In my studio, I am surrounded by items that I love. This is the Singer sewing machine, originally a treadle machine, that belonged to my mother and upon which I learned to sew fifty years ago. (My, has it been that long?) I dreaded summer sewing lessons but my mother insisted that every proper young lady should know how to sew. Therefore, I would go each week to Mrs. Lazzara who would comment constantly about the selvage edge of the fabric. I was not a good seamstress back then but learned enough that I could make dresses for my three daughters until they begged me to stop.
Hanging on my supply cabinet are these pointe shoes, a gift from my oldest daughter to indulge my fantasy of being a ballerina someday. My mother also made certain I had dance lessons and so, at the age of four, I began taking lessons at Ella May's School of the Dance. Can you tell how very old I am by these requirements of my youth? Dancing school was a constant frustration for me, though, because only the cute little blond girls could be ballerinas. I was a cute little Hispanic girl and so I was only allowed to tap dance. These pointe shoes are a reminder for me that I could have been a great little ballerina if I had been given the opportunity. And my art is frequently a mirror of the events and descrimination that still creep into the world of women and girls. I would love to hear your stories if you are willing to share.
Esperanza (©2009) is not to be contained. She wants to be the voice for all of us in each of her collage comments. As with most women, she is beautiful on the surface with many unexpressed needs that eventually must come forth. "Sometimes, I Just Want A Little Time To Myself" is to remember those days when the kids won't leave you alone, the dog wants to go out AGAIN, your husband can't find his keys, and you can't take a bath in peace. You know, a normal day in the life of each and every woman. (Available today on Etsy)
Once I make a decision as to what type of fabric or leather to use as a handle, my first textile collage will be complete. This piece has evolved over the past three weeks as I have considered what combination of textiles to use as an interpretation of my title, "Defy Convention".
Pictured here is one of my aunts, now deceased, who did not allow the conventions of her time to limit her in any way.
She was equally at home killing rattlesnakes
in the deep Florida woods as she was baking her wonderful pound cakes and Toll House cookies. She could grow anything with very little effort yet could give any of her seven brothers a good pounding when necessary. She was tough as nails while being the gentle family caregiver in times of illness.
This collage is fourth in my series, "Women On The Road".
In my studio, I am surrounded by items that I love. This is the Singer sewing machine, originally a treadle machine, that belonged to my mother and upon which I learned to sew fifty years ago. (My, has it been that long?) I dreaded summer sewing lessons but my mother insisted that every proper young lady should know how to sew. Therefore, I would go each week to Mrs. Lazzara who would comment constantly about the selvage edge of the fabric. I was not a good seamstress back then but learned enough that I could make dresses for my three daughters until they begged me to stop.
Hanging on my supply cabinet are these pointe shoes, a gift from my oldest daughter to indulge my fantasy of being a ballerina someday. My mother also made certain I had dance lessons and so, at the age of four, I began taking lessons at Ella May's School of the Dance. Can you tell how very old I am by these requirements of my youth? Dancing school was a constant frustration for me, though, because only the cute little blond girls could be ballerinas. I was a cute little Hispanic girl and so I was only allowed to tap dance. These pointe shoes are a reminder for me that I could have been a great little ballerina if I had been given the opportunity. And my art is frequently a mirror of the events and descrimination that still creep into the world of women and girls. I would love to hear your stories if you are willing to share.
