In Gratitude: Part 3

A welcome. 

Reaching out to connect. 

New neighbors, new town, new walls, new sounds. 

She left the islands, to find the heat of the desert.  A house-cooling of sorts

(it's too hot for housewarming). 

Firey orange, cooled with ocean dreams and turquoise hopes. 


My gift to another, to see, to share. 

The Lacuna


 [luh-kyoo-nuh] noun
1.a gap or missing part, as in a manuscript, series, or logical argument; hiatus.
2.Anatomy. one of the numerous minute cavities in the substance of bone, supposed to contain nucleate cells.
3.Botany. an air space in the cellular tissue of plants.

I go searching, when I stitch these cocoons. Inside and out, with my eyes and my fingers, feeling where the next stitch or bead should lay. Finding balance in the spaces. Peering into the openings, finding the walls, the windows, the slivers of light that will catch on a bead, and catch your attention. 

This cocoon came together quicker than I expected.  It's openings much smaller than I'm used to working with.  I pressed walls opposite to openings up, so I could stitch through, creating small pieces of art within the sculpture.  It holds an enormous amount of space, this cocoon.  It's heavy with hidden beads and pearls, spilling out to mingle with french knots and stitches. 

The blues melt into purples and back again.  It speaks of the waters of the world, peace in holding space, always space, these sweet cocoons.  

Let it sway in the breeze of your path from the desk to the kitchen, from your bed to the door, the open windows filtering light and air. 

Gather together

Welcome to the Summer Solstice collection.  A selection of work that is born from the heat.

A celebration of  the sticky arms of watermelon eating, ice cold drinks and glowing humidity. 

The longest day of the year


The flicker of fireflies

(green cocoon)


The buzz of cicadas. 


The grumbling thunder storms.


The beads of sweat, dripping down your chest as you lay still on the hammock. 

A wee mouse

A custom order for a sweet soul.  It came out so dear and small, it felt like a mouse, in the best way. Tiny, delicate, yet powerful.

The Shield

Sometimes, we go dark.  Sometimes we've beaten or ignored too long, too hard, to see the light anymore. Pushed back into the shadows, retreating to the night.  

Yet, something still glimmers, your shield, your sword cobwebbed and dusty. Pick them up, feel the familiar weight of your own self-defense, tap back into your strength.  Light the candle, roll your shoulders and square up to the darkness.  Take it back.


This is to remind you that there is always a next step to take, even when your back is to the wall.

available here




The folks who know me well know that it's not secret that I love small, repetitive projects. These cocoons (or pods, it depends on the minute) are just that, stitching tiny beads to small sculptures, stitching beads and making hundreds of french knots, they make me happy.  They provide me space to meditate, to study movement, light, and remind me to keep going. 

When I'm stuck on a larger project, I'll often turn to the latest cocoon to tame my fidgeting fingers and mind. These pods have saved more mired-in-the-muck projects than I can name. As I stitch, I find solutions, mull on new projects, or what's for dinner (or dessert!).

And when one finishes a sculpture... it needs a name, yes? Their names come from... the muse, I suppose.  They are the only 'Art' I have felt so compelled to name.  It helps to finish them in my mind. Sometimes I start with an idea or emotion from the start, other times the piece comes into its name once I'm finished stitching on it. 

I hope you enjoy looking at these as much as I do. Someday they'll hang from ceilings in galleries (and in homes, more importantly, they are made to be shared).  The ones in the photos above are my latest, the others are tucked into the Cocoons page at the top if you'd like to keep looking.