This is not the first nest I've created. The first was called Weaving a Metaphor, and that nest, created to hold a wounded ceramic bird, was composed of eco-dyed cloth, native grass roots, broken jewelry bits, and scraps of coffee-dyed paper notes. I thought it was a one-and-done, but the nesting itch continues.
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The woven metaphor nest |
The nest that kicked off this current series was spawned during the Easter season when Trader Joe's sells lovely little bunches of hopeful daffodils at ridiculously low prices.
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The birth of a compulsion |
I vaguely remembered seeing posts by a charming young woman living in rural England who forages the forest for plants, including daffodils, and proceeds to make string and baskets from it all. I thought, hmmm..., and hung my Trader Joe's bundles up to dry.
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Drying daffs |
Having absolutely no idea what I was doing, I launched into making I-know-not-what by boiling the dried daffodil flowers in hopes of producing a dye. Which worked, sort of. A bunch of linen strips added to the daffodil dye bath resulted in a pale shade that an optimist might call "pale daffodil".
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Daffodil-dyed linen strips |
By now I'd decided to make a nest, largely because it is hard to be judgmental about a nest. You feel whoever made it, whether creature high or low, put in their best effort. I knew I'd need something to weave together with the daffodil stems, and the daffodil-dyed strips were one solution. Adding a dried ivy vine I happened to have on hand was another.
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Soaking daffodil steps and dried ivy vine |
The next step was to relax my chattering brain, work through my fingers, and build a nest. Note the aesthetic decision to leave the daffodil bulb heads arching out from the top of the nest. That seems to point to a meaning none of us will ever know.
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Weaving the daffodil nest in a water glass |
And the end result is the daffodil nest, the first in a series of four unless I can't stop myself.
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