This morning I’m thinking about a warrior woman–one woman in particular–a scrappy keeper-of-goats living in the harsh yet beautiful desert of the SW. Not a place for the weak of body or spirit. I’m joining her this morning in solidarity, vowing to take back what I’ve been relinquishing–stepping out of this small, spiteful drama and reclaiming, to the degree that I can–a sense of perspective–a sense of how it goes. Viewing the big screen in high definition.
This warrior woman was part of a weaving exercise using a little box as the loom. She stands on cloth dyed with black walnuts. Mounted on fabric mordanted with sumac. Her head is one half of a sampler I made while practicing slow cloth with Jude Hill. And yes, Jude Hill is a warrior as well. As was my mother. As is my daughter. My sister, friends cousins and nieces. This is for you.
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