Susan LaffertyOpening shades to the mysterious. One January morning.
Fog. Hiding details outside my window.
Fog. Resting in the woods. And midair.
After Christmas and into the first week of this New Year, I take time to think back. Trying to remember the ebb and flow of last year.
Colorful skeins of thread surround him. And neutral strings on the loom show no pattern to follow. As far as I can see.
But the old carpet maker knows.
Thread by thread. Hour by hour. Day by day.
He works the loom, creating a rich pattern. A map of threads he already had in mind when he started.
“Hmm,” my college art teacher says. Then again, “Hmmmm.”
She’s looking over my shoulder. At the simple drawing. Graphite lines. Bare bones to plan and guide the assigned painting.
“Bigger. Go big!” She says. With increasing volume. Her arms flying out for emphasis. “Stretch it out. Go biiiig.”
The startling command contrasts with my small, neat pencil sketch. So confined and contained.
