Into every life, a little rain must fall.

The weather has been dry here in Texas. Nary a drop of real creativity has been seen for a good long while. Oh, and no rain, neither.

I find that when my life gets stressful, my creative life wanes considerably. Unlike some people, who turn to art to release their stress, I begin to hoard my energies, expending them only in mostly uncalled-for bursts of profanity and freakish and uncharacteristicfits of cleaning.

Throughout my dry spells, though, my eye keeps seeing colors it needs to combine, and flowerbeds and sunsets and fashion plates to be painted into yarn. Eventually, the color scheme hoarding part of my brain gets full, and spills out onto yarn and fiber and paper and canvas and any other thing I might be able to shape into something else.

Last time I posted, I ended with a photo of undyed yarns. Here's what happened to some of those:


Galah sock yarn, which will gradually change from grey to magenta as it is knitted from cuff to toe.


Sugar Beet kettle dyed yarn. Destined for as-yet-unassigned Christmas gifting.


Spring Dream sock yarn, custom dyed.


A Marc Chagall that turned a little psychedelic in the dyepot.

I got some spinning done yesterday afternoon while watching The Sopranos on DVD and periodically clearing parrots off my spinning wheel.


Pond Shallows, where green and yellow algae and moss grow.


Wisteria, inspired by the beautiful, cloyingly sweet blossoms outside my grandmother's house in the springtime.

Other minor creative endeavors in my life lately include giving myself a French pedicure, making dinner and taking aspiring-food-stylist-type photos, and many, many little bird drawings, and a covered mini notebook here and there.