Pagina's

dinsdag, september 21, 2010

no work just play





plenty of time to spend in my little room playing with cloth
It is my holiday and on Friday we go on a trip to Cyprus .

here is is autumn lots of rain and wind
on Cyprus it is sunny and warm
love to go to there 

for now I am working for the course  by Jude Hill
the first will be integrated in the forest quilt 
the second is just a try but i like it
the soft colours go well together

oant sjen

zondag, september 19, 2010

all these scraps




I want to make the Klosjes quilt from these scraps
so it will be a colourful piece
the first 4 are ready













A Treasure
A quilt poem by Mildred Hatfield

It's more than a coverlet,
More than a spread,
This beautiful quilt
That graces my bed.

It's laughter and sorrow,
It's pleasure and pain,
It's small bits and pieces
Of sunshine and rain.

It's a bright panorama
Of scraps of my life-
It's moments of glory,
It's moments of strife.

It's a story I cherish
Of days that have been,
It's a door I can open
To live them again.

Yes, it's more than a cover,
This much-treasured quilt,
It's parts pieced together
Of the life I have built.


oant sjen



zaterdag, september 18, 2010

klosjes quilt

I heard about this in Birmingham from Tineke  for the first time
and now I know a bit more about it
I never  ever hade in mind making one but here it is my first KLOSJE
and ,,,,,,maybe more to come ????
you never know

vrijdag, september 17, 2010

weaving

weaving a new cloth 2 pieces of hand dyed  cloth torn in to stripes
the start of the cloth to cloth 2 course by Jude Hill

zondag, september 12, 2010

dream on




dream on, dream on, dream on,
dream yourself a dream come true
dream on, dream on, dream on,
and dream until your dream comes true

woensdag, september 08, 2010

from a distant

whose eye is it ,,,,,,,,,,,,,


Gentle eyes that see so much,
paws that have the quiet touch,
Purrs to signal "all is well"
and show more love than words could tell.
Graceful movements touched with pride,
a calming presence by our side -
A friendship that takes time to grow -
Small wonder why we love them so.


to look at it from a distant
and  see what the next step to take


and now i see the bear ,I have to work on
give him a face
make him a live

dinsdag, september 07, 2010

simply being

Could we but draw back the curtain,
That surrounds each others lives,
See the naked heart and spirit;
Know what spur the action gives;
Often we would find it better,
Purer then we think we would.
We would love each other better,
If we only understood.

zondag, september 05, 2010

Bigger



My forest quilt is growing
it seems to get real big
I let you see more
later on 

vrijdag, september 03, 2010

Friends

Friends Without Faces

by Thomas Teague
 
We sit and we type, and we stare at our screens,
We all have to wonder, what this possibly means.
With our mouse we roam, through the rooms in a maze,
Looking for something or someone, as we sit in a daze.

We chat with each other, we type all our woes,
Small groups we do form, and gang up on our foes.
We wait for somebody, to type out our name,
We want recognition, but it is always the same.

We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes flirt,
In IMs we chat deeply, and reveal why we hurt.
We do form friendships - but - why we don't know,
But some of these friendships, will flourish and grow.

Why is it on screen, we can be so bold,
Telling our secrets, that have never been told.
Why is it we share, the thoughts in our mind,
With those we can't see, as though we were blind.

The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell.
We all have our problems, and need someone to tell.
We can't tell "real" people, but tell someone we must,
So we turn to the 'puter, and to those we can trust.

Even though it is crazy, the truth still remains,
They are Friends Without Faces, and odd little names.

happy face

Faces in the tree,
looking at me.
They seem so graceful,
in the sun today.

woensdag, september 01, 2010

september

"By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer’s best of weather
And autumn’s best of cheer."
-   Helen Hunt Jackson, September, 1830-1885