The Shop
So I have to build a real way to make this very real work available so it can be yours.
Truthfully, this is my least and most favorite, part of this whole art practice thing ... and I will get there. Truth truthfully I need to figure it out so I don't bankrupt myself and my family creating, casting, experimenting.
I love selling curated collections on demand — click to see offerings of BLESSED DISORDER
I have about 50 or so one of a kind bags — of all sizes, materials please contact me if interested - they are fabulous!
Yes And ... And — I would love more than anything to do a special Situation Specific piece for you. I have done several and if I may, quite successfully so and I want US to do more.
In the mean time — I leave you with this poem I wrote inspired by Rumi and William Morris .....
Believed Beautiful
— A Spell for the CollectorCome in, come in.
Leave your quiet shoes at the door.
Here the walls are gossiping in color,
and every pattern is a prayer the pattern does not know it is saying.
I am at the bench again.
The hour has no name.
I am cutting the silk, I am stealing the strawberry from Morris's bird,
I am arguing with the wallpaper until it admits what it meant.
Morris said: keep nothing in your house that is not useful, or believed beautiful.
So I make the useful gorgeous, and the gorgeous unmistakable —
a glove that grieves, a gown that argues, a wallet that will not shut up about the republic.
Friend, this is not decoration.
This is a spell wearing a pattern for cover.
This is a poem laid flat and laminated, layered and illegible on purpose —
because what is worth saying must be said more than once,
and more than once, and again,
in paint, in print, in code.
I am a worker. I work.
I paint in the morning because morning is loud.
I print at night because night is louder.
I stitch the word beside the image and trust whoever stands close enough
will read it with their chest.
Collector, you are not buying a thing.
You are pulling a thread.
The thread is tied to a garden,
the garden is tied to a belief,
the belief is tied to a woman still at the bench,
still loud, still in love with the world enough to decorate it into meaning.
Come in, come in.
The door is a mouth.
The house is a hymn.
Wear it.