Blog Archives - Heartfelt Dolls

Dollmakers inspire ...

31/3/2013

Many dollmakers are inspirational.
Their energy.
Their sense of community and belonging.
Their sense of fun.
Their generosity of spirit.
Their desire to transform themselves and the world -
one doll at a time.

One such dollmaker is elinor peace bailey
I have used several of her patterns. The modular doll was adapted for the Godde dolls.
Another pattern formed the basis of the Anti-depressants.

Chant ...

30/3/2013

I love chants and mantras.
They are a means of occupying the senses
while the heart,
the soul,
the creative essence
are able to be patterned, replenished, invigorated,
rested, nourished, deep in the sub-conscious.
Later,
often in unexpected places and manifestations,
the fruits of the inward journey are revealed.

The power of art ...

29/3/2013

Art inspires.
Art that reflects the world around us.
Art that shapes the world around us.
Art on walls.
Art in parks.
Art that provokes.
Art that stills the busy mind.
Art that reminds me who I am.
Art that calls me to become.

Irrepressible energy ...

28/3/2013

The irrepressible energy of people is contagious.
Whether working on difficult projects,
or entering competitions,
or challenging themselves with scary endeavours,
or delighting in the return of favourite condiments,
people inspire and motivate as they do what brings them joy.

Celebrating the re-supply of Marmite after a year long drought!

Julie entering a competition for a Hot Air Balloon ride over the Waikato

Ice Guardian: 3rd place winner Rotorua Wearable atrs and Creations 2011

Honouring the question ...

27/3/2013

Questions are a wonderful starting point for creativity.
Whether it is me asking the question of myself or of the world;
or if the question is directed at me,
therein lies inspiration.
Creating honours the question.
It does not demand an answer.

Where is God in an earthquake?
What is Advent about?
Good, honest questions.
Creative explorations in fabric and in word.

Authentic Harmony has an interesting blog
which offers a question for our reflection each day.

Considering women ...

26/3/2013

I find inspiration in women of history, tradition, myth and scripture.
Barbara G Walker in her book "The Women's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets" always fascinates and motivates me.
Jan L Richardson uses exquisite art, poetry and video to explore the story of women in religion and scripture.

Revisiting old stories ...

25/3/2013

Sometimes stories become so familiar, I almost tune out when I hear the first few words. It is envigorating to encounter an artist who brings fresh eyes and a fresh heart.
This video from Jan L Richardson and Garrison Doles offers an "evocative space for reflection".

Confronting reality ...

24/3/2013

Sometimes I need to be pushed out of my comfort zone in order to create.

In front of the sculpture was this inscription: Today, increasingly, the so-called western Christian civilization sees itself faced with two Christs: the Christ of the oppressors and the Christ of the oppressed. The Christ of the oppressors is the one which submits, without struggle, to exploitation, absolves the sins of the torturers and threatens with hell the "laziness" of the undernourished peasant's son.For us, as artists of Latin America, the Christ of the oppressed is born in the soul of the people. His cry is a weapon of struggle, who creates out of his weakness the strength to struggle against the exploitation of man by man. - Guido Rocha

HE SAID HE WAS A KING

In Chacabuco, a concentration camp in the desert area of northern Chile, the following poem was written in 1974 by one of the political prisoners. Some Christian communities in Chile now use it as
prayer at the eucharist.

The armed retinue was mocking
the one crowned with thorns,
they took off his rags
and beat his head with a cane.
Offensive mouths spat on the man
with the long hair, rebel eyes and unkempt beard.

So, mocked by the soldiers
and with a mistreated body,
a bloodied man was dying
before the eyes of the high priests -
supreme hyprocrisy, supreme meaness and greed.

Today I remember you, a freedom-loving Christ,
vagabond in time, dubious in space.
Were you Spartacus' brother,
contemporary of the slave or comrade worker?

What matters the chain, the fiefdom, the wage:
to be Nazarene or Chacabuco inmate
if you are on earth, brother Christ,
Son, with dirty face and calloused hands,
flesh and blood of the people, lord of history
at home with the plane and hammer,
a distinguished carpenter;
or with shovel, pick and pointed stick,
a noble road builder...

Eternal resident of the poor and barren hovel
with roof of tin or stars, floor of sand or dirt,
modest or captive walls.
You do not dwell in the oppressive mansion,
the caves of thieves or the palace of Caesar.

The ingenuously pious fauthful swear they will find
you in the fixed and shallow rite,
in the golden chalice and the simplistic devotion
of those who cry 'Lord, Lord'
but who, after going through the motions, do nothing.

In preference to these I choose the good samaritan
who does not preach about heaven
but seeks paradise on earth,
not an eternal calvary – a hell of illiterate poor.

Yes, I prefer the witness
of the one who walks, suffers and loves,
of one who sings, weeps and loves,
of one who struggles, dies and loves.

I understand you, Christ,
because I know betrayal and the spear,
because, like you, I say
I am king and claim my crown.

I ask to be monarch of my own destiny
and father of all children,
I desire emancipation for myself and brothers.

I demand a sceptre for a poor and earthly kingdom,
but dignified and free,
built by the brotherhood of creative hands
in a community of equality and historic prophecy.

That sceptre is mine and I claim it today,
because what I stand for is greater
than the cross I carry,
because my cheeks are tired of the Pharisee's blows
and my arm is asking for the whip.

And when the whir of my whip is silent
and the temple empty of merchants,
then the thorns, the hate and vinegar,
the scoffing and the weeping will be changed into
a welcome to the repentant centurion,
into kindness, poetry, and work,
because the man who brought back to life
ia always incarnating himself in his children
and Christian hope has the face of a child.

Poem by a political prisoner in a Chilean concentration camp

Recognition ...

23/3/2013

Recognition of a feeling,
or an emotion,
or a circumstance,
or a belief,
stated by another
often prompts me to create.

This video by Tanya Davis expresses poignantly that it is OK to be alone.

Awe ...

22/3/2013

Sometimes it is simply
eye-popping,
jaw-dropping,
heart-racing
awe
which inspires me to create.

Nature has an infinite capacity to inspire.