Watermark

Scrapbooking, a Woman's Thing

www.flickr.com sbpoet's Yesterday & Today photoset

I’m having a hard time writing about this.

Scrapbooking -- a woman’s thing. Mostly a mother’s thing. I’ve come across several creative words for this: Memory-Keeper. Life Artist. Story-Keeper.

I find myself caught in old nets: what men do is art; what women do is craft. And one does not want to be, or be seen as, a crafter.

Though there’s a word with a distinguished meaning (from Dictionary.com):

craft

–noun

1. an art, trade, or occupation requiring special skill, especially manual skill: the craft of a mason.

2. skill; dexterity: The silversmith worked with great craft.

3. skill or ability used for bad purposes; cunning; deceit; guile.

4. the members of a trade or profession collectively; a guild.

…

–verb (used with object)

9. to make or manufacture (an object, objects, product, etc.) with skill and careful attention to detail.

And from the Thesaurus:

Definition:  expertise, skill

Synonyms:  ability, adeptness, adroitness, aptitude, art, artistry, cleverness, competence, cunning, dexterity, expertness, ingenuity, knack, know-how, proficiency, technique

Of course, historically, women craft things that are used every day, from food on the table to clothes on the body; while artists (and poets) make things to admire from afar. What women make can be used and appreciated by most anyone; what artists make requires “a trained eye”.

Ideas I’d thought buried long ago rise to torment me.

So here I am, feeling defensive about how I’ve been spending much of my time the past weeks. And -- just to up the defensive quota a bit -- it’s extremely self-involved. What I’ve been doing, I mean.

This -- a scrapbooking class from Ali Edwards called Yesterday & Today -- is the least planned and most time-consuming of all the classes I’ve taken on this year. I’m still stunned that I signed up for it at all (given my disinterest in such things) and even more that I like it.

For me, this project has turned into a sort of photographic memoir that snaps nicely together with the mondo beyondo dream lab + the gifts of imperfection class. Since my mother’s death last year I found myself thinking quite a lot about how I got to be who I am. Both of these experiences are clarifying on that score.

Since I’ve been posting rarely, and am trying to be more … open … above is some of what I’ve done so far. Other pages are not public. They are too personal, and not, I think, of general interest -- not that these are. But -- there they are anyway.

Comments welcome.

 

Cousin Sue's Little Bibs

 

This little sweetie hissed the minute she saw me. In three days she maybe let me touch her twice. But as you can see, she is devoted to her chosen human.

For more gorgeous, finicky cats, go here:

• Friday Ark is back!

• Carnival of the Cats goes up every Sunday
  The 360th edition, 2/6, is up at CatSynth
  The 361st edition , 2/13, will be hosted by Meowsings of An Opinionated Pussycat

 For more cat & critter links, hit that Friday Ark link. Have a great weekend. Celebrate Egypt!

Snapshot Poem 02011 February 09

 

This morning I interrupted a hawk
at his breakfast in my garden. Blood
and feathers in the snow. Where
there is prey, there will be predators.

Snow keeps falling, a swirl of lace
outside my windows. Amazing Grace
plays on the radio, reminding me
that I am wretched. But there is grace.

Grace in blood and feathers, grace
in the play of predator and prey, grace
in the hawk lifting from the snow, grace
in its falling, falling.

 

we pass through the darkening

 

we pass through the darkening
so resistant, so remote
white sky, white ground, white paper

ice daggers hang from the eves
branches sketch indecipherable glyphs
across a pale sky  

thin china cups
gather light in their bowls
behind glass cabinet doors

afloat in deep winter
cold days, white days,
lengthening days

gripping the handle of time
it slices at an angle
that dangerous blade

& Cairo burns

 

 

      This week's prompt was to use one, or a few, or all of the above Wordle words in a poem. I printed it out to keep with me and think about. Then I doodled, and the doodle morphed into some kind of creature.

I think I like the doodle better than the poem. It's less mysterious.

 Critiques welcome.