Dames de la liberte: Du peuple, de bois. Vive la liberte. Vive la France.
Ladies of Liberty: Of the people,of the wood. Long live liberty. Long live France.
I’ve done my fair share of digging and sifting through my ancestry. It’s been a quest of ongoing curiosity and occasional obsession. On this journey I have made my way through the memories of some tremendously wonderful and horrifyingly awful individuals. My imagination has made friends with the ghosts of cowboys, lords, ladies, knights and kings. Queens, farmers, woodsmen, witches and a teller of fortunes share my blood. They are all part of me, my family.
When I started down this road, I was looking forward to a quick list of names and dates that would equate to a graphic to share with my daughter. Instead, I found myself dipping in and out of dark caves, walking through the woods and lives of the ones who made me. As the hours of research ticked on it became rapidly apparent that this road was long and documented. The history is there, the threads have been spun, it only requires binding. So it has called to me, and my soul is answering. This quest is ongoing and so I go.
Just when I think I’ve reached the peak of my derivation, a heretical valley explodes wildly open and a new old chapter is born inside of me. I’ve tried to sit with it, write it, explore, and stitch it. I’ve tried to deny and forget portions of it, and share the shiny quips of it. I’ve tried and cried over it. From here on out, I will share it, all of it. These ghosts, this heritage is mine to bare, every bit of it. So I will begin with their stories. This blog on this thing machine will be a tribute to the tales that came before me and the tellers of those tales. The frayed edges have a purpose, they are like us; fused together on the line, unraveling.
Stitchteller's Keep 