A thimbleful

Parable of the Thimble

A being dedicated a life to words, to art, and to the great transcendentals of beauty, truth, love, and goodness. One morning, the being woke up and looked about at an apocalyptic landscape of toddler-slaying fanatics and Kardashian idol-worshippers and flashy, trendy drek. The being took up a thimble, pouring sparkling drops of cleanness into the oily, crimson, trash-islanded sea.

* * *

Knurlings

The thimble at right was found at "There's More to Thimbles Than You Think," where I learned that the oldest known thimble was in the form of a Han dynasty ring. Before that, we mortals evidently made use of "press stones." And those little dimples? Knurlings. Isn't that a wonderful word? You can tell an old dimple because the knurlings are not tidy and even, not machined.

* * *

To be of use

The thimble to the left is Meissen, 18th Century. (Wikipedia. For some Fabergé thimbles, go here.)

Like so many small, charming things, thimbles eventually became souvenirs and keepsakes and collectibles. They have been made out of many materials--gold, silver, steel, mother-of-pearl, porcelain, whalebone with scrimshaw designs. What does it mean to be of use if you are a thimble made of soft silver or breakable porcelain? Another parable, perhaps. Many, of course, are still made for the needle's use.

Pensez.

The Quilted Girl

Thalia shows her face

Here is the face of Thalia (for my post-apocalyptic poem in blank verse, Thaliad, forthcoming from Phoenicia Publishing in Montreal) as conceived by Clive Hicks-Jenkins. Clearly this is a foliate girl to go with the leafy man of The Foliate Head (a collection of poems forthcoming from Stanza Press in the UK.) Go here for Clive's account of his sources. It's afternoon, and an updated image can be found: exactly here.

American quilts, family quilts

Or we might well call her The Quilted Girl.  I find it interesting that one of the sources Clive looked to was an American quilt; we have a great many books about traditional quilts, and my husband used to make (and occasionally still works on) hand-stitched quilts as a way to relax during his professional training. On arriving home, often in the middle of the night, he would stitch for fifteen minutes. Like Trollope, his quilts are proof to me that the labor of a few minutes followed steadily on a daily basis will result in a body of work. That idea, I expect, should encourage us all.

This image also reminds me of a now-framed circa 1850 quilt block my maternal grandmother (Lila Eugenia Arnold Morris) gave me when I was a child... Alas, I've forgotten the name of the pattern, but it's a complex whirl of leaves, stems, and berries.

Mike inherited several quilts, and I was lucky enough to receive some from both sides of my family. My sharecropper grandmother's quilts were much-used and often featured sacks. I wish that I had more of these... My maternal grandmother and her mother made a great variety of quilts (patchwork, crazy quilts, quilts of wool or dress cloth or velvet); I can't say that either side had much leisure, so probably the quilts are more proof that a thing done faithfully will have good results.

My mother is a grand needlewoman, and at 83 sews less but is weaving away on her 4-harness loom. I once knew how to sew and embroider, but I'm afraid that I haven't done either since I was a teen. But I've made a good many characters who know how to thread a needle along the way... In the new book, A Death at the White Camellia Orphanage, Lil Tattnal Tattnal is a fine seamstress, and there are others who must sew, particularly in my books set in the past.

Why Clive's Thalia fits the poem well

This Thalia is an interesting solution to the difficulty of making a cover/jacket image for a long blank verse poem that travels widely in time and space, portrays some ferocious events, and clings to the shape of the epic while moving toward the character and scenic development of the novel. Clive settles on the child and matriarch-to-be, Thalia, and he gives us an image that is startling, almost shocking (that eye!) That she is foliate reflects the intense natural world of the poem. That she is "quilted" suggests the return to knowing how to do things by hand that occurs in the narrative.  That Thalia is flowering and fruiting is also an essential property of the protagonist...

Ecclesiastical embroidery samplers by Karin Svahn

Sometimes you are surprised to find evidence of someone you know in unexpected places. It's an odd sensation, the pleasure a little like meeting a friend unexpectedly. I had a longish ferrywoman's stint yesterday, picking up my son at Beaver Cross Camp, and made a discovery.

The camp used to be on the shores of Lake Otsego and only twelve minutes away from home. The cabins clustered close to Ringwood Manor (1900), once one of the three home belonging to the Arthur Ryerson family. If you watched Titanic, you may remember that Leonard DiCaprio pilfered a coat belonged to one Arthur Ryerson. (I don't remember it because I haven't seen it, but you might.) Mr. Ryerson died when the ship went down. He and the rest of his family were heading home from Europe because they had received news of a death in the family.

When the camp moved east of Saratoga, N was still loyal; he has gone to the camp since he was a pre-schooler on his first overnight adventure. On leaving the dining hall, I stopped to admire a group of ecclesiastical samplers, only to discover they were by Swedish-born needlewoman and longtime Cooperstonian Karin Svahn, still resident in the village during the summers.  I'll list the types of samplers in the captions to the photographs, so that if you are curious you may google the names and fin out more.

I thought particularly of the cloth ornamentation in paintings by Clive Hicks-Jenkins. I wish he could have taken a good look at all the interesting stitches! And when I see this, I feel a little regret that I did not keep up with the sewing my mother taught me as a child. At 82, she is still a grand needlewoman (and gardener and much else) and has recently bought a new 4-harness loom.

Here's the stitched union of two towns, one in Ireland
and one in Italy! Mountmellik and Casalguidi, 2006

Mixed silk and metal
with Christ the King crown and pansy wreath, 2005

Blackwork, 1999
Let's see; there's Celtic-looking triune fish symbol
surmounted on an anchor that somewhat resembles the☧Chi Rho.
Ichthys and anchor go back to the 1st Century A. D.
as Christian symbols.

Whitework/darning, 1996
Be sure and click to see the larger version.

 

Goldwork with dove of the Holy Spirit, 1995

Silkwork, 1992
This time with a butterfly, emblem of the soul.

 

Hardanger (Hardangersøm), 1992
I was given a piece of drawn whitework
by my mother--handed down from her grandmother.