This one is still here. The one I called They Became Like a Tree. From back here. And still no faces. I am thinking about faceless. How it does not mean formless. Or empty. I might look more while considering a new name like Facelessly Forming.
I sat and talked, across from my robe this morning with coffee. It seemed a self. Without a face. I snapped a picture just as Soul-O walked by leaving only a shadow. I found it to be such an interesting image. And suddenly odd that I had the thought to take a pic.
I love that I have made this garment and that I have had it long enough to mend it. And that it wears so well.
A listening robe…..how lucky is that!….wonderful!
not so many around tho….magic is in short supply, presently.
The faceless faces seem like they are shining, like the moon.
I love my robe, unfinished, still dreaming her into being.
Your wonderful robe has such presence.
Your robe….a silent witness.
Nice words.
My magnolia is faceless, have waited 9 years! Not even a bud,? still hoping, maybe Year 10 will bring a bloom in Ireland
This one was here, bloomed so beautifully twice. Not knowing too much about them, till now.
the facelessness of the orbs seems to celebrate our innermost being. what we have in common. life itself.
The nothingness is so calming.
A treasure of stitching in your beautiful robe 💙💙💙 and I’m liking the non-faces! still just as interesting to me.
I will always be working on this robe, I really could live in it.
The moment, in early morning, when all is still dark, stars may be overhead, a breeze dances across the sky and is felt on my face, trees are merely silhouette forms in the dark sky, that moment before daybreak, an empty space that is so rich with possibilities, this is my favorite part of the day.
I used have a tree guy that used to come at twilight to see the trees in silhouette, to know their health.
Now I better understand “holding space.”
Thank you. Gale
Space is so confusing.
I am looking around this living room where I sit and there are only three handmade things and I didn’t make any of them. One was made by my father, one by his mother and one by an unknown stranger from who my purchased a blanket at a fair. To have a robe to wrap one self in that was made by your own hands … a robe to sit across from at the table … now that is special.
Somehow making is a transference. Part of me is there and part of me is still here.
the robe, all the times you’ve talked to yourself and the presence of that. the reassurance of that.
The robe has become some tamed wild self.
hold onto it.
Holding…
trees should have faces to match their beautiful souls. I love trees and never tire of just sitting and watching them. winter,spring,summer or fall.
that is why I love a place with seasons, big change.
There are times when we are part of a group, still individual but a part. Faceless holds that for me. Less identified. I really like imagining you sitting across from a chair holding your robe. The poetry of that.
Part of a bigger face perhaps.
I enjoyed the company.😎
Faceless, but not formless, perhaps….shy.
Solitude.
After a night of wind, a quiet morning here.
what if the empty space is really a place. a different kind of form.
I think it will reach 80 here tomorrow. What a shift. But still rain.
empty space, really a place…. i love that
hopefully, you’ll still get to enjoy SOME magnolia blooms!
somehow space becomes place, once considering happens
I recently lost my husband and felt faceless at times. And the empty chair. Hugs
oh you pulled me right in with your comment. Love.
Hugs and peace to you