I love old photos!...
I love vintage fabrics and laces, old books and their artful covers and soft worn pages...
.....and vintage music, often beautifully hand written on with scrolls and flourishes.....
and antique furniture... hand carved on wood carefully chosen for its strength and beauty...
...and Dishes with roses and flowers and all sorts of amazing art work, I love them all!
I simply love all these things!
I seem to be physically overcome by some force beyond my control whenever I'm near a used book store. Estate sales must have hidden magnets under my car hood, I simply can't drive the other way.
I pick up an old book and I love to touch the pages, admire the beauty and wonder what's inside. But I know all of these things are just that.
Things.
Material.
Temporal.
Fading.
I know what I love is deep inside.
I long to climb into the pages and bridge the expanse of time and know that the stories are all unique, but are also intertwined run on sentences, somehow connected to mine; breathing compassion, understanding and knowledge into me, into every reader, connecting us in thoughts and wishes and then actions of love.
It is amazing to me that an author who lived hundreds of years ago, can speak through time to my mind, to my heart and cause me to grow, to be peaceful, to desire what is best for myself and the world around me. This is what I love about old books.
I love old music and the writing scrolled across the scores. The thought of someone's heart and hand communicating beauty even before the first note is played. It's a heart wish, that music would bring beauty into every part of your life. Of course, the composer is gifted and passionate about their art, it is theirs. But in the end, they've shared it! They've shared it with you and me.
It is amazing to me that an author who lived hundreds of years ago, can speak through time to my mind, to my heart and cause me to grow, to be peaceful, to desire what is best for myself and the world around me. This is what I love about old books.
I love old music and the writing scrolled across the scores. The thought of someone's heart and hand communicating beauty even before the first note is played. It's a heart wish, that music would bring beauty into every part of your life. Of course, the composer is gifted and passionate about their art, it is theirs. But in the end, they've shared it! They've shared it with you and me.
They've shared it with as many people who wish to enjoy its peaceful beauty.
That's inspiring.
That speaks to my heart.
Old photos have a unique whisper that tugs at my heart. I desperately wish to be in that moment , in that emotion , in that life that the eyes of those photographed are sharing. I want to know who they are ...at that moment, their hopes, their dreams , their desires. And when I can uncover just a little of the story, I am mesmerized.
Bud and Ina grew up in New York. He was a young man who , not only lived through the depression, but gained ingenuity, perseverance and loyalty through it. He watched his sister become caretaker of his family, while his mother tried to recover from tuberculosis. He saw his father do all he could to care for and provide for his family. While only a teenager, Bud hitchhiked across the country to see his dear mother as she tried to recover. She succumbed all too soon to this disease that effected so many. Later, as a young man, he enrolled in nursing school.
Ina was born across the ocean, before the war. Her parents brought her across to lady liberty, and at the Ellis Island clerks prompting, claimed she was a year younger than she actually was. There were only two more slots open to enter the home of the free, not three. If she were under a year, she wouldn't be counted. And so she was free. A year younger, and beautifully free.
She grew up in the Bronx, and later Long Island. She yodeled for friends in the one place, and longed for them in another. She grew up speaking the language of her parents' homeland and the language of her new home. She grew up and entered nursing school.
Apparently it was love at first sight.
I look through the old photos and I see it. As a young girl, I never thought to ask, it never entered my mind, that these two fell head over heels in love. Now I just look and wonder. Wonder how all these heart strings are tied together. Wonder if ingenuity, perseverance and loyalty are knit into the fabric of my life...wonder if the hopes and dreams and desires of their hearts are being realized in my life... wonder if I see my freedom as beautiful, to be treasured... I wonder... wonder what it is to be part of a love story, someone else's, I'm laced and tied to.
And I am inspired to create. Create beauty. Create something that conveys this love and loyalty, this beautiful freedom, this weaving of a love story. And my dresses are born.
That speaks to my heart.
Old photos have a unique whisper that tugs at my heart. I desperately wish to be in that moment , in that emotion , in that life that the eyes of those photographed are sharing. I want to know who they are ...at that moment, their hopes, their dreams , their desires. And when I can uncover just a little of the story, I am mesmerized.
Bud and Ina grew up in New York. He was a young man who , not only lived through the depression, but gained ingenuity, perseverance and loyalty through it. He watched his sister become caretaker of his family, while his mother tried to recover from tuberculosis. He saw his father do all he could to care for and provide for his family. While only a teenager, Bud hitchhiked across the country to see his dear mother as she tried to recover. She succumbed all too soon to this disease that effected so many. Later, as a young man, he enrolled in nursing school.
Ina was born across the ocean, before the war. Her parents brought her across to lady liberty, and at the Ellis Island clerks prompting, claimed she was a year younger than she actually was. There were only two more slots open to enter the home of the free, not three. If she were under a year, she wouldn't be counted. And so she was free. A year younger, and beautifully free.
She grew up in the Bronx, and later Long Island. She yodeled for friends in the one place, and longed for them in another. She grew up speaking the language of her parents' homeland and the language of her new home. She grew up and entered nursing school.
Apparently it was love at first sight.
I look through the old photos and I see it. As a young girl, I never thought to ask, it never entered my mind, that these two fell head over heels in love. Now I just look and wonder. Wonder how all these heart strings are tied together. Wonder if ingenuity, perseverance and loyalty are knit into the fabric of my life...wonder if the hopes and dreams and desires of their hearts are being realized in my life... wonder if I see my freedom as beautiful, to be treasured... I wonder... wonder what it is to be part of a love story, someone else's, I'm laced and tied to.
And I am inspired to create. Create beauty. Create something that conveys this love and loyalty, this beautiful freedom, this weaving of a love story. And my dresses are born.
