Glorious and free

I must admit that I intensely like to dye just for the joy of it. No plan, no rules, no costume matchy-match. Just me, a piece of fabric and seeing what surprises the Goddess that expresses herself through my hands has in store for me today. I rarely get to dye this way — a lot of clients have a pretty set image in their heads of what they want — so I’m usually stuck inside a very limited set of rules.

There should be no rules.

(look Mom, no rules! handsomely ugly mess too)

Rules are an unfortunate side effect of having an already established niche market and clientele to ensure that you please it. I had promised myself when I was still an infant dyer that if I was going to take this somewhere, it would be about me and my need to feed repressed unruliness. At my age, life is a whole lot about accumulated responsibilities and operating at a constant level of dependability. I’m not different than most of you : the opportunity to shake off the bonds of middle age and reveal child-like freedom to do anything, in any way I see fit at the moment, is rare and precious. You have to recognize those moments and hold them safely in your soul.

If I can give any advice whatsoever is to stay “indie” at all cost. That’s probably food for a different blog entry, so I will leave that statement to stand on its own today. I seem to be going on quite a bit heavy this morning, so I will just leave you with a pretty picture of what a great big mess can truly become.

Not a veil, but Bambi is still my best way of showing off quickly just a little yardage.

Silk charmeuse, compression bound, injection dyed, washed out, tied, discharged and then overdyed. Always a surprise — sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always glorious and free.