::: "So Will I, Grow" :::

The task Thy wisdom hath assigned
Oh let me cheerfully fulfil ;
In all my works Thy presence find,
And prove Thy good and perfect will.

::: "perfect will" :::




Any time I start to clean my studio I always end up becoming intrigued with the scraps that I am about to toss out, today was not exception.
I made a little pile of bits and pieces that were on my desk, sewed up all the layers then used various surface torching techniques on the fabric and papers.
I was really happy with how all the textures and layers turned out.
once I was done I noticed a lovely stream of light coming from the window and I could not help but take pitchers from every angle.

::: "So Will I, Grow" :::
After looking at this piece Elaine Kerr ask if I had been hiding away and nurturing my dark side. and I said:
"does it look dark?"
"I was thinking that it looks like early spring... you know right once the snow has cleared?"
and then Elaine said:
"Come to think of it, yes, just before the crocuses pop up."

THE CROCUS

Beneath the sunny autumn sky,
With gold leaves dropping round,
We sought, my little friend and I,
The consecrated ground,
Where, calm beneath the holy cross,
O'ershadowed by sweet skies,
Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,
Those blue unclouded eyes.
Around the soft, green swelling mound
We scooped the earth away,
And buried deep the crocus-bulbs
Against a coming day.
"These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;
Why plant them here?" he said,
"To leave them, all the winter long,
So desolate and dead."
"Dear child, within each sere dead form
There sleeps a living flower,
And angel-like it shall arise
In spring's returning hour."
Ah, deeper down cold, dark, and chill
We buried our heart's flower,
But angel-like shall he arise
In spring's immortal hour.
In blue and yellow from its grave
Springs up the crocus fair,
And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,
Those sunny waves of hair.
Not for a fading summer's morn,
Not for a fleeting hour,
But for an endless age of bliss,
Shall rise our heart's dear flower
~Harriet Beecher Stowe