I actually finished Honey Island last November, but hadn't photographed it. I have a basket of circles that I've cut out to make yo-yos when I want something to do with my hands, watching TV or a movie... I kind of went overboard on it and have hundreds of these circles. For those of you who have never made a yo-yo, there is a tutorial here that uses a plastic mold, but I make mine the old fashioned way, turning the edge in as you sew, and pulling the thread to close the circle.
Once I had a pile of yo-yos done, I thought they might look good appliqued on to contrasting circles that I had in my basket. The yo-yos shrink to half the size when they are closed, so the background fabrics were the original size I started out with for all the yo-yos. I used 32 discs for this piece, 3" in diameter, all hand-sewn, stuffed with polyfill, and then roughly stitched together with embroidery thread.
When working on the piece, I didn't really have anything in mind. No message, no hidden meaning. But, once it was finished, I felt the tropics come to me, bringing memories of the past. "Honey Island" a translation from the Portuguese "Ilha do Mel" is a beautiful island off the coast of Brazil. I have been there twice, but my first boyfriend, Toti, spent every moment he could there. The island finally caused his death. Toti and I grew up on the same street and had been friends since we were kids. I came back to the US for college and a life here, while he went on to become an environmentalist, fireman, physical education professor and life saver. The island was his haven. A skinny drop out type when we were teenagers, Toti grew into a strong, athletic, and powerful man. He could swim for miles and was a black belt in Tai-Kwon-Do. Think nature, green, vegetarian, earthy, smart, holistic, and loving and you might touch Toti's spirit.
One day on Honey Island, Toti stepped on a rusty nail. He went off the island for a tetanus shot. It didn't take and within three days he was dead on a hospital table in our home town. Total organ failure. After all these years, his death still seems illogical to me. But, when is an early death ever logical? I was in Chicago when he died and several months later, I also stepped on a rusty nail. I was in the process of opening a gallery, Dara Tribal Village, with my former partner, Abdul. The building had been a meat packing warehouse in the early 1900's and we had been gutting it, painting, sanding the floors, and all that good stuff. I was alone and it was 1 AM. I called my nurse mother in a panic and she told me to go down to Cook County and insist I get a tetanus shot, which were actually in a national shortage. My shot took and I survived.
Toti didn't get to live to be an old man, but his life had been a full one. As I looked at my yo-yos and my stitching, I thought about Honey Island and in all the mysterious ways we are all connected, both in life and in death.
Rachel! What a wonderful piece!
ReplyDeleteYou write so beautifully,you've brought tears to my eyes!
ReplyDeleteI love this piece you have created.
Bless you Rayela.
DeLiZiOsO!
ReplyDelete