Sunday morning stuff

There aren't enough hours in the weekend--in my life for that matter. I can't really complain about this weekend in particular, since I did spend a good part of yesterday playing. Now it's Sunday morning about 9AM. I've had a cup of coffee, puttered around the house a bit, and now I'm sitting on the back porch with no real desire to leave this spot for a few hours if that were actually possible. I've got to get up soon, make myself look semi-presentable, and run off to church.

I feel a little guilty when I don't do that with a gleeful spring in my step. Church--faith for that matter--have never been simple things for me, at least not as an adult. For the last year, as I've considered the possibility of vocational ministry (that's a churchy way of saying becoming a priest--Episcopal priest that is), Sunday morning has become a much more complicated milestone in the cycle of the week.

I should probably digress here for a minute and explain that in the Episcopal church one does not individually choose to become a priest. It's a much larger and longer community process. It generally begins by discussing your sense of calling with your parish priest. That's the first gate through which you have to pass. You don't go any further in the "process" without your priest's endorsement, except possibly to another parish in search of a different priest. The next step is often to begin meeting with a spiritual director, if you're not doing so already. This is an experienced and/or trained person (lay or ordained) with whom you can talk, listen, and reflect about your spiritual journey. I am blessed to have a great director (that's such an understatement).

That's where I've been for the last year and a half: meeting with my director and my priest, reading, thinking, writing. Part of the reason for taking so much time is that the next step in the process--formal discernment--was shutdown in the Diocese of Washington for retooling. Discernment processes vary from one diocese to another, but from what I know they all involve the aspirant (person who thinks they are called to ordained ministry) discerning their call with a group of people. There are also essays to write, a psych evaluation, many many forms to fill out, ultimately leading to a meeting with your bishop who, like your parish priest, is charged with the task of saying yes or no. It's not an election or decision by committee (although there are recommendations). The final decision comes down to two people: the bishop and the aspirant. So, all of this formal discernment takes about a year and ultimately could result in the aspirant becoming a postulant, which means that you can now apply to an Episcopal seminary, spend 3 years in school and fieldwork, endure incredible scrutiny, sit for the General Ordination Exams, and ultimately end up back with your bishop saying yes or no. At some point along the way (I think senior year) the postulant has become a candidate for holy orders. Next comes ordination as a deacon, about 6 months of deaconal service in a parish, then ordination to the priesthood.

So, guess what I did? The diocesan discernment process began again with a weekend retreat last month. I didn't go. The plan is for these retreats to happen quarterly rather than annually, but this one was the first and last chance to enter the 1-year cycle in 2007 in time to complete it in summer 2008 and begin seminary in fall 2008. I just extended my own journey by another 12 months! Why?!? I don't have a nice neat answer for that. I don't doubt my faith and I don't doubt that I am experiencing a time of new calling in my life (see what spiritual direction does to your vocabulary). What I'm doubting, or perhaps stumbling over, is whether ordained ministry is the way I should respond to this call. If you accept that we are all called to some form of ministry to the world and our fellow creatures, then is this the right form of ministry for me?

And, in 1000 words or less, that's why Sunday morning is complicated for me. It's 950. Time to get ready for church.

Later that day--more about deconstructed screen printing

The tubing was fun, but I'm whipped.

Continuing the story about Peters Valley...I've done screen printing in the past and, while I like the control it can provide when it's done well, I can't say that I've ever really done it well. For the last year a lot of my work has involved fairly simple cloth manipulation (I can hardly call it shibori), low-water immersion dying/over-dying, followed by discharge and/or paint applied by stamp, stencil, and brush. I've also done some reasonably successful work with thermofax screens.

The stuff that I was doing in Kerr and Rayna's workshop has taken me to a new level, opened a lot of design possibilities, and really loosened me up. Up to now I've worked on large quilt tops that used my hand-dyed cloth, but most of those pieces of cloth were prepared as strips or as full widths of less than 1 yard. Last week in the studio I didn't touch a piece of fabric under a yard. You'd think that much empty white space would be intimidating, but it was actually liberating.

