as a child, i remember seeing thirty foot “sample blankets” on the back lawn of our home. my mother would hunker down with large industrial scissors, and choose from the many colours and weave patterns, deciding what the next years colours would be. i almost followed in her textile design footsteps.
on wall behind my mum is the Georgian-style, poplin wedding dress that she designed for my wife 30 years ago!
My mother kindled colour schemes,
my father wove them into dreams;
They slept on crates, cooked on turf fires,
their good fight aimed to aesthetically inspire.
Driven by young hope & mohair wool,
both energised, magnetised by the pull
of colour, that refused to be plain or boring,
they send my spirit skyward soaring.
Dreams drawn from wintry mountain snow,
creamy colored sheep & sacred sunrise glow,
root-tangled turf & dread-dark skies:
all observed in awe by hungry eyes.
Colours don’t curse, they merely bless,
exuberance is what they best express
playful palette dreams are never dull;
teasels tugged, raised soft woven wool.
Who painted such landscapes for our eyes?
Who inspired those Donegal tinted dyes?
What drove my parents to such extremes?
A kindly Creator pigmented their many dreams.
photo of Joy Elliott: Dora Kazmierak https://www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/