 Each morning I walk the dog. I study the trees we walk past: sturdy, twisting things, with roots that curl within the confines of the sidewalk, and arms that reach for the sky.  Each has its own character. They proceed me in the landscape like figures on a canvas.
Each morning I walk the dog. I study the trees we walk past: sturdy, twisting things, with roots that curl within the confines of the sidewalk, and arms that reach for the sky.  Each has its own character. They proceed me in the landscape like figures on a canvas.When I remember my camera, I bring home images to prod me forward. A photo of a sycamore in winter became this wonderful image to silk screen:
 The spring saw me sidelined for weeks with flu. After that came my girl's graduation, then I was sick again. Finally last week I got to the Big Studio and began to print on blank tote bags as well as various linens and cottons from my stash. The trees came out, and began to dance sedately with birds and text:
The spring saw me sidelined for weeks with flu. After that came my girl's graduation, then I was sick again. Finally last week I got to the Big Studio and began to print on blank tote bags as well as various linens and cottons from my stash. The trees came out, and began to dance sedately with birds and text: 
1 comment:
Big fan of trees myself. Your photo and the print are lovely. How big are the totes? I like those, too.
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