I approach haiku as a zen practice where I capture a moment’s ephemeral beauty. Consequently, don’t try to hard to over tax yourself when reading these haiku. Just let the simple little wisdom wash over you like when you look at a nice cloud or a beautiful flower. The haikus are separated into those I write about my fiber art practice and those that come from moving and doing things in the world.
Let the Fiber Speak
In my most recent exhibition at Slo Curio, I presented a series of powerful minimal weavings, which were made with my own handspun Navajo Churro yarn, that I displayed in a configuration as a larger wall installation. Out of the pockets of this weaving this work, I started to have these startling haikus pop into my brain, which captured the wisdom that spilled out of my practice.
No pattern, design
No need to make a statement
Let the fiber speak.
Look closer, my friends.
There are intricate details
in what seems mundane.
We need more quiet
places to escape
shouts of should and could.
With a gentle touch,
take the fiber by the hand
guide it to be yarn.
Set an intention
Honor the small, humble work.
Craft springs from its seed.
Simple language
is needed to explain slow,
purposeful practice.
Simplicity is
an invitation to depth,
a door to wisdom
Simplicity is
a democratic ideal,
belief in people.
The illusion is
time stretches out in a line.
No, it runs in circles.
Weaving is sacred
simplicity; a humble
prayer of calm, ease.
The great mystery
is not divine; its earthly
interconnection.
Tan weft streaks—
The universe knows exactly
what it’s doing.
In nooks and crannies,
of haiku, weaving, I find
my mom guiding me.
A revolution
in values lies in choosing
dusty, earthy hues.
We circle around
our loved ones in times of need.
That makes us human.
Light always shines through
the darkest of times, when you
give people a chance.
Each repetition
opens up another chance
to explore nuance.
Each iteration
opens up another chance
to be gentler.
What do I find in
the wool? Interconnection
with the web of life.
My practice is a
repetitive ritual,
praising the process.
The real work begins
when craft approaches the door
of contemplation.
We exist beyond
time, sowing seeds of the past
into the future.
A truth discovered:
The process is poetry.
Wise words to live by.
Daily practice is
a moving meditation,
Quiet contemplation.
My Spindle signs hymns,
dusty, earthly songs, of craft’s
singular wisdom.
Real work never ends
It begins again each day —
A simple lifeway.
What once was separate,
now becomes whole—
The circle closes.
Put your tools to rest —
They, like you, have been holding
the weight of the world.
Where’s my cathedral?
Wherever I go with my
spindle and loom.
I practice haiku
to see the moments where beauty
and wisdom converge.
“Wool has memory,”
she said.
Listening to a class.
Rustling, barren tree
The sun hangs low in the sky —
Tiny loom in hand.
Simple Tapestries
are monuments to
slow, quiet living.
Humble canvas bag
holding tools and fiber
washed in winters light.
Strip away all the symbols—
Be grateful to be able
to tell wool stories.
Unadorned hard wood
holding warp, weft in tension—
A timeless, spaceless tool.
Retaining values
of material culture—
Memory vessels
All woven work
extends, connected in an
infinite grid.
Moving and Doing
The world of should and could
hurries along—
Blue-shrouded mountain.
Birds in barren trees
The sun hangs low in the sky—
weaving, tiny loom.
Light frost on the ground
my mind like the trees —
unburdened, empty.
Early morning clouds
rise like glaciers behind peaks—
past memories.
The strain of doing
leaves an indelible mark—
Distinct deadening.
On the west side of
Sutro Tower, people pause,
worship the ocean.
Smoke all around us.
The earth is on fire up north.
Masked, the city moves.
Tiny adjustments
to the crashing waves of life—
Balance.
My mind reaches out
while my body remains still—
transient first light.