Cosmic Vibration Textile Instrument

Tuning in to the soul of the cosmos

This may be the last in the series of False Artifacts from Cultures That Never Existed. It is a musical vibration instrument that enables up to four users at a time to tune into the cosmic vibration that thrums through every level of existence, from the atoms that make up our bodies to the ongoing rhythm of the universe. 

Rolled for traveling

The exterior of the instrument is a hand-stitched assemblage comprised of scraps of vintage textile pieces from around the world — the riches of a fabric stash I have been assembling for the past fifty-plus years. The interior is a hand-embroidered rendition of four different voices singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" in rounds. 

The choice of song emerged from weekly Zoom maker sessions with my sister and grandnieces, after our urge to end each session with a song was frustrated by the realization that the time-lag on Zoom made singing in harmony impossible. The solution? Pick a song that can be sung in rounds, by-passing the timing glitch. Our default choice was "Row Your Boat", though we were oblivious at the time to the spiritual origins and implications of the song. 

The Interior

By passing the looped textile through their fingers, those playing the instrument receive a tactile sensation of the song as they sing the rounds. Each voice is represented by a different color.

The interior - embroidered rounds

The Exterior

The exterior combines an assortment of antique and vintage textile scraps from around the world.

From top: Laotian stitched spiritual maze, scraps of vintage hand-stitched embroidered collars.

Vintage embroidered collars

Antique Chinese embroidery (note the man in the boat!)

Playing the Instrument

Once unrolled, the instrument may be refastened into a loop for playing. Ideally, while the instrument may be utilized by one player, the instrument will accommodate up to four players, divided into two pairs standing opposite each other, with all hands on the instrument.

Looped position for playing

Storing the Instrument

When not in use, the instrument may be rolled snugly for storage or travel (see top photo), or may be fastened into a loop and hung on a wall.

The Daffodil Nest

 

In November of 2024 I began making a series of nests. Why nests? Perhaps it was due to the darkening skies, shorter days and colder weather. Maybe it was a way to indulge my love of playing with unlikely materials and figuring out how to put stuff together. Or maybe it all started with a bargain bunch of daffodils from Trader Joe's. Who knows? I've learned not to question these urges.

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.

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.

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.

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".

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.

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.

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.

The daffodil nest (with mamey seed inside)

Couture for the Reality Wars: Where Chaos Becomes Style

A Faux Fashion Line with a PR Pitch Created by AI

In a world where the boundaries of reality shift with every scroll, tap, and algorithmic nudge, fashion has found its ultimate muse: the breakdown of communication itself. We’re thrilled to unveil our bold new couture line, Asemic Elegance, a stunning fusion of art, rebellion, and commentary on the fractured state of modern discourse.

Hand-stitched embroidery on linen

This collection uses Asemic writing—marks that mimic language but carry no specific meaning—to craft garments that speak volumes without saying a word. Think flowing gowns adorned with swirling, glyph-like patterns, sharply tailored suits etched with cryptic loops, and accessories that turn symbols of confusion into dazzling statements. It’s a celebration of ambiguity, proving that even as meaning slips through our fingers, beauty remains undeniable.

The Designer wearing an Asemic scarf

Asemic Elegance isn’t just couture—it’s a movement. In an era of competing truths, echo chambers, and fragmented narratives, this line invites wearers to embrace the chaos and transform it into something powerful. The absence of fixed meaning in the designs mirrors the complexities of modern existence, encouraging conversation, curiosity, and creativity. Who decides what a symbol means? What stories do we create when language breaks down? With Asemic Elegance, the runway becomes a battleground of ideas, where every piece is a wearable manifesto for resilience and reinvention. So step into the swirl, and let your style speak the language of the future: one of infinite possibility.

The Original Instructions to Chat GPT Used to Create the PR Pitch

"Write a two paragraph blog post introducing a new line of couture designed for the reality wars. The design uses Asemic writing, marks that look like language but lack meaning, in response to the breakdown of communication as our realities fragment. The tone should be upbeat and enthusiastic."

