Posted by on Nov 13, 2011 in Photographs, Sacred Arts | 0 comments

Her hands moved swiftly pushing and pulling the colored thread over and beneath the taunt vertical lines of yarn. I saw no pattern to guide her. Obviously, she held within her mind’s eye the image of what would become whole cloth holding the ancient design of her people.

As I watched her arms fly about herself in that magical dance of creation, I wondered if the warp and woof of the threads preserved sacred memory of times long past. Her rhythmic movements seemed to transport her to a reality beyond the now. I’m not sure she was even aware of my presence. I was mesmerized as the pattern grew thread by precious thread.

Somehow, I stopped myself from asking how long it had taken to weave what I could already see. What did it matter? There was so much more occurring than the weaving of the cloth. She was immersed in her own story and I did not want to disturb her quiet.


~Cathy Chapman



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