carry a receipt book in my purse and every time I drop $5 in the red kettle, ask for a tax receipt! Now that would be in the true spirit of the holidays wouldn’t it?!

And in keeping with my grinch attitude, what about tamale woman?! There is this sweet, and saavy young Mexican woman who frequents our downtown selling her homemade tamales out of a plastic grocery bag. I first encountered her coming out of a yoga class, in a total zen mood.

Would I like to buy some fresh homemade tamales? So I did! They were good, not outstanding, but homemade and good. Next time, she asked me I had no money, so I said no thanks and she attempted to change my mind. Was I not hungry, did I not have change, they store well, in the car while running errands, etc. All the while she has this too sweet child with the big brown eyes sitting beside her looking up like please lady help out my poor Mama and buy her homemade tamales!

Now, I see her all over town. She goes into businesses, stores, restaurants, stops me on the street all hawking her tamales. No doubt her kids are in private school by now, and isn’t this slightly illegal and a health hazard, besides?

So I finish as I started. I am not a grinch. I have concern that if I keep giving and giving and giving, that I might eventually be on the receiving end. Or maybe, just maybe this is the government’s way of equalizing the divide between the middle class and the working poor.

I see all these opportunities as practice for my new lesson: Just say no! Humbug!