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Postscript:

I became fascinated with Asemic writing  and proceeded to create this hand-stitched linen scarf using my own stabs at this challenging practice. When it came to writing the blog copy, I figured getting Chat GPT to come up with the PR pitch was appropriate given the musing that went on during stitch after stitch.

The Chatterbox: Brain Mapping

 

Materials: paper towels, linen, embroidery

How to capture the ongoing, incessant, inner workings of the brain? I think the trick is to catch it unawares. Happily, it turns out a habit I've indulged in for decades offered valuable clues.

A lifetime of random doodles

For decades I've been in the habit of always having a glass of diet ginger ale at hand, and to avoid condensation from the glass hitting my work table and oozing onto whatever I am working on, I always place a folded paper towel beneath the glass. This means I always have a handy scrap of paper to use for random doodles, phone or zoom recommendations from others, fleeting thoughts, and inspiration on the fly.

A pile of random thought processes

A few months ago it suddenly occurred to me that these meandering notes and doodles offered an uncensored peek at the subterranean level of my own thoughts, and I started saving them. Ultimately they became this piece - "The Chatterbox."

The Chatterbox framed - 24"x24"

Here are a few close-ups:

Stitching Tea and Roots

 

Stitched roots on tea-dyed paper

The title of these two pieces says it all: "The feeling I think you're supposed to get when drinking tea...but I don't." 

For some reason, for decades people seem to assume that I love tea. As a result, whenever a gift-giving occasion comes along I usually end up with at least one gift pack of specialty teas and have even scored a teapot or two along the way. The tea always goes into a large brown shopping bag labeled "tea" that is stored in the dark recesses of my walk-in art closet. I have herbal teas, smoky English teas, gift packs of tea from Taiwan, and curative teas.  In one of those 2 a.m. idle moments the thought occurred that it might be interesting to see if they could be used as dyes. 

Experimenting with tea dyeing

After kicking off a round of experimental dyeing using strips of paper towels and an endless variety of teas, I turned to the other key ingredient in this project: bamboo and wild grass roots. (See Roots Project for earlier experiments with roots.)

Bamboo and native grass roots

A first step was separating and organizing the roots in preparation for stitching.

Organized roots!

Close-up of roots

Thence ensued a blissful interlude of stitching. The results are below and perfectly capture the original theme — that elusive, zen-like feeling I uneasily suspect you are supposed to experience while drinking tea.

Panel One (11" x 11")

Panel One detail

Panel One detail

Panel Two (11" x 11")

Panel Two detail

Panel Two detail

As a beverage, the point of tea continues to elude me. As a dye, however, it holds enough possibilities that my battered old bag of teas will remain in the art closet. And in future, when gifted with yet another gift pack of teas, my enthusiasm may be marginally less false.

Summer of Invention #3: Toe Bugs

 

The Problem

First let me say this isn't about the cost of a sock. This is about fighting back against the throw-away, out-of-control consumerism that has brought us to the brink of the apocalypse. It is also about combatting the emotional embarrassment of finding yourself at someone's house or, worse yet, a spiritual retreat in Ojai, where it becomes clear that the exception is that everyone is expected to remove their shoes. And it is about cute little bugs. It is a win-win scenario. Part of the Summer of Invention has been about tuning in to quotidian, annoying little problems that generally go unnoticed and figuring out how to fix them. 

A graphic take on problem identification: sock toe holes

The Solution

I have always wanted a darning egg for purely aesthetic fondling possibilities. I have never known how they are actually used. I ordered a cheap one online that came with darning needles and a set of embroidery thread. It arrived within 24 hours. The kit cost less than a good pair of socks.

The solution: a darning egg kit

I then spent about twenty minutes watching online how-to videos regarding darning and felt I had grasped the general idea.

The Toe Bugs

As a rank beginner when it comes to darning eggs, I found my first toe patch looked scraggly and had a couple of random bits sticking out. It looked sort of like a bug. This was the "aha" moment; I rethreaded the needle, went back in, and added a couple of legs and antenna. 

The first wonky toe bug

Colors that pop make for happy toe bugs

This is admittedly an invention far behind the times, a recycled invention from yesteryear. Which may be a lesson about thinking twice before you dispose of anything, including ideas.