Sunday morning

Breakfast in bed. Hot tea from flask, fruit stuffed pita. White nectarine. 

And here's Richard Rohr's Sunday meditation. This is so exactly right for how art happens. Every word is how it goes. 

I don't need to add anything, except Go, Richard!

Yesterday's beading went till late, when tired eyes made me stop. I love the physical picking up of the beads in a string, watching them move into place when I draw on the thread. 

I'm very much liking the untamed look that's emerging. I should probably refer to it as a beaded figure rather than a doll. The language seems to push the notion of toy, not what this is at all.

This kind of work is like painting with beads, each bead in the needle a brush stroke  decision, going back in with a different color here and there, backing off to see better. Learning all the time. Letting it tell me what's next.

The head is getting more solid in my hand with the considerable weight of the glass beads. 

I'm beginning to see how the body will go. The head has a way to go yet. And I'll need to allow for the weight as I attach the body so the head stays upright. Probably a fine dowel or skewer will work.

Happy worker here, looking forward to more.