Certainly the screen allows you to deposit dye quickly over a large area, but the object isn't to just gob on dye--or at least usually it's not. What I found though was that when I looked at the screen as a dynamic mark-maker, rather than as an intimidating, technically precise stencil, I embraced a tool that allowed me to work large enough and quickly enough to force my brain into improvisational mode--if there is such a thing. No, I wasn't just grabbing any old scoop of dye paste and throwing it in the screen. I was a little more intentional than that. What I mean is that the ever-changing pattern produced by the deconstructing screen contributed enough texture and life to the finished product to allow me to to focus on color and pattern. You might say that invited or accepted the screen's participation in the process. OK, now look at the name of my BLOG and listen as I ask the essential question, "Does any of this make sense?" I've got a long way to go, but I feel like I've got a good new start.

Here are a couple of samples of pieces from the workshop that might help illustrate the point. I'll post more over the next few days.

Deconstructed screen ready to be released.

The yardage on the left is the result of printing with the screen shown above.


Screens drying in the sun and finished pieces batching in black plastic.

Why am I awake at 630?

I woke up this morning wanting to write. I guess that's a good thing. My journal hasn't seen as much action as I might like lately. I'm not sure where this BLOG will go, or even if it will, but I'm can't see it replacing entirely the experience of writing in my journal--preferably with a really good fountain pen (we'll have to discuss the fountain pen fetish another time).

If you've just read my very first post (yeah), then there's a better-than-average chance that what you're wondering about most is the God thing. Me too. I promise that I'll get to that. It's unavoidable.

For now, let's talk about the amazing experience I had last week at the Peters Valley Craft Center (www.pvcrafts.org). I went for a 5-day workshop called, "Two of a Kind: Think of Silkscreen & Batik" taught by Kerr Grabowski and Rayna Gillman (graciously stepping in for Els van Baarle, who was unable to be there). Now, I'm not exactly a veteran of dozens of fiber workshops, However, based on the few that I have taken (not to mention tons of other management workshops) I am willing to testify with conviction that there was something amazing happening in that place, in that studio, with those people. We ate, we drank, we shared stories and art, worked our asses off, and it was great.

Here's a picture of Kerr, Rayna, and Jesse (our studio assistant). The mess in the foreground is my work area. It's a mess, gosh, what a surprise.

This was my first exposure to Kerr's method of deconstructed screen printing (adding thickened dye to a screen, letting it dry, then releasing it with a sodium alginate paste--with or without added dye). It was also the first time I've done batik since I was in my teens. Combining the two--wax in the screen, wax on the cloth--added even more possibilities.

Oh shoot. Look at the time. Gotta go. I'm off to go tubing on the Shenandoah River with a bunch of friends from church. Few things are as much fun as floating down a slow river on a hot day with your ass in an inner tube.

A beginning

I suppose that I could start with a review of my entire life, with particular focus on the mental exercises and general upheaval of the past few years. I think that would be more than a little tiring for everyone involved. Besides, I'm not sure that I want to attempt that in a single session. Suffice to say for now that the following is an adequate, if categorical, description of me:

• I'm 44, which I was recently reminded is essentially mid-life.
• I've been "married" to the same man (Dan) for 16 years.
• We live in a quiet middle-class neighborhood in College Park, Maryland.
• My immediate family are all fairly close by and my parents still live in the house I grew up in. Everyone from Dan's side of the family is in New York or New Jersey, which is still pretty close.
• I work for a publisher as a project manager for internal IT projects. This job uses virtually none of what I studied in school (BS and MA in Geography). While it's financially rewarding and "challenging" it sometimes makes me feel like I'm in the wrong skin at times. I think maybe lots of people feel that way at one time or another.
• I was raised Methodist, drifted away from church, then discovered the Episcopal church as an adult. My church community and my faith are both big parts of my life.
• For the past several years, but particularly for about the last two, I've been considering seriously whether I believe I have a call to ordained ministry. "Call" is most definitely a churchy word, but I'm sure that will be addressed in detail in some future post.
• I've been an artist my entire live, but have only been willing to call myself by that name for the past year.

These two big things--art and church--are the contenders in the tug-of-war that is my life, or so it seems at times.

That's a pretty concise summary. Perhaps too concise, but it sets the stage on which the story can unfold.