Wandering by the Findhorn River on a rare and precious half hour off of essay writing. I can never leave my creative practice behind though. Every where I look I see things I could spin, things that will give my fibre colour, things that make links in my thoughts with my studio practice.
The driftwood piles left by winter floods are full of roots, from the finest grass roots hanging like tufts of sheep’s’ fleece to huge root balls of mature trees. So many different textures and forms.
This fine wisp had a red roots in it, making me think of my Red Thread/Common Thread. The red was coarser but stronger than the black, brown and sun-bleached blond roots.
Not all make me think of spinning and weaving though. Sometimes there are strange forms that call to me in other ways, like the spoon root I found today. Formed by a tree root forcing itself between two stones then being unable to force them apart in order to grow. When compressed or restricted, life-force distorts, warps and takes on unexpected forms.
|A spoon root?|
Some of the exposed roots suggest other uses than spinning, perhaps this one may become a dye vat stirrer…