Yellow

Yellow.

9 strands of glass, gold-plated beads and tiger’s eye finished with a lobster clasp. 8 soda lime beads and gold/copper frit, worked in the flame.

©2013 N.M. Weigand, Yellow – Sunlight. Flameworked glass and glass/metal/tiger’s eye beading, Approx. 8.5 inches.

Fair Isle Bits Hat

Created with scraps of yarn pilfered from mine and my mother’s collections, the Fair Isle Bits Hat is sized for a 6-12 month old and graced with patterns adapted from 200 Fair Isle Motifs.

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Unwritten Letter #1

I survive. I am grateful. I don’t get lost in the valleys and plateaus of this ever shortening life. Sometimes I remember. Sometimes the memories are fleeting and brightly coloured and tinged with laughter. Always bittersweet, and I can stand the bitterness that prevails for the single warm dissolution of sweetness on the tongue of my mind. My sister’s hand. A minute mandarin orange. A moment of peace.

And then I receive a letter from you.

There is a vortex of darkness. Of self-doubt. Of shredded ends of prayer shawls and chairs toppled on the floor. Of continually failing. Of unconditional love given but uncertainly received. Of trauma bonding. Of weakness. Of never knowing why.

The vortex doesn’t veil the things of loveliness. Spaghetti. Tea. A quiet day in Hell. Love.

But these things lie at the top while I am sucked down the gripless spiral, just seeing your handwriting on a letter, your name on an email. I question every word, every syntax, as I do when I write in response. Hands gone cold tremble as the pen my students gave me travels to draw ink from the well.

I don’t know what to say to you. Amidst the maelstrom of emotion that has been unleashed I cannot draw one single word.

I walk on eggshells when you are with me, because I fear I won’t please you, or give you what you need.

I have worked so hard to recapture some of myself from the illness that nearly tore me out of this web of existence.

My family asks me to let you go, to let you dissipate into the whispering tides of what used to be.

That is not who I am.

Love, once given, is always and absolute. And though I guard my heart and mind, there is a place for you still.

But, as a flower too soon come to bloom, my lips and fingertips have suffered from a late frost. I stand on a strong spring shoot, but my flower will not unfurl.

Is this the truth you’ve been looking for? Another round of pain where you expected comfort?

I have done my best to maintain and keep on living. My closure has changed more than you might imagine.

I survive. I am grateful. I don’t get lost in the valleys and plateaus of this ever shortening life. Sometimes I remember.

Red

Red.

9 strands of glass, gold-plated and hematite beads finished with a Chinese box clasp. 9 soda lime beads and gold frit, worked in the flame.

©2013 N.M. Weigand, Red – Life. Flameworked glass and glass/metal/hematite beading, Approx. 7.5 inches.

Blue

Blue.

9 strands of glass, sterling and pewter beads finished with an infinity loop clasp. 9 soda lime beads worked in the flame, set off with an assortment of labradorite, crystal, glass pearl and frosted glass.

©2013 N.M. Weigand, Blue – Art. Flameworked glass and glass/stone/pewter beading, Approx. 9 inches.

Experiments with Violet

I’ve been experimenting with mixing my flameworked beads into multi-strand bracelets. This one incorporates hand-blown ink blue, violet and lavender with pewter, crystal, hematite and glass beads in complimentary shapes and colours.

Nine separate strands are woven in a loose braid and finished with a lobster clasp, making a shimmering waterfall of a statement on the wrist.

©2013 N.M. Weigand, Experiments in Violet Bracelet. Flameworked glass and glass/pewter beading, Approx. 8 inches.

Hubbletante Carlisle

Hubbletante Carlisle Mittens, completed at the request of my brilliant, fun and snazzy aunt.

Knit on 1s and 3s following Jared Flood’s Carlisle in Brooklyn Tweed LOFT colourways Cast Iron & Stormcloud.

The neutrality in the yarn calls weather and winter to mind and highlights any colour in the landscape.

Photos by Kenton Trubee

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