Gatherings / by Kirsten Weis

Nidi I in process, 2017. Crepe paper, paper cord, wheat paste. © Kirsten Weis

Nidi I in process, 2017. Crepe paper, paper cord, wheat paste.

© Kirsten Weis

I'm supposed to have a baby in nine days. I imagined by this time I'd be "nesting" as I've heard pregnant women do--preparing a nursery, folding and sorting baby clothes, generally being all-consumed by the impending arrival of our new family member. But instead I find myself frantically working in the studio, terrified of how little time I'll have to create for the next few months. 

We are gatherers,
the ones who pick up sticks and stones
and old wasps nests fallen by the
door of the barn,
walnuts with holes that look like
eyes of owls,
bits of shell not whole but lovely
in their brokenness,
we are the ones who bring home
empty eggs of birds
and place them on a small glass shelf
to keep for what? How long?
It matters not. What matters
is the gathering,
the pockets filled with remnants
of a day evaporated, the traces of
certain memory, a lingering smell,
a smile that came with the shell.
— Nina Bagley

In the midst of binding languishing art quilts and finishing up old projects, I've found myself curiously drawn to these nest forms. I sketched them out a few months back when I plucked an abandoned nest off of our gutter and starting thinking about home, and about safety, and about scraps woven and plastered together to create a vessel. A shape for gathering and a shape gathered.

Not sure exactly where these pieces are headed, but they feel full of possibility.   

Nidi I in process, 2017. Crepe paper, paper cord, wheat paste. © Kirsten Weis

Nidi I in process, 2017. Crepe paper, paper cord, wheat paste.

© Kirsten Weis