Monday, November 29, 2010

My room is a mess.

Today I decided to take the bus home at a time I normally never do. I saw shadows I normally never see, and I am quite taken with shadows lately. I think this infatuation started when I began tracing shadows of grass and dandelions in my sketchbook, which is a lot harder than it sounds. There is a window in the library, with a shade that is damaged on the opposite side. By what, I am not sure, but I know that the stain creates a beautiful pattern, especially on days like today, when Cleveland is confused and finds itself abnormally sunny and smelling of spring. These intricate shadows are my favorite. Ones that are so fine, lines that are so anemic that it's hard to distinguish between cobwebs or tangled threads or marks in graphite made by an artistic two year old or these dances between light and dark. Hot glue trails make lovely shadows. Lace, of course. Anything knotted or twisted or interlocking. Branches with leaves. Branches lacking leaves. I often find myself tracing them with my eye, but if I had my way, there'd be graphite all over my walls, recording the departure of autumn as the tree outside my window shed its summer skin.

Today I decided I would sew. Not embroider, although I've been tempted, and am still contemplating it... Just sew. I have a garment to make for my fibers class that will (if all goes according to plan) reveal invisible forces. I'll talk more about that another day. This garment, a dress, actually, is to be made of layers of chiffon, which, although incredibly lovely, is the biggest pain the butt to work with. So tomorrow morning, bright and early, my roommate and I will head out on an excursion to Joanns so I can purchase a rotary cutter and even more fabric.

My room is currently a disaster area. I have pocket people hiding everywhere. Storyboard contact sheets spread across my bed. Photo history flashcards spilled next to my record player. Record sleeves resting on nearly all horizontal surfaces. Chiffon fabric everywhere. Scraps everywhere. A nice pile of loose threads clumped on my drawing table. Newsprint pad leaning on my closet door. Patterns made of said newsprint for said garment shuffled across my floorboards. Scissors. Tape measures. Crayola crayons. Sketchbooks. Rulers. Pins. Spools. Saddle shoes and red sneakers and rainboots and vintage boots and warm autumn boots kicked to the side. Winter coat and autumn scarves hanging off my bed.

It's a good thing I never have time to sleep, because I don't have any room to.